The Boy with the Porcelain Blade (25 page)

‘Ah, Lucien. Such a shame you won’t die. You’re the very model of disobedience – something I intend to beat out of you this very night.’

Lucien flinched, the need to run back to Virmyre’s room overtaking him. His defeat in the
sanatorio
had been simple work for the Domo, and he was barely recovered from it. The Domo chuckled. It was a filthy, unpleasant sound that filled the corridor. It was the pompous laughter of one who thought victory assured.

Lucien’s blood pounded, roaring in his ears.

‘Disobedience? I’ll show you disobedience. I’m just getting started.’

He drew Virmyre’s sword, a snarl twisting his lips.

26

After the Fire
LUCIEN’S APRTMENT
–
Augusto
312

Lucien was unable to explain why he’d been present in Anea’s apartment when the fire broke out. Giancarlo, D’arzenta, Ruggeri, the
capo
, Mistress Corvo, Virmyre and Russo had all been roused from their beds. They presided over the lengthy interrogation of the two soot-stained and shivering Orfani, eyes narrow with suspicion. Lucien had never seen so many people crowded into his sitting room, feeling grateful his apartment had been spared from the flames.

Dottore Angelicola was also present, fussing over them in a brusque fashion. His untamed eyebrows were drawn together in a furious frown. He managed to look more slovenly than usual. Lucien noticed that Virmyre kept his distance from the ragged tousled-haired man. Finally Angelicola declared the Orfani in good health and went on his way. His muttering that he ‘had better things to attend to than spoilt pyromaniac witchlings’ could be heard in the corridor long after his departure. Rafaela stood near the doorway, attempting to be invisible. Not difficult as the teaching staff tended to ignore the more menial house staff.

House Contadino had been evacuated and bleary-eyed servants pressed into service as a human chain. Buckets from all over Demesne sloshed water as they were passed, hand over hand, to extinguish the smouldering remains of Anea’s apartment. Anea had battened down her distress with a steely-eyed fury. She stood as if she were at sword practice, weight on the balls of her feet, her tiny hands clenched into fists.

‘Is it not possible that Lucien did in fact go to Anea’s apartment to start the fire,’ said Giancarlo, ‘and then became trapped when the blaze took hold.’

This drew a startled gasp from Mistress Corvo. Anea stamped her foot and glowered at the instructor with unrestrained venom. Her green eyes were especially piercing, red-rimmed from smoke, tears and frustration. She scribbled down a riposte to Giancarlo’s accusation on a scrap of paper and passed it to Russo.

‘She says if it had not been for Lucien she would most certainly be dead. Furthermore, she views this incident as “nothing short of an attack on her person” and would ask you to not make baseless allegations.’

The room fell silent and the air around Anea crackled with tension. She still wore the makeshift veil Lucien had fashioned from his sleeve. Attired in dirt and grime, Lucien thought she resembled the unquiet dead of his horror stories, then realised he looked much the same.

‘It seems to me that if Lucien was not there to burn Anea’s apartment then perhaps he was there for another reason. To conspire, for instance.’

The other instructors and teaching staff shuffled their feet. D’arzenta folded his arms and looked away. Russo flicked her auburn hair over one shoulder and flashed a warning glare at Giancarlo, who chose to ignore it.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Russo. ‘You need to set aside this vendetta against Lucien and start acting like a
superiore
.’

‘And I would remind you to act like a woman, one who knows her place.’

‘My
place
is bringing enlightenment and education, something you wouldn’t know about.’

Giancarlo bristled. Russo held his gaze and threw up her chin defiantly, placing her hands on her hips.

‘You would do well to confine your opinions to the classroom,’ said Giancarlo quietly, ‘where they are welcome, Mistress Russo.’

‘That’s
Professore
Russo to you.’ The room had become taut with the exchange.

‘You would be more able to build a case if some proof of this conspiracy could be acquired, Superiore.’ This last came from the darkness of the doorway, the corridor beyond unlit. Detaching himself from the shadows, solidifying in the light, the Majordomo stepped inside. Rafaela flinched as the grey-wrapped functionary entered the room. Flies followed in his wake, trailing him lazily.

‘This is ridiculous,’ rumbled Virmyre. ‘Lucien is fourteen, Anea only eleven. Are you suggesting two children are fomenting rebellion? Pah! More likely it was for entirely more romantic reasons. Have you all forgotten what it is like to be in the first flush of puberty?’ He stared around accusingly at the assembled staff, who stiffened with embarrassment. Lucien had a hard time imagining any of them succumbing to lust.

‘Oh, good heavens,’ whined Mistress Corvo. She fanned herself, struggling to breathe in a bravura of histrionics. ‘How much more of this sham?’ Her beady eyes blinked several times as she realised she’d spoken slightly louder than she intended.

Giancarlo was not so easily deterred, and Lucien’s apartment was searched with the Majordomo assenting. Lucien allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. Whoever sent the note had depended on him to keep it. He’d at least been possessed of enough wit to burn the damning letter.

Finally he was allowed back into his room. Anea on the other hand was given temporary quarters in House Erudito, under guard. They were both confined to their rooms for a week, although no specific reason was given for their punishment.

The following day Lucien lay on his couch reading an old novel, trying not to think about the wreckage of Anea’s apartment. Or her face. The corridors of House Contadino were full of commotion and the cursing of workmen. Artisans were tramping to and from Anea’s rooms two floors above. The long process of redecoration was already under way. Rumours were already circulating about the exacting nature of the silent Orfano.

Bright sunlight shone through the latticed windows of Lucien’s sitting room, and it was almost impossible to remain in dour spirits. The first day of his polite imprisonment was largely a farce. He received more visitors that day than at any other time in his life. The guard on duty, forgetting his strict instructions from Giancarlo, was bribed with a platter of good things from the kitchens.

D’arzenta appeared first, conducting an entire conversation without mentioning the fire or Anea once. The
maestro di spada
set Lucien a number of exercises that could be done during his confinement. Then D’arzenta departed without fuss or sentiment. But Lucien wouldn’t remain alone for long.

Virmyre and Russo appeared on the pretext of checking the health of the drakes. That they brought water, wine, good bread, unsalted butter and a selection of olives rather betrayed their cover story. Lucien smiled cheerfully throughout the impromptu picnic, showing off his favourite books to his teachers. Both carefully avoided asking him why he’d been in Anea’s room, and Russo assured him that the silent Orfano was recovering from the ordeal.

Lucien was sitting in the high-backed armchair feeding dead crickets to Antigone, Agamemnon and Achilles when Rafaela entered. Antigone had taken up her usual perch on his right shoulder, looking down imperiously on her offspring. Achilles’ drab olive and sepia form was entwined about Lucien’s right leg. The drake stared around balefully, champing on a mouthful of insect in a mechanical fashion.

‘Well, aren’t you all cosy?’ Rafaela flashed Lucien a grin.

‘There are worse punishments, I suppose.’

‘Are you well? I didn’t get the chance to ask you this morning. I still can’t believe you climbed all the way down from Anea’s room using bed sheets as rope. You must be mad.’

‘Probably. Still, it was that or be burned alive. I’m only glad we didn’t fall and break our necks.’

‘So, are you going to give Dino one of your drakes? It seems unfair that you should have three and he have none.’

‘Hmmm, I suppose I could,’ he said. ‘Trouble is, I like all them of them. Giving any of them up would be difficult. Especially Antigone, I love her the most.’

Rafaela stared at him a moment, quite still, and then resumed hanging up the clean shirts she had brought from the laundry.

‘So, are you going to tell me what last night was about? The whole of Demesne has broken out in a rash of gossip. I’ve not heard anything like it since Camelia got pregnant before her wedding day.’

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to feeding the drakes. Camelia would no doubt hear about the fire in due course – she was currently at her family’s cottage following the birth of her son.

‘I’ll assume not then, Master Lucien?’ Rafaela said, pouting slightly.

‘If I tell you, do you promise to take me at my word and not tell a soul?’

Her eyes narrowed: clearly she’d not expected him to confide in her.

‘Of course.’ Rafaela closed the door to his apartment and locked it, then sat on the couch, hands clasped in her lap. Lucien thought she looked tense.

‘Say it,’ said Lucien, his eyes grave.

‘Say what?’

‘Say “I promise.” ’ He tried out his most commanding tone, spoiled by Antigone climbing atop his head at precisely that moment.

‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘I promise.’

Lucien told her in hushed tones how the note had arrived, complete with the key, and why he’d gone to Anea’s rooms. He edited out the exact contents of the missive and also the terrible sight of Anea’s face. He owed her that much.

‘I’m sure they got there before I did. They must have saturated the couch and curtains with lamp oil, then remained close by to bank up the fire. Perhaps they even started it while I was in her bedroom. Bastards.’

‘You think it was more than one?’ whispered Rafaela.

‘Difficult to know. Clearly they didn’t count on us climbing out the window.’

A knock at the door caused them both to jump. Lucien felt his pulse loud in his ears. He was beginning to lose his appetite for unannounced visitors. Rafaela stood and moved to the door, but before she could turn the key Lucien laid one hand on her shoulder. She looked back to find him gripping his scabbard, eyes full of wariness. He pressed an index finger to his lips. They waited. The time stretched painfully as Lucien’s mind invented situations that included his assassination. If the Majordomo was out there he’d rather not open the door. The knock came again. Louder and more insistent. The door handle rattled as the person on the other side tested it.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Camelia?’ Rafaela unlocked the door to find the cook with her son in the crook of her arm. Camelia stared at them both, adopting a cool expression.

‘And just what exactly was keeping you two from opening the door when I knocked the first time?’

‘Fear of assassination,’ Lucien said casually. He threw his sword onto the couch and crossed his arms, but only to stop his hands from shaking. He wasn’t sure where the paranoia had sprung from but had no wish to experience it again. It was then he noticed Rafaela blushing.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. Lucien realised the nature of Camelia’s insinuation.

‘You’d better come in or the drakes will escape and end up dying in the corridors,’ he said as thoughts of Rafaela danced in his mind.

Camelia entered and Rafaela soon forgot her blushes, helping the cook settle her newborn son on the couch. Camelia looked healthy, if tired in the way of new mothers, more happy than Lucien could ever remember her. This gnawed on his nerves for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate.

‘Can’t you find a home for this?’ said Rafaela, handing him the weapon. ‘I’m sick of nearly sitting on the thing.’ Lucien took it from her and stood mutely as the women fussed over the tiny boy. Rafaela began asking questions about the birth and ignored Lucien entirely. Camelia launched into a rather graphic and unsettling account of her labour. Lucien decided it was precisely that moment he needed to shelve some books that had been lurking near the couch. Then he decided the books would be best stored in his bedroom, absenting himself entirely.

‘What was that about?’

Lucien looked up. His trousers were covered in dust and books were scattered across the floor. It was shaping up to be a big re-ordering of his collection. Rafaela was in the doorway, anger sketched on her features.

‘What was what about?’

‘Being so rude to Camelia. She came to see you.’

‘What? Has she left already?’ He stood up and brushed himself off. There was a lot of dust.

‘You’ve been here for over an hour. Yes, she’s gone, and she wasn’t very happy.’ Rafaela’s usually warm hazel eyes flashed with annoyance.

‘Sorry, I lost track of the time.’

‘You didn’t even ask her what her son’s name was.’

Lucien bit his lip and scratched his hair, suddenly very warm. The events of the last twenty-four hours crashed down on him: the fire, Giancarlo’s accusation and finally Camelia bringing her son. His felt his lip tremble and hated himself for it. He tried to speak but the words stuck in his throat. Rafaela crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. No longer angry, her expression was now one of concern.

‘You’re shaking,’ she whispered. He nodded back, unable to speak.

‘I’m sorry. It’s the fire, isn’t it? No wonder you’re acting strangely. Anyone else would be exactly the same.’ She squeezed him a little tighter.

He broke the embrace. ‘It’s not that. Well, partly it’s that. But…’ A sigh. ‘It’s Camelia. She’s never here any more, and now she’s got the baby she’s no need for me.’ He looked away and chewed his lip before continuing, ‘She has her own son now.’

‘It’s not like that,’ said Rafaela. ‘She’ll always have time for you. But you can’t run and hide just because things haven’t turned out like you wanted. And besides, I’m still here, aren’t I?’ She squeezed his hand, her skin soft and warm.

Lucien studied the floor intently. Rafaela stepped forward, pushing his face against the soft junction of her neck and shoulder. His arms found her waist, faltering at first. Then her hand gently smoothed the hair on the back of his head. He was suddenly beset by a riot of feelings, mainly fear of the fire, but also loss. He knew he was being irrational about Camelia’s new life. And there was Anea of course, and her secret, which he had resolved to protect. There was also something else. A yearning.

He was suddenly aware of Rafaela in a way that had only been hinted at before. The smell of her hair was intoxicating, the way his arms felt wrapped about her. How was he nearly as tall as her? When had that happened? She brushed her lips against his temple, softer than anything he’d known.