The Magicians of Caprona (UK)

by Diana Wynne Jones

  “Fetch a light!” Antonio shouted to Domenico. “And sort out the ones that aren’t burnt.”

  Paolo went back to the kitchen before they asked him to help. The bonfire had given him an idea.

  “There is quite a bit of mince,” Rosa was saying. “Dare we try with that?”

  “Why don’t you,” said Paolo, “take the food to the dining room? I’ll light a fire there, and you can cook it on that.”

  “The boy’s a genius!” said Marco.

  They did that. Rosa cooked by relays and Marco made cocoa. The children were fed first, Paolo included. Paolo sat on one of the long benches, thinking it was almost enjoyable – except if he thought of Tonino, or Old Niccolo in bed upstairs. He was very pleased and surprised when a sudden bundle of claw and warm-iron muscle landed on his knee. Benvenuto was missing Tonino too. He rubbed against Paolo with a kind of desperation, but he would not purr.

  Rosa and Marco were getting up to put the young ones to bed, when there was a sudden great clanging, outside in the night.

  “Good Heavens!” said Rosa, and opened the yard door.

  The noise flooded in, an uneven metal sound, hasty and huge. The nearest – clang-clang-clang – was so near that it could only be the bell of Sant’ Angelo’s. Behind it, the bell of the Cathedral tolled. And beyond that, now near, now faint and tinny, every bell in every church in Caprona beat and boomed and clashed and chimed. Corinna and Lucia came racing in, their faces bright with cold excitement.

  “We’re at war! The Duke’s declared war!”

  Marco said he thought he had better go. “Oh no, don’t!” Rosa cried out. “Not yet. By the way, Lucia—”

  Lucia took a quick look at the cooking in the hearth. “I’ll go and take Aunt Gina the prescription,” she said, and prudently ran away.

  Marco and Rosa looked at one another. “Three States against us and no spells to fight with,” said Marco. “We’re not likely to have a long and happy marriage, are we?”

  “Mr Notti says the Final Reserve is being called up tomorrow,” Corinna said encouragingly. She caught Rosa’s eye. “Come on, you kids,” she said to four cousins at random. “Bedtime.”

  While the young ones were being put to bed, Paolo sat nursing Benvenuto, feeling more dismal than ever. He wondered if there would be soldiers from Florence and Pisa and Siena in Caprona by tomorrow. Would guns fire in the streets? He thought of big marble chips shot off the Cathedral, the New Bridge broken, despite all the spells in it, and swarthy enemy soldiers dragging Rosa off screaming. And he saw that all this could really have happened by the end of the week.

  Here, he became quite certain that Benvenuto was trying to tell him something. He could tell from the accusing stare of Benvenuto’s yellow eyes. But he simply could not understand.

  “I’ll try,” he said to Benvenuto. “I really will try.”

  He had, fleetingly, the feeling that Benvenuto was glad. Encouraged by this, Paolo bent his head and stared at Benvenuto’s urgent face. But it did no good. All that Paolo could get out of it was a picture in his mind – a picture of somewhere with a coloured marble front, very large and beautiful.

  “The Church of Sant’ Angelo?” he said doubtfully.

  While Benvenuto’s tail was still lashing with annoyance, Rosa and Marco came back. “Oh dear!” Rosa said to Marco. “There’s Paolo taking all the troubles of the Casa on his shoulders again!”

  Paolo looked up in surprise.

  Marco said, “You look just like Antonio sometimes.”

  “I can’t understand Benvenuto,” Paolo said despairingly.

  Marco sat on the table beside him. “Then he’ll have to find some other way of telling us what he wants,” he said. “He’s a clever cat – the cleverest I’ve ever known. He’ll do it.”

  He put out a hand and Benvenuto let him stroke his head. “Your ears,” said Marco, “Sir Cat, are like sea-holly without the prickles.”

  Rosa perched on the table too, on the other side of Paolo. “What is it, Paolo? Tonino?”

  Paolo nodded. “Nobody will believe me that the enemy enchanter’s got him.”

  “We do,” said Marco.

  Rosa said, “Paolo, it’s just as well he’s got Tonino and not you. Tonino’ll take it much more calmly.”

  Paolo was a little bewildered. “Why do you two believe in the enchanter and no one else does?”

  “What makes you think he exists?” Marco countered.

  Even to Rosa and Marco, Paolo could not bring himself to tell of his embarrassing encounter with a Petrocchi. “There was a horrible fog at the end of the fight,” he said.

  Rosa and Marco jumped round delightedly. Their hands met with a smack over Paolo’s head. “It worked! It worked!” And Marco added, “We were hoping someone would mention a certain fog! Did there seem to have been a large-scale cancel-spell with it, by any chance?”

  “Yes,” said Paolo.

  “We made that fog,” Rosa said. “Marco and me. We were hoping to stop the fighting, but it took us ages to make it, because all the magic in Caprona was going into the fight.”

  Paolo digested this. That took care of the one piece of proof that did not depend on the word of a Petrocchi. Perhaps the enchanter did not exist after all. Perhaps Tonino really was at the Casa Petrocchi. He remembered that Renata had not said Angelica was missing until the fog cleared and she knew who he was. “Look,” he said. “Will you two come to the Casa Petrocchi with me and see if Tonino’s there?”

  He was aware that Rosa and Marco were exchanging some kind of look above his head.

  “Why?” said Rosa.

  “Because,” said Paolo. “Because.” The need to persuade them cleared his wits at last. “Because Guido Petrocchi said Angelica Petrocchi was missing too.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t,” Marco said, with what sounded like real regret. “You’d understand, if you knew how pressing our reasons are, believe me!”

  Paolo did not understand. He knew that, with these two, it was not cowardice, or pride, or anything like that. That only made it more maddening. “Oh, nobody will help!” he cried out.

  Rosa put her arm around him. “Paolo! You’re just like Father. You think you have to do everything yourself. There is one thing we can do.”

  “Call Chrestomanci?” said Marco.

  Paolo felt Rosa nod. “But he’s in Rome,” he objected.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Marco. “He’s that kind of enchanter. If he’s near enough and you need him enough, he comes when you call.”

  “I must cook!” said Rosa, jumping off the table.

  Just before the second supper was ready, Rinaldo came back, in great good spirits. Uncle Umberto and old Luigi Petrocchi had had another fight, in the dining-hall of the University. That was why Uncle Umberto had not turned up to see how Old Niccolo was. He and Luigi were both in bed, prostrated with exhaustion. Rinaldo had been drinking wine with some students who told him all about the fight. The students’ supper had been ruined. Cutlets and pasta had flown about, followed by chairs, tables and benches. Umberto had tried to drown Luigi in a soup tureen, and Luigi had replied by hurling the whole of the Doctors’ supper at Umberto. The students were going on strike. They did not mind the fight, but Luigi had shown them that the Doctors’ food was better than theirs.

  Paolo listened without truly attending. He was thinking about Tonino and wondering if he dared depend on the word of a Petrocchi.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After a while, someone came and picked Tonino up. That was unpleasant. His legs and arms dragged and dangled in all directions, and he could not do anything about it. He was plunged somewhere much darker. Then he was left to lie amid a great deal of bumping and scraping, as if he were in a box which was being pushed across a floor. When it stopped, he found he could move. He sat up, trembling all over.

  He was in the same room as before, but it seemed to be much smaller. He could tell that, if he stood up, his head would brush the little lighted chandelier in th
e ceiling. So he was larger now; where he had been three inches tall before, he must now be more like nine. The puppets must be too big for their scenery, and the false villa meant to look as if it was some distance away. And, with the Duchess suddenly taken ill, none of her helpers had bothered what size Tonino was. They had simply made sure he was shut up again.

  “Tonino,” whispered Angelica.

  Tonino whirled round. Half the room was full of a pile of lax puppet bodies. He scanned the cardboard head of the policeman, then his enemy the Hangman, and the white sausage of the baby, and came upon Angelica’s face halfway up the pile. It was her own face, though swollen and tearstained. Tonino clapped his hand to his nose. To his relief, the red beak was gone, though he still seemed to be wearing Mr Punch’s scarlet nightgown.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His teeth seemed to be chattering. “I tried not to hurt you. Are your bones broken?”

  “No – o,” said Angelica. She did not sound too sure. “Tonino, what happened?”

  “I hanged the Duchess,” Tonino said, and he felt some vicious triumph as he said it. “I didn’t kill her though,” he added regretfully.

  Angelica laughed. She laughed until the heap of puppets was shaking and sliding about. But Tonino could not find it funny. He burst into tears, even though he was crying in front of a Petrocchi.

  “Oh dear,” said Angelica. “Tonino, stop it! Tonino – please!” She struggled out from among the puppets and hobbled looming through the room. Her head banged the chandelier and sent it tinkling and casting mad shadows over them as she knelt down beside Tonino. “Tonino, please stop. She’ll be furious as soon as she feels better.”

  Angelica was wearing Judy’s blue cap and Judy’s blue dress still. She took off the blue cap and held it out to Tonino. “Here. Blow on that. I used the baby’s dress. It made me feel better.” She tried to smile at him, but the smile went hopelessly crooked in her swollen face. Angelica’s large forehead must have hit the floor first. It was now enlarged by a huge red bump. Under it, the grin looked grotesque.

  Tonino understood it was meant for a smile and smiled back, as well as he could for his chattering teeth.

  “Here.” Angelica loomed back through the room to the pile of puppets and heaved at the Hangman. She returned with his black felt cape. “Put this on.”

  Tonino wrapped himself in the cape and blew his nose on the blue cap and felt better.

  Angelica heaved more puppets about. “I’m going to wear the policeman’s jacket,” she said. “Tonino – have you thought?”

  “Not really,” said Tonino. “I sort of know.”

  He had known from the moment he looked at the Duchess. She was the enchanter who was sapping the strength of Caprona and spoiling the spells of the Casa Montana. Tonino was not sure about the Duke – probably he was too stupid to count. But in spite of the Duchess’s enchantments, the spells of the Casa Montana – and the Casa Petrocchi – must still be strong enough to be a nuisance to her. So he and Angelica had been kidnapped to blackmail both houses into stopping making spells. And if they stopped, Caprona would be defeated. The frightening part was that Tonino and Angelica were the only two people who knew, and the Duchess did not care that they knew. It was not only that even someone as clever as Paolo would never think of looking in the Palace, inside a Punch and Judy show: it must mean that the two of them would be dead before anyone found them.

  “We absolutely have to get away,” said Angelica. “Before she’s better from being hanged.”

  “She’ll have thought of that,” said Tonino.

  “I’m not sure,” said Angelica. “I could tell everyone was startled to death. They let me see you being put through the floor, and I think we could get out that way. It will be easier now we’re bigger.”

  Tonino fastened the cape round him and struggled to his feet, though he felt almost too tired and bruised to bother. His head hit the chandelier too. Huge flickering shadows fled round the room, and made the heap of puppets look as if they were squirming about. “Where did they put me through?” he said.

  “Just where you’re standing,” said Angelica.

  Tonino backed against the windows and looked at the place. He would not have known there was any opening. But, now Angelica had told him, he could see, disguised by the painted swirls of the carpet and confused by the swinging light, the faintest black line. The outline made an oblong about the size of the shoddy dining-table. The tray of supper must have come through that way too.

  “Sing an opening spell,” Angelica commanded him.

  “I don’t know one,” Tonino was forced to confess.

  He could tell by the stiff way Angelica stood that she was trying not to say a number of nasty things. “Well, I don’t dare,” she said. “You saw what happened last time. If I do anything, they’ll catch us again and punish us by making us be puppets. And I couldn’t bear another time.”

  Tonino was not sure he could bear it either, even though, now he thought about it, he was not sure it had been a punishment. The Duchess had probably intended to make them perform anyway. She was quite mean enough. On the other hand, he was not sure he could stand another of Angelica’s botched spells, either. “Well, it’s only a trap-door,” he said. “It must be held up by one of those little hooks. Let’s try bashing at it with the candlesticks.”

  “And if there’s a spell on it?” said Angelica. “Oh, come on. Let’s try.”

  They seized a candlestick each and knelt beside the windows, knocking diligently at the scarcely-seen black line. The cardboard was tough and pulpy. The candlesticks shortly looked like metal weeping-willow trees. But they succeeded in making a crumbly hollow in the middle of one edge of the hidden door. Tonino thought he could see a glimmer of metal showing. He raised his bent candlestick high to deliver a mighty blow.

  “Stop!” hissed Angelica.

  There were large shuffling footsteps somewhere. Tonino lowered the candlestick by gentle fractions and scarcely dared breathe. A distant voice grumbled… “Mice then” … “Nothing here…” It was suddenly very much darker. Someone had switched off a light, leaving them only with the bluish glimmer of the little chandelier. The footsteps shuffled. A door bumped, and there was silence.

  Angelica laid her candlestick down and began trying to tear at the cardboard with her fingers. Tonino got up and wandered away. It was no good. Someone was going to hear them, whatever they did. The Palace was full of footmen and soldiers. Tonino would have given up then and waited for the Duchess to do her worst. Only now he was standing up, the cardboard room seemed so small. Half of it was filled with the puppets. There was hardly room to move. Tonino wanted to hurl himself at the walls and scream. He did make a movement, and knocked the table. Because he was so much bigger and heavier now, the table swayed and creaked.

  “I know!” he said. “Finish drawing the Angel.”

  The bump on Angelica’s forehead turned up to him. “I’m not in the mood for doodling.”

  “Not a doodle, a spell,” Tonino explained. “And then pull the table over us while we make a hole in the trap door.”

  Angelica did not need telling that the Angel was the most potent spell in Caprona. She threw the candlestick aside and scrambled up. “That might just work,” she said. “You know, for a Montana, you have very good ideas.” Her head hit the chandelier again. In the confusion of swinging shadows, they could not find the tap Angelica had been drawing with. Tonino had to jam his head and arm into the tiny bathroom and pull off the other useless tap.

  Even when the shadows stopped swinging, the Angel scratched on the table was hard to see. It now looked faint and small.

  “He needs his scroll,” said Angelica. “And I’d better put in a halo to make sure he’s holy.”

  Angelica was now so much bigger and stronger that she kept dropping the tap. The halo, when she had scratched it in, was too big, and the scroll would not go right. The table swayed this way and that, the tap ploughed and skidded, and there was a danger the Ange
l would end up a complete mess.

  “It’s so fiddly!” said Angelica. “Will that do?”

  “No,” said Tonino. “It needs the scroll more unrolled. Some of the words show on our Angel.”

  Because he was quite right, Angelica lost her temper. “All right! Do it yourself, if you’re so clever, you horrible Montana!”

  She held the tap out to Tonino and he snatched it from her, quite as angry. “Here,” he said, ploughing up a long curl of varnish. “Here’s the hanging bit. And the words go sideways. You can see Carmen pa, Venit ang, Cap and a lot more, but there won’t be room for it.”

  “Our Angel,” said Angelica, “says cis saeculare, elus cantare and virtus data near the end.” Tonino scratched away and took no notice. It was hard enough shaping tiny letters with a thing like a tap, without listening to Angelica arguing. “Well it does!” said Angelica. “I’ve often wondered why it’s not the words we sing—”

  The same idea came to both of them. They stared at one another, nose to nose across the scratched varnish.

  “Finding the words means looking for them,” said Tonino.

  “And they were over our gates all the time! Oh how stupid!” exclaimed Angelica. “Come on. We must get out now!”

  Tonino left the scroll with Carmen scraped on it. There was really no room for any more. They dragged the creaking, swaying table across the hole they had made in the floor and set to work underneath it, hacking lumps out of the painted floor.

  Shortly, they could see a bar of silvery metal stretching from the trap door to the floor underneath them. Tonino forced the end of his candlestick down between the battered cardboard edges and heaved sideways at the metal.

  “There’s a spell on it,” he said.

  “Angel of Caprona,” Angelica said at the same moment.

  And the bar slipped sideways. A big oblong piece of the floor dropped away from in front of their knees and swung, leaving a very deep dark hole.