“And how do you know you’ve reached the center?” Kate asked.
“You see Shakespeare’s statue, of course,” Giacomo said. “Because in the end, all paths lead to the playwright.”
Kate entered the maze with confidence. This was simple, really. She had read about it. To get to the center of a maze, or to get out of one, you place one hand on the leafy wall and then walk, always keeping your hand in place. You might walk into a dead end, but you would walk right back out, as long as you didn’t take your hand off the hedge.
So she rested the fingers of her right hand on the wall and started down the path, humming to herself.
One turn to the right. One to the left. Another to the left, and then again to the right . . .
In the distance, she could hear the others laughing and calling out to each other in mock dismay as they got more and more lost. She had hung back, wanting to go last so that she could walk the labyrinthine paths alone with her thoughts.
To the right, to the left, to the left . . .
The voices sounded much farther off now. Well, the maze was quite large, and they could certainly move through it more quickly than she could, given her methodical approach. That was all right, she’d get to the center before any of them, and she wouldn’t have wasted time getting lost, either.
Another two turns. It was so quiet now that she was aware of the sound of her footsteps, scrunching along the gravel path, and the faint rustle of a lizard slipping through the leaves. The world had shrunk to a hallway of green under a bright blue bowl of sky filled with sunlight. Kate almost felt that she was dreaming as she walked through the shimmering hot afternoon, always with her hand brushing the hedge beside her, keeping her on course.
Another turn to the left and then to the right, and now she was in an enclosed space, and Portia was smiling down at her from a pedestal, shining cool and white under the spreading branches of an olive tree.
“Kate.” Giacomo sounded as if he was right behind her.
She whirled around but saw nothing but green leaves hemming her in.
“Where are you?” she said.
Nothing but silence. Then the breeze shifted and, in the distances, she could hear Tom say, “I know I saw this tree before! This is the third time, at least!” Benno was laughing, and Lucy was saying, “Lord, I’m just so turned around, I don’t know where in the world I am!” Then their voices faded away again.
“Giacomo!” Kate’s voice sounded sharper than she meant it to.
“Yes, I’m right here.” Now his voice sounded as if it were coming from the other side of the statue. Kate started in that direction, then realized she’d have to go out the way she had come in and turn to the left to get to him, if, indeed, he was standing where she thought he was.
“Where’s right here?” Kate turned in a circle.
“Right here is right here,” he said. “Behind this hedge.”
“Oh, that’s helpful. Which hedge?”
There was a pause. “Well,” he said, and she could tell he was laughing, “it’s tall and green.”
“Thanks, that narrows it down,” she said, smiling. “Hold on, I just need to go back the way I came, I think.”
But when she held up her right hand, she realized that she couldn’t remember exactly which hedge she had been using to guide her. Idiot! she thought. You were so sure you had the trick to this puzzle that you weren’t even paying attention to your surroundings.
She shut her eyes and tried to remember. She knew that when she came into the enclosure that Portia was looking down at her, with a lively, humorous expression. Excellent. So all Kate had to do—she opened her eyes. Hmm. Portia was posed so that her head was slightly turned. Had she been looking straight at Kate? Or over her shoulder?
“Kate?” Giacomo’s voice sounded even farther away.
Kate hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. If she didn’t do something, she’d be stuck here forever. She put her hand on the hedge closest to her and started walking.
One turn, then another, then back the other way . . .
That branch lying across the path seemed awfully familiar. Didn’t she pass that before? Kate stared at it almost fearfully. Of course, there were probably other branches on other paths; there was no way to tell whether this was the same branch. And maybe she had seen it coming into the maze, which would mean that now she was headed out. Maybe.
Kate took one step forward, hesitated, then turned to go back. Unless going back was the wrong thing to do.
No. Her first instinct had been to move forward. That’s what she would do.
She strode forward, around a corner, into a dead end and out again, around another turn—
And she was back in front of Portia’s statue.
Kate felt a wave of panic sweep over her. Which is ridiculous, she told herself sternly. People know where you are, you won’t be lost forever, someone will manage to come into the maze and find you. . . .
“Kate?” Thank goodness. Giacomo’s voice sounded very close.
“I’m here!” She hated the way her voice trembled, but she was so grateful to hear him that she didn’t care.
“Stay where you are,” he suggested. “I’ll try to come to you.”
There was a sound of footsteps walking down a path. Kate sat down on the bench to wait, feeling more confused and lost than she had in her whole life.
Kate and Giacomo gave up on finding the center of the maze after being confronted by Portia’s clever face for the third time. They hadn’t heard the voices of the others for some time, so they decided to wait to be discovered.
“After all, that’s the first rule about what to do if you get separated from the people you’re with,” Kate said. She stood next to the statue with her hands on her hips, her face flushed from both exertion and frustration. “Stop moving and stay in one place. That’s the only way others can find you.”
Giacomo nodded solemnly, but there was a glint of laughter in his eyes. “Assuming, of course, you want to be found. Well, we might as well be comfortable while we wait.” He took her hand and pulled her gently to the ground.
The tall hedges made the enclosure into a green, leafy room, with a grass carpet starred with flowers. Kate was lying on the grass next to Giacomo, acutely aware of her hand still clasped in his. She stared up at the bright blue ceiling of sky, her heart beating fast, and watched a bird wing its way swiftly through the air.
She cleared her throat. “So. Do you think the others are still trying to find their way out? Or did they leave us here?”
She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. “You sound nervous, Kate.”
“Not at all.” The afternoon light was still dazzling. Kate closed her eyes against the brightness. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”
“Relax,” Giacomo murmured. His voice was low and warm. “There is no record of anyone vanishing forever in the Lover’s Maze.”
“There’s always a first time,” Kate said, but she was smiling. She could feel the sun’s heat pressing down on her, her muscles loosening until her body seemed ready to melt. Her heart slowed down, and she could hear the humming silence all around them.
For a time, neither of them said anything. Then Kate sighed.
“Actually, it’s not so bad,” she said dreamily. “Being lost, I mean.”
“We’re not lost,” he answered with some surprise.
Kate turned her head to look into Giacomo’s dark eyes. “Actually,” she said, “we are.”
“Speak for yourself.” He smiled back at her. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Some time later, Giacomo sat up and said, “Shh.” He nodded toward one of the hedges. “I think they’ve found us.”
Kate stopped in the middle of pulling a piece of grass from her hair and sat very still. At first, she could hear nothing. Then a soft rustle, as if someone were creeping down a leaf-strewn path. And a crack, as if someone clumsily stepped on a small branch, followed by a hissed warning.
Giacomo motioned for her to move closer. “Ready? Ask me what my favorite speech is from Shakespeare,” he prompted her in a whisper.
Kate cleared her throat. “You know, Giacomo, I was wondering,” she said rather loudly. “Out of all the brilliant, poetic speeches in Shakespeare’s plays, which one would you say is your absolute favorite?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Giacomo spoke clearly, so as to be heard, but he was looking into Kate’s eyes as he said:
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,
Present mirth hath present laughter:
What’s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty:
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
A little breathless, Kate said, “I don’t remember what comes after that.”
“No? So now we improvise.”
Then he reached for her again.
Tom edged his way into the library, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t observed. He slipped Henry V back into its place on the shelf and thought about a plan he had hatched last night. It was a plan that scared him quite a bit, although Henry V would have scoffed at his fear. After all, Tom wasn’t planning to raise an army, he wasn’t going to war against the French.
On the other hand, he was going to try to win Silvia for himself. He considered, for a moment, what England’s most valiant king might have done when faced with Silvia di Napoli. He had a feeling that even good King Harry might have said, “Better you than me, mate,” and run for the hills.
“Stiffen the sinews,” he said under his breath. “Conjure up the blood.”
“Not a bad motto,” a voice said from behind him.
Tom jumped, then cursed himself as he turned to see Dan standing by the computer.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” the director said. “Just wanted to send a couple of quick e-mails.”
“No problem,” Tom muttered. “I was just, um—” He waved vaguely at the bookshelf.
“Trying out something besides Romeo and Juliet? Good for you.” Dan walked over to scan the shelf. “So, did you like Henry V?”
“Yes.” Tom tried to put everything he felt about the play into one heartfelt monosyllable, because he knew he could never, if he lived to be a hundred and twelve, find the words to explain in a way that someone like Dan would understand. At first, he had struggled with the language. He had to look up every footnote just to understand what was going on. It was hard, slow slogging, and he wondered what he had been thinking, to take on this task when he had never been that good at understanding difficult books, especially something as difficult as a Shakespeare play. There had been all that back and forth between lords and bishops about politics and then an incredibly long speech about honeybees. And that stupid chorus kept coming onstage and talking everyone’s ear off.
But then a character appeared uttering wonderful curses (“O viper vile!” Tom would say while practicing his fencing. “Thou prick-eared cur of Iceland!”). Several lords were arrested for treason. And King Harry and his men invaded France. After that, the play really picked up speed, and then there was that scene with Queen Katherine of France near the end, when Harry so eloquently apologized for not being eloquent—
“It was really good,” he added.
But Dan was watching him with an astute eye. “‘I speak to thee plain soldier,’” he said with an understanding nod.
“Yeah, exactly.” Tom hesitated, then launched into another passage in turn. “‘For these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favors, they do always reason themselves out again. . . . But a good heart is the sun and the moon.’”
Dan clapped Tom on the shoulder. “Well said! I think you’ve stumbled onto a little secret that it took me years to discover. Shakespeare always tells you what you need to know when you need to know it. It’s really rather spooky. I remember one time—” He stopped short and stared out the window. “My goodness.”
Tom turned and saw Silvia, changed into slim black pants and a black T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a businesslike ponytail. She was racing up and down the terrace with a sword, slashing furiously left and right, whirling to fight off imaginary attackers, then leaping onto the stone balustrade and launching a fast and ferocious counter-attack. She looked like a madwoman.
“My goodness,” Dan said again, his voice awed.
“Wow. She looks really good,” Tom said.
“Yes, she does.” Dan hummed thoughtfully, then added under his breath. “Yes, as I was saying. Shakespeare always offers a solution to every problem.”
“What?” Tom wasn’t really listening.
“Never mind,” Dan said. “Just talking to myself. I’ll see you later, Tom. Keep up the good work.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Panting, Silvia slumped into a chair to rest.
After a few seconds, Tom forced himself to look away. He felt as if he were invading her privacy, somehow, by watching her when she didn’t know she was being observed. He turned his attention to the bookshelf and ran one finger along the spines of the other plays.
Shakespeare always tells you what you need to know. . . .
It sounded a little New Age-y to Tom, but Dan was a smart guy. His eye fell on a title embossed in gold: Two Gentlemen of Verona. Tom grinned and pulled it off the shelf. After all, his mother was always telling him to act like a gentleman, and he’d been standing right here with Dan, who clearly was a gentleman, when Dan had told him the secret of Shakespeare, and then, at that very moment, they had been vouchsafed a vision of beauty.
With a devil-may-care spirit, Tom flipped the book open and read the first lines his eyes fell on.
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? . . .
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale.
Tom felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He slowly lowered the book, then turned to stare out the window at Silvia, who was now practicing lunges with her sword. She looked terrifying, deadly, and completely gorgeous.
She stopped suddenly to look at her watch. Then, between one breath and the next, she had run down the terrace steps and was gone.
Tom stood still, watching the now empty space where she had been and saying the words over to himself. “Except I be by Silvia in the night, there is no music in the nightingale.”
Lucy danced. She danced with her hand resting lightly on top of Benno’s, which he held out shoulder-high, and glided across the ballroom’s polished wooden floor, her long silk skirt swaying to the rhythm of the music. She twirled, she turned, she curtsied. She took three quick steps to the left and clapped, then three steps to the right. Then, along with the other dancers, she swept across the floor in a wide circle, until she was back at the beginning, ready to move through the pattern again.
Lucy danced, catching quick glimpses of herself in the mirror: her head tilted at such a charming angle, her arms held out so gracefully, her movements so fluid and quick.
Lucy danced, and she watched herself dancing, and she wondered, somewhat petulantly, why no one else seemed to be watching her at all.
“Perdonami, my fault, I’m sorry—”
Benno had missed a step. Again. She gave him a warm and forgiving smile (again). He looked away.
She bit her lip. It was so strange. Benno was her dancing partner, yet he could hardly meet her eyes. He was always staring at the floor or over her shoulder, as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here with her.
It made it very difficult to dance together. And she was beginning to feel snubbed.
He’s probably just embarrassed, she consoled herself. We’ve been practicing forever and he still can’t take three steps without tripping.
“Down, down, and up, down, down and up.” Dan had noticed Benno’s mistake, of course. He began counting the steps again,
the way he had when he was first teaching them the dance. It seemed to steady Benno, and the dance continued.
As Lucy curtsied to Benno’s bow, she glanced to her left and saw Giacomo and Kate smiling into each other’s eyes as they did the same move. Then it was time to do the little sidestep that brought each couple close together. Lucy turned, still watching, and saw Giacomo whisper something that made Kate smile.
Another sidestep, and it was time to dance the length of the room once more in a stately double line.
“One, two, and up, one, two and up.” Lucy danced, not bothering to listen to Dan’s counting; she had learned these steps in the first five minutes of the first day. She moved automatically, her thoughts still with Giacomo and Kate.
It was so amusing to watch them, trying to pretend that they weren’t falling for each other, when everyone could see that Giacomo couldn’t keep his eyes off Kate and that Kate stole a look at Giacomo whenever she thought no one was watching. It was delightful to think that Silvia’s scheme had worked, and that they had been able to bring true happiness to two people who would have never found it otherwise. And it was charming to observe Giacomo and Kate together, so happy and in love.
Lucy sighed as Benno twirled her around. This move had been difficult at first, since she was an inch or two taller, but now, as she glanced in the mirror, she saw that they were doing it perfectly. This should have made her happy, but Lucy was twirling with a heavy heart. The golden summer days were slipping away, and all her dreams about an Italian romance seemed to be slipping away with them.
In order to banish this thought, Lucy smiled even more brightly as she turned to face Benno. He gave her a stunned look in return, then tripped. The trip was even more impressive considering that he was standing still at the time.
“Never mind, Benno, keep going,” Dan called. “Remember, learning to cover a mistake is as important as getting everything right.”
Benno nodded, frowning in concentration as he led Lucy in the circle back to the beginning. They made it back safely and started through one more round. Tom and Silvia were in front of Lucy; she had to repress an unworthy stab of jealousy when she saw how well they danced together. It had come as something of a surprise to find that they were the best dancers in the room. Both were graceful and had a natural sense of rhythm, and Tom’s pale gold hair and Silvia’s raven black hair make them a striking pair.
The Juliet Club Page 19
