Secret of Light (13 page)

The boy eyed her warily. “I didn't steal it — it was m' bruther.”

Darrell gave him a tired smile. “Don't worry. I'm only trying to learn the name of this bridge.”

A huge smile spread across his face, revealing all four front teeth missing. “
Ponte Vecchio
,” he replied promptly, adding, “I thought you was after me for the apple I took from the basket back there.”

Darrell released his grimy sleeve and her smile broadened. “Wasn't it your brother who took the apple?”

“Yeah, well it was for him that I took it.” He pointed to his gaping mouth. “Can't chew!” He dashed away, giving her a final impish grin over one shoulder.

Darrell laughed out loud, but immediately regretted it. Many of the merchants on the
Ponte Vecchio
were butchers, and they threw the offal from recently slaughtered animals and birds right into the river. This, Darrell thought, holding an almost completely useless lace handkerchief to her nose, probably accounted for the smell. How could a city so sumptuous in architecture smell so bad?

She hurried between the tiny shops and homes on the bridge and was soon across. The streets were beginning to empty, and a chill settled in the air. Though not the cool, rainy fall that she was used to, it was obviously autumn here in Florence, as well. Many trees were heavy with fruit and leaves were beginning to fall, making the ground treacherous for a girl balancing on a wooden leg.

The sun seemed to fall out of the sky and it became dark. Darrell's stomach rumbled and she felt ready to drop from exhaustion. Apart from the Arno behind her, she could not see a single familiar landmark. She stopped to rest on the wide, marble rim of a small fountain. Splashing water on her face made her feel better, though her stomach roared with hunger.

“We'd better find something to eat, Delaney,” she began, and then realized Delaney was no longer at her side. She looked up the street to see that he stood at the entrance to a small park. In the distance, Darrell could hear the notes of a stringed instrument, as though it were being tuned.

“Delaney!”

He barked once and stood his ground, tail wagging. Darrell got up and walked wearily over to the dog. As she neared him he barked again and dashed into the gated park. Muttering to herself about poorly trained dogs who wouldn't come when called, Darrell stepped in through the gate. As she entered the small park, the music she had heard while by the fountain swelled around her, and Delaney loped over and capered at her feet in a most undignified manner.

“Come on, Delaney, we've got to get —” Someone jostled her from behind, and in her tired state she nearly fell. Delaney dashed off again and Darrell felt her arm suddenly grasped.

“
Grazia
,” she said to the man who held her up.

“Your pardon,
signorina
. My fault entirely.” Even in the failing light, Darrell could see his face was red, and he held a large flagon of wine. “A torch!” he cried. “Light the torches! The sky darkens and I call for light!” Flames flared throughout the small park as candles were put to pitch and Darrell looked around with amazement to find she was in the midst of a celebration.

The park was larger than she had first thought, for its private entrance had been through a bower of low shrubbery, but inside it opened to a wider expanse, tree-lined and lush. A long swath of fabric had been draped over the branches and a few wooden posts along one side of the open area. Under this makeshift tent was a huge trestle table loaded with food.

Party guests were divided among those who milled around the table collecting food and those who had abandoned empty plates and had turned to dancing. Someone grasped her hand, and Darrell was pulled into an energetic group who spun and swirled and stomped the ground until it shook.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped to her partner, a girl who appeared to be a few years her junior, “I don't know this dance.” The girl smiled and twirled off, and Darrell had to step quickly to extricate herself without injury from the enthusiastic group. The music was played by a versatile foursome who, judging from the variety scattered
nearby, played at least fifteen or twenty instruments between them.

“The bride!” “The groom!” A landau swung into view, bearing a young couple who laughed and held on for dear life. They were paraded into the clearing on the shoulders of four strong young men, to the cheers of well-wishers in the party. The landau was set down with much fanfare, and the bride and groom got unsteadily to their feet. The bride wore a gown of vivid red silk, with slashes cut in the arms and skirt to reveal a heavy blue brocade. Tied around her waist was a small cloth bag that well-wishers filled with gold coins as she was whirled through the crowd. The groom, dressed equally colourfully, was spun off in another direction. Darrell smiled, wondering if the man who had bumped into her was the proud father of the pretty young girl who could not help laughing as she was twirled from one partner to the next.

“
Ne di Venere Ne di Marte non si sposa ne si parte
!” A tiny woman dressed fully in black with a glittering gold shawl over her shoulders shook a thick finger under Darrell's nose. “Neither marriage nor war will go away once you start,” she repeated, and her eyes twinkled as she pointed the same finger toward the food.

Darrell stepped nearer to the makeshift tent, drawn by the warmth and the smell of the food, and had a large clay plate thrust into her hands.

“Eat!” commanded the small woman. Darrell was relieved to hear that the woman seemed to greet everyone who approached the table with the same tone, and gratefully stepped forward to make her selection. Saliva flooded her mouth at the sight and smell of enormous
pots of rich beef stew, roasted chickens skewered and decorated with apples and plums, and what appeared to be a large tart made with onions and sausage.

Signs of a fruitful fall harvest were everywhere. Baskets of peaches dotted the table, and a large barrel entirely filled with grapes of many colours sat on the ground. Wooden platters loaded with cheese and bread were being continually replenished by a gleeful group of girls who all looked to be under ten years old.

Darrell set her loaded plate down and sat gratefully at a nearby table. She reached under the elaborately embroidered cloth to feed Delaney a piece of chicken from her plate, but it was snatched from her fingers by another dog. She looked around but couldn't see Delaney anywhere.
Guess he'll have to look after himself
. She turned ravenously to her meal. A large bonfire had been lit on one side of the park, and as she ate, Darrell watched small children run and dance around it, vibrant silhouettes against the flames.

Her stomach full, and her sore leg somewhat rested, Darrell wandered through the celebration in search of Delaney. Dogs ran to and fro with the children, and by this time the party numbered in the hundreds as neighbours and friends greeted each other with shouts and effusive rituals involving much bowing and kissing. Darrell smiled at the elaborate display and sat down on a pile of straw near the fire to wait for Delaney.

I'll just warm up for a moment and then I'll ask someone for directions back to Verrocchio's home. And this time I'll write them down.

It was the creeping cold that first made Darrell aware things were not as they should be. It pushed into her brain by way of the toes on her left foot and the fingers of both hands. She awoke with a start in the first light of dawn to find Delaney once more curled at her side, the fire out, and a group of old women in black chattering merrily as they gathered the dishes and cleaned up after the feast.

With a sinking heart, Darrell realized she had slept the night through. She struggled to stand and discovered someone had wrapped her in a heavy woollen cloak as she slept. Delaney was slow to rise, and as he stood, Darrell noticed he was covered in mud.

“What have
you
been into?” she whispered, as Delaney thumped his tail on the ground and yawned cavernously. She limped over to where the grandmothers bobbed like old crows as they tidied away the remains of the feast.

“Sleep well?”

Startled, Darrell looked into the twinkling eyes of the old woman in the gold shawl who had commanded her to eat the night before. She nodded and the woman took the cloak from Darrell and folded it away with a practiced hand.

On impulse Darrell spoke. “I need to find the studio of the artist Leonardo. Do you know where it is?”

The old one nodded and smiled, showing bright pink gums home to a single yellow tooth. She pointed up the street behind the small park. “Up that way, young woman. A low, white building. Look for the stone lion.” She pursed her lips. “Surely you do not travel unaccompanied? It is not safe on the streets of the city alone. Where is your mama?”

Darrell's mind still felt fuzzy with sleep. “My mother isn't here. I'm — I'm meeting someone at Leonardo's. I got a little lost yesterday.”

The old one narrowed her eyes. “If there were not so much to do, I would take you myself. I do not like to see young women wandering the streets alone. It is not seemly.”

“I'll be fine.” Darrell tried to make her voice sound convincing. “I have my dog to keep me safe. You told me it isn't far?”

The old woman nodded reluctantly. As she looked like she might be ready to chastise again, Darrell quickly nodded her thanks and hurried off. At the park gate she gave a final wave to the tiny, black figure and followed Delaney through the trees into the grey morning light.

The sun had fully risen by the time Darrell had worked the stiffness from sleeping on a pile of straw out of her arms and legs. In spite of the stiffness, her legs felt rested, and she walked with new energy through the crowds of people going about their morning business. Unaccompanied except by Delaney, she felt many eyes on her, some curious, others strangely hostile. One man, bearing an apparently heavy wooden crate across his back, leered at Darrell and blew a couple of juicy kisses in her direction. She hurried off, beginning to feel quite self-conscious. Just then her attention was drawn to the figure of a large, elegantly dressed man pacing impatiently at the front door of a low, white building.

A stone lion! Darrell stopped for a moment to brush as much of the previous day's dust and straw off her skirts as she could. Delaney at her side, she clutched her walking stick tightly and hurried to stand near the door. Glancing down the lane, she realized the low building was no more than a city block or two from Verrocchio's home. The thought made her groan in frustration.

“A last tour of the city, you say?” The noble's voice thundered, and the servant at the door cowered under his black glance. In spite of the warmth of the early morning, the noble wore a soft scarlet hat and matching cloak trimmed in gold, with a white ruffled collar cascading down the front and a lush fur cape over his shoulders.

“I am the
Duca Lodovico Sforza
, his new
padrone
. He was to meet me here.” He raised an imperious eyebrow. “We had an arrangement.”

The servant seemed unable to raise his head.

The duke shook a fist in the air. “These artists — they are so temperamental. When he comes to
Milano
, he must put such things aside and create the machines and engines of war he has promised me.” He thrust his scarlet cloak to one side and rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“He is not here, sire,” the servant repeated. “All his belongings have been sent to your lodging in the
Piazza Del Duomo
. He said his farewells yesterday. I expected he would stay last night with you, Your Excellency.”

All his things packed?
Any plan she'd had of getting a look at Leonardo's notebooks evaporated, and Darrell slumped against the wall. Delaney pushed his head into her hand, but she could find no comfort in the touch of his soft fur.
Milan!
She racked her brain.
Why had Leonardo gone to Milan?

“Ah. All is well, then. He must be waiting for me at my lodgings.” The noble spun on his heel to leave, sidestepping abruptly to avoid bumping into Darrell. He muttered something low in his throat, and was gone with a swirl of his cloak and a clank of his sword. His carriage rattled off down the lane.

There was only one hope left. If she could speak with Leonardo before he left, perhaps she could somehow persuade him to tell her his theory of time travel. She stepped forward and put her hand on the door before the servant could swing it closed.

“Excuse me,
signore
. I have a message for Leonardo from — from his old teacher Verrocchio. I must get it to him before he leaves.”

“I'm sorry,
signorina
. As I told the duke, Master Leonardo has already left. He said he wanted to spend time taking a final glimpse of the city that has been his home for so many years.”

Darrell nodded. “Yes, I heard. But if you can tell me where the duke is lodging, perhaps I may find your master there.”

“The duke has rooms in the
Piazza Del Duomo
. It is not far, just down the lane to the
piazza
. Look for the cathedral dome.”

Darrell's heart lifted. She repeated the directions to the duke's lodgings and set off into the growing warmth of the morning, Delaney wagging his still muddy tail.

Darrell located the
piazza
easily enough, for the dome could be seen for miles in every direction. It was clearly the tallest structure in this part of Florence, and she had passed it several times yesterday. Her fingers itched for her charcoal and paper as the morning cast its light on the vivid colours of the beautiful city. But all thoughts of drawing evaporated as she stepped onto the cobblestoned surface of the square in front of the dome and saw the duke's carriage pulled up in front of an elaborately designed house along one side of the square. As she began to cross the busy
piazza
, Delaney barked and tore off in the other direction.