by Mary Hoffman
‘Let me know as soon as you do,’ said the Duke. ‘And if you need any help in Santa Fina, or somewhere to stay out of sight, use my summer palace there.’ He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. ‘Give this to my major-domo. He will see to it that you have anything you need.’
*
Luciano had made up his mind.
‘If I tell you what happened to me,’ he said, ‘you must both swear not to tell anyone else, particularly your father.’
There was a short silence, while Gaetano wrestled with his feelings about his family. The two brothers looked at one another, one so ugly but physically strong and vigorous, the other so beautiful and so damaged. They nodded at the same time.
‘We swear,’ they both said. And to the surprise of the others, Gaetano stopped the coach, so that they could both kneel to Luciano and proffer him their daggers. It was not possible for Falco to kneel properly, but he leant forward and bent his better leg, his face creased with pain.
Both brothers solemnly chanted together:
g
By the house of the City of Flowers–
May its strength never dwindle or ail–
Ever true is the word that is ours
Take our lives if our promise should fail.
g
They urged Luciano to take the daggers by the hilts and make a small nick in their wrists.
They’re going to become blood brothers, thought Georgia, but it wasn’t that. The two young nobles held their wrists out to Luciano, each bright with scarlet beads of blood, and motioned him to put his lips to each. Georgia shuddered but Luciano didn’t hesitate. As soon as he had tasted the blood voluntarily shed by the di Chimici, Georgia felt Cesare relax beside her, and she realised that he had been as tense as a tight violin-string.
The whole atmosphere in the carriage had changed.
‘Drive on!’ ordered Gaetano, sheathing his dagger, which Luciano had handed back to him, and the coachman urged the horses on. They were now through the Gate of the Moon and heading south, but no one inside the carriage paid any attention to where they were going.
No one now had any doubt that the di Chimici would keep whatever they were told to themselves. Georgia realised that she was going to hear for the first time what had really happened to Lucien.
It was clear to her that it was an edited version of his story, but it was amazing enough.
‘I was a Stravagante from another world, like Georgia,’ he began. ‘In that world I was very sick – not in the way that Falco is, but with a slow creeping illness that was devouring my body.’
Gaetano nodded. ‘We know of such a sickness. We call it the malady of the Crab, because it grasps and pinches the organs of the body.’
‘When I first stravagated here,’ Luciano continued, ‘or rather to Bellezza, which is my city, I felt completely well again.’
Falco’s eyes lit up and Gaetano gasped. ‘Does that mean if Falco went to your world, he would be healed?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Luciano. ‘He might feel better, but I don’t think his broken bones would be mended. At most his strength would be improved. And it wouldn’t last when he returned here.’ He paused.
‘Although I was always well in Talia, I got worse in my own world. And then I was captured in Bellezza. The thing about stravagation is that it is night-time in the other world while it is daytime in Talia. If one of us stays for a Talian night, he will be discovered in his own world during the day as a sleeping body that cannot be awakened. I was unable to return to my world while I was held captive, and during that time my body appeared to be in a coma – you know, when someone is still breathing but seems otherwise dead?’
‘Yes,’ said Gaetano. ‘We call it “Morte Vivenda” – the living death. It happens sometimes after a riding accident. But such victims almost always die in truth soon afterwards.’
Luciano nodded. ‘It was like that for me. Soon my otherworldly body could not even breathe for itself.’
‘So you died?’ asked Falco, his huge dark eyes seeming to fill his face.
Luciano hesitated. ‘I come from a time far in the future,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘The doctors can keep people alive for a while with machines. I don’t know exactly what happened to me, but I think that I was kept breathing in that way for a while and that then the doctors believed that I was dead in my brain and the machines were turned off.’
There was a long silence in the carriage and Georgia found that she was holding her breath. Lucien looked terrible.
‘Anyway,’ he continued in a hurry. ‘At a particular moment, I suddenly knew that I was alive here in Talia but dead in my own world. From that day, now nearly a year ago, I have been a citizen of Talia, under the protection of my master the Regent and living with my foster-parents Doctor Crinamorte and his wife.’
‘And you can’t go back?’ asked Falco.
‘Not permanently, no,’ said Luciano. ‘This is the only life I can lead now.’
‘And these doctors of the future,’ said Gaetano, focusing on what was for him the most important thing in the whole story. ‘Could they help my brother?’
‘Again, I don’t really know,’ said Luciano. ‘What do you think, Georgia?’
‘I don’t know much about medicine,’ she said truthfully. ‘They might be able to do operations to make it easier for him to walk. And even if they couldn’t do that, he could have an electric wheelchair and get about more easily.’ She stopped. ‘There’s not much point in my telling you all this,’ she said.
‘Can you bring the doctors here?’ asked Gaetano.
Luciano and Georgia both shook their heads.
‘They wouldn’t be much use by themselves,’ said Luciano, ‘even if we could bring them.’
‘They’d need all their equipment,’ explained Georgia. ‘Operating theatres, electricity, anaesthetics, instruments and drugs.’
‘Then there’s only one thing for it,’ said Falco calmly. ‘I must go there. You must help me to stravagate.’
*
The Horsemasters of Remora were meeting to discuss the pacts that would be made between Twelfths during the Stellata. This was a meeting of allies, where Twelfths got together according to their elemental allegiances, Fire with Fire and Air with Air. So Paolo was hosting the meeting for the three Fire Twelfths in the Ram and sat in a tavern with his opposite numbers from the Archer and the Lioness.
In other taverns of Remora similar meetings were going on. Riccardo as Horsemaster for the Twins hosted the Air Twelfths – the Scales and the Water-Carrier; Emilio, Horsemaster for the Lady, entertained the Earth Twelfths – the Bull and the Goat; and Giovanni, the Scorpion’s Horsemaster, bought the drinks for the other Water Twelfths – the Fishes and the Crab.
Ancient traditions of enmity prompted these annual meetings. It was the prime consideration that the Twelfths of opposing elements would block one another’s jockeys in the Stellata. So all Water jockeys would block all Fire horses and all Earth riders would foul the path of all Air mounts. But within this general opposition, each rider would reserve special hostility for one particular enemy, like Ram and Fishes, or Twins and Bull.
Then there were the city allegiances that pitted Twins and Lady against the Ram; all in all there were few horses who would be viewed by their neighbouring riders as neutral once the race got under way. All riders wore their Twelfth’s colours but it still required a lively mind to keep up with all the planned strategies once the dazzling kaleidoscope of a high-speed race whirled round the circular Campo.
And planning could go only so far. The order in which the horses were to take up their positions at the start was drawn by lot only just before the race. Until then, however, the allied Twelfths would mull over tactics and dig to find out any information about rivals’ mounts and their riders that might prove useful.
And today the topic of most discussion in three out of the four groups was the Ram’s secret weapon. Paolo trusted absolutely in his allies of th
e Lioness and Archer; they would be happy about an advantage to any of the three Fire Twelfths. So he told them about Merla.
‘Goddess be praised!’ was the response from the other two Horsemasters.
They knew of the legend of the flying horse, of course; all Remora knew that such creatures were possible, if rare. No one had ever seen one, but everyone knew someone who had, even if it was a friend’s great-grandfather. And everyone believed in the power of such a good omen.
They might not have been so confident if they had known that Riccardo and Emilio were both telling the Air and Earth Twelfths that the Ram had a secret. They had just got it from Enrico, the spy who was working in the stable of the Twins, but who shared his information equally between the Pope’s and the Duke’s men. He didn’t know yet exactly what the secret was but he knew the answer was in Santa Fina and he was sure to find it out soon.
The Water Twelfths hadn’t got wind of it yet but it was only a matter of time before they did. Someone in the Twins or the Lady, because of their opposition to Bellezza, would leak the information to one of the three Twelfths of the Water signs, preferably the Fishes. So this year’s race was going to be especially hard for the Ram, with three-quarters of the city plotting against them for one reason or another.
*
Cesare, who was waiting to be confirmed as this year’s rider for the Ram, was blissfully unaware of the approaching dangers. He was so stunned by Falco’s announcement that he had no thought for his own future.
Luciano was wrestling with his own emotions. He knew that Falco didn’t understand what he was saying, that he had no idea about the dangers of stravagation. Even if the doctors of Luciano’s old world could cure him, it couldn’t be done on one visit; there was no way that Falco’s plan would work unless he gave up his life in Talia, voluntarily. And of all the young people in the carriage, only Luciano knew what that would mean.
Everyone was looking at Luciano, to see what he would say. He cast a quick glance at Georgia; perhaps she would understand better than the others, but she was still a novice at stravagation.
But it was Falco who spoke. He turned to his brother and said, ‘Gaetano, there is only one way to do this. It will be very hard, harder than death, but it is my choice. I shall go to the world of the future and make my life there.’
His older brother clasped him in his arms and the others saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you. You can’t leave us. What would you do without the family? Without me?’
Falco’s voice was muffled by his brother’s embrace. ‘I should rather live my whole life elsewhere, even if it has to be without you, my brother,’ he said, ‘than live out my days as half the man I was meant to be.’
Then he turned back to Luciano and Georgia.
‘I have chosen,’ he said. ‘Now, what must I do?’
Chapter 11
The Sound of Drums
For Georgia most of Monday passed in a dream. She had reached a point where her ordinary daily life was beginning to seem unreal and her mind was always in Remora, with its divisions and intrigues. It didn’t help that she was very short of sleep, even though she hadn’t spent the whole of Sunday night in the city.
After Falco’s announcement in the carriage, and Gaetano’s continued opposition to the plan, Luciano had bought them all some time by saying that they needed to think more about it. Georgia had been relieved because she felt completely out of her depth and the atmosphere had become very tense. The carriage had stopped and let them out in a place called Belle Vigne. It was a grassy hill with a little village at the foot. At the top, according to Gaetano, was the remains of a Rassenan settlement. Georgia worked out eventually that this must mean ‘Etruscan’ and would have loved to see it but even the gentle slope up to it was too steep for Falco.
The young people had sprawled on the grass, talking of lighter matters.
‘What is it like in Bellezza?’ Gaetano asked Luciano. ‘I have to go there soon to fetch the young Duchessa.’
‘It’s the most beautiful city in the world,’ Luciano said simply.
‘Ah, but you haven’t been to Giglia, has he, brother?’ said Gaetano.
Falco nodded and Cesare added, ‘What about my city? There is nowhere like Remora, surely?’
‘We must all love our own cities best,’ said Luciano diplomatically, and Georgia tried to imagine feeling that way about London.
‘Bellezza is made of silver and it floats on the water,’ continued Luciano. ‘Little waterways criss-cross the city – it’s really a collection of over a hundred little islands. And the people enjoy living there – they have a party at any excuse. They love their Duchessa too. They were devastated when the last one died.’
He stopped. This was a sensitive subject to get on to with two di Chimici.
‘What is the new Duchessa like?’ asked Falco, and Georgia glimpsed Gaetano putting a finger to his lips.
‘She’s very young,’ said Luciano, who hadn’t seen the gesture. ‘Still a girl – the same age as me. But she is becoming more like her mother every day. And she is very proud of her city.’
‘Is she as beautiful as her mother was supposed to be?’ asked Gaetano casually, and Georgia pricked up her ears.
But Luciano simply said, ‘Yes,’ and did not elaborate.
Soon after that, Gaetano had noticed that his brother was looking tired and they had all come back to Remora. Not much was said on the journey back, but when the three had been dropped at the stables of the Ram, Falco said, ‘Don’t forget what I told you. Will you come and see me tomorrow?’
And it hadn’t been possible to refuse.
Paolo was out at his Horsemasters’ meeting and Cesare had chores to do. It would have been a perfect opportunity for Georgia to spend time on her own with Luciano. She wanted to talk to him about his story, to find out what part his talisman had played in what happened, but he had looked at her closely and told her that she must stravagate early and not stay in Remora for the rest of the afternoon.
‘I can remember what it was like,’ he said, with a smile that turned her heart over. ‘I know you say you are well, but even the healthiest person needs their sleep.’
And so she had come back, briefly awake in the middle of the night, listening to the small sounds of the sleeping house, before dropping into a deep dreamless state.
She was woken all too soon by her mother urging her to get ready for school. The rest of the day was a bit of a wash-out. Georgia couldn’t concentrate on her lessons. Even in English, which had always been her best subject, she couldn’t answer the simplest question.
Fortunately, the new girl Alice covered for her. The two girls had lunch together and Georgia discovered to her delight that Alice was also keen on horses – had one of her own, in fact, at her father’s house in Devon. By the end of the day, they were firm friends. Georgia wished she could tell Alice about Remora but it was a comfort just to talk to her about horses.
Even though Monday was Russell’s football day, Georgia didn’t go straight home. She decided to call on Mr Goldsmith again. He was pleased to see her and made her a much nicer cup of tea than the last one. Georgia had eaten four chocolate biscuits before she realised it.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’m always ravenous when I’m tired.’
‘I thought you were looking a bit peaky,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but is everything all right?’
Georgia remembered thinking that Mr Goldsmith was her ally and she decided to talk to him about Russell. But she was a bit oblique about it.
‘Do you have any enemies?’ she asked.
‘What a strange question,’ he said. ‘No, not enemies as such. I would say I had rivals though. You know, the sort of people who bid against me at auctions – other dealers. It’s a friendly sort of rivalry – we are quite sociable when we meet.’
That was the difference, Georgia decided, between Talia and here. The Tw
elfths of Remora were more like rivals even though they talked about adversaries. On the other hand, Niccolò di Chimici did seem to be an enemy of the people she thought of as being on her side. And of the Stravaganti. But what about Gaetano and his brother? They were more like friends. Certainly more so than her supposed-to-be stepbrother. She heaved a big sigh.
‘Oh dear!’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘You’d better have another biscuit.’
That made Georgia smile. ‘I don’t have many friends,’ she confided. ‘At least not here.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘But you don’t need many friends, you know, as long as the ones you have are good ones.’
Georgia decided to take him into her confidence a bit more.
‘Do you know an Italian city where they have a special horse race every year?’ she asked.
Rather to her surprise, he did.
‘You mean Siena?’ he asked. ‘They have a race called the Palio every summer – actually twice, I think. That’s a place for rivalry if ever there was one.’
‘Go on,’ said Georgia eagerly. ‘Tell me about the Palio.’
‘Well, Siena is in Tuscany, not far from where the original of your little horse must have come from. The city is divided up into lots of sections – seventeen, I think – and they race their horses round a sort of Piazza in the middle of town. It’s a tradition going back hundreds of years and the city itself still looks mediaeval. Hardly any cars, narrow streets, virtually no modern buildings, at least not in the centre.’
That’s it, thought Georgia. If Lucien’s Bellezza is our Venice, Remora must be Siena.
‘Have you seen it?’ she asked.
‘The Palio? No,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘But I’ve been to Siena, more than once. It’s a lovely place. You’d like it too, if you’re fond of horses.’
Soon they were chatting away about riding and Georgia told him about Jean’s stables. She was in a much more cheerful mood when she left the shop, so that when he said, ‘Goodbye and good luck with your enemies,’ it took her a moment to remember how the conversation had started. And then, when she was almost home, she remembered that she hadn’t actually said she had an enemy herself. She smiled. Mr Goldsmith was definitely a friend.