The Dark City (16 page)

Bianca clenched her fists.

This is it. This is your chance. You have to go.
Go!

She slipped out of the alcove, hugging the wall, got behind the guard, and then turned and hurried silently through the pool of candlelight and into the dark corridor behind.

Bianca pressed herself to the wall, out of the guard's line of sight.

Most of the cells were occupied. But the prisoners were silent and still. Many of them wore rags and had long, matted hair. A few lifted their heads to look at Bianca, but flinched away again at once.

Bianca edged along the corridor, peering into each cell. Were these people all the traitors her mother had talked about – the people who'd helped the pretender try to take her throne? Or were some of them her allies, imprisoned by the Baron?

She couldn't stop to figure it out now. Her heart pounded as she reached the final cell, right against the far wall. It was so dark she almost couldn't make out the hunched figure on the other side of the bars. But there was no mistaking the fine dress or the glitter of a silver bangle around the woman's wrist.

‘Mother!' Bianca gasped.

The Duchess Edita was sitting in a bare cell, shivering with cold. Her hair, normally so elaborately arranged, hung limply over her face.

She looked up, saw Bianca and smiled. ‘Oh my darling, you came!' she said, a little too loud for Bianca's liking. ‘How wonderful!'

‘Careful,' Bianca said. ‘The guard  … '

She turned to glance back down the line of cells, and something grabbed her from behind. She let out a yell, despite herself, and tried to wriggle away, but her arms were dragged together behind her back and tied so tightly her fingers immediately began to go numb.

A thunder-lamp crackled into life. Its blue-white light seemed almost blinding after the darkness. When Bianca's vision cleared, she found herself looking up into the sneering face of Piero Filpepi.

‘Yes, how wonderful!' he said. ‘It's my old apprentice. Still in need of discipline, I see.'

Bianca struggled hard against the ropes and tried to kick out, but Filpepi held her too tight. Another figure walked into her line of sight, pulling down the hood of a black cloak. Bianca was unsurprised to see it was the Baron da Russo, a smug smile spreading across his fat pink face. He reached towards her and Bianca writhed and tried to bite his hands, but it was no good. The Baron lifted the medallion from around her neck and held it up, gazing into its obsidian depths in wonder.

‘Mother!' Bianca gasped. ‘I'm so sorry! They tricked you!'

Duchess Edita stood, brushed down her dress and pulled her hair back into a neat bun.

‘Filpepi, if you would,' she said calmly.

Bianca felt like the world had dropped out from under her and she was falling.

Filpepi fished a key from his pocket and opened the door to the Duchess's cell.

‘What?' Bianca gasped.

Stepping out of the cell, Duchess Edita turned to look down at Bianca. Her dark eyes seemed like black holes in her face – without love or compassion, only a flicker of cruel amusement.

‘I'm afraid, my darling, my dove, my sweetest  … 
I
tricked
you
.'

Duchess Edita made a clicking sound with her tongue and smoothed down her dress.

‘This would have been much easier if you'd just brought the medallion with you when you first came. But no, you had to be
clever
about it.'

She held out a hand and the Baron dropped the medallion into it with a little bow. The Duchess draped it around her neck and ran her fingers over the obsidian surface.

Bianca opened her mouth to speak but shock prevented the words from escaping her throat. She looked up into her mother's face – its soft features a mirror of her own. But in her eyes Bianca saw only cruelty.

Edita smiled and turned to walk away.

‘Move,' Filpepi said, and shoved Bianca forward. ‘The Duchess wants you alive for the moment, but I'm just waiting for an excuse to be rid of you. So don't try to run, or you might find you tragically fall and impale yourself on my sword.'

‘Traitor,' Bianca hissed. ‘Duchess Catriona is going to have your head on a spike.'

‘I'm no traitor,' said Filpepi. ‘In fact, I am a patriot – a patriot of Oscurita.'

The guard stood to attention and saluted the Duchess as they passed. He didn't seem in the least surprised to see the Baron, Filpepi or Bianca.

Duchess Edita paused at the bottom of the stairs to look at the enchanted picture.

‘Ah, still relying on Annunzio's obsession with pretty pictures? How amusing,' she said. ‘Perhaps you will enjoy what comes next, after all.'

Anger and confusion brought tears to Bianca's eyes, blurring her vision. When she spoke her voice sounded like it was distant, spoken by someone else. ‘Mother, I don't understand. Why are you doing this?'

But her mother didn't bother to answer. Bianca was marched in a daze to the top of the stairs. They started to pass other people – maids, guards and courtiers – but they averted their eyes and their faces were grim; not one of them seemed shocked to see their Duchess leading her own daughter through the Castle corridors with her hands bound.

They entered the throne room. Edita strode up to the raised platform where the throne of Oscurita sat. She ran her fingers over its silver back and black velvet cushions, and then turned to Bianca with a smile, as if waiting for her to speak.

But Bianca could only stand there shaking. The shock had subsided, leaving only raw pain and anger – anger at her mother for betraying her, and at herself for believing there was anyone in the world who really cared about her.

‘You really have no idea what you've brought me, do you?' Edita said, still smiling.

Bianca stared hard at her mother, her lips pursed shut.

‘Well?' Edita sat down on the throne, crossing her legs and holding up the medallion so it twirled and spun in the air. ‘How clever you must have felt, discovering Oscurita as you did. The truth is, my dear, in the old days the people of the City of Light and the Dark City could come and go quite easily through the paintings.'

‘But  … ' Bianca glanced at the paintings that hung on the walls around the throne room. They looked quite ordinary to her. ‘But I've never heard of this place. Why doesn't anyone in La Luminosa know about it?'

Duchess Edita smiled. ‘Oh, we kept to our own lands on the whole – few true Oscuritans could stand that nasty, unrelenting bright sun of theirs for long, and the stupid, clumsy La Luminosans were almost blind in this realm. They'd cause chaos more often than not, or stumble into the canals and drown!' The Duchess threw her head back and laughed at that hilarious idea. Bianca shuddered. ‘But we had trade agreements, treaties, envoys. There was a La Luminosan embassy.'

‘So what happened?' Bianca asked.

‘The War of the Pretender  …  and Annunzio di Lombardi,' said Duchess Edita. A look of disgust crossed her face. ‘He stole the power of the portals, and sank it all into this.' She held up the medallion. ‘When he left Oscurita he used this to lock the city, to make sure nobody from Oscurita could travel to the City of Light. It even sucked the magic from his precious paintings, made them lifeless and dull.'

‘But I thought Filpepi –'

‘Oh yes, Oscuritan through and through,' said Edita. ‘Annunzio didn't go to La Luminosa alone. He brought with him the two men who he knew could stand living in that horrible sunshine. A trusted friend and advisor – that would be Filpepi, here, his chief apprentice. Filpepi brought the Baron. Both of them were already under my command. They'd sworn to be my eyes and ears in the City of Light. And they remained loyal, all these years.'

The Baron swept a low bow, and Filpepi smiled slyly.

‘I don't understand,' Bianca muttered, defeated. ‘Why would you give me to di Lombardi, then? You're the Duchess! Why would you let him seal the paintings?'

Edita just stared at Bianca for a second. ‘You haven't figured it out? Why would Annunzio have so much power and influence here? A simple painter? Why, you silly girl, do you think he cared for you as his own all these years?'

Bianca felt humiliated. She wished she knew the answers to the Duchess's taunting questions, but it seemed everyone around her had been keeping her in the dark her entire life. She stared at the floor, thinking of her old master.
I just thought he was wise and kind. He was Duchess Catriona's advisor; I never thought to wonder what he was to you  … 

‘I suppose I have taken some trouble to make sure that nobody in Oscurita ever uses his true title,' Edita admitted. ‘
Duke
Annunzio.'

Bianca's head snapped up.

‘My father,' said Edita. ‘Duke Annunzio Lombardi di Oscurita was your grandfather.' She got up from the throne and started to pace in front of Bianca, twirling the medallion as she went. ‘Duke Annunzio the Great, some used to call him. Annunzio the Artist.' Her face darkened. ‘Annunzio the
Coward
. He loved the world of light more than he loved his own kingdom. His own daughter. He abandoned this city when it looked as if the war wouldn't go his way, and locked the doors behind him so nobody else could escape. Without the medallion I've been crippled, unable to truly cement my power.'

Bianca stared up at Edita as she paced back and forth.

None of this made sense. How could this bitter woman be the person who'd handed her over to di Lombardi and tearfully hugged him goodbye? There was no hint in the story di Lombardi had left Bianca that she'd been angry with him. But  …  could the painted story have been false? A pleasant lie to keep Bianca on his side?

She wouldn't believe that.

‘Anyway,' sighed Edita, seizing the medallion in one hand and snapping the eight-sided obsidian pendant off its blue string. ‘That's all over now. Finally, I'll be able to open all the portals with no need for paint. I will cross over into La Luminosa and take what's mine.'

‘What's yours?' Bianca asked. ‘But what is that?'

‘Everything,' said Edita, looking at Bianca as if it was the stupidest question she'd ever heard. ‘
Obviously
.'

She knelt in front of the throne. Bianca spotted the octagonal hole in the throne-room floor and a chill shiver of inevitability crept over her as Edita slotted the medallion into it.

Eight beams of brilliant light and swirling shadow shot out from between the slabs in the stone floor, snaking across the room towards the walls. Bianca felt her jaw drop as all around her the murals and paintings started to glow and pulsate. Their colours ran and swirled, bleeding out into the air in thin streams, like a used paintbrush dropped into clear water.

‘There, do you see?' Edita said, standing as the streams of colour threaded through the air around her. ‘As quickly as paint dries on a canvas, the passages to the other world will be open once more!'

Bianca turned her face away, miserably, refusing to watch her wicked mother's triumph. She stared as a river of bright white and blue paint flowed out from a painting of a snowy landscape under a sky full of glittering stars. She turned every moment of the
storia
over and over in her mind as she watched the white stream cross the throne room, reflecting light onto the dark stones.

She'd seen Oscurita, then she'd seen it under attack. Her mother had run to the courtyard and given her over to di Lombardi – to Bianca's grandfather. It had all seemed so real! The paint had sparkled with colour and life as the tears had sprung to her mother's eyes  … 

Her mother's
blue
eyes.

Edita's eyes flashed in the reflected light from the swirling colours. They were a deep, dark brown.

‘You are not my mother,' Bianca said.

Edita laughed. ‘Dear God, I should hope not! My sister didn't deserve to rule. She had no ambition – and she was just as much of a fool as you and my beloved father. Take her away,' she said, with a wave of her hand. ‘But not to the dungeon. Take her to the Tower of Thorns.'

‘Yes, Your Majesty,' said Filpepi with a bow. He dragged Bianca to her feet and pulled her away, ducking between the pulsating beams of colour that criss-crossed the throne room.

‘You don't know Duchess Catriona!' Bianca yelled. ‘Even if you get through, you'll never take La Luminosa!'

‘A silly little girl, just like you,' Edita laughed. ‘I don't think I'll have too much trouble!'

Bianca kept her eyes focused on her aunt's laughing face until the throne room doors slammed shut between them.

Two guards opened one of the doors at the top of the Tower of Thorns and threw her inside. Her knees were weak from the endless stairs, and as soon as the guards let go of her she dropped to the floor.

She felt an odd sensation on her numb hands, and then the ropes gave way. She turned to blink in surprise at the guard who'd cut the ropes, but he just shook his head.

‘Much good may it do you,' he muttered. Then he slammed the door and turned the key in the heavy lock. Bianca heard him grumbling to his companion and the clanking of their armour as they started the long walk back down to the ground.

Bianca stumbled to her feet, rubbing her wrists, and looked around at her prison. It was bare, dusty, and freezing cold – but there was a bed, which even had a very old pillow and a blanket. Bianca seized the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The sweat she'd worked up on the climb up the tower was quickly cooling on her neck and back, and the chill was so bad she thought it might actually turn to frost.

A needle-sharp blast of cold air hit her in the face and she gasped. That was why it was so, so cold – there was no frame or glass in the window, just an empty hole in the thick stone wall. She went over to it and looked down, and then wished she hadn't. The window was easily big enough for her to climb out through, but it was a long, long way to the ground. The fall would kill her ten times over. When her heart had stopped pounding, she made herself look again, and realised why this was called the Tower of Thorns. Even if she did manage to use her scarf to lower herself carefully down and cling to the side of the tower, sharp-looking metal spikes stuck out of the tower at random intervals, like thorns on a rose stem. One slip and she'd be sliced to ribbons.

She shuddered and stepped back from the window, pacing the room trying to get warm. Her numb fingers clenched into white fists, as her body shook from frustration, as well as the cold: just when she believed she had everything she ever wanted – a home, a family – it had been taken away from her. An image of her aunt's cruel brown eyes flashed into her mind.
At least that wicked person isn't my mother
. It was a comforting thought.

Bracing herself against the icy wind she craned her neck, casting another look through the open window, surveying the black rooftops and canals of Oscurita, and the looming spires of its castle. Despite the shock, and behind her anger and humiliation, Bianca was relieved: her mother wasn't in league with Filpepi and the Duke. She could still be out there somewhere, hiding beneath one of those dark roofs.

She began pacing again, trying to form a plan of action.
So what are my options?

After a few moments, she slumped down on the bed and stared into space.

I can sit here and rot while my evil aunt invades La Luminosa.

Or  … 

No, that's about it.

The idea of the unsuspecting Duchess Catriona facing an invasion from a land she didn't even know existed, with no time to prepare a defence, made Bianca feel sick with worry.

Bianca stood up. This was all her fault – but she wouldn't just sit here feeling sorry for herself, and she wouldn't cry. What would be the point, anyway? She was completely alone. She kicked out at the door and it gave a satisfyingly loud
BANG.

‘I think it's
locked
.'

Bianca jumped at the voice behind her. She spun round. ‘Marco!'

Leaping to her feet, she sprang across the room, grabbing her friend and pulling him through the window. ‘What? How?'

Marco was as white as an ice bear in a snowstorm. His arms and legs were shaking and sweat dripped from his hair as if he'd been out in the rain. He had thick layers of fabric wrapped around his hands and feet, but there was a cut across two of his fingers.

‘How did you  …  ?' Bianca went over to the window and looked down. There were a few fluttering scraps of fabric caught on some of the sharp metal thorns. ‘You did it! You got over your fear of heights!'

‘I heard them say  …  you were imprisoned up here  …  so I climbed  …  oh god, s'cuse me,' he said, before bending over double, resting a forearm against the wall.

Bianca laughed, unable to quite believe Marco was right there before her.

‘I had to come,' he said. ‘Even if it meant climbing almost to the top of this
massive
tower. I couldn't leave you to do this by yourself. I had to come and tell you  …  you're a total idiot.'

‘I know!' Bianca grinned.

‘I mean it. You're a complete moron for not trusting me, because you don't know how sorry I am that I didn't tell you I was helping Cosimo. And you can't just stop being my friend because I won't let you.'

‘Marco, I know! I'm so sorry!' She made a face. ‘I'd hug you  …  only I'd be worried you might faint on me.'

‘Fair enough,' Marco sniffed.

Bianca's heart sank. ‘But I don't think I will be able to scale down there. I'm not an acrobat like you.'

‘No problem,' Marco said, brandishing the paintbrush key. ‘Turns out this key opens any lock in Oscurita.'

Bianca let out a yelp of joy and hugged Marco tight. She gave him another moment to recover, before moving towards the cell door: the key whined as it appeared to separate into tiny parts, shifting around and moulding to fit the lock as Bianca put it in.
Click
. She turned it. The door swung open.

‘It worked! You were right.' Bianca shouted.

‘Did you ever doubt me?'

‘Of course not. Well  …  maybe for a second.' She grinned again and they raced outside the door, the icy wind swirling down a winding stone stairway. Bianca could see doors to other cells leading off from the stairway below and, above, the stairs seemed to carry on up to another level.

Her blood froze in her veins.
Another level  … 

‘Marco! You said you climbed
almost
to the top of the tower?'

‘Yeah  … '

‘Was there another level above my cell?'

‘Yes  …  I think so. Actually, I think there were windows higher up the tower than yours. I guess there's a couple more cells up there. Why?'

She didn't wait to answer, charging up the stairway three at a time, then stopping in front of two thick wooden doors: one was swinging on its hinges, revealing a cold empty cell, but the other door was better kept and shut. Bianca heard Marco halt beside her.

‘What's going on? Why have we come up here?'

Bianca's panting breaths came heavy and fast and her heart thundered in her chest. ‘I think  …  I think  … '

She raised a hand slowly, clutched the door's metal handle and pulled. Locked.

‘H-hello?' said a voice. Bianca recoiled from the door and nearly tripped over her own feet.

‘Is someone there?' said the voice. It was a woman's voice, soft and slightly raspy, as if she wasn't used to speaking at all. ‘Please,' she said, more loudly, ‘if you're there, say something!'

‘I'm here,' said Bianca. She just caught the sound of an intake of breath from the other side of the door.

‘Oh! You sound so young. I could tell by your steps that you weren't a guard. It's been a long time since she's sent anyone up here with me.'

Bianca forced herself to stay calm. ‘How long have you been a prisoner?' she asked.

‘I  …  I'm not sure,' the woman admitted. ‘Several years at least.'

Bianca couldn't imagine how awful it would be to be locked up for years. She had only managed two days under Lady Margherita's beady eye before escaping.

‘Why are
you
up here? What did you do to aggravate Edita?' the woman asked.

‘I  … ' Bianca began, but then her voice fell away.

The woman in the other cell let out a short laugh. ‘Ha! Smart girl. You're probably wise to keep your own counsel. My sister has made Oscurita a dangerous place to trust anyone.'

‘Your sister?' Bianca whispered, hope rising in her chest until she thought it might burst.

‘Yes. My sister. The pretender to the throne who likes to call herself
Duchess
Edita. But she's no Duchess. Not while I'm alive.'

Bianca trembled as she spoke. ‘Does she, um  …  does she have more than one sister?' she asked.

‘Well – no,' said the woman. ‘You must know that, though. I mean, you can't be so young you don't even know about the war!'

‘You're her older sister? The rightful Duchess?' Bianca's heart was beating so fast she thought Marco must have heard it, standing beside her.

‘Don't let her hear you call me that, but yes,' said the woman.

‘What is your name?' Bianca finally managed.

‘I am Saralinda Zorna Lombardi di Oscurita. I am the rightful Duchess of Oscurita. But you can call me Saralinda,' she added.

‘Saralinda,' Bianca whispered. ‘Did you have a daughter?'

There was a long pause.

‘Yes, I did,' said the voice. ‘That's  …  that's also  … 
Everyone
in Oscurita knows that I sent my daughter away with my father when my sister took my throne.'

‘Nearly thirteen years ago,' Bianca whispered.

‘No  …  can it have been so long?'

Bianca drew in a deep, shaky breath. Perhaps this was all a trick. Perhaps it was a game Edita was playing.

But what if it wasn't?

‘I grew up in La Luminosa,' she said. ‘With an old man named Annunzio di Lombardi.' She heard Saralinda gasp. ‘He told me that I was left on his doorstep. Nearly thirteen years ago. But I think  …  that's not what happened.'

‘It can't be.' Saralinda's voice was half sob. ‘Can it? My  …  my baby  …  Bianca  … '

Bianca sensed her mother's body coming closer, pressing up to the other side of the door. She gasped, tears – just for once, tears of joy – spilling over her cheeks.

‘If only we could see each other,' her mother said.

Bianca raised the magical key. It seemed like her whole life had been leading up to this moment, to this doorway. ‘We can.'

She grinned a huge, watery grin, and wrenched the key into the lock. She heard her mother step back with a gasp, as she practically threw herself at the heavy wooden door. It swung open.