Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [40]
“It must be the enemy enchanter,” said Paolo.
“Trying to take our minds off the war,” said Renata. “Tell your family, won’t you?”
“If you tell yours,” said Paolo.
“Of course I will. What do you take me for?” said Renata.
In spite of everything, Paolo found himself laughing. “I think you’re a Petrocchi!” he said.
But when Renata began to laugh too, Paolo realized it was too much. He turned to run away, and found himself facing the Chief of Police. The Chief of Police had evidently recovered his dignity. “Now then, you children. Move along,” he said.
Renata fled, without more ado, red in the face with the shame of being caught talking to a Montana. Paolo hung on. It seemed to him that he ought to report that Tonino was missing.
“I said move along!” repeated the Chief of Police, and he pulled down his jacket with a most threatening jerk.
Paolo’s nerve broke. After all, an ordinary policeman was not going to be much help against an enchanter. He ran.
He ran all the way to the Casa Montana. The fog and the wetness did not extend beyond the Corso. As soon as he turned into a side road, Paolo found himself in the bleak shadows and low red sun of a winter evening. It was like being shot back into another world—a world where things happened as they should, where one’s father did not turn into a mad elephant, where, above all, one’s sister did not turn out to be a Petrocchi. Paolo’s face fired with shame as he ran. Of all the awful things to happen!
The Casa Montana came in sight, with the familiar Angel safely over the gate. Paolo shot in under it, and ran into his father. Antonio was standing under the archway, panting as if he too had run all the way home.
“Who—? Oh, Paolo,” said Antonio. “Stay where you are.”
“Why?” asked Paolo. He wanted to get in, where it was safe, and perhaps eat a large lump of bread and honey. He was surprised his father did not feel the same. Antonio looked tired out, and his clothes were torn and muddy rags. The arm he stretched out to keep Paolo in the gateway was half bare and covered with scratches. Paolo was going to protest, when he saw that something was in-deed wrong. Most of the cats were in the gateway too, crouching around with their ears flattened. Benvenuto was patrolling the entrance to the yard, like a lean brown ferret. Paolo could hear him growling.
Antonio’s scratched hand took Paolo by the shoulder and pulled him forward so that he could see into the yard. “Look.”
Paolo found himself blinking at foot-high letters, which seemed to hang in the air in the middle of the yard. In the fading light, they were glowing an unpleasant, sick yellow.
STOP ALL SPELLS OR YOUR CHILD SUFFERS. CASA PETROCCHI
The name was in sicker and brighter letters. They were meant to make no mistake about who had sent the message.
After what Renata had said, Paolo knew it was wrong. “It wasn’t the Petrocchis,” he said. “It’s that enchanter Chrestomanci told us about.”
“Yes, to be sure,” said Antonio.
Paolo looked up at him and saw that his father did not believe him—probably had not even attended to him. “But it’s true!” he said. “He wants us to stop making war-spells.”
Antonio sighed, and drew himself together to explain to Paolo. “Paolo,” he said, “nobody but Chrestomanci believes in this enchanter. In magic, as in everything else, the simplest explanation is always best. In other words, why invent an un known enchanter, when you have a known enemy with known reasons for hating you? Why shouldn’t it be the Petrocchis?”
Paolo wanted to protest, but he was still too embarrassed about Renata to say that Angelica Petrocchi was missing too. He was struggling to find something that he could say, which might convince his father, when a square of light sprang up in the gallery as a door there opened.
“Rosa!” shouted Antonio. His voice cracked with anxiety.
The shape of Rosa appeared in the light, carrying Cousin Claudia’s baby. The light itself was so orange and so right, beside the sick glow of the letters floating in the yard, that Paolo was flooded with relief. Behind Rosa, there was Marco,