City of Masks (14 page)

‘Now, let me have another of those cakes,’ said Silvia. ‘Do they come from your restaurant, Fiorentino?’

‘Not directly,’ he said. ‘I get them made for me by a fellow on Burlesca – Bellini, I think he’s called.’

‘How interesting,’ said the Duchessa thoughtfully, delicately licking the sugar from her fingertips. ‘I thought they tasted familiar.’

*

Arianna was bursting to find out what had happened to Lucien the night before. She was agog during his description of the assassination attempt. Much as she had told herself she hated the Duchessa, she was horrified at the idea of the man with the merlino-blade.

‘And she was in the mandola all the time?’ she asked. ‘That was a double on the bridge? I knew there was something fishy about the way everyone says she still looks as young as ever.’

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when Lucien showed her the merlino-blade.

‘You have the luck of the Lady!’ she said enviously, sliding the blade appreciatively out of its sheath.

‘You call it lucky to come face to face with a murderer?’ said Lucien, smiling.

When Lucien had been over every detail of the assassination attempt several times, he astounded her again with developments in his other life.

‘What?’ she said in disbelief. ‘They’re bringing you to Bellezza?’

‘Well, not Bellezza,’ said Lucien. ‘You know that it’s called Venice in my world – at least it is by English people.’

His parents had been so pleased with their surprise. They obviously thought he would be delighted and he was. They were all going to Venice for a week and very soon. Lucien had a hospital appointment in late August and they needed to be back for that.

‘I spoke to Doctor Kennedy,’ Mum had said, ‘and she seems to think you’re quite strong enough to go, so we’ve booked the tickets.’

‘Great!’ Lucien had said. He couldn’t wait to see the magical city in his own world and see in what ways it was like the Bellezza he now knew so well.

But he hadn’t told Rodolfo yet. Somehow, he didn’t think that he would be able to get back to Bellezza while he was out of his usual setting. And he didn’t know whether he was going to be needed. Rodolfo obviously thought things were getting more dangerous too, and had asked Lucien always to return to the Palazzo before stravagating home.

‘You’re very quiet about it,’ Arianna said. ‘I would love to travel to another country, like your Anglia.’

‘Perhaps you will one day,’ said Lucien. ‘Or to another world. Maybe you’ll become a Stravagante and travel to mine. I don’t see why Stravaganti should all be men.’

Arianna’s eyes shone. ‘You’re right! It doesn’t look as if I’ll ever be a mandolier now, but I bet I could be a Stravagante. Maybe I’ll ask Signor Rodolfo about it.’

They were sitting in the café near the boarded-up theatre, where they had drunk hot chocolate the day that Lucien had turned up in Bellezza. The man behind the bar had been watching them rather closely. When they had finished their drinks and left, he beckoned to a man eating apricot tart in the corner. He finished his mouthful, picked up his blue cloak and went to talk to his new friend at the bar.

*

Rinaldo di Chimici was suffering the torments of the damned. He had seen nothing of the young assassin since the night of the Maddalena Feast. Had he run away, with the half of his fee which he had already been given? The Duchessa’s manner to the Ambassador had not changed, which seemed to indicate that there had been no attempt on her life, but she was such a slippery and subtle opponent that he couldn’t be sure.

What was so agonizing was that he just didn’t know what had happened and had no way of finding out. In the end he decided to take Enrico into his confidence.

The spy was flattered. It had taken him much time and effort to win the Ambassador’s trust and now he felt puffed up with his success. Secretly, he felt nothing but contempt for di Chimici’s clumsy attempt to eliminate the Duchessa. Enrico knew at least half a dozen men who would have done the job properly. He would have done it himself, for the right money.

Still, he was thrilled to think it had been his information that had enabled the assassination plan and he quickly decided to pass on something else he had just found out.

‘There’s another way of getting at her ladyship, Excellency,’ he said now.

Di Chimici gestured at him to continue.

‘You know the boy, Signor Rodolfo’s apprentice?’

The Ambassador nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, the Senator seems very fond of the boy. And we know her ladyship is very fond of the Senator, don’t we?’

Enrico leered in a manner which caused di Chimici to shudder. In his way, he was quite fastidious and the idea of having to use this odious little man’s information repelled him. But he could not afford to be proud. He nodded.

‘So don’t you think the lady would be upset if her fancy-man’s favourite was under the death penalty?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ said di Chimici, ‘but how could you arrange that?’

Enrico tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trust me. I have a plan. We know that the boy doesn’t come from Padavia. Well, he obviously doesn’t come from Bellezza either.’

‘What does that matter?’ said di Chimici, who had a good idea that Lucien didn’t come from anywhere Enrico would have heard of.

‘You don’t know about the forbidden day?’ asked Enrico. ‘That boy was in Bellezza the day after the Marriage with the Sea. I have a witness. If he wasn’t born on Bellezza, then his life is forfeit.’

*

Now that she knew he was safe and the excitement over the assassination attempt had passed, Arianna decided that she really was very cross with Lucien.

‘You know I was worried sick about you?’ she said as they walked back to Rodolfo’s. ‘And all the time you were having adventures. I bet you’re a hero to the Duchessa and you’ve got all that silver. And a merlino-blade,’ she added, looking with envy at the assassin’s dagger in his belt. ‘While I had to go home on my own and tell my aunt you left me at the door.’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ Lucien said, annoyed. ‘I seemed to go a bit mad at the end of the fireworks, and when I found myself in her mandola, there was no time to think. I wasn’t having fun, I can tell you.’

It was the closest they had ever got to a row, and they made the rest of their journey in silence.

*

Guido Parola moved his things into Egidio’s house, the Duchessa having arranged a nurse for his father. He was relieved; he felt safe here. He was most unlikely to bump into the Reman Ambassador at the Scuola Mandoliera or in the brothers’ houses overlooking the canaletto. He had been enrolled in the Scuola that day with Egidio and Fiorentino standing as his sponsors. Now they were like two extra godfathers. There had been one awkward moment after the Duchessa had gone, when Egidio had made it clear to the young man exactly what would be done to him if he should ever raise his hand against her again. But since then they had started to become friends.

And now he was to have his first lesson on the water, before the light failed.

‘You’re a natural!’ said Fiorentino after an hour in his own mandola, with Guido sculling. ‘Of course, you’ll have to learn all the patter, but I think we’ll make a mandolier of you yet.’

Egidio nodded. ‘And now we’ll all go and have dinner at your restaurant, brother.’

*

Rodolfo now kept one of his mirrors permanently fixed on Montemurato. It was focused on William Dethridge and followed him as he moved around the walled city. Ever since the attempt on Silvia’s life, Rodolfo had been sick with worry for her safety and he thought that the old Stravagante might have some useful ideas. But Dethridge was terrified that, having escaped death for witchcraft in his own world, he might fall foul of the same prejudices in Talia. Now that he could no longer be given away by his absence of shadow, he seemed determined to act as unobtrusively as possible.

But before he and Lucien had left Montemurato, Rodolfo had given William Dethridge a hand mirror. The Elizabethan had accepted it reluctantly, but it was hardly an incriminating object if it should be found among his belongings, even if an unlikely one for an old man with no reason to be vain. Now, Rodolfo was trying to make contact with Dethridge.

He stood gazing into the Montemurato glass, murmuring formulae until the face of William Dethridge swam into view. Its expression was one of pure terror.

‘Master Rudolphe,’ gasped the old man. ‘Thanke godnesse. You muste holpe mee!’

‘What is the matter?’ asked Rodolfo, alarmed by Dethridge’s obvious fear.

‘They are building a bone-fire,’ he said. ‘And I feare that it is for mee!’

Chapter 13

A Death Sentence

The trip to Venice was coming closer; Lucien had only a few days to adjust his mind to it and to prepare Rodolfo for his likely absence from Bellezza. He was genuinely excited at the prospect of seeing the real city and, if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind a rest from his nightly adventures. Whenever he did sleep during the day, without stravagating, he was haunted by nightmares about the man with the dagger on the Duchessa’s mandola.

He couldn’t believe it when Rodolfo told him that the assassin had been set free and was now in the Scuola Mandoliera.

‘But why? Isn’t he very dangerous?’

‘Not any more,’ said Rodolfo. ‘Silvia has him eating out of her hand.’

‘But isn’t he going to be punished? And what about whoever hired him? It must have been the di Chimici, mustn’t it?’ Lucien was beginning to feel that his one act of heroism, albeit accidental, was being allowed to fizzle out.

‘I think Parola
is
being punished,’ said Rodolfo. ‘If he is genuinely sorry, what could be worse than living with his own treachery? As for di Chimici, Silvia was going to have a show trial but I convinced her that there are more subtle ways of getting revenge on one’s enemies. And she did agree that the people mustn’t know about the doubles.’

‘So you don’t think she’s in any danger now?’ asked Lucien.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Rodolfo grimly, ‘but perhaps not immediately.’

‘The thing is,’ said Lucien, ‘after today, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get to Bellezza for a while. My parents are taking me on holiday abroad. I won’t be able to get to Talia unless I leave from England, will I?’

Rodolfo looked at him closely. ‘So you are getting better in your own world?’ he asked.

‘I seem to be,’ said Lucien.

‘And where are they taking you?’

‘To Venice,’ said Lucien.

Rodolfo smiled. ‘So you’ll be in Bellezza all the time, in a manner of speaking. And when you come back, you can tell me if our city is still as beautiful in your time.’

*

William Dethridge left his horse on the mainland and took the boat to Bellezza. He had left Montemurato in the middle of the night, still fearful that his life was at risk. Now he was going to stay with Maister Rudolphe, where he felt he would be more safe. Even after a year and a half, he still couldn’t separate the Talia of this dimension from the Italy of his.

In Italy, as in Elizabeth’s England, there was a hatred and distrust of anything magical. No matter that the Queen had her own astrologer, who had chosen her coronation day in accordance with the stars. Now the unexplained equalled the unlawful and anyone, like himself, who had a connection with Italy, was immediately under suspicion. That was where the great occult masters lived – something common to the countries in both dimensions.

Dethridge trusted Rodolfo and believed him to be the most powerful Stravagante in Talia. If Talia was turning away from magic, under the di Chimici, then association with Rodolfo might well be dangerous, but Dethridge preferred trusting in the magician’s powers to staying alone in the walled city. Everywhere he went he heard the word ‘strega’, a word that he knew meant ‘witch’, as well as a strong drink. And in the centre of the town square a bonfire was being built.

The fear of death by burning was strong upon him since he had escaped the sentence in his own world. And regaining his shadow and being permanently stranded in Talia had further helped to unhinge his mind. He could not bear to think of the wife and children he would not see again, and he could not believe that he was safe from persecution. When he saw the fire being prepared, he immediately assumed that someone in Montemurato knew what he was – or what he had been.

Now, as dawn broke and the boat approached the shining silver city, he breathed easily for the first time in days. It was hard to believe that somewhere so beautiful could also be dangerous.

*

Enrico was consolidating his friendship with Giuseppe, the Duchessa’s spy, over a glass or two of his favourite liqueur. The two men had met on several occasions since that first night when their assignments had led them both to Leonora Gasparini’s doorway and they had pooled information. Now, the two men knocked back Strega in the little bar near the boarded-up theatre. As the evening wore on, they became more friendly with one another and with the normally morose man behind the bar.

‘Ancora!’ slurred Enrico. ‘Have another one on me. And you too, my friend with the bottle. Have one yourself.’

No one in Bellezza ever said things like: ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ There were no cars for drunken citizens to drive, not even any horse-carts. So they were no danger to anyone but themselves. The worse that could happen to an inebriated Bellezzan was to fall into the canal and, if he did, nine times out of ten the shock of the cold water was enough to sober him up.

Indeed, such things had happened to Enrico in the past. Now, however, he was not as drunk as he seemed. He needed information that only Giuseppe and the barman could provide and he was becoming too good a spy to miss the opportunity.

‘You know that lad we were discussing the other day,’ he now said to the landlord, judging the moment had come. ‘The one you said was here on the Giornata Vietata,’ lowering his voice.

‘What about him?’ said the landlord, looking nervously round the bar. This was dangerous talk.

‘Well, you remember that girl he was with, both times?’

‘The pretty one?’ said the landlord. ‘Yes, I know her. Lives with her aunt near San Sulien.’

Enrico looked triumphantly at his new friend. This was going to be easier than he thought. ‘You see, Beppe? It is the same one. The one you followed to the islands. Now, tell our friend here what you found out.’

‘She’s only living with her aunt for the summer,’ said Giuseppe. ‘She was born on Torrone. Her parents still live there.’

‘You see?’ said Enrico in a whisper. ‘Another traitor! That’s both of them in the city on the forbidden day!’

The landlord was uneasy. A boy was one thing; that one was almost a man. But a soft young girl, and one as pretty as that – it didn’t bear thinking of.

‘You’d both be willing to testify before the Council, wouldn’t you?’ asked Enrico and he took out his purse to pay for the evening’s drinks. Both men saw that it was heavy with silver. ‘Same terms as with the boy,’ he said to the landlord. ‘Half now and half after you’ve given evidence.’

The landlord licked his lips. After all, it wasn’t right to let the young people get away with such blasphemy. Everyone in Bellezza knew the rule about the forbidden day. He just nodded slightly, but that was enough for Enrico.

‘Ancora!’ he called at the top of his voice. He now had two witnesses who would seal the fate of Rodolfo’s apprentice and his little girlfriend. And the best part was that the Duchessa, presiding over the Council, would have to pronounce their death sentences herself. The only way they could be reprieved would be if Bellezza joined the Republic. Then the Federal law would outweigh Bellezza’s own poxy little rules.

So the Duchessa’s greatest friend and admirer would be turned to the di Chimici side, persuading her to sign the treaty so the boy could be saved. And the boy would be persuading Rodolfo, because of the girl. Neat. Absolutely foolproof. Enrico tossed off another glass; there was no need to keep a cool head now. He would tell Giuliana she could order her trousseau tomorrow.

*

Arianna was feeling sad. There were only a few days left when she could spend her afternoons with Lucien and now that they had quarrelled, she didn’t know if they would have even those. Of course he would only be away for a week, but she knew that everything would be different when he got back. The summer would be coming to an end and she would have to go back to her life on Torrone.

She didn’t know how she was going to bear it. The pressure would begin to build up on her to marry once she was sixteen and she didn’t know who in Talia could suit her after her friendship with the black-haired boy from another world.

She heaved a big sigh, then shook herself. This was not the Bellezzan way. Live for the moment. Enjoy the day. When Lucien arrived at the fountain, Arianna was waiting for him with the usual sparkle in her eyes and no hint of her previous dejection. She was so relieved to see him that she didn’t refer to their quarrel.

‘We are going somewhere different today,’ she said straightaway and led him out of the garden and through the maze of calles down to a spot on the Great Canal where they could catch a ferry. The ferries were cheaper than travelling by mandola, just as they were in the Venice of Lucien’s world. They criss-crossed the Great Canal like moving bridges.

And once they were across, Lucien and Arianna did not stop to explore the quarter on the far side of the Great Canal. They walked quickly through it and found themselves walking alongside another canal and crossing a stone bridge. On the other side was a boatyard where half a dozen black mandolas were drawn up out of the water.

‘What is this place?’ asked Lucien.

‘The Squero di Florio e Lauro,’ said Arianna. ‘They were two saints. See – that big church over there is dedicated to them.’

‘Who were they?’ asked Lucien. He didn’t know all that many saints and he certainly hadn’t heard of these two.

‘Oh, just some pair of twins,’ said Arianna airily. ‘They are supposed to have saved the island from invaders by praying. But some people think they were the Great Twins – you know, the Gemelli who are in the stars.’

‘And are they the patron saints, or gods, of mandolas?’ asked Lucien, who was getting used to the Bellezzans’ belt-and-braces approach to religion.

Arianna shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. The Squero is just named after them because it’s near the church.’

The mandolas were having their keels scraped and re-caulked. But behind them Lucien spotted a new mandola being built. It was the most beautiful vessel of them all. It was black, like all of them, but there was something extra graceful in its clean lines. Lucien was seized with a desire to stand on its stern and take it through the Bellezzan waterways. He turned and saw that Arianna had the identical expression. She grinned at him and he smiled back. Who knew? Maybe one day he would have a mandola in Bellezza, that one or one very like it.

*

When Lucien turned up for his last morning of lessons with Rodolfo before his trip to Venice, he found to his surprise William Dethridge sitting in an armchair.

‘Gretinges, yonge Lucian,’ said the old man. ‘Thou didst not thinke to finde mee here?’

‘No,’ said Lucien, ‘but I am pleased to see you.’ Slightly awkwardly, he shook Dethridge’s hand.

‘Youre apprentiss hath godly maneres,’ the old man said approvingly to Rodolfo, who was over by his magic mirrors.

Rodolfo turned and smiled. Then he bowed.

‘It is an honour to me to have two Stravaganti from the other world in my laboratory,’ he said.

‘Nay,’ said Dethridge. ‘I am that noe more. Just a naturall philosophere now.’

‘Has it occurred to you that you could go back as a Stravagante from this world?’ asked Rodolfo.

Dethridge paled. ‘I wolde not goe backe to that terrabyl worlde where they wolde burne mee.’

‘No,’ said Rodolfo, soothingly. ‘As a Stravagante from this side, you would find yourself in the future of your old world. You would be in Luciano’s time, a visitor to the twenty-first century. All you need is a talisman which originated from that world. And I suppose you still have the copper dish?’

Dethridge pulled it out of his jerkin. Such an ordinary object to have started the whole business of stravagation, thought Lucien. Now the Elizabethan was looking at it as if it were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

‘I thanke ye, Maister Rudolphe. Ye have given me hope of escape if thinges goe not wele for mee hir. They doe not burn wyches in yonge Lucian’s time?’

‘No,’ said Lucien. ‘I’ve seen people who call themselves witches on daytime TV.’

The two men looked at him as if he spoke of arcane mysteries.

‘But never mind that now,’ said Rodolfo. ‘I think I have found the reason for your fears in Montemurato, Dottore.’

He beckoned them over to the mirrors and showed them the one trained on the city of twelve towers. It was showing the bonfire in the main square. William Dethridge trembled at the sight of it. As they watched, tiny people were heaving what looked like a straw-stuffed scarecrow up to the top of the pile of brushwood.