Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) (10 page)

Once the mushrooms were chopped and the chicken naked, Margherita began to prepare the day’s first meal. “It’s your turn to sweep the workshop,” she said while she picked some dried oregano from an overhanging bushel. Dreading any encounter with Salai, I walked quickly into the workshop, trying to avoid anyone’s eyes.

Little Renzo made my lame attempt impossible when he reached for my hand. When he let go he went off to finish his task by the oven. The workshop was not too loud, as they all seemed to be involved in quieter tasks like painting or drawing. The apprentices courteously moved their feet and models out of the broom's path as I made my way around the large room. The burning oven made a warm haze that rose and traveled to the rest of the studio. A few boys were making a constant crunching noise as they ground plants with their mortar and pestle. The redheaded boy next to Leonardo was mixing egg, vinegar, and a rainbow of powders to create singular hues of color.

When I reached Perugino’s table he had a heavy piece of navy velvet fabric stretched across his table. “I thought I smelled lovely flower.” He chuckled. “How are you doing on this fine day?”

“Well, thank you, and yourself?” I replied, sweeping underneath his workbench.

“Hungry but splendid, the usual,” he added cheerfully.

“What are you working on?”

“A young lord’s banner for the upcoming tournament … It will be a portrait of his young love.” Perugino was using chalk to trace the contours of the girl’s face. “Don’t judge me just yet. I have only just started,” he said playfully after he realized my interest. “We always get several commissions like this from young men when tournaments are approaching. They have their coat of arms and beautiful ladies painted on their banner. This way, the crowds can marvel at their nobility and lovely lady as they ride in on their excellent steed.”

“You paint a spectacular sight,” I said encouragingly.

“I do my best, but you will see it for yourself, surely. If I am not mistaken … it is three days hence.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You don’t by any chance know where Margherita hid the wine today?” His question made me smile and I assured him she had not shared its hiding place with me. He looked slightly disappointed. “It is probably for the best.”

“I will leave you to your work.”

“Also, probably for the best … We wouldn’t want to upset our young noble with an unfinished banner, correct?”

“Correct,” I agreed, finishing my chore.

The hours of scrubbing and polishing went by quickly with the aid of Margherita or Renzo’s conversation. Later in the afternoon Verrocchio came into the kitchen to check up on me and see how I was getting along. For a brief moment I thought this was my chance to confess what I saw earlier that morning, but the opportunity came and went. Before long Leonardo tapped me on the shoulder and it was time to walk home.

While we trod through the black slush, Leonardo told me about a commission the workshop had received to crown the Duomo. He was talking breathlessly about the copper orb that Verrocchio was planning. If possible, Leonardo was even more excited about the mechanism he was designing to raise the orb to the very top of the dome. As we approached Zia’s neighborhood, a steady and thick cloud began to hover above the street. The smell was intoxicating.

“That is all very good news, Leo, but don’t forget about the Baptism painting.”

“I haven’t,” he said unconvincingly.

“Where is all that smoke coming from?”

“Not sure, it could be anything. Let’s go check it out.” We started to move rapidly towards the direction of the black eruption of smoke. It was slow progress as many people and animals moved in the opposite direction. When we arrived at the source my cold hand sought solace with my warm breath. A mass of people crowded around a burning house. The crackling sound of fire licking at the wooden remains was eerie. Several people were coughing, crying, and supporting loved ones for their loss. Spectators carried buckets of dirt and water just in case the fire decided to attack their own homes. Grabbing Leonardo’s hand, I urged him to leave the miserable scene.

For minutes later all I could smell was burning wood. Salai’s threat from this morning bounced off the walls of my skull.

“What was that?”

“Someone must have died in the house from the Moria, or it could be the health inspectors were tipped off about the house containing bad airs. Or it could be an accident.”

“So they burned it down, just because someone told them it had bad airs coming from it?”

“It’s likely.”

“You’re telling me that anyone could go to the health inspectors and say, ‘I think my neighbor’s house smells like death’ and then they will just burn it down?” I asked. Leonardo looked equally disturbed by the scenario.

“Well, they are supposed to inspect it but … no one wants to get the Moria. So to them it’s the safest course.”

The thought of Zia standing outside of the only thing she had as it burned down in front of her brought me close to tears. Eager to be alone, I waved a curt goodbye to Leonardo. Zia was sitting down at needlework when I entered the house. Once I pulled up a chair close to her, Zia asked how my day had gone and what kind of spices Margherita uses to cook. While she talked of her encounter with a fish merchant, I stared lovingly at our surroundings. With the wood furniture and ceiling, Zia’s home would be cinders in seconds.

“Viola, I would be grateful to you if you check in on how Georgina is doing with her eggs.” Exhausted, I dragged my feet down the steps of the pantry and outside to the little alley where the chicken was resting. She had two eggs waiting for me on a makeshift shelf. Finding myself quite alone, I sat on the step and took out the letter.

By now, you must have reasoned that Idan is counting the days until the door and time loop will reopen. You MUST go through the door with Idan at dawn on the last day. There is only a small window of opportunity when the passage will lead you forward so be sure to be punctual. If you manage to get back, it will lead you to the gallery, exactly ten minutes after you went behind the painting.

A warning, Idan is very sensitive and possesses a mind of its own. The time may change drastically from one moment to the next. Therefore, be sure to keep a close eye on your precarious companion.

Although there was no signature, I had a good idea who it was from. I slowly tore up the heavy paper and scattered its fragments through the open gaps in Georgina’s coop. With the two eggs, I walked back inside the house with a heart filled with anxiety.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mice

My eyes opened before the sun could call on Via dei Benci. The restless night had been cold in spite of the woolen blankets piled on top of me. For hours I lay on my belly staring out at the modest view the window offered. The half-moon’s face illuminated the patchwork of empty roof tops clumped across the skyline. Every now and then a gang of boys would pass by the deserted street, singing slurred songs of love. Usually when I couldn’t sleep, I would sneak onto the roof of my apartment building. Sleeping bag in tow, I would stare at the thousands of twinkles arising from the city and count their constellations until I fell asleep.

Once I pulled on my green sweater and an extra pair of socks, I tiptoed through the darkness down to the kitchen. With a flint, I lit a few candles and started to boil some water for me and some milk for Leonardo. From the cupboard I grabbed some dried fruit and honey. While I waited for my tea to cool, I opened Idan’s gold covering. After reading the mysterious letter, I decided to wear Idan around my neck always. It was too great a risk not to. The number 27 told me that Idan was sticking to its day-by-day countdown. So many days... it seemed an eternity.

The curt letter’s red seal and my own instinct told me the letter came from Mrs. Reed. It was good to know she hadn’t totally abandoned me and that my dad wouldn’t be worried sick. The scuffle of footsteps approaching prompted me to get up and look out the window.  Leonardo’s broad back was leaning against the door as he gnawed on an apple core. When I opened the door, he looked pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you, Viola! Florence froze overnight,” he said, stepping into the house.

“Why are you up so early again?”

“Well, truth be told, I do not sleep a whole lot. In fact, sometimes I feel like I am always awake while the rest of the world is asleep. Not only physically but metaphorically,” he admitted, scratching the shadow of his growing beard. “That and I thought you would get behind if I were any later … Is that milk?”

“Yes, it is.” I shot him a skeptical look.

“Excellent,” he said, pouring the cream into a ceramic cup.

“There is more if you like. Zia was worried she would not be able to keep up with your thirst so she bought a cow. It’s waiting in the back alley and armed to fill all your thirsty needs,” I joked and his eyes crinkled.

“So she has a sense of humor after all.” Leo took a sip and white foam hung to his upper lip. “I hope this means that you are coming out of your shell. If that’s the case, be sure to slip a secret or two my way while you’re at it.”

“I will when the time is right. Scout’s honor.”

“What are
scouz
?”

“Never mind … and I do too have a sense of humor. I’m just shy is all.”

“Shy? No, you are too curious to be shy. I think it is something else.”

“What do you mean it’s something else?”

“What you call your shyness.”

“What is it then?” I asked, trying hard not to sound defensive. Taking a sip of my cold tea, I braced myself for the blow.

“You’re scared.” He shrugged.

“Yesterday … I might have seemed—”

“No,” he interrupted. “Since the day I sat next to you, I saw it. Your frightened blue eye and your brave brown eye are having a fierce competition. I’m curious to see which one will win.”

Leonardo had surprisingly put his finger on the real interior battle that warred within me. It was as if I was having a conversation with my subconscious.

“What is it I’m frightened of?” I asked, taking another sip of my tea. Light crept through the windowpanes and under the muslin curtains.

“Life,” he said plainly.        

“That’s going a bit far.”

“It’s not going far enough.” He stood up to serve himself another glass of milk. “You are scared to walk out that front door and even more worried about what time you will walk back through it. Not to mention that you are petrified of Salai … In that there might be some sense,” he paused to see the effect his speech was having on me. I was nervously biting my fingernails. “Before you say anything, you hesitate because you are scared that you will hurt someone’s feelings or that you may say something wrong.”

“Sounds like you have me all figured out,” I snapped. Unfortunately he was right and I felt like a coward. The last sip of my sweet brew left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I stood to put my cup in the basin, but Leo followed me and put his arm around me.

“Don’t take it badly … but you should take it to heart,” he said while engaging his most charming smile.

“I know you are right, and I know I needed to hear it, but it’s hard to listen to all the same.”

“Come on and get dressed! We have a stop to make before the workshop.”

“I don’t really—”

He shot me a stern look and pointed to the stairs. Not wanting to seem any lamer than I already did, I dragged my feet up the stairs. Zia was at the top of the platform.

“Why are you up so early?” she asked, squinting through the early morning dust. “Is that young Leonardo I heard downstairs?”

“Yes, he is waiting to take me to the workshop so I need to hurry and get dressed.”

“That’s a good girl,” she said to herself as she stifled a yawn.

It took me a little longer because of the laces on the sleeves, but we left the house with plenty of time to spare. The morning was bright despite the overcast sky that hung over us. We hurried past two young men tinkering with a tall ladder. They were setting up a garland of pink and lavender flowers that hung across the street. The blond boy got distracted and lost his step.

“Keep your eyes on your ladder and your mind on your bride, my friend,” Leonardo called over his shoulder to the fallen boy. The man’s companion bent over in laughter. “Can’t take you anywhere, Viola,” he teased cheerfully.

“Hope he’s okay,” I said embarrassed. “How do you know he has a bride?”

“That is what the garland is for … She must live on Via dei Benci.” We continued our walk past the Piazza Signoria until we reached a church called San Pierto Scheraggi.

It was hard to believe the scene unfolding in front of the church’s small plaza. “Ciao Jacopo!” called Leonardo giving the burly giant of a man a hug.

“How is your father?” asked Jacopo.

“Tolerably well, still no brothers or sisters, but all good things come in time. How is your lady?”

“She is sassy today,” he said, pointing to the great lioness in the cage.

She was sitting upright in all her glory. Amber eyes hid beneath her lulling eyelashes. Although she appeared tranquil, her rounded ears were alert. Her sandy fur moved up and down with each heavy breath. The cage that imprisoned the lioness was the exact reason I never liked going to the zoo. Even though trapped, she radiated power and majesty. Bold children were playing with a tiny cage near the lioness. Through its wooden bars, I could make out several fuzzy field mice. Both boys of four or five years old were giggling and probing the helpless mice with sticks. “Those are treats for when she behaves.” Jacopo sighed, sitting back on his oversized chair. With his teeth he ripped a chunk of salami and placed it back on the small table’s still life of mugs, cards, and a coiled whip.

“Where is her other half?” asked Leonardo.

“Not here, and it’s a good thing too. The lion usually upsets her,” grumbled Jacopo as he took a swig from his water skin. Scarlet drops dripped down his double chin and onto his long brown tunic.

“The lion is the symbol of Florence. When she has cubs, it is considered a sign of good luck for the city,” said Leonardo, staring at the tranquil lioness. “Personally, I hate this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t stand or justify the idea of causing unnecessary suffering of animals. People can judge me all they wish, but I won’t partake in the beastly ritual of eating animals … It’s just wrong to me.”

“Why did you bring me here, then?”

“It’s a metaphor, Viola,” he replied as if it was obvious. “Assuming you had to be one of the two, the mouse or the lioness, which would you choose?”

“The lioness, of course,” I said, understanding what he was getting at.

“If that’s the case … be her.” He turned to walk in the direction of the workshop.

Following behind, I mulled over his words. Honestly, I wanted to be the lioness, but at the moment I was most definitely one of the many field mice. Salai, Mrs. Reed, and Idan were the sticks poking at my sides and causing me to scurry around in anxiety.

“Are you happy with your work in the workshop?” His questions broke my train of thought.

“Everyone is very nice and Margherita is sweet.”

“That she is. Did you know that you would make a magnificent politician?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you have an uncanny way of not answering my questions,” he jeered. “Let me put it another way. Would you be content with cleaning and cooking for the rest of your days?” There was a brief pause. It was difficult to have a serious conversation as we weaved through food carts. “You are hesitating.”

“No, I’m not!” I protested.

“Just say it.”

“No, I wouldn’t be happy.”

“There it is,” he said with a gratified grin.

“No, the truth is I don’t want to be doing this job at all. I want to be an apprentice.”

“Why don’t you tell Verrocchio, then?”

“There are no other girls working as apprentices.”

“Even better. You would be carving the path … I think you would be surprised to find how open-minded he can be.”

“I don’t really think this is fair.”

“What?” he asked.

“You could take a lesson from the lioness as well,” I said, meeting his sideways glance. “Why haven’t you asked Verrocchio about finishing the angel in the Baptism of Christ painting? You told me you wanted to paint the angel in oil.”

Leonardo opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. We turned the corner on the industrious street of the workshop, but Leonardo stopped in front of the canopy.

“He has yet to allow me to paint figures,” he admitted with crossed arms.

“But he chose your drawing of me in the library only a few days ago.”

“Exactly! Drawing …” He strode under the workshop’s canopy.

“You would be surprised how open-minded he is,” I mimicked before we separated at the foot of the stairs.

Once I left my satchel under Margherita’s mattress, I rushed downstairs to meet her in the kitchen. The steam that rose from the boiling cannellini beans converted the stone room into a warm sanctuary. While I peeled a tower of ripe tomatoes, the sound of Margherita’s heavy breathing thickened the air.

“Are you all right, Margherita?” I asked.

When I turned around her eyes were squinting in pain. One of her small hands slowly turned the stew with a wooden spoon while the other rubbed the underside of her belly.

“Yes … I have just been getting these pains. I think—” She was interrupted by the quick skip of little Renzo.

“Viola, there is someone waiting for you in the courtyard,” he said in a quiet voice.

Margherita and I both turned around to see who it was. Although the windows were foggy, we could both make out the tall but lean figure of a finely dressed man. His hands twisted behind him as he impatiently paced the humble courtyard.

“Is that...?”

“Yes, it is,” I said, suddenly hyper aware of my coarse brown dress and the red pulp under my fingernails.

I tried to rub off the smell of the tomatoes and garlic with some of the lavender soap in the basin. After untying the handkerchief from around my head, I attempted to tuck the loose pieces back into the braid.

“But why would he want to see you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

My cheeks felt hot. In an attempt to cool their color, I splashed some of the chilly water on my face. Margherita helped me undo the knot in my apron that my fumbling fingers failed to do.

“There you are,” said Giuliano as I walked through the courtyard. The deep purple of his velvet tunic and the dark fur lining of his cape gave him a regal appearance.

“What a nice surprise,” I admitted.

“Why are you surprised?”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” I explained.

“Don’t you remember what I told you when we parted?”

Even though I did, I shook my head. His handsome hands reached for my own, but they were wrapped in an attempt to keep me from fidgeting. When he untied them, he held my hands as if they were ice sculptures that would melt against his warm palms.

“I said we would see each other quite soon.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I looked up at him. His almond eyes had hazel flecks. The faint lines that surrounded them spoke tales of laughter. Although I was nervous, I could meet his gaze, which was something I had been unable to do.

“Here we are.” I broke the silence.

“Well … I … just wanted to see you and hear your strange accent.”

“I thought it was getting better.”

“It is, but don’t work on it too much. I like it just the way it is … I also came to give you this,” he said as he withdrew a bulky envelope.

“What is it?”

“Something from my brother,” he said

“Thank you.”

It was strange how different they were. Giuliano was so charming and easy to talk to, whereas Lorenzo was intimidating at best. Although I knew these papers meant to help me, I felt uncomfortably indebted.

“You can thank me by coming to the tournament on Sunday.”

“Some of the apprentices have been telling me about it. From all they’ve said, I would like to see it.”

“I can arrange it for you … if you’d like. I do know where you live, after all.” He grinned.

“No, that’s all right. I’m sure I can manage it,” I replied.

“Brilliant,” he said, moving closer. Little Renzo ran into the courtyard with a package for Giuliano. Embarrassed, I slipped my hands away from his.

In a soft voice he said, “Thank you, little one.” Renzo did not appear to like the nickname “little one,” even if it was coming from the unofficial prince of Florence.

“Well then, I will see you at the tournament?”

“You will,” I agreed.

“Until Sunday then,” he said with a slight bow and turned on the heels of his tall boots.

As I walked back into the kitchen, I slipped the envelope into the apron pocket. When I stepped through the doorframe, the whole workshop had been crowded around the foggy window.

“Hey! Whatever happened to a thing called privacy?”

“Never heard of such a thing!” exclaimed Perugino. “We tried to stop Renzo, but he couldn’t take it anymore and burst out onto the courtyard.” All the boys erupted in laughter. One by one they left the room with mocking jokes and reenactments.

Margherita offered me a pleasant smile. “Viola, please set the table.” Once the plates and silverware were stacked and my arms loaded, Margherita stopped me. “Be careful there.”

“I have only broken one thing in two days!” I protested.

“No, I mean with the young Medici.”

“Oh yes … well, I’m not sure why he keeps talking to me. I think he’s just curious.”

“Well, I didn’t know why either, but now I do. Giuliano Medici and you are not in the same class,” she explained as she sliced the rye bread. “Where you come from that might not mean anything, but here it means the world. I don’t want you to end up like me.” My arms were sinking from the weight of the dishes, but my feelings for Giuliano were struggling against Margherita’s wisdom.

“I know you are concerned, Margherita, but you needn’t be … honestly.”