Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) (18 page)

“I was just showing her the violet,” said Giuliano.

“I hope that is all you were showing her.” Lorenzo frowned.

“It’s very clever. That is, the glass case you have the violet in,” I said, blushing.

“Yes, it is,” replied Lorenzo, resuming his formal manner.

An eerie feeling began to weed itself through the empty space that Giuliano’s kiss had left. How could it have all been over so quickly?

“Would you be so kind as to grant me your promise?” asked Lorenzo.

“Promise?”

“To meet my acquaintance,” he said, offering me his arm. Before I took his arm, I glanced back in time to catch Giuliano’s miserable expression. “I trust you are enjoying your time?”

“My time?” I asked as we walked back into the courtyard.

“Yes, your time here in Florence.”

“Oh, yes of course,” I said. While we climbed back up the steps, I wanted nothing more than to run out of the palace as fast as my poor running abilities would allow. “I sometimes forget that I am not really from here.”

“I have not,” said Lorenzo. Dread strangled me as I loosened my grip on his arm. “That is … forgotten that you are from a different land.” With every step we took down the hallway, I shrunk smaller and smaller. The candles that had once seemed so magical were now leading the way to my funeral. It was strange to think that only minutes before, I had blissfully raced down the hallway. The music grew louder as we approached the dining room.

Upon entering, my eyes darted frantically around the room for my chaperones. Sandro had worked up enough guts to talk to Simonetta again. He was kneeling attentively by her side while she picked at her custard. Leonardo was not in the room. As we moved further into the room, I could feel Idan’s steady tick hastening.

“Pietro,” called Lorenzo. The man with the shaved head turned around. Idan began to move violently against my ribs. “Allow me to introduce … Viola Orofino,” said Lorenzo, gracefully moving my hand to the stranger’s. Unlike Lorenzo’s hand, Pietro’s hand had enough callouses to rival Verrocchio himself.

“
Please don’t let the music stop
,” I whispered under my breath.

“Enchanted,” he said, kissing my hand. “I am Pietro Sforza.”

“Pietro is a visitor as well,” explained Lorenzo. “We invite a foreign judge from outside Florence as to not upset the scales of justice with our own city’s private rivalries.”

“Yes, I am actually from Milan, but I am enjoying Florence immensely,” smiled Pietro as his eyes considered my every blink.

“I find Pietro quiet indispensable. We seem to share all the same academic pursuits … Alas, he is leaving us soon and there is still so much more I hoped to learn from him.” Pietro’s smile broadened at Lorenzo’s words.

“
Tick-tock, tick-tock
!
”
beat Idan

“Surely, you give me more credit than I deserve.”

“I always say exactly what I mean … Viola, Pietro has led me to so many brilliant discoveries, scrolls by philosophers long forgotten, artifacts that even Verrocchio would find hard to replicate. Unfortunately, time has ravished many of the scrolls.”

“But no matter how long I stay, time will pass. Many a brilliant creation will decay and we will be none the wiser.”

“
Tick-tock-tick-tock
!
”

“The very thought hardens my soul. To lose humanity’s revelations, it’s progress!” lamented Lorenzo.

“Yes, but what you seek is an impossible thing.”

“What do I seek?”

“To control time,” answered Pietro without removing his eyes from me.

“I would give up all you see before you for such a gift,” admitted Lorenzo.

Rubbing my salty hands against my dress, I tried to plot my escape. Suddenly the music stopped. Poor Idan, who had been screaming to be heard, finally rang out.

“What’s that sound?” asked Lorenzo.

A flash of understanding crossed Pietro’s face. The creepy smile that curled up the sides of his face clashed with his sharp features and pointy mustache. From the corner of my eye, I caught Leonardo’s pink costume. He was urging me towards the entrance, but I was cornered.

“Excuse me, Signore Medici and Signore Sforza, but I really must be going. My Zia has long been expecting me.”

“Not so fast, Viola … before you leave I wanted you to show Pietro that curious trinket you have strung around your neck.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” I grasped for my locket, but before I even had it in my palm Lorenzo protested. “No! That wasn’t it at all.”

“
Tick-tock-tick-tock
!
”
Pietro seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

“I think you told Giuliano it was an heirloom. Something about your grandfather being a pirate,” added Lorenzo. The lie sounded even dumber the second time around.

“If I may be so bold, might it be on the other chain hanging around your neck?” insisted Pietro.

I looked down and saw Idan’s gold chain peeking through the translucent material of the under dress.

“Damn this organza,” I cursed under my breath. The whole elaborate plan dawned on me. Giuliano’s betrayal put me on the verge of tears.

“What was that?” asked Lorenzo, who was poised to pounce on my neck.

“Would you excuse me please … I am suddenly in need of the chamber pot room,” I said and strode off before they could protest.

Leonardo raised his eyebrows as I approached the door. Once we turned the corner, we bolted down the hallway. Voices shouted our names from behind us but we did not stop. We could not stop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wings

Leonardo was clearly enjoying our escape. He howled like a wolf as we ran through dark passageways. We skipped every pothole and veered past piles of manure. Rude complaints rang down on us from awoken sleepers. We darted past the cage of the lioness and flew down the Duomo steps ignoring drunken men stumbling home.

“I am so out of shape,” I gasped. My throat felt like I had swallowed sand.

“You really are,” agreed Leonardo, drenched in sweat.

“Well let’s switch clothes and do the course over again.”

“That might be fun,” considered Leonardo with a distinct twinkle in his eye. “So come now, tell me what happened.”

“Nothing,” I said, trying to steady my legs with my hands. “Other than the Medicis conned me.” I balled my hands into fists, unable to abate the anger fermenting inside me.

“Did they hurt you?”

“Not physically … It was all an elaborate trick. The banner, the dress, the kiss … it was all part of a plan,” I tried to swallow the lump of emotion that swelled in my throat.

“Wait, wait! He kissed you?”

“All they wanted was Idan!” I said, pushing aside his question.

“Why not just sell it to them? I am sure they would pay you well.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“It’s my only way to get back home,” I confessed.

“How can a tiny clock aid such a quest?”

“It’s not a clock!” I cried out in frustration. It was exhausting trying to keep everything bottled up inside of me.

“Then what is it?”

“It controls time … somehow … but I haven’t figured out how yet. What I do know is that I need it to get back.”

It was dark on the street save for the dim light coming from Zia’s fireplace and the half-moon’s radiance. Still heaving, I leaned against the crude walls of my safe haven waiting for Leonardo to interrupt the silence.

“Are you saying you come from a different time?” I looked up and down the street, terrified at my own outburst. “Viola … I think you need some rest. Perhaps you need to sit down? I know you are upset but—”

“I am upset!” I rubbed my eyes on the embroidered sleeves. “But I am not crazy.”

“I made no such—”

“You didn’t have to. Your look said it all.”

“But you are speaking of time travel!”

“I’ve only done it once.” Gathering the train of my dress, I sat down on the step. “Do you have any more of that honey drink left? My throat is killing me.” Leonardo pulled out the flask from his cloak and passed it to me. I drank the last mouthful. The honey felt wonderful as it traveled down my raw throat. “You don’t believe me,” I said, passing him back his flask. I had been so hot from running that the cold’s breath was just beginning to shake me.

“It is not that I don’t believe you … it is more that I choose not to believe anything I cannot see, touch, hear, or taste. In short, I trust nothing that I cannot dissect or deduce.”

A cough ripped us from our private conversation.

“Did you hear that?”

“Probably just a fisherman.” He peered in the direction of the sound. “I like the idea of something as ambitious as time travel,” he whispered. “I mean time traveling itself does not interest me. I am fine where I am. The concept of a device that moves the whole world interests me … but it is impossible.”

“I liked your first word better. Ambitious.”

“Sometimes I have ambitious ideas but, then I just never explore them because I think they are doomed to fail.”

“Like what?”

“You will laugh,” he said, staring at his feet.

“I just told you I time traveled.”

“True.” He smiled. “Well, for example, flying or being able to swim underwater without surfacing.”

“I think you need to get out of your own way,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … I might be scared by a lot of things, but I’m never frightened by my own ideas.”

“Wise words, dear sister,” said Leonardo, helping me to my feet. “So what happened with Idan?”

“They wanted to see it.”

“Did they?”

“Of course not! Although, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Lorenzo already had a pretty good drawing of it.”

“How did you get out of it?”

“I told them I had to go to the chamber pot room.” I grinned.

Leonardo burst out laughing. He had a wonderful laugh. Its low and hearty rumble was infectious. Zia and Signore Soldo opened the door to two teenagers bent over and barely able to breathe from laughter.  

“What do you two think you are doing? You will wake up the whole neighborhood with that racket,” chastised Zia. She bid Leonardo a good night and ushered me inside. Too exhausted to talk anymore, I ascended the stairs dragging my feet one by one.

“Well! How was it?” asked Francesco as Zia helped him with his cloak.

I thought about it for a second and then settled for the standard. “It was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah.” I yawned.

“How can a Medici banquet be just fine?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“The food must have been exceptional.” Signore Soldo’s eyes widened as he imagined the spread.

“Zia’s is much better,” I said.

“That is truth itself, Caterina. You have set the bar unreasonably high.” She smiled at his praise.

“
Buonanotte
, Signore Soldo, thank you for everything,” I said before disappearing upstairs.

I let my body slump onto the thin mattress. Without changing, I curled my knees towards my body. The giddy feeling the laughter had brought helped me fall asleep.

As usual, I awoke with a start. All the anxiety that Leonardo had quieted overwhelmed me.

“I just ran away from the most powerful family in Florence,” I told the darkness.

I looked out the window half expecting a battalion of guards waiting to take me away. But there was not a soul on the sleepy street.

Knowing very well that I would not be able to sleep anymore, I traded the elaborate dress for my simple wool one. Today I wanted to be me, not Massimo or a fine lady. I thought about cinching the brown fabric at my waist with the neon belt. Swinging my green sweater over my dress, I snuck past Zia’s door, down the steps, and out the door. My eyes took a while to adjust to the light of the empty street. I trod carefully down the cobblestones with my arms wrapped tightly around me.

Despite my bad mood, it was refreshing to walk through the streets alone. Quickly, I chanced a glance at Idan. I had concluded that if Idan were a person, it would be a guy. Only a boy could cause so much mischief and be even more indecisive than me. One hand was pointing to the rising sun and the countdown’s number was sixteen.

The digits hung heavily on my conscience. I closed his cover and kept straight on my path. I walked through a flock of pigeons that were picking at discarded trash from the joust. While they flew away, one was kind enough to leave me a white wet gift that dribbled down my shoulder.

“The cherry on top of my cake,” I complained to the houses that flickered to life.

As I turned the corner of the workshop, I almost knocked Leonardo over. He did not seem surprised to see me.

“Is that pigeon feces?” he pointed at my shoulder.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said, “and yes it is.”

“Well that was almost good luck.” He shivered as we approached the workshop.

“Almost?”

“Yeah, if one defecates on your head it’s supposed to be good luck.”

“The shoulder doesn’t count?”

“I’m afraid not.” He shrugged, walking under the frozen canopy.

The workshop was still waiting for the apprentices to wake up. Leonardo went back upstairs to his dormitory. All was quiet. Not even the constant crackle-pop of the fire could be heard. The kitchen was also still. I lit a fire and tried my best to clean the pigeon poop off my shoulder. After I thoroughly washed my hands, I began to knead the dough that was rising on the countertop the way Margherita had taught me. After forming the dough into loaves, I dressed them with some egg wash. Using the long wooden spatula, I set the bread to bake. Slowly, the smell of bread filled the snug kitchen.

Margherita came into the kitchen as I was boiling water for tea. She placed her cloak on one of the hooks by the archway. Each one of her moves was slow and forced.

“Thank you for making the bread, Viola … I was not expecting you so early,” she said, wiping her face with a handkerchief. The black circles around her eyes told me she had not slept for days.

“Why did you think that?” I asked, breaking off rosemary and lavender from over hanging bundles.

“With your banquet and all, I figured you would sleep in a bit.”

“Oh, you heard about that.” I poured the boiling water into a ceramic cup.

“The boys told me everything when they got back,” she said, sitting down on the castle of crates at the back of the kitchen.
“Did you have—”

“Margherita, are you feeling all right? Where did you go out at such an early hour?” I interjected.

“I went to call on the midwife,” she said, resting her free hand on her enormous belly. “I was feeling awful and I have been getting these terrible pains all over.”

“What did she say?”

“That the baby will come soon.”

“What is soon?”

“Tonight or tomorrow.”

“Wow, on Christmas! That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” I said trying to cast a positive light on the situation.

“I don’t know … it seems more like a nuisance to drag people from their feasts and mass to have a baby I cannot afford to keep.” She wiped her eyes with a moist handkerchief.

“What will you do?”

“The idea of giving the baby away to a complete stranger or worse, watching her grow up unloved in the orphanage like I did … it makes my heart ache.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll figure out something. I’ll ask Zia what she thinks.” Poor Margherita looked like she was hurting in every which way. “What can I do to help you?”

“For a start, take out the bread.” She smiled weakly. I did as she said, but it was a few minutes too late. The top was blackened. “That is fine. They will eat it. Besides that, there is nothing you can do. Unless you know someone who wants to keep my baby,” she scoffed.

Moving the hot bread into a basket warmed my icy hands. After choosing the least burnt bun from the dozen, I offered the soft knot to Margherita but she shook her head miserably from side to side. With all my heart, I wished that I knew more than six people in the whole Florence Renaissance. I longed to know a happy couple that would jump at the opportunity to care for Margherita’s baby. Not one of my acquaintances would be able to take on such a responsibility.
Perhaps Zia?
I thought as I slathered the piping bun of dough with butter. It was one thing to take on a girl of fourteen but another thing entirely to take on a day-old baby. The salty cream melted in my mouth when my teeth sunk past the crust. Suddenly, an idea struck me.

“What about …” I said aloud through a mouthful of flakes.

“What about what?” asked Margherita.

It was clear I did not know a soul who could take care of her baby, but I had heard of a couple that might. Not wanting to get Margherita’s hopes up just yet, I kept my discovery to myself.

Shaking my head, I said, “What about lunch?” She tried hard to mask her disappointment, but it hid itself in the deep creases of her mouth.

“I knew something was off. So while everyone was out yesterday evening, I cooked this evening’s Christmas Eve feast.”

“I should have been here helping you,” I said, feeling lousy.

“Nonsense.” She waved my apology aside. “If I was not so giant, I would have been out there cheering with the rest of them.”

“You should go rest. I’ll set up the table for breakfast.”

“I think I will,” she said. I held out my hand to help her stand. “We are fasting because it is Christmas Eve. So there is no lunch to prepare,” informed Margherita before she left the kitchen.

Leonardo and Renzo were the only ones working when I followed Margherita into the workroom. Renzo helped me set the table, and soon after the boys filed in. They barely resembled humans until they had at least two thick slices of bread in their guts. When I realized that I had not eaten either, I squeezed between Salai and Perugino. Salai did not seem as threatening anymore now that I was on the Medicis’ bad side. After Salai made a few rude comments about the singed bread, I told him to shut up and eat it or he could cook all his meals. My boldness amused Perugino and granted me a few thumbs up at the table.

“That’s not very ladylike … I’m not sure your boyfriend would approve of that,” retorted Salai.

“I’m not sure he would appreciate anything that comes out of your mouth. Especially what you say to me,” I snapped, my patience depleted.

Salai’s olive skin turned pasty white but he continued to eat the bread. Wanting to be alone, I shoved half the buttery toast in my mouth and collected some dirty plates for washing. While I warmed some of the ice cold water for washing, there was a soft knock at the archway.

“Sandro!”

“
Buongiorno
, Viola,” he replied, looking away.

“Are you all right?”

“That is what I came to ask you,” he said, his eyes relieved to see me in one piece. “I also came to apologize for last night.”

“What for?”

“For being the worst chaperone in history.” I smiled at the sincerity of his apology. “I realized you were in trouble when you and Leonardo bolted down the hallway.”

“What happened when we left?”

“Lorenzo looked furious and shouted something at Giuliano. Then the young prince got up and ran after you with two other young men,” said Sandro, fidgeting with his round cap. “It took a while before Signore Sforza was able to pacify Lorenzo’s temper. I don’t think anyone has ever turned their back on him before.”

“When did Giuliano get back?”

“He didn’t catch up with you?” asked Sandro. I shook my head. “I don’t know then. I left shortly after you ran off.”

Sandro’s concern made my heart drop a few inches. I put my hands behind my back to hide their trembling.

“Don’t feel bad! It was nothing you could have prevented … Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked, trying to mask my anxiety.

“I got a commission to paint a portrait of Simonetta.”

“Congratulations!” I hugged my clammy arms around his square shoulders. Sandro’s auburn hair felt soft against my ear. When I pulled away from him, I could tell he was still feeling guilty. “Seriously, I don’t want you to feel bad about anything. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had had a hundred chaperones. The evening’s escapade would have been the same.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Viola!” called Verrocchio.

“Yes?”

He stepped into the kitchen abruptly. His dusty tunic was more messy than usual and his hands were caked with clay. “Fetch Massimo! There is too much work to be done … Did you hear all that?” Verrocchio shouted to the apprentices. “There will be no feast until I see you have all put your backbones into it.”

“Who is Massimo?” asked Sandro.

“Are you busy or would you like to help out a bit?” asked Verrocchio, who was looking at Sandro like he was a mirage. “I am quite overwhelmed.”

“I suppose I have a bit of time to spare.”

“That’s a good man!” exclaimed Verrocchio.

“Viola, I still need Massimo.”