City of Swords Read online

  He didn’t know this one, but he had a surprisingly large circle of teenage friends from the local comprehensive school. And he had a reason to be on the lookout for more.

  ‘Can I help you, my dear?’ he asked. ‘I was just having a cup of tea but I’m open really.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break,’ said the girl. ‘I wasn’t looking for anything in particular.’

  She was a nervous thing, he thought.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘You come in and have a browse and I’ll finish my tea. I’m here if you need me.’

  She drifted aimlessly round the shop, looking at antique jewellery and lace collars. Her arm was still stinging from what she’d done to it in the morning, but her long sleeves made sure no one else knew about it. It was going to be harder when summer came; Laura thrust that thought to the back of her mind.

  And then she saw it. The most perfect little silver sword. Of course it must really be a paperknife, she supposed, but it was beautifully made, a real piece of craftsmanship. And although it was no longer than six inches, Laura knew instinctively it was a sword in miniature and not a dagger.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like that,’ said Mortimer Goldsmith.

  *

  ‘Right,’ said Georgia. ‘That’s agreed then. Bel and Yesh will keep an eye on Laura to see if she’s behaving strangely. Matt and Sky will look out for likely talismans in school, and Nick and I will go and see Mortimer.’

  ‘But what do you think about which city it will be?’ asked Nick.

  They had all talked about it and made another list: cities that had already been visited by teenage Stravaganti from their world and ones that had not acquired a Stravagante yet. Five major city-states had been visited and five disasters averted but there were seven left and an infinite number of dangers, it seemed to them.

  But they could not tell which of the seven would be likely to be next in need of a visitor from their world.

  ‘Fabrizio will be pretty mad that he lost the battle of Classe,’ Nick had said. ‘And that Beatrice married Filippo Nucci. That city is independent for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘But we never go back, do we?’ Sky had pointed out. ‘I mean we might visit “our” cities again but our tasks there are always finished. Where will the di Chimici strike next?’

  ‘There are just too many for us to guess,’ said Georgia. ‘Come on, I think Mortimer’s shop will still be open. We’ll go and call on him, and Bel – can you call Yesh and go round to Laura’s? It’s a long shot but worth a try.’

  Sky didn’t want to leave Isabel, and Matt hadn’t seen Ayesha all day so they decided to join the call-on-Laura posse. The group split up not far from Nick’s house and he and Georgia walked hand in hand to the antique shop.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mortimer, quite used to visits from these two. ‘I think you are too late.’

  ‘What can you mean?’ asked Georgia.

  ‘I mean, I think you have come to ask me either about a pale, sad girl from your school or a rather beautiful silver sword from goodness knows where,’ he said. ‘And in either case, it’s too late. They have found each other.’

  *

  Laura was thoroughly alarmed when her two best friends turned up at her house with their boyfriends in tow, but her mother was delighted; she thought Laura spent far too much time on her own.

  ‘Someone to see you,’ she called up the stairs.

  Laura hastily opened her curtains and checked that there was no evidence of her earlier activity. Could she smell blood? Or was she being paranoid? She opened the window, to be on the safe side, and gave her room a squirt of air freshener.

  So she was pink and flustered by the time four fellowstudents from Barnsbury trooped in.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘What’s up? Is something going on?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Isabel. ‘How are things with you?’

  But before Laura had time to think of an answer to that, Isabel’s phone warbled and she read an incoming text.

  ‘Interesting,’ she said, showing it to Sky. ‘That was Georgia. And she says you bought something from Mortimer Goldsmith. Can we see?’

  Laura’s heart was pounding. This was some sort of intervention. They had found out about the cutting and were going to tell her parents. For a moment she didn’t know if she was horrified or relieved.

  While still in that numb limbo, she drew out a package from her desk drawer. It was wrapped in green tissue paper and held together by stickers with MG on them in curly writing. She hadn’t been home long enough even to unwrap it.

  It seemed curiously intimate to open that package with four other pairs of eyes looking on.

  ‘That’s Talian all right,’ said Nick authoritatively.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Ayesha, who had tested the blade on her thumb. ‘I thought paperknives were supposed to be blunt?’

  Isabel was watching Laura intently, seeing the fear in her eyes and the changes in her expression.

  ‘Why did you buy it?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Do you get a lot of letters?’

  ‘I don’t see what it has to do with you – with any of you,’ said Laura. ‘I liked it and I could afford it so I bought it. So what?’

  ‘So what were you going to do with it?’ asked Isabel.

  And Laura knew the game was up.

  Fabio was always first into his workshop every morning, stoking up the fire in the furnace and checking round the supplies of ore for the day’s work. His apprentices slept at the back of the shop and were not awake yet.

  The streets had been very quiet on his way to work, the city still holding its breath.

  And then, while he sat at his bench, watching the sun rise through the open door, a young woman, not more than a slender girl, materialised on a stool opposite him.

  He made the Hand of Fortune, the superstitious sign that all Talians used to ward off bad luck and the evil eye.

  ‘Dia,’ he said. ‘You have come! You are from the other world!’

  What Laura saw was a room full of metal and sharp blades. In her hand was the silver sword, held carefully by the hilt so that she didn’t cut herself accidentally. She was fully aware how ironic this was.

  In front of her was a man of middle height, broad-shouldered and brown-skinned. He had a kind face but he was looking at her as if he was afraid. And yet, if what her friends had told her was true, she was the one who had made a terrifying journey through time and space.

  ‘I’m Laura,’ she said simply.

  ‘Low-ra,’ said the man. ‘Welcome to Fortezza.’

  And then a bell started to toll in the distance, a single sad repeated note.

  ‘You have not come a moment too soon,’ he said. ‘The old Prince is dead.’

  Chapter 2

  When a Prince Dies

  When Laura woke up back in her bed, it was to find Isabel and Georgia both watching her. It was unnerving the way they were both staring at her. She was holding the silver paperknife in her hand and she sat up and rewrapped it in the tissue paper that was still on her bedside table.

  ‘Everything OK?’ asked Isabel.

  ‘You made it to Talia?’ said Georgia.

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘To a place called Fortezza. Its ruler just – well – he died while I was there.’

  Then seeing their expressions, she said quickly, ‘It had nothing to do with me. He’s been ill for ages. And I didn’t even see him. But Fabio told me what had happened. He said I’d better go home.’

  ‘Fabio’s your Stravagante,’ said Georgia. ‘I told you you’d meet one. What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a swordsmith,’ said Laura. ‘His shop is full of sharp blades.’

  ‘What do we know about Fortezza?’ Isabel asked Georgia.

  ‘I can’t remember much,’ said the tawny-haired girl. ‘Did your Fabio say the name of the prince who died?’

  ‘It was Yak-something,’ said Laura. ‘It didn’t sound very likely for a Talian name.’

  ‘O
h no!’ said Georgia. ‘Not Jacopo? He was one of the good di Chimici. I remember when he came with a boatload of supplies to help people after the massacre and the flood in Giglia.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Laura. ‘I still don’t get half this stuff. Can we talk about it over breakfast? I’m starving.’

  James and Ellen, Laura’s parents, had been astonished when she asked them if two girl friends could sleep over on Saturday night. After years of worrying that their daughter had no social life outside school, they were suddenly confronted with not one but two teenagers dashing back to their homes to fetch sleeping bags and toothbrushes.

  But they were happy to provide them with Sunday breakfasts of croissants and milky coffee and to make small talk until all three girls said they were going out to meet up with more Barnsbury students in the local café.

  ‘Astonishing,’ said James. ‘Perhaps she’s turned a corner?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Ellen.

  *

  In Fortezza, every house showed signs of mourning, with black ribbons on door knockers and green boughs at the windows, whose shutters were all closed. Every flag on every tower in the city flew at half mast. Jacopo di Chimici had been well loved.

  At the University, all the buildings wore their mourning greenery in honour of the dead leader. Jacopo had been their Chancellor. One new student, tall, with red hair as brightly distinctive as the lost Prince’s had been in his youth, wandered the streets of Fortezza plucking up courage to visit the castle and pay his respects to the grieving royal family.

  It was nearly evening before he felt brave enough to have himself announced by a footman in di Chimici livery.

  ‘Guido Parola from Bellezza,’ he boomed and the red-headed man was admitted to the small salone where Princess Carolina was receiving callers.

  The widow looked a little perplexed at first but one of her daughters leapt up in a flurry of skirts and rushed towards the newcomer, only slowing to a more sedate pace just before she reached him.

  ‘Guido! You are welcome,’ said Lucia, holding out her hand. ‘Mamma, you remember Signor Parola? He was so brave and kind when Carlo was killed. Papa thought very highly of him.’

  Carolina’s expression cleared. ‘Ah yes, of course,’ she said, offering her own hand to the tall young man. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ said Guido, making a deep bow, ‘I am so sorry to hear of your loss. I hope I am not intruding on the family’s private grief? Your husband was a fine man and will be terribly missed.’

  He turned to Lucia and her sister. ‘Your Highness, Your Grace – my deepest sympathy to you both.’

  Bianca saved her sister a task by saying straight away, ‘Oh, please do away with the formality, Guido! We shall never forget what you did for us on that terrible night in Giglia. You may surely use our names as we do yours?’

  ‘It is kind of you to come,’ added Lucia.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Guido, who had been both a mandolier and a hired assassin in his past. ‘Is your husband on his way, Your Gr— I mean Bianca?’

  ‘Alfonso will leave Volana as soon as he can,’ said Bianca. ‘And I don’t doubt the rest of the family will be here soon for father’s funeral. But just now we have no male relative to help us. Your support would be most welcome.’

  ‘There is so much to organise,’ said Lucia. ‘And Mamma is too distraught to be burdened with it.’

  It was true that the Princess of Fortezza had aged overnight. Now that her husband was dead, it was as if she had lost all anchorage in the world and felt in danger of spending the rest of her life adrift.

  ‘I will do whatever you ask,’ said Guido, thrilled to be regarded as a substitute for a relative. ‘Please use me – I should like to be of help.’

  ‘Mamma, may I talk to Guido about the succession announcement?’ said Lucia. ‘It is one thing we can spare you.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Dowager Princess. ‘Please do. And, Bianca, could you help me to my room? I don’t think I can entertain any more visitors today. Not that you are not welcome, Signor,’ she added, remembering the demands of courtesy. ‘It is a pleasure in our grief to renew your acquaintance.’

  Princess Caroline and her younger daughter left Lucia and Guido alone together in the salone.

  ‘Is there a problem with the announcement?’ asked Guido. ‘I don’t know how these things are done in Fortezza. You remember that I come from Bellezza, where Duchesse are elected.’

  ‘Even though your present Duchessa inherited the title when her mother died?’

  ‘Not inherited, was elected,’ Guido corrected her. He did not put Lucia right about the old Duchessa’s being dead; not many people knew that Silvia was still alive and living in Bellezza.

  ‘Well, it’s a formality, but as soon as my father has been buried, a herald comes to the balcony of the castle and must read out a decree about the succession,’ she said.

  ‘There will be no argument, surely?’ said Guido. ‘As you are your father’s older daughter? You are his indisputable heir under the law.’

  ‘There are some in Fortezza who believe that a woman should not inherit. But as long as there is no rival claimant, then yes, I will become Fortezza’s ruling Princess.’

  She looked sadly at Guido and he wondered if she was just grieving for her father or for something else.

  Laura was not used to having so much attention focused on her. She pulled nervously at her sleeves and answered as briefly as possible, but that didn’t matter to Nick, who pounced on her main news and told the others what he thought.

  ‘So it’s Fortezza,’ he said. ‘And poor old Uncle Jacopo. I mean he was a sort of cousin really but we all called him “uncle”. He was a good sort.’

  ‘And he is the father of the woman whose husband was killed at their wedding?’ asked Ayesha, who had joined them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nick. ‘That was my brother, Carlo. They had just got married.’

  ‘Sorry, Nick,’ said Ayesha. ‘I keep forgetting you are related to all these people.’

  ‘He used to be,’ said Georgia firmly. ‘He doesn’t have any brothers in this world. Or dead uncles.’ She put her arm round him protectively.

  ‘Jacopo had two daughters though?’ said Isabel, trying to change the way the conversation was going. She knew that Nick was terribly conflicted still about which world he lived in.

  ‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘Lucia was married to my brother – briefly – and the younger one, Bianca, is married to my cousin, Alfonso, Duke of Volana. He’s OK.’

  ‘You mean all these Fortezzan di Chimici are “good” ones?’ asked Matt.

  Isabel was quiet, thinking back to a few weeks ago when the Barnsbury Stravaganti had got together and compared notes on their Talian experiences. For Laura all this talk was just a blur of names. She had met only Fabio on her stravagation with the paperknife – her ‘talisman’, as her friends had called it – and he wasn’t a royal prince.

  ‘So are you going back tonight?’ Sky asked her.

  Laura jumped. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I mean, why was I taken there? Why do you think I found this talisman? You all seem to have had something very important to do in the cities you went to.’

  It had been like last-minute cramming for an unexpected exam. Ever since Isabel and Georgia had found out about the knife, Laura had been bombarded with facts about Talia, talismans, Stravaganti, di Chimici … It was like being given a very complicated game with no manual – only lots of experienced users all trying to tell you the rules by talking at once.

  ‘Any idea why Fortezza, Nick?’ asked Georgia.

  He frowned. ‘None at all. What danger could there be? I’m really sorry about Jacopo, but Lucia will become the city’s ruler and there’s no threat in that.’

  ‘Maybe Fabrizio will try to make her marry another di Chimici?’ suggested Matt. ‘After all, Filippo is still free.’

  ‘Who’s Fabrizio?’ asked Laura. ‘I’m
afraid I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘My oldest brother,’ said Nick. ‘Oh, and he is also the Grand Duke of Tuschia.’

  Fabio had closed his shop for the day out of respect for Prince Jacopo, even though he often worked on Saturdays. But he lingered round it all the same. Suppose the new Stravagante returned that morning? He must be there to meet her. He felt very responsible for this vulnerable new traveller in time and space. When he had travelled to Laura’s world, he had found it bewildering and scary, and she must feel the same in his.

  The rusty-haired Manoush came strolling along the Street of the Swordsmiths. Both men were at a loose end and soon went into a tavern that was almost opposite Fabio’s workshop; he could keep an eye on his doorway from there.

  ‘So,’ said Ludo, ‘the old Prince is dead.’

  Fabio nodded. He had taken to the young Manoush when they last met but he didn’t understand why he was interested in the death of the city’s ruler. Ludo’s people did not believe in people owning or ruling any part of any land. Perhaps he was just making small talk to be friendly.

  ‘He was a good man,’ said the swordsmith. ‘But we have his daughter, Lucia, to take his place.’

  ‘And what is she like?’ asked Ludo.

  ‘As far as I can tell, a good person and a worthy successor,’ said Fabio.

  ‘But we can’t tell, can we?’ said Ludo. ‘What do ordinary people know about princes and princesses? They have their secrets and their dark sides, I’m sure.’

  Fabio was a bit taken aback. ‘I dare say, but we have no reason to think ill of Princess Lucia. She seems a beautiful and tragic young woman and I’m sure that ruling this princedom will be arduous for her. But I don’t doubt she is up to the task. It is what she has been brought up to from birth, after all.’

  Ludo smiled, showing his wolfish teeth. ‘I’m sure you are right,’ he said.

  ‘But who is this coming out of your smithy?’ he suddenly asked. ‘She does not look like a Talian.’

  Fabio jumped up and crossed quickly to his workshop, cursing himself for his inattention.