‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Enrico. ‘Terrible, terrible.’ And he meant it.
‘It is a small loss to set beside the death of our youngest prince,’ said the Pope, ‘but I was disappointed that no champion of our family won the Stellata. It was very embarrassing for my brother and myself.’
‘I regret that, Holiness,’ said Enrico. ‘But what can one man do against the force of destiny? You must agree that the goddess was against us.’
‘I shall agree no such impious thing, you insolent man!’ said the Pope, flushed. ‘As leader of the church, I do not believe in any goddess!’
‘A figure of speech, merely, Holiness,’ Enrico recovered himself smoothly, making the Hand of Fortune and disguising it as a scratch and a cough. The Pope flinched.
‘What I meant to say,’ continued the spy, ‘is that some things are just not meant to be – like the survival of the young prince. I did everything I could to fix the race, but Remorans are superstitious and once they saw the winged beauty, all the jockeys went to pieces – except that one from the Ram.’
‘I know who won,’ said the Pope peevishly. ‘But I agree the odds were stacked against us from the moment that horse was born in Remora. But the question arises of what to do with you now that the race is over. I suggest that you accompany my brother the Duke back to Giglia, as soon as he is fit enough to travel with the body of his son. I’m sure he’ll find something for you to do.’
Falco had an appointment for his operation and he couldn’t wait to tell Georgia. He phoned but found her distraught.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ he asked.
‘Russell’s gone to Greece till the end of the holidays and I think he’s taken the talisman with him – or broken it beyond repair. He said he’d get me and this is how he’s done it.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Falco. ‘Do you think you could use my feather? I’ll give it to you if you want.’
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Georgia at last. ‘It wasn’t brought for me. It probably wouldn’t work.’
Duke Niccolò slept for twelve hours and awoke with renewed energy. He sent for his body-servant to shave him and trim his newly white hair and then ate a solid breakfast, to the relief of his remaining children. The Duke wanted to put grief behind him and get back to his normal machinations. Of the day before, his recollections were vague. Deep in his mind somewhere he knew that the story of Falco’s death was not quite as he gave it out, but he buried that thought as deep as he would his child.
But he could not entirely forget what had happened afterwards. There was something uncanny about Falco’s leaving the world and it was connected with the Stravaganti, even though Niccolò could no longer remember what he had seen in Rodolfo’s mirrors. He was determined to redouble his efforts against them and to find out exactly what it was that they could do.
To this end, he sent for all his remaining sons, to have a family council. Gaetano was first to arrive and the news he brought his father was unwelcome.
‘Gone? The Bellezzans have gone?’ said Niccolò uncomprehendingly. ‘Without even the pretence of politeness or waiting for my son’s funeral?’
‘The Duchessa was most insistent that I should make her deepest apologies, Father,’ said Gaetano. ‘And we didn’t want to wake you when you were sleeping properly for the first time in days. But yesterday was always the appointed time for her departure and she was anxious at having left the affairs of her city for so long. It has been without her and the Regent for two weeks and you know how vulnerable a dukedom can be when its ruler is away.’
‘I myself have been away from Giglia for more than twice that long,’ said the Duke contemptuously.
‘But no one would dare move against you, Father,’ said Gaetano. ‘The Duchessa has borne her title for only a year; she is bound to feel at risk.’
‘It is time we were all back in our own cities,’ said Niccolò. ‘We have important matters to plan – a funeral, weddings and all out war on the Stravaganti.’
‘Why?’ said Gaetano bravely. ‘Because we have lost Falco? That was hardly their fault.’
Niccolò looked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Please, Father,’ he said gently. ‘Falco is at rest now. Can’t we forget about vendettas and mourn him in peace?’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Niccolò. ‘The Stravaganti are behind it, at least Rodolfo is. I saw something ... something unnatural. There is witchcraft at work here and I intend to get to the bottom of it.’
Mr Goldsmith was taking a little holiday. He had put the CLOSED sign up in his shop and gone to visit Georgia at her house. Maura was there too and was surprised to see him at the door. But she made tea for them all and sat to drink it with them.
‘I’m going away for a few weeks,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to drop by and tell you. My nephew rang last night and offered to have me for a holiday with him and his family in the Norfolk Broads.’
Georgia was glad. Mr Goldsmith had never talked about his family before and she had thought he might be rather lonely.
‘I shouldn’t want you, or Nicholas, to come to the shop and find me closed,’ he continued. ‘I don’t often leave it in the summer, but this was too good an opportunity to give up.’
‘Does your nephew live in Norfolk?’ asked Maura.
‘No, he lives in Cambridge,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘That’s where my family was from. My wife too.’
‘I didn’t know you were married,’ said Georgia.
‘I lost her years ago,’ said Mr Goldsmith. ‘Before we had children. But I have three great-nephews and I shall enjoy sailing with them.’
After he had gone, Maura apologised to Georgia.
‘I was wrong about Mr Goldsmith,’ she said. ‘He seems a nice old chap. It was Russell who was warped.’
Georgia gave her a hug.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said.
Enrico was up at the palace in Santa Fina collecting his money, when he saw the Duke. Niccolò di Chimici was wandering through the rooms of the great house as if searching for something.
‘My Lord,’ said Enrico, hesitantly.
The Duke wheeled, startled, then relaxed.
‘Ah, the spy,’ he said. ‘There is nothing to spy on here – only an empty palace and an old man.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you, your Grace?’ Enrico asked. ‘I was sorry to hear about the prince.’
Duke Niccolò thought for a few moments.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘If you were burying your favourite child, what would you put in his coffin with him?’
Enrico had no children and no prospect of any now that his Giuliana had disappeared. But he had a good imagination.
‘Some childhood remembrance, my Lord? A favourite plaything? Some ornament or picture?’
‘A picture? Yes, you are right.’
The Duke took from inside his shirt a miniature. ‘I have carried this with me since my wife, Benedetta, died. She should go and watch over our child in his grave. All that is finished for me now.’
Georgia was at the Mulhollands’, saying goodbye before she went to France.
‘Do you think you’ll ever go back to Remora?’ Falco asked.
‘I hope so,’ said Georgia, with a deep sigh. ‘It’s such a fantastic place and I’ll miss Cesare and his family.’
‘Yet I think that the person you will miss most is not to be found in that city,’ said Falco quietly.
Georgia said nothing; it seemed as if she had been less good at disguising her feelings in Talia than she was in her own world.
‘Were you surprised that the Duchessa refused my brother?’ he persisted.
‘Not really,’ said Georgia. ‘He was a di Chimici, after all, even if a very nice one.’
‘What about me?’ asked Falco. ‘Am I a nice one?’
‘You aren’t a di Chimici at all any more, remember?’ said Georgia. ‘You’re a Duke, now, and maybe one day
a Mulholland.’
‘But you do think I’m nice?’
‘Don’t be daft!’ said Georgia. What was the matter with everyone all of a sudden? It seemed as if, ever since she had won the Stellata, she was irresistible in both worlds. ‘Of course I do,’ she added, seeing that Falco looked downcast.
‘I can’t explain exactly what I mean,’ she said, suddenly remembering. ‘But you’ll always be special to me because you’re a link with my life in another world that no one else knows about.’
Then she leaned forward to give him a hug and brush his cheek with a kiss.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to my Italian consultants, Edgardo Zaghini from the Young Book Trust and Carla Poesio of Florence. Thank you also to Graziella Rossi for her help and kindness in the Seventeenth of the Ram, Roberto Filiani for his regular Palio e-mails, Reuben Wright for his company in the Campo in July, Frances Hardinge and Saint Galgano for an unexpected walk in the woods and the black dragonfly and to Eileen Walker for extra resources on the August race. Alan Dundes’s and Alessandro Falassi’s La Terra in Piazza was an invaluable reference book. And thanks to Professore Luigi Bernabei of Santa Chiara and Giuliana and Giorgio Citterio of Podere Vignali for providing the perfect settings in which to create sixteenth-century Remora.
Epilogue:The Thirteenth Rider
Remora, September 1578
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The Campo delle Stelle was being turned into a racetrack for the second time that summer. It happened occasionally that there was an extra race – a Stellata Straordinaria – to commemorate some important public occasion. The last one had been twenty years ago, when Ferdinando di Chimici became Pope and was given the revived title of Prince of Remora.
Now the Pope’s brother Niccolò had decided that there should be a Straordinaria to celebrate the short life of the youngest di Chimici prince. There was much bustle in the city, to prepare for another race so soon after the last one. A new track had to be laid, officials appointed, parade clothes cleaned and more flag manoeuvres practised. The drums of the last race celebrations had scarcely ceased before they started again and Remora once again lived its life against the background of their perpetual beat.
It was even more important that the Lady, or at least the Twins, should win this race – the Stellata di Falco – and a larger than usual prize was to be awarded to the winning jockey.
Cesare couldn’t believe his luck – he was going to get another chance to ride Arcangelo in the race without having to wait a year. And this time he had no intention of getting kidnapped. Life had been a bit flat in the month since the Bellezzans had left and the di Chimici returned to Giglia. He had felt sad about the death of Falco because, although Cesare knew the boy was alive in another world, it was one he didn’t expect ever to visit, so he was unlikely to see him again. And Cesare had become fond of the young prince. As for Georgia: she had not been back to see them since the day after the race.
Cesare wondered if she would be there for the Straordinaria; she must have come back from her holiday by now.
London, September 2004
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Georgia had in fact been back for a year. A lot had happened in that time, but there had been no more trips to Talia because the talisman had gone. When Russell had returned from Greece, he had been asked about it, but this time he didn’t budge. He denied that he had ever taken the winged horse.
He had gone to his counselling sessions, much to Georgia’s surprise, and her life at home had greatly improved, even though it wasn’t perfect. Ralph and Maura, who went with Russell to some of the family therapy sessions, were clearly shocked by the extent of his problems.
He was never going to like Georgia, nor she him, but he stopped persecuting her. They maintained a kind of cold war and Ralph and Maura were now so vigilant that it never escalated further.
It was ironic really. Now that Russell had completely lost the power to hurt or scare her there was no more bullying for her to handle. And her own life was terribly busy. It was her GCSE exam year and she had masses of homework and coursework to do.
Her friendship with Alice grew; she went down to Devon with her on several weekends, which was especially welcome in that first term, when she was missing Remora and banned from Jean’s stable.
In the spring term, Georgia had her first boyfriend, Dan, from the year above. It lasted eight weeks, fizzling out conveniently in time for Georgia to concentrate on her exams. The results had come three weeks ago and she had done well enough to be taken out to dinner by Ralph and Maura and bought a digital camera.
But the best present was hearing that Russell was moving out. His A-level results had been good enough to secure his place in Computer Sciences at Sussex. He didn’t want to celebrate with family but got spectacularly drunk with his best friends and had a hangover that lasted two days. His reward was the deposit on a rented house in Brighton and he was going to move out of the Islington house before the beginning of term. ‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ thought Georgia delightedly.
Georgia had spent most of the summer in Devon with Alice, riding and meeting some new local friends. One of them was a boy called Adam, with dark eyes and hair, and she was hopeful that future weekends might lead to getting to know him better.
Georgia was making more friends at school now too. Winning the Stellata had changed her more than she ever supposed it would. She had a new confidence that came from a deep inner satisfaction at having been good at something, which altered her attitude and even her looks. She stopped pushing people away when they made friendly overtures and found that more of them than she would have guessed seemed willing to like her. And once Russell stopped undermining her at home, she felt her personality expand into the space he left around her.
Georgia hadn’t replaced her eyebrow ring but she now had a tattoo of a flying horse on her shoulder and she had let her hair grow and dyed it dark red with white and black streaks in front. And she had acquired breasts – not spectacular Page Three ones, but they were pleasingly noticeable and she took to wearing tight, short T-shirts instead of baggy sweaters. No one would mistake her for a boy now in either world.
But, if Georgia’s life had changed since her last visit to Remora, Falco’s had been transformed. He had leapt up the waiting list for surgery because of his age and the severity of his condition and had been given a total hip replacement before the first Christmas in his new world.
There followed months of treatment, physiotherapy and learning to walk without crutches. By February he could walk unaided but still had a limp. By May, after months of work in the gym and learning to swim, the limp had gone and he was two inches taller than when he had stravagated nine months earlier.
Falco was now a Year 9 pupil at Barnsbury Comprehensive and surprisingly popular. Girls admired his exotic good looks and boys approved of his strenuous training regimen. And it didn’t do his image any harm that his best friend was a girl in Year 11 widely regarded as a bit of a hard nut.
It was the night before the Stellata di Falco and again the Twelfths of Remora were ablaze with light. The city had always been good at recovering from one race and preparing for the next – there was a local saying ‘The Stellata is run all year round’ – but this year they were enjoying the bonus of a second chance to win. A Stellata banner had been commissioned in Giglia and hastily executed, with a small portrait of Falco on horseback in the bottom right-hand corner.
Cesare didn’t expect for a moment that the Ram would be allowed to win but he enjoyed being guest of honour at the banquet in his Twelfth the night before, being given the helmet by the priest and getting up to make his first speech.
‘Rams!’ he said, addressing the diners in a sea of red and yellow tablecloths and banners. ‘I am honoured to be your chosen jockey. I was unavoidably prevented from taking part in the last Stellata, but we all remember what happened then, don’t we?’
A roar of approval from the Twelvers.
‘So, although he cannot be wit
h us tonight, I ask you to drink the health of the Ram’s last champion – Giorgio Gredi!’
And ‘Giorgio Gredi!’ rang round the square.
Georgia had been feeling peculiar all day. She hadn’t yet properly settled in to her new routine as a member of the Lower Sixth. She had a new form teacher and the luxury of only five subjects; she could use the Sixth Form Common Room – a space with armchairs usually bagged by the Upper Sixth and a kitchen in which to make instant coffee – and she had free periods when she could sit and study in the Resources room or even, when the weather was fine, on the grass outside.
And it was fine today, just like high summer, though it would be cold in the evening. Georgia had a free period just before lunch and sat outside with Alice, reading The Handmaid’s Tale, which was one of their set books for English literature.
‘Imagine a world where ordinary people couldn’t have children,’ said Alice.
‘Good thing, if they turned out like Russell,’ said Georgia.
‘Oh yeah, he’s moving out today, isn’t he?’ said Alice. ‘Have you said your fond farewells?’
Georgia snorted. ‘Good riddance!’ she said and wondered if that was why she had been feeling odd. ‘Happiest day of my life.’
But it wasn’t. The happiest day of her life had been when she had won the Stellata and been kissed by Luciano, but she could never tell Alice or anyone else about that and it made her sad. And she was restless. When the fifteenth of August had come round again this year, it had been agonising imagining what was going on in Remora. She and Falco, Nicholas as she had to call him now, had spent the day together talking about the race and wondering what horses and jockeys would be taking part and whether the di Chimici would win this year.
Then there had been the anniversary of Nicholas’s ‘translation’ and he had been depressed and homesick. They often talked about his trying to use the feather talisman to see if he could stravagate back to Talia on a visit, as Luciano had in the other direction, but Falco didn’t want to go without Georgia and her talisman had vanished.