City of Stars (2 page)

And they had, until Ralph came along. Georgia didn't mind him so much. He loved Maura and he could be quite funny when he was in a good mood. But he worried a lot about money. And he brought Russell with him.

Georgia unwrapped the winged horse and put it on her chest of drawers. Then she went to her computer and logged on. ‘
Etruscan
', she typed into the search engine, ‘
Etruscan+horse+flying
.'

987 matching entries, her computer told her, but Georgia was an old hand at Internet research and looked at only the first hundred. The best sites included an American one showing a beautiful little gilt bronze ornament, which had been offered at auction three years ago but not sold. It was only just over three inches long and similar to the one that Georgia had just bought, but its reserve price was between $2,000 and $3,000 – rather more than she had paid.

Another good site told her about a bronze vase from Monteleone, wherever that was, which had a chariot pulled by winged horses. There was no illustration unfortunately, but Georgia felt she could imagine it.

In the Twelfth of the Twins, Riccardo the Horsemaster was expecting an illustrious guest: Niccolò, Duke of Giglia and head of the powerful di Chimici family. He was staying with his younger brother Ferdinando, who was Pope and also Prince of Remora. Although Remora was the official centre of the di Chimici's growing Republic, it was to the north, in Giglia, that the real power lay, with the Duke and his heirs.

Niccolò, great-grandson of the founder of the di Chimici dynasty, had five living children, four of them sons, and was the most ambitious man in all Talia. Under his direction the di Chimici family had spread their network through all the major cities in the north of the country and now held power in most of them. Only the tiresome city-state of Bellezza off the north-east coast had held out against any alliance with him or his family. And Niccolò had a plan about that too.

But here in Remora, his position was secure. As he walked the few hundred yards from the Papal palace to the stables of the Twelfth of the Twins, he had to stop a dozen times to exchange pleasantries with wealthy merchants or accept the homage of poorer citizens who wanted to kiss his hand. Niccolò arrived at the stables in a very good mood.

Riccardo, the Horsemaster of the Twins, was bursting with pride. The Pope had visited the day before and now here was the Duke of Giglia, reputed to be the richest man in Talia, coming to inspect the horses. He saved the best animal till last.

‘And this, your Grace, is the one we shall run in the Stellata.'

Niccolò looked at the highly-strung bay, who flared his nostrils and bucked slightly in his stall. He stroked the horse's nose with his gloved hand and spoke soothingly to him, then turned to the Horsemaster.

‘What's the competition this year?'

‘Well, your Grace, you know how secretive everyone is about their horses in the city,' Riccardo began a little nervously.

Niccolò di Chimici fixed him with a cold stare. ‘But you are paid not just to tend horses but to find out such secrets, are you not?' he said.

‘Yes, your Grace,' muttered the Horsemaster. ‘And things will be easier now I have a new groom. He came specifically recommended by your Grace's nephew, the ambassador to Bellezza. Signor Rinaldo tells me this man has done him some great service and is renowned for his ability to sniff out secrets.'

Niccolò smiled. He had heard something of the service done by this man in Bellezza. If it was the same man, he had rid the city of its fiercest opponent to the di Chimici family. And though the Duke's nephew Rinaldo had failed to replace her with a puppet Duchessa, surely the city's new ruler – a mere chit of a girl – would be much easier to influence?

‘Does he know anything about horses?' was all he said to the Horsemaster.

*

Gaetano di Chimici was restless. He was staying in his uncle's Papal palace while his father visited the city and he didn't know what he was doing here. He would have much rather been in Giglia continuing his studies at the University. And he had a growing feeling that his father had some plan he was not sharing with him.

Gaetano sighed. It was hard being part of the most important family in Talia. His father was at the centre of so many plots, always scheming how to get richer and more powerful. But Gaetano wasn't really interested in any of them. He wanted to be left to his books and to his friends who, like him, were interested in painting and sculpture and music; not caught up in schemes for financing petty wars between city factions or forging alliances with other mercantile and princely families.

It might have been different if he had been one of the older sons, but there was no one younger than him, except Falco, and poor Falco didn't really count, much as Gaetano and all the family loved him. Fabrizio the eldest brother would inherit the Dukedom of Giglia. Carlo would be Prince of Remora, since Uncle Ferdinando as Pope had no children. Beatrice would doubtless be married off to one of the cousins – Alfonso perhaps, so that she could be Duchessa of Volana now that Uncle Fabrizio had died.

What did that leave for him? He thought at one time that his father's plans might have him marrying one of his cousins – Alfonso's sister Caterina, maybe. As a child, Gaetano had been very close to another cousin, Francesca, whose father was Prince of Bellona, but he had heard a rumour lately that she had been married off to some old man in Bellezza as part of one of the family's dynastic schemes.

Gaetano shook his head. What a family! And now he was anxious that his father's new plan might involve the church. Uncle Ferdinando would not live for ever and Niccolò must have decided who would succeed Ferdinando as Pope. Carlo had made it clear that he had no intention of going into the church – and that left Gaetano.

‘Well, I won't do it,' he resolved. ‘The church should be a vocation, not a political appointment. Why can't I just be left to my studies?'

But he knew the answer to that. All the di Chimici had to work for the success of the dynasty; even the women had to be prepared to marry where the head of the family decided they would. Their opinions and preferences didn't come into it. And it was no different for the sons. Receive this Princedom, marry this Princess, take an embassy to this city, be ordained – it was all the same.

Gaetano wondered if he could be the first di Chimici in five generations to say no.

‘Families,' thought Georgia. ‘Why isn't there another way of living together?' Dinner at their house was always fraught and Georgia couldn't see why her mother bothered. But Maura, who was a social worker, was completely opposed to people snacking and grazing or eating on their laps in front of the TV.

‘It's the one time of the day we can sit down together as a family,' she insisted, ‘and catch up with one another's lives.'

There were two things wrong with that idea, thought Georgia. Firstly, they were not a family and never would be. Even if she ever came to see Ralph as a father, she would never accept Russell as her brother. And secondly Maura was a lousy cook. Ralph was no better, and often the all-important family meal was heated up supermarket pizza or fish and chips from down the road.

None of that made any difference to Maura. Off went the TV and radio, Georgia and Russell had to set the table with knives and forks even for food intended to be eaten with fingers, and the four of them sat down for twenty minutes of excruciating politeness and indigestion.

Conversation consisted of questions from the adults and replies from the teenagers. Georgia and Russell never spoke directly to one another at dinner. In fact, Georgia realised, they never spoke to one another when their parents were around at all.

On their own – a situation which she avoided as much as she could – Russell was much more communicative. He was that kind of bully. Sometimes Georgia wished he were less clever and more of a thug. If he had ever hit her, it would have been in some ways easier. If she'd had bruises on her body to show her mother, he would never have got away with it.

But his was the harassment of hate, which left no visible marks, but made her shrivel inside. He got hold of her deepest fears and insecurities and dragged them out into the light, turning the harsh spotlight of his sarcasm on them.

‘Dog' was his mildest epithet for her. He analysed in detail her unattractiveness, her lack of femininity, her obsession with horses. ‘We all know what that's about, don't we? Absolutely classic – a substitute for sex – all that muscular power between your legs. All horsey women are spinsters and dogs – just like you.'

On and on the poison would spew out of his mouth and Georgia had no defence. Of course she had told her mother, several times, and had even spoken to Ralph about it once. But they insisted that she was exaggerating, that she must expect some teasing from an older brother, that she was too sensitive. And afterwards Russell would be worse, taunting her with her weakness in running to her mother for protection.

Georgia would withdraw further into herself, hiding her vulnerability, hunching her shoulders further and speaking only in monosyllables, unable to understand why she inspired so much hatred in someone she hadn't chosen to share her life with. After all, she had just as much reason – or as little – to hate him.

The day that the flying horse came into her life ended badly. Although she had escaped spending time with Russell after school, she was horrified to discover at dinner (Sainsbury's shepherd's pie with frozen peas) that Maura and Ralph were going out to the cinema. This happened about once a month and, since the sort of films they liked were art house movies, often shot in black and white, they had given up asking Georgia and Russell if they wanted to join them. And at fifteen and seventeen there was no question of a sitter to keep them company.

Georgia made for her room before the adults were out of the front door. She was soon immersed in biology homework. But eventually her own biology betrayed her; she had to go to the loo.

Russell was on the landing. He lounged casually in front of the bathroom door, large and menacing. It crossed Georgia's mind that it wouldn't be beyond him to bar her access till she wet herself. That would give him wonderful new ammunition to ridicule her with. She was already mentally calculating a dash into Maura and Ralph's tiny en-suite, when he moved his bulk away from the door and she made it just in time.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was still there and he followed her into her bedroom; she wasn't quite quick enough to lock him out. Now she was stuck with him there in her room until he chose to leave – one of her worst nightmare scenarios. He said nothing for a while and suddenly she saw her room through Russell's eyes. It wasn't like the room of other fifteen-year-old girls. There were no posters of popstars or TV heroes or even a good-looking continental footballer.

The only poster in fact was a tatty old one of Everest Milton at the Horse of the Year Show, which Maura had taken Georgia to when she was seven. There was a framed print of a black horse and a white one galloping beside a river in full flood. Georgia knew it wasn't a very good painting but she loved it anyway. The flying horse stood on her chest of drawers.

‘You are seriously retarded, you know,' said Russell conversationally, almost pleasantly. ‘Girls of your age grow out of the horse thing, you know. Except those saddoes at the stables. And they're all dykes.'

Georgia couldn't help herself. ‘You've never been to the stables – you don't know anything about the people there!'