Part 5 (1/2)

Cesare looked at him with awe; he had heard Luciano say he was dead in his old world but he still couldn't believe it.

'Is that what happened to Doctor Dethridge too?' asked Georgia quickly, to disperse the tension.

'In a way,' said Luciano. 'He stravagated to Bellona, his city in Talia, to escape a death sentence in England. And then later, he found he had a shadow here and realised he must have died in his old life.'

'Why did you think the Dottore talked funny?' Cesare asked Georgia. 'He sounds quite normal to me.'

'He sounds old-fas.h.i.+oned to us,' said Georgia.

Georgia looked to Luciano for explanation, but he just shrugged. 'But do we sound normal to you?' he asked Cesare. 'Because we don't speak Italian or Talian and yet we can understand and make ourselves understood here.'

Georgia tried another tack. 'What did you do in Bellezza,' she asked, 'besides learning about stravagation?'

'First I was chosen by the d.u.c.h.essa to be a mandolier that's like a gondolier in Venice,' he said, 'but then Rodolfo got me out of that and I made fireworks. I visited the islands, dived in the ca.n.a.l, fought with an a.s.sa.s.sin, was given lots of silver, had a warrant out for my arrest, got drunk, was kidnapped, helped get a new d.u.c.h.essa elected, danced with her at Carnival . . .'

His expression had changed again and Georgia felt a tightening round her heart.

'How old is the new d.u.c.h.essa?' she asked.

'About my age,' said Luciano. 'About a month older.' His tone was super casual; Georgia recognised it. It was the same tone in which she had asked Vicky Mulholland how Lucien was when she went for violin lessons.

'How exciting!' said Cesare. 'You've had so many more adventures than me. And I'm nearly a year older than you. I've done nothing except ride horses and help my father in the Twelfth. And you've met the d.u.c.h.essa of Bellezza both of them. It makes my life here seem very dull.'

'I have a feeling it's not going to stay dull,' said Luciano grimly. 'You can't be the son of a Stravagante in one of the main cities of the di Chimici clan and not be in danger.'

'I didn't know he was a Stravagante till yesterday,' said Cesare. 'And I still don't know what it means.'

'You and me both,' said Georgia. 'And I'm supposed to be one!'

'It's a traveller between worlds,' said Luciano. 'At least, one between Georgia's world and ours.' He turned to Cesare, deliberately identifying himself with him rather than with Georgia. 'The travel can be in either direction, but the talisman the device that helps the Stravagante make the journey comes from the world that is not the Stravagante's own.'

'But you said you've been back to the other world, since you know,' said Georgia. 'Have you got a talisman from there now?'

'Yes,' said Luciano, but he didn't elaborate.

'Why do you think you two were chosen?' asked Cesare, rather shyly. 'You must be very special in some way.'

Luciano and Georgia snorted in unison.

'Not at all, in my case,' said Luciano.

'Nor me,' said Georgia.

'Unless . . .' said Luciano and then stopped, confused.

'What?' said Georgia.

'I've had plenty of time to think about this,' he went on reluctantly. 'I have wondered whether my talisman found me because I would have been doomed in my own world anyway. I mean, although I got stranded here because the di Chimici kidnapped me and I couldn't stravagate back because I didn't have the talisman, I think I would have died in my world anyway. The cancer had come back, you know.'

Georgia nodded.

'So I wonder if it was somehow connected if it was because I was already dying. And now, I wonder ... I hate to ask, but are you quite well in your own world?'

Chapter 6.

The Youngest Son 'Are you sure you're not sickening for something?' asked Maura, when Georgia gave her fourth huge yawn at breakfast.

'No, really, Mum, I'm fine honestly,' she said. 'I just didn't get much sleep last night.'

This was true enough. Lucien had warned her about that. 'I was always exhausted back home when I was stravagating every night,' he had said. 'But at least I had the excuse of being ill.'

She thought she had been able to rea.s.sure him and herself on that point. She was pretty sure she didn't have a serious illness.

'Perhaps you should give the riding a miss today?' said Russell, feigning brotherly concern. Georgia shot him a poisonous look.

'Perhaps you shouldn't play your ”music” so late at night,' she rejoined. 'It kept me awake.'

'Now, now, don't squabble, you two,' said Ralph. He hated any kind of disagreement at mealtimes.

Georgia was already wearing her jodhpurs and riding boots. Sometimes, when she was very lucky, Ralph or Maura would give her a lift to the stables, but it was a long way out and took up the whole morning, since they had to wait for her. So most weeks, like today, she had to take the tube out to practically the end of the line, carrying her hard-hat and crop.

Since these were difficult accessories to disguise, some wag or other was bound to ask, 'Where's the horse?' on the journey and laugh uproariously at his wit. Today she barely noticed but kept score out of habit. 'Only three,' she muttered as she took the bus from the station to the stables. 'I must be losing my touch.'

The familiar smell of the stables made her think immediately of Remora, where horses were treated almost like G.o.ds, even when they didn't have wings. She had spent most of last night or the day before if you thought in Talian terms talking to Lucien and Cesare about the di Chimici, Bellezza, stravagation and Talian magic. Now she couldn't wait to go back and find out more about the horse race that seemed to dominate the city. And to see Lucien again.

Lucien had ended their conversation by suggesting that she shouldn't stravagate every night or she would be too tired. Then he had warned her that the gateway from her world was notoriously unstable. He and Dethridge and the mysterious Rodolfo, who was obviously a big hero to Lucien, were working on ways of stabilising it, but even if she missed out a week, she might find that only a day had pa.s.sed in Talia.

But could she bear to miss even one chance of seeing him? Common sense told her that she had as much hope of getting together with Lucien as if he really had died. After all he had, as far as her world was concerned. And even if she stravagated to Talia and stayed there permanently which was certainly not on her agenda she didn't think he would ever be more than a friend. Remembering how he had looked when he talked about the young d.u.c.h.essa of Bellezza made Georgia feel desperately sad all over again.

The d.u.c.h.essa was called Arianna, apparently, and there had been a secret about her birth she was actually the daughter of the previous d.u.c.h.essa and Rodolfo. Lucien had been Arianna's friend long before she knew of her parentage and was just a simple girl from one of the islands in the Bellezzan lagoon. But then her mother had been a.s.sa.s.sinated and the truth had come out.

'Georgia!' called a voice, jolting her out of her reverie. 'Are you going to ride today or just stand in the yard all morning?'

It was Jean, who ran the stables and was one of Georgia's favourite peopl'e.

'Sorry I was miles away,' said Georgia, truthfully.

Falco di Chimici was alone, apart from the servants. He had the whole palace to roam in. The di Chimici summer palace at Santa Fina, about ten miles from Remora, was the most lavish of all the homes of the Dukes of Giglia. It had been built by the second Duke, Alfonso, Falco's grandfather, who had been too busy making money to get married until he was sixty-five.

Despite his age he had gone on to sire four sons, the oldest, Niccol, when he was sixty-seven and the youngest, Jacopo, now Prince of Bellona, ten years later. Duke Alfonso had died at the age of eighty-seven, more than twenty years before Falco had been born, leaving Niccol to take over as Duke when he was only twenty. Alfonso's wife, Renata, had been much younger than him and Falco could just remember her, a tiny, white-haired figure, hobbling about the palazzo with a stick, very bright-eyed and interested and very proud of her splendid sons and grandsons.

Even me, thought Falco, as he limped slowly and painfully from room to room, using two wooden sticks. But that was an uncharacteristic thought; Falco didn't approve of self-pity.

He had been the adored youngest child of a wealthy and influential family and the best-looking son of his branch of it. His father, Duke Niccol, had held him in his arms minutes after his birth and schemed of new princedoms to win or buy so that this beautiful child should bear a worthy t.i.tle.