Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [39]
Lucia laughed. “I fell over the other one. I sang a cancel-spell too. He was lying on all the corners of the stairs and it must have bruised him all over when I fell on him.”
“It’s bad enough when you can move,” Paolo agreed. “Like being blind.”
“Horrible,” said Lucia. “That blind beggar in the Via Sant’ Angelo—I shall give him some money tomorrow.”
“The one with white eyes?” said Paolo. “Yes, so shall I. And I never want to see another spell.”
“To tell you the truth,” said Lucia, “I was wishing I dared burn the Library and the Scriptorium down. It came to me like a blinding flash—just before I fell over that policeman—that no amount of spells are going to work on those beastly kidnappers.”
“That’s just what I thought!” exclaimed Paolo. “I know the only way to find Tonino—”
“Hang on,” said Lucia. “I think the fog’s getting thinner.”
She was right. When Paolo leaned forward, he could see two dark lumps below, where the Chief of Police and his lieutenant were sitting on the steps with their heads in their hands. He could see quite a stretch of the Corso beyond them—cobbles which were dark and wet-looking, but, to his surprise, neither muddy nor out of place.
“Someone’s put it all back!” said Lucia.
The fog thinned further. They could see the glimmering doors of the Arsenal now, and the entire foggy width of the Corso, with every cobblestone back where it should be. Somewhere about the middle of it, Antonio and Guido Petrocchi were standing facing one another.
“Oh, they’re not going to begin again, are they?” wailed Paolo.
But, almost at once, Antonio and Guido swung round and walked away from one another.
“Thank goodness!” said Lucia. She and Paolo turned to one another, smiling with relief.
Except that it was not Lucia. Paolo found himself staring into a white pointed face, and eyes darker, larger and shrewder than Lucia’s. Sur rounding the face were draggled dark red curls. The smile died from the face and horror replaced it as Paolo stared. He felt his own face behaving the same way. He had been huddling up against a Petrocchi! He knew which one, too. It was the elder of the two who had been at the Palace. Renata, that was her name. And she knew him too.
“You’re that blue-eyed Montana boy!” she exclaimed. She made it sound quite disgusting.
Both of them got up. Renata backed into the pillars, as if she was trying to get inside the stone, and Paolo backed away along the steps.
“I thought you were my sister Lucia,” he said.
“I thought you were my cousin Claudio,” Renata retorted.
Somehow, they both made it sound as if it was the other one’s fault.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Paolo said angrily. “Blame the person who made the fog, not me. There’s an enemy enchanter.”
“I know. Chrestomanci said,” said Renata.
Paolo felt he hated Chrestomanci. He had no business to go and say the same things to the Petrocchis as he said to the Montanas. But he hated the enemy enchanter even more. He had been responsible for the most embarrassing thing which had ever happened to Paolo. Muttering with shame, Paolo turned to run away.
“No, stop! Wait!” Renata said. She said it so commandingly that Paolo stopped without thinking, and gave Renata time to snatch hold of his arm. Instead of pulling away, Paolo stood quite still and attempted to behave with the dignity becoming to a Montana. He looked at his arm, and at Renata’s hand holding it, as if both had become one composite slimy toad. But Renata hung on. “Look all you like,” she said. “I don’t care. I’m not letting go until you tell me what your family has done with Angelica.”
“Nothing,” Paolo said contemptuously. “We wouldn’t touch one of you with a barge-pole. What have you lot done with Tonino?”
An odd little frown wrinkled Renata’s white fore head. “Is that your brother? Is he really missing?”
“He was sent a book with a calling-spell in it,” said Paolo.
“A book,” said Renata slowly, “got Angelica too. We only realized when it shriveled away.”
She let go of Paolo’s arm. They stared at one another in the blowing remains of the