by K. C. Dyer
“I am Brother Raul,” he said. “Follow me.” He turned to Darrell and his voice was curt. “You must keep that dog quiet. Such beasts are not permitted to roam the halls of this cathedral.” Darrell, her hand on Delaney’s head, nodded mutely.
The monk removed the candle from the sconce and carried it as they followed in a silent train, single file down a narrow corridor redolent with beeswax and incense. The monk wore a white, ankle-length habit, hooded in black. The rough wool of the tunic seemed ghostly in the candlelight as he made his way, swift and silent, along the darkened passage. A left turn took them down a narrow, winding flight of steps and then along another confined hall, this one damp and clam-my with an earthen floor. Brother Raul stopped abruptly and pulled open a heavy wooden door with an iron handle.
“Brother Constantine’s chamber,” he said quietly.
Inside the small room he used his candle to light another sitting on a tiny desk against a wall. The light flickered to reveal a Spartan room furnished only with a cot in one corner, a single chair, and the tiny desk. Two hooks on the wall held a long robe of rough, white wool and a short, black cape. A man knelt beside the bed, his murmured prayer interrupted, and his face turned up to them in surprise.
“Remo!” He leaped to his feet. “What brings you here?”
Brother Raul replaced his hood and nodded, closing the door as he left.
“Uncle Tino, I was stolen this afternoon by men seeking to sell me into armed service.” He gestured at the others. “The three of us were taken to the marketplace to be transferred to the battlefront by bondsmen.” He grinned at Darrell and his teeth flashed briefly in the light of the candle. “These girls are our rescuers.”
Brother Constantine clasped Darrell’s hands briefly and then Kate’s before looking back at his nephew. “Your brother?”
“He is safe at home. The black marketeers caught me when I was checking out the barns for a new horse. They called me a deserter, took my money, and threw me in their cart.”
Brother Constantine shook his head. “I can’t wait to hear what your mama will say about this,” he muttered and shook his nephew gently by the arm. “You should never go through the barns without your father, Remo. These times are not safe, even for those of noble blood. You know that!”
Remo nodded.
The monk’s face was worried. “I must make my way to the street to see if there is news of your disappearance. If they label you a deserter, a whole detachment could be brought in to search. You may have to hide here for some time until the interest dies down and we can safely get you back to your home. I will be but a few moments.” With quick, deft movements he donned his white robe, belting it with a leather strap. He tucked his rosary into his belt and pulled the cowl over his head before slipping out the door.
Conrad sat down on the bed and bounced a little. “Nice room,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve seen jail cells that are more comfortable than this.”
“The monks of this order seek simplicity,” whispered Remo. “They have very plain clothes and food and put their strength into serving God.”
“Yeah, and all their money, too, from the looks of it. Did you see the marble this place is covered in? And the gold stuff everywhere? Somebody’s got a lot of coin to throw around.”
“The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore is still being built,” said Remo, raising a haughty eyebrow. “My uncle is very privileged to be one of the Dominican order who are God’s servants here. This cathedral is a testament to the talents of our artists and is dedicated to the glory of the mother of the saviour.”
He turned to Darrell. “I have to thank you again for your help, signorina. We will stay here in the old section of the cathedral until my father arrives, and then I will make my way home under the cover of darkness. Do you have a way to return to your homes in safety?”
Darrell nodded. “I think so. We have only a few streets to travel and I know the way, as long as we don’t meet those — did you call them — bondsmen?”
Remo nodded. “They steal boys and young men off the streets and sell them to some of the less law-abiding commanders at the battle front. Usually they are the poor and the no-account so they are not missed. There is always a need for more soldiers for the war, and this form of conscription is very common.”
Kate spoke. “Why wouldn’t they be missed? You may be of noble blood, Remo, but not everyone who is poor is of no account. Those boys and men must all have families somewhere, too.”
Remo nodded, though he still looked defiant. “Perhaps. But if I go to the army, I will go as an officer. My father will see to that.”
Kate raised her eyebrows at Darrell but said nothing.
“One of the commanders came into the barn before you got there, Darrell. He’s the one who smacked me in the face,” said Brodie.
“What happened?”
Brodie sat on the floor by the bed and stroked Delaney, who lay curled beside him. “Well, first they hauled us out of the cart and threw us into the barn. They left the sack over Conrad’s head but for some reason they took mine off. I was feeling pretty sore from getting punched, but other than that I was okay. Then this new guy came in and yelled, ‘Soldier, get to your feet and stand at attention.’ My head was still spinning and so he yelled at me again.”
Brodie rubbed his wrists, still bearing red weals from the ropes. “So I said I’d heard him but didn’t think he’d really meant it. ‘Let me assure you, I meant every word. On your feet!’ He screamed so loud the veins stood out on his temples. I had to find a way to stand up with my hands and feet tied. I don’t think he expected me to be about a foot taller than him, so his eyes bulged.” He shook his head at the memory.
“He stomped back and forth in front of me. ‘Yer a fine, tall young whelp, it’s clear,’ he said. ‘Skinny, but the skinny ones make smaller targets.’ Right about then another guy came in with Remo and dumped him on the straw.”
Conrad laughed from his spot on the bed.
Brodie glared at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Tell them about the musket.”
Brodie narrowed his eyes. “If you think it’s so funny, you tell it,” he said.
“Okay, I will.” Conrad leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “The guy yelling at Brodie came over to me and pulled the sack off my head and hauled me to my feet. My legs had gone numb from the ropes, so I fell. The guy tried to give me a boot in the ribs, but he got my arm instead so it didn’t hurt so bad. Then he yelled at Brodie again.”
Conrad stood, miming the soldier talking to Brodie. “‘Can you shoot a matchlock, ya beanpole?’ And Mr. Polite over there starts to stammer and stutter. ‘A — a matchlock, sir?’ he says.” Conrad chuckled again. “So the soldier roars: ‘Y’ve quite clearly outgrown yer brains, I can see. A musket.’ And then he waves this stupid gun that looked like some kid’s homemade toy in Brodie’s face.”
“That is no toy. It is the latest weapon in use by our armies. A true musketeer can load and shoot a matchlock three times in under a minute,” Remo interrupted hotly.
Conrad narrowed his eyes, and his face looked thoughtful. After a moment he shook his head and continued as if coming out of a daze. “The soldier’s face was beet red and he was so mad his hands were shaking. ‘Are ye deaf now, too, ye lousy turnip?’”
Conrad warmed again to his story and smirked at Brodie. “So Mr. Beanpole answers ‘No sir,’ in his nambypamby voice. ‘I’m not deaf. But I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.’” Conrad sat down on the cot. “That’s when the soldier got mad. He smacked Brodie in the face with the gun and knocked him down. I kept my mouth shut,” Conrad pointed a finger at Brodie, “the way you should have done in the first place — and the guy swore at us and ran outside. I could hear him out there yelling at somebody else.”
The scrape of a heel in the hall made Conrad blanch and fall silent. The door to the chamber snicked open and Brother Constantine slipped inside.
Remo stood up. “What new
s?”
“The army is abroad, Remo.” His uncle sighed. “They are searching the area, but should move on soon. They have other deserters to find, thank God.” He looked at Darrell, his eyes reflecting deep sadness and compassion. “So many men and boys sent to die on fields of battle far from their homes. I do not want my nephew to be among them.” He took Remo by the arm. “I have sent word to your father to send a carriage. You cannot travel securely without an escort.”
Remo nodded. “Thank you, Uncle. We are all in your debt.”
“While you are in the cathedral, you have sanctuary, and we can safely walk upstairs. I have arranged to meet the carriage at the Door of the Canonici on the south side of the building. Follow me, but please, do not speak. After sundown we maintain complete silence.”
He replaced his cowl over his head and, grasping the candle holder, led the way out into the hall. They followed what seemed to be a maze of tunnels through dark halls smelling of damp. At last they came to a flight of unadorned wooden steps and began to climb. Darrell’s leg was tired and sore, but she followed the group closely, more worried about getting left behind than about her sore leg. Delaney padded at her side, head high and eyes alert.
They emerged into the centre nave of the cathedral and headed for the south door. Apart from a few distant spots of light, the velvet dark enclosed them. Darrell could feel the majesty of the great building, and the volume of the silence was like a crescendo around her. Arches supported by soaring pillars took wing into the darkness of ceilings far above. The air was suffused with the heavy smell of incense, and in the main hall a few torches burned in wall sconces to light their way. The cathedral formed the shape of an enormous cross, and Darrell knew one end was crowned with the huge dome she had seen from outside.
She stopped for a moment beside a clock illuminated by a nearby torch on the inner façade. “Look!” she whispered and elbowed Kate. Brother Constantine raised a warning hand, but paused for a moment, allowing Darrell the chance for a closer glimpse.
The clockwork echoed in the vast silence, and Darrell watched the lone hand slide backwards to indicate the passage of a single moment in time. The face of the clock bore twenty-four roman numerals beginning at the bottom and circling counter-clockwise. Remo’s uncle moved on to the door and Darrell, with a last look at the strange clock, was forced to follow.
A carriage clattered to a stop outside the door, and the monk ruffled the hair of his nephew and waved a silent goodbye to the other travellers as they climbed on board. Remo clapped a felt hat on his head and swung into the driver’s seat next to the driver. Darrell could hear the conversation from the open seat rise and fall over the clop of the horse’s hoofs as they travelled down the road to the Giancarli family home. Cold air blew through the unglazed windows of the carriage.
Narrowing her eyes against the wind, Darrell leaned her head out the window and was just able to see Delaney jogging at a comfortable pace behind the carriage. She spied a small group of soldiers stopped outside what looked like an inn, but not a single head lifted to view the carriage as it passed, intent instead on the warmth and revelry inside.
“There’s Verrocchio’s stable,” whispered Kate as the carriage jolted along the rutted lane. “Darrell — I’m so sorry you couldn’t find the secret of time.”
Darrell smiled a little. “I’ve just been thinking about that. One good thing happened, though.”
Kate looked quizzical.
“After all those years of hating girls, it was a woman who taught Leonardo the secret he most wanted to learn.” She leaned out the open window of the carriage and tugged on Remo’s shoe. A moment later, his face appeared through the window.
“Could you please ask your driver to stop here? We are very near our — our home.”
Remo nodded and his face disappeared. The horses slowed and the driver appeared at the carriage door. Darrell realized from his fine clothes and similar appearance that she must be looking at Remo’s father.
He glanced over at the boarded windows of Verrocchio’s old home. “My son has just informed me of the peril you saved him from this day. I would take you to our home and provide you with safe lodging before you return to your family. This surely cannot be where you stay?”
Darrell took his proffered hand and stepped gingerly out of the carriage. “Oh — thank you sir, but we will be fine. Our, uh — our carriage is housed in the stable here, and we will be quite safe on our trip home.”
Remo’s father bowed. “As you wish. Remember, however, a life-debt is owed you by the Giancarli family of Firenze. We will never forget your aid to our son.”
Darrell nodded and stepped quickly away in case Remo’s father offered his thanks in the same manner as his son, but was instead rewarded with a gallant bow.
“I don’t hear anybody thanking me,” said Conrad, as they walked over to the stable. “I coulda taken off and saved myself, but I stuck around to make sure you guys were okay.”
Kate rolled her eyes as the carriage clattered off into the night. “Let’s just get home, all right? This has been one long day I will never forget.” She opened the door to the stable and found her wrist suddenly clasped in an iron grip.
“Here she is, Salvatore. My sweet little chicken’s come home to her coop.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Darrell stood, her leg trembling with exhaustion, and clutched Kate’s hand as they stared down the barrel of the gun wielded by the man known as Salvatore. He looked far too old for this line of work, and a shiny white scar scored his face from eye to chin.
“Luck has smiled upon us, Vito, after the small problem of this afternoon,” he said softly, and set the oil lamp he held on a wooden crate. Conrad and Brodie stood under the watchful eye of Vito, whom Darrell recognized as the man she had seen throwing one of the boys into the back of the cart earlier that day. She saw a glance pass from Brodie to Conrad.
“What are you going to do with us?” she asked, stalling.
“Oh, your friends over there will go back to the commander. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see them again. And as for you, pretty girls...”
A creak of a hinge silenced him and all turned to the door. A skinny brown shape wriggled though the doorway.
Darrell’s breath caught in her throat. “Delaney!”
Both guns turn to point at the dog, and in that instant, Brodie leaped. He landed squarely on the back of Vito and squashed him flat. The musket flew out of his hand.
Brodie yelled, “Grab the gun!” and Conrad was on it in an instant, aiming it straight at Salvatore. Delaney barked and scampered up the stairs to stand on the edge of the tiny hayloft.
Salvatore grinned, showing the blackened stumps of his teeth. “It all comes down now to who best can aim,” he said, and he tucked the weapon more firmly under his arm and pointed it straight at Conrad.
“I disagree,” said Conrad, with a strange smile. “I believe we have a situation here that we can both profit from, Mr. Salvatore, sir.” He gestured with his musket. “You can have these three in exchange for the pouch of gold you have hanging on your belt. You can sell ’em and get your money back in no time flat. Get them out of here, and I’ll look after myself.”
Darrell was stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding, Conrad,” she said. “What are you thinking?” She glanced sideways and saw a look of disgust on Brodie’s face.
“It’s not much of a choice, is it, Gimp? Let’s see — do I get hauled off to fight in a war in whatever godforsaken century we’re in, or do I grab the gold and take my time finding my merry way back to Eagle Glen?”
“You don’t know the way,” Kate blurted, a mixture of anger and despair in her voice.
“Hey, I know the entrance is around here somewhere, ’cause this is where you were all heading. I’m not in any hurry. I’ll find it.”
Keeping the musket at point-blank aim, he shuffled over to the steps leading to the tiny hayloft. “I tell the good professor a long, sad story about the three of you
stealing a boat for a joyride and how I nobly tried to stop you.” He laughed. “Not that she’ll believe my noble impulses, but there won’t be anyone around to contradict me, will there?” He jerked his head at Salvatore. “Do we have a deal?”
Behind Conrad’s back, Brodie shifted his position on Vito’s legs. One of Vito’s arms was trapped beneath him, and Brodie twisted the other arm high on his back to hold him. Darrell watched as Brodie put his free hand on the dagger in the scabbard at Vito’s waist.
Salvatore shrugged. “I don’t think I want to give up my gold,” he said, and put his finger on the trigger.
Brodie pulled the dagger out of the scabbard.
“Watch him, Sal!” Vito wailed. Conrad looked at Vito and Salvatore’s musket exploded.
Darrell saw Conrad stagger off the step as a red spray flowered from one arm. His own musket fired and shot wild, hitting the oil lamp standing on the crate near the door. The darkness filling the small stable exploded into light as flames raced across the floor and straight up the walls of the old building. Salvatore, splashed with oil from the lamp, was suddenly ablaze and ran like a screaming human torch straight into the arms of Vito, who flung him through the door and rolled him on the icy ground outside to smother the flames.
Darrell had a final sight of Salvatore, his clothes smoking as he lay stunned on the ground outside, while Vito leaped back through the smouldering door to drag Conrad along the ground and out of the stable.
In an instant, Darrell watched her whole world burst into flame.
When she opened her eyes, the brilliance that had seared them with its hellish beauty was gone, and her vision was obscured as though by a thick, grey blanket. Around her was an orchestra of fire; the roar of flame, the crack of collapsing timbers, and the explosive popping of wood assaulted her, and she placed her hands over her ears to protect them from the sudden cacophony. The blanket lifted and at her feet she watched the straw change form in an instant, from yellowed grass to brilliant lines of red fire to incinerated ash.