City of Flowers by Mary Hoffman Page B

Duke. ‘On their eve, I shall make an important announcement.’
    Carlo looked expectant, helping himself to polenta. He took a generous helping of wild boar stew but refused the dish of mushrooms proffered by the servant.
    â€˜The legislation is already in place,’ said Niccolò, allowing the servant to add mushrooms to his much smaller helping. ‘I intend to adopt the title of Grand Duke of all Tuschia.’
    Whatever Carlo had expected, it was not that. ‘Can you do that?’ he asked, rather tactlessly.
    His father raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘We have family members ruling in all the main city-states of the region of Tuschia – Moresco, Remora, Fortezza – and they would not dispute my claims to create such a title, as head of the family.’
    â€˜Of course not, Father,’ said Carlo hastily. ‘I’m sorry. I was just surprised, that’s all.’
    And the two men began to eat their meal in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts.

    It took Sky a long time to stravagate that night. Normally he had no trouble sleeping; the busyness of his life at home ensured that. But that night he tossed and turned, thinking about poisons, fencing, unrequited love and all sorts of other things. Eventually, he got up and fetched some water from the fridge. He carried Remedy back to bed with him and settled down again with the cat in the crook of his arm and the glass bottle in his hand.
    Then he had second thoughts and moved the tabby down to his feet; it would never do for Brother Tino to turn up in the friary with a miniature tiger in tow.

    As soon as he arrived in Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines, Sky could see from the light that it was about midday. Sulien wasn’t in his cell or the laboratory or the pharmacy. Sky wandered out into the cloisters; all was eerily quiet. He could hear the faint sound of chanting coming from the church.
    And then a messenger burst into the Great Cloister from the yard. He took Sky for a novice and grabbed him by the arm.
    â€˜Where is Brother Sulien? He is urgently needed in the Via Larga – Duke Niccolò has been poisoned!’
    *
    Sandro was having his lunch bought for him in a tavern near the market. The Eel was in an expansive mood, as a result of soup and pasta and a large quantity of red wine.
    â€˜The Duke is up to something,’ he was saying. ‘You mark my words, Sparrow. There’ll be an announcement soon.’
    A flutter of movement in the corner of the market caught Sandro’s eye. Black and white robes flapped as two figures ran through the square at an undignified pace.
    â€˜Look,’ said Sandro. ‘There go Sulien and Tino. What on earth can they be doing?’
    â€˜Only one way to find out,’ slurred the Eel, throwing silver on the table. ‘Come on!’
    The two spies, master and boy, hurried after the friars. It was clear where they were heading. The great palazzo on the Via Larga almost backed on to the market and the square provided a short cut to it from the friary.
    By the time Sulien and Sky had reached the palazzo gates, a small knot of people had gathered outside; news travelled fast in Talia and the rumours were already flying. The Duke was dead, the di Chimici had all been poisoned; the weddings were off.
    Sky hadn’t had any time to think. When the Duke’s servant had arrived with his alarming news, Sky had found Sulien in the church and hurried with him to the pharmacy to collect bottles of medicine, before running all the way to the di Chimici palazzo. Now another servant led them, panting, up the great staircase to the Duke’s bedroom, where he had been carried after his collapse.
    The room had a foul stench of vomit and the figure on the bed was thrashing around on soiled sheets, in paroxysms of agony. His sons stood beside him wringing their hands, though the only one Sky recognised was Prince Gaetano. And he supposed