In the end, Matt took Eva to Mortimer Goldsmith’s antiques shop. She was delighted with it and hit it off with Mortimer immediately. They soon unearthed the Cambridge connection – ‘my great-nephew is applying to Queens’, you know’ – and then they were away.
‘I was a Trinity man myself,’ said Mortimer. ‘But my late wife was at Newnham. Perhaps you knew her?’
Amazingly it appeared that Eva had known, slightly, the woman that Mortimer later married; she had been in her last year when Eva came up to Cambridge. Matt soon felt like a spare wheel. He could have just left them to it and they would have chatted all afternoon.
He leafed through some more old books in Mortimer’s shop but there was nothing like his spell-book and they were no easier for him to read than anything else. It was giving him a headache trying to decipher them.
Mortimer decided to close the shop up for lunch and suggested that Eva and Matt should join him for a bite at a nearby café.
‘That’s OK,’ said Matt. ‘You go ahead. I expect you have lots to talk about. I ought to see Chay. Will you be OK to get back afterwards, Eva?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘I shall, of course, walk Mrs Holbrook back to your house.’ He raised his hat gallantly as Matt left the shop.
Eva seems to have made a hit there, thought Matt. If only his own love life was so easy. Ayesha had been so shocked by realising who Luciano was that he hadn’t been able to ask her if she had forgiven him for what he had done to Jago. And he didn’t know yet if Jago would really be all right.
Matt called Chay on his mobile and arranged to meet him in the park. It wasn’t long before he saw his friend jogging towards him. He felt a surge of affection for Chay who knew nothing of spells and magic and Talia and was just a regular bloke, who went to the gym and had been his mate for years.
‘Hey, Chay,’ he said, stepping out to greet him.
‘Hey, man,’ said Chay, giving him a big grin and a high five. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well,’ said Matt, falling into a slow jog beside him. ‘Jago’s better.’
Chay stopped. ‘That’s fantastic! Do you mean he’s out of Intensive Care?’
‘Even better,’ said Matt. ‘He’s leaving hospital later today.’
‘So what was wrong with him?’ asked Chay, resuming their training pace.
‘I don’t think they ever knew,’ said Matt. ‘He just opened his eyes and the doctors said he was OK.’
‘So it wasn’t anything you did to him?’ asked Chay. ‘I never thought it was, you know.’
‘No,’ lied Matt. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with me.’
The class was full and Luciano saw to his unease that Filippo de Chimici was in the front row. He believed Filippo was his friend and some of the things he was going to say were going to be hard to get out with him there. Constantin had a slate on which he was going to award marks for arguments, how they were arranged, expression, memory of facts and delivery.
He would ask the class what they thought before coming up with a final mark.
Luciano cleared his throat nervously and began:
‘When is it right to kill a man? Any honourable person’s first reaction to this question will be a horrified “Never!” but a moment’s thought will tell us that there are occasions when it might be the lesser of two evils. For example, if you saw someone about to stab a child, you would act without thinking to save that child, even if it meant killing the attacker. I shall list the cases where it is appropriate, even desirable to kill another human being.’ And then he delivered a fine coup de théâtre. ‘As someone who himself has killed a man, I feel I am in a unique position to tackle this topic.’
He certainly had his audience’s attention now.
Luciano moved steadily through the arguments about defending the weaker and more vulnerable, through coming to the aid of one’s comrade-in-arms, fighting to defend one’s country in time of attack, protecting one’s family, property and finally oneself.
‘I have been present at a massacre,’ he said, ‘when many peaceable people had to take up arms to defend themselves against the murderous assault of armed men upon a ceremony in a church – consecrated and hallowed ground.’ He paused to let this sink in.
‘And I have been challenged to a duel to the death by someone I believed myself not to have wronged. I took part to defend my honour and in the course of the duel killed a man who was older than me, a more experienced fencer and a person of great personal wealth and position and influence.’
Filippo’s eyes glittered as Luciano reached his concluding arguments.
‘It was not my intention to kill him but his wound proved fatal. There is no doubt that, had I not struck him, he would have killed me. That was his intention and his wish. In the circumstances I did the only thing I could. It does not mean that I am proud to have done it. On the contrary, I regret it deeply. But it was a case when it was right, as in the other cases I have set out, to kill a man.’
Luciano went back to his seat and the class erupted in applause. Constantin nodded his approval. Luciano’s speech had not followed all the classical rules of Rhetoric but it had made a powerful impact on his audience, which was one of the main purposes of teaching the discipline. He would get a high mark.
Filippo di Chimici was applauding along with the others. But he was not smiling in congratulation. Luciano did not realise that by admitting in public to killing a di Chimici, even while not naming him, he had appeared to boast of it in front of a family member and that was an insult that could not be pardoned. In that moment Luciano’s fate was sealed.
Chapter 17
An Anatomy Lesson
Luciano came out of the Rhetoric class dazed by lack of sleep and surrounded by fellow students who wanted to clap him on the back and buy him a drink. He was relieved to discover that one of them was Cesare, who took him in hand and led him to the Refectory, managing to lose several of their followers on the way there. He organised food and drink for both of them, and for Enrico, who had a habit of turning up when free refreshments were likely.
‘Drink up,’ said Cesare to Luciano. ‘You’ve earned it. That was brilliant. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand up in front of a roomful of people and declaim like that.’
‘Was that what you did, signore?’ asked Enrico. ‘And what were you declaiming about then?’
‘Killing people,’ said Luciano. ‘You should have been there. You could have given your professional opinion.’
‘Now then,’ said Enrico. ‘There’s no call to be personal. Was he there? Filippo?’
‘In the front row,’ said Luciano.
‘And was he impressed?’ asked Enrico innocently. ‘I mean if you were talking about killing people, you must have mentioned his uncle, seeing as how you haven’t killed a lot of people.’
‘He clapped,’ said Luciano, beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘I don’t see what you’re getting at.’
‘Only that the di Chimici don’t like people boasting about how they put their relatives away,’ said Enrico. ‘Especially in public.’
‘I wasn’t boasting,’ said Luciano irritably. ‘I just said it was the right thing to do.’
There was a sharp hiss as Enrico breathed in through his teeth. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
But Luciano was getting tired of this and wanted to be back at home with Arianna. He started to get up but then saw the boy ‘Adamo’ coming in, followed by the tall companion who was never far from his side. Immediately Luciano was on his guard.
‘Congratulations,’ said Adamo gruffly. ‘Marco and I sneaked in at the back. You did a great job.’
‘Enrico Poggi,’ said the spy, standing up and bowing. ‘At your service.’
‘Adamo, um, Cesarini,’ said the boy, randomly seeking inspiration from seeing Cesare. ‘And this is Marco.’
Enrico offered to get chairs for them but Adamo shook his head and said, ‘No, thank you. We have to get back home. I
just came to say goodbye and to congratulate you, Signor Luciano.’
And Luciano had to watch his love walk away without embracing her or knowing when he would next see her. He had wasted all their time together, first with stravagating and then writing his speech. He wondered if pizza and a shower had been worth it, even though he had seen his parents. But that was a mixed blessing in itself.
While Luciano had been dazzling the Rhetoric class, Matt was fast asleep. He hadn’t meant not to stravagate but the book had fallen out of his hand just as he was losing consciousness. He struggled to reopen his eyes, desperately aware that there was something he needed to do but it was no good. He was just too exhausted by the strain of all the business at the hospital.
He didn’t wake up until Jan knocked on his door, saying ‘Driving lesson in half an hour.’
‘Your concentration is a bit off this morning,’ Brian remarked, after Matt had been slow to get away at a green traffic light and messed up a perfectly easy reverse around a corner.
He can say that again, thought Matt. His mind was in Talia, wondering what excuse Constantin had made for him this time and whether the other pressmen would be against him on his return.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Brian was saying. ‘We all get off days when we’re learning any new skill. The important thing is not to do it when you’re a qualified driver.’
Matt was grateful. It seemed as if he had good men looking out for him in both worlds. After the lesson, he was at a loose end and found himself mooching past their favourite café. He looked in and saw Sky, for once without Alice, reading one of the newspapers. The dreadlocked boy looked up and, on an impulse, Matt went in.
He didn’t know this Stravagante as well as he did Nick and Georgia and this was a chance to talk to him on his own. The other two were so caught up in each other and some underlying stuff about Luciano that they could be hard work.
Sky greeted him warmly. ‘Last day of freedom,’ he said when Matt brought his cup over to his table.
‘What? Oh yeah, half-term. But we’ve still got the weekend.’
‘We have every weekend,’ said Sky. ‘Today is the last day of our week off.’
Matt looked down at the paper Sky had been reading. There was a picture in it of the veteran rock star, Rainbow Warrior. He looked familiar and something clicked in Matt’s brain. ‘Is he your dad?’ he asked.
‘So you can see the resemblance,’ said Sky. ‘Yeah, he’s my dad and time was I’d have to read the newspaper if I wanted to know what he was doing. But it’s OK now. He’s got a big UK tour coming up. I’m going to see him on Sunday.’
‘Is it him you’re going to stay with in the States next year?’
Sky nodded. ‘Him and his wife. She’s OK, actually.’
‘It must be cool being a famous singer’s son,’ said Matt. ‘Mine sings chorus at the opera – how uncool is that?’
‘I expect it’s OK if your dad’s a nice man,’ said Sky. ‘It took me a while to find out that mine wasn’t so bad. In fact it was going to Talia that did it.’
‘So it does something for you, this stravagation, does it?’ said Matt. ‘I thought it was supposed to be the other way round. Not that I’ve been any help there yet. More of a nuisance, really,’ he said, thinking about how Constantin and Luciano had got him out of the mess he’d made.
‘It changes people,’ said Sky. ‘Makes their lives better. Look at Georgia. She says she was a miserable, lonely kid being bullied by her stepbrother before she went to Remora and now she’s confident and happy and going out with Nick.’
‘It wasn’t exactly a happy experience for Luciano, was it?’ said Matt, lowering his voice. ‘He died, for God’s sake.’
‘He thinks he would have done that anyway,’ said Sky. ‘And you’ve got to admit being a Knight of Bellezza beats lying six feet under.’
‘But he’s doing that too, isn’t he?’ said Matt. He shivered, as if someone had walked over his own grave. He wondered if it was a premonition of winter.
Just then, two girls walked into the café. One was Alice, who gave Sky a radiant smile; the other was Lucy, the girl who had being going out with Jago. Matt supposed she was history now, but she didn’t seem upset. On the contrary, she seemed on top of the world.
‘Hi, you two,’ said Alice, slipping into a seat at their table and giving Sky a kiss, while the other girl queued to give their order.
‘Lucy seems happy,’ said Sky.
‘She’s just been with Jago,’ said Alice. ‘He’s much better but still needs to sleep a lot so I asked her if she’d like to join us for coffee.’
‘Are she and Jago still on then?’ asked Matt in a whisper.
Alice looked surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t they be? She came back early from her trip to Paris with her parents as soon as she heard he was ill. Of course she missed all the drama at the hospital but I expect she’s glad about that. They seem pretty devoted to me.’
Suddenly the day felt brighter and warmer to Matt. He made his excuses, waving to Lucy, and left the others in the café. He was going to see Ayesha.
Angelo Angeli was giving one of two public dissections that Frida, but Ludo the Manoush was not in the Anatomy Theatre. His people had a deep respect for the remains of fallen companions and elaborate rituals for their disposal. At this time more than any other, leading up to the Day of the Dead, what was going on under Professor Angeli’s knife would have seemed a sacrilege.
Ludo’s hiding-place at the back of Antonio’s house had not been discovered but he spent as little time there as possible, not wanting to put Giunta more at risk than necessary. When he could, he met up with others of his kind and roamed the city. They couldn’t wait to get away from Padavia. It was like a prison to them. Not to be able to play or sing or wear bright clothes made them feel like caged birds. But they would stay until the 3rd of November when the three days of their Festival of the Dead would be over. And then they would leave this city and not return unless it repealed the laws that forbade the worship of their Lady.
And they would have to be careful how they celebrated their festival. They usually carried out their rituals at night or in the early morning anyway, for it was then that the moon, believed to be a form of the goddess, would watch over them. So, with luck no Padavian citizens would see them carrying out what would now be illegal acts.
Ludo was restless; he wished that he had never come to this city. From the day he had met Luciano, he had lived in semi-hiding, like a shadow of his real self. He respected the young Bellezzan, who Aurelio had told him came from another world, and he knew that the young printer was also one of the same kind, though not the horse-boy of Remora.
But Ludo could not forget two things. One was the reading of the Corteo Cards that he had seen Dottore Crinamorte lay out, with the figures of Death, the Scales and the Magician all close together. The other was having seen Filippo di Chimici. For Ludo had a secret of his own, one that he had not shared with Luciano: he was only half-Manoush.
Ever since he was small, his mother had told him that his father had not been of their people. Ludo had not felt the lack of him; the way in which the Manoush lived meant that there were always older men around. And he was especially attached to his older cousin, Aurelio. But he was curious about the other half of himself, that made him look different from his fellows, the only redhead in a tribe marked out by its glossy black hair and dark skin.
But it wasn’t till his mother had been dying a few months ago that she admitted to him that his father had been of noble birth. ‘The highest in the land,’ she said. ‘If you ever fall on hard times, if the Manoush should ever fail you, the di Chimici will take you in.’
She had died before he could find out any more. He had no idea which branch of the family he might belong to. And since his mother’s death he had made no attempt to find out. She had given him a signet ring bearing a crest but he kept it in a bag close to his chest and never looked at it.
He had seen Filippo of Bellona
several times now and was fascinated by him. He had stared at the young noble, studying his features to see if they could be brothers. And it did not seem impossible; there was a resemblance. But he didn’t know if his own mother had ever been in Bellona and since the Manoush wandered the earth and had visited every city-state in Talia, no one branch of the di Chimici was more likely than another to house his unknown father.
Ludo had fantasised about every di Chimici he knew of, including the late Grand Duke. But he knew this was a dangerous path to follow. He was Manoush and must remain so. He dragged his mind back to the array of cards; there had been something else significant, which the Dottore had not wanted to reveal. The Book. On a whim, Ludo turned his steps towards the Scriptorium.
*
When Matt arrived on Friday morning, his second Friday in a row, as he thought of it, Constantin had taken him to one side and told him that the pressmen thought he had been sent to collect a new supply of paper the day before.
‘But what happened, really?’ he asked. ‘Why didn’t you come? Were you unable to reverse the evil eye?’
Matt cursed himself for being a thoughtless bastard. He had forgotten Constantin didn’t know what had happened with Jago and must still have been worrying. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘I was so tired I just fell asleep without stravagating. But you haven’t seen Luciano then?’
‘No, I expect he thought you would tell me yesterday,’ said Constantin. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Matt gave him a short version of the events at the hospital. The Professor sighed with relief. He patted Matt on the shoulder.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘We must talk again about the control of this power but I have to go to the Anatomy Theatre now.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Matt. ‘I’ve learned my lesson.’
Then Constantin had left for the dissection and, to his surprise, Biagio had called Matt over to be a beater on one of the presses. One of the pressmen was genuinely sick and Matt was to fill his place.