As soon as they landed on the cobblestone walkway in the middle of bridge, all the strolling people froze. As if in response to a distant bell, they turned away in unison and marched off the span.
“Some greeting,” Gwen muttered under her breath.
Although sparkling gems and gold shone from windows in every jewelry shop, shopkeepers were nowhere to be found. Alex gave Apollo a questioning look.
The marble statue shimmered. Then, as if a match had been lit at his feet, Apollo developed color. It started with his strappy sandals and drifted up his chiseled form until his whole body shone. Now, he was an oil painting, his head haloed in soft yellow curls, and eyes sparkled a light blue.
Alex had seen it happen before. Since only one of each creation could live in Artania, Apollo could change his appearance from marble to paint to crayon at will.
Gasping, Gwen took a step back.
“Hey, he's all right. He does that because lots of people painted him, but only one at a time can exist in this dimension. He can morph whenever he wants, kind of like changing clothes.”
“That's not how I change, dde.”
“You're human,” Bartholomew told her. “Different rules apply.”
Gwen shook her head like Rembrandt after a bath.
Suddenly, Apollo rushed to greet a man with a flowing gray beard and hair tumbling past his shoulders. “Leonardo, my condolences. The Smiling One is beloved both near and far.”
“Let's not be too hasty Apollo.” Leonardo said. “My daughter is not a Mudlark yet.”
“You know such a thing?”
The man who looked like a reddish-orange painting placed a hand on his chest. “I still feel her presence.”
“Of course.” Apollo nodded and turned to Alex and his friends. “Forgive my manners. Let me present those tasked to rescue our Mona Lisa.”
Bowing, Leonardo told them that his creator was also a Deliverer in his time. He pointed a gnarled finger at Gwen. “Another? But the Soothsayer Stones says, 'Hope will lie in the hands of twins,' It says nothing of triplets.”
“Her talents will become evident in time. The Thinker sees much in his bronze palm,” Apollo said.
“That he does.” The old man smiled. “Ciao bella bambina. Ciao bello bambini.”
“Chow?” Alex asked.
Apollo smiled. “It is Italian for hello, and goodbye. Surely the Deliverers have knowledge of the language where art was reborn?”
Bartholomew stepped o them. “Is this Italy?”
“This is Florence, yet not. It is Italy, yet not.” Leonardo replied clasping his hands in front of his long cloak. “We have the greatness of the Florentine painters, architects, and sculptors here, but as you should know by now, our geography is not exactly like Earth's.”
Alex thought back to his first visit into Artania when he'd gone to ancient Egypt. But it hadn't been like the Egypt on any map he'd ever seen. It was made from the art of the time, and it didn't have any modern technology.
He glanced around. Florence was the same. No cars, power lines, or planes overhead. It was as if he had stepped back in time five hundred years to a place made completely from art.
“Florence is the cradle of the Renaissance.” Mr. Encyclopedia grinned and recited some facts. “It is home to the greatest masterpieces of all time. Artists such as Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo da Vinci.” He puffed up his chest, obviously proud to have remembered the names. He stared at the bearded man in front of them. “Hey, are you THE Leonardo da Vinci?”
“He who birthed my creation was. I have his knowledge and talents.”
Bartholomew simply stood there, pale blue eyes wide.
Alex was speechless, too. This place continued to blow him away. On his last trip here, he'd spoken with gods and pharaohs, and now he was in the presence of the genius, Leonardo da Vinci. Even a twelve-year-old couldn't escape hearing that name. Anyhow, Dad said they were related—sort of. A distant cousin or something.
“Did you know that Leonardo da Vinci was called the true Renaissance man because of all the things he could do?” Bartholomew listed more facts. “He was a painter, inventor, architect, and scientist. He even studied the human body by dissecting cadavers.”
“Gross,” Gwen said, making a face.
Alex agreed but guessed doctors did the same thing.
“His drawings were way ahead of his time with things like flying machines, a robot, and a submarine.”
Alex could relate. He'd always drawn things from his imagination, too.
“However, all of it did not prevent my daughter's disappearance,” Leonardo said as his wrinkled face crumpled into a frown. “Come. Let us go to the Fortress. Perhaps the Delivers can find clues that escaped these old eyes.” He turned to Apollo. “Thank you, god of light.”
Apollo nodded and stepped back into the carriage. “I pray for the Smiling One's return.” He snapped the reins and soon melded into the whiteness of the sun.
Chapter 20
A quieter Bartholomew glanced around as Leonardo led the way off the bridge. From Apollo's chariot, he'd seen scores of Artanians strolling along, but now the streets they were empty.
It was eerie. Their feet shuffling over the flagstones was the only sound. Every shutter and door was closed tightly. Not even the scarcest whisper or dog's low growl rumbled nearby.
Mr. da Vinci seemed wary. His ancient eyes narrowed, making lines around them look even deeper. Then he lifted his strong Roman nose, sniffed the air, and turned in a full circle.
Bartholomew raised his eyebrows at Alex.
“Sir, where is everyone?” his friend asked.
Leonardo put a crooked finger to his bearded lips. “Ears are everywhere, bambini. Wait.”
“Shadow Swine here?” Bartholomew gasped, crowding closer to Alex and Gwen.
“Shh!” Leonardo warned.
Bartholomew clamped his mouth shut and focused on his feet. Just put one foot in front of the other. He thought. Remember you have powers here.
Leonardo entered an arched opening where a narrow stairway twisted up the center of a Fortress wall. Stroking one thick eyebrow, he smiled reassuringly at the children before starting up the well-worn stone steps.
“I'm cruising in a castle. Cool,” Gwen said.
They emerged in an open area surrounded by a high wall. From the parapet circling the fortress, Bartholomew could see the river below lapping against a wooden dock. Long, thin rowboats which Bartholomew immediately recognized as gondolas were moored at the pilings. Next to them, armed men with swords resting on their shoulders marched in groups of two and three.
“Now it is safe to talk,” Leonardo said. “Please forgive the creations of Florence. They are afraid that your presence brings danger.”
“Us?” Alex looked confused.
“Sickhert has spies everywhere.” Leonardo glanced behind them as if expecting a spy to sneak up the stairway. “Come.” Leonardo gestured as he made his way over the parapet walk. More soldiers marched here, but they ignored the three children trailing the ancient man. Their eyes were focused beyond the battlement walls, ever watchful.
Inside one of the square tower,s they entered a large room with a flagstone floor. Here, wooden models of strange flying machines hung from the ceiling and scattered drawings littered a long table, while shelves held beakers, pulleys, and a few yellowed bones. The whole place looked like a magician's workshop.
“My laboratory,” Leonardo said with a slight bow. “It is where I continue the work of my creator, delving into the sciences he so loved to explore.”
“Neat toys,” Gwen said, nodding appreciatively.
“They are note mere toys, bambina. They are inventions. Please be seated. We have much to discuss.” He pointed at a grouping of wooden benches and three-legged stools in the corner.
“So what's the plan?” Alex asked when they had all made themselves comfortable.
“Ahh, directness and singularity of mind. Good attributes of a Deliverer.”
Alex tapped one foot on the floor. “Well?”
Bartholomew couldn't help but nod. This all might be cool, but he was eager to get on with it.
“Did you notice any differences here?” Leonardo pointed from one side of the room to the other.
Bartholomew scrutinized every corner. It looked exactly as he'd imagined Leonardo's studio might. He glanced at Alex who shrugged.
“This looks newer,” Alex said, lifting a chin at the ceiling.
“Oh, yes,” Bartholomew agreed, noticing the light color of the wood.
“That is because this fortress was just built.” Leonardo stroked his long silky beard.
“Why?” Alex asked.
“There had been threats against my Mona Lisa. Letters left at her doorstep. Ruffians following her. Then one night, she was nearly snatched from the piazza by a band of pirates.”
“You thought she'd be safe here?” Bartholomew asked.
“That was our hope, but three nights ago, she disappeared. Soldiers guarded both east and west, but she vanished without a trace.”
“Shadow Swine,” Alex said lifting on eyebrow knowingly.
“Or those in their league. Yes.”
“Shadow Swine?” Gwen blurted. She leapt up and waved her arms in circles. “Deliverers? What the heck are you all talking about?”
“Have your friends told you nothing?”
“Duh!” Gwen gave him an exasperated look.
Leonardo sighed and smiled. He tried to lay a hand on Gwen's shoulder, but she jerked away and glared at him, green eyes blazing. “Well?”
“Your friends are Deliverers.” The old man pointed at Alex and Bartholomew. “Chosen at birth. They use art to keep both humans and Artanians safe.”
“And Shadow Swine?” Gwen asked.
“The evil destroyers of artistic inspiration. We have battled them as long as Artania has existed.”
Bartholomew didn't want Leonardo to tell Gwen too much. She may be tough, but if she knew how horrible the Shadow Swine really were, even she might get scared.
“We defeated them last time,” he said quickly, nudging Alex. “Didn't we?”
“Yeah. We kicked their butts,” Alex added.
Leonardo cocked his head quizzically. “Yes. That was but a single battle. The war is yet to be won.”
“We know … we know.” Bartholomew held up a hand. “Their task will be long with seven evils to undo.”
“But our world will be saved if their art is true,” Alex said reciting the final line of the prophecy.
“Okay, so you dudes beat these bad guys once before, but now these same ones qre back and have this chick, Mona Lisa. Right?”
“It seems so,” Bartholomew replied.
“In order to get her back, you first have to find her.”
“Of course.”
“Tell you what. Whenever I'm working on a new skateboarding stunt, I always go back to what I know. Like when I learned to ride goofy-footed, I just thought back to what is was like when I rode regular. Then I reversed it in my mind.” Gwen pivoted on her feet as if reversing her stance on a skateboard.
“I do the same,” Alex said.
“So we go back to what we know and get clues there.”
Bartholomew looked from Alex to Gwen and back again.
“But of course.” Leonardo nodded. “Come. I will lead you.”
Although he had no idea where they were going, Bartholomew didn't ask. He didn't want to look stupid. Anyhow, they were inside a fortress. What could happen?
Chapter 21
When Alex reached the dock with the others, several young soldiers in striped bloomers and metal helmets marched to them and bowed. “Buongiorno, Deliverers,” the tallest said, his straight form reflected in the smooth waters of the Arno River.
To Alex, buongiorno sounded like bone-jern-o. He guessed it meant hello. He nodded at the tall soldier and turned to Leonardo. “Is this where you saw her last?”
“Niccolo was guarding her at the time,” Leonardo said, tilting his head at the soldier who greeted them.
“It was quiet,” Niccolo added. “Not a gondola rowing in sight. I thought all was well until I heard a splash. When I looked back, she was gone.” He shook his head. “I blame myself.”
Mr. da Vinci laid an ancient hand on Niccolo's puffed sleeve. “You were ever watchful. We know that.”
“Where exactly was she?” Alex asked.
Niccolo pointed to a short pier about twenty feet from them. Trying to think like a detective, Alex bent down to look at the wooden planks making up the flooring. Between the cracks, he could see the posts sunk into the bottom of the river. Something like a thick spider web caught his eye. Alex scrambled down the stairs beside the pier to get a closer look.
Bartholomew followed and asked, “What is it?”
“It looks like a scarf.” Alex stretched an arm, but it was just beyond his grasp. He inched out a little farther. Still out of reach. “Hey, B-three, hold my legs so I can get it.”
“Give me a second,” Bartholomew said bracing his back against a post. He grabbed Alex's ankles. “Okay. I think I have you.”
Alex extended an arm and swiped. No luck. “Closer,” he called.
“My hands are cramping, but I'll try.” Bartholomew lowered away until he barely maintained a foothold on the dock.
Wiggling his fingers, Alex grasped the cloth. “Got it! Pull me up.”
He felt a shudder. Bartholomew's fingers spasmed. Alex slipped an inch. Two. Then he was in the water.
Alex lifted his head gasping for breath and tried to swim. Only one leg moved. The other was trapped. He tried to kick free, but something was holding it down. He jerked right and left but still couldn't break away. “I'm stuck!” he cried, scarcely able to keep his head above water.
Bartholomew dived in, popping up beside Alex a second later. “Which one?”
“My left. I think it's wedged under something.”
Bartholomew disappeared beneath the surface. The water swirled and churned.
Alex sputtered. He felt a tug and was suddenly flying through the air. With a painful thud, he landed flat on his back on the boardwalk. Groaning, Alex rolled over and glanced around. Where was Bartholomew? Alex dashed along the path where Gwen scanned the churning water, one hand shielding her eyes.
“Where is he?” Alex asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
“I don't know,” Gwen replied. “He never came back up.”
Alex was ready to jump back in when a green hump rose out of the swirling currents.
“A river monster!” Niccolo cried.
A dozen or more feet in length with a long snout like a wolf, it had shiny scales, a fluted tail, and fins like sharp razors. Alex couldn't tell if it had teeth or not. He prayed it didn't.
The monster was a giant fish, and it gripped Bartholomew in its mouth!
The wolf-fish raised its head with what seemed like a sneer before pulling Bartholomew back under the swirling eddies. Alex's blood froze. He considered leaping into the Arno, but he had no way to wrestle Bartholomew from its jaws.
With a flick of its tail, the creature swam downstream. Fighting the sick feeling in his gut, Alex jogged along shore. “Come on!”
The fish twisted and rolled like a sea snake.
“Mr. Clean's face. So pale,” Gwen said.
“Hang in there, B-three! We're coming,” Alex called. Keeping his eyes pinned on his friend, he dashed ever faster until suddenly his shoulder hit something hard. Alex staggered back, stars spilling in front of his eyes. He blinked.
They were facing a huge gate.
And it was closed.
Alex tried to lift the heavy wooden bar, but it wouldn't budge. No way! He looked around, called over his shoulder. “Help me!”
It seemed like forever before Niccolo arrived with two other soldiers. “Move aside, Deliverer.”
Alex made room. Praying Bartholomew would still be there, he helped hoist the long woo
den bar and toss it to the side. When it clattered on the flagstone path, they all leaned against the huge door.
As soon as there was a crack in the opening, Alex wriggled through and sprinted to catch up with the fish. Behind him, the sound of Gwen's slapping tennies and the soldiers' pounding boots told him they were hot on his heels.
When the creature came into view again, Alex willed his feet faster. Hold on, buddy, he thought as hot sweat ran in his eyes, but the next scene turned his blood to ice.
The fish wrenched Bartholomew side-to-side, but the boy wasn't fighting. Nor moving. Slack jawed, his body was limp, eyes closed. Alex couldn't tell if Bartholomew was breathing.
Gwen skidded to a halt. “Is he…” Her voice trailed off.
“Don't say it.”
“We have to get him away from it. Now. We need a net or harpoon or …” Gwen glanced back at one of the soldiers behind them and waved. “Hey! You with the crossbow, come here.”
Alex immediately understood what Gwen was thinking. “We'll have to get ahead of him. To the bridge. Come on.” Zooming to Ponte Vecchio, he dashed inside one of the attached jewelry shops and threw open the shutters. “In here!”
Gwen took her place at the window. “Give me the crossbow.”
The soldier handed the weapon to her. It had a stirrup on one end with two cranks at the other to pull the bowstring back. Gwen set the stirrup on the floor and put one foot through it.
Alex pointed. The scaled back of the great fish crested on the water as it began another roll. “Here he comes.”
“Help me crank this.” Gwen leaned back and placed both of her hands on one of the windlass handles.
Alex gripped the opposite one and began to pedal it with her, straining to curl the rope around the roller. When they had finally wound it tight, Gwen unlatched the winch and tossed it aside. “Now the bolt.”
The soldier pulled one of the arrows from his quiver and handed it to her. She nocked onto the bowstring. To Alex, the triangular blade looked more like a dagger than an arrowhead.
And a lot deadlier. “Gwen, if you miss—” The words stuck in his throat.
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