City of Secrets (22 page)

‘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.

An agonising quarter of an hour passed for both of them, with Filippo having to think of a reason for asking Luciano to call, and Luciano having to pretend that he didn't know Matt was being held prisoner somewhere in the building. They parted on terms of forced cordiality, both eager to get away.

Luciano made his way out to the stables and immediately recognised Rinaldo di Chimici's carriage. It made him even more fearful for Matt's safety. Cara was happily munching hay, which confirmed that Matt was still in the palazzo somewhere. Filippo hadn't thought about the horse and the stable-man just assumed that Luciano had been with his master a long time. He looked the same as the young man who had brought the horse in and the stable-man took no notice of clothes.

Luciano walked his mare back to Silvia's house. He had signalled to Enrico to stay put at the palazzo and the spy had settled in for a long watch. Luciano's thoughts were in a whirl. What would have happened if he had gone to Filippo himself instead of Matt? Would he now be held captive? Luciano had a horror of that, ever since Enrico had kidnapped him in Bellezza. And Rinaldo was behind it then, just as he was now.

*

Matt was exhausted. He was tied to a chair and the man he now knew to be Rinaldo di Chimici had been questioning him for what felt like hours. What did he know about Luciano Crinamorte and Rodolfo Rossi? Were they both members of the Brotherhood called Stravaganti? What about the Dottore? And Matt himself? Was he a Stravagante? And what did the Stravaganti do? How did they travel to the other world and was Falco di Chimici there? How did the book work? Why did some Stravaganti have no shadows?

It went on and on. Feeling like a soldier who would reveal no more than his name and number, Matt insisted that he was Matteo Bosco, a Bellezzan orphan whose father had been a printer, and who was now working for Professor Constantin in the Scriptorium. He knew nothing about stravagation or shadows but he did know Luciano Crinamorte. They had something in common as orphans. Falco di Chimici he had never met. (That was sort of true.)

‘And what was your father's name?' asked Rinaldo suddenly.

Matt was flummoxed. ‘Andy . . . Andrea Bosco,' he said.

‘We shall send to Bellezza to check if such a person has ever existed,' said Rinaldo.

At that moment, Filippo came back into the room.

Matt thought he heard him whisper Luciano's name. He felt sure that the Bellezzan had come to look for him and his heart lifted.

‘He has told me nothing we did not know,' said Rinaldo. ‘You try.'

He threw the precious book to Filippo, who took a chair and sat opposite Matt.

‘Send for some wine, Rinaldo,' he said. ‘The boy looks worn out.'

Ah, thought Matt, good cop. He knew he mustn't relax.

Rinaldo went to summon a footman and Matt wondered why he hadn't just sent the burly servant. He soon found out.

Filippo was turning the spell-book in his hands. He longed to find out the secrets of stravagation. If he could, he would rise even higher in the favour of the Grand Duke.

‘Matteo,' he began. ‘Tell us about this book. Why do you carry it? It must be precious to you, especially since I think you know it is illegal to own such a book now?'

Matt tried to keep all emotion out of his face. He said nothing.

‘It must contain wonderful secrets,' continued Filippo. ‘But both my cousin, the Cardinal, and I have looked in vain for any reference to stravagation. There are many spells and we imagine that one of them must hold the key to your travel to another world.'

Good, thought Matt. They still believe I'm Talian, in spite of my underwear.

‘It is unfortunate that you will not tell us about it,' said Filippo pleasantly. ‘Ah, good. Here are the refreshments. Let me give you some wine.'

Matt should have seen it coming. The footman was dismissed and Filippo poured three glasses of a ruby-red liquid. He and Rinaldo drank thirstily and Matt felt himself licking his parched lips; he couldn't help it.

Then Filippo took the third glass and hurled the contents in Matt's face. Tied up as he was, there was nothing he could do about it. He shook his head to get the drops out of his eyes as Rinaldo and Filippo laughed at him.

Then the blow. Out of nowhere, Filippo slapped him hard across the face twice – a classic one-two. Matt could no more resist it than he could the wine. His head snapped back and forth and he wondered how much worse it was going to get.

Filippo was massaging his right hand with his left.

‘You,' he said to the servant. ‘Take over.'

Think about something else, Matt told himself. He hadn't been in many fights in his life and never in a situation where he couldn't defend himself. He braced himself for the blows and concentrated on Ayesha. She was beautiful and she would be waiting for him at Chrissie's party. He tried to imagine her in that garden, surrounded by friends all dressed up for Hallowe'en, but looking out only for him.

The Cardinal was squeamish about what was going on but Filippo was enjoying the violence. He was clutching the book and screaming at Matt.

‘You will tell us what we want to know! Tell us about the other world! You, hit him again!'

And then something unexpected happened.

Somehow in the midst of all the hitting and yelling and pushing his face into Matt's, just as Matt thought he might be going to faint, Filippo got in the way of one of the servant's blows. He fell to the ground clutching the book, out cold.