‘I’d better come with you to make sure Luciano knows you, then,’ said Cesare. ‘Would you like to ride my horse?’
‘No, I’ll walk beside you,’ said Rodolfo. ‘I know the way. My wife used to live there.’
*
‘Why not?’ asked Luciano. ‘Filippo means me no harm, I’m sure.’
‘Then why is he having you followed?’ said Enrico. ‘You and your friend Matteo?’
‘I have made my divinatiouns again,’ said Dethridge. ‘And yt is notte goode. Worse, I have dreamed of capture and of dethe – I saw a bodie of a yonge manne on a slabbe and sharp knives.’
Luciano did not like the sound of this. Other people’s dreams might be shrugged off as just that but this was William Dethridge, the man who had started the whole process of stravagation; he was no ordinary dreamer.
‘But what can I do?’ he said. ‘Filippo will be insulted if I ignore his message.’
‘Lette someone goe in your stede,’ said Dethridge. ‘One of these yonge menne hire canne wear your clothes. Yf he is taken on the way or whenne he gets there, he canne say hee is bot a messengire from ye. I wolde goe myselfe bot no one could mis-take me for ye.’
Luciano looked dubiously at Ludo and Matt. Ludo was much too tall and his hair too noticeable. Matt was of a much heavier build. Enrico was out of the question.
‘It would be too dangerous for the Manoush. He’s not really supposed to be in the city at all – he’s a goddess-worshipper.’
The others knew Luciano was right and Matt had a sinking feeling that he knew what he was going to have to do.
A loud knock at the door made them all jump. Alfredo came in beaming, leading Cesare and a stranger in black velvet. There was something familiar to Luciano about his gait though.
‘Signori,’ said the servant. ‘We are honoured.’
‘I have never been able to deceive Alfredo,’ said the stranger. He passed a hand over his face and was immediately recognisable.
Enrico shrank inconspicuously into a corner but neither Ludo nor Matt knew why Luciano and Dethridge looked so delighted, clasping the newcomer in their arms.
‘It’s Rodolfo,’ explained Luciano. ‘My . . . the Regent of Bellezza, Arianna’s father.’
The introductions were made and Luciano was relieved to have Rodolfo’s opinion on the decision they had reached.
‘I agree,’ said the Regent. ‘It is too dangerous for Ludo. It may be dangerous for Matteo too but if he is willing to do it I can help with the disguise.’
Matt groaned inwardly, thinking of Ayesha waiting for him at the party. But if he went soon, he’d be able to stravagate back in time; even though it was a school night, there was no doubt the party would go on at least till midnight.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘What do I have to do?’
He and Luciano swapped clothes, which was uncomfortable until Rodolfo passed his hand over both of them. After the transformation it wasn’t exactly that Matt and Luciano looked like each other; it was more that each could have been mistaken for the other at a distance, because of their clothes.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Rodolfo, ‘how often people see what they expect to see and don’t really look closely.’
‘You’ll have to ride Cara,’ said Luciano.
‘No way,’ said Matt, startled. ‘I can’t ride. I’ve never even been on a horse.’ He felt strangely vulnerable in his new slighter shape, even though it made him realise that Luciano was tougher than he looked.
‘That’s all right,’ said Cesare. ‘I’ll go with you. It’s easy – we won’t go faster than a walk and I’ll be there to grab the reins if anything happens. That is if no one minds?’
‘Good idea,’ said Rodolfo. ‘You can at least ride as far as the palazzo.’
‘And where shall I go?’ asked Luciano, feeling that he’d like to go and flex his new muscles threateningly at someone.
‘I think you should go to the Scriptorium and wait for Constantin,’ said Rodolfo. ‘Explain what Matteo is doing and that he might be late.’
He turned to Matt. ‘The glamour will wear off as soon as you are in the palazzo. Just tell Filippo that Luciano is unable to come and then get out as quickly as you can. Go to the Scriptorium or come straight here.’
He scrutinised the boy’s altered face. ‘They don’t know you are a Stravagante. Just be sure to keep your talisman hidden and stay out of the sun.’
Rodolfo looked at Enrico as he said it, as if challenging the spy to keep this information secret.
Cesare fetched the two horses from the stable, saddled and bridled, while Ludo left through the garden. The Manoush wasn’t sure if the man Enrico had seen watching the house earlier was looking for him or not, but he had no intention of leading anyone to Giunta’s back yard.
Rodolfo was going to stay and have breakfast with Dethridge and wait for news. Luciano left first, with Enrico by his side, surprised at how much he welcomed his company.
Then Matt and Cesare rode out of the side gate. Cesare had got Matt mounted in the courtyard and he found, to his surprise, that he didn’t feel too awkward or uncomfortable; maybe looking more like Luciano had given him some of the Bellezzan’s skill as well. Or maybe Cara was just a very docile and gentle ride.
For a while, Luciano and Enrico were in sight and Matt was relieved to see how different Luciano looked, even from behind.
‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ said Cesare, following Matt’s gaze.
‘Rodolfo? Yeah, but he’s a bit terrifying,’ said Matt. ‘The old doctor is much more sort of friendly-seeming.’
‘True,’ said Cesare. ‘But Rodolfo is a good friend too. You just need to get to know him.’
It wasn’t far to Filippo’s palazzo and, though they were both nervous, nothing happened on the way. Matt’s heart was thumping loudly in his ears as he walked Cara into the courtyard of the palazzo. He and Cesare parted outside the stables, Cesare heading back to his lodgings. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered.
Liveried servants came forward to take Matt’s horse and, though he dismounted awkwardly, no one showed any surprise. A grander servant led him into an ante-room, where he waited nervously, and then two footmen opened the double doors into Filippo di Chimici’s salon.
Matt walked forward tentatively. He recognised the grand noble that Luciano had been having lunch with in the Refectory but there was also another man, one he didn’t know. And this man, who wore scarlet robes and an alarming wide-brimmed red hat, was looking at him with disapproval.
‘I thought you announced the Cavaliere Crinamorte,’ he rebuked a servant. ‘This is no such person.’
Matt realised that what Rodolfo called the ‘glamour’ had worn off. Luciano’s clothes were feeling uncomfortably tight. He stepped forward.
‘I regret any misunderstanding, sir,’ said Matt to Filippo di Chimici. ‘The Cavaliere sent me with his apologies. He is unable to attend you this morning.’ He bowed and began to retreat.
‘Just a moment,’ said Filippo haughtily. He turned to the man in red. ‘I’ve seen this fellow before. He does errands for the Bellezzan.’
The sun, which had been so slow to clear the sky earlier that morning, had at last broken through the cloud and was streaming through the tall salon windows. Too late, Matt realised he had forgotten Rodolfo’s advice. The man in the red robes had got up and was pointing excitedly at the place where Matt’s shadow should have been. He turned and made a dash for the doors but the two footmen were standing in front of them.
‘Seize him!’ called the Cardinal. He turned to Filippo. ‘We have missed the prey but caught its cub. I think we have found ourselves a young Stravagante.’
The Hallowe’en party was in full swing and getting quite raucous. Chrissie’s parents hadn’t stipulated a finish time; they were staying over with the friends where they had gone to dinner. Chrissie was an only child and she had convinced them that she had worked so hard all through half-term that it didn’t matter staying up late on one school nigh
t.
Witches, wizards, ghosts, ghouls and skeletons were all dancing on the lawn while loudspeakers blared out of the French windows. None of the costumes was very professional but everyone had made some effort. Chrissie floated around in a long dress of smoky-grey chiffon rags and white make-up and her boyfriend, Byron, was a Black Goth, so hadn’t needed to dress any differently to look spooky.
Everyone was having a good time apart from Ayesha. Matt hadn’t showed up and Jago wasn’t there. Chay, who was a good mate, had eventually got tired of her gloomy mood and sloped off to dance with a girl in a tight, red catsuit, who claimed to be a devil.
Nick and Georgia were slow dancing and Sky and Alice were in a clinch under a tree, not even bothering with the music. Ayesha wondered whether to cut her losses and go home. She suddenly thought what the party would look like to someone who had no idea about Hallowe’en: a Martian or something like that. It would be completely incomprehensible – a terrifying scene of spectral figures dancing in the flickering shadows from the flames of a small bonfire – a vision of hell.
At Silvia’s house Rodolfo and Dethridge waited anxiously for news of Matt and Luciano. By lunchtime neither young man had returned and the two older Stravaganti set out for the Scriptorium.
Constantin confirmed their fears; Matt had not turned up to work in the Secret Scriptorium. At first he thought he had, but it was only Luciano under the glamour, which had worn off almost immediately. Constantin was so worried about the young Stravagante that he sent Biagio home and locked the secret room. Luciano had also been worried about Matt, and Constantin feared he might have gone to Filippo’s palazzo in search of his friend.
Dethridge was all for following him straight there but Rodolfo restrained him. ‘If Filippo has taken Matteo prisoner, he will not admit it. And he will know that we suspect his friendship towards Luciano. It is, after all, possible that Matteo has just stravagated back. Didn’t Ludo say that he had arrived early in the city by mistake? I suggest we find Cesare and ask what happened at the palazzo first.’
So the two men went to Cesare’s lodgings, where he was glad to be rescued from an essay he was struggling to write.
‘No, nothing bad happened,’ he said. ‘The grooms took Luciano’s horse and a footman showed Matt in through the main door. After that, I couldn’t see him any more and I came back here.’
‘Was there anything unusual at all about the palazzo or the stables,’ asked Rodolfo. ‘Think hard, Cesare. Any little detail might give us a clue.’
‘Well,’ said Cesare. ‘There was a carriage I didn’t recognise and some servants in a different livery polishing it. It was rather gaudy, red and gold and it had a strange crest on it.’
‘Whatte creste, ladde?’ asked Dethridge. ‘Thinke hard.’
‘Well, it had a sort of flat red hat on top of a sort of family coat of arms, which I couldn’t see,’ said Cesare. ‘And dangling from the hat on each side were lots of scarlet tassels.’
Dethridge and Rodolfo exchanged glances.
‘The Cardinal?’ said Rodolfo.
‘Ronald the Chymist,’ said Dethridge, and pulled a face as if there were something very nasty-tasting in his mouth.
Chapter 20
Brave New World
The two footmen bound Matt’s hands and dragged him to a small room up several flights of stairs. He was locked in and left to fume for about ten minutes. It had all been so civilised he hadn’t even shouted for help; it would have seemed out of place. No more violence had been used than was necessary to restrain him and compel him into this room and even now he couldn’t believe that anyone was really going to hurt him.
Matt was obviously in some sort of store room, not much in use.
His legs weren’t bound and he walked to the small window which had a view only of an internal courtyard, with washing hanging on lines across it. It wouldn’t do any good to shout from here even if he could get the window open.
He wondered whether Luciano would have met the same fate if he had come himself. He was pretty sure that the di Chimici already knew that the Bellezzan was a Stravagante, even though he now had a shadow. Matt cursed his own stupidity again for standing in the sunlight.
A key moved in the lock and Filippo came in, accompanied by the man in red, who had taken off his hat. A burly servant followed them.
‘Strip him,’ said the man in red, not bothering to look at Matt.
The servant had to untie his hands before he could pull off Matt’s jacket and shirt but there was no point in trying to escape. Matt just stood there, feeling humiliated but not yet too scared. Then the servant pulled off his velvet breeches and all three men stared at his underwear.
Matt had been wearing just a singlet and boxers when he lay down on his bed after dinner in his own world – it seemed like an age ago. There was nothing in the least special about them but of course to sixteenth-century Talians they must look as outlandish as a futuristic silver jumpsuit.
‘Search the clothes,’ said the man in red. ‘Take all his possessions.’
There was nothing but a lace-edged handkerchief with a crest embroidered in one corner, a velvet pouch with drawstrings, filled with silver, a sharp-edged dagger which had been in Luciano’s leather belt, and the talisman – the only thing that really belonged to Matt.
‘How does this help us, Rinaldo?’ asked Filippo.
The man in red ignored everything but the book. He took it from the servant and unwound the leather straps.
‘The Bellezzan had a book,’ he said. ‘It is the key to their mystery, I’m sure. And our informant said this boy was holding a book like this when he disappeared. But this is not like the one the Bellezzan had. That had handwritten pages. This is a printed book.’
Suddenly Matt realised that he had multiple problems. If this Rinaldo and Filippo kept the book, he wouldn’t be able to get back home. And Luciano had warned him of the consequences if he stayed in Talia beyond one of the nights of his own world. It would be much worse than missing Ayesha at a party. He thrust that thought to the back of his mind. Luciano had been very ill, with cancer, and Matt was in the best of health. Maybe he could last two nights? But he’d still need the talisman in the end or he’d be stuck in Talia for ever. This was too terrifying to contemplate.
But more pressing was the realisation that his talisman was also a forbidden book. True, it had been printed before the new anti-magic laws but it had been produced in Constantin’s Secret Scriptorium because he had known it was dangerous material even then. And these two di Chimici could shop Matt to the Governor and have him executed for possessing it.
And did it have Constantin’s mark on it? Matt hadn’t checked but he knew that all the other books in both press rooms bore the watermark of the wolf’s head that was Constantin’s symbol. What if it was traced back to him and the Scriptorium searched? Would the secret press be discovered?
Matt now felt surrounded by the prospect of imminent death and not just his own but that of those dear to him in the city. His only hope was that a lot of people knew where he was and several of them were Stravaganti; surely Rodolfo would rescue him?
*
Luciano had left Constantin’s Scriptorium without any clear idea of what to do next. He couldn’t go to Filippo’s, in case his invitation had been genuine; the di Chimici would be very surprised to see him, just after a messenger had arrived to say he wasn’t coming. He had no idea where Ludo was and he needed something to keep his mind off what might be happening to Matt.
In the end, he took Enrico to the School of Fencing, which was open in spite of the religious festival, and had a good work-out with the spy.
Forty-five minutes of vigorous exercise did not improve Enrico’s personal smell and Luciano thought again that life in Talia would be much improved by the invention of the shower. But he was impressed by the spy’s skill and dexterity. For someone who had not been brought up as a nobleman, he shared a lot of their accomplishments. Luciano wondered briefly if he could
dance but had to smile at the thought. What woman would want to whirl around the dance floor in Enrico’s arms? And yet the man had once had a fiancée.
They went to slake their thirst at a tavern and then Luciano decided that it was now possible to show up at Filippo’s palazzo. He left Enrico on watch outside and knocked at the impressive great door. He felt horribly aware that he was still wearing Matt’s Talian clothes, which were rather shabby and now too big for him. The footman who answered the door eyed him superciliously.
‘The Cavaliere Crinamorte of Bellezza to see Prince Filippo of Bellona,’ Luciano said firmly, squashing Matt’s floppy hat in his hand and running his fingers through his black curls, in the hope that Filippo wouldn’t care too much what he looked like.
‘Wait here,’ said the footman curtly and walked away into the depths of the house. Luciano supposed the servant hadn’t been on duty before at any of the times he had visited Filippo and hadn’t recognised him. But he realised, with shame, that he wouldn’t himself know whether he had seen this man before. How quickly he had adapted to a life where servants were just anonymous givers of service, whose own lives and concerns remained unknown.
But it was a different footman who came to collect him and they did recognise each other. This one was more polite and ushered Luciano into the green salon, where a rather flustered Filippo came forward to greet him. Luciano saw his eyes flicker briefly over the printer’s devil outfit but the heir of Bellona was too well-bred to remark upon it.
‘You got my message earlier?’ Luciano asked.
‘Oh yes, thank you,’ said Filippo. ‘Your . . . er . . . messenger said you were busy.’
‘He’s not still here, is he?’ asked Luciano and saw a guilty look pass over Filippo’s face. In that moment he knew that his companions had been right. Filippo di Chimici was not a true friend.
‘No, he left as soon as he had delivered your message,’ said Filippo and Luciano knew he was lying. But he could hardly ask to search the palazzo.