Free City of Secrets by Mary Hoffman

talisman to your world.’
    Matt noticed he didn’t say ‘our world’.
    â€˜But there aren’t any di Chimici in this city, are there?’ he asked.
    â€˜No, not yet,’ said Luciano. ‘That’s why my people thought I’d be safe here.’ His hand moved involuntarily to his dagger.
    *
    The messenger in Giglian livery cantered into the city through the Western Gate and slowed only to ask directions to the Governor’s house. His steaming horse took him to the great Palace of Justice that dominated a square in the centre of the city. But the Governor was not there.
    Messer Antonio was the elected ruler of Padavia and went about his work as if he were a carpenter or baker. In fact in his private life before he went into politics he had been a blacksmith. He still lived in a modest house, which the di Chimici rulers of other city-states might have sneered at. The only difference between his old lifestyle and the new was that his present house was closer to the main square.
    The Giglian messenger left his horse in the palace stables and set off on foot to find Messer Antonio. He passed an old Reman monument that looked like a tomb on legs and carried an inscription in old Talic. It was a strange city, he thought. Not many grand buildings and statues like his own Giglia but full of curiosities like this. He couldn’t understand the Governor living in an ordinary house, though. The great Nucci palace, which the young Grand Duke inhabited, was much more his idea of a fitting home for a ruler.
    Antonio was wrestling with laws on carriage taxes when the messenger was shown in. He looked up in relief, till he recognised the livery.
    â€˜Honoured sir,’ began the envoy, sweeping off his plumed hat and bowing low. ‘I bring greetings from His Grace the Grand Duke of all Tuschia.’
    â€˜Sit down man, do,’ said Antonio testily. ‘There’s no need for all that flowery stuff. You come from Fabrizio di Chimici, I can see that. How about a cup of ale?’
    The messenger, thrown off his script, sat on a plain wooden stool and nodded. He had never been received so unceremoniously.
    â€˜What’s afoot in your city, then, lad?’ asked Antonio, when the ale had been brought.
    â€˜Er, my master is well and trusts that you are too?’ he began hesitantly.
    â€˜Yes, yes, fine well,’ said Antonio. ‘As are my wife and daughters. And the Grand Duchess?’
    â€˜She expects an heir,’ said the messenger, glad to get one of his pieces of information out.
    â€˜Then let us drink a health to the Grand Duchess and her son if it so be,’ said Antonio. ‘I have had only girls myself but have never had cause to regret that. Is this what you rode here to tell me?’
    â€˜Not that alone,’ said the messenger, relaxing under the influence of Antonio’s strong ale. ‘The Grand Duke is concerned that the young man from Bellezza who killed his father has not been found.’
    Antonio’s face turned to granite. ‘Killed his father? I thought Niccolò di Chimici died in a duel? You make it sound like common murder.’
    The messenger shifted uncomfortably. ‘You might know that the young man, the Cavaliere Luciano Crinamorte as he is known, is no longer in Bellezza. Rumour in that city has it that he is here in Padavia.’
    â€˜And if rumour should be right?’
    This was the difficult bit.
    â€˜My master asks that you agree to hand him over to his jurisdiction. That I . . . that he . . . that he come back to Giglia with me to stand trial.’
    Antonio did nothing quickly. He supped his ale with as much deliberation and enjoyment as if he had been shoeing horses all morning.
    â€˜Well,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t want to disoblige your master but he must know that his authority, great though it is in the Tuschian cities, does not extend to Padavia. Therefore no arrest warrant issued in Giglia