‘You? Who are you? What do you know of the pain I have suffered thanks to her?’ he said, frenziedly jabbing his hand towards the Signora. ‘What do you know of the agony, the broken life? You, who have barely begun to live, how can you know what it is like to have twenty years turn into a lie? To feel the soul ripped from your music?’
There was a long pause. Even the noises of the Central Plaza’s festivities seemed muted. Then, slowly, the Signora raised her head and made six simple gestures. Benedicta looked and spoke.
‘I didn’t think you cared so much.’
Signor Sozinho sighed.
‘Once, carissima, once. Once I thought you gave me all you had.’
‘I have now,’ the Signora signed, a sad smile appearing on her lined face.
The Signor shook his head. ‘Nothing but a substitute.’
They stared, frozen, looking at each other. Lily took a deep breath – now was her chance, this moment of stillness. Hundreds of possible words poured into her mind, arguing, cajoling, willing them to understand. But, when at last she spoke, she found an odd feeling descend upon her. Just for that instant, none of her big ideas mattered. The words were not calculated, nor were they any longer about proving a point or starting a crusade. They came direct from her, Lily, standing between two people who belonged together, and she meant every one of them.
‘It’s not too late. No,’ she said, before Signor Sozinho could speak, ‘please, Signor, listen, just for a moment. Then you can lock me up, anything. But first, tell me this.’ Lily walked over to Signora Sozinho, but she kept her eyes fixed, unblinking, on that lady’s former husband. ‘You are the most successful singer in all of Agora. The Director himself commissions new works from you. You have armies of servants, everyone sings your praises. They tell me that women line up to be introduced to you. So tell me, Signor Sozinho, why haven’t you remarried?’
The Signor drew himself up to his full height, but his face seemed suddenly to bear the full weight of his years. As he spoke, his wife’s voice spoke along with him, resonating in his throat.
‘My name is in an old tongue. It means “alone”. It seems that is how I am destined to be. All those around me have proved false.’
There was a rustle of skirts. Signora Sozinho clasped his hand, mouthing something. He looked back at her, his face showing confusion. Benedicta stared at her lips and smiled.
‘She says, “I’m sorry. I was wrong, carissimo. I thought you didn’t know me. But it seems our thoughts were the same.”’
‘Maybe,’ the Signor said, drawing away, ‘but it is too late now. There are wounds we cannot heal…’
‘Why not?’ Lily said, burning with fierce passion. ‘Look around you, both of you! Don’t you see a thousand people who have servants, ten thousand who have fame, a million with riches? Everyone in this city grabs what they have and holds it. But you… you had something you cannot trade for anything, something worth more than pride. Don’t throw it away,’ she said, with one final, exhausted sigh. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
The two looked at each other, did nothing but stare. Lily caught Benedicta’s eye. The other girl smiled nervously, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene before them.
And then the clock chimed twenty-four.
It was as if the world paused. Somewhere nearby, people were shouting, saying something about a prophecy being fulfilled. Lily barely noticed. She simply saw Signor and Signora Sozinho moving closer, still holding each other’s hands.
On the twelfth strike, they kissed. A strange mist seemed to play about them. When the bells faded, after the final peal had rung out, they pulled back, the last wisps of smoke leaving his mouth and flowing into hers.
‘Carissimo…’ Signora Sozinho said.
Lily felt relief flooding her from within. Outside, she was just about aware of Benedicta squeezing her hand in delight. With her other hand, she proffered the manuscript, which she was still grasping.
‘I think this is yours, Signor. I’m sorry I had to take it, but…’
‘Look at this, carissima,’ Signor Sozinho said, taking it from Lily and handing it to Signora Sozinho. ‘It is the same tune that we wrote all those years ago.’
Signora Sozinho looked over it, her eyes moist, her face breaking into a sad smile. ‘We wrote it as a duet…’ she said, her voice a little unsteady still.
‘Can you remember it?’ Signor Sozinho asked gently.
His wife’s smile grew wider.
‘Every note,’ she said.
‘Go,’ he urged her. ‘Begin, at the musicians’ platform. I shall join you in a moment.’
The Signora paused, her hand stroking her former husband’s cheek, and then she danced away across the bridge and through the crowds. Signor Sozinho watched her go, his own years slipping away.
He turned to Lily. ‘I shall draw up a contract later, of course. But for this service you shall have some of our instruments, I think, and of course the charges of theft will be dropped…’
Lily held up her hand.
‘I want nothing, Signor.’
He paused, a look of suspicion on his face.
‘Nothing? Did someone hire you to do this?’
‘No, sir. There is nothing to repay.’ Lily struggled to find the words. ‘It is right… correct… that you should be together. That’s enough for me.’
Signor Sozinho looked at her blankly.
‘Nothing?’ he repeated, staring in bewilderment.
Lily shrugged.
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t set the receivers on me for taking the manuscript.’ She stuck her hands in her apron. ‘And some thanks would be nice.’
The Signor looked at her as if she were some strange, alien being. Then, in the distance, he heard the first strains of the Signora’s voice. And he smiled.
‘Thank you, Miss Lilith. Thank you.’
And he was gone, beginning his part of the duet as he left.
Filled with excitement, Lily followed him, climbing the bridge until she was standing at its peak and could see over the whole of Central Plaza. Then, she stopped to watch, a smile twitching on her face as Signor Sozinho slipped through the mass of people around the platforms in the Central Plaza. Her plan was proving a success. Already she could hear the whispers in the crowd passing by, mutterings of surprise and intrigue. It wouldn’t be long before people started asking questions, before the story was told. It wasn’t much yet, no one came up to her to ask what it was all about, but right now that hardly mattered. It had worked… it had really worked… and if once, why not again?
In any case, the crowd seemed to be distracted by something happening on the other side of the Plaza. There was quite a gathering around the astrologers’ platform. From her vantage point on the bridge, Lily peered into the distance. Wasn’t that Mark standing there? She jumped as she was jolted out of her reverie. Mark’s prophecies! She must have missed them! Guiltily, she began to push her way forward.
‘Come on, Lily,’ Benedicta said, tugging at her sleeve, her face flushed with delight. ‘Let’s go and listen to the Signora sing. I knew this would work… that is, I know I said you were mad when you first told me… but still, I knew it!’
Lily smiled, raising her hands to calm down her excitable friend.
‘You go, Benedicta. And have a good time. I want to try to see Mark. Then I’d better go home, because I’ve got some things to think about…’
‘You’re not going to leave!’ Benedicta crashed across her thoughts and seized her hand. ‘You’ve just made my mistress happier than she’s been for years and not even asked for a reward. I demand you enjoy yourself for the rest of the day! First, we’ll go and congratulate your friend, if we can get anywhere near him, and then there’s some sweetmeats on sale I know you’ll love.’ Benedicta grinned. ‘Don’t forget, the festival only comes once a year…’
Lily looked into Benedicta’s face, so bright and cheerful, and gave in. After all, she did have something to celebrate.
&
nbsp; ‘All right,’ she said, taking Benedicta’s arm, ‘but you’re trading for the sweetmeats. I can’t stand them.’
‘Only if you agree to try one of the games.’
‘Games? What kind of games?’
‘All sorts! Honestly, don’t you ever have any fun?’
‘I help cut off people’s limbs for a living, Ben…’
And, talking about everything and nothing, the two girls plunged into the crowds to enjoy the rest of the celebrations.
But, even then, it did not stop Lily thinking.
Nothing ever could.
Chapter Eleven
THE STAR
Mark couldn’t sleep that night. He paced through all of the rooms of the tower, too full of energy to stop for a moment.
His ears were still ringing from the cheers and from the excited babble of old astrologers talking to him about planetary conjunctions just loud enough so that everyone around could hear. After a while, Mark was sure that his answers made no sense, which was fine, as it was clear that no one was listening. They were all too busy, taking questions from the throngs and relaying his confused answers. At some point he was presented with a scroll of some kind. It said something about admitting him to the Astrologers’ Guild, but he had barely had time to read it.
All day, as the unfamiliar faces had pressed in around him, he had been searching for familiar ones, dreading their appearance. At his celebratory dinner, held in a vast marquee, he was expecting the room to grow silent, the cheers to stop, and for the shadow of the Count to fall over the room. But it never did. Nor did he once smell Prendergast’s perfumed oils. Even when, in a carriage hired by Lord Ruthven, Mark had returned with trepidation to the tower, he found just echoing emptiness. The only clue that the Count had been there at all was that the front door was hanging open. As far as Mark could see nothing had been touched.
But he couldn’t be sure. He had searched the tower from the depths of the cellar, still reeking from the doctor’s experiments, to the heights of the Observatory, yet all was still and dark. The ever-present dust lay undisturbed.
The tower was strange without the Count. He had infused every crack in the stonework; his voice hummed through every hall. Without him, it was just a shell.
It was about midnight that Mark started to consider what would happen if Count Stelli didn’t come back. Up until then, he had prepared his speech, promising that he would give the Count full credit for his success, as long as he kept him on as apprentice, on a more equal basis. He felt that, after his miraculous achievement, he had the right to ask for more. Fate must have been smiling on him after all, to have restored Signora Sozinho’s voice like that. Either that or his talent for astrology was far greater than anyone had suspected, himself included.
He remembered how the crowd had flowed up on to the astrologers’ platform and hoisted him on to their shoulders, parading him as a genius. And all he could think of as he was carried away was the first note of the Signora’s song, the moment when one of his prophecies really had come true. For that second, he had believed it; he was sure he could feel the power of the stars flowing through him. And then, with a jolt, he remembered how he had managed his first two ‘miracles’. He wondered if the Count had ever felt like this – the only one who could not enjoy the show, because he alone could see the puppets’ strings.
But if the Count didn’t come back, what would he do? Where would he go? Could he stay here without him? Even if he did, how long could he trade his predictions? How long would his fame support him?
He couldn’t find any answers. Not even though he struggled with these questions all night. Not even as he stood in the Observatory, looking down on the dark city below. A city picked out in tiny specks of torchlight as though all the stars had fallen to earth.
This was when he really needed Lily. He had spotted her in the crowd that afternoon, but in the crush of admirers she had not managed to get near. He had spent the whole day wishing he could find anyone he knew. Anyone at all. So many celebrations all about him and no one to share them with.
Mark paused, the black, clouded night sky surrounding him.
For a moment, he thought he smelled fish. He remembered being tiny, listening to his mother’s stories, his father coming home with the day’s catch.
His mother would have been proud. But she was dead now. And his father… even if he was not dead, he was to Mark.
‘Look at me now, Dad,’ he said aloud, his voice echoing back from the walls of the Observatory. ‘I wasn’t worth keeping? But here I am. Standing at the top of the world. They called me a prodigy yesterday. A miracle.’ He swallowed, his eyes moist. ‘They thought I was worth more than something to pay a bill.’
There was no reply.
Mark sat in the Count’s chair as the dawn came up, breaking through the clouds, dyeing the roofs of Agora red and purple. In the distance, the towers of the Directory loomed back, the only thing as high as he was. And far beyond, the grey shadows of the city walls, the edge of the world, emerged out of the morning mist. Legend said that there was nothing outside the city – nothing but mountains, barren and lifeless, stretching on forever. Mark imagined himself flying, rising higher and higher, up above the topmost towers, to gaze down at Agora, a glimmering spark of life and energy in the midst of empty darkness. For once, the city seemed totally still.
Then a loud knocking at the front door broke the silence.
Mark galloped down the stairs, sure that this was the Count back again, demanding to know why no one had been sent to look for him. Already, Mark’s weary brain was trying to frame excuses. He pulled back the bolts and opened the door.
It was not the Count.
‘Snutworth!’ The word came out as a sigh of relief.
The servant also looked as if he hadn’t slept. He bore an ugly bruise on his cheek and was walking with a limp, supported by a familiar silver-handled cane. But as he hobbled into the tower, there was an expression of triumph on his face.
‘Sensational! Truly, an utter success!’ he said as he sank into a chair in the entrance hall.
‘Are you all right?’ Mark asked.
Snutworth waved his hand dismissively.
‘Our friends in the receivers were a little enthusiastic when they arrested me, that’s all,’ he said, wincing as he stretched out his injured leg. ‘Fortunately, once my accuser’s crimes came to light, my own paled into insignificance.’
‘Your accuser?’
‘My former master,’ Snutworth said, leaning back. ‘The inspector informed me that several other lawyers have discovered a number of shady dealings in his name, including the fixing of legal cases and the running up of debts on confidence.’ Seeing Mark’s look of confusion, Snutworth smiled. ‘To put it bluntly, the most exclusive businesses were prepared to lend to Mr Prendergast, the great lawyer and possible future Lord Chief Justice, well known to be the confidant of our greatest and most respected astrologer. They were less keen to lend to the associate of a discredited old man who had just been embarrassingly shown up by a boy still a month or two shy of his thirteenth birthday.’ He shrugged. ‘Damaged goods, you see. It matters little to the elite that he was playing dirty, everyone does that, but no one wants to deal with a politician who cannot even control his own schemes or gets caught by the very rumours he started. It appears that his reputation for cunning was all that my former master had to keep his “friends” loyal. They called in their debts, and the receivers… collected. They caught him in the small hours. He tried to sneak back into his house, and the receivers were waiting for him.’
‘So they let you off?’ Mark asked.
Snutworth shook his head.
‘Not quite. But fortunately the law has an interesting feature. Prendergast has no living relatives, so on his imprisonment he becomes the property of the Directory. His possessions were sent to cover his debts, and what remained, little of any value, was divided between his servants.’ Snutworth gave a strange smile. ‘In the eyes of the law
, we were his only children.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, the fine for damaging that birdcage and attempted theft of those rare doves swallowed everything I inherited, apart from this cane.’ Snutworth tapped it on the ground thoughtfully. ‘I should be grateful that they didn’t connect me with the sudden appearance of a rat in the baker’s prize loaf, or notice me fiddling with the workings of the clock tower. Otherwise I might have lost the very clothes I wear.’
‘Snutworth, I…’ Mark felt a burning guilt settle in his stomach. ‘I didn’t mean for you to lose everything… If it hadn’t been for me –’
‘Nonsense!’ Snutworth interrupted airily. ‘Prendergast would never have achieved his ambition. Lord Ruthven has seen off better attempts on his title than his. And, in any case, to reveal to future associates that I assisted, in some small way, in the rise of one of our city’s brightest stars will be payment enough.’
‘Brightest stars…’ Mark repeated.
Snutworth smiled.
‘But of course. I spent the night in prison, yet even in there I heard the news. It was a plan of genius, Mr Mark, to have such a back-up as Signora Sozinho; a moment of foresight greater than any I could conceive…’
‘Um, well… not all that great…’ Mark mumbled. ‘But are people impressed?’
‘Mr Mark, there is not a person in Agora who would not see it as an honour to have their fortune read by you today. You have given them the most accurate Agora Day predictions they have ever heard. They are calling you a marvel, a prodigy, a matchless seer!’ Snutworth drew back with a smile. ‘They have also noted that you have the favour of Lord Ruthven, which for as long as it lasts may be the most astounding triumph of all.’
Mark’s head was spinning as he tried to take everything in.
‘But the Count –’
‘The Count has disappeared,’ Snutworth said abruptly, ‘and if he’s wise he’ll stay that way. All people value their reputation, but for an astrologer… it is everything. All that separates him from a madman.’ Snutworth frowned. ‘The Count staked his entire reputation on besting Lord Ruthven – it seems that his and Prendergast’s agents had been defaming you in the upper circles of society for weeks, to distance themselves from your failure, so any possible benefit he could have gained from your being his apprentice has been squandered.’ Snutworth thoughtfully polished the head of his cane with his sleeve. ‘Do not waste any sympathy on the Count, Mr Mark. He played a dangerous political game and lost. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was found to have been involved in Prendergast’s crimes.’
The Midnight Charter Page 12