City of Secrets

by Mary Hoffman

  ‘My olde freende Constantine,’ nodded Dethridge. ‘He felte the neede for anothire Stravayger hire in the city.’

  ‘How did he know?’ asked Luciano. He had often wondered how the Talian Brotherhood knew when to send for someone else from his old world.

  Dethridge shrugged. ‘Mayhap the stones told him. Or the cardes. Al senior Stravaygers do their divinatiounes eche month. He scried that trouble was coming, I trow.’

  ‘That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?’ said Luciano, suddenly understanding. ‘The lectures are just a front. You’ve come to give Constantin support. Something’s going to happen.’

  *

  Cardinal di Chimici found Messer Antonio hard at work in the Palace of Justice. The Cardinal was shown into a great frescoed hall. At the far end was what looked like a sort of court, with tiered wooden benches full of people and an impressive judge’s seat. Rinaldo guessed it was the Governor himself sitting in it. A wretched-looking man stood with bowed head before him. His trial was evidently coming to an end.

  And justice was swift. Two constables took the condemned man over to a large circular stone on a raised plinth and started to strip him. Rinaldo trembled; he was squeamish about any sort of physical pain and he feared the man was about to be tortured or at least whipped. But to his astonishment the convicted man was merely made to sit in his canvas under-breeches on the stone. The people on the wooden benches jeered at him and he mumbled something Rinaldo couldn’t hear. This exchange happened three times and then the man was roughly escorted out of the hall, clutching his clothes.

  That seemed to conclude the proceedings and the people dispersed. A servant went across to Antonio and whispered in his ear and the Governor stood to welcome his guest.

  ‘Eminence,’ he greeted Rinaldo. ‘You are welcome in Padavia.’

  ‘Governor, I thank you,’ said Rinaldo.

  Antonio led him to his private office. Rinaldo was surprised at the plain and untidy room after the opulence of the great hall. It was clear that the Governor was not a man accustomed to greatness, which made the Cardinal relax.

  But the wine and cakes that were brought were as fine as any Rinaldo had tasted in Talia.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that,’ said Antonio, taking a deep draught of the wine. ‘I never enjoy that ritual, but it is our law.’

  ‘Ah, what exactly had the man done?’ asked Rinaldo.

  ‘He was a debtor,’ said Antonio grimly. ‘Many of his creditors were there in the court and he had no means of settling what he owed them.’

  ‘And what happens to him now?’

  Antonio shrugged. ‘He leaves the city, dressed only in what he stands up in and carrying no luggage. His house and any goods are now confiscated and the city sells them to pay his debts.’

  ‘But he is free to go? He does not go to prison?’

  ‘It is our tradition,’ said Antonio. ‘The public humiliation and renunciation of his goods are sufficient punishment for a proud Padavian.’

  Rinaldo repressed a shudder. Born the younger son of a lesser branch of the great di Chimici family, he had always feared poverty. He could not get the picture of the man in his underwear out of his mind.

  ‘But I expect his wife has salted away some small amount of money and goods,’ Antonio was saying, ‘and will follow him out of the city.’

  Rinaldo felt a momentary regret. If he ever lost his cardinal’s robes and hat, there would be no loyal woman waiting to help him start a new life.

  ‘It seems a lenient punishment,’ was all he said.

  ‘Well, enough of debtors,’ said Antonio. ‘You said in your message that you had urgent business to discuss with me.’

  Rinaldo was shocked by Antonio’s bluntness. Brought up in courts and palaces, he had limited experience of bluff craftsmen like the Padavian Governor. His idea of a ruler was someone like his cousin Fabrizio or, in spite of his hatred for her, the old Duchessa of Bellezza. People with elaborate clothes and elegant manners who took care to hide their ruthlessness with expensive perfumes and flowery speeches. He wasn’t used to someone of Antonio’s directness and he wondered if there really was any more to him than there seemed.

  The Cardinal took a parchment from his scrip and offered it to the Governor.

  ‘You have perhaps heard of the new laws drawn up by my cousin, the Grand Duke of Tuschia?’ he said.

  ‘Which ones?’ asked Antonio. ‘I have heard that the Grand Duke has been most active in writing new laws since he inherited his father’s title.’

  ‘Grand Duke Fabrizio refers to the laws against magic,’ said Rinaldo rather frostily.

  Antonio looked serious.

  ‘I hope you will agree,’ continued Rinaldo, ‘that the superstitious practices carried out in many of our cities and in the countryside are quite contrary to the teachings of the Church.’

  As a matter of fact, Antonio did agree. He was a moderniser who had turned his back on the old goddess religion of the lagoon which had spread across Talia. Unlike many influential Talians who practised the two religions concurrently, Antonio loathed anything that smacked of the occult. Even the frescoes in his Hall of Justice annoyed him, with their astrological symbols and allegories.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, casting his gaze over the parchment.

  ‘It is a list of interdictions,’ said Rinaldo. ‘They forbid citizens from taking part in any supernatural practices – using or purchasing spells, enchantments, hexes, or consulting practitioners of magical arts. Citizens must also not purchase, own or consult books containing such dangerous gibberish or, of course, print them.’

  ‘Of course,’ muttered Antonio.

  ‘And anything hinting at goddess-worship is to be rooted out. It has undermined the authority of the True Church for far too long.’

  ‘And the penalties?’ asked Antonio, skimming through the parchment to the end.

  ‘There can be only one penalty for heretical practices,’ said Rinaldo. ‘Death.’

  *

  Matt had passed an exhausting morning before he was allowed to escape to the University’s Refectory for lunch. After being put under the care of Biagio, he had been set to making ink, a messy process involving mixing soot – lampblack, Biagio called it – with old linseed oil that had been boiling and reducing in a cauldron for five days. Matt guessed that this was the least popular job in the Scriptorium, given to the youngest or most recent member of the print room. It was hot, sticky and smelly work that left his hands and face covered in smuts.

  He was desperate for a bottle of iced water but settled for a mug of cold ale, bought by Luciano. He was very relieved to find him in the Refectory, since he had no Talian money and was worried about how he would get any lunch.

  ‘You can put anything you want on my battels bill,’ said Luciano, when Matt had drained his first mug. ‘I’ve told them to supply anything that Matteo Bosco asks for.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Matt. ‘That’s me I suppose, though I can’t get used to being called that.’

  ‘As long as you are in Talia, yes,’ said Luciano.

  ‘Bizarre,’ said Matt. ‘But then the whole thing is, isn’t it? How did you get to be so at home here? It’s still freaking me out.’

  ‘I’ve been here a long time,’ said Luciano. ‘Nearly two and a half years. But I was just like you when I first stravagated. Arianna had to teach me everything, and Rodolfo, of course.’

  Matt had already heard about these important people during Luciano’s long explanation in the Black Horse. They were now the co-rulers of Bellezza, the city that was like Venice.

  ‘Constantin’s got me making ink and learning all the printing stuff,’ said Matt when he had polished off a huge platter of bread, cheese and meat. Luciano made him feel big and clumsy; in fact if he hadn’t been one of his only friends in Talia, he would probably have hated him as much as he did Jago.

  ‘I can tell,’ said Luciano. ‘You’ve got a big smudge of soot on your cheek. But that’s good. It mea
ns you’ll fit right in as a pressman.’

  A young man with light brown hair and a friendly face came up and sat at their table.

  ‘Cesare,’ said Luciano. ‘I want you to meet Matteo. He’s the one I was telling you about.’

  Cesare held out a suntanned hand and shook Matt’s vigorously. ‘You know Georgia, don’t you?’ he asked eagerly. ‘How is she? And how is Fal— Nicholas?’

  ‘I don’t really know them,’ said Matt, instinctively liking this open-faced boy. ‘But they’re both well. Georgia is choosing what university to go to.’

  ‘Will you tell her that I’m at university here,’ said Cesare proudly. ‘Tell her I used the silver she gave me. I’d like her to know what I did with it.’

  Matt had heard something of Georgia’s adventures in Talia but it suddenly seemed much more real now that he had met someone else who knew her. He wondered what her relationship with Cesare had been. But whatever it was, it had come to an end now. She and Nicholas had told him they were not going back to Talia.

  ‘There’s another old friend here now, Cesare,’ said Luciano. ‘Doctor Dethridge has arrived. He’s giving some lectures on Astronomy. You must meet him, Matt.’

  ‘But isn’t he the one who . . .’ Matt lowered his voice, ‘started the whole stravagating thing.’

  ‘He is,’ said Luciano. ‘And what’s more he’s my foster-father. He and his wife Leonora took me on when I, you know, had to stay here.’

  The other boys looked at him with sympathy. Cesare knew Luciano’s story and laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘A better father you couldn’t wish for,’ Cesare said simply.

  Luciano thought of his real father, back in Islington, being a foster-father to Nick. Different from the old Elizabethan, but just as loving.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly, then pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind. It always unsettled him when a new Stravagante arrived from his old world. ‘I feel a lot safer with him here, I can tell you.’

  ‘What sort of person is he?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Well, he’s older than my real dad,’ said Luciano. ‘He’s in his late fifties but his hair is white. People age quicker here in Talia because life expectancy is shorter.’

  ‘But he is not from Talia,’ said Cesare quietly.

  ‘He’s still from more than four hundred years before Matt’s time,’ said Luciano. ‘I don’t know how long Elizabethans lived but I’m betting Doctor Dethridge would be considered old in his own time and place.’

  ‘I don’t think Shakespeare lived much longer than that,’ said Matt, surprising both the others. Cesare had no idea who Shakespeare was.

  ‘I didn’t take you for a literary type,’ said Luciano cautiously.

  Matt laughed. ‘I’m not. But my mum’s an English teacher and she’s always coming out with things like that.’

  But what he thought was that Luciano had made a bad deal in swapping twenty-first century life expectancy for a curtailed existence in Talia. Then he remembered that the older boy hadn’t had any choice and was glad he had kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Anyway,’ Luciano was saying. ‘He’s an alchemist – a natural philosopher, he calls it – but he’s also a mathematician, an astronomer and a calendarist.’

  ‘And a fine horseman,’ added Cesare, before Matt could ask what a calendarist was. ‘He helped me teach Luciano to ride in Remora.’

  ‘One thing will strike you as odd about him, though,’ said Luciano. ‘Cesare and the others don’t hear it but to all Stravaganti from the other world he sounds as if he’s talking in old-fashioned English, Elizabethan English, in fact.’

  ‘What, all forsooth and gadzooks?’ asked Matt disbelievingly.

  ‘It’s not as bad as that,’ said Luciano. ‘You’ll understand him fine.’

  ‘I’d better get back to the Scriptorium,’ sighed Matt, heaving himself off the bench. ‘Mustn’t let the real pressmen think I’m not one of them.’

  Luciano and Cesare watched him go.

  ‘He doesn’t have any idea, does he?’ said Cesare.

  ‘None at all,’ said Luciano. ‘He’s like a babe in arms.’

  Chapter 8

  A Date with Doctor Death

  For the next week Matt needed all the stamina his rugby-playing and training gave him. By day he was working hard at school and by night he was a printer’s ‘devil’. Biagio told him apprentices were called that because of the black smudges that their faces got covered in while they were making ink. He was very relieved that the smuts never travelled back with him to his own world; it would have been really hard to explain to his mother why his bedclothes were full of soot.

  So far he hadn’t been back into the Secret Scriptorium. Constantin had told him that most of his work there happened at night and that was the one time Matt couldn’t be there. He wondered if the Professor had forgotten about that when he brought him to Talia. But he had plenty to do during the time he was there and met Luciano and Cesare only at lunch or just before he had to stravagate home.

  He was bursting with questions about what he was supposed to be doing in Padavia, more than he had time to ask when he was there and he hadn’t met the famous Doctor Dethridge yet. So he sought out the others at Barnsbury more often. And that was problematic too, since Ayesha would only believe he needed to talk to them about university up to a certain point.

  ‘I don’t see how Nick can help,’ she said. ‘He’s not even applying till the year after next.’

  ‘No, but he’s pretty bright,’ said Matt.

  ‘So am I,’ she replied tartly, ‘but you seem to be spending more time with him than with me.’

  ‘You can’t be jealous of Nick,’ Matt said, giving her a kiss.

  ‘Don’t try and get round me,’ said Ayesha, pushing him away.

  ‘I don’t go out of my way to see him,’ lied Matt. ‘But I do need to talk to Georgia and they’re never apart.’

  ‘They’re a C.O.U.P.L.E.’ she spelt out. ‘Couples are supposed to spend time together. You should remember that.’

  And she had flounced off tossing her black silky hair. Ayesha had never been prone to flouncing and hair-tossing in the past but it was becoming a habit lately.

  Georgia, Nick and Sky were all eager to hear every detail of his visits to Talia and there was no way he could talk to them in front of Ayesha, or Chay, come to that. The day after his third stravagation was Saturday and he arranged to meet them again in Café@anytime.

  ‘You saw Cesare?’ Georgia had exclaimed and Nick was no less keen to hear about the Remoran. Although Sky said he had never met him, he listened almost as intently. Only Alice seemed bored; she was beginning to wish that she hadn’t come.

  ‘It’s weird to think of him and Luciano being university students together,’ said Georgia.

  ‘I don’t think either of them is studying for a full degree,’ said Matt. ‘They said something about doing a year each.’

  Nick was nodding. ‘That’s right. You only do a degree in Talia if you want to teach. If you are a nobleman, you go to university for a year or so to, well, to cultivate your mind.’

  ‘But Cesare’s not a nobleman, is he?’ asked Sky. ‘I thought he was a stable-boy.’

  ‘But not just any stable-boy,’ said Georgia. ‘He’s the best horseman of his age in Remora and remember his father is a Stravagante.’

  ‘He said to tell you he’s using your silver for his fees,’ said Matt. ‘Whatever that means.’

  Georgia and Nick looked at each other. Nick hadn’t been there the day she had won the Stellata horse race but he knew about it and how Arianna had given her a bag of silver as a reward. Georgia hadn’t been able to bring it back to her world – Stravaganti were forbidden to take anything between worlds, except talismans – and so she had given it to Cesare.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said at last, with a sigh. ‘I’d love to see him again.’

  ‘Are you all definitely not going back?’ Matt asked.

  ‘I’m not,’ said
Sky, squeezing Alice’s hand. ‘I couldn’t stand a year of doing A levels and stravagating at night. And after that I’m off to the States.’

  Nick said nothing.

  Georgia said, ‘We wouldn’t be in the same city as you anyway. My talisman takes me to Remora and Nick’s to Giglia. I don’t think we could get to Padavia and back within a day.’

  ‘Why do you think I’ve been sent there?’ asked Matt. ‘You all seem to have had a reason to go to your cities and something dramatic to do. I don’t understand why I just have to work in a dirty, noisy print room all day.’

  ‘No one ever knows why they’ve been chosen to stravagate,’ said Nick, even though he was the only one of them who hadn’t been. ‘And even when they think they know, they’re often wrong.’

  ‘You just have to hang in there and wait and see what happens,’ said Georgia. ‘And when it does,’ she added, pulling a face, ‘you may wish you were still making ink.’

  William Dethridge was staying with Luciano while he gave his lectures at the University. He was enormously popular with the students and they came even if they were not studying Astronomy. Students of Law, Medicine and Theology all turned up, as well as the young men studying Rhetoric and Logic. By the second lecture, there were students standing at the back of the hall and queuing up outside to hear what he was saying.

  ‘The fixed and the moving stars’ was his subject.

  Luciano waited for his foster-father after the lecture.

  ‘You were brilliant,’ he said, giving the Elizabethan a hug.

  ‘Thanke ye,’ said Dethridge, giving him a shrewd look. ‘Yt was notte true, of course.’

  ‘What!’ said Luciano.

  His foster-father took him by the arm and walked him to the Black Horse, buying two tankards of ale for them before saying any more.

  ‘I’ve seene how ye looke at me,’ said Dethridge. ‘Whenne I talk about the universe. I’m notte a foole. Ye come from four hundrede yeres and more in the future. Yf thatte I thynke back to what was knowne four hundred yeres past and now, I onderstonde thatte ye moste know more than I do about the motioun of the planets.’