A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1)

by Hemmings, Malcolm

  “I am a little manipulative,” Leanarda leaned forward so she could address both Elena and Ele. “A lot manipulative. I’m also a little egotistical, too prideful, and I hold grudges for longer than is healthy. But I don’t try to deny who I am, and I don’t lie to get what I want when the truth will work.”

  “And you think the truth will work here?”

  “Elena doesn’t seem like the type of girl who would like the nastiness of tearing people down. Maybe I’m wrong about her, but if I’m not, it means they’re going to eat her alive. I’m offering her a...an alliance, I guess. She doesn’t need to play nasty, and I’ll look out for her. All I’m asking is that she watches my back in return.”

  “I would do that for you without the speech,” Elena broke in, “who wouldn’t speak up if they saw someone doing something nasty? You didn’t need to convince me to look out for you, all you needed to do was ask.”

  Leanarda stared at her for a moment, clearly dumbfounded.

  “Well if that’s the case, I’m glad I got to you first,” she muttered, turning back to her bowl, “you’ll need someone looking after you with that kind of naive attitude.”

  “Is good for now. Tomorrow you will make more help, today you take easy.” The older cook was suddenly in front of them, taking the wooden bowls out of their hands. Elena hadn’t even noticed that she had whipped her cream into stiff foamy peaks. “You go wash, meet others at table. Master De Luca does not like for garzoni being late.”

  ***

  “I don’t like that woman.” Ele had been silent after Leanarda and Elena parted ways to wash up, but he broke the silence with a sour expression.

  “Are you back to being all moody?” Elena looked up from the washbasin for a towel, and Ele pointed.

  “It’s not ‘moodiness’, it’s caution. You’re always so trusting of everyone, and I’m the one who has to keep an eye out.”

  “Paranoid.”

  “You say I’m paranoid, but every time you ignore my advice something bad happens. Remember when I told you not to bring up that Christmas gift from the neighbor boy in front of your mother?”

  “Let’s not talk about Pasaulo,” Elena mumbled, her stomach lurching at the memory, “do you remember where the dining room is?”

  Ele led the way, still talking. He spoke quietly, clearly trying to get used to the thought that others might be listening now.

  “I’m always wary of people who have to tell you upfront how trustworthy or untrustworthy they are. I’m also nervous around people who feel the need to point out how much you need them. There are a bunch of reasons I don’t like Leanarda, and allying with her makes me worry for you.”

  “What is there to worry about?” Elena couldn’t seem to muster up half the amount of concern that Ele had. The huge windows that lined one wall of the hallway were letting the morning’s light in, casting blues and whites onto the walls, and the fresh air filled her lungs. Despite the hard road ahead of her, she was a garzona to Bernardo De Luca, at least for now. She was on her way to everything she had wanted, and who knew...maybe in five years’ time she would be a part of the Milian Court, making art for the Prince of Milia himself.

  “Elena, you’re daydreaming! Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

  “I mean, so what if you don’t trust her? I wasn’t planning on doing anything nasty, not to anyone. So all this means is that she knows I won’t do anything nasty, and I don’t have to change my plan at all.”

  “Maybe knowing that is enough to take advantage of you,” Ele said darkly. “Even Leanarda thinks you’re being naive.”

  “Are you sure you just don’t like her because she’s so much like you, Ele?” Elena teased, “maybe you’re jealous because you’re not the only one who wants to look out for me anymore.”

  “Fatuus. The dining room was through here.”

  Somewhere in the studio, a bell began chiming the hour as Elena swung the heavy door open. The room was dominated by two long tables of a dark wood; at one table sat the garzoni with Master De Luca at the head, at the other Bea presided over the Echoes. Every single seat was occupied except for Elena’s and Ele’s.

  “Don’t worry, you haven’t officially arrived late,” Master De Luca said over the bell chimes with a friendly smile, “my timepieces are exact. Which means you have until the clock has finished ringing.” Although his smile didn’t change, the entire room seemed to drop by a few degrees, and Elena hurried to her seat, sitting down just as the last stroke of the bell ended.

  “I have so little time with my garzoni,” Master De Luca spoke as if he were beginning a speech, each word clear and crisp. The cooks entered with large wooden platters filled with eggs and ham, and loaves of bread so fresh that they still steamed as he continued. “My work in the Milian court takes me away from my little studio for weeks at a time, and when I return all of the work that has accumulated takes up my attention. I probably interact less with my garzoni than any other master in this city.”

  He seemed a little sad, staring at his plate as the cooks served him. Frederica, Carlo, Vittoria and Niccolo, the four garzoni who had been in the studio for some time, began digging into their food with relish, and the new garzoni hesitantly followed their example.

  “Please, eat, I don’t worry about manners here,” Master De Luca came out of his stupor with a weary wave, “in the studio, meals are the only place we care more about function than form.” The smell of the eggs and ham made Elena’s stomach queasy, and she regretted the fruit wine from the night before, but she couldn’t deny she was hungry. “Miss Lucciano, you in particular will enjoy the hot drink,” De Luca lifted his own small wooden cup in indication, “it’s quite good for the morning after a night of drunkenness.”

  The excitement Elena felt that he remembered her name was quickly squashed by shame. The other garzoni were all focused on her, and she looked down at her plate, preferring to imagine their looks of contempt rather than face them.

  “Master De Luca, doesn’t the studio have very strict rules on drinking?” Elena would’ve thought Frederica was asking the question innocently, if not for the glare that accompanied the brunette’s expression. It was quite clear that she knew exactly what the rules were, and she resented Elena for breaking them.

  Note to self, Frederica is not my friend, Elena thought. If what Leanarda had said was true and there really were garzoni out to get her, she would have to start keeping track of who was who. She glanced at the other table, trying to identify which Echo belonged to Frederica. The man at the Echo’s table looked so similar to her that they might’ve been siblings, and his frown matched his Stormtouched’s.

  “Yes, very strict rules,” Master De Luca agreed, “but I’m sure little Elena will have more control of herself now that she is one of us. Mella, I must say that in my long life I have never encountered an Artifex who used your particular medium. What was it you called your tools?” The topic change was jarring, as if the Master had suddenly lost interest in Elena and moved on to his next target.

  “Pencil, Master De Luca. It’s like charcoal in many ways, but I have more control over the finer lines,” Mella gulped down a mouthful of food to answer. She sat across from Elena, and her shocks of red hair bounced whenever she moved her head, “I haven’t met any other Artifexes like me either, that probably makes me more valuable.” Mella managed an expression halfway between hope and terror, and Master De Luca smiled back in response.

  “It’s a good talent, to know your own worth,” he nodded, “I’ve had garzoni in the past who steadfastly refused to acknowledge their value, and there are few things more frustrating.”

  “What’s wrong with a student who doesn’t know their own worth?” Elena asked. The rest of the garzoni were silent, but if was true that Master De Luca had so little time, Elena wanted to take advantage of all that she could. The Master didn’t seem to mind.

  “An artist who does not know his or her own worth is an artist who is not willing to fi
ght for themselves when it comes down to the bone. One can’t be truly cutthroat if one isn’t sure, without the slightest fraction of a doubt, that one deserves to be at the top.”

  Surely an artist can be both nice and famous, Elena frowned to herself, but took a bite instead of arguing. Master De Luca had far more experience than her, so perhaps she would understand his advice when she was further along. The hot drink was strong and a little bitter, but the cooks had put dollops of the whipped cream into it, and it softened and sweetened the taste pleasantly.

  “What would become of a garzona who wasn’t cutthroat, Master De Luca?” Leanarda asked, stirring her fork around the eggs and shooting Elena a meaningful glance, “what if they were timid and shy and easy to pick on?”

  “Hmm,” if Master De Luca noticed that Leanarda was singling Elena out, he gave no indication, thoughtfully chewing a bite of bread before he answered, “I’ve seen many artists of that nature come and go, rise and fall. They tend to follow the same pattern; they meander on their way, slowly gaining in fame and fortune, until they run into someone willing to be aggressive or merciless. At that point, they fall to that someone, and the merciless artist is the one who is remembered. I wouldn’t worry too much about it Leanarda; you hardly strike me as having a problem in the area of being shy or timid.”

  “What about the rest of you?” he turned his attention nearer to the middle of the table, “it seems I’ve got a quiet batch of supplicants this year; I’ve not heard a word from some of you. Lorenzo, you’re a new face here, would you say you’re one of the tame artists or one of the cutthroat?”

  “I don’t think I would ever cut someone’s throat,” the pretty garzoni tossed his long hair over one shoulder, “I think that’s against Milian laws.” A short silence marked this profound statement as the entire table stared at him. Elena tried to figure out if she had missed some intricate wordplay or cleverness in his answer. It seemed that Master De Luca was doing the same thing, because he didn’t move on to anyone else, merely fixed the boy with a thoughtful air as he ate his breakfast.

  The room was quiet enough that Elena could hear the soft murmurs from the other table where the Echoes sat. None of them had food, but it appeared that they were having a much more friendly and interesting discussion. Some of them were smiling, Bea was gesturing animatedly with her hands. Even Ele seemed engaged in the conversation.

  Elena’s observation was broken by a sound from the doorway; a cough so measured and precise that it could only be artificial. Pietro looked subdued, his face even more childlike now that it held the expression of a small child about to be punished.

  “Master De Luca, I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he didn’t seem reassured when Master De Luca waved him on, “sir, there is someone at the door demanding to speak with your garzona.”

  “Pietro, I would have thought you were capable of taking a message, or scheduling a meeting, or perhaps even approaching the garzona in question some time when we are not occupied with a meal,” Master De Luca’s voice was even, but the marble boy flinched, “perhaps I was wrong?”

  “It’s Miss Elena’s mother, sir. She says she won’t leave until she’s seen her daughter.”

  Chapter XI

  A Slap, a Knife, and a Warning

  “How dare you?” Every line of Joanna Lucciano’s face was controlled, her face a mask. Even her tone was measured, almost calm. Elena had never been so frightened of her.

  Calm always came before a storm with her mother’s moods, and the calmer the calm, the more devastating the following turmoil would be. Elena was already trying to think of what she could say to mitigate the damage, but she had never been good at it. Usually the safest route was to take her punishment quietly, to let her mother vent and rant until she had gotten it all out of her system. Of course, the safest route was not always without danger.

  “Mama, I thought you would be happy that I-” she began carefully, but her faltering explanation was cut off before it had even left her lips.

  “Happy? Happy to be fooled into thinking Master De Luca didn’t want you? Happy to wake up and find my only daughter missing? Did it even occur to you how worried I would be? Did I even cross your mind at all?”

  “I meant to come tell you, Mama, really I did, I just hadn’t had a chance yet!”

  “Oh, well I’m quite glad that your mother’s peace of mind ranked at least somewhere in the long list of priorities you must have,” it wasn’t even the worst sarcasm she had been dealt, but Elena winced all the same. “I’m glad to hear that eventually you planned to stop your sick little joke.”

  “I didn’t-”

  “I thought the Lucciano name meant more to you than this, Elena.” The anger that had been building seemed to fall from Joanna’s shoulders quite suddenly, replaced by a look of disappointment. Elena could only hold her gaze for a few moments before turning away, staring at her feet. The disappointment was somehow even worse than the anger. It meant she had worn the poor woman down so much that her own mother didn’t even have the energy to feel the hurt Elena had inflicted. “I thought I had taught you better than to let someone sit and worry about you all night. I’d been blaming you, but really I should be angry with myself, for not helping you become the woman I know you could be.”

  “No, Mama, don’t say that.” Elena’s heart felt as if it would break. Had she really forgotten her responsibilities to family so soon? Letting her mother know the good news should’ve been her first priority, but everything had seemed so rushed and fast paced...

  And now, for her mother to find her casually eating breakfast? It didn’t matter what had actually happened, her mother would have the entirely wrong impression, and it was all her fault.

  “I assumed you would forget about me as soon as we brought you to the big city,” there were tears in Joanna’s eyes, and Elena’s stomach twisted with guilt, “I just...didn’t think it would be so soon.”

  “No, Mama that’s not how it happened!” Elena too was crying, though she wasn’t sure where in the conversation that had started, “I didn’t forget you, I...all of this is because of you, I wouldn’t even be here if not for you! Mama please don’t think that-”

  “She’s manipulating you, Elena, making you believe her twisted version of events,” Ele had been standing next to the closed door to the dining room since their discussion had begun, mostly quiet, but he interrupted now at the most inopportune time.

  “Ele please stop, that’s not helping,” Elena pleaded, “Mama I-” She stopped, frozen. After the whirlwind morning and the still-fuzzy night before, she had forgotten that her mother couldn’t see or hear Ele at all. She opened her mouth to give an explanation or excuse, but before she could speak Joanna had grabbed her shoulder in a grip like a vise, slamming her into the wall so hard it made her teeth rattle.

  “You ungrateful, horrid little wretch,” her mother hissed, her face inches away, “I knew this was nothing but a joke to you, just your nasty idea of a prank. You wanted me to worry about you, this was all some sick little mind game you devised to get back at me for some slight you’ve imagined isn’t it? You’ve been laughing at me this whole time haven’t you?” Her words were accompanied by another shake.

  “I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t-”

  “You knew you could have me worried sick about you, and you didn’t care one bit, you just sat here with your new friends laughing about how gullible your poor trusting mother is.” Elena wasn’t even sure what that meant, but her shoulder was starting to hurt where Joanna’s nails bit into it, her back aching where she had slammed it into the wall. “You did! I can see it from your guilty face that’s exactly what you were doing! Did you enjoy your little laugh at your own mother’s expense? Answer me!”

  Elena wasn’t sure how to respond, or even whether she should. She had seen her mother angry before, quite frequently, but never to this extent. Even when her mother had broken Elena’s wrist (it had been an accident, of course, Joanna had misjudged her own stren
gth and pulled her forward just a tad too hard), she hadn’t been this incensed. What could Elena say to calm her down? She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to come up with the right words.

  She really thinks I did all of this just to hurt her, the realization settled into her stomach and into her heart with an icy weight of horror, what kind of horrible daughter have I been that my own mama would think something like that?

  Elena was brought to her senses by a sharp slap across her face, drawn back into the present out of the horror she was feeling. The entire left side of her face stung, but if anyone deserved it she did.

  “I said answer me!” Joanna drew her hand back again, and Elena flinched and braced herself but didn’t otherwise move to avoid the hand. The second stinging slap didn’t fall, and after a moment Elena made herself open her eyes.

  Joanna’s wrist was caught, small marble fingers wrapped firmly around it. If he hadn’t been so small, Pietro might not have been able to fit between them, but he stood there now like a marble shield, arm outstretched over his head. The image of the child arresting the grown woman’s swing so completely was almost ludicrous, but Elena was too discombobulated to appreciate the humor. To their right, closing the dining room door carefully behind him, Master De Luca took in the entire scene with vague interest.

  “Madam Lucciano,” he said by way of greeting, as if they had just settled into his office and were discussing business, “I’m afraid I make it a point to never allow my garzoni to be disrespected, even in the context of a private discussion. Allowing a student of the studio to be mistreated reflects poorly on the studio, you see.”

  “Master De Luca,” Joanna drew herself up as much as she was able with her arm still caught in Pietro’s grip, her voice calm once more. If nothing else, Elena was grateful for Master De Luca’s presence for that reason alone. Perhaps her mother would be more willing to hear an apology now that she was a little calmer. “Elena is my daughter before she is your student. If you would be so kind, we have private family matters to discuss. Whether she is going to remain your garzona is still very much in question.”