“I should go by myself from here,” I said. It wouldn't be a good idea for Michel and I to arrive together at the Imperial enclave. “Can you find your way?” Michel was heading to the university district.
Michel nodded shortly. “Can you find yours?”
“I'll ask for directions if I need them.”
Michel reached out and clasped my arm. “Take care of yourself, brother. Stay in touch.” Then he was gone, hidden in the press of the crowd.
The Imperial Enclave was supposed to be at the center of Cuore, but the city had grown unevenly, and now it was actually in the northwest quarter. I figured that the widest, busiest streets would eventually take me there. It took me several hours to walk the whole way, mainly because the streets were so crowded. It is not an exaggeration to say that I had never seen so many people in my life; Cuore made Pluma look like a backwater village. I passed through a district of cloth merchants, where I could smell dye, dirty wool, and greasy smoke. There were shops that had bolts of bright cloth piled under their awnings; I also caught glimpses through open doors of shadowy warehouses, where business was done only between merchants.
From the district of cloth merchants I passed through a district of rug merchants, and then spice merchants. The wares of the spice merchants were too precious to be kept anywhere but under lock and key; I could see locked chests and tiny brass scales, and the customers here seemed very wealthy. Still, they couldn't lock up the smells. I smelled something like a cross between garlic and freshly cut wood, lilies and wood smoke, honey and fresh-turned earth. This was also the district of the perfumeries; next to the brass scales in some shops, I could see rows of tiny bottles of colored glass. From the spice merchants' district, I crossed a bridge over a narrow canal; the stench of sewage was so thick I could taste it. Around me, people pulled their cloaks over their faces, so I did the same, but it didn't help.
Then the road passed through a neighborhood where every building seemed to house a tavern, and then suddenly high walls rose up in front of me. Walls surrounded the enclave, with a vast gilded gate at the front, and smaller, simpler doors along the sides, all heavily guarded. The wall was there to keep out riffraff, and even though I had a letter that would grant me entrance, I found myself bristling quietly as I walked along the perimeter to the shining front gate. “Good day,” I said to the guard, and presented my—Daniele's—letter of introduction, still sealed. God, I thought. Please don't let anyone look at me too closely.
The guard glanced at the seal and at me, and let me step through to wait just within the walls. He sent a boy running off with a message; there was an entire corps of young servants who did nothing but carry messages within the enclave. “You'll be waiting a bit,” the guard said, and gestured for me to take a seat on a bench near the gate.
As the guard predicted, I was waiting for nearly an hour. Few people used this grand entrance; I found out later that most of the enclave inhabitants found it easier to use one of the smaller gates along the edge. There were a few well-dressed nobles who used the front gate, and I watched them come and go. None glanced in my direction, nor even really looked at the guards. I began to feel slightly more hopeful. Maybe Giovanni was right, and no one really would look at me.
The boy came hurrying back, finally, with an older man. “Daniele?” he said. I nodded. “I'm glad to see you're finally here. I am the Master Conductor.” He took the letter of introduction from the guard, broke the seal, and looked over the letter quickly. “Everything seems to be in order. Follow me and I'll get you settled in.”
The Master Conductor's office was a congenial mess. The room was cozy, with a fire on the hearth, and worn rugs covering the floor; bookshelves lined the walls, but he seemed to be in the habit of taking books down to read and never putting them away, because there were stacks of books on the floor by his chair, and the shelves seemed half empty. His desk was piled high with precariously balanced papers; one drifted to the floor as we came in.
“Have a seat,” he said, and gestured to a chair by the fire. I sat down, and he unlocked a small, heavy chest and took out a silver medallion stamped with an eagle and strung on a leather thong. “You can feel free to replace the thong with a chain, but you should wear this medallion at all times,” he said, and gave it to me. He pulled his own out to show me; his was on a long silver chain. “This proves you belong here, and will get you in when you come to one of the gates.”
I nodded and slipped it over my neck. It settled against my chest where Bella's cross had lain.
“You'll be in Fabia's quartet; I'll send her a message that you've arrived. I'll have a boy guide you to your room; you'll have some time to get settled, as Fabia won't have you rehearsing for another day or two.” The Master Conductor looked me over and gave me a fatherly smile. “In the meantime, you should buy yourself some new clothes. Here.” He unlocked his strongbox again and took out a small bag of coins. “I keep some coin on hand for young musicians from the provinces,” he said. “Don't worry about paying me back. Once you've settled in, you'll earn money by playing engagements; food and housing are provided, but you should save some of your money for clothes. It's important to present a good appearance here. The guard at the gate can direct you toward the tailors; I'd suggest tunic and hose in dark blue, or gray.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“We're glad to have you, Daniele.” The Master Conductor rang a bell, and one of the messenger boys came to guide me to my room. “I know it all seems very strange, but you'll settle in quickly, don't worry, and you'll fit in just fine.”
You have no idea how much I hope you're right, I thought as the boy led me to my room. It had started to rain, and I pulled up the hood of my cloak, shivering.
My room seemed very cold and dark after the warmth of the Master Conductor's office. “You can have a servant build you a fire, signore,” the messenger boy said. Apparently he'd dealt with provincials like me before.
“How do I send for one?” I asked.
“You ring.” The boy pointed to a rope beside the door. I rang and shyly requested that a fire be built. “Would you like me to show you how to get to the tailor?”
“I look that bad, huh?”
The boy flushed. “The Master Conductor always sends new musicians to buy clothes,” he said.
I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about going out in the rain, but it was clear that without new clothes, I would stick out like a farm crow in an exotic aviary, which was definitely not a good idea. “Yes,” I said. “Tell me where to find a tailor.”
With some reservations, I left my violin in my room; it would be suspicious to carry it around with me, but I couldn't shake the fear that it would be stolen if I turned my back. Besides, as long as I carried all of my possessions with me, I could leave Cuore at a moment's notice. I shook myself—I wasn't leaving anytime soon, and I might as well get used to that fact—and carefully laid my violin across my bed. I wrapped up well and went out to the tailors' district.
It wasn't until I was walking past the first tailor's shop that it occurred to me that I would have to be measured.
At Michel's suggestion, I had padded the crotch of my trousers, but I didn't think they'd fool anyone who actually put their hand there. Just how personal did a tailor get with a young man being measured, anyway? I was going to have to buy hose, so my guess was pretty personal. I wandered the tailors' district anxiously for a while, finally settling on a tailor named Acilo, who looked old enough to be my great-greatgrandfather. I hoped his eyesight was failing. And sure enough, to my immense relief, he did a poor job of measuring me; in fact, I was afraid that the clothes would fit so poorly I'd be out the money and still need to have new clothing made. Well. It couldn't be helped.
Back in the enclave, the fire had warmed my room, and the servants had made my bed, setting the violin carefully back on top of the covers when they'd finished. I rang the bell and sent for food; I would stay in as much as possible, I decided, until my clothes were ready. Th
ere was no sense in attracting more attention than necessary.
∗ ∗ ∗
My clothes arrived two days later, while I was practicing the violin. Acilo's apprentice brought them to my room. I laid the bundle on my bed and left the boy waiting in the doorway as I fetched my purse, counted out five coins, then another for the boy. “Aren't you going to try the clothes on, signore?” he asked as I gave him the coins and gestured for him to leave. “Alterations are free.”
“I don't have time now,” I said. “I'll send for you again if I try them on and they don't fit.” I shooed him out the door and closed it.
I had taken the Master Conductor's advice and bought several tunics in gray and blue—velvet, with matching hose. I laid them out on my bed, then barred my door and tried them on. Despite Acilo's sloppy measuring, they fit perfectly, or at least as well as I wanted them to. I padded the crotch of the hose carefully, wishing I had Michel here to advise me. I hoped if anyone put their hand there they'd snatch it away in embarrassment before they noticed anything amiss.
My chambers had a mirror—everyone's chambers did here—and I studied the effect of the new clothes. I looked like a peasant in gentry's clothing, but this was probably not unusual for a new arrival. And I did look like a boy, I told myself. I did. A pretty boy—I made a much prettier boy than I had ever made a girl—but a boy. No one had questioned that yet. Not the guard, not the Master Conductor, not the tailor.
With my new clothes, I no longer had any excuse to hide in my room. I looked in the mirror one more time and straightened my shoulders, then unbarred my door and left my room.
The walls and door of my chambers were thick enough to block out most sound, but I was greeted with a musical cacophony when I stepped out into the corridor. It was rather like wandering through the practice hall back at the conservatory. I closed my door behind me, swung my cloak over my shoulders, and headed out into the afternoon drizzle.
The interior of the Imperial Enclave was almost its own little city. The big Imperial Gate at the south end opened onto a walkway that led past the Imperial Palace and into the central gardens. The area west of the gardens belonged to the Circle; they had their own building, larger than the Imperial Palace, and the western gate into the enclave was used only by mages. The Imperial Chapel, which was almost as large as the Cathedral of the Lady that stood just outside the enclave, was at the north end of the central gardens, and the Fedeli's citadel occupied the north section of the enclave. The citadel opened directly onto Cuore, and was possibly the most well guarded of the buildings within the enclave, as they kept prisoners in their dungeons.
The southeast corner housed the East Court—the overflow palace, for the nobles who weren't quite noble enough to rate quarters in the Imperial Palace itself. North of the East Court were a whole series of smaller buildings. These housed the guards, the imperial advisors, the servants, and the musicians. There were three more gates along the east wall, unassuming doorways used for errands and other mundane tasks. The streets and paths that led through the enclave (and through the huge central garden) were paved with rocks. The buildings were well built out of brick, and even the musicians' quarters had glass panes in the windows.
Musicians couldn't go into the Imperial Palace, the Circle's palace, or the Fedeli citadel without an invitation or an engagement to play. But this was also true for most of the people staying at the overflow court, so on my first day with proper clothes, there were a lot of people out walking in the gardens, despite the damp chill. I walked around for a while, then sat down by one of the fountains to watch the world go by.
Despite my self-imposed isolation, I could already identify people's places by their clothing and other adornments. The ladies and gentlemen of the Imperial Court wore dresses and tunics in bright, striking colors, adorned with jewelry and gems. No one wore red. There were a few dressed in blue or purple, but most of the nobles seemed to dress in either green or a dark golden yellow. People generally seemed to wear the same colors as their friends; I wondered if it was simply a matter of taste, or if the colors had some other significance. All the nobles wore one of the eagle medallions, although some wore eagles made of gold, and many wore additional jewelry with eagles stamped onto it.
The Circle mages and the Fedeli also used the gardens. The mages wore robes; they were easily identified, but in part it was simply their air of utter assurance. The Fedeli wore black robes, always silk or velvet, with a small gold or silver pin on the left shoulder—two linked circles, the symbol of the Lord and the Lady. The Fedeli who wore silk made a rustling noise as they walked, as if they shuffled through dead leaves.
Nearly everyone at court with wealth and power— or who wanted to present an image of wealth and power—wore perfume of some kind. Passing by a cluster of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen was like passing through the spice-merchants' district again: I could smell honey, lilies, cedar smoke. The noble ladies favored floral perfumes; the men preferred spicy ones. The Fedeli chose from a wide range of scents, but seemed to prefer cloyingly sweet ones; Circle mages tended to select smoky scents. Remembering what Lucia had told me once—that the war with Vesuvia had been over the perfume trade—I wondered which scent was considered important enough to fight a war over.
In my classes on court etiquette, last year at the conservatory, Domenico had mentioned that people at court often carried flowers to mask unpleasant odors. It was hard for me to see how a flower could stand up even to just the perfumes people wore—let alone the stinking canal I'd crossed. Still, even in the chill damp of late fall, I could see that he was right. Both men and women carried flowers; some women wore a little bracelet of tiny blossoms around one wrist. Others carried elaborately embroidered sachets, presumably with dried flower petals inside. One forgotten flower was crushed on the edge of the fountain, as if someone had sat on it.
I could hear music from my seat by the fountain— several groups, in other parts of the garden. I could identify at least one string quartet, plus a small ensemble of flutes. Music was everywhere here. Back when I was a student at the conservatory, some of the teachers who'd played at court would sigh nostalgically and tell us that the nobility at court really appreciated beautiful music. My old teacher Domenico had hinted at the real purpose of this once, and Giovanni had spelled it out: cover.
“If you're having a conversation at court,” Giovanni had explained, “and you don't want anyone overhearing, you can hire one of the ensembles to play for you. That way, anyone who tries to hear your conversation will just hear the music.” Giovanni had thought this would give me an excellent opportunity to spy, but unfortunately, I'd suffer the same problem as any would-be eavesdroppers. I wouldn't be able to hear conversation over my violin.
“Learn to lip-read,” he suggested then, ever-helpful. Damn Giovanni, anyway. If anyone belonged here, it was him.
Beyond the hedge, I could hear two people talking. “I really don't think he'll try it,” a woman's voice said. I edged closer to the hedge, straining to hear. “I mean, really. She's above him. Don't you think, Clara?”
“You never know.” Clara? I wondered if it was the same Clara who was the sweetheart of Demetrio, the commander at Chira. I leaned closer to the hedge. Her voice was a cool alto; she spoke in the tones of a woman of rank. “I have better things to worry about, in any case. We'll deal with it if it happens.” They moved off. If this was the best I was going to do, I'd really wasted my time coming here.
One of the noblemen glanced at me incuriously as he passed by, and my nerve wavered: surely he knew I was a girl. But he glanced away without pausing for a more careful look. I wished I could see Michel, just for a few moments of reassurance, but it would be risky to go to the university during the day. Still, I was too jumpy to stay out in the gardens anymore that afternoon, so I headed back to my room.
I heard the dinner bell ringing a short while later, and movement outside in the hallway as people headed toward the dining room. For a moment I was tempted to send
for a servant to bring my meal to me privately again—surely my trip out around the gardens was enough for one day—but then I shook myself and went out to join the other musicians.
The dining room was rather like a very grand conservatory dining room, but with the men and women sitting together, and much better food. I arrived slightly late and took a seat where there seemed to be space, across from two young men who looked about my age, one fair-haired and one dark.
“You're Daniele, aren't you?” the fair-haired boy said. “I'd heard another violinist had arrived.” He clasped my hand briefly across the table. “I'm Valentino, and this is Quirino. You'll be playing in the same quartet as me. Not Quirino, though, he plays clarinet, not strings.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Yes, I'm Daniele.”
“Don't try to change the subject,” Quirino said, and it took me a second to realize he wasn't speaking to me. “Valentino! Are you listening to me? You're going to get yourself in trouble again.”
“Oh, Quirino. You take everything so seriously! I won't get in trouble. I wasn't in trouble the last time you thought I was in trouble. Or the time before that.”
“Or the time with Clara?”
“So she threw wine in my face. She wasted a cup of an excellent vintage.” He turned back to me with a shrug. “Did I mention that this is Quirino?”
This time Quirino turned to me. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Daniele,” he said. He had a deep voice and the beginnings of a beard; he looked like he'd be taller than me once he stood up. Valentino, on the other hand, was short and awkward, with the persistent charm of an overfriendly terrier. I stopped worrying about my lack of a beard or a deep voice; Valentino didn't have them either.
Turning the Storm Page 7
