Secret of Light (14 page)

Darrell hurried after the dog as he headed around the corner, thinking that she was going to need to find a leash if he kept running off like this. In the long shadow cast by the dome of the cathedral, she could see
Delaney seated at the feet of a striking man of about thirty, balding on top but with long, reddish-brown hair caught up in a ponytail at his neck. The man sat on a stone bench outside the cathedral, breadcrumbs scattered at his feet. A tall nobleman with tousled dark hair and mud-spattered clothes stood next to him.

Her heart thumping, Darrell walked slowly to the bench.

“Your dog has frightened away all my pigeons,” the seated man said, running his hand along Delaney's back fondly, nonetheless.

Darrell felt tongue-tied. She could see only a glimpse of the boy from her first journey in the man he had become. After searching for so long, now that she had found him it was as if her words had deserted her.

“Sir, I have been looking for you for two days,” she said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“Have you?” He lifted his large hand off the dog's head and gestured at the sky. “I have been walking through my city,” he said, swinging his hand down and patting the bench, “and saying goodbye to an old friend.”

Leonardo looked more closely at Darrell as she sat down gratefully. “Are you the daughter of Don Genova? Or perhaps Don Corleone? I feel that I know your face.” He looked around. “And where is your chaperone? Surely you do not travel alone in this vast city?”

Darrell swallowed uncomfortably. “My parents are in — in the Duomo, praying for our safe return to Verona,” she said, feeling her face flush. “I crept away when I saw you seated here, hoping that I might steal a moment of your time.”

Leonardo's face was melancholy. He gazed unseeingly for a moment into the busy square, but when he spoke his voice was harsh. “Why is it you seek me out and do not allow a man to bid farewell to his home and his friend in peace?”

“I just wanted to ask about your work,” she said, feeling unsure how to begin. “But — can you tell me first why you are leaving Florence?”

“It is time to move on. My work is no longer
apprezzato
— appreciated in this place.” He snapped his fingers dismissively.

Darrell felt surprised. “How can you say that? Look at all you have accomplished...”

“It is as nothing,” he interrupted. “My
padroni
, the Medici family, turn their attentions to the upstart Michelangelo. He is not even from
Firenze
. They shower his works with attention and money. Pah!” He spat on the ground.

Darrell carefully tucked her long skirts out of the way and decided this was not the time to remind Leonardo that he had been born in the nearby town of
Vinci
and was no more a native of
Firenze
than she.

From off his shoulder he drew a finely wrought leather satchel and rummaged around inside to produce a plain leather notebook, with an ornate letter “L” raised in relief on the cover. He tossed the satchel in her lap and flourished the notebook. Two pens, some red chalk, and a small bottle of ink dropped out of the bag, and she clutched the satchel to stop it from falling. The ink bottle shattered, spraying Leonardo's boots. He kicked the shards of glass away impatiently.

“This morning these notes were returned to me, after being stolen to be sold to the highest bidder. Perhaps it was the upstart Michelangelo who tried to steal my ideas. Who knows? My thoughts, my dreams — nearly stolen forever. But thanks to my oldest friend, Giovanni, they are back safe in my keeping.”

Of course!
Darrell looked again at the tall noble, and the memory of his teenage features and vivid blue eyes came flooding back.
His eyes remind me of his grandfather,
she thought
,
a strange feeling settling into her stomach.

Leonardo brandished the notebook under Darrell's nose. “See all that was nearly lost to me?” He flipped through the pages like a man possessed. “A complete underground waterworks system — a furnace fired by hydraulics — a cross-bow that can kill many men with a single shot — a flying machine.”

“My friend, you must take better care with your ideas — and your notebooks.” Giovanni spoke to Leonardo but grinned at Darrell. “Just last evening, I had to take back this very notebook from an unscrupulous criminal. He was ready to sell it to some cheap imitator of my friend's ideas, and it was no easy task to dissuade him.” He clasped Leonardo by the hand. “Guard your secrets well, my friend. There are many who would pay a fine coin to see your deepest musings and your private projects.”

Giovanni caught Darrell's gaze once more with his vivid blue eyes and smiled. “Did you miss your most amiable companion last evening?” he asked, as he reached over and ruffled Delaney's fur. “For when I most had need of help, I turned and found him by my side.”

“
My
dog?” Darrell reached over to stroke Delaney's soft head and remembered her long wait for him by the fire at the wedding.

Giovanni stood and struck a self-mockingly dramatic pose, though he had trouble suppressing a grin. “When my friend told me of the stolen notebook and of the threat to sell it, I was incensed. I leapt on my horse and galloped off to stop this nefarious deed.”

Leonardo rolled his eyes at Darrell. “I was packaging up my belongings, so I begged him to go in my stead.”

Giovanni raised his eyebrow. “Do not ruin a good story, Leo.” He cleared his throat dramatically and gazed off into the distance. A small girl, her clothes black with dirt, crept away from the skirts of her mother, who was begging on the steps of the cathedral. The tiny girl stood with her mouth open and her eyes glued to Giovanni.

“On I rode through the darkness, fear in my heart, until at last I came upon the small inn where the villain had said he would meet Leonardo. As I tied my horse outside, your friend here,” he looked down fondly at Delaney, “crept up beside me and put his head under my hand. It was as if he had arrived to help me in my quest.” Several other children gathered around Giovanni's feet, and his eyes twinkled briefly at Darrell before he resumed his narrative.

“The inn was dark, and stank of sour ale, spoiled food — and worse. A small fire that crackled in a soot-smudged fireplace provided the only light. Uncounted numbers sat around in the dark, drinking ale and muttering. I called for the innkeeper to bring out his lamp, but just as he set the thing on the long wooden counter,
the door blew open and a wind, cold as death, whistled through the room.”

The tiny girl at Giovanni's feet gasped. Leonardo shook his head indulgently. “Get on with it, if you must,” he said gruffly, trying unsuccessfully to disguise his own interest.

Giovanni bent over, clearly playing to his rapt audience. “‘It's not a time for light, but for darkness,' came a voice from the doorway, and silence dropped over the room like a shroud.”

He puffed up his chest and resumed his heroic stance. “‘I do not fear to show my face in the light,' I said, and looked around the assembled company.”

Giovanni turned his glance to Darrell, clear blue eyes aglow. “I readied myself for the bargaining when who should pad in through the open doorway but my friend here. He leaned firmly against my knee. As we stood bathed in the light of the fire, shadows dancing wildly on the wall behind us, I knew all would be well, for I had a noble partner in this terrible endeavour.”

The crowd gathered around Giovanni's feet nodded and smiled at each other appreciatively.

He pulled his features into a vicious grimace. “The voice from the door snarled ‘Get that stinking cur out of here.' Something caught the corner of my eye, and I turned my head in time to see a clay pint pot flying through the air at the dog. I caught the pint pot with ease, and swung it onto the worn wooden table that served as a counter.”

Giovanni bent down and lifted one of Delaney's ears. The dog's tail thumped. “‘In the corner,
mia cane
,'
I whispered, and stood up to face the man at the door. I recognized him. His name is Salvatore and he is known in
Firenze
as a petty thief and a pickpocket. A young man but not a good man. I knew when I looked in his eyes that I would need all the wiles of my own brain and that of my noble partner to triumph.

“‘You bring a cold wind, Salvatore. Is it bad news you have for me as well?' Salvatore sneered and stepped into the lamplight. I could see his dirt-streaked face, marked with a livid red scar searing across one cheek and down his jawline. He is no older than I, but clearly his years have been hard.

“‘I hope it's gold you have brought for me tonight,
mio signore
,' he spat, ‘or the news will be nothing but bad.' He ducked his head toward the dark corner. ‘That dog marks you,
signore
. And one thievin' beast exposes another, so they say.'

“I laughed at him. ‘The dog belongs to a friend, and he's simply here — to keep me company.' I pointed at Sal's smirking face. ‘From the look of you, you've fought a recent battle or two since I've seen you last.'

“Salvatore's mouth pushed more deeply down at the corners, if that be possible, and he spat a wad of phlegm into the straw at the my feet. ‘Just nicked m'self as I sent a lesser man to his maker,' he whispered. ‘He arrived without the gold he promised me, and paid the price for his mistake.'”

Giovanni wrinkled his nose. “The fellow sickened me with his smell, and I had no further patience for his words. ‘I have your gold, man. Have you got that which I seek?'

“‘Maybe so. The gold first,
mio signore.
' He stuck his hand in my face.”

Giovanni straightened his back and narrowed his eyes. “‘I don't pay for what I can't see.' Salvatore snarled and spat again, but he pulled a slim volume out of his sleeve. My heart leapt! I took the book, gently opened it, and traced my finger over the name inscribed on the flyleaf.”

Leonardo grinned up at Giovanni. “Success at last, my good friend!”

Giovanni shook his head. “Not yet, I fear. I flipped through the book and the firelight danced on the pages. I turned to Salvatore.

“‘This is a prize worth more to me than jewels,' I told him, and tossed the small bag of coins you had given me, Leonardo. The bag clinked as it landed at his feet and he dropped to his knees to retrieve it.

“The bag disappeared into the same sleeve from which the book had come. For the first time he broke into a grin himself, his mouth missing more than half its teeth, the others black with rot.”

The children groaned appreciatively, but Giovanni shook his head.

“Alas! My joy at finding the book led me to forget to remain alert. While I read through Leonardo's notebook, Salvatore spoke. ‘Did I not mention the price has increased?' he chortled, and I became all too aware that two of his cronies had crept up behind me, as I felt the sharp point of a knife behind each ear.”

The children gasped in horror, but Leonardo leaned back on the bench and raised his eyebrows.

Giovanni's face took on crafty expression, and as he gazed down over his audience, he flexed his knees slightly. “I showed nothing on my face, but readied myself for whatever was to come. I looked down at Sal, chuckling and still on his knees in the filthy straw that covered the dirt floor.

“‘I know you to be a man without honour,' I said quietly. ‘I should have expected no less.'

“‘You should have known better,' he mocked me, struggling to his feet. ‘But a greater man than you has need of this same prize.' He snatched the volume out of my hands. ‘Yet, why either of you value words over gold, I cannot fathom.' He jerked his head, and the two men with knives clutched my arms with iron grip. ‘You know what needs be done,' he told them. ‘The usual spot.'”

Giovanni grinned and held his arms back to show how he had been pinned. “My arms felt close to breaking, but I gave no sign. ‘The usual spot, Sal? Don't you have a more special place planned — for me and my dog?'”

He gave a piercing whistle and the whole group jumped. Delaney sat up alertly and the children laughed. “From the dark corner a missile came flying, planting two front paws between Sal's shoulder blades. Salvatore went down hard, his head glancing off the flagstone hearth. Taking advantage of my moment of surprise, I gave a mighty heave of my arms,” Giovanni mimed this action to the delight of his audience, “and with a sickening crack, smashed together the skulls of the two men who held me. They slapped to the floor like dead codfish.”

The children laughed aloud and one little boy clapped his hands enthusiastically.

Giovanni grinned. “I shook out my tingling arms and scooped the book out of the straw. Stepping over the prone bodies of the men on the floor, I strode to the door of the inn, the dog at my heels. I looked back at the scene behind me: two thugs unconscious on the floor, and Salvatore struggling to his feet with filth and straw all over his clothes.

“‘Keep the gold, Sal. I always pay my due.'

“Salvatore looked down at the two bodies still prostrate on the grimy floor. ‘Some filthy book, all marked over in unreadable scrawl.' He shrugged. ‘But still — I believe I got the best of the bargain.'”

Giovanni grinned at the group, now numbering at least twenty. “As my friend here will confirm, I could not agree less.”

He looked down at Darrell. “Outside I mounted my horse and called to the dog. ‘
Mia cane
! Time now to ride like the wind and return this prize to my friend, so that he may continue his work in peace.' And you know,” he added, his voice low, “the dog barked just as if he understood my words and chased my galloping horse all the way home through the black and windy night.”

He bowed flamboyantly and sat down on the bench beside Darrell to much cheering and applause.