Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [68]
He was the only person about in the Via Cantello. The Casa Petrocchi was as shuttered and barred as the Casa Montana. And their Angel was covered with birdlime too. Like the Montanas, they had stopped making spells. Which showed, thought Paolo, that Chrestomanci was right about Angelica too. He was much encouraged by that as he hammered on the rough old gate.
There was no sound from inside, but, after a second or so, a white cat jumped to the top of the gate, and crouched in the gap under the archway, looking down with eyes even bluer than Paolo’s.
Those eyes reminded Paolo that his own eyes were likely to give him away. He did not think he dared disguise them with a spell, in case the Petrocchis noticed. So he swallowed, told himself that he had to find the one person who was likely to help him look for Tonino, and said to the cat, “Renata. Could I speak to Renata?”
The white cat stared. Maybe it made some remark. Then it jumped down inside the Casa, leaving Paolo with an uncomfortable feeling that it knew who he was. But he waited. Before he had quite decided to go away again, the peephole was unlatched. To his relief, it was Renata’s pointed face that looked through the bars at him.
“Whoops!” she said. “I see why Vittoria fetched me. What a relief you came!”
“Come and help find Tonino and Angelica,” said Paolo. “Nobody will listen.”
“Ung.” Renata pulled a strip of her red hair into her mouth and bit it. “We’re forbidden to go out. Think of an excuse.”
“Your teacher’s ill and scared of the war and wants us to sit with her,” said Paolo.
“That might do,” said Renata. “Come in while I ask.” Paolo heard the gate being unbarred. “Her name’s Mrs. Grimaldi,” Renata whispered, holding the gate open for him. “She lives in the Via Sant’ Angelo and she’s ever so ugly, in case they ask. Come in.”
Considerably to his amazement, Paolo entered the Casa Petrocchi, and was even more amazed not to be particularly frightened. He felt as if he was about to do an exam, keyed up, and knowing he was in for it, but that was all.
He saw a yard and a gallery so like his own that he could almost have believed he had been magically whisked back home. There were differences, of course. The gallery railings were fancy wrought-iron, with iron leopards in them at intervals. The cats that sat sunning themselves on the waterbutts were mostly ginger or tabby—whereas in the Casa Montana, Benvenuto had left his mark, and the cats were either black or black and white. And there was a gush of smell from the kitchen—frying onions—the like of which Paolo had not smelled since Lucia cast her unlucky spell.
“Mother!” shouted Renata.
But the first person who appeared was Marco. Marco was galloping down the steps from the gallery with a pair of long shiny boots in one hand, and a crumpled red uniform over his arm. “Mother!” Marco bellowed, in the free and easy way people always bellow for their mothers. “Mother! There’s moth in my uniform! Who took the spell out of it?”
“Stupid!” Renata said to him. “We put every single spell away last night.” And she said to Paolo, “That’s my brother Marco.”
Marco turned indignantly to Renata. “But moths take months—!” And he saw Paolo. It was hard to tell which of them was more dismayed.
At that moment, a red-haired, worried-looking lady came across the yard, carrying a little boy. The baby had black hair and the same bulging forehead as Angelica. “I don’t know, Marco,” she said. “Get Rosa to mend it. What is it, Renata?”
Marco interrupted. “Rosa,” he said, looking fixedly at Paolo, “is with her sister. Who’s your friend, Renata?”
Paolo could not resist. “I’m Paolo Andretti,” he said wickedly. Marco rewarded him with a look which dared him to say another word.
Renata was relieved, because she now knew what to call Paolo. “Paolo wants me to come and help look after Mrs. Grimaldi. She’s ill in bed, Mother.”
Paolo could see by the way Marco’s eyes went first wide and then almost to slits, that Marco was extremely alarmed by this and determined