City of Swords (3 page)

And then she saw it. The most perfect little silver sword. Of course it must really be a paperknife, she supposed, but it was beautifully made, a real piece of craftsmanship. And although it was no longer than six inches, Laura knew instinctively it was a sword in miniature and not a dagger.

‘I wondered if you’d like that,’ said Mortimer Goldsmith.

^*

‘Right,’ said Georgia. ‘That’s agreed then. Bel and Yesh will keep an eye on Laura to see if she’s behaving strangely. Matt and Sky will look out for likely talismans in school, and Nick and I will go and see Mortimer.’

‘But what do you think about which city it will be?’ asked Nick.

They had all talked about it and made another list: cities that had already been visited by teenage Stravaganti from their world and ones that had not acquired a Stravagante yet. Five major city-states had been visited and five disasters averted but there were seven left and an infinite number of dangers, it seemed to them.

But they could not tell which of the seven would be likely to be next in need of a visitor from their world.

‘Fabrizio will be pretty mad that he lost the battle of Classe,’ Nick had said. ‘And that Beatrice married Filippo Nucci. That city is independent for the foreseeable future.’

‘But we never go back, do we?’ Sky had pointed out. ‘I mean we might visit “our” cities again but our tasks there are always finished. Where will the di Chimici strike next?’

‘There are just too many for us to guess,’ said Georgia. ‘Come on, I think Mortimer’s shop will still be open. We’ll go and call on him, and Bel – can you call Yesh and go round to Laura’s? It’s a long shot but worth a try.’

Sky didn’t want to leave Isabel, and Matt hadn’t seen Ayesha all day so they decided to join the call-on-Laura posse. The group split up not far from Nick’s house and he and Georgia walked hand in hand to the antique shop.

‘Ah,’ said Mortimer, quite used to visits from these two.‘I think you are too late.’

‘What can you mean?’ asked Georgia.

‘I mean, I think you have come to ask me either about a pale, sad girl from your school or a rather beautiful silver sword from goodness knows where,’ he said.‘And in either case, it’s too late. They have found each other.’

^*

Laura was thoroughly alarmed when her two best friends turned up at her house with their boyfriends in tow, but her mother was delighted; she thought Laura spent far too much time on her own.

‘Someone to see you,’ she called up the stairs.

Laura hastily opened her curtains and checked that there was no evidence of her earlier activity. Could she smell blood? Or was she being paranoid? She opened the window, to be on the safe side, and gave her room a squirt of air freshener.

So she was pink and flustered by the time four fellow-students from Barnsbury trooped in.

‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘What’s up? Is something going on?’

‘Maybe,’ said Isabel. ‘How are things with you?’

But before Laura had time to think of an answer to that, Isabel’s phone warbled and she read an incoming text.

‘Interesting,’ she said, showing it to Sky. ‘That was Georgia. And she says you bought something from Mortimer Goldsmith. Can we see?’

Laura’s heart was pounding. This was some sort of intervention. They had found out about the cutting and were going to tell her parents. For a moment she didn’t know if she was horrified or relieved.

While still in that numb limbo, she drew out a package from her desk drawer. It was wrapped in green tissue paper and held together by stickers with MG on them in curly writing. She hadn’t been home long enough even to unwrap it.

It seemed curiously intimate to open that package with four other pairs of eyes looking on.

‘That’s Talian all right,’ said Nick authoritatively.

‘Ouch,’ said Ayesha, who had tested the blade on her thumb. ‘I thought paperknives were supposed to be blunt?’

Isabel was watching Laura intently, seeing the fear in her eyes and the changes in her expression.

‘Why did you buy it?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Do you get a lot of letters?’

‘I don’t see what it has to do with you – with any of you,’ said Laura. ‘I liked it and I could afford it so I bought it. So what?’

‘So what were you going to do with it?’ asked Isabel.

And Laura knew the game was up.

Fabio was always first into his workshop every morning, stoking up the fire in the furnace and checking round the supplies of ore for the day’s work. His apprentices slept at the back of the shop and were not awake yet.

The streets had been very quiet on his way to work, the city still holding its breath.

And then, while he sat at his bench, watching the sun rise through the open door, a young woman, not more than a slender girl, materialised on a stool opposite him.

He made the Hand of Fortune, the superstitious sign that all Talians used to ward off bad luck and the evil eye.

‘
Dia
,’ he said. ‘You have come! You are from the other world!’

What Laura saw was a room full of metal and sharp blades. In her hand was the silver sword, held carefully by the hilt so that she didn’t cut herself accidentally. She was fully aware how ironic this was.

In front of her was a man of middle height, broad-shouldered and brown-skinned. He had a kind face but he was looking at her as if he was afraid. And yet, if what her friends had told her was true, she was the one who had made a terrifying journey through time and space.

‘I’m Laura,’ she said simply.

‘Low-ra,’ said the man. ‘Welcome to Fortezza.’

And then a bell started to toll in the distance, a single sad repeated note.

‘You have not come a moment too soon,’ he said. ‘The old Prince is dead.’

Chapter 2

When a Prince Dies

When Laura woke up back in her bed, it was to find Isabel and Georgia both watching her. It was unnerving the way they were both staring at her. She was holding the silver paperknife in her hand and she sat up and rewrapped it in the tissue paper that was still on her bedside table.

‘Everything OK?’ asked Isabel.

‘You made it to Talia?’ said Georgia.

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘To a place called Fortezza. Its ruler just – well – he died while I was there.’

Then seeing their expressions, she said quickly, ‘It had nothing to do with me. He’s been ill for ages. And I didn’t even see him. But Fabio told me what had happened. He said I’d better go home.’

‘Fabio’s your Stravagante,’ said Georgia. ‘I told you you’d meet one. What does he do?’

‘He’s a swordsmith,’ said Laura. ‘His shop is full of sharp blades.’

‘What do we know about Fortezza?’ Isabel asked Georgia.

‘I can’t remember much,’ said the tawny-haired girl. ‘Did your Fabio say the name of the prince who died?’

‘It was Yak-something,’ said Laura. ‘It didn’t sound very likely for a Talian name.’

‘Oh no!’ said Georgia. ‘Not Jacopo? He was one of the
good
di Chimici. I remember when he came with a boatload of supplies to help people after the massacre and the flood in Giglia.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Laura. ‘I still don’t get half this stuff. Can we talk about it over breakfast? I’m starving.’

James and Ellen, Laura’s parents, had been astonished when she asked them if two girl friends could sleep over on Saturday night. After years of worrying that their daughter had no social life outside school, they were suddenly confronted with not one but two teenagers dashing back to their homes to fetch sleeping bags and toothbrushes.

But they were happy to provide them with Sunday breakfasts of croissants and milky coffee and to make small talk until all three girls said they were going out to meet up with more Barnsbury students in the local café.

‘Astonishing,’ said James. ‘Perhaps she’s turned a corner?’

‘I hope so,’ said Ellen.

^*

In Fortezza, every house showed signs of mourning, with black ribbons on door knockers and green boughs at the windows, whose shutters were all closed. Every flag on every tower in the city flew at half mast. Jacopo di Chimici had been well loved.

At the University, all the buildings wore their mourning greenery in honour of the dead leader. Jacopo had been their Chancellor. One new student, tall, with red hair as brightly distinctive as the lost Prince’s had been in his youth, wandered the streets of Fortezza plucking up courage to visit the castle and pay his respects to the grieving royal family.

It was nearly evening before he felt brave enough to have himself announced by a footman in di Chimici livery.

‘Guido Parola from Bellezza,’ he boomed and the red-headed man was admitted to the small
salone
where Princess Carolina was receiving callers.

The widow looked a little perplexed at first but one of her daughters leapt up in a flurry of skirts and rushed towards the newcomer, only slowing to a more sedate pace just before she reached him.

‘Guido! You are welcome,’ said Lucia, holding out her hand.‘Mamma, you remember Signor Parola? He was so brave and kind when Carlo was killed. Papa thought very highly of him.’

Carolina’s expression cleared. ‘Ah yes, of course,’ she said, offering her own hand to the tall young man. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Your Highness,’ said Guido, making a deep bow,‘I am so sorry to hear of your loss. I hope I am not intruding on the family’s private grief? Your husband was a fine man and will be terribly missed.’

He turned to Lucia and her sister. ‘Your Highness, Your Grace – my deepest sympathy to you both.’

Bianca saved her sister a task by saying straight away, ‘Oh, please do away with the formality, Guido! We shall never forget what you did for us on that terrible night in Giglia. You may surely use our names as we do yours?’

‘It is kind of you to come,’ added Lucia.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Guido, who had been both a mandolier and a hired assassin in his past. ‘Is your husband on his way, Your Gr— I mean Bianca?’

‘Alfonso will leave Volana as soon as he can,’ said Bianca. ‘And I don’t doubt the rest of the family will be here soon for father’s funeral. But just now we have no male relative to help us. Your support would be most welcome.’

‘There is so much to organise,’ said Lucia. ‘And Mamma is too distraught to be burdened with it.’

It was true that the Princess of Fortezza had aged overnight. Now that her husband was dead, it was as if she had lost all anchorage in the world and felt in danger of spending the rest of her life adrift.

‘I will do whatever you ask,’ said Guido, thrilled to be regarded as a substitute for a relative. ‘Please use me – I should like to be of help.’

‘Mamma, may I talk to Guido about the succession announcement?’ said Lucia. ‘It is one thing we can spare you.’

‘Very well,’ said the Dowager Princess. ‘Please do. And, Bianca, could you help me to my room? I don’t think I can entertain any more visitors today. Not that
you
are not welcome, Signor,’ she added, remembering the demands of courtesy. ‘It is a pleasure in our grief to renew your acquaintance.’