The Magicians of Caprona. Diana Wynne Jones
Tonino had no time to answer, because two footmen and a soldier sprang to open the carriage door and usher them down, and Paolo jumped down first. But after him, Old Niccolo and Uncle Umberto were rather slow getting down. Tonino had time to look out of the further window at the Petrocchi carriage moving away. As it turned, he distinctly saw the small crimson flutter of a spell-streamer under the harness of the nearest black horse.
So there! Tonino thought triumphantly. But he rather thought the Petrocchi coachman was real. He was a pale young man with reddish hair which did not match his cherry-coloured livery, and he had an intent, concentrating look as if it was not easy driving those unreal horses. That look was too human for a cardboard man.
When Tonino finally climbed down on Domenico’s nervous heels, he glanced up at their own coachman for comparison. He was efficient and jaunty. He touched a stiff hand to his green hat and stared straight ahead. No, the Petrocchi coachman was real all right, Tonino thought enviously.
Tonino forgot both coachmen as he and Paolo followed the others into the Palace. It was so grand, and so huge. They were taken through vast halls with shiny floors and gilded ceilings, which seemed to go on for miles. On either side of the long walls there were statues, or soldiers, or footmen, adding to the magnificence in rows. They felt so battered by all the grandeur that it was quite a relief when they were shown into a room only about the size of the Casa Montana yard. True, the floor was shiny and the ceiling painted to look like a sky full of wrestling angels, but the walls were hung with quite comfortable red cloth and there was a row of almost plain gilt chairs along each side.
Another party of people was shown into the room at the same time. Domenico took one look at them and turned his eyes instantly on the painted angels of the ceiling. Old Niccolo and Uncle Umberto behaved as if the people were not there at all. Paolo and Tonino tried to do the same, but they found it impossible.
So these were the Petrocchis, they thought, sneaking glances. There were only four of them, to their five. One up to the Montanas. And two of those were children. Clearly the Petrocchis had been as hard-pressed as the Montanas to come before the Duke with a decent party, and they had, in Paolo and Tonino’s opinion, made a bad mistake in leaving one of their family outside with the coach.
They were not impressive. Their University representative was a frail old man, far older than Uncle Umberto, who seemed almost lost in his red and gold gown. The most impressive one was the leader of the party, who must be Old Guido himself. But he was not particularly old, like Old Niccolo, and though he wore the same sort of black frock-coat as Old Niccolo and carried the same sort of shiny hat, it looked odd on Old Guido because he had a bright red beard. His hair was rather long, crinkly and black. And though he stared ahead in a bleak, important way, it was hard to forget that his daughter had once accidentally turned him green.
The two children were both girls. Both had reddish hair. Both had prim, pointed faces. Both wore bright white stockings and severe black dresses and were clearly odious. The main difference between them was that the younger – who seemed about Tonino’s age – had a large bulging forehead, which made her face even primmer than her sister’s. It was possible that one of them was the famous Angelica, who had turned Old Guido green.
The boys stared at them, trying to decide which it might be, until they encountered the prim, derisive stare of the elder girl. It was clear she thought they looked ridiculous. But Paolo and Tonino knew they still looked smart – they felt so uncomfortable – so they took no notice.
After they had waited a while, both parties began to talk quietly among themselves, as if the others were not there. Tonino murmured to Paolo, “Which one is Angelica?”
“I don’t know,” Paolo whispered.
“Didn’t you see them at the Old Bridge then?”
“I didn’t see any of them. They were all down the other—”
Part of the red hanging swung aside and a lady hurried in. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “My husband has been delayed.”
Everyone in the room bent their heads and murmured “Your Grace” because this was the Duchess. But Paolo and Tonino kept their eyes on her while they bent their heads, wanting to know what she was like. She had a stiff greyish dress on, which put them in mind of a statue of a saint, and her face might almost have been part of the same statue. It was a statue-pale face, almost waxy, as if the Duchess were carved out of slightly soapy marble. But Tonino was not sure the Duchess was really like a saint. Her eyebrows were set in a strong sarcastic arch, and her mouth was tight with what looked like impatience. For a second, Tonino thought he felt that impatience – and a number of other unsaintly feelings – pouring into the room from behind the Duchess’s waxy mask like a strong rank smell.
The Duchess smiled at Old Niccolo. “Signor Niccolo Montana?” There was no scrap of impatience, only stateliness. Tonino thought to himself, I’ve been reading too many books. Rather ashamed, he watched Old Niccolo bow and introduce them all. The Duchess nodded graciously and turned to the Petrocchis. “Signor Guido Petrocchi?”
The red-bearded man bowed in a rough, brusque way. He was nothing like as courtly as Old Niccolo. “Your Grace. With me are my great-uncle Dr Luigi Petrocchi, my elder daughter Renata, and my younger daughter Angelica.”
Paolo and Tonino stared at the younger girl, from her bulge of forehead to her thin white legs. So this was Angelica. She did not look capable of doing anything wrong, or interesting.
The Duchess said, “I believe you understand why—”
The red curtains were once more swept aside. A bulky excited-looking man raced in with his head down, and took the Duchess by one arm. “Lucrezia, you must come! The scenery looks a treat!”
The Duchess turned as a statue might turn, all one piece. Her eyebrows were very high and her mouth pinched. “My lord Duke!” she said freezingly.
Tonino stared at the bulky man. He was now wearing slightly shabby green velvet with big brass buttons. Otherwise, he was exactly the same as the big damp Mr Glister who had interrupted the Punch and Judy show that time. So he had been the Duke of Caprona after all! And he was not in the least put off by the Duchess’s frigid look. “You must come and look!” he said, tugging at her arm, as excited as ever. He turned to the Montanas and the Petrocchis as if he expected them to help him pull the Duchess out of the room – and then seemed to realise that they were not courtiers. “Who are you?”
“These,” said the Duchess – her eyebrows were still higher and her voice was strong with patience – “these are the Petrocchis and the Montanas awaiting your pleasure, my lord.”
The Duke slapped a large, damp-looking hand to his shiny forehead. “Well I’m blessed! The people who make spells! I was thinking of sending for you. Have you come about this enchanter-fellow who’s got his knife into Caprona?” he asked Old Niccolo.
“My lord!” said the Duchess, her face rigid.
But the Duke broke away from her, beaming and gleaming, and dived on the Petrocchis. He shook Old Guido’s hand hugely, and then the girl Renata’s. After that, he dived round and did the same to Old Niccolo and Paolo. Paolo had to rub his hand secretly on his trousers after he let go. He was wet. “And they say the young ones are as clever as the old ones,” the Duke said happily. “Amazing families! Just the people I need for my play – my pantomime, you know. We’re putting it on here for Christmas and I could do with some special effects.”
The Duchess gave a sigh. Paolo looked at her rigid face and thought that it must be hard, dealing with someone like the Duke.
The Duke dived on Domenico. “Can you arrange for a flight of cupids blowing trumpets?” he asked him eagerly. Domenico swallowed and managed to whisper the word “illusion”. “Oh good!” said the Duke, and dived at Angelica Petrocchi. “And you’ll love my collection of Punch and Judys,” he said. “I’ve got hundreds!”
“How nice,” Angelica answered primly.
“My