Free City of Flowers by Mary Hoffman Page A

early in his own world, eager to visit Talia again. He woke already dressed in his black and white novice’s robes.
    They were both in Sulien’s cell, but the door was open into the laboratory and through that Sky could see the other door, open to the cloister. The early morning sun steamed through and he stepped out into its light, without greeting the friar. He turned and checked: no shadow.
    And then he spoke to Sulien. ‘Tell me about William Dethridge,’ he said.
    *
    Duke Niccolò had spent a busy morning with his architect in the Palazzo Ducale. The plans for the conversion of the private apartments were developing well. Now he turned into the neighbouring piazza, to visit the workshops under the Guild offices. His new quarters and Fabrizio’s must have furnishings and ornaments worthy of princes.
    In the bottega of Arnolfo Battista, he stopped to order tables inlaid with marble chips and semi-precious stones. From the silversmith’s next door, he ordered an epergne in the shape of a dragon with wings spread. And then in the jeweller’s, four thick ropes of rubies and pearls for his two nieces and two young girl cousins, as wedding gifts.
    Well pleased with his arrangements, the Duke strolled through the cathedral piazza on the way to his old palace. And stopped outside Giuditta Miele’s bottega. It brought back painful memories, faintly tinged with pleasure. She had sculpted a lifelike statue of his boy, Falco, that was at once touchingly familiar and a great work of art. The Duke respected art and he respected Miele, though his opinion of her would have been far different if he’d known she was a Stravagante.
    Now he decided to call in on the sculptor. He found her apparently doing nothing, gazing at a block of white marble. It took her a few minutes to register her illustrious guest. One of the apprentices, who were all busy bowing and doffing their caps, tugged at her sleeve to rouse her out of her reverie.
    â€˜Your Grace,’ she said in her deep voice, making a curtsey, although her rough work clothes hardly lent themselves to the action.
    â€˜Maestra,’ he said, raising her graciously to her feet. ‘I was just passing.’
    An apprentice had been busy brushing stone dust off a stool and rushed forwards to proffer it to the Duke.
    â€˜I do not keep much in the workshop,’ said Giuditta. ‘But I can offer your Grace a cup of wine.’
    â€˜Thank you, most kind,’ said Niccolò, repressing his fastidiousness to sit on the stool and accept the pewter mug. He sipped cautiously and had to disguise his surprise at the quality of the drink.
    â€˜Mmm,’ he said. ‘Bellezzan red. And a fine vintage too. You have a good wine merchant.’
    â€˜It was a gift,’ said Giuditta. ‘From the Duchessa.’ She couldn’t help her eyes moving to the block of marble. All the time she was exchanging pleasantries with the Duke, she could be spending time with it, getting to know the figure trapped inside.
    Duke Niccolò’s quick mind made the connection straightaway.
    â€˜Ah,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You are perhaps commissioned to sculpt her?’
    Giuditta nodded. ‘I have travelled to Bellezza to make my sketches and the Duchessa will grant me several sittings while she is here in Giglia.’
    â€˜Would that be before or after the weddings?’
    â€˜Before, your Grace.’
    â€˜So she is expected soon? I must hasten to send her appropriate gifts as an honoured guest to Giglia,’ mused Niccolò. ‘I should like her statue to show her holding in her hand a scroll of the treaty I hope she will make with my family.’
    It irked him that this artist knew more about the Duchessa’s movements than he did. What was the Eel’s spy network up to?
    But he didn’t show his irritation. Instead he finished his wine and stood up, resisting all temptation to brush the seat of his velvet