“Don’t overthink it,” a voice said.
Savino and Zanobius turned to find Niccolo heading toward them. He brushed past Zanobius on his way to Savino, then slapped the smooth side of the rock. “Inside here is a statue waiting for you to discover it.”
“And how do I do that?” Savino asked.
“It’s like sacred geometry. First, picture the image in your mind. Then use the hammer and chisel to chip away the parts of the stone you don’t want.”
“I already have the image.” Savino pointed to the drawings he had made. “My problem is envisioning my lines taking shape in the stone,” he complained.
“When Furio was still with me, he would help me with that part.”
“How?”
Niccolo gestured to Savino’s sketchbook. “Nero can take your flat sketches and give them depth.”
“Pietro never taught me that,” Savino said.
“Pietro was a master painter. He’ll be the first to admit sculpting was never his forte.”
With his Genius on his shoulder, Savino gripped his sculpting tools. Nero’s gem lit up and cast a cone of blue light on the stone. Lines took shape to show a three-dimensional form. Savino whooped with excitement. “It’s one of my sketches! Inside the stone!”
Zanobius looked over Savino’s shoulder. “Why can’t I see anything?”
Niccolo gave him a sidelong glance. “It’s only visible to the artist,” he said, then clapped Savino on the back. “Now, put that hammer and chisel to use!”
Embracing his newfound confidence, Savino finally began chiseling. Zanobius watched with excitement as dust exploded from the stone.
Keeping his eyes on Savino, Niccolo stepped to Zanobius’s side. “I take it Ugalino never explained his artistic process to you?”
“He didn’t allow me to study sacred geometry,” Zanobius replied.
“Probably because he didn’t want you to understand your true nature. I’m sure he feared you’d figure out a way to break free of him.”
“Did you ever meet Ugalino?” Zanobius asked.
“No. But I knew artists like him, so wrapped up in their own egos they couldn’t be bothered to help their fellow man.” Niccolo turned away and headed into the house. “I hope the new arm works out for you,” he called back.
7
THE TETRAD
Milena took a seat next to Giacomo on a small bench under the shade of the enormous old oak. Nearby, Pietro was leaning on his walking stick, about to begin Giacomo’s lesson. Mico buzzed back and forth while Gaia pecked the ground, hunting for bugs. Tito was roosting up in the tree’s thick branches, asleep as usual.
“Now, Giacomo, since you’ve already studied the monad, dyad, and triad, today I’d like you to focus on the tetrad,” Pietro began. Then he hobbled to the oak and eased himself between two giant roots. He propped his feet up and leaned back against the trunk, saying no more.
“Are you feeling all right, Master Pietro?” Milena asked. “I thought we were about to start.”
A grin emerged from Pietro’s beard. “We are, Milena. The class is yours, whenever you’re ready to begin.”
“What?” Even though Milena knew a lot about sacred geometry and had served as Pietro’s assistant before, she’d never guided the lessons. “But I’m not Giacomo’s teacher.”
“You are now,” Pietro said.
Milena looked at Giacomo, who met her worry with a smile. “There’s no one smarter than you, Milena. You’re going to do great.”
“Giacomo’s right,” Pietro said. “Of all the students I’ve instructed over the years, you are one of the most extraordinary. I can’t think of anyone better suited to carry on my teachings.”
“Carry on…? No, don’t say that. You’re not going anywhere,” Milena said, her voice rising.
Pietro’s face wrinkled into a reassuring smile. “I didn’t mean it like that. I promise, I’m not ready to meet the Creator quite yet.”
Milena exhaled with relief, feeling foolish. Ever since she’d left her own family behind and begun studying with Pietro, he had become like a grandfather to her. And after Baldassare’s betrayal, Pietro was the only adult she could really rely on. If anything did happen to him …
She brushed away the dark thought and took a couple of calming breaths, praying that her lesson wouldn’t be an embarrassing disaster. She wished she’d had time to prepare. Training Giacomo was an enormous responsibility. She would try her best not to let Pietro—or herself—down.
Milena stepped before Giacomo, smoothed her dress, and straightened her posture. “The tetrad is symbolized by the square and the number four, and it represents solidity, stability, and strength. Now, constructing a square is a little more complex than the other shapes you’ve mastered.”
“It can’t be that hard,” Giacomo teased. “I’ve drawn squares before.”
Milena narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Well, yes, anyone with a pencil and a piece of paper can sketch a square. But you should understand by now that in order to have your Genius project it, you’ll need to learn how to instantly visualize the square’s construction in your mind’s eye.”
“I know, I know…” Giacomo brought out his handheld compass. Then he opened his sketchbook and looked up at her. “Ready when you are.”
“The first step is to bring the mandorla to light.” Milena circled her brush twice in the air. Gaia swooped off the ground and stretched her long neck, projecting two overlapping green circles from her gem.
“Next, add two lines: one horizontal and one vertical.” Milena’s glowing marks formed a cross in the eye of the mandorla. “Then you add a smaller circle inside the eye. Finally, you bring the square to light by connecting the points where the cross and circle meet.”
Giacomo stared at her through the translucent shape that hovered between them like a stained glass window. “Got it,” he said, and used the handheld compass to construct a square in his sketchbook.
As Giacomo made his final mark, Mico’s gem lit up, casting a red square next to Milena’s green one. Its edges vibrated and hummed.
“Not bad for my first try,” Giacomo bragged.
Milena stiffened. Well, that was presumptuous of him. She gave him a supportive smile anyway. “Great work. But if that Lost Soul guarding the Straightedge attacks you again, you’re not going to have time to pull out your sketchbook. Keep working on the square until you and your Genius act as one.”
* * *
As the week progressed, Milena spent every waking moment with Giacomo and Mico, overseeing their practice. Ever since Giacomo had walked into Pietro’s studio, he’d proved a quick learner who possessed a natural connection to sacred geometry. It had taken her months of trial and error to reliably imagine a square and have Gaia project it; Giacomo and his Genius mastered the same skill over the course of a few days. That Giacomo was a Tulpa explained some of his innate ability, but still, Milena was impressed and, though she hated to admit it, a little jealous.
But Giacomo wasn’t satisfied with simply practicing. One morning, Milena found him among the monoliths, itching to test his artistry against Enzio’s archery skills.
“I bet you can’t hit me,” Giacomo goaded.
“What’s going on here?” Milena demanded, stepping to Enzio’s side.
Enzio slowly notched his arrow. “Giacomo wants me to use him for target practice.”
“I need to know I can defend myself against an actual threat,” Giacomo said, placing himself in front of a standing stone about twenty feet away. Mico hovered over him. “I’m ready, Enzio.”
Milena jumped between the boys. “This is foolish, Giacomo. Did you ever think you might get hurt?”
Giacomo waved her away. “I’ll be fine. Enzio’s not even that good a shot.”
Enzio raised his bow at the challenge. “My father made me take lessons when I was a kid.”
Milena whirled around to face Enzio. “Don’t you dare draw that bow!”
“Don’t tell Enzi
o what to do!” Giacomo shouted. “And don’t tell me what to do, either. Pietro might have made you my teacher, but we’re not in class right now.”
Milena held her ground.
“Fine, if you won’t move, I will.” Giacomo ran to his right, holding his pencil at the ready. Before Milena could stop him, he turned and yelled, “Enzio, shoot!”
“No!” Milena shouted, but it was too late.
Enzio had drawn his bow, and with a twang, he released his arrow on target.
Milena winced and held her breath.
Giacomo made four quick marks, and Mico beamed a shimmering red square in front of Giacomo’s head and torso. The arrow ricocheted off the shield and dropped harmlessly in the grass.
As Mico’s projection faded, Giacomo grinned boastfully. “See, Milena? I told you I’d be fine. Guess I’m ready to start learning about the pentad.”
Milena tensed, trying to keep her cool. “There’s still more you need to understand before we move on to the next form.”
“Like what?” Giacomo said, exasperated.
“Can you name all the Universal Solids?” Milena said, knowing full well the question would stump Giacomo.
“I’d be happy to,” Giacomo said defiantly. “First, there’s the uh … I think the cube is one?”
Milena tapped her foot. “Four more to go.”
Giacomo threw up his arms in surrender. “All right, you got me. But who cares? How is knowing a bunch of names going to help me master sacred geometry?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Milena said, her voice rising. “The Universal Solids only happen to be the energetic building blocks of everything in the universe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Giacomo looked unconvinced.
She gave him a hard stare. “You have so much power inside you, Giacomo. But you don’t have the first clue how to use it.”
Milena wheeled around and marched away.
8
THE COLLECTION
From her royal box, Nerezza gazed down at the amphitheater’s stage, where rows of muscular men stood still as statues, the sun glinting off their tan, oiled torsos.
“Meet your crew,” Minister Strozzi said.
“Impressive,” Nerezza replied. “But are you sure they’ll be able to manage? This is no ordinary ship.”
“And these are no ordinary crewmen,” Strozzi assured her. “The Marinai will have no trouble powering your vessel. I selected them especially for their strength and endurance.”
Satisfied, Nerezza ordered the Minister of War to make sure they were ready to leave as soon as she received word of Giacomo’s location.
“The Marinai are also known for their lack of discipline,” Xiomar’s gravelly voice cautioned.
Strozzi flinched, startled by Xiomar’s arrival. Nerezza turned to find the hunchback looming in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Xiomar bowed demurely. “My apologies. I only came to offer my counsel.”
Strozzi seethed. “Your counsel isn’t needed. I will make certain that the Marinai follow orders.”
Xiomar nodded. “Still … It never hurts to have a fallback. I’ve found that even the most unruly subjects can be controlled with just a few drops of sacred brimstone.”
Strozzi turned to Nerezza. “The only power his potions have is to make men dull and weak. I need the Marinai at full strength.”
“I agree,” Nerezza said, then turned back to Xiomar. “I’ve no doubt Minister Strozzi will keep the Marinai in line. You’re both dismissed.”
Strozzi shouted down at the crewmen, ordering them to clear the stage. The Marinai turned and marched away as one, their steps moving in rhythm with Nerezza’s heartbeat.
But Xiomar’s words thrummed inside her too. It never hurts to have a fallback.
What if Giacomo refused to help her obtain the Sacred Tools?
He had never properly learned obedience. Or respect. He’d already proved himself to be strong-willed. That’s the problem with artists having Geniuses, Nerezza thought. It makes them too unpredictable. And Nerezza hated unpredictable.
“Minister Xiomar, wait.”
Xiomar paused in the doorway and looked back, peering around his massive hump. “Yes, Your Eminence?”
“The sacred brimstone you spoke of … Do you think it would work on a Tulpa?”
“It is unlikely,” Xiomar said, coming back into the room. He rubbed his pointed chin. “If it’s Giacomo you’re concerned about, I would need to create a much more powerful elixir to ensure his submission.”
“But it’s possible?”
“To know for sure, I would need access to your collection.”
Nerezza scowled. Xiomar knew that room of the palace was off-limits. But if he had a method to secure dominance over Giacomo, she was willing to let him in. “Just this once,” she said.
A slight smile crept across Xiomar’s lips.
* * *
Nerezza and Xiomar approached a large bronze door beneath the palace, guarded by two soldiers. She motioned them to move aside, then spun the dials of a cylinder on the door handle until the correct sequence of symbols clicked into place. The door unlocked with a metallic thunk, and she led Xiomar into a dark antechamber.
“Through here,” Nerezza said, parting a thick velvet curtain.
Whenever she entered this space, Nerezza felt like she was stepping into the heavens. The gems glittered all around her like stars. She imbibed their energy, transforming it into inspiration. Some of her most brilliant ideas—such as the design for her new ships—had been conceived while gazing at her collection.
Awestruck, Xiomar studied a large, octagonal red gem on a pedestal. The jewel was at least the size of his head. “Is this…?”
“The Segretti gem,” Nerezza proudly informed him. “One of my greatest challenges, but in the end, even Segretti’s Genius succumbed to Victoria’s overwhelming power.”
Xiomar turned to take in the rest of the collection. “Now, where might I find the Ghiberti gems?”
“This way.” Nerezza strode to the back of the room, past displays containing more brightly colored gemstones. When Baldassare had first informed her of Giacomo’s arrival at his villa, he had also told her his parents’ names: Orsino and Amera Ghiberti. They had been part of a rebellion that had tried and failed to overthrow the government. When Nerezza had generously offered the couple amnesty in exchange for their service, they refused, so she executed their Geniuses and added their gems to her growing hoard. Soon after, the Ghibertis wasted away and their son was sent to an orphanage.
Nerezza had forgotten all about the Ghibertis until Giacomo declared himself a Tulpa and catapulted Orsino and Amera’s names back into her awareness.
The day after Giacomo and his friends fled the city, Nerezza had scoured her collection until she found the Ghiberti gems in a small glass case tucked away in the back of the room.
“Here they are,” Nerezza said.
Xiomar leaned in, studying the two near-identical gems, which were elongated octagons, pink in hue, about three inches in diameter. They did not look especially impressive at first glance. Xiomar gripped one of the gems between his long yellow nails and held up an eyepiece to inspect it. “The power used to create Giacomo is contained in these gems.”
“And you can extract it?”
“I’ll need to perform some tests to be sure.” Xiomar lowered the eyepiece. “Tampering with a Genius’s gem is a volatile process. It takes patience and a steady hand.”
“And assuming you succeed?”
“Any trace of rebellion will be erased from Giacomo,” Xiomar assured her. “He will be compelled to comply with your every order.”
“I will be his new master,” Nerezza said, allowing the significance of Xiomar’s plan to sink in.
“Do I have your permission to take these gems to my laboratory, Your Eminence?”
Nerezza waved him away. “Very well. But keep me informed of your progress.”
>
9
SETBACK
Shortly after sunrise, Zanobius helped with the morning chores, as he had since their arrival. It was the least he could do to thank Niccolo for allowing him to stay.
Zanobius went to the well, hoisted the bucket out of the deep, and unhooked it from the pulley. When he rested it on the edge of the stone wall, the surface of the water rippled in expanding circles like a Genius’s sacred geometry projection.
A loud chirrup caught his attention. Luna zipped around the side of the house, followed a moment later by Aaminah, who was running toward him with her lute.
“Zanobius! Zanobius!”
His nerves went on high alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Aaminah said, hopping up and down. “Savino stayed up all night and finally finished the sculpture! Come look!”
Giacomo, Enzio, and Milena were already gathered at the tree stump when Zanobius arrived. He found Savino with Nero on his shoulder, the Genius’s gem pulsing a dim blue. Before them stood a flawless replica of Zanobius’s arm and hand carved in stone.
“What do you think?” Aaminah said.
Before Zanobius could answer, Savino said, “I still have a few finishing touches to make.” He stepped around his sculpture, studying it from all sides, then leaned in, using a steel file to smooth the stone’s surface.
Savino had perfectly captured the structure and musculature of Zanobius’s thick arms; the hand, frozen in a clawlike grip, appeared so realistic that when Zanobius moved his own fingers, he half expected the sculpture to move too. If Zanobius hadn’t witnessed Savino’s steady progress over the past week, he would have assumed Ugalino had somehow returned from the dead to create it. “The resemblance is remarkable,” Zanobius complimented him.
Savino nodded his thanks as he filed one last groove in a knuckle. Then he stood back and wiped his brow. “Okay, I think it’s done. One of my better efforts, if I do say so myself. Try it on.”
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