‘Master Lucian!’ said the old man. ‘I am righte glad to see ye! But ye moste not stay here. Youre lyfe is in daungere. Ye moste goe in the peacocke passage and wait for Maister Rudolphe. He wol explaine it all.’
Dethridge did not allow any questions; he was already propelling Lucien towards the wall and grasping the sconce. Within seconds, Lucien found himself inside the secret passage without any source of light. But it was all right. Lucien had used the passage several times and now knew it well enough to make his way along it in the dark to the Duchessa’s side. Still, he was glad to realize that he still had his merlino-dagger in his belt, since he didn’t know what to expect when he got there.
He could hear voices on the other side of her door and hesitated for a while until he was sure that one of them was Rodolfo’s. Cautiously, he pushed against the door and found himself the centre of attention.
Rodolfo was obviously pleased to see him. Although he was smiling now, Lucien thought his master looked a lot older, as if a lot had happened to worry him in the short time that Lucien had been away. The Duchessa was also warm in her welcome. But they had such a lot to tell him that Lucien was overwhelmed.
‘Arianna arrested?’ he said. ‘Can I see her?’
‘Why not?’ said the Duchessa, laughing. ‘The last place my city guards will be looking for you is in one of my cells. And she will have more to tell you.’
‘I’ll take you,’ said Rodolfo. ‘We can go through the Council chamber and across the Bridge of Sorrow. But you mustn’t stay long and we must find a way of keeping you safe from trial.’
*
‘Maister Rudolphe,’ said Dethridge, when the Stravagante returned to his laboratory. ‘I thinke I may have foond my olde worlde.’
He showed Rodolfo what he had done with his mirror and the two Stravaganti found themselves looking into Lucien’s bedroom. It took a while to work out what it was because it looked nothing like a room in either Rodolfo’s Talia or Dethridge’s England, but they recognized the sleeping boy. They watched in silence as the figure breathed lightly almost without moving.
‘That is how I moste have semed whenne I was a-stravaging here,’ said Dethridge. ‘Noe wondir is it that I was ofttimes taken to be dede. It toke mee some tyme to fathome that I moste travel onlie at nighte.’
‘Fascinating!’ said Rodolfo. He clapped the old man on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Dottore, you have done something quite remarkable – and it may turn out to be very useful to the Brotherhood.’
*
The Bellezza Council soon dispatched the smaller transgressions on the day’s list. Everyone was eager to get on with the main business of the day. Council proceedings were not open to the public so Rodolfo was not there. Nor was Rinaldo di Chimici, but he had a Councillor in his pay, to spy for him.
The prisoner was led in, looking remarkably fresh and pretty for someone who had been shut up in a cell for a few days. The evidence against her was produced in the shape of the landlord of the little bar.
‘Yes, I saw her on the forbidden day,’ he said, grudgingly. ‘She came and drank hot chocolate in my bar with the other one, the boy.’
‘Your Grace, the boy has not been found,’ said the prosecutor.
‘Very well, let us hear no more about the boy,’ said the Duchessa. She had not enjoyed a Council session so much for a long time.
‘I shall now prove that the girl is not a citizen of Bellezza,’ said the prosecutor. ‘Call Gianfranco Gasparini.’
Gasparini was called and took the oath.
‘Signor Gasparini,’ began the prosecutor. ‘Tell the Council where you live.’
‘On Torrone,’ said Gianfranco. ‘I am curator of the cathedral museum there.’
‘And do you recognize the accused?’ asked the prosecutor.
‘Yes,’ said Gianfranco. ‘She is my foster-daughter.’
Arianna blinked back her tears. It was still upsetting to hear him say it. There was a murmur throughout the Council chamber.
‘Foster-daughter?’ said the prosecutor, riffling through his notes. ‘You mean you are not the girl’s natural father?’
‘Quite so,’ said Gianfranco. ‘She was raised by my wife and myself, but she is not our own child.’
‘But my information,’ said the prosecutor, ‘says that she was well known on Torrone as the Figlia dell’Isola, the only child to be born there for many years.’
Gianfranco nodded. ‘Except that she was not born there.’
There was a sensation in the Council.
‘And where was she born?’ asked the prosecutor, though he had a horrible idea he knew what the answer would be.
‘Here in Bellezza,’ said Gianfranco.
‘Your Grace,’ said the prosecutor, unnerved by the way his examination was going. ‘This is new information. The witness must offer proof. Otherwise anyone accused of this crime could claim to have been born on Bellezza.’
‘Indeed,’ said the Duchessa. ‘Do you have proof, Signor Gasparini?’
‘If Your Grace would allow another witness to be called, one Signora Landini, your prosecutor could ask her for proof.’
The Duchessa nodded and the witness was called. Arianna had no idea who she was and nor, it was obvious, did the prosecutor.
‘Please give your name, Signora,’ he said.
‘Maria Maddalena Landini,’ said the woman, who was plump and about sixty years of age.
‘And what is your connection with the prisoner?’
‘I was midwife at her birth,’ said the old woman.
‘And where did that birth take place?’
‘Here, sir, in Bellezza.’
‘And who was the mother?’
The Duchessa was impassive behind her mask. The old woman looked straight ahead.
‘I don’t believe I have to answer that,’ she said.
‘Your Grace?’ appealed the prosecutor.
‘The child’s parentage is not the issue,’ said the Duchessa. ‘Only her place of birth. If that is Bellezza the case will be dismissed.’
‘What happened after the child was born?’ asked the prosecutor.
‘I showed her to the mother, who was a gentlewoman,’ said Signora Landini, ‘and she asked me if I would take her to a couple on Torrone, who had agreed to raise her.’
‘And that is what you did?’ asked the prosecutor, feeling the case slip through his fingers.
‘I did,’ said the Signora, ‘I took the baby by boat that same night to a family on Torrone by name of Gasparini. The mother paid me handsomely and that was the end of the matter.’
The Duchessa intervened. ‘It seems clear to me there has been a mistake. There is clearly no case to answer. Release the prisoner to her foster-father.’
*
The Duchessa returned from the hearing in high spirits. Lucien was waiting in her apartments with Rodolfo until the Council session was over.
‘How’s Arianna?’ asked Lucien. It had been traumatic visiting her in the palace dungeons, although she had seemed quite comfortable.
‘Free and happy, I hope,’ said the Duchessa. ‘Gianfranco will have taken her back to her aunt’s, I think.’
‘Can I see her?’ he asked.
‘It would not be safe for you to go out in the street with the warrant still out,’ said Rodolfo.
‘I shall recall that warrant,’ said the Duchessa. ‘I can say that the dismissal of one case has cast doubt on the validity of the other. Go back through the passage with Rodolfo and I will send a message to Arianna when the danger has lifted. Then she can go to you or you to her without fear.’
‘But please remember to come back here before you go home,’ said Rodolfo.
Lucien felt a weight lift from him. And now he looked at the Duchessa in a new light. Knowing
that she was Arianna’s mother made him look for resemblances. And the Duchessa in a good mood was like her daughter, full of a good humour that was infectious.
‘Now go, both of you,’ she said. ‘I have other important matters to arrange.’
*
Enrico whistled as he walked along the canalside. He had a very useful new piece of information. His friend, Giuseppe, the Duchessa’s spy, had another friend, on Merlino, who knew the craftsman who had put together the Glass Room. And along this fragile chain of links had passed silver in one direction, getting less as it passed through each set of hands, and information in the other, growing slightly as it progressed from mouth to mouth.
And now Enrico had a sketch of how the room had been put together. He was ready to make his fortune.
*
Giuliana had been asked to impersonate the Duchessa again. She was not going to say no, of course. Her love of silver had begun to eclipse even her love for Enrico. This time she planned to keep it all for herself and so she didn’t tell her fiancé about the new commission. This time she didn’t have to appear in public, only to receive petitioners in the Duchessa’s audience-chamber. She would not have to speak; a waiting-woman would explain that the Duchessa was suffering from a sore throat. All she had to do was to dress up in the Duchessa’s clothes and appear to listen to some requests and then report them to the Duchessa afterwards. The ruler’s judgements would be communicated to the petitioners later.
Giuliana was surprised to learn that the Duchessa used doubles for minor indispositions; she had thought it happened only on State occasions, but she was willing to go along with the deception. She gazed at the growing pile of beautiful clothes in her cedar chest. She could hardly close the lid on them now. Giuliana was beginning to have far stronger feelings about the idea of her finery and the house she would one day have than her feelings for Enrico. At times he just seemed a necessary evil, a signpost on a route to a better life.
*
Arianna was practically dancing round the fountain when Lucien found her. It was too late to go out anywhere together. It was nearly time for him to stravagate home. But just to walk through the streets without that dull dread which had been hanging over him for days had felt very good.
‘Will you go on with your lessons?’ asked Arianna. ‘And shall we still have our afternoons?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Lucien. ‘I still have a lot to learn about stravagation and about Bellezza.’
He didn’t tell Arianna about a new worry of his. What would happen to his life in Bellezza when he had to go back to school in September? It was going to be hard enough to catch up on all the work he had missed and get back into doing a full school day, without losing night after night of sleep.
For the time being, he would enjoy what was left of the holidays, in both his worlds, but he could feel a change coming and he didn’t like it.
*
‘Have some more wine, Dottore,’ said Leonora.
‘Thanke ye,’ said Dethridge. ‘Ye are moste kinde. And where are the yonglinges now?’
‘Out somewhere in the city, making the most of their time together,’ said Leonora. ‘It’s nearly dark. He will have to get back to Senator Rodolfo’s and go home soon.’
‘So ye knowe whatte hee is?’ the doctor asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said Leonora calmly. ‘I’ve always known. But he’s a good boy and that matters more than what world he comes from, doesn’t it?’
Dethridge was thoughtful. ‘Ye knowe thatte I was the same as hee?’
Leonora looked at him. ‘No, but you say “was”. What happened?’
Dethridge sighed gustily. ‘There was daungere and an accident. It is too longe a tale for now. Some daie I may tell ye. But it sufficeth thatte I am noe longire like unto maister Lucian. I am here now – for gode.’
Leonora reached out and patted his hand.
‘I’m glad,’ she said.
*
Rinaldo di Chimici was furious about the result of the Council trial and even more so when he heard that Lucien’s warrant had been countermanded.
Enrico just shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some,’ he said. ‘What will it matter tomorrow, when the Duchessa is dead?’
Di Chimici couldn’t repress a shudder. The man’s bloodthirstiness appalled him. Having to use him to achieve his aim was like eating an exquisitely prepared dish with a dirty knife. But he was too far gone with the plot now to back out. His cousin Francesca was already in Bellezza, awaiting her role in the plot. He had one or two Bellezzan nobles lined up to marry her quickly if the assassination succeeded.
‘But we can still get the boy if you want,’ said Enrico. ‘When we have a new Duchessa and are part of the Republic, you can get him under your new witchcraft laws. There’s definitely something unnatural about him.’
Di Chimici was relieved. He still needed the boy. In fact he might not wait till Francesca’s election. Why not just get this dirty tool of his to rob the boy? But he would wait till after tomorrow.
*
Once a month anyone in Bellezza could come to the Duchessa with a petition. It did not have to go before Council if it was a small complaint; she could settle for herself disputes between neighbours, inheritance claims among family members, landlord and tenant quarrels.
Silvia normally enjoyed it, sitting in the Glass Room which was reserved for more weighty embassies the rest of the month. She was quite aware that Bellezzans, who were notoriously litigious, often came before her on little pretexts, just to see the great lady face to face and have some discussion with her. It was one of the customs that made the citizens most devoted to their ruler.
They came away even more in awe of her powers and confused about what they had seen. The Glass Room led straight off the Duchessa’s private chamber. A sliding door between them admitted her into the audience-room. But today it was her substitute who stepped through to sit on the Duchessa’s glass throne.
The room gave Giuliana a vertiginous sensation. She wouldn’t have dared get up off the throne to take two steps across the room. All was illusion and deception; she couldn’t tell which was the reality and which the reflection. Giuliana shuddered; there was something spooky about this room. Only a mind like the Duchessa’s could have dreamed it up.
With the first three petitioners, Giuliana scarcely listened to the details of their pleas. Her gaze, behind her red feathered mask, flitted around the extraordinary room which reflected her image back to her over and over again, fractured into splinters by the intricacy of the mirrored panels. It was giving her a headache.
But the fourth petitioner jolted her out of her reverie. It was Enrico! She couldn’t speak to him, of course, but she blushed behind her mask until she felt her face must match her dress. What was he going to ask? She felt sure that it was going to be something to do with the wedding.
But he said nothing. Perhaps he was confused by the room like the other people? But no. He was looking straight at her, not misled by the mirrored glass at all. Suddenly, he nodded, bent down and seemed to bowl something like a ball under her chair. Then he turned and left the room in a hurry.
*
Rodolfo heard the explosion from his laboratory. Lucien had just arrived for his morning lessons. There was a deafening boom followed by the sounds of crashing and splintering glass.
Rodolfo knew where the Duchessa should be at this time and on this day, just as he always knew. In fact, one of his mirrors was trained on the audience room. Rodolfo looked in horror at the mess of glass and blood. She couldn’t possibly have survived. But he was prepared to tear through the glass shards bare-handed to find her.
The quickest way to the Duchessa was the secret passage. Leaving Dethridge and Lucien behind, he wrenched the sconce round and ran in the dark, not waiting to use the firestone. He could hear h
is own breath rasping loudly in the stone corridor. A voice was moaning, ‘Please, goddess, no!’ and he was quite unaware that it was his own.
Chapter 17
Death of a Duchess
Enrico walked as slowly and calmly as he could coming down the stairs of the Duchessa’s palace and across the square. But as soon as he was among the usual crowd of tourists, he heard the explosion and ran as fast as he could all the way back to his lodgings. He had agreed not to contact di Chimici. He had given a false name at the Palazzo and he was going to lie low for a few days. As soon as he had the money from the Ambassador, he would collect Giuliana and leave for Remora. It was foolproof.
Rinaldo di Chimici heard the explosion too, in his rooms on the Great Canal. The sound was followed by a silence, in which all Bellezza seemed to hold its breath. And then a roar, as people went running to the Palazzo, guards trying to keep them out of the building while others were picking their way through the wreckage to the Glass Room.
Di Chimici was fighting to behave normally. What would be normal for a Reman Ambassador suspecting carnage at the Palazzo, he wondered. He must make an appearance in public, must seem surprised, distressed even, or he would be suspected of involvement. He rang his bell to call his servant for news and, when none was forthcoming, except that there had been an explosion in the direction of the Piazza Maddalena, he descended to his mandola at the landing stage.
As the vessel cut through the water, he could see lots of traffic heading in the same direction. The square was thronged with people as if a feast was in progress. But the black smoke pouring from the roof of the Palazzo belied the carnival atmosphere. The Bellezzan fire-fighting team were pumping water from the lagoon to the Palazzo as fast as they could.
As the Ambassador leapt from his mandola on to the Piazzetta landing-stage, he heard the first cry of ‘Bellezza è morta!’ It stopped him in his tracks. After what had happened at the Feast of the Maddalena, he could not believe the plot had succeeded. But the shouts meant only one thing; the Duchessa was dead.