by Ann Hood
But the first to ride triumphantly into the Piazza Santa Croce was indeed Lorenzo de’ Medici.
When he appeared, his horse regal and swift, the crowd went wild with cheers and applause.
Except, Felix noticed, one group. The men there stared coldly down at Lorenzo as he waved from high on the back of his horse, victorious.
“The Pazzis,” Leonardo said when he saw where Felix was looking. “They are rivals to the Medicis. Some say they are planning a take over.”
“Are they?” Felix asked.
Leonardo shrugged. “It’s possible,” he said.
“Are they who stormed the palazzo last night?”
“I believe so,” Leonardo said.
More horses raced into the Piazza Santa Croce now, and the roar from the crowd made any more talking impossible. Leonardo turned his attention to the spectacle below. And Felix tried to do the same. But really one question kept getting in his way: where in the world was Maisie?
When Maisie stepped out of Verrocchio’s studio into the streets of Florence, the city seemed electric with excitement. Vendors crowded the cobblestone alleys and large piazzas, selling hot chestnuts, wine, and sweets. The air smelled of sugar and sweat and horses and horse poop and oil and Florence’s own particular smell all at the same time. Somehow, Maisie liked this combination and she paused to inhale it, happy again that she’d hidden the seal back at the Palazzo Medici, essentially keeping herself and Felix here for as long as she liked.
Two women stood watching her, their faces filled with curiosity. They didn’t have the strange dyed-yellow hair like Clarice did, or the pasty-white faces. Instead, their dark hair was pulled up under pointy hats, and their olive skin and large brown eyes made them appear friendly.
Maisie smiled as she approached them.
“Excuse me,” she said, and the women glanced at each other, confused.
Maisie continued anyway.
“Do you know where the Medicis might be? I think Lorenzo is in some kind of race?”
At the name Medici, the women looked startled.
One of them said something to Maisie so rapidly that Maisie couldn’t understand her.
“I’m sorry,” Maisie said. “Where are they?”
Again, the women glanced at her, confused.
In the distance, the sound of a crowd cheering and thundering horses’ hooves could be heard.
The other woman pointed in the direction of the noise and said something else unintelligible.
“That way?” Maisie asked. “The Medicis?”
The name Medici had the same effect on the women, who nodded and stepped away from Maisie, letting themselves get swallowed up by the growing crowd.
What in the world is wrong with them? Maisie wondered as she headed in the direction they’d indicated.
But it was difficult to follow sounds, and soon Maisie realized she’d walked in a circle, the cheers growing at first nearer and then, after several wrong turns, distant again.
This time Maisie approached a group of five boys about her age. They stood munching some kind of fried sweets from paper cones, and pushing and elbowing each other in the way boys at home did, too.
“Hi,” Maisie said.
“Hi,” the tallest, most handsome boy repeated, sending the others into a fit of laughter.
“Hi,” another one said.
“Hi,” the other three echoed.
“O . . . kay,” Maisie said, wondering why boys everywhere, even in Italy, even hundreds of years ago, acted exactly the same way. “I’m looking for the, I don’t know, Medici seats? Or maybe they have, like, a box somewhere? Lorenzo is in a horse race?”
At first, the boys just stared at her, their mouths gaping open.
Then the tall one—the leader, Maisie realized—said, “Non capisco.”
“Non capisco,” Maisie repeated. “Is that near the Palazzo or—”
“Non capisco,” the boy said again, more adamantly.
“Non capisco, I got it. But I’m not from here, so I’m not sure where exactly that is.”
The boy laughed, throwing his arms up in defeat.
They all joined him, laughing and talking all at once. Maisie couldn’t really make out what they were saying, though she heard the name Medici and something like Piazza Santa Croce.
“Thanks for nothing,” she muttered angrily as she walked away.
Once again she tried to follow the sounds of the distant crowds. She stopped periodically to ask directions from people who seemed kind or helpful.
“Non capisco?” she asked one after the other. “This way?”
But each time they looked back at her puzzled or amused or disinterested.
After a very long time, Maisie finally glimpsed what had to be this non capisco place. She saw horses and men with long swords, more vendors, men and women dressed in finery, jesters, and musicians.
Relieved, Maisie made her slow way through the revelers.
Now all she had to do was find Felix.
Lorenzo joined Felix and the others, his face awash with the excitement of his victory.
“Time for the jousting,” he said as he took his seat between Clarice and his brother, Giuliano.
As if they had been waiting for Lorenzo to sit down, the jousters took their positions at opposite ends of the piazza, their faces completely covered with shiny silver helmets, lances held high. One horse wore red-and-white stripes, the other black with elaborate gold trim. Their faces were covered, too, in intricate gold masks. A wooden barrier called a tilt separated the opponents. To prevent collisions, Piero had explained when Felix asked what that was. Leonardo had added that it also provided the best angle for breaking the lance.
Earlier, Leonardo had pointed out the Tree of Arms below, where colorful shields hung. The point of a joust, he’d explained, was not to kill or even hurt your opponent. To Felix’s great relief, Leonardo said that if a rider or his horse was hit, the combatant would be disqualified. Instead, they tried for a hit right at the center of the shield, or to knock their opponent off his horse to score points. “Can you imagine how difficult it is to stay on your horse in one hundred pounds of armor holding that heavy lance?” Leonardo had speculated.
The crowd went wild with excitement, their shouts sending a shiver through Felix. For a moment, he let himself stop worrying about Maisie and gave over to the thrill of being here in Florence during the Renaissance watching a jousting tournament with Leonardo da Vinci and Piero della Francesca.
He wasn’t going to let Maisie ruin this day for him. Soon enough, they would give Leonardo that seal, and no doubt he would give them a lesson, and Felix would find himself back home in Newport. For right now at least, Felix was going to enjoy this jousting tournament. And if Maisie still hadn’t shown up here when it was over—even though they’d left her a note with very specific directions—he was going to enjoy the rest of this day.
CHAPTER 11
THE SHARD
Maisie stood at the edge of the piazza, which had been turned into an arena surrounded by colorful tents. Shields with fancy coats of arms hung from a large tree, and hundreds—maybe thousands—of people sat on benches arranged auditorium-style around the arena. She was so busy scanning the faces in the crowd that Maisie didn’t realize that she was wandering right into the arena itself. And she didn’t see the two jousters positioned at opposite ends on their fancily bedecked horses, lances held high.
An announcement was made, sending the crowd into an uproar.
Still, Maisie didn’t pause.
Felix and the others had to be up there somewhere!
Maisie, face turned upward toward the crowd, walked backward directly into the center of the arena, just as the jousters thundered toward each other.
People were shouting, but Maisie couldn’t understand that
they were yelling Stop! Stop!
The knights, their silver helmets lowered, could only hear the usual muffled sounds.
The knight on the horse in red and white had a clear shot at his opponent’s shield. He aimed his lance, his horse speeding forward, a cloud of dust and red dirt kicked up behind them.
The sound of the horse’s hooves pounding behind her made Maisie stop and turn.
Her eyes grew wide with fright and her mouth dropped open, a scream catching in her throat.
That knight was coming right for her!
The lance glistened in the sunlight, high above her.
She began to run, only to find a second horse and jouster racing toward her from the opposite direction.
A wall ran the length of the arena between the two jousters, but it was too high for Maisie to climb.
She looked over her shoulder again.
The jouster was almost right upon her!
At the perfect moment, the knight thrust his lance at his opponent’s shield, and jabbed hard.
At the exact same moment, Maisie ducked.
The crowd was on its feet, screaming.
Maisie felt something powerful hit her in the back, and then she was lifted off the ground, the roar of the crowd deafening now.
The other jouster raced past as Maisie seemed to fly above the wall and the arena itself.
Suddenly the crowd’s yells turned into raucous laughter.
Maisie stopped moving, her arms and legs dangling in the air.
Slowly, she looked behind her to find the jouster’s helmet lifted and his angry face glaring at her.
Her gaze drifted from his face to his arm, which was outstretched, his lance still in the air.
And at the end of that lance hung Maisie herself, midair.
Luckily, instead of stabbing her, the lance grabbed her by the shirt, piercing it.
The knight was saying something to her in his angry voice, but either fear or the crowd’s laughter made it impossible for her to understand him.
Slowly, he lowered the lance and Maisie to the ground, and slid the point from her shirt.
In the Medici grandstand, Leonardo looked at Felix.
“Isn’t that your sister?” he asked.
Felix groaned. Of course it was his sister. Only Maisie would run between two jousters like that.
“I’ll go get her,” Felix said unhappily.
As he stood to leave, Sandro grinned at him.
“Better keep her away from that jouster,” he said. “He was certain he was going to win. But because he hit your sister, he lost the joust.”
“Great,” Felix muttered as he hurried down the grandstand.
“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me,” Maisie said. “You’re the one who left without me.”
“Didn’t you read the note?” Felix said, stomping back toward the grandstand. “We gave you very specific directions on how to get here and where we’d be sitting.”
“It looked like gibberish,” Maisie said, equally as angry. “Have you ever tried to read Leonardo’s handwriting? It’s impossible!”
“Just stick by my side, will you?” Felix said.
She wanted to remind him how last night he was the one who took off with Leonardo, leaving her alone during the raid. But he was already sliding into a row of seats. Maisie saw Sandro grinning at her, and Lorenzo glaring at her, and Clarice giggling behind a gold-and-black fan, and a sea of other faces all looking directly at her.
“Sorry,” Maisie said, even though she wasn’t at all sorry.
She could have been killed! Stabbed by that giant lance!
Sandro, still grinning, said something to her that sounded like Tootsie Pops.
“They have Tootsie Pops here?” Maisie said, confused.
Felix rolled his eyes.
“Tootsie Pops? What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
“What’s wrong with me?” Maisie demanded back at him.
“He said you’re crazy, and I agree,” Felix said.
Maisie frowned.
Now Lorenzo was talking to her, and by his tone she could tell he was chiding her. But the words coming out of his mouth made no sense at all.
Leonardo leaned closer to Maisie. “Non capisco?” he said.
“Not that again!” Maisie exclaimed. “What exactly is this capisco place?”
Leonardo was studying her face so closely that Maisie told him to get away. But he didn’t move. Instead he turned toward Felix and started talking in . . .
Wait a minute, Maisie thought.
Leonardo was speaking in Italian.
And so were Lorenzo and Sandro.
Maisie’s hand jumped to her neck where the shard hung from its piece of yarn.
All she felt there was her own skin, and the two tiny scabs that had formed on her neck from the sword grazing her last night.
Her fingers moved at first slowly, feeling for the shard, and then frantically as she realized that the shard was missing.
“Felix?” Masie said.
“What now?” he asked, peeved.
She pointed to her neck.
“Big deal,” he said. “You’ve got a little cut or something there. Honestly, Maisie, you need to—”
“The shard,” she said.
Felix threw his arms over his head in frustration.
“What about it, Maisie?”
“It’s gone,” she said.
“How could you lose the shard?” Felix shrieked as soon as they had left the Medici box and were making their way out of the arena.
“I don’t know,” Maisie said. “I didn’t even realize it was gone until just now.”
“The only way we’re going to find it is if you can remember when you last saw it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maisie said. “When’s the last time you saw yours?”
“I touch the thing a million times a day,” Felix said, frustrated. “Do you know why?”
He didn’t wait for her to reply.
“I’ll tell you why! Because I want to be sure it’s still there!”
“Good for you,” Maisie said. “Mr. Perfect. Mr. Does Everything Right.”
“Did you understand what people were saying when you were on your way here?” Felix demanded. “Because if you can remember that, at least we have a chance to find it by retracing your steps.”
“Yes,” Maisie said, insulted. “I asked a bunch of people where the Medicis were. And they all told me non capisco.”
“Non capisco?” Felix repeated. “What’s that?”
By now they had made their way back to the streets and they stood facing each other, both of them angry.
“This is non capisco,” Maisie said, gesturing back toward the arena.
“No, it’s not,” Felix said. “This is the Piazza Santa Croce.”
“Says who?” Maisie asked, trying to sound confident.
“Says everybody!” Felix said. “Because that’s what it is!”
Maisie considered this.
“Then I guess I lost the shard back at Verrocchio’s studio,” she finally said. “I guess when I asked people where to go, they were telling me something I couldn’t understand.”
“At least that’s a start,” Felix said, heading off in that direction without even waiting for Maisie.
“But what if I lost it on the street between the studio and wherever I first asked someone for directions?” Maisie said when she caught up.
“Well, then we’re in trouble, I guess.” Felix said.
The shard was not in Verrocchio’s studio.
Maisie and Felix looked everywhere: They shook her blankets out; they crawled along the floors, swiping their hands along them as they did; they lifted the wooden cutting board; they looked
inside the jar of jam; they lifted every piece of paper and every paintbrush and every jar of paint and everything else on every surface in the studio; they looked behind canvases; they looked in corners; they even looked in rooms where Maisie had not gone.
No shard.
Exhausted and frustrated, Maisie and Felix stood, empty-handed.
“Whatever are you two looking for?” came a female voice.
They turned to find Clarice de’ Medici standing watching them.
Of course, Felix understood exactly what she said.
But Maisie did not. To her, it sounded like gibberish.
She sighed.
“Um . . . ,” Felix said. “Maisie lost . . . her necklace.”
Clarice frowned.
“What kind of necklace?”
“Just a small piece of porcelain on a thread,” Felix said. Then he added, “It had sentimental value.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Maisie asked, forgetting that Clarice couldn’t understand her, either.
“What?” Clarice said, confused.
“Could you please not say anything?” Felix said to Maisie. “For once?”
“Fine,” Maisie muttered.
He was right, of course. But she didn’t want to admit that.
“Did you follow us here?” Felix asked Clarice.
She blushed.
“Well, yes,” she said.
“Why?”
“I can’t explain it,” she said thoughtfully. “You two seem like you’re from somewhere far away.”
“We are,” Felix said quickly.
“And the astrologer said—” Clarice stopped abruptly.
“What did he say?”
Her blush deepened. “Well, he said you were performing magic of some kind. Maybe even black magic.”
Felix forced a laugh. “Magic? Us?”
Clarice didn’t laugh. She just waited.
“What’s she saying?” Maisie whispered.
Felix shot her a look to be quiet.
“I guess when people come from different places, they look so unusual that some people don’t trust them,” Felix offered.
