The Dark City (6 page)

Unenchanting the painting would take hours of meticulous work – more than twice the time that adding the magic had taken.

‘Oh,
come on
!' she wailed. ‘Who did this? There's no way we can deliver this on time now! I want to know who it was.' Bianca looked at Francesca.
Come on, I trust you –
mostly
– just tell me the truth  … 

But Francesca just stared at the floor.

‘Well, fine, but I want this cleared up as soon as possible. Sebastiano, come and help Rosa; you can work on stripping the
animare
together, and then –'

‘Rosa can manage,' said Cosimo. ‘Sebastiano, the background for the Count d'Oro's portrait still needs finishing, you stay where you are.'

‘But – but this needs to be done quickly!' Bianca said. ‘I really think he should help Rosa.'

‘Cosimo's right,' Lucia put in.

Bianca clenched her fists. It wouldn't help at all to yell
And who asked you?!
at the top of her lungs  … 

Sebastiano looked from Bianca to Cosimo to Lucia, cringing like a mouse cornered by a pack of feral cats, and followed Cosimo's instruction. He turned back to the Count's portrait.

Bianca's shoulders slumped.
I give up
, she thought
. Maybe they'll come round, maybe they won't – but I won't stay here and fight them all day!
‘I'm going to work in Filpepi's study,' she muttered, and walked out of the studio. When she reached the dim upstairs room, she carefully arranged the papers on Filpepi's desk so that it looked like she was working on the commission schedule. Then she pulled out the paintbrush key and approached the painting of the ancient ruined chapel that hung on the wall beside the desk. She felt a stab of loss, remembering when she and Marco climbed through it, discovering the fake Duchess's wedding dress enchanted out of its painting. Fighting back her emotions, Bianca took a deep, steadying breath. She clambered through the stone door in the painting and closed it behind her without looking back.

Bianca wandered aimlessly through the passages for a little while, peering through the painted windows in some of the doors, trying to puzzle out where their paintings were in the real city. The anger and humiliation she felt at the hands of Gabriella and Lucia was still fresh, and she needed a distraction. She saw the bright glistening waters of the canal through one painting, and the inside of a cosy sitting room through the next. Down another turning there was a church mural, and then one she thought she'd helped paint years ago, in the San Giulietta orphanage.

How did Master di Lombardi ever navigate all these doors? I ought to try to make a map.
But she couldn't muster much enthusiasm for the idea right now. It just didn't feel the same exploring the passages on her own. She stopped to examine di Lombardi's strange symbols on the outside of the paintings and suddenly missed Marco so intensely she could almost feel it burning in the back of her throat. She pictured him running between the painted doors taking note of the strange characters – he'd been determined to decode them.

He'd never treat her the way her so-called friends in the studio had  … 

What's more, I can't tell Duchess Catriona about any of it – not if I don't want her throwing a fit and threatening to sack them.

Bianca recognised a religious painting of men kneeling in worship, and to one side was a barred wooden door. Realisation struck her: she had been through it before. On the other side was the Church of Santa Cecilia. She recalled Marco helping her stumble through with di Lombardi after the fire in his studio. Bianca couldn't help opening the door an inch, spotting stained glass windows which cast coloured light onto an altar. The church was miles from the palace, but could be reached in minutes through the passageways.

She closed the door of the painting and ducked back into the passage, her jaw set in resolve. An idea that had been niggling at the back of her mind seemed suddenly to spring into focus. If these paintings led anywhere in the city, maybe she could find Marco!

She began to search the paintings methodically, peering through every door that had a window or that she dared open just a crack. She knew she might not find Master Xavier's troupe – even though Master di Lombardi's enchanted paintings were all over the city and she was sure there were some in the estates outside the city walls, it wasn't very likely they'd actually be standing in front of one. But she kept looking, pleased with the distraction. It was still thrilling to realise that she was travelling all over La Luminosa while only moving a few feet at a time.

Then, suddenly, just as Bianca was closing a door that'd opened into an opulent empty bedroom, something caught her eye. She hesitated, and then opened the door a little way again. She was sure she'd seen the name Xavier somewhere in this room! She looked around at the sapphire-coloured quilted blanket on the bed, the thick white sheepskins on the wooden floor, the polished silver mirror on the dressing table  … 

There! Propped up against one of the drawers, Bianca could see a printed poster emblazoned with the words:

‘
Yes!
' Bianca said, jumping on the spot.

‘Who's there?' A lady's voice rang out from the other side of the bedroom door. Bianca leapt back, pulling the painted door shut with a soft
thud
just as she heard the bedroom door creak open. She listened for a while: the voice said ‘Hello? Zola, is that you?' and she heard feet crossing the room to the window and back, then the sound of the door shutting again.

Phew!
Bianca grinned. That was a close call – but now she knew exactly where Marco and his troupe would be. Her heart felt ten times lighter as she hurried along the passages. She soon found herself looking out through the mural on the outside wall of the Horse and Apples, a restaurant on one corner of the Piazza del Ferranti. Thin beams of light poured into the dim secret passages through the cracks in the old barn door and as Bianca looked through she could see the swishing tails of the horses in the painting.

Her eyes adjusted to the brightness and she saw that it was safe to slip out – there was a big crowd assembled in the Piazza, but they were all facing away from the Horse and Apples, towards the makeshift stage that'd been put up outside the master blacksmith's workshop. Bianca smiled as she saw familiar figures in sea-creature and mermaid costumes dancing and tumbling. She swiftly unlocked the door, crossed the few feet of magical straw-covered space and hopped out onto the warm stones of the Piazza.

Bianca hurried around the edge of the crowd, looking for the backstage area, as the audience gasped and applauded each time one of the performers sprang onto another's shoulders or turned a somersault in the air. Bianca paused, her heart in her mouth, as the harlequin in his black and red diamond costume started to climb a tall pole on one side of the stage. She looked up and her stomach twisted – a tightrope wire was strung high above the stage, between the pole and the roof of the neighbouring smithy.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, knights and squires,' the harlequin called out, balancing with one foot on the top of the pole. ‘Throw us a penny and we'll walk this wire!'

The mermaids sitting at the front of the stage unfurled a long strip of glistening green and blue silk, and a steady rain of pennies started to shower into it, making it ripple like the surface of the sea.

The harlequin started his slow-quick-slow walk, back and forth against the high wire, wobbling far more than looked safe but somehow never falling. Bianca stopped to watch for a second, until she dragged her gaze away. The show was wonderful, but it wasn't why she was here.

There was a curtain strung up over the master blacksmith's shop door with a sign pinned to it, painted in black on red cotton:
BACKSTAGE, KEEP OUT
. Bianca grinned and ducked through.

The whole smithy had apparently been taken over by the troupe – boxes and trunks overflowing with costumes and props vied for space with the dangling collections of iron tools, pokers, shovels, gleaming flint-sharp scissors and horseshoes. Another curtain had been strung up across the centre of the room to form a makeshift dressing room. Actors and tumblers were milling about, chatting, painting their faces or struggling in and out of costumes.

‘Hey, no audience backstage! Oh, it's you,' said a voice, and Bianca turned and looked up into the smiling face of Master Xavier. ‘Welcome, Mistress Bianca. Are you enjoying the show?'

Bianca grinned up at him, but before she could say it was wonderful, a voice rang out from behind the curtain:

‘Bianca?' Marco stepped forward, beaming. His face was painted, half red and half black, with a diamond over each eye, and he was wearing a smaller version of the harlequin's costume. Bianca ran over and stopped just short of grabbing him into a hug.

‘Can you talk?' she asked. ‘Do you have to go on stage?'

Marco's face fell. ‘Well, I  …  I'm not  … '

‘You've got a few minutes,' said Master Xavier. ‘The doppelgänger doesn't enter until after the Fire Twins have finished their routine. I'll call you.'

‘Right. Thanks.' But Marco didn't look at all relieved. Master Xavier gave Marco a stiff nod, then walked away to watch the stage through the curtain.

‘What's wrong?' Bianca asked. Marco's expression only became more miserable.

‘I'm just  … ' He cast an apprehensive glance over towards the stage and beckoned for her to come inside the makeshift dressing room. Bianca followed him through the curtain. The unlit furnace took up most of the space, but it'd been turned into a make-up table and held a large mirror, a scattered rainbow of greasepaint pots and piles of costume jewellery. Marco slumped against the furnace and folded his arms. ‘I don't know if they're going to want me much longer.'

‘What?' Bianca gasped. ‘But your father  … '

Marco lifted one hand to rub it across his cheek, but stopped himself before smearing his greasepaint. ‘It's the high wire. I can't do it. Every time I try, I just get this  … ' He shrugged. ‘Ech, it's stupid.'

‘No, go on.' Bianca hopped up so she was sitting on the huge, cold iron anvil beside Marco.

Marco gave a deep sigh. ‘Remember the fire?'

‘Yeah,' Bianca said simply. She didn't think either of them would ever forget it: the fire that Filpepi had set to kill di Lombardi. The fire that had destroyed her home.

‘I was up on that roof,' Marco blurted. ‘There was all the fire and smoke below and I couldn't climb back up to the window and the roof – the roof was getting hotter and hotter  … '

Bianca remembered. The copper-tiled roof had been like a burning island in a river of black smoke and flickering flame.

‘So,' Marco said, with a miserable shrug. ‘It's stupid. But every time I get up on the high wire, it's like I'm back there. I smell smoke and I can't see properly, and my feet start to feel like they're burning. I can't do it, I –'

‘Marco!' Marco flinched as his father pushed through the curtain. ‘It's your cue.' He glanced at Bianca and then laid a heavy hand on Marco's shoulder. ‘You'll be fine when you get up there.'

Bianca wanted to think so too, but Marco had gone pale as a ghost. He looked more likely to throw up than anything else.

‘I'll be here,' she said. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard for a second. ‘I'll be in the crowd – you can look at me and that'll tell you that it's fine and we both got out of the fire. OK?'

Marco nodded, but didn't look any less frightened. He headed for the stage like a man being led to the gallows, and Bianca ran outside and pushed through the crowd in the baking sunshine of the Piazza right to the front of the stage.

Up on the high wire, the harlequin was applauding from one side as the Lotti sisters twirled their flaming staves and bowed, then ran nimbly across the high wire, dropped the staves, flaming end first, into buckets of water on the stage and slid down the pole. The audience whooped and cheered.

The actor playing the Wicked Duke swept onstage in a dramatic rustle of black and blue. The audience booed and jeered, and the Duke threw back his cloak to reveal Marco, standing with his head and arms hanging limp. ‘Now that stupid harlequin's tricks will end forever – I will replace him with my own harlequin, and then nobody will know I'm the one pulling the strings!' At a sweeping gesture from the Duke, Marco seemed to come alive. He bowed to the audience, who booed even more – but laughed, too – and, after a pause that only Bianca saw, started to climb up the pole.

With every step, Bianca's heart beat a little faster. Was it her imagination, or did his hand shake before he grabbed the next rung? She willed him forward, wringing her hands in front of her. The crowd applauded again as he reached the top of the pole, turned to bow  …  and wobbled. The crowd gasped. Bianca's hand flew to her mouth, and then she forced herself to lower it again and smile up at Marco. She had to show him she believed in him, even if he couldn't believe in himself.

Marco straightened up slowly. He seemed to be scanning the crowd – was he looking for Bianca?
I'm here!
she thought, turning her face up to the light, but she didn't dare distract him by waving or shouting. Marco's hands were shaking, but his legs seemed steady as he took one step forwards onto the high wire. It bent a little under his weight and he took another step, and then another. The Wicked Duke climbed swiftly up the pole after him. Marco raised his hand with a flourish.
He's going to do it!
Bianca grinned.
He's going to be
–

But then Marco's chest heaved and his knees gave way. Bianca gripped the front of the stage, ready to spring up and try to catch him, but Marco didn't fall – he just crouched on the wire, clinging on with his fingers and toes. A drop of sweat fell from his face and splashed on the stage in front of Bianca.

The harlequin raised his hands and turned to the crowd. ‘Ha-ha! No silly puppet could walk the tightrope like I do! Get back to your master!' And with that, he hurried along the wire to Marco, bent down and lifted him to his feet. He thrust him back along the wire. Marco flailed, his arms windmilling at his sides, but the Wicked Duke caught him securely, shook his fist at the harlequin and then hooked Marco's belt onto the rope and lowered him down to the stage.

The audience roared with laughter and applauded as Marco's feet hit solid ground. Marco's face was white. He dipped his head in an attempt at a bow, and then turned and staggered offstage, pushing past Bianca and through the curtain. Bianca hurried after him.

Marco dived into the dressing area and Bianca followed, in time to see him kick the furnace hard. He yelped and hopped on one foot for a second, then sank down on the anvil.

‘They knew I couldn't do it!' he said. ‘They had a whole bit worked out to rescue me!' He hung his head and let out a long growl of disappointment.

‘I'm sure they –' Bianca began.

‘No. I know what they're saying. A tumbler who's scared of heights is useless. Go on.' He gestured to the curtain. ‘Look.'

Bianca didn't want to, but she couldn't help herself – she peeked through the curtain into the rest of the shop. Marco's father, Olivia and two more actors were standing in a little group, talking with their heads bowed together. Master Xavier's shoulders were slumped just like Marco's. Olivia tried to take his hand, but he shook her off.

Bianca turned back to look at Marco. He met her eyes and shrugged. ‘Useless. I'll have to leave the troupe.'