City of Flowers

by Mary Hoffman

  He went out on to the landing and met Georgia and Sky, with Nicholas slung between them like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Sky, lowering the boy to the floor and wincing as his arm took the weight. ‘He was with Carlo.’

  ‘We think it’s shock,’ said Georgia. She was shaking herself. Suppose the Duke had gone next door to see his dead son and found two of them!

  ‘I’ll fetch Sulien,’ said Luciano.

  The friar was busy. He had left the two princes for the moment, having their wounds bathed by nuns, and was attending to Filippo Nucci, but he came straightaway when Luciano told him about Nicholas. He lifted the boy and took him over to the stairs, where he examined him for signs of injury.

  ‘He has a wound much like yours, Sky,’ he said. ‘But I think his mind has closed down. He has seen one brother killed and two others wounded. He needs rest and medicine.’

  ‘I’m going to the pharmacy,’ said Luciano. ‘Have you got that list?’

  As Sulien gave him a scrap of parchment, Georgia asked, ‘How are you going to get there?’

  ‘Swim, I suppose,’ said Luciano, trying to smile.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Sky. ‘We need to find some kind of a boat.’

  ‘We?’ asked Luciano. ‘Are you coming too?’

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Georgia. ‘It was probably what he was sent here to do.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Sky. ‘I’m hallucinating.’

  He pointed outside the window and they all saw the black wings of the flying horse, with a brightly dressed Manoush on her back.

  Chapter 23

  Drowned City

  Sandro hadn’t been at the wedding or the blessing either. He had drifted back to the Piazza Ducale, pleased that there hadn’t been any attack and hoping to find some more scraps for him and his dog when the next feast started. He was hanging around the platform when the rain began and minutes later the flood water came swirling into the square.

  He ran, then, up the steps of the loggia and sat at the top, hugging the scared Fratello and sheltering from the rain. He didn’t think that it would last for long. Sandro had heard a lot about floods in Giglia but hadn’t seen one in his short life. The little dog was trembling but Sandro himself was not frightened.

  At least not then. The water was only inches deep. But then he saw wedding guests hurrying into the palazzo and the water still rose. And later, citizens came splashing through the piazza shouting about an attack. They hadn’t stayed to hear what had happened in the Church of the Annunciation but rumour spread through the city: all the di Chimici had been assassinated; the Grand Duke was dead, stabbed by the Duchessa of Bellezza with his own sword.

  Sandro thought he would let the news settle down like the flood water and leave a silt of truth he could sift through later. But the water had now reached the top of the steps and Sandro couldn’t swim. He tucked Fratello under his arm and began to climb on to the back of a lion sculpted by one of Giuditta Miele’s ancestors.

  *

  Georgia ran up to the roof with Sky and Luciano. Never had she been so glad to see anyone as Raffaella and the flying horse. It had been nagging at the back of her mind that she didn’t know how she would get back to Remora by nightfall if she couldn’t get to Merla on the other side of the river. But she had felt bad even for thinking about it when she didn’t know if Gaetano would survive his injuries.

  Sky stood gazing at the winged horse in wonder. In spite of everything he had been told about Merla, the reality of her was so much more overpowering than any description.

  Rafaella dismounted.

  ‘Aurelio sent me,’ she said. ‘He seemed to know where you would be.’

  ‘Can you help us?’ asked Georgia. ‘We need to get medicine from Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines. Is the whole city flooded?’

  ‘Certainly between there and here,’ said Rafaella. ‘But I can take Merla up again and look for a boat.’

  ‘Do you think she’d carry both of us?’ asked Georgia. ‘Perhaps I could bring one back?’

  No one liked the idea but Georgia persuaded them on the grounds that she was the lightest and the best rider.

  ‘It’s not the riding I’m worried about,’ said Sky. ‘It’s the dropping into a boat.’

  He and Luciano watched the two young women take off on the flying horse.

  ‘She’s got guts, all right,’ said Luciano.

  From the air the city looked like a dreamscape: only the biggest buildings seemed the same. But the piazzas were lakes and the streets canals; fountains and statues and pillars poked up above the water like drowning people waving desperately for help. The river, no longer defined by its banks, had spread like a stain into every corner of the city.

  But in the end Georgia did not have to be dropped into a boat. Raffaella landed Merla on the Ponte Nuovo. The horse didn’t like it: it was narrow and dangerous for her wings and the water rose over her hoofs. But it was only inches deep here and Georgia was able to splash through it down to where boats bobbed on the surface of the flood, tugging at their painters tied far below the water. Raffaella cut the rope of one with a dagger from her belt, as far under the surface as she could reach.

  ‘I’ll take Merla back to the orphanage roof,’ she said. ‘You’ll still need her to get back to Remora tonight.’

  Georgia nodded. She was struggling with the boat. She had never rowed one before, except once on the Serpentine in Hyde Park, and everything was wet. Her dress and hair were soaked, the bottom of the boat slopped with rainwater and the oars were slippery and very heavy. A cold wind lashed the flooded river into waves and she couldn’t at first see where she was going for her wet hair whipping into her face. And she hadn’t quite got the hang of travelling backwards and was scared of bumping into hazards she couldn’t see.

  But gradually she managed to steer the boat up between the pillars of the square where the Guild offices were. The city was eerily quiet and she shivered as she rowed awkwardly into the Piazza Ducale. It was so weird to think her boat was sliding forwards nearly her own height above yesterday’s tournament lists. The last thing she expected was to hear her name shouted.

  It was Sandro, sitting on a stone lion with his little dog clutched in his arms. Cursing under her breath at this new complication, Georgia tied the boat to the lion’s leg and coaxed him down into it. It was doubtful whether Sandro or the dog was more alarmed by the rocking motion of the boat as they got into it. But Sandro’s teeth were chattering and he had been very frightened, alone with no prospect of the water withdrawing.

  ‘I’ll take you to the orphanage,’ said Georgia. ‘That’s where all the others are.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Sandro, trying to warm the dog inside his jerkin.

  ‘Where do I begin?’ asked Georgia, casting off again. ‘Do you know how to row?’

  ‘I can try,’ said Sandro.

  Georgia looked at his skinny arms and undernourished frame.

  ‘No, it’s OK. I can manage till I get there. But then I’m leaving it to Luciano and Sky.’

  ‘Brother Tino?’ asked Sandro. ‘What are they going to do?’

  ‘They’re going to the friary to fetch medicine for Brother Sulien,’ said Georgia. ‘You know the Nucci attacked at the church?’

  ‘I heard people shouting something,’ said Sandro. ‘But I was stuck on the loggia and couldn’t find out anything.’

  ‘Lots of people have been killed or hurt,’ said Georgia. ‘Gaetano and his oldest brother are seriously injured and Prince Carlo is dead.’

  Sandro jumped so violently it rocked the boat. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he said. ‘He was a murderer.’

  ‘But Gaetano isn’t,’ said Georgia. ‘And we must do what we can to save him.’

  They had reached the drowned Piazza of the Annunciation. Sandro helped Georgia navigate past the fountains and up to the orphanage. The front door was still open and the grou
nd floor flooded in spite of the steps leading up to it. They had to pull the oars in while the boat slipped through the door, but once inside they were able to tie it up to the stone banister of the staircase. Fratello leapt out of the boat, shaking himself, and ran gratefully up the steps, looking back to check that Sandro was following.

  Sky was amazed to see the little spy, particularly when he told him how he had got there. Georgia soon appeared, looking very bedraggled. Sulien was relieved to see her but still anxious to get what he needed for his patients.

  ‘I’d go myself,’ he said. ‘But I am needed here. You’re sure that you and Luciano will manage, Sky?’

  Sky’s arm had stiffened up and was really hurting. He didn’t think he’d be much use at rowing but he knew where to find most things in the pharmacy. And Luciano was the least afraid of water of any of them; he was a first-class swimmer and lived in a city where the streets were canals.

  ‘Take this key,’ said Sulien. ‘The most important thing I need, and the one I can’t replace quickly, is in a locked cupboard in my cell. The jar says “argentum potabile” and it’s the only thing that will save the young princes.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sky, more confidently than he felt. He put the key in his pocket.

  ‘Let me come too,’ said Sandro. ‘I’m not heavy and I know where everything is.’

  Sulien agreed. ‘Take him,’ he said. ‘He might be very useful.’

  ‘Only look after my dog,’ said Sandro. ‘He won’t want to get back in that boat.’

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ said Georgia, taking the sodden length of string round Fratello’s neck. She suddenly felt exhausted, but there was plenty of work left to do in the orphanage and Giuditta needed her.

  The boys ran down the staircase to the drowned hall. Luciano took the oars and Sky sat at the other end, with Sandro crouched damply in the bottom of the boat.

  They glided out into the piazza as Luciano struck out west from the orphanage, trying to find a navigable street that would take them south to the Dominican church. Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines lay even closer to the river and had been one of the first areas to be flooded. When they reached the piazza in front of it, they could see just the tops of the wooden obelisks sticking up through the water.

  ‘The cloisters will be flooded,’ said Sky, ‘and the pharmacy will be under at least five feet of water. What are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ve got to try,’ said Luciano. He manoeuvred the little boat through an archway beside the black and white church and steered right into the Lesser Cloister.

  The arched cloister was underwater and Sky realised that all the plants and vegetables would be ruined. They had to take the boat across to the far corner of the cloister and steer it along a corridor, with their heads almost grazing the ceiling. But then they were through and out into the Great Cloister where the pharmacy and Sulien’s cell were. Sandro cried out when he saw the devastation caused by the water.

  The door from the cloister to the laboratory had been open when the flood came. Alembics and crucibles floated about, and bottles and jars had been smashed by the force of the water pouring in.

  ‘This is hopeless,’ said Luciano after a few minutes’ fruitless search. ‘There’s nothing in one piece from his list.’

  ‘How about the stuff in his cell?’ asked Sky. ‘The medicine in the locked cupboard might be OK.’

  But here was a problem: the door between the laboratory and Sulien’s cell was closed, with a weight of water holding it shut. They manoeuvred the boat back out into the cloister.

  ‘Look,’ said Sandro. ‘There’s a skylight I could climb through.’

  It was true. There was a small, glazed fanlight that led into Sulien’s cell, and neither of the other two would have been able to wriggle through it. Luciano smashed the glass with an oar and Sandro took the key from Sky. They watched as he climbed in, then heard a splash and a cry as he landed on the other side.

  ‘Oh God, don’t tell me he can’t swim!’ said Luciano.

  *

  Enrico flitted from room to room in the orphanage. He had seen the body of Prince Carlo and the near-corpses of the other two princes. But something else was niggling at the back of his mind and preventing him from concentrating on the present scene. Something to do with the Duchessa and her maid.

  He was jolted out of his trance by the Princess Beatrice.

  ‘There you are!’ she said, for once pleased to see him. ‘I need you to help me.’

  Beatrice, Giuditta and Georgia had formed a sort of nursing team with the nuns, carrying out instructions from Sulien and Dethridge. There were all the orphans to look after as well as the injured and the roomful of traumatised princesses. The nuns were also in a great flutter at having the Pope himself under their roof, not to mention the Grand Duke of Tuschia. They kept Enrico busy running up and down stairs on errands. It was not long before he found himself taking wine to his master, and he didn’t know how he would be received.

  But Niccolò did not hold Enrico responsible for the attack; he knew very well whom to blame. Had he not seen with his own eyes Camillo Nucci stab his second son? Enrico recognised the feverish look in his master’s eyes; the Duke had been the same when young Falco was dying. Now the only thing consoling him for Carlo’s death was the thought of the revenge he would take on the Nucci. It didn’t seem the right moment for the Eel to tell his master that the young Duchessa hadn’t been wearing the expensive dress he had given her; he would try to let him know later that it was the maid who had been hurt. But perhaps he wouldn’t mention that she had been impersonating the Duchessa at the time. Enrico had a feeling that information would make the Grand Duke very angry, even though he was too distracted at the moment to think of courtship.

  *

  Sandro surfaced, spluttering. He was terribly afraid. The water was cold and his feet couldn’t touch the bottom. He flung out an arm and found himself clutching the top of the wooden crucifix on the wall. He held on to it as to a lifebelt; he knew what it was – the suffering man, like the one who hung in the church. The princes were suffering too and perhaps he, Sandro, could save them. He waited, floating on the top of the water, anchored only by his hand on the cross, getting his bearings in the little room.

  A face looked anxiously through the skylight. Sandro waved with his free hand and then saw the cupboard. It was a triangular wooden one high up in one corner. It had a keyhole and a wooden knob in the door. Sandro launched himself across the room, sank again, resurfaced and grabbed at the knob. It surprised him how little purchase you needed on a fixed point in order to stay afloat. He had the key clutched in his hand. The water came up nearly to the keyhole but he was able to unlock it and wrench the door open.

  The shelves inside were full of packets and bottles, Sulien’s most precious remedies. ‘Ar-gen-tum pot-a-bil-e,’ Sandro spelt out from the label on one bottle; he had no idea what it meant.

  ‘He’s got it,’ said Sky outside the fanlight.

  Sandro thrust the hand with the bottle in it as far towards the little window as he could. He pushed himself as far away from the cupboard as he could manage without letting go of the door. There was still a gap of about six inches. Sky reached his arm through, cutting it on the broken glass.

  Suddenly Sandro thought, It doesn’t matter if I drown. What matters is getting Sulien’s medicine to the people who need it.

  He thrust away from the cupboard. Sky grabbed the bottle as the boy sank.

  *

  The rain had stopped. The water in the city was no longer rising, though it would be a while before it began to fall. The friars at Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines had taken shelter on the upper floors. Brother Tullio looked out over the drowned cloister, shaking his head. How was he to feed the brothers with all his produce underwater? He just hoped something had been saved at the new farm across the river, which was on slightly higher land.

  Tullio blinked. There was a boat in the cloister, rocking dangerously just under a broken windo
w. His first thought was looters, then he saw that although the two young men in it appeared to be nobles of the city, one of them was young Brother Tino.

  He watched while they poked an oar through the window and a bedraggled, wretched figure appeared clutching the end of it. It was clearly a rescue mission, not a burglary.

  *

  Sandro had panicked when he went down and found himself on the floor of Sulien’s cell. But the water was not far above his head. He opened his eyes and saw he was just by the wooden chest in which Sulien kept robes. He managed to get one foot up on it and push his head above the water, shaking his hair out of his eyes. And there was the oar. Sky pulled him towards the fanlight, nearly capsizing the rowboat in the attempt. But once Sandro had reached the window frame, he wriggled through and collapsed in a wet and shivering heap on the floor of the boat.

  ‘Tino! Brother Tino!’ shouted a voice from above them. Brother Tullio stood waving from a window on the upper floor. Luciano rowed over until they were underneath it.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ said Tullio.

  ‘From Brother Sulien,’ explained Sky. ‘There has been a terrible fight at the blessing ceremony and there are people badly injured. He sent us for medicines but everything is ruined in the pharmacy and the laboratory. We’ve only got what Sandro managed to find in his cell.’

  Brother Tullio peered down. ‘Is that drowned rat young Sandro?’ he asked. ‘What does Sulien want?’ he continued. ‘The brothers brought everything up to the top floors that we could salvage.’

  It wasn’t long before a basket full of medicines was lowered to the boat and the boys were able to make the voyage back. Sky put the precious bottle in the basket with the other remedies and just then realised how lucky they were to have it.

  ‘You read the label,’ he said to Sandro and the street-boy grinned, trying not to let his teeth chatter.