City of Flowers (4 page)

Sky was beginning to see, among this muddle of names and titles, a pattern emerging.

‘Is this Jacopo still alive?' he asked.

Sulien nodded. ‘He will give his daughter away to the second son of this city's Duke.'

‘And the Nucci lot?'

‘Will be invited, of course. They are still one of the great families of Giglia.'

‘Phew,' said Sky. ‘Could be pretty explosive. But I really don't see why you are telling me all this.'

‘Come,' said Sulien, ‘a little further.'

They skirted the back of the cathedral. Among the buildings behind it was a busy, noisy workshop, ringing with the sound of chisel on stone. Sulien stopped and looked both ways.

‘This is the bottega of Giuditta Miele, the sculptor,' he said. ‘She is another one of us Stravaganti. And her next commission is to make a statue of the beautiful Duchessa of Bellezza, who is coming here for the di Chimici weddings.'

‘Sorry,' said Sky. ‘I still don't see . . .'

‘The Duchessa was supposed to marry Gaetano di Chimici, the third prince. Supposed by Duke Niccolò, that is. She refused him, some think because she was too attached to a young man who was her father's apprentice. Her father is Rodolfo Rossi, the Regent of Bellezza, one of the most powerful Stravaganti in Talia. And the young man, his apprentice, did her mother, the late Duchessa, great service, and is now an honoured citizen of Bellezza, but it wasn't always so.'

‘No?' asked Sky, because it seemed expected.

‘No,' said Sulien. ‘He was once from your world, and I think you probably know of him.'

*

Gaetano di Chimici stood in the loggia of the Piazza Ducale and everywhere he looked he saw evidence of his family's influence on the city he loved. They had built the palace that housed the seat of government, with its tower that dominated the square, they had placed the statues commemorating victories of the weak over the strong, and they had built the Guild offices, with their workshops underneath, where silversmiths and workers in semi-precious stones plied their crafts along with the less important goldsmiths.

All over the city, poor housing was being pulled down and replaced with grand buildings, columns, squares and statues. And all this was the work of his father, carrying on the tradition of his ancestors, and part of Gaetano could not help feeling proud. But he also knew how much blood stained the family's omnipresent crest of the perfume bottle and the lily, in pursuit of acquiring land and showing themselves superior to the Nucci and other feuding families of the city. And what he didn't know, he could guess.

Why, even old Jacopo, the kindest and sweetest of Niccolò's cousins, had committed a murder only a few streets away from here! Uncle Jacopo, as they called him, who had fed all the little princes sweetmeats with his own fingers and wept like a baby when his favourite hound died. Not for the first time, Gaetano wished he had been born into a family of shepherds or gardeners.

Then he and Francesca could have got up early one morning and made their vows in a country church, decorated with rosebuds. He smiled at the thought of his beautiful cousin, the love of his life, clad in a homespun dress with flowers in her hair. How different from their forthcoming marriage in the vast cathedral, which would be followed by a grand procession and surrounded by dangers in spite of all the finery of silks and brocades and silver and diamonds.

Gaetano decided to walk towards Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines and look up the friar who his friend Luciano had told him was a Stravagante, like Luciano himself and his master, Rodolfo. Unlike his own father, Gaetano was not an enemy of the Stravaganti; in fact he thought they were probably the only people who could stave off the disaster he could feel brewing.

*

‘Lucien Mulholland?' said Sky, disbelievingly. ‘But he died – about two and a half years ago. He can't be here in your city.'

‘Not yet,' said Sulien. ‘He lives in Bellezza. But he will accompany the Duchessa to the weddings. You will meet him. And find he is very much alive, in Talia.'

Sky sat down on a low wall. He remembered Lucien – a slim boy with black curls, two years above him at school. He vaguely remembered that Lucien was good at swimming and was also musical, but that was about it. He hadn't known him well, and when the head teacher had told the whole school in assembly one morning that Lucien had died, Sky had felt only that shock that everyone feels when death comes to someone young and familiar.

But now he was being asked to believe that this person was not dead at all but living in another world, somewhere in the past, and that he, Sky, was going to meet him. It was too far-fetched for words.

Looking around him, he noticed that he and Sulien were not the only black inhabitants of Giglia. There were not many others but there were some, which struck him as odd, if this was a sort of Italy, goodness knows how long ago. Although Sky was taking history AS, he realised that he had only the vaguest of ideas about life in Renaissance Italy. And then had to remind himself that this wasn't Italy at all. But he was glad not to attract any strange looks, except from a rather scruffy boy lounging apparently aimlessly round the food stalls.

The boy caught his eye and made his way towards Sky and Sulien.

‘Hello, Brothers,' he said.

Sky knew it was because of his robes that the boy called him that, but it made him jump all the same.

‘Sandro,' said the boy, nodding at Sulien and sticking out his hand towards Sky.

‘Celestino,' said Sky, remembering his new name.

‘Brother Celestino,' said Sandro, with a sideways glance at Sulien. 'You're new here, aren't you?'

Chapter 3

Brothers

Sulien knew the Eel's boy and he hesitated about letting his new visitor spend time with him. But the friar couldn't continue to neglect his work at the Farmacia and it was essential for Sky to learn his way about the city.

‘Brother Celestino is newly arrived from Anglia,' he told the younger boy. ‘He is a stranger to Giglia – indeed he has never been to Talia before. Perhaps you would like to show him around?' He pulled Sky to one side and whispered, ‘I have to get back. Let Sandro teach you about the city – no one knows it better than him, but tell him nothing of what I have said to you, particularly about the Stravaganti – he works for the di Chimici. And keep out of the full sun – you can always say it's too hot for you after chilly Anglia. When you want to leave, get him to direct you back to Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines. You must go back home without fail before sunset. The talisman will take you if you hold it while falling asleep anywhere in the city, but it's best to come and go from my cell.'

‘Come and go?' whispered Sky. ‘So I am coming back again?'

‘Certainly,' said Sulien quietly. ‘That's what Stravaganti do – travel between worlds and do what is required of them in both.'

Sky had the strangest feeling that this friar was not so mad after all and that he knew all about his life in the other world. Brother Sulien slipped off round the side of the cathedral, waving to the two boys, and Sandro, who had been cleaning his nails with an alarming-looking dagger, gave Sky a big grin.

‘Ready, Brother?' he asked. ‘There's plenty to see.'

And so Sky found himself being shown round Giglia by Sandro. The boy had asked no questions, except for Sky's name and if he was attached to Sulien's friary. And those Sky could just about manage to answer, though it was odd to think of himself as Celestino – or Brother Tino, as Sandro began to call him, a novice from Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines. It was like taking a part in a play or a role-playing game.

Sandro was much more interested in telling than asking. He loved explaining his city to someone so ignorant, especially someone older than him.

‘This is one of the grandest streets in Giglia,' he said at the end of their wanderings, taking Sky up the Via Larga some hours later. ‘The Duke has his palace just up here and my master lodges not far away.'

‘What do you do?' asked Sky, amazed that someone so young could have a job; perhaps he was an apprentice of some kind? Or perhaps boys in this time – he still had no idea when it was and only the haziest idea about where – went to work much younger? He had assumed that Sandro was only about fourteen.

But Sandro just tapped the side of his nose mysteriously and said, ‘What you don't know can't hurt you. Maybe I'll tell you one day when we know each other better.'

He insisted on treating Sky like a big simpleton, more naïve than himself. Sky felt his mouth curving in a smile; it was how he imagined having a little brother might be.

‘Here it is,' said Sandro proudly. ‘The Palazzo di Chimici. Where Duke Niccolò lives when he is in Giglia.'

Sky saw a magnificent building, much bigger than the others around it, taking up an entire block of the street. A grand pair of iron gates inside an arch allowed the two boys to look into the huge courtyard beyond. A fountain played in the middle of geometrically arranged flower beds, separated by what looked like patterned marble slabs.

‘Hey there, young Sparrow,' said a voice from behind them, and an absurdly overdressed little man attempted to put his arms across both their shoulders. It was easy enough to manage with Sandro but Sky was a head taller than him and the man had to stretch to reach.

He was wearing a blue velvet suit with a lace collar and a hat with a curling feather, and Sky couldn't help noticing a powerful smell of stale sweat.

*

Prince Gaetano entered the gate to the Lesser Cloister of Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines; he had always liked this Dominican friary. It was here that his family's great fortune had begun, when they backed the researches into distilling perfume from flowers and gained their surname of di Chimici, meaning Chemists. But he hadn't been here recently, not since the arrival of Brother Sulien as Pharmacist and Senior Friar.

Gaetano recognised Sulien from Luciano's description. He was supervising the delivery of cartloads of hothouse irises at the back door of the Great Cloister. But he stopped and came over as soon as he saw the young prince.

‘Welcome, your Highness,' he said. ‘I have been expecting you.'

*

The guard at the gates of the di Chimici palace knew the Eel well and let him in with his two companions, even though a scruffy boy and a young novice were hardly likely visitors for the Duke. But the Eel was not on his way to see the Duke – not yet. He wanted to show off in front of his young apprentice and his new friend.

‘Come along, Sparrow,' he said, leading the two boys into another, larger courtyard, where a bronze statue of a naked Mercury with a sword stood guard over some very elaborate flower beds. ‘Who is your friend?'

‘Brother Tino,' said Sandro. ‘He's new. He lives up at Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines.

‘Really?' said the Eel, with an unctuous grin. He was genuinely interested. That Dominican friary was one of the few places where he didn't have a spy planted and he wondered if this rather simple-seeming novice might be useful as a source of information. ‘Let me introduce myself,' he said, extending a none too clean hand from his blue velvet sleeve. ‘Enrico Poggi, confidential agent of Duke Niccolò di Chimici, ruler of the city of Giglia, at your service!'

Sky accepted the handshake but felt wary; this employer of Sandro's didn't seem like the sort of person a duke would have much to do with and Sky instinctively didn't trust him. But things might be different in this other world he found himself in and he was still learning the ropes.

As if summoned up by his name, a richly dressed old man walked out from under an arch, into the courtyard, deep in conversation with a less aristocratic person carrying an armful of what looked like plans. A closer look showed Sky that the nobleman wasn't as old as he first thought; he had completely white hair but his face wasn't lined. In fact he was rather handsome in a slightly spooky way.

The Duke, for it was obviously him, stopped when he saw the three intruders. He dismissed the man he had been talking to, with, ‘Come back tomorrow morning with the revised drawings,' and beckoned Enrico to him.

The Eel slithered across the courtyard, bowing and smiling. Sky could see at once that the Duke regarded the man with contempt. He might be content to use him but Sky doubted very much that Enrico had more of Duke Niccolò's confidence than he thought fit to show him. Sandro had made himself invisible, in the way he had of blending in with the background. He now slouched against a column, half-concealed in the shadows.

Suddenly Sky knew exactly what Sandro did for his unprepossessing master: he was a spy!

The Duke was looking straight at Sky now, who felt very exposed and wished he had as good a gift of disguise as his new friend. He was glad that he was standing in the shade. Enrico beckoned him over. And a small cloud drifted across the sun.

‘Brother Tino, my Lord,' said Enrico, presenting Sky to the Duke, like a dog offering his master a share in a particularly precious and revolting bone. ‘As I said, he is based over in your Grace's old family church among the vines.'

The Duke extended a long-fingered hand, ringed with silver and rubies, and Sky went to take it, as he had Enrico's a minute before. But a small gesture from the spymaster indicated he must kiss it not shake it.

‘Indeed,' said Duke Niccolò. ‘It is some time since I visited there. Perhaps you, Tino – short for Celestino, is it? – would convey my respects to your Senior Friar. Who is it nowadays?'

Sky got the feeling that this vagueness was put on and that the Duke was well aware who was in charge of every institution of the city. Which was more than Sky himself was.

‘I-I work with Brother Sulien, in . . . in the pharmacy,' he stammered, glad that his colouring was not susceptible to blushing.

Duke Niccolò looked hard into his face. ‘Mmm. I have heard something of that friar. Perhaps I shall pay him a visit myself soon. The pharmacy of course I am familiar with. It supplies me with perfume and pomades . . . among other things.' The Duke smiled slightly, as if remembering past triumphs. Then, ‘Do make your acquaintance with my palace. We have some rather fine frescoes in the chapel that would interest one of your calling. Now, if you'll excuse us, I have some business with Poggi here.'

He waved an elegant hand in a gesture that was obviously dismissal, taking in Sandro as well – so he had noticed him, Sky realised – and moved off with Enrico.

‘What a piece of luck!' said the boy softly as Duke and spymaster walked into the palace in deep conference. Sky couldn't help noticing that the nobleman kept widening the distance between himself and the man in the blue velvet suit, while Enrico kept sidling up closer again.

‘Luck?'

‘Yes. We've more or less got his Grace's permission to snoop about his palace! He wouldn't have said that if I'd been here on my own.' Sandro was thinking how useful it was to have such a respectable companion as a novice friar. ‘He's wonderful, isn't he?' he added.

‘The Duke?'

‘No, the Eel,' said Sandro impatiently. The Duke was so far out of his sphere that he registered him only like a piece of fine architecture; he was much better equipped to appreciate a man like Enrico. Sandro hoped that his father had been a man like that. ‘Let's go,' he said now, eager to take advantage of this unusual opportunity.

The boys walked through the courtyard and Sky noticed that the paving-stones between the flower beds all carried the symbol of the lily, in its elaborate fleur-de-lys form, like the stopper to his bottle. He asked Sandro about it.

‘It's the symbol of the city,' he answered. ‘Giglia means City of the Lily. And the di Chimici have it on their family crest too, with the shape of a perfume bottle.'

The palazzo had what looked like its own little cemetery, dominated by a recent white marble tomb. It was topped by the statue of a young boy and his dog. Sky stopped to look at it; there was something familiar about the boy.

‘That's Prince Falco,' said Sandro. ‘The Duke's youngest.'

‘What happened to him?' asked Sky.

‘Poisoned himself,' said Sandro dramatically. ‘Couldn't bear the pain any longer. He was all smashed up after an accident with a horse.'

They were both silent for a moment while Sky thought about being in so much pain you would want to kill yourself and Sandro planned how to use their permission to roam the palazzo.

On the far side of the courtyard was a broad flight of stone steps, which the boys climbed. At the top was a heavy dark wooden door, which Sandro pushed cautiously open. They found themselves in a small chapel, where two tall candles burned in even taller candlesticks on the altar. But what made both boys gasp was the paintings which covered three walls.

They were rich with silver and, looking closely, Sky could see that some of the figures had real jewels embedded in their elaborate hats. The paintings showed a long winding procession of men, horses and dogs against a background of, he supposed, Talian countryside. Deer and rabbits and other small animals were pursued through bushes by some of the hunting dogs, and birds perched on branches, oblivious of whatever the humans were doing. At the head of the procession were three figures even more grandly dressed than the rest, with crowns instead of hats.

Something bothered Sky about it; it was familiar but somehow different. Then he realised; the painting it reminded him of had gold wherever these frescoes had silver. Sandro was up close and Sky saw to his horror that he was trying to prise a small ruby from the hat of one of the minor figures in the procession.

‘Stop that at once,' he said sharply and the boy looked up, startled.

‘You can't go nicking bits off a great work of art,' Sky explained.

Sandro was surprised; he didn't see it as a work of art, just a collection of coloured paints and valuable jewels, some of which would never be missed. But he realised that Tino, as a friar, might see things differently. He sheathed his dagger and shrugged. ‘If you say so.'