Stravaganza: City Of Stars Part 31

He was never going to like Georgia, nor she him, but he stopped persecuting her. They maintained a kind of cold war and Ralph and Maura were now so vigilant that it never escalated further.

It was ironic really. Now that Russell had completely lost the power to hurt or scare her there was no more bullying for her to handle. And her own life was terribly busy. It was her GCSE exam year and she had ma.s.ses of homework and coursework to do.

Her friendship with Alice grew; she went down to Devon with her on several weekends, which was especially welcome in that first term, when she was missing Remora and banned from Jean's stable.

In the spring term, Georgia had her first boyfriend, Dan, from the year above. It lasted eight weeks, fizzling out conveniently in time for Georgia to concentrate on her exams. The results had come three weeks ago and she had done well enough to be taken out to dinner by Ralph and Maura and bought a digital camera.

But the best present was hearing that Russell was moving out. His A-level results had been good enough to secure his place in Computer Sciences at Suss.e.x. He didn't want to celebrate with family but got spectacularly drunk with his best friends and had a hangover that lasted two days. His reward was the deposit on a rented house in Brighton and he was going to move out of the Islington house before the beginning of term. 'Nothing lasts for ever,' thought Georgia delightedly.

Georgia had spent most of the summer in Devon with Alice, riding and meeting some new local friends. One of them was a boy called Adam, with dark eyes and hair, and she was hopeful that future weekends might lead to getting to know him better.

Georgia was making more friends at school now too. Winning the Stellata had changed her more than she ever supposed it would. She had a new confidence that came from a deep inner satisfaction at having been good at something, which altered her att.i.tude and even her looks. She stopped pushing people away when they made friendly overtures and found that more of them than she would have guessed seemed willing to like her. And once Russell stopped undermining her at home, she felt her personality expand into the s.p.a.ce he left around her.

Georgia hadn't replaced her eyebrow ring but she now had a tattoo of a flying horse on her shoulder and she had let her hair grow and dyed it dark red with white and black streaks in front. And she had acquired b.r.e.a.s.t.s not spectacular Page Three ones, but they were pleasingly noticeable and she took to wearing tight, short T-shirts instead of baggy sweaters. No one would mistake her for a boy now in either world.

But, if Georgia's life had changed since her last visit to Remora, Falco's had been transformed. He had leapt up the waiting list for surgery because of his age and the severity of his condition and had been given a total hip replacement before the first Christmas in his new world.

There followed months of treatment, physiotherapy and learning to walk without crutches. By February he could walk unaided but still had a limp. By May, after months of work in the gym and learning to swim, the limp had gone and he was two inches taller than when he had stravagated nine months earlier.

Falco was now a Year 9 pupil at Barnsbury Comprehensive and surprisingly popular. Girls admired his exotic good looks and boys approved of his strenuous training regimen. And it didn't do his image any harm that his best friend was a girl in Year 11 widely regarded as a bit of a hard nut.

It was the night before the Stellata di Falco and again the Twelfths of Remora were ablaze with light. The city had always been good at recovering from one race and preparing for the next there was a local saying 'The Stellata is run all year round' but this year they were enjoying the bonus of a second chance to win. A Stellata banner had been commissioned in Giglia and hastily executed, with a small portrait of Falco on horseback in the bottom right-hand corner.

Cesare didn't expect for a moment that the Ram would be allowed to win but he enjoyed being guest of honour at the banquet in his Twelfth the night before, being given the helmet by the priest and getting up to make his first speech.

'Rams!' he said, addressing the diners in a sea of red and yellow tablecloths and banners. 'I am honoured to be your chosen jockey. I was unavoidably prevented from taking part in the last Stellata, but we all remember what happened then, don't we?'

A roar of approval from the Twelvers.

'So, although he cannot be with us tonight, I ask you to drink the health of the Ram's last champion Giorgio Gredi!'

And 'Giorgio Gredi!' rang round the square.

Georgia had been feeling peculiar all day. She hadn't yet properly settled in to her new routine as a member of the Lower Sixth. She had a new form teacher and the luxury of only five subjects; she could use the Sixth Form Common Room a s.p.a.ce with armchairs usually bagged by the Upper Sixth and a kitchen in which to make instant coffee and she had free periods when she could sit and study in the Resources room or even, when the weather was fine, on the gra.s.s outside.

And it was fine today, just like high summer, though it would be cold in the evening. Georgia had a free period just before lunch and sat outside with Alice, reading The Handmaid's Tale, which was one of their set books for English literature.

'Imagine a world where ordinary people couldn't have children,' said Alice.

'Good thing, if they turned out like Russell,' said Georgia.

'Oh yeah, he's moving out today, isn't he?' said Alice. 'Have you said your fond farewells?'

Georgia snorted. 'Good riddance!' she said and wondered if that was why she had been feeling odd. 'Happiest day of my life.'

But it wasn't. The happiest day of her life had been when she had won the Stellata and been kissed by Luciano, but she could never tell Alice or anyone else about that and it made her sad. And she was restless. When the fifteenth of August had come round again this year, it had been agonising imagining what was going on in Remora. She and Falco, Nicholas as she had to call him now, had spent the day together talking about the race and wondering what horses and jockeys would be taking part and whether the di Chimici would win this year.

Then there had been the anniversary of Nicholas's 'translation' and he had been depressed and homesick. They often talked about his trying to use the feather talisman to see if he could stravagate back to Talia on a visit, as Luciano had in the other direction, but Falco didn't want to go without Georgia and her talisman had vanished.

Georgia sighed. She had hoped that maybe during the course of a whole year she might have seen Luciano again, that he might have made one of his difficult stravagations to London, to see his family. She had kept up her violin lessons was going to take Grade Seven in fact and of course she was often at the Mulhollands' house visiting Nicholas. But of Luciano there had been no sign.

Dan had been all very well and Adam was nice, but still she longed for a glimpse of Luciano.

'A penny for them,' said Alice. 'That was a deep sigh.'

'Did you ever hear about that boy who died in the year above us two years ago?' Georgia suddenly asked. She had never talked about him to Alice before.

'You mean the one with the black curls who was supposed to be such a dish? Most of our year had a crush on him, didn't they? What about him?'

'Nothing,' said Georgia. 'I used to see him at orchestra. I really liked him.'

'Oh,' said Alice surprised. 'You never said.'

'Not much point was there?' said Georgia. 'Nothing to be done about it. I'm never going to see him again.' And she realised it was true. She was going to have to mourn Lucien all over again.

Alice looked really concerned. But at that moment the bell rang for lunch and their chance to talk was over. Students from all years streamed out into the sunshine, glad to catch a last fragment of summer.

'Does your friend Nicholas look anything like him?' asked Alice unexpectedly. A group of Year 9s was spilling out into the yard. A willowy figure, with curly hair, detached himself from the group and strolled over to where they were sitting on the gra.s.sy bank.

Georgia shielded her eyes against the sun and looked up at Nicholas; it was good to see his shadow stretched out behind him on the asphalt.

Luciano was working with Rodolfo and Dethridge in his master's laboratory in Bellezza. Ever since their return from Remora, the Stravaganti had been worried about the consequences of Falco's death. First because of fear of reprisals against them by the Duke. But also because Rodolfo had been convinced that there had been a shift in the gateway that allowed them access to the other world.

After William Dethridge's translation, the world that Luciano had come from had moved much further on in time than sixteenth-century Talia, but the difference had slowed by the time of Luciano's first visit. The gateway had stayed stable for months and then time slewed again when Luciano became stranded in Talia. It was only by a few weeks and the efforts of all three Stravaganti working together had stabilised it again, clawing back those weeks a day at a time, until the dates in the two worlds matched again even though still separated by over four centuries.

But now, with the death of Falco, there had been another lurch in time in the other world. And they were still trying to work out by how much it was ahead of them. Rodolfo kept a mirror trained on Luciano's old bedroom as he had done on the day of Falco's death, when the Duke had seemed to lose his mind. But he discouraged Luciano from looking in it.

The two older Stravaganti had watched while the Talian boy lived a life in sudden changing pictures. If they had ever seen a film in which time was supposed to pa.s.s or watched a video on fast forward, they might have compared what they saw to that. As it was they noted Falco's absence and his return with his leg heavily plastered. They saw him gradually grow stronger and do exercises and then one day the plaster was gone and he walked with only one crutch.

They tried to judge the pa.s.sing seasons by the quality of the light through his window, but sometimes they needed Luciano to interpret what they saw.

'Whatte is thatte scarlet hose with packages sticking oute of yt?' Dethridge asked him one day.

'A Christmas stocking,' said Luciano, feeling homesick. They didn't have them in Bellezza and it was still the end of August in Talia.

They tracked Falco through the months of his convalescence and recuperation, the boy unaware that he was watched by old friends. They saw him grow stronger and taller and sometimes they saw Georgia sitting on the bed beside him. They always called Luciano when that happened and he was glad to see her. There was no sound to be heard through the mirror that linked Talia to the other world but he liked to think that sometimes Georgia and Falco were speaking about him.

By the time that Rodolfo heard of the Stellata Straordinaria, through the mirror he had trained on Remora, the other world seemed to have slowed again. He estimated that a year had pa.s.sed, going by the physical changes in both Georgia and Falco.

'Shall we go back to Remora for Falco's race?' asked Luciano.

'No,' said Rodolfo. 'It's not necessary; Arianna won't be going and there's no need to expose you to meeting the Duke. The di Chimici will all be there, without doubt.'

The di Chimici clan were all mustered in the square outside the cathedral, taking their pre-race dinner in the Twins. Their own cities' Twelfths were being neglected in favour of family unity. Duke Niccol sitting next to his brother the Pope looked out over all his remaining sons and his daughter and his many nieces and nephews.

His plans for their inter-marriage had been well received and he looked forward to a new generation of di Chimici, to a future when his descendants ruled every city-state in Talia, as Prince or Duke. He closed his mind to the thought of the troublesome young d.u.c.h.essa of Bellezza. He would find a way of dealing with her; it was just a matter of time.

'Can I come round and see you after school?' asked Nicholas. 'I want to talk to you about something.'

'OK,' said Georgia. 'See you then.'

She remained jumpy all day and it was a relief to get home. The house was empty with a new emptiness that shouted ABSENCE OF RUSSELL! Georgia went up to her room and saw that Russell's door was standing open. She had never seen it like that unless he had been standing in the doorway taunting her.

She pushed the door wider and went in. His bed, chest of drawers and desk were all still there. But his stereo, computer and TV had all gone to Suss.e.x with him and the bed was stripped. And there, in the middle of the bare, ticked mattress, was the winged horse.

No message, no note, just the horse and it was undamaged. Russell must have known she would go into his room to revel in his absence and he must have gone back in to place the talisman there after Ralph and Maura had been in and out with boxes and cases for the last time.

Gingerly, Georgia picked it up. It felt just as it always had, smooth and warm, its wings vulnerable, the fine lines of the last mend just visible at their base. The doorbell rang.

Nicholas stood on the doorstep and Georgia realised with a shock that he was now as tall as her.

'How are you?' he said. 'I've been feeling so peculiar all day. I think it's something to do with Remora so I wondered if you felt it too.'

And then he saw what she held in her hand.

The morning of the Stellata di Falco dawned fine and clear. Cesare went through all the rituals he had missed a month before: the jockeys' Ma.s.s in the cathedral, the last morning heat, the registering, and then went back to the Ram for a light lunch before the afternoon's demands.

He went out to the stables to calm his nerves and jumped out of his skin. There, in the shadows, stood a slender, tiger-haired girl, wearing a skimpy top and baggy pantaloons that struck a chord of memory.

'Georgia?' he asked wonderingly.

'Cesare!' she cried, giving him a big hug. She smelled lovely. 'You'd better find me something to wear my old boy's clothes aren't here any more.'

'I don't think boy's clothes would suit you now,' said Cesare, admiring her new figure. Georgia blushed a bit but punched him on the arm.

'Wait till you see who's come with me,' she said, grinning. It felt wonderful to be back in Remora. 'It took us ages to get to sleep we were so excited about coming back.'

Behind her, a slender boy with black curly hair, wearing the loose outlandish clothes of the other world, stepped forward into the light. Cesare didn't recognise him until Falco greeted him by name.

And then the Remoran made the Hand of Fortune. For this was Falco, an older, taller Falco, walking normally without sticks. The other world must be magical indeed.

'I'm back,' he said. 'Tell me what's been going on this last year.'

'Year?' said Cesare. 'It's only a month since you left. I can't believe how you've changed! And that you came back today of all days.'

'Why?' asked Georgia. 'What's special about today?'

'There's going to be a special Stellata,' explained Cesare. 'And I'm riding Arcangelo for the Ram. It's in Falco's honour.'

'Brilliant!' said Falco.

'We'll come and watch you,' said Georgia. 'Only we need clothes.'

Cesare raced into the house to tell Paolo and Teresa the news.

In honour of the dead Falco, the Lady's float was draped in black along with the purple and green of the Twelfth. It was pulled by black horses with silver harness and sable plumes. It carried an empty casket with the crest of the Giglian di Chimici the lily and the perfume bottle and a portrait painted by a Giglian master. A small orchestra of musicians on the float played a dirge.

The ensigns had black ribbons tied at the top of their flags and all the parade members of the Lady wore black under their green and purple sashes. As the Lady's part of the procession pa.s.sed each stand, the spectators removed their hats and made the sign of the cross. Weeping was heard, even in the Scales; it was a sad story even if it happened to your enemy.

The great bell of the Papal palace, which always rang its single note throughout the afternoon of the Stellata, now recalled the day it had tolled for Falco a month ago. But however sombre the parade, there was still the excitement of the race to come.

Georgia sat in the Ram's stand with Teresa and the children. She was wearing a red dress of Teresa's and a red and yellow sash of their Twelfth. The dress and her hair attracted admiring glances around her and she felt quite different from the jockey who had won the Stellata over a year ago.

Only it wasn't a year ago here. It was hard to wrench her mind round the thought that she had been away hardly long enough to be missed. For one of those weeks the Montalbani had a.s.sumed her to be away in France and, though they had wondered a little about her absence since, they had not really begun to be concerned.

Little had changed in Remora since she had last been here. It seemed as if the city was in perpetual festival mode. And yet this Stellata was hardly a celebration. She scanned the crowds, looking for Falco. He had stayed longer than her in the Ram. They had both been to see all the horses and spent a long time with Merla but Falco was loath to leave her.

Georgia trusted he wasn't going to risk sitting in the Lady's stand or trying to gatecrash the Twins. He might be a year older and stronger and fit in body but he was still recognisably Falco. She hoped he was all right; it was an impressive first stravagation back to his old world. Georgia remembered Luciano saying how difficult it was for him but Falco seemed bright-eyed and full of energy.

The parade came to an end and the bell stopped, without any sign of Falco. Georgia decided to give up worrying about him and just enjoy the race. The twelve horses started to enter the Campo and she soon picked out Cesare on the tall chestnut. He looked stylish and confident. There was always an aura of respect around the horse of the Twelfth to win the most recent Stellata and it didn't matter that it carried a different jockey.

The whips were handed out and the horses moved to the start. Duke Niccol himself drew the Twelfth b.a.l.l.s out of the bag and the order was determined. There was the usual shuffling and blocking and the crowd's attention was fixed on the start-line.

Then, just as the Rincorsa (this time the Water-carrier) was making its run, down through the air sailed the winged horse. There was no warning cry from a Manoush this time. Just a folding of black wings and an elegant landing at full gallop, as the thirteenth horse joined the race.

The crowd went wild; who was this jockey, in his strange costume? He wore no single set of colours but had the scarves of all the Twelfths tied on to his ordinary stable boy's clothes. He wore no helmet and his black locks streamed out behind him. He was a handsome boy and the Remoran girls began to cheer for 'Bellerofonte! Bellerofonte!' instantly naming the stranger after a flying horseman of old legends.

Merla and her rider flowed round the first circuit well ahead of the twelve other horses and then the first rumour began in the Twins' stand and rippled through the Campo faster than any steed. The cry changed to 'Falco! Falco!' and soon the spectators in the centre began to fall to their knees and cross themselves.

'A phantom!' went the rumour. 'Prince Falco has returned to his own commemoration!' Gaetano sat like one made of stone, barely able to breathe and clutching Francesca's hand. No one heard him whisper, 'It worked!'

The Duke was the only one on his feet, his face a white mask of terror or perhaps fury.

Fear filled all the jockeys except Cesare, but Falco would have won easily anyway. He didn't fly Merla but she was still faster than any normal horse. He was racing towards the finish line, yards ahead of the Ram and the Lady.

As soon as he reached it, he whispered in Merla's ear and urged her up into flight. As the flying horse took off into the setting sun, her mighty winged shadow fell over the upturned faces of the crowd beneath. And then came the intake of breath and the cries of 'Dia!' The shadow-horse had no shadow-rider.

As it pa.s.sed over the Lady's stand, a purple and green scarf came fluttering down to be caught by the Duke's mailed fist.

It took a moment or two for people to realise that the race was over. Cesare had pulled back at the last moment and the Lady's jockey had taken his chance. Cherubino had urged Zarina across the finish point and waved his whip aloft, victorious. The Lady's supporters invaded the track to embrace the jockey and pat the horse. Georgia left the Ram's stand and pushed her way towards Cesare, against the swelling rush of the Lady's Twelvers wanting to wrest the Stellata banner from the Judges' stand.

'Why did you do it?' she whispered to Cesare, who stood sweating beside Arcangelo.

'Look at the Duke,' said Cesare. 'It doesn't do to keep crossing the Lady.'

'But Falco would have been disqualified and you would have won easily for the Ram,' protested Georgia. 'Imagine, two Stellata banners in one year! Arianna would have been delighted.'

'Rules or not,' said Cesare, 'Falco was the real winner.'

They looked at the Duke, who was being guided down from the stand to congratulate Cherubino. He was gla.s.sy-eyed and clutching the green and purple scarf, still warm from his son's body. In spite of the clamour of the spectators, he did not believe he had seen a ghost. As he descended into the Campo, he caught sight of the flame-coloured girl and the chestnut horse and remembered the mysterious jockey of the Ram's who had robbed his family of victory a month ago.

Duke Niccol knew exactly what he had seen, even if he didn't understand it: his son, transformed, whole and well again, had returned to show him and his family that he still lived, in another world. And the Stravaganti had the secret. From now on, he would move heaven and earth to find out what it was.