He was beginning to feel uneasy about his nightly visits to the city. The situation there was getting more dangerous. It was only a matter of luck and the element of surprise that had made Lucien the hero of the assassination attempt and not one of the victims. He wondered what would have happened to his body here in his own world if he had been stabbed in Bellezza. Would Mum or Dad have come into his room and found him lying dead in his bed with blood all over the sheets?
His imaginings became more ghoulish. Suppose they had started a murder hunt in London? No killer would ever have been found and he would have become a statistic; just one of many unsolved murder cases. And what about his body in Bellezza? Would that have just disappeared? If the assassin’s attempt had been successful, would anyone have even known he had died in the Duchessa’s defence?
The questions were all unanswerable so Lucien fell into a deep sleep till lunchtime, dreaming of a trial in which the Bellezzan assassin, still unaccountably holding the merlino-dagger, stood in a very twenty-first century witness box, saying, ‘You can’t prove I killed him without a body.’ The dagger dripped blood all over the courtroom floor and, in his dream, Lucien knew the blood was his.
In the north of the city was a small canal where fledgling mandoliers learned their skills. No visitors or tourists ever came there; it was a backwater in every sense. It was such a narrow waterway that the houses on either side were quite close to each other. Two of them were joined by a private bridge, linking their top floors; the houses belonged to Egidio and Fiorentino, Rodolfo’s older brothers.
They were both still handsome men, although Egidio, at forty-five, was quite old for a Bellezzan. When they were at home, in one house or the other, or walking over the canal by the little bridge that linked them, the two brothers often amused themselves with watching the efforts of the newly enrolled mandoliers.
In their day, they had been the best mandoliers in Bellezza, as well as the best-looking. They had rowed the Barcone to the Marriage with the Sea and had made good money taking tourists up and down the Great Canal. At twenty-five, like all other mandoliers, they had been generously pensioned by the Duchessa. For that, if for nothing else, they would have always been grateful to her.
Egidio had started a shop which sold paper and notebooks and pencils, all decorated with the swirly marbled designs that also covered Lucien’s talisman. As years went by and Rodolfo set up his laboratory in the palazzo next to the Duchessa’s, his designs and skills had improved Egidio’s stock until it was the envy of all Europa. His shop, in a small calle near the cathedral, was always busy with tourists.
Fiorentino had a flair for cooking and, with his money from the Duchessa, he opened a café on the Piazza Maddalena. It started modestly but soon expanded; he bought the shops on either side of it and it was soon a flourishing and expensive restaurant. ‘Fiorentino’s’ of Bellezza became a byword for fine cooking in the Middle Sea. Both brothers had prospered since they ended their mandoliering days but neither had married. It seemed that no woman held any attraction for someone who had once enjoyed the favour of Silvia, the Duchessa. They were still her devoted servants, prepared to do anything she asked. And if they were jealous of their little brother, who had scarcely left her side for nearly a score of years, they never showed it.
On this day, the two brothers were enjoying a glass of wine on the terrace of Egidio’s house. They had been watching a young novice learning how to turn his mandola in mid-canal, while talking knowledgeably to a boat-load of ‘tourists’, who were in fact examiners at the Scuola. For every mandolier had to sit exams in Bellezzan history, music, literature and art, as well as pass a proficiency test on his water-skills.
This particular specimen, though undeniably handsome, was clearly finding his task difficult. The brothers slapped their thighs and whooped with laughter as the youth lost his oar and had to be paddled back to retrieve it by his cargo of examiners. Then Fiorentino spotted another mandola, much more expertly sculled, cutting through the canal and stopping at Egidio’s landing stage.
‘Dia!’ said Fiorentino. ‘It’s Silvia!’
It wasn’t her State mandola, just a black one, but with a curtained cabin, denoting a person of importance. The brothers didn’t wait to see who was in it; they ran down the stairs like the young men they had once been.
On the landing stage a tall red-headed young man was handing out a well-dressed masked woman. He was obviously nervous. The black panelled door to the landing stage swung inwards and he escorted the Duchessa inside, where she was affectionately greeted by the two distinguished-looking older men. The whole party returned to the terrace, where she accepted a glass of prosecco and a plate of pastries.
‘This is Guido,’ she said. ‘I am enrolling him in the Scuola Mandoliera.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late?’ asked Egidio. ‘The new recruits have been practising for weeks.’
‘They owe me a mandolier,’ said the Duchessa calmly. ‘Besides, Guido is a special case. He tried to kill me.’
Guido hung his head and felt the blood rising to his cheeks. He wished she wouldn’t talk like this but accepted it as part of his punishment. Both brothers had involuntarily put their hands to the hilts of the merlino-daggers they carried in their belts. Guido had noticed them straightaway, being something of an expert, and admired the workmanship.
‘Don’t be silly, boys,’ said the Duchessa, looking at the serious frowns on the brothers’ foreheads. ‘He’s a reformed character. The point is, I want him to lie low for a while. Let’s say, it suits my purposes. He will be inconspicuous in the Scuola – you must agree he looks the part.’
There was no chance of Guido’s regaining his composure while all three gazed at him, assessing his looks. He blushed to the roots of his red hair, which was unusual enough in Talia to ensure he was considered handsome, even without his slim figure and his regular features.
‘Now, now, Fiorentino, don’t be jealous. You know I’ve given all that up,’ laughed the Duchessa. ‘Besides, I do not find attempted murder an aphrodisiac.’
‘What do you want of us?’ asked Egidio simply.
‘To give him a home under your roof,’ replied the Duchessa. ‘Yours or Fiorentino’s. And to teach him the rudiments of mandoliering, so that he doesn’t fall behind in his studies. And to keep him from all unwanted attention, especially from the Reman quarter.’
‘For you, Silvia, if this is what you really want, you know we will do it,’ said Egidio seriously.
‘Now, let me have another of those cakes,’ said Silvia. ‘Do they come from your restaurant, Fiorentino?’
‘Not directly,’ he said. ‘I get them made for me by a fellow on Burlesca – Bellini, I think he’s called.’
‘How interesting,’ said the Duchessa thoughtfully, delicately licking the sugar from her fingertips. ‘I thought they tasted familiar.’
*
Arianna was bursting to find out what had happened to Lucien the night before. She was agog during his description of the assassination attempt. Much as she had told herself she hated the Duchessa, she was horrified at the idea of the man with the merlino-blade.
‘And she was in the mandola all the time?’ she asked. ‘That was a double on the bridge? I knew there was something fishy about the way everyone says she still looks as young as ever.’
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when Lucien showed her the merlino-blade.
‘You have the luck of the Lady!’ she said enviously, sliding the blade appreciatively out of its sheath.
‘You call it lucky to come face to face with a murderer?’ said Lucien, smiling.
When Lucien had been over every detail of the assassination attempt several times, he astounded her again with developments in his other life.
‘What?’ she said in disbelief. ‘They’re bringing you to Bellezza?’
‘Well, not B
ellezza,’ said Lucien. ‘You know that it’s called Venice in my world – at least it is by English people.’
His parents had been so pleased with their surprise. They obviously thought he would be delighted and he was. They were all going to Venice for a week and very soon. Lucien had a hospital appointment in late August and they needed to be back for that.
‘I spoke to Doctor Kennedy,’ Mum had said, ‘and she seems to think you’re quite strong enough to go, so we’ve booked the tickets.’
‘Great!’ Lucien had said. He couldn’t wait to see the magical city in his own world and see in what ways it was like the Bellezza he now knew so well.
But he hadn’t told Rodolfo yet. Somehow, he didn’t think that he would be able to get back to Bellezza while he was out of his usual setting. And he didn’t know whether he was going to be needed. Rodolfo obviously thought things were getting more dangerous too, and had asked Lucien always to return to the Palazzo before stravagating home.
‘You’re very quiet about it,’ Arianna said. ‘I would love to travel to another country, like your Anglia.’
‘Perhaps you will one day,’ said Lucien. ‘Or to another world. Maybe you’ll become a Stravagante and travel to mine. I don’t see why Stravaganti should all be men.’
Arianna’s eyes shone. ‘You’re right! It doesn’t look as if I’ll ever be a mandolier now, but I bet I could be a Stravagante. Maybe I’ll ask Signor Rodolfo about it.’
They were sitting in the café near the boarded-up theatre, where they had drunk hot chocolate the day that Lucien had turned up in Bellezza. The man behind the bar had been watching them rather closely. When they had finished their drinks and left, he beckoned to a man eating apricot tart in the corner. He finished his mouthful, picked up his blue cloak and went to talk to his new friend at the bar.
*
Rinaldo di Chimici was suffering the torments of the damned. He had seen nothing of the young assassin since the night of the Maddalena Feast. Had he run away, with the half of his fee which he had already been given? The Duchessa’s manner to the Ambassador had not changed, which seemed to indicate that there had been no attempt on her life, but she was such a slippery and subtle opponent that he couldn’t be sure.
What was so agonizing was that he just didn’t know what had happened and had no way of finding out. In the end he decided to take Enrico into his confidence.
The spy was flattered. It had taken him much time and effort to win the Ambassador’s trust and now he felt puffed up with his success. Secretly, he felt nothing but contempt for di Chimici’s clumsy attempt to eliminate the Duchessa. Enrico knew at least half a dozen men who would have done the job properly. He would have done it himself, for the right money.
Still, he was thrilled to think it had been his information that had enabled the assassination plan and he quickly decided to pass on something else he had just found out.
‘There’s another way of getting at her ladyship, Excellency,’ he said now.
Di Chimici gestured at him to continue.
‘You know the boy, Signor Rodolfo’s apprentice?’
The Ambassador nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, the Senator seems very fond of the boy. And we know her ladyship is very fond of the Senator, don’t we?’
Enrico leered in a manner which caused di Chimici to shudder. In his way, he was quite fastidious and the idea of having to use this odious little man’s information repelled him. But he could not afford to be proud. He nodded.
‘So don’t you think the lady would be upset if her fancy-man’s favourite was under the death penalty?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ said di Chimici, ‘but how could you arrange that?’
Enrico tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trust me. I have a plan. We know that the boy doesn’t come from Padavia. Well, he obviously doesn’t come from Bellezza either.’
‘What does that matter?’ said di Chimici, who had a good idea that Lucien didn’t come from anywhere Enrico would have heard of.
‘You don’t know about the forbidden day?’ asked Enrico. ‘That boy was in Bellezza the day after the Marriage with the Sea. I have a witness. If he wasn’t born on Bellezza, then his life is forfeit.’
*
Now that she knew he was safe and the excitement over the assassination attempt had passed, Arianna decided that she really was very cross with Lucien.
‘You know I was worried sick about you?’ she said as they walked back to Rodolfo’s. ‘And all the time you were having adventures. I bet you’re a hero to the Duchessa and you’ve got all that silver. And a merlino-blade,’ she added, looking with envy at the assassin’s dagger in his belt. ‘While I had to go home on my own and tell my aunt you left me at the door.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Lucien said, annoyed. ‘I seemed to go a bit mad at the end of the fireworks, and when I found myself in her mandola, there was no time to think. I wasn’t having fun, I can tell you.’
It was the closest they had ever got to a row, and they made the rest of their journey in silence.
*
Guido Parola moved his things into Egidio’s house, the Duchessa having arranged a nurse for his father. He was relieved; he felt safe here. He was most unlikely to bump into the Reman Ambassador at the Scuola Mandoliera or in the brothers’ houses overlooking the canaletto. He had been enrolled in the Scuola that day with Egidio and Fiorentino standing as his sponsors. Now they were like two extra godfathers. There had been one awkward moment after the Duchessa had gone, when Egidio had made it clear to the young man exactly what would be done to him if he should ever raise his hand against her again. But since then they had started to become friends.
And now he was to have his first lesson on the water, before the light failed.
‘You’re a natural!’ said Fiorentino after an hour in his own mandola, with Guido sculling. ‘Of course, you’ll have to learn all the patter, but I think we’ll make a mandolier of you yet.’
Egidio nodded. ‘And now we’ll all go and have dinner at your restaurant, brother.’
*
Rodolfo now kept one of his mirrors permanently fixed on Montemurato. It was focused on William Dethridge and followed him as he moved around the walled city. Ever since the attempt on Silvia’s life, Rodolfo had been sick with worry for her safety and he thought that the old Stravagante might have some useful ideas. But Dethridge was terrified that, having escaped death for witchcraft in his own world, he might fall foul of the same prejudices in Talia. Now that he could no longer be given away by his absence of shadow, he seemed determined to act as unobtrusively as possible.
But before he and Lucien had left Montemurato, Rodolfo had given William Dethridge a hand mirror. The Elizabethan had accepted it reluctantly, but it was hardly an incriminating object if it should be found among his belongings, even if an unlikely one for an old man with no reason to be vain. Now, Rodolfo was trying to make contact with Dethridge.
He stood gazing into the Montemurato glass, murmuring formulae until the face of William Dethridge swam into view. Its expression was one of pure terror.
‘Master Rudolphe,’ gasped the old man. ‘Thanke godnesse. You muste holpe mee!’
‘What is the matter?’ asked Rodolfo, alarmed by Dethridge’s obvious fear.
‘They are building a bone-fire,’ he said. ‘And I feare that it is for mee!’
Chapter 13
A Death Sentence
The trip to Venice was coming closer; Lucien had only a few days to adjust his mind to it and to prepare Rodolfo for his likely absence from Bellezza. He was genuinely excited at the prospect of seeing the real city and, if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind a rest from his nightly adventures. Whenever he did sleep during the day, without stravagating, he was haunted by nightmares about the man with the dagger on
the Duchessa’s mandola.
He couldn’t believe it when Rodolfo told him that the assassin had been set free and was now in the Scuola Mandoliera.
‘But why? Isn’t he very dangerous?’
‘Not any more,’ said Rodolfo. ‘Silvia has him eating out of her hand.’
‘But isn’t he going to be punished? And what about whoever hired him? It must have been the di Chimici, mustn’t it?’ Lucien was beginning to feel that his one act of heroism, albeit accidental, was being allowed to fizzle out.
‘I think Parola is being punished,’ said Rodolfo. ‘If he is genuinely sorry, what could be worse than living with his own treachery? As for di Chimici, Silvia was going to have a show trial but I convinced her that there are more subtle ways of getting revenge on one’s enemies. And she did agree that the people mustn’t know about the doubles.’
‘So you don’t think she’s in any danger now?’ asked Lucien.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Rodolfo grimly, ‘but perhaps not immediately.’
‘The thing is,’ said Lucien, ‘after today, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get to Bellezza for a while. My parents are taking me on holiday abroad. I won’t be able to get to Talia unless I leave from England, will I?’
Rodolfo looked at him closely. ‘So you are getting better in your own world?’ he asked.
‘I seem to be,’ said Lucien.
‘And where are they taking you?’
‘To Venice,’ said Lucien.
Rodolfo smiled. ‘So you’ll be in Bellezza all the time, in a manner of speaking. And when you come back, you can tell me if our city is still as beautiful in your time.’
*
William Dethridge left his horse on the mainland and took the boat to Bellezza. He had left Montemurato in the middle of the night, still fearful that his life was at risk. Now he was going to stay with Maister Rudolphe, where he felt he would be more safe. Even after a year and a half, he still couldn’t separate the Talia of this dimension from the Italy of his.