She carried a tray through to the living room, where the piano was and her violins. But she almost dropped it when she heard Falco’s gasp behind her. He was staring at a picture on the piano. It was a younger version but recognisably the Stravagante Luciano. Vicky put down the tray and helped Falco into a comfortable chair.
‘I see you looking at the photo,’ she said. ‘It is my son, Lucien. He ... died last year.’
‘He lives in another place,’ said Falco. Georgia kicked his ankle.
Vicky sat down, white-faced. ‘That’s what that strange man said at the funeral,’ she said, trembling. ‘What does it mean?’ She passed her hand over her eyes. ‘Sometimes I fancy he’s still alive in some other world. I’ve even imagined that I’ve seen him.’ She looked cautiously at them to see what they thought of this.
‘I think it’s just a manner of speaking,’ said Georgia quickly. ‘Perhaps he’s religious.’ And she glared at Falco.
*
‘We had the most extraordinary case today,’ said Maura, over dinner. ‘The police rang in about a boy. He’s lost his memory and seems to have been abandoned by his parents.’
‘Good grief,’ said Ralph. ‘How old is he?’
‘Thirteen,’ said Maura. ‘At least he says he is. But small for his age. He’s very handicapped too. Has to walk with crutches. But the extraordinary thing is, he was reported by Georgia’s violin teacher, Vicky Mulholland.’
Georgia felt her spaghetti Bolognese turning to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed hard. Now was the time for her to own up. But Russell was listening, not tuned out the way he usually was during meals.
‘Yeah, actually, I found him wandering round outside as I was passing her house,’ she said. ‘I asked her if she would call the police.’
All the rest of the family turned their attention fully on Georgia.
‘Why on earth didn’t you say?’ asked Maura.
Georgia shrugged. ‘It was no big deal,’ she said.
‘What? You find abandoned children every day, do you?’ asked Ralph.
‘She finds cripples easily enough,’ said Russell. ‘Georgia collects them.’
‘Handicapped people, Russell,’ said Maura sharply. ‘Well, I wish you’d said, Georgie. I might have to declare an interest at work now.’
‘What interest? It’s not as if I know him,’ lied Georgia. ‘I just found him and took him into Mrs Mulholland’s. That’s not a crime, is it?’
‘No, but there’s a complication,’ said Maura. ‘You see, there was no reported missing child of his description so we had to put him in temporary foster care. Well, you know how backed-up we are in Islington with children needing foster families and our children’s homes are all bursting at the seams.’
‘Don’t tell me we have to have him here,’ said Russell.
‘No, Russell,’ said Maura. ‘But the Mulhollands volunteered and we’ve approved them as temporary foster-parents. He’ll be living with them till we find his real parents.’
‘What do you think has happened to them?’ asked Ralph.
‘In all likelihood, I think they’re probably asylum-seekers, who have deliberately left him to be found, so that he can get proper medical care. He may even have come into the country unaccompanied. It wouldn’t be the first case we’ve had,’ said Maura.
‘A bit unfeeling to abandon the kid, though,’ said Ralph. ‘Particularly if he’s lost his memory.’
‘If he has,’ said Maura. ‘It’s more likely that they told him to pretend he’d lost it – as a cover story. I should think his family are far from unfeeling.’
Georgia felt uncomfortable; her mother’s guesses were a bit too close to the truth.
‘Welcome back,’ said Paolo. ‘We don’t seem to have seen much of you lately.’
‘I know,’ said Georgia. ‘It will be different from now on.’
‘Will it?’ asked the older Stravagante. ‘You seem very sure. I don’t know what you and Luciano have been up to. I said it was a good idea to befriend the younger generation of di Chimici, but you must be careful. The Duke is a powerful enemy.’
Georgia was let off the hook by the return of Luciano in his carriage. He had to tell Paolo and Doctor Dethridge what appeared to have happened to Falco. The four Stravaganti were silent for a moment, each thinking separate thoughts about this event.
‘And ye two knowe no thinge aboute the chylde’s resouns?’ asked Dethridge. ‘Yt is a terrabyl thinge thatte he has done.’
‘I think he was just tired of living with his physical problems,’ said Luciano.
‘But he didn’t tell either of you what he was planning?’ persisted Paolo.
It was difficult for Georgia and Luciano to withstand the two men’s questioning while looking them in the eye. In the end, Paolo let them go but he looked very grave.
With great relief, the two younger Stravaganti walked into town.
‘I never want to go through another night like that,’ said Luciano. ‘How was it at your end?’
‘Fine,’ said Georgia. She looked and felt quite wretched though. She now had a secret from Luciano as well as from everyone else in Talia and she didn’t know how he was going to take it.
Falco lay unsleeping in Luciano’s old bed in London. He did not know how to relax. So much had happened to him since this second stravagation. He hadn’t had any idea that Georgia planned to bring him to Luciano’s parents, but he liked them. David was nothing like Falco’s real father and wasn’t at all frightening. He had accepted the idea of fostering the lost boy as soon as his wife put it to him. And it was lovely to have a sort of a mother again. Falco had almost forgotten what it was like.
But he felt guilty that he was here instead of Luciano. And his heart was heavy with his imaginings about what his family would be suffering in Remora, Giglia and Bellezza, as soon as they all knew. He knew that Georgia would be with Luciano in Remora now and he felt suddenly homesick for Talia.
He was giving Luciano up as well as his family and he had grown attached to the Stravagante as an extra brother. But now, if he were to carry out his full plan, he would not see Luciano again. The choice – for now – had been removed from him though. Georgia had the talisman and she was asleep in another house. As well as awake in Remora, doubtless being quizzed about Falco right now.
He sighed and closed his eyes. At the foot of his bed a mirror reflected black curls on the pillow – not for the first time.
‘You did what?’ said Luciano.
He had wanted to know everything about Falco in London and Georgia, although she hadn’t intended to tell him about that part of her plan yet, found his questions too pressing to parry. At least they were in a public place. They were drinking lemon sherbet bought from a stall in the Campo delle Stelle, sitting on the stone seat that surrounded the slender column in the centre.
Luciano seemed so fierce Georgia’s heart misgave her. She wanted him to admire her even if there was no chance of anything deeper and now it looked as if she might have blown it.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said now. ‘My parents! But they’ve never talked about fostering before.’
‘Well it wasn’t exactly planned,’ said Georgia. ‘They just offered because Social Services couldn’t find any other place for him.’
‘Planned is exactly what it seems to have been,’ said Luciano bitterly. ‘You never told me my parents were going to be involved.’
‘Do you mind?’ asked Georgia nervously.
‘No,’ said Luciano, after a pause. ‘Not exactly. It’s just a shock. What made you do it?’
‘It was talking to your mum,’ said Georgia. ‘She still misses you so much. Falco needed a home and it seemed to me that she needed a boy to take care of.’
‘Proper little agony aunt, aren’t you?’ said Luciano, but he managed a weak smile. ‘I know it’s selfish of me but I don’t want to be replaced, even by Falco.’
Georgia squeezed his hand. ‘You won’t be,’ she said. ‘You’re irreplaceable.’
&nb
sp; They went back to the stall to return their wooden cups – nothing in Talia was disposable.
‘It seems strange to think that in a week’s time this will be a racetrack, doesn’t it?’ said Georgia, deliberately changing the subject. ‘With Cesare and the others galloping round it.’
‘And all the Rams out in force supporting him and Arcangelo,’ said Luciano. ‘The whole family will be here.’
‘Will you watch it?’ asked Georgia.
‘Yes,’ said Luciano a bit uncomfortably. ‘I think Doctor Dethridge and I will have a place with Rodolfo and the Duchessa in the Pope’s stand.’
‘The Royal Box,’ said Georgia. ‘How come you get to hobnob with the aristocracy while I’m just a humble stable-boy?’
‘Chance,’ said Luciano. ‘Or destiny. You’ll just have to watch with all the other Remorans in the Campo. It will probably be more fun.’
‘Look out!’ said Georgia suddenly. ‘Fishes!’
Luciano’s hand flew to the dagger in his belt. The three young men approaching did indeed wear the blue and pink colours of the Twelfth of Fishes and they were not looking friendly. In the days before the race the enmities between Twelfths in the city became more pronounced. And Luciano and Georgia were outnumbered. Then they saw the Fishes backing off.
They turned round and saw Cesare and Paolo coming towards them. The Fishes must have thought better of taking on four Rams, particularly since one of the new arrivals was so well built.
‘Well met,’ said Paolo. ‘But I bring news more worrying than Fishes, particularly minnows like those three. A messenger has come for you. Duke Niccolò wants to see you both up at the Papal palace. And he won’t tolerate any delay.’
*
In the Papal palace Rinaldo di Chimici was having a very uncomfortable interview with his uncle. He had never told the Duke about capturing the young Bellezzan because the plan had gone so badly wrong. Rinaldo had redeemed himself by being able to send news to Giglia of a much bigger coup: the assassination of the Duchessa. But now he was being hard pressed by the Duke to tell him all he knew about Luciano.
‘You had him in your hands and let him go?’ Niccolò asked incredulously. ‘When you knew he was a Stravagante from the other world?’
‘That was the suspicion, Uncle. But if he was – and I saw him without a shadow – he is that no longer. Something must have gone wrong with whatever that old magician Rodolfo was planning. I told you, when we had the boy arraigned in court, he clearly did have a shadow.’
‘And what about the book?’ asked Niccolò. ‘You said there was a book he valued that had something to do with his powers.’
Rinaldo shifted in his chair. ‘I have it, Uncle, but we have been able to do nothing with it and make nothing of it. I suspect trickery of some kind.’
‘So you let him go?’ said Niccolò.
‘We couldn’t keep him for ever,’ said Rinaldo.
‘You should have slit his throat while you had him,’ said Niccolò. ‘If you had, my boy would not be lying unconscious upstairs.’
A footman entered. ‘The young men you sent for are here, your Grace.’
‘You may leave us, Rinaldo,’ said Niccolò coldly.
Luciano started as he passed his old adversary the ambassador in the doorway. Georgia hadn’t seen Rinaldo before and didn’t know anything of his history with her friend. She saw only a rather weak and nervous young man who passed them in a cloud of scent.
For the next twenty minutes, the Duke grilled them mercilessly about Falco. Why had they visited him so often? What had they talked about? What did they know of his son’s state of mind?
And he wasn’t satisfied with their answers. Necessarily, since Luciano and Georgia both had to lie, in order to respect Falco’s wishes. But it was very hard to lie to the Duke. They felt lucky to escape unscathed, except for his threats.
‘Do not attempt to leave Remora,’ he said coldly. ‘I shall have the gates of the city barred against you. And if my son does not recover, you may never leave here.’
When Luciano and Georgia had left, he put his head in his hands.
*
The rider from Remora had not spared himself. He changed horses many times on the journey and pulled up at the inn outside Volana in the middle of the night. The sleepy innkeeper was most unsure about disturbing the young prince but was persuaded that the matter was urgent. Minutes later Gaetano was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes as he tried to make sense of the message the rider had brought.
*
A smart carriage drove through the Gate of the Sun in the early hours of Wednesday morning. It was curtained so that the two occupants could not be seen, but there was a great deal of luggage stacked on the top and an elegantly-liveried servant sat beside the driver. He was tall and thin, with red hair, unusual colouration in Talia and therefore highly regarded.
The carriage rattled across the empty cobbled streets until it reached the Twelfth of the Ram. It stopped outside a tall house in the Via di Montone and the red-headed servant jumped down. The curtains were drawn back and the carriage-window lowered so that he could talk to his employer.
He then rapped at the door-knocker and went into the house to check that everything was in order. Only when the lodgings had been thoroughly inspected and passed as suitable did he hand down a passenger from the carriage. She was a handsome middle-aged woman, with a still slender figure, in a grey velvet travelling dress. She wore a veil and was followed by a maid carrying various small cases and bags, which the manservant courteously took from her. The three passed into the house unremarked except by a couple of pigeons and a grey cat as sleek as the elegant stranger.
Things moved fast for Falco in the next week. The first thing that happened was an appointment with the doctor. Dr Kennedy was a bit surprised to see him come in with Vicky Mulholland, but she had agreed with Social Services to let this boy have an emergency appointment, so that his physical condition could be assessed. Maura had come too. The two women knew each other slightly.
The doctor spent a long time examining Falco, whom she addressed as Nicholas. He had to remember that was his name now. He couldn’t answer her questions about what childhood illnesses he had had.
‘Well,’ she said, when she had finished, filling out a form Maura gave her. ‘In some ways you’re in pretty good shape. You are well nourished and your heart and lungs are sound. I’d like to see you weigh about half a stone more at your age but you are a bit on the short side and could be in for a growth spurt. The real problem of course is your leg. You say you can’t remember anything about the accident except that it involved a horse. But it’s a bad break, badly set.’
‘Can you make it better?’ asked Falco. It was what his whole journey had been for.
‘Not me,’ said Dr Kennedy, and smiled to see his downcast face. ‘But I think that the orthopaedic surgeons could.’ She turned to Maura. ‘I shall ask for him to be seen at Barts as soon as possible. I think it highly likely that he’ll need quite extensive surgery followed by physiotherapy.’
‘And do you think if he has it he’ll be able to walk properly?’ asked Vicky, putting the question Falco did not dare to.
‘I can’t make any promises, Mrs Mulholland,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m not the specialist here. But we’ll see what the surgeons say. I’ll give Mr Turnbull’s secretary a ring now and find out how quickly they can get him seen. It is an unusual case and I think that will push him up the waiting list.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Maura. ‘We know what the NHS can be like.’ Then bit her lip, wishing she could bite her tongue too as she saw the grimace pass over Vicky’s face. Of course this intense and caring woman knew more about doctors and hospitals than Maura would ever wish to.
Falco was seen at Barts within a week. The clinic nurse looked a bit oddly at the crutches, which were the hospital’s own property, but didn’t say anything. She weighed and measured him, gave the crutches back and soon called him in to see Mr Turnbull. Again
, Falco was accompanied by his foster-mother and his social worker. Maura was a team leader but she was handling his case personally. Falco was high profile now, his photo in all the tabloids under banner headlines like ‘IS THIS YOUR SON?’ and ‘TRAGEDY OF ABANDONED BOY.’ Social Services couldn’t afford to get anything wrong about his treatment.
*
Georgia took Falco to visit Mr Goldsmith’s shop. The Talian boy loved the jumble of things he saw there – snuffboxes and clocks, soup tureens and pianola rolls. The old antique dealer looked curiously at Falco’s crutches and then at Georgia. But one of the things she liked about him was the way he didn’t ask questions about unimportant things.
‘This is my friend Nicholas,’ she said. ‘And this is Mr Goldsmith,’ thinking, he’s my friend too. Plus Alice, that’s three I’ve got in this world.
Mr Goldsmith was a bit like Doctor Dethridge, she decided. He and Falco got on extremely well and were soon poring over the innards of a long case clock together.
In Remora the di Chimici clan were gathering. Gaetano had made his apologies to the Duchessa early on the morning after the messenger had arrived. She was a little piqued to be losing his company on the journey, which was to stop for two nights in the Prince’s home city of Giglia, but softened when she saw his evident distress about his brother.
Gaetano had sent the messenger on to Bellezza and Francesca was expected to arrive within days. Other messengers had been dispatched to Giglia by the Duke and had brought the rest of Falco’s family. His older brothers Fabrizio and Carlo and his sister Beatrice had all abandoned their pursuits and set out for Remora straightaway.
The boy’s unconscious body had been taken from Santa Fina to the city’s hospital, just across the square from the Papal palace and the cathedral, which were all in the Twelfth of the Twins. The Pope said Mass daily for him in the cathedral and the people of Remora remembered him in their prayers.
Falco was now officially suffering from the Morte Vivenda and there was very little hope that he would wake up. The poison bottle had been traced to the gardener at Santa Fina and he had been severely flogged. People were gathering outside the hospital, where they brought votive offerings to the goddess, on the remains of whose temple the hospital had been built.