Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [28]
Rather unexpectedly, Lucia sympathized with Corinna. “I think you’re too old to be one of us children,” she said. “Why don’t you go away and do your homework and let me organize the kids?”
Corinna looked at her uncertainly. “What about your homework?”
“I’ve not got much. I’m not aiming for the University like you,” Lucia said kindly. “Run along.” And she pushed Corinna out of the dining room. As soon as the door was shut, she turned briskly to the other children. “Come on. What are you lot standing gooping for? Everyone take a pile of plates to the kitchen. Quick march, Tonino. Move, Lena and Bernardo. Paolo, you take the big bowls.”
With Lucia standing over them like a sergeant major, Tonino had no chance to slip away. He trudged to the kitchen with everyone else, where, to his surprise, Lucia ordered everyone to lay the plates and cutlery out in rows on the floor. Then she made them stand in a row themselves, facing the rows of greasy dishes.
Lucia was very pleased with herself. “Now,” she said, “this is something I’ve always wanted to try. This is washing-up-made-easy, by Lucia Montana’s patent method. I’ll tell you the words. They go to the Angel of Caprona. And you’re all to sing after me—”
“Are you sure we should?” asked Lena, who was a very law-abiding cousin.
Lucia gave her a look of scalding contempt. “If some people,” she remarked to the whitewashed beams of the ceiling, “don’t know true intelligence when they see it, they are quite at liberty to go and live with the Petrocchis.”
“I only asked,” Lena said, crushed.
“Well, don’t,” said Lucia. “This is the spell. …”
Shortly, they were all singing lustily:
“Angel, clean our knives and dishes,
Clean our spoons and salad bowls,
Wash our saucepans, hear our wishes,
Angel, make our forks quite clean.”
At first, nothing much seemed to happen. Then it became clear that the orange grease was certainly slowly clearing from the plates. Then the lengths of spaghetti stuck to the bottom of the largest saucepan started unwinding and wriggling like worms. Up over the edge of the saucepan they wriggled, and over the stone floor, to ooze themselves into the waste-cans. The orange grease and the salad-oil traveled after them, in rivulets. And the singing faltered a little, as people broke off to laugh.
“Sing, sing!” shouted Lucia. So they sang.
Unfortunately for Lucia, the noise penetrated to the Scriptorium. The plates were still pale pink and rather greasy, and the last of the spaghetti was still wriggling across the floor, when Elizabeth and Aunt Maria burst into the kitchen.
“Lucia!” said Elizabeth.
“You irreligious brats!” said Aunt Maria.
“I don’t see what’s so wrong,” said Lucia.
“She doesn’t see—Elizabeth, words fail!” said Aunt Maria. “How can I have taught her so little and so badly? Lucia, a spell is not instead of a thing. It is only to help that thing. And on top of that, you go and use the Angel of Caprona, as if it was any old tune, and not the most powerful song in all Italy! I—I could box your ears, Lucia!”
“So could I,” said Elizabeth. “Don’t you understand we need all our virtue—the whole combined strength of the Casa Montana—to put into the war-charms? And here you go frittering it away in the kitchen!”
“Put those plates in the sink, Paolo,” ordered Aunt Maria. “Tonino, pick up those saucepans. The rest of you pick up the cutlery. And now you’ll wash them properly.”
Very chastened, everyone obeyed. Lucia was angry as well as chastened. When Lena whispered, “I told you so!” Lucia broke a plate and jumped on the pieces.
“Lucia!” snapped Aunt Maria, glaring at her. It was the first time any of the children had seen her look likely to slap someone.
“Well, how was I to know?” Lucia stormed. “Nobody ever explained—nobody told me spells were like that!”
“Yes, but you knew perfectly well you were doing something you shouldn’t,” Elizabeth told her,