City of Stars (4 page)

‘I'm sorry,' said Georgia. ‘You must think I'm very ignorant. But can you go back a bit? I don't know what stravagating is or why you think it has anything to do with my being here, or who these kimmy people are. And how long will I be here, by the way? My mother is going to go mad if I'm not there in the morning.' She stopped. ‘Or would it
be
morning there?'

Paolo shook his head. ‘I don't have answers to all your questions,' he said. ‘But I'll tell you what I know and what I suspect. The Stravaganti are a brotherhood of scientists, scattered throughout the city-states of Talia. I am the only one in Remora. It is a dangerous calling, so I mask my involvement in it by also being a Horsemaster. Even my family don't know that I am a Stravagante – at least they didn't till I told Cesare just now.'

‘He looked horrified,' said Georgia. ‘Why is it dangerous to be one?'

‘The first Stravagante came to our world from yours by accident,' said Paolo. ‘He was the founder of our brotherhood. He came from what you call England and we call Anglia. He was a natural philosopher, an alchemist as they were also known, and he found his way here as the result of an explosion in his laboratory – an alchemical accident.'

‘What was his name?' asked Georgia, making a mental note to look him up on the Internet.

‘William Dethridge,' said Paolo. ‘At least that was his name then. He first came to Talia twenty-five years ago, when the grip of the di Chimici was beginning to tighten on the whole country. Ever since then, he has been training Talians to use talismans he brought from his world to travel to it themselves. More importantly, they have taken other talismans from Talia to your England, to enable new travellers to make the journey from your world to ours.'

‘Talismans?' said Georgia. ‘You mean like my winged horse? It came from Talia?'

‘Yes,' said Paolo. ‘I took it myself.'

It was Georgia's turn to shake her head. Though with her it was more like a dog shaking water out of his ears so that he can understand what his master is saying to him.

‘You've been to England?' she said disbelievingly. ‘To my world? When? And how? Mr Goldsmith sold me the horse in his antique shop. He said it came from an old lady's house in Waverley Road.'

‘A few months ago,' said Paolo, ‘matters were coming to a head between the di Chimici and the Stravaganti.' He ran his hands worriedly through his dark grey hair. ‘There is so much to explain to you, that you must understand. A new arrival like yourself is like a new-born lamb among wolves, especially since you've been brought straight to one of the di Chimici's centres of power.'

‘You keep saying that name,' said Georgia. ‘Who are they and why are they a threat to the Stravaganti?'

‘They are a powerful family,' said Paolo, ‘the most powerful in Talia. Members of the di Chimici clan are Dukes and Princes in most of the city-states in northern Talia. In those places where they don't hold power, they have alliances with city-rulers. Here in Remora, which was the capital of the great Reman Empire, the Pope, who is also our Prince, is the second son of the current generation of di Chimici. They are fabulously wealthy and their ambition is without limits. They want to rule all Talia. They've been pretty successful in the north, with one exception, and they are turning their attention to Romula and Cittanuova in the south. Once all the twelve city-states have joined their Republic, you can be sure that the Republic will become a Kingdom. And you can guess which dynasty will supply its first king.'

He looked at Georgia expectantly. She answered slowly.

‘The di Chimici? I'm sorry, but I really don't see what any of that has to do with me. I don't know anything about politics and yours seem so different from ours. I mean, what century are you living in?'

In Georgia's world this would have been an insult not requiring an answer, but now she really wanted to know.

‘The cinquecento,' said Paolo. ‘The sixteenth century. I know that you come from more than four hundred years later. Remember, I have visited not only your world but your time.'

‘That's another thing,' said Georgia, frowning. ‘This Talia of yours seems to be some version of our Italy, going by all your names, but I can understand what you're saying and I've never had an Italian lesson in my life.'

‘Stravaganti can always understand the language of the country they travel to,' said Paolo. ‘Though so far the gateway has been only between your England and our Talia.'

‘Then why is it hundreds of years ago here?' asked Georgia. ‘I mean, for me? Sorry, there's still so much I don't understand. You said I was brought here, but why? I'm just a kid, younger than Cesare by the looks of him. What can I do to help the Stravaganti against a rich and powerful family? I can't even handle one member of my own.'

At that moment, Cesare came rushing in with an armful of clothes.

‘Sorry it took so long,' he gasped. ‘There was a visitor in the house. I've persuaded him to take some wine with Teresa, but we've got to get Georgia out of the way. And not just Georgia. He wants to see the horses.'

‘Who?' asked Georgia and Paolo at the same time.

‘Duke Niccolò,' said Cesare. ‘Niccolò di Chimici is in our kitchen. And he'll be here any minute!'

Chapter 3

A City Divided

Duke Niccolò had been impressed by the Lady's racing mare Zarina. She was a spirited brown three-year-old, ready to do her all in the Stellata. But something had been nagging at the back of his mind about the Twelfth of the Ram and he had decided on a whim to visit their stables too.

Just as the Lady was associated with Giglia and the Twins with Remora itself, so the Ram was the Twelfth which owed allegiance to Bellezza and he was particularly keen that their horse should come nowhere in the race. Not that he would allow any such feelings to show, of course. It was an honour for these humble stable people to be visited by the great Duke of Giglia and he was courtesy itself, as behoved an aristocrat among his inferiors.

And they did seem sensible of the honour, the Horsemaster and his son. They were quite flustered at his presence in their stable and eager to show him their star horse – the idiots. If they'd had any sense they would have told him they were racing some other animal! He was certainly a handsome brute, this Arcangelo of theirs.

‘Splendid, splendid!' he said heartily, every inch the gracious patron. ‘The Lady will be hard-pressed to beat him, though we have a good horse too.'

‘Well, your Grace,' said Paolo politely, ‘it's early days yet. Much can happen before race day and indeed on the day itself.'

‘Very true,' said the Duke. He was tired now and keen to get back to the comforts of the Papal palace. But on his way out of the stable he stopped to look at the grey mare with her black foal. It had a blanket over it.

‘What's the matter with the little one?' he asked.

‘A slight fever, your Grace,' said Paolo. ‘We are just being careful, because she was born only last night.'

Niccolò nodded. ‘Best to be on the safe side,' he said and waved his hand vaguely as he left the stable, stooping slightly as his head almost grazed the top of the door. Paolo went with him to see him off the premises. As soon as the two men had gone, a massive sneeze from above his head sent Cesare up the ladder and into the hayloft in a trice.

Georgia had seen the whole encounter through a gap in the floorboards.

‘Good job you didn't sneeze when the Duke was here,' said Cesare, and they both started to giggle, feeling silly with relief that the visitor hadn't seen either Georgia or the little filly. At least, he
had
seen the foal but hadn't known what he was looking at.

Paolo's grizzled head appeared through the trapdoor. ‘All clear,' he said. ‘But that was close. The sooner we get Merla up to Santa Fina the better.'

‘We're taking her and Starlight out of the city,' Cesare explained to Georgia. ‘My father thinks it will be safer. The other Twelfths would be jealous if they knew what had happened here in the Ram and might try to kidnap her.'

Georgia had pulled on the boy's clothes while Duke Niccolò was in the stable. She and Cesare were much of a size. Either he was short for his age or Talian boys were not as big as their twenty-first century equivalents. Paolo looked at Georgia critically. ‘You look more like a Remoran now,' he said. ‘Though people might still wonder at your silver jewellery with your stable-boy's clothes.'

‘Well, I'm not a Remoran,' said Georgia. ‘And I still don't understand anything about your city and this race that seems so important. And you haven't finished telling me about the Stravaganti.'

‘Time enough for that later,' said Paolo. ‘But you do need to find your way round the city. If your stravagation is like the last one from your world, you'll need to be back off home at nightfall. That still gives you a few hours. I think Cesare should take you out for a tour around Remora. He can tell you all about the Stellata.'

*

In the Papal palace the Pope carefully removed his silver brocade cope. He was now in his rose silk soutane, cutting an impressive figure, even though he was not as tall as the Duke, his brother. Ferdinando was less ambitious than Niccolò too. He liked the good life, his fine wines and exquisitely prepared food, his soft bed and his library of rare manuscripts. He didn't mind not having a wife and family. The fires of passion had flared only briefly in his youth and he would rather have a glass of Bellezzan red and a debate with his cardinals on theology than the chore of keeping a woman happy.

The only women he knew now were his sisters-in-law and his nieces; the di Chimici were a predominantly male family. The only thing that bothered Ferdinando about this state of affairs was the succession. His second nephew Carlo would be Prince of Remora, but who would be Pope after him? It was unthinkable that such a role should now pass to someone outside the family. He had hoped that the visit from his third nephew Gaetano presaged an interest in the church, but so far the boy had seemed sulky and ill at ease in the palace.

It made Ferdinando uncomfortable. For most of the time he was able to ignore the fact that he was a figurehead, a puppet manipulated by his cleverer and more ruthless older brother. Of course it had been Niccolò's idea that Ferdinando should enter the church and his money that had ensured Ferdinando's rapid rise to Cardinal and eventually Pope. It made him squirm to remember how conveniently the old Pope, Augustus II, had died. But he had been an old man; Ferdinando quickly turned his thoughts away from his predecessor.

To be Prince of the country's major city and head of its church ensured comfort, luxury even, and respect, at least on the surface. When he walked down the street, people fell to their knees as he passed. But he couldn't always forget that he wasn't like the Popes of the past when the Reman Empire was at its height. And the clear gaze of young Gaetano had brought it back to him.

‘Dinner is served, your Holiness,' his serving-man announced.

Ferdinando manoeuvred his considerable bulk out of his chair and made his way in to the meal. His eyes glittered at the sight of his silver dishes and goblets, the table ablaze with as many candles as the high altar in Remora's Duomo. There were only himself, Niccolò and Gaetano to sit down at the snowy cloth, but there were at least a dozen servants to attend to their every need.

After a brief Grace, intoned in Talic, the ancient tongue of Remora and all Talia, the three men set to. Ferdinando ate slowly with relish, savouring each carefully prepared dish. Niccolò ate little and drank a lot. Gaetano devoured everything put in front of him as fast as was compatible with good manners, as if he had put in a hard day's labour in the fields instead of mooching about the palace missing his friends and his books.

‘How have you passed your day, brother?' enquired Ferdinando.

‘Most profitably,' answered Niccolò. ‘I have seen your fine Benvenuto, visited my Zarina, and then paid a call on the Ram.'

Ferdinando raised his eyebrows. ‘And what are they running this year?'

‘A fine chestnut gelding called Arcangelo,' said Niccolò. ‘A good-boned, high-spirited horse. I'd say they had a good chance.'

Gaetano made a noise like a snort, then pretended his wine had gone down the wrong way.

‘You should have come with me, Gaetano,' said his father smoothly. ‘You might have enjoyed yourself.'

It was true that Gaetano loved horses; he was one of the best riders in the family. Perhaps it was the wine, but he felt his annoyance with his father and with Remora dissolving. ‘Perhaps I should,' he replied pleasantly. ‘Is it your intention to visit all the stables? I should like to come with you tomorrow.'

‘Yes, perhaps I will,' said Niccolò, who had had no such intention an instant ago. ‘It can do no harm to see the competition, and we don't want the other Twelfths to feel neglected, do we?'

*

As they walked through the streets of Remora, Georgia's jaw dropped. It was one thing to be told by Paolo that they were in the sixteenth century, quite another to be in a city with cobbled streets, no cars, and houses so close together that washing lines were strung across the street between them and cats leapt from one rooftop to another.

Everywhere in what Georgia was learning to recognise as the Twelfth of the Ram, there were signs and symbols of that animal. At every crossroad there was a statue of the beast with its curled horns, some of the houses were draped with red and yellow banners displaying a prancing ram with a silver crown, and every few yards or so there were little iron rings under the shape of a ram's forepart with its front legs raised.

‘What are they?' asked Georgia, pointing to one.

‘Hitching posts for horses,' said Cesare. ‘And look up!'

Georgia raised her eyes and there, thirty feet off the ground, saw more of the rings.

‘For flying horses,' whispered Cesare. ‘All the Twelfths have them, just in case.'

He led her into a small square. On the north side was a large impressive church and in the middle a fountain. The sun shone brightly down on the water, turning the fountain into a glittering fan. The water came spurting up through the mouth of a giant ram, whose horns were made of silver. More silver glinted on the tridents of the tritons surrounding the basin.

‘That's the Fonte d'Argento, the silver fountain,' explained Cesare. ‘The Ram is allied to the silversmiths' guild and they decorated it for us. Every Twelfth is linked with one of the city guilds. The Lady's one is Painters, the Twins' is Bankers.' He laughed. ‘It could be the other way round. The di Chimici are bankers and Giglia, the Lady's city, is their headquarters. Still, they are famous for their patronage of the arts too, so painters is fair enough.'

‘You've lost me,' said Georgia. ‘I thought the Lady was another section of
this
city. How can it belong to another one?'

They sat down on the stone fountain-seat and Cesare explained patiently. ‘Each Twelfth of Remora owes allegiance to one of Talia's city-states. Only the Twelfth of the Twins supports Remora itself. The Lady looks to Giglia and the Ram to Bellezza.'

‘What are the names of the other Twelfths?' asked Georgia. ‘I've only heard you mention those three.'

‘The Bull, the Crab, the Lioness, the Scales, the Scorpion, the Archer, the Goat, the Water-carrier and the Fishes,' recited Cesare, counting them off on his fingers.

Georgia thought for a bit. Then, ‘I get it!' she said triumphantly. ‘It's the zodiac, isn't it? Astrology? But wait a minute. Why Lioness? It's just a lion where I come from – Leo.'

‘Only a lioness could have suckled the twins,' said Cesare matter-of-factly. ‘You know – Romulus and Remus.'

‘It was a wolf in my world,' said Georgia. ‘But why isn't that Twelfth allied to Remora too?'

‘That one is for Romula,' said Cesare.

Georgia shook her head. It would take ages to get this lot sorted out.

‘Come to the Campo,' said Cesare, getting up. ‘It will be easier to explain there.'

They walked through a narrow alley and out into the most dazzling place Georgia had ever seen. Stepping out into the Campo was like being set free from prison, like being born after a long labour. It made Georgia want to shout out loud.

The space was a circle, but a huge one, open to the bright sunshine, with houses and grand buildings all around. There was an elaborate fountain in the centre, with a slender pillar rising from it. And the space itself, floored in a sort of herring-bone pattern of bricks, was divided up into equal sections divided by straight lines. It looked like an orange cut in half horizontally. Each segment had a star sign in the centre of it.

‘You see,' said Cesare. ‘Twelve sections – one for each Twelfth. And the way into each Twelfth of the city leads from its segment. We are standing on the Ram's portion.'

Georgia counted. ‘But there are fourteen sections, not twelve,' she objected.

‘The extra ones both lead to the Strada delle Stelle,' explained Cesare. ‘It's a kind of neutral territory running between the Gate of the Sun and the Gate of the Moon. You see the signs of Sun and Moon in those segments. Anyone can walk along that street at any time.'

‘And you can't on the other roads?' said Georgia disbelievingly.

‘Well, it depends on your Twelfth,' said Cesare. ‘The Ram is allied with the Lioness and the Archer, but in enmity with the Fishes. The Fishes is the Twelfth next to us on the south-west, so it is particularly dangerous for one of us to stray there.'