Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [26]
“Thank you,” said Old Niccolo.
For the rest of supper, they discussed how Chrestomanci could best get to Rome. He would have to go by sea. It seemed that the last stretch of border, between Caprona and Siena, was now closed.
Much later that night, when Paolo and Tonino were on their way to bed, they saw lights in the Scriptorium. They tiptoed along to investigate. Chrestomanci was there with Antonio, Rinaldo and Aunt Francesca, going through spells in the big red books. Everyone was speaking in mutters, but they heard Chrestomanci say, “This is a sound combination, but it’ll need new words.” And on another page, “Get Elizabeth to put this in English, as a surprise factor.” And again, “Ignore the tune. The only tune which is going to be any use to you at the moment is the Angel. He can’t block that.”
“Why just those three?” Tonino whispered.
“They’re best at making new spells,” Paolo whispered back. “We need new war-spells. It sounds as if the other enchanter knows the old ones.”
They crept to bed with an excited, urgent feeling, and neither of them found it easy to sleep.
Chrestomanci left the next morning before the children went to school. Benvenuto and Old Niccolo escorted him to the gate, one on either side, and the entire Casa gathered to wave him off. Things felt both flat and worrying once he was gone. That day, there was a great deal of talk of war at school. The teachers whispered together. Two had left, to join the Reserves. Rumors went around the classes. Someone told Tonino that war would be declared next Sunday, so that it would be a Holy War. Someone else told Paolo that all the Reserves had been issued with two left boots, so that they would not be able to fight. There was no truth in these things. It was just that everyone now knew that war was coming.
The boys hurried home, anxious for some real news. As usual, Benvenuto leaped off his waterbutt. While Tonino was enjoying Benvenuto’s undivided attention again, Elizabeth called from the gallery, “Tonino! Someone’s sent you a parcel.”
Tonino and Benvenuto sprang for the gallery stairs, highly excited. Tonino had never had a parcel before. But before he got anywhere near it, he was seized on by Aunt Maria, Rosa and Uncle Lorenzo. They seized on all the children who could write and hurried them to the dining room. This had been set up as another Scriptorium. By each chair was a special pen, a bottle of red war-ink and a pile of strips of paper. There the children were kept busy fully two hours, copying the same war-charm, again and again. Tonino had never been so frustrated in his life. He did not even know what shape his parcel was. He was not the only one to feel frustrated.
“Oh, why?” complained Lucia, Paolo and young Cousin Lena.
“I know,” said Aunt Maria. “Like school again. Start writing.”
“It’s exploiting children, that’s what we’re doing,” Rosa said cheerfully. “There are probably laws against it, so do complain.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” said Lucia. “I am doing.”
“As long as you write while you grumble,” said Rosa.
“It’s a new spell-scrip for the Army,” Uncle Lorenzo explained. “It’s very urgent.”
“It’s hard. It’s all new words,” Paolo grumbled.
“Your father made it last night,” said Aunt Maria. “Get writing. We’ll be watching for mistakes.”
When finally, stiff-necked and with red splodges on their fingers, they were let out into the yard, Tonino discovered that he