The Magicians of Caprona (7 page)

The “Ah!” from the family was loud and long this time. It was followed by cries of, “Get out of it, Rinaldo! Don’t make a fool of yourself! Leave Marco alone!”

Though Rinaldo was nothing like as easily crushed as Domenico, even he could not stand up to the whole family. When he looked at Old Niccolo and saw Old Niccolo waving him angrily aside, he gave up and shoved his way out of the room.

“Rosa and Marco,” said Antonio, “I give my provisional consent to your marriage.”

Upon that, everyone hugged everyone else, shook hands with Marco and kissed Rosa. Very flushed and happy, Marco plucked pear after pear from the golden tree and gave them to everyone, even the new est baby. They were delicious pears, ripe to perfection. They melted in mouths and dribbled down chins.

“I don’t want to be a spoilsport,” Aunt Maria said, slurping juice in Paolo’s ear, “but a tree in the Saloon is going to be a nuisance.”

But Marco had thought of that. As soon as the last pear was picked, the tree began to fade. Soon it was a clattering golden glitter, a vanishing
shadow-tree, and then it was not there at all. Everyone applauded. Aunt Gina and Aunt Anna fetched bottles of wine and glasses, and the Casa drank to the health of Rosa and Marco.

“Thank goodness!” Tonino heard Elizabeth say. “I was so nervous for her!”

On the other side of Elizabeth, Old Niccolo was telling Uncle Lorenzo that Marco was a real acquisition, because he could understand cats. Tonino felt a little wistful at this. He went outside into the chilly yard. As he had expected, Benvenuto was now curled up in the sunny patch on the gallery steps. He undulated his tail in annoyance at Tonino. He had just settled down for a sleep.

But Marco could
not
understand cats, Benvenuto said irritably. He knew Benvenuto’s name, because Rosa had told him, but he had no idea what Benvenuto had actually said to him. Benvenuto had told him that he and Rinaldo would get thoroughly scratched if they started a fight in the Casa—neither of them was boss cat here. Now, if Tonino would go away, a cat could get some sleep.

This was a great relief to Tonino. He now felt free to like Marco as much as Paolo did. Marco was fun. He was never in the Casa for very long, because he and his brother were building a villa out beyond the New Bridge, but he was one of the few people Tonino laid down his book to talk to. And that, Lucia told Rosa, was a compliment indeed.

Rosa and Marco were to be married in the spring. They laughed about it constantly as they swept in and out of the Casa together. Antonio and Uncle Lorenzo walked out to the villa where Mario Andretti lived, and arranged it all. Mario Andretti came to the Casa to settle the details. He was a large fat man—who drove a shrewd bargain, Aunt Francesca said—and quite different from Marco. The most notable thing about him was the long white motor car he came in.

Old Niccolo looked at that car reflectively. “It smells,” he said. “But
it looks more reliable than a cardboard horse.” He sighed. He still felt deeply humiliated. All the same, after Mario Andretti had driven away, Tonino was very interested to be sent out to the post with two letters. One was addressed to Ferrari, the other to Rolls-Royce in England.

In the normal way, the talk in the Casa would have been all about that car and those two letters. But they passed unnoticed in the anxious murmurs about Florence, Siena and Pisa. The only topic able to drown out the talk of war was Rosa’s wedding dress. Should it be long or short? With a train, or not? And what kind of veil? Rosa was quite as independent about that as she had been over Marco.

“I suppose I have no say in it at all,” she said. “I shall have it knee-length one side and a train ten feet long on the other, I think. And no veil. Just a black mask.”

This thoroughly offended Aunt Maria and Aunt Gina, who were the chief arguers. What with the noise they made, and the twanging the other side of the room, where Antonio had roped Marco in to help find the words to the
Angel
, Tonino was unable to concentrate on his book. He took it along the gallery to the library, hoping for peace there.

But Rinaldo was leaning on the gallery rail outside the library, looking remarkably sinister, and he stopped Tonino. “That Marco,” he said. “I
wish
I could remember where I saw him. I’ve seen him in the Art Gallery with Rosa, but it wasn’t there. I know it was somewhere much more damaging than that.”

Tonino had no doubt that Rinaldo knew all sorts of damaging places. He took his book into the library, hoping that Rinaldo would not remember the place, and settled down in the chilly mustiness to read.

The next moment, Benvenuto landed on his book with a thump.

“Oh get off!” said Tonino. “I start school tomorrow, and I want to finish this first.”

No, said Benvenuto. Tonino was to go to Old Niccolo
at once
. A flurry of scrips, spells, yellow parchment rolls and then a row of huge red books passed behind Tonino’s eyes. It was followed by a storm of enormous images. Giants were running, banging, smoking and burning, and they all wore red and gold. But not yet. They were preparing to fight, marching in great huge boots. Benvenuto was so urgent that it took all Tonino’s skill to sort out what he meant.

“All right,” said Tonino. “I’ll tell him.” He got up and pelted round the gallery, past Rinaldo, who said, “What’s the hurry?” to Old Niccolo’s quarters. Old Niccolo was just coming out.

“Please,” said Tonino, “Benvenuto says to get out the war-spells. The Duke is calling up the Reserves.”

Old Niccolo stood so very quiet and wide-eyed that Tonino thought he did not believe it. Old Niccolo was feeling for the door-frame. He seemed to think it was missing.

“You did hear me, did you?” Tonino asked.

“Yes,” said Old Niccolo. “Yes, I heard. It’s just so soon—so sudden. I wish the Duke had warned us. So war is coming. Pray God our strength is still enough.”

Benvenuto’s news caused a stampede in the Casa Montana. The older cousins raced to the Scriptorium and began packing away all the usual spells, inks and pens. The aunts fetched out the special inks for use in war-spells. The uncles staggered under reams of fresh paper and parchment. Antonio, Old Niccolo and Rinaldo went to the library and fetched the giant red volumes, with
WAR
stamped on their spines, while Elizabeth raced to the music room with all the children to put away the ordinary music and set out the tunes and instruments of war.

Meanwhile, Rosa, Marco and Domenico raced out into the Via Magica and came back with newspapers. Everyone at once left what they were doing and crowded into the dining room to see what the papers said.

They made a pile of people, all craning over the table. Rinaldo was standing on a chair, leaning over three aunts. Marco was underneath, craning anxiously sideways, head to head with Old Niccolo, as Rosa flipped over the pages. There were so many other people packed in and leaning over that Lucia, Paolo and Tonino were forced to squat with their chins on the table, in order to see at all.

“No, nothing,” Rosa said, flipping over the second paper.

“Wait,” said Marco. “Look at the Stop Press.”

Everyone swayed towards it, pushing Marco further sideways. Then Tonino almost knew where he had seen Marco before.

“There it is,” said Antonio.

All the bodies came upright, with their faces very serious.

“Reserve mobilized, right enough,” said Rosa. “Oh, Marco!”

“What’s the matter?” Rinaldo asked jeeringly from his chair. “Is Marco a Reservist?”

“No,” said Marco. “My—my brother got me out of it.”

Rinaldo laughed. “What a patriot!”

Marco looked up at him. “I’m a Final Reservist,” he said, “and I hope you are too. If you aren’t, it will be a pleasure to take you around to the Army Office in the Arsenal this moment.”

The two glared at one another. Once again there were shouts to Rinaldo to stop making a fool of himself. Sulkily, Rinaldo climbed down and stalked out.

“Rinaldo is a Final Reservist,” Paolo assured Marco.

“I thought he must be,” Marco said. “Look, I must go. I—I must tell my brother. Rosa, I’ll see you tomorrow if I can.”

When Tonino fell asleep that night, the room next door to him was full of people talking of war and the
Angel of Caprona
, with occasional digressions about Rosa’s wedding dress. Tonino’s head was so full of these things that he was quite surprised, when he went to school, not to hear them talked of there. But no one seemed to have noticed there might be a war. True, some of the teachers looked grave, but that might have been just their natural feelings at the start of a new term.

Consequently, Tonino came home that afternoon thinking that maybe things were not so bad after all. As usual, Benvenuto leaped off the waterbutt and sprang into his arms. Tonino was rubbing his face against Benvenuto’s nearest ragged ear, when he heard a carriage draw up behind him. Benvenuto promptly squirmed out of Tonino’s arms. Tonino, very surprised, looked around to find him trotting, gently and politely, with his tail well up, towards a tall man who was just coming
in through the Casa gate.

Benvenuto stood, his brush of tail waving slightly at the tip, his hind legs canted slightly apart under his fluffy drawers, staring gravely at the tall man. Tonino thought peevishly that, from behind, Benvenuto often looked pretty silly. The man looked almost as bad. He was wearing an exceedingly expensive coat with a fur collar and a tweed traveling cap with daft earflaps. And he bowed to Benvenuto.

“Good afternoon, Benvenuto,” he said, as grave as Benvenuto himself. “I’m glad to see you so well. Yes, I’m very well thank you.”

Benvenuto advanced to rub himself around the stranger’s legs.

“No,” said the man. “I beg you. Your hairs come off.”

And Benvenuto stopped, without abating an ounce of his uncommon politeness.

By this time, Tonino was extremely resentful. This was the first time for years that Benvenuto had behaved as if anyone mattered more than Tonino. He raised his eyes accusingly to the stranger’s. He met eyes even darker than his own, which seemed to spill brilliance over the rest of the man’s smooth dark face. They gave Tonino a jolt, worse than the time the horses turned back to cardboard. He knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he was looking at a powerful enchanter.

“How do you do?” said the man. “No, despite your accusing glare, young man, I have never been able to understand cats—or not more than in the most general way. I wonder if you would be kind enough to translate for me what Benvenuto is saying.”

Tonino listened to Benvenuto. “He says he’s very pleased to see you again and welcome to the Casa Montana, sir.” The sir was from Benvenuto, not Tonino. Tonino was not sure he cared for strange enchanters who walked into the Casa and took up Benvenuto’s attention.

“Thank you, Benvenuto,” said the enchanter. “I’m very pleased to
be back. Though, frankly, I’ve seldom had such a difficult journey. Did you know your borders with Florence and Pisa were closed?” he asked Tonino. “I had to come in by sea from Genoa in the end.”

“Did you?” Tonino said, wondering if the man thought it was his fault. “Where did you come from then?”

“Oh, England,” said the man.

Tonino warmed to that. This then could not be the enchanter the Duke had talked about. Or could he? Tonino was not sure how far away enchanters could work from.

“Makes you feel better?” asked the man.

“Mother’s English,” Tonino admitted, feeling he was giving altogether too much away.

“Ah!” said the enchanter. “Now I know who you are. You’re Antonio the Younger, aren’t you? You were a baby when I saw you last, Tonino.”

Since there is no reply to that kind of remark, Tonino was glad to see Old Niccolo hastening across the yard, followed by Aunt Francesca and Uncle Lorenzo, with Antonio and several more of the family hurrying behind them. They closed round the enchanter, leaving Tonino and Benvenuto beyond, by the gate.

“Yes, I’ve just come from the Casa Petrocchi,” Tonino heard the stranger say. To his surprise, everyone accepted it, as if it were the most natural thing for the stranger to have done—as natural as the way he took off his ridiculous English hat to Aunt Francesca.

“But you’ll stay the night with us,” said Aunt Francesca.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” the stranger said.

In the distance, as if they already knew—as they unquestionably did in a place like the Casa Montana—Aunt Maria and Aunt Anna went clambering up the gallery steps to prepare the guest-room above. Aunt Gina emerged from the kitchen, held her hands up to
Heaven, and dashed indoors again. Thoughtfully, Tonino gathered up Benvenuto and asked exactly who this stranger was.

Chrestomanci, of course, he was told. The most powerful enchanter in the world.

“Is he the one who’s spoiling our spells?” Tonino asked suspiciously.

Chrestomanci, he was told—impatiently, be cause Benvenuto evidently thought Tonino was being very stupid—is always on our side.

Tonino looked at the stranger again—or rather, at his smooth dark head sticking out from among the shorter Montanas—and understood that Chrestomanci’s coming meant there was a crisis indeed.

The stranger must have said something about him. Tonino found them all looking at him, his family smiling lovingly. He smiled back shyly.

“Oh, he’s a good boy,” said Aunt Francesca.

Then they all surged, talking, across the yard. “What makes it particularly difficult,” Tonino heard Chrestomanci saying, “is that I am, first and foremost, an employee of the British Government. And Britain is keeping out of Italian affairs. But luckily I have a fairly wide brief.”

Almost at once, Aunt Gina shot out of the kitchen again. She had canceled the ordinary supper and started on a new one in honor of Chrestomanci. Six people were sent out at once for cakes and fruit, and two more for lettuce and cheese. Paolo, Corinna and Lucia were caught as they came in chatting from school and told to go at once to the butcher’s. But, at this point, Rinaldo erupted furiously from the Scriptorium.

“What do you mean, sending all the kids off like this!” he bawled from the gallery. “We’re up to our ears in war-spells here. I need copiers!”