“Before being transformed into a zombie-like slave for Lord Sickhert,” Alex said, remembering a vacant-eyed creature he'd battled on his last trip.
“Can't they be changed back?”
“No, never,” Leonardo said. “That is why we must find my daughter, soon.”
Michelangelo held up a finger and went to the book Alex had looked at earlier. Gently, he picked up the manuscript.
“Ahh, a codex,” Leonardo said. “Squarcialupi?”
“Of course,” Michelangelo replied with a smug smile. “What else would it be?”
Alex sighed. More big words and riddles. Still, he had to know.
“Okay, I'll bite. What's that?”
“Here lies the greatest music of Italy from my time,” Michelangelo said. “My friend Landini will demonstrate.” He opened the book and held up the page for all to see.
The man in purple and red robes on the page took a bow. Then he sat on a wooden chair and began to play the golden organ in his lap. The room filled with an eerie melody like something from a dream. Or the dream of a dream.
Alex swayed to the music as a warm mist filled the air. His eyelids grew heavy. Then the room faded from view.
Chapter 26
Bartholomew blinked and glanced around sleepily. Where were they? Just a second before, he'd been in Michelangelo's library, now he was back in Leonardo's lab. What happened? Alex and Gwen were a few feet away, looking equally as dazed.
“What the heck?” Alex muttered.
“You see,” Michelangelo said, lifting one eyebrow. “It has powers to hypnotize.”
“Powers? What do you mean? How did we get here?” Gwen demanded, her green eyes flashing as iridescent as the peacock feathers on Leonardo's table.
“The last thing I remember was haunting music,” Bartholomew said.
“Landini's organ hypnotized you to walk here,” Michelangelo explained matter-of-factly.
“It did not!” Gwen sniffed and stuck out a petulant chin.
“Worry not, bambina. It was but a test to determine what powers the other arts could have over the creators.” Leonardo flicked his long white beard at her. “It was quite successful.”
“But it did not work on us residents.” Michelangelo held up the illuminated page from the book.
A grinning Landini looked very pleased with himself. With a smug smile, he pulled his purple robes tighter around his waist.
Bartholomew felt like the butt of a giant joke. Was he some sort of clown for their entertainment? He crossed his arms and eyed the Artanians warily.
“Nor will it affect us unless the Deliverers recreate it to do so,” Leonardo said, pointing at a huge easel in the corner.
“Oh,” Bartholomew said. “I see where you are going with all of this. We need to get that fish to lead us to Mona Lisa without arousing suspicion.”
“Hmmm. The only ways I see are to scare it, convince it, or hypnotize it,” Gwen said.
“For sure. Come on, B-three. Let's get to work.” Alex picked up a ladle-shaped stone and took it to the table where a grinding bowl and various colored rocks, minerals, and jars of powders sat. He picked up a reddish pebble and was about to grind it when Leonardo interrupted.
“The design must be proportioned. You cannot begin without a plan,” Leonardo instructed.
“I thought I'd just copy that other page,” Alex said.
Leonardo shook his head. “You must sketch new lines first and make a unique design.”
“If the perspective is not just right, the music will not hypnotize,” Michelangelo agreed. “Come. Let me show you.” Walking to the table, he picked up a quill pen and dipped it in ink before drawing two connected squares on a piece of parchment. Next to these, he made a larger square with sides equaling the rectangle's length. Then he repeated the process again and again until he filled the paper with connecting squares, looking kind of like plans for a house.
“He is making a grid so the perspective is correct,” Leonardo said. “You must make sure that if something is farther away, it appears smaller. There is a direct mathematical relationship between how far away something seems to be and its size.”
“Oh, no!” Bartholomew groaned. “I hate math.”
“But you are a Deliverer.” Leonardo smiled. “You use mathematics daily, whether you realize it or not.”
“Yes.” Michelangelo nodded. “All artists do.” He pointed to the center squares. “This place will become your vanishing point. The music must come from there for the hypnosis to work.”
Bartholomew felt a knot in his stomach. If the numbers weren't exactly right, they couldn't hypnotize the fish? He'd had trouble with math all year. He shook his head and stared off into space. “I can't,” he whispered.
“Don't tell me that.” Alex glared at him.
“You know math is what got me in trouble in the first place.”
“So suck it up. Try.”
“You go ahead. I'd only make a mess.”
Alex reached for a quill, but Michelangelo blocked his hand. “Our world was born from the magic of two. Not one.”
“Both must create equally for the magic to work,” Leonardo added.
Bartholomew's face grew hot, and he felt the red rise in his cheeks. He wanted to help, but he wasn't a natural at math like Alex.
“Come on. I'll help you.” Alex gave him a friendly nudge.
“All right, but I'm not making any promises.”
“That's okay.” Gwen grinned. We wouldn't have believed you if you did.”
“Very funny.” He curled his lip at her then turned to Leonardo. “Now, where do we begin?”
Chapter 27
“Okay, be extra careful now. Don't drop it,” Bartholomew advised.
Gwen stared at him incredulously. Mr. Mess-Up-Seventy-Six-Times while everyone had to wait was telling her to take care? She started to retort, but something about Bartholomew's face made her stop. She nodded her readiness to Alex and lifted her corner of the painting.
As Alex backed toward the doorway, the painted organist on the canvas warmed up his voice. To Gwen, his counting to three in Italian sounded like, “Oono, dooay, tray.” It was catchy, and she found herself singing along. “Uno, due, tre, uno, due, tre,” she trilled.
Alex grinned at her. “I didn't know you could sing.”
Gwen blushed. She could. The one thing Rochelle had done that was actually motherly was sing lullabies. When Gwen was by herself, she often sang; it made her feel less lonely. Only, she usually didn't perform in front of people.
“Gwen, you have a beautiful voice,” Bartholomew said.
“Whatever. I'm just trying to keep this Landini dude happy so he can hypnotize the fish.”
“Scusi!” Landini said with an indignant snuffle. “I no-a-need a child to make-a my music. It's-a sublime on its-a own.”
“I think you might have offended our composer here,” Leonardo said with a hearty laugh.
Gwen grinned, glad to have the focus back on the job, not on some of her girly singing.
Twisting the painting through doorways and around corners, she and Alex followed Leonardo down the steps of the fortress through the cobblestone streets of Florence.
“Watch out, people,” Bartholomew cautioned from behind.
“We got it,” Gwen said.
“There's a dog. Oh, no. Don't let it get too close. It might urinate on Landini. Shoo, pup, shoo!” The blathering Bartholomew mopped his brow with a stained handkerchief
“Alex?” Gwen muttered through clenched braces. Bartholomew's constant fussing, fretting, and flinching at every fluttering leaf was driving her crazy. She was tempted to drop her side and bop him on the head.
“I know. I know. Just deal.”
When they reached the Ponte Vecchio Bridge, the fish was nowhere in sight, but several people they asked said they'd seen it swimming up and down the Arno River earlier.
“Now what?” Gwen asked.
“We wait,” Alex replied as the two of th
em propped the painting against a shop wall. He stepped inside a jewelers' shop and peeked out the window. Gwen followed, scanning the water below.
Nothing. Not even a splash.
After about twenty minutes, they regrouped near the center pier of the bridge.
“We know it was seen earlier.” Leonardo smoothed his thick eyebrows with a finger. “It may return.”
In the silence that followed, Gwen's stomach growled. Alex stared at her and sniggered.
“What?” she snapped. “I'm hungry.”
“Actually, so am I,” Bartholomew agreed.
Leonardo glanced at the river again, then smiled at the children. “Come. I know of a tavern close by.” Ducking his head inside the jewelry store, he told the shopkeeper they'd be at Signor Pastori's before leading the children down a narrow street to the restaurant.
With the painting safely tucked in a corner, they settled themselves on long wooden benches. Gwen breathed in through her nose. The pungent smell of spices made her mouth water.
“I can taste the pizza. I'm thinking pepperoni.”
“Me, too.” Alex nodded.
“Pizza?” Leonardo gave them a blank stare. “What is that?”
“You know … pizza,” Gwen replied. “That bready Italian pie with thick tomato sauce, bubbling cheese, and mmm, mmm spicy pepperoni.”
“I do not know it.”
“But this is Italy. You have to have pizza.”
Bartholomew sighed as if Gwen were a spaz who just fell on her butt.
“Pizza was not invented until the nineteenth century,” he said.
“Okay, Mr. Encyclopedia. Then what do we eat? I'm starving,” Gwen said.
“Pasta or rice dishes were popular during the Renaissance.”
“And how do you know this?”
“When you're homeschooled, there's lots of time to research obscure facts. The Italian Renaissance has always fascinated me.”
“Didn't you ever, like watch cartoons or play video games?”
“I am a Borax. Mother says we rise above such things.”
Gwen stuck a finger beside her nose as if she were picking it. “Boring.”
“Their macaroni with saffron and chicken is very good.” Leonardo snapped his fingers at the bald man in a sea green tunic and leggings. “Signore. Vorrei pasta i pollo.”
“Cierto.” Senor Pastori bowed and passed through a door next to a large stone fireplace.
“I love macaroni and cheese.” Alex smacked his lips.
Gwen totally agreed. “Yeah, but not the stuff in the school cafeteria. Yuck.”
“Too sticky. Like it's got glue in it.”
“Kroft is the best,” Gwen said.
When the heaping platter arrived, it looked nothing like either Kroft or the school mac and cheese Gwen was expecting. First, it wasn't macaroni, but spaghetti. Second, it was a pasty gray instead of yellow. Third, it smelled so spicy she didn't know if she could eat it. She sniffed at it doubtfully.
“You can't always skate at a safe park,” Alex said. “Sometimes you gotta risk it and hit the streets.”
Gwen sighed. “You're right. I'm so hungry I could eat anything.” She scooped up a single strand and stuck out her tongue to test it. Not half bad. It was a little hot, but she liked it. “Gwood,” she mumbled shoving in another forkful. Soon, she was munching away greedily with the rest of them.
Gwen was in the middle of a long draught from a tankard of water when she saw him in the doorway. Water dribbled down the side of her mouth. She sputtered and covered her mouth.
Then she covered her eyes.
“What?” Alex asked from across the table.
Keeping her eyes covered, Gwen pointed behind him. She heard Alex cough, and Bartholomew squeaked.
Right behind them was a giant … and he was absolutely naked!
Chapter 28
“Faster! Dig!” Sludge hissed from his hill perch. He wished he had a whip to show these peasants a thing or two.
But Lord Sickhert had been clear about how to keep these traitors on their side. “Encourage but do not incite fear,” his overlord had said.
Sludge sneered. In their tattered tunics and muddied leggings, these peons dug, picked, and hauled away buckets of soil with no idea that they were betraying their own kind. They actually believed they would become lords of the manor when the big change came. They were as stupid as the humans who created them.
“Mama, mia.” One peasant mopped his brow with a dirty rag. “I am-a tired.”
“Si,” his partner said setting down the bucket of mud in his hands. “Me, too. Here, take some of my water.” He removed a goatskin bag from his shoulder and handed it to his friend.
The painted man drank greedily, letting water spill down his chin and onto his brown tunic. “Grazie,” he said.
Sludge fought the urge to gag; these Artanians were disgusting. At least he wouldn't have to deal with their sickly sweetness for long. When Lord Sickhert gained control, the air would fill with sulfuric mist.
At least these peasants were steady workers. After dredging silt from the clogged river all day, the Arno nearly connected to the Mediterranean Sea.
But time was running out. The Deliverer had escaped the fish and was drawing closer to Mona Lisa. Her ship must reach the portal before the humans found it.
If only he could transport her over land. But she glowed with the light of Creation and would shine like a beacon to anyone searching for her.
Sludge growled. How could he encourage speed without pain?
Of course. He cupped his slime-covered hands around bulbous lips. “Remember, peasants,” Sludge called down into the ditch. “You were painted as slaves. For centuries, you have repeated the same tedious tasks again and again.”
“I have served the Medici family long and well,” the man with the goatskin bag grumbled. “Yet still I am not free.”
With as voice as smooth as Shadow Swine pupa's skin, Sludge said, “But Lord Sickhert will remove those bonds to make you new.”
Just as Sludge expected, a few angry faces filled with hope. Those idiots in the aqueduct below believed his every word. It was so easy to deceive these Artanians. They thought they were suffering when in fact they were happier than any Shadow Swine he knew. “Faster,” Sludge crooned. “For your just reward.”
The picks and shovels rose and fell until soon the first trickles of water broke through.
“More!” Sludge said.
When the river flowed freely to the sea, the Shadow Swine captain sighed. Now the pirates could sail. Then Mona Lisa would enter the portal and the Renaissance nation would fall.
Sludge's yellow eyes glowed in anticipation.
Chapter 29
Bartholomew was glad he wasn't eating like Alex when he turned around to look. While Alex sputtered and choked, all Bartholomew needed to do was avert his eyes.
Leonardo acted as if a naked giant stopping by during lunch was the most normal thing in the world. Come to think of it, maybe it was. Bartholomew had seen tons of Renaissance art with nude or semi-clothed people in them.
“Ciao, David!” Leonardo called.
“Buongiorno,” the giant said bending at the waist to peer through the doorway.
“Are you hungry? Perhaps some macaroni?”
“Thank you, no. I am here with news.”
Bartholomew couldn't help it. His curiosity made him turn. Oops! Too much visual impact. He turned back, his cheeks beet red.
“What is it, David?” Leonardo asked.
“The fish has been seen just west of Florence.”
“Let's go.” Alex pushed away from the table and motioned for Gwen to help him with the painting.
As the naked giant sculpture led them along, Bartholomew tried to look away. Of course, if you don't watch where you are going, you trip. Especially over cobblestones.
Gwen seemed equally embarrassed, but since she and Alex were carrying the painting, it sort of blocked their view. Bartholomew wished he had
something to do the same.
Then he realized he did.
If he were to lag four steps behind, the painting hid the most embarrassing part of the David's anatomy. Then he could pretend David was just a man in swim trunks, which made walking a whole lot easier. “Where is the fish, anyhow?” Bartholomew called out after several minutes. “We're way past Ponte Vecchio.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Almost past the city.”
David pointed a marble finger at the river below to where a single fin sliced through the water.
Bartholomew thought the sight of the creature which nearly drowned him would make him tremble, but the wolfish face was only infuriating. Try to hurt my friend, will you? He fumed.
“The painting, quickly,” Leonardo ordered.
Gwen and Alex propped the canvas up against a boulder facing the river. Then they all waited for Landini to sing.
And waited.
But the musician did not begin his hypnotizing song.
“Hurry! It's swimming away,” Alex urged.
“I must-a warm-a up,” Landini said humming a few bars.
Gwen raised her arms in exasperation. “Come on!”
“Greatness … it takes-a time.”
The fish's tail flicked as it moved farther downstream. Soon it wouldn't be able to hear any singing much less be hypnotized by it. Bartholomew glanced at Alex who had clapped a hand to his head. Alex tried to keep his voice calm. “Mr. Landini, please!”
With an exaggerated yawn, the man stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. Landini repositioned the portative organ in his lap, opened the bellows, and placed his fingers on the keyboard.
Could he go any slower? This wasn't a concert for all of Italy.
Five more mi-mi-mi notes and seven knuckle-cracks later, Landini finally began. Hauntingly beautiful music filled the air and floated down the river.
With a relieved smile, Bartholomew turned to his friend. Instead of smiling back, Alex shook his head and pointed.
The fish was nowhere to be seen.
The Kidnapped Smile Page 10
