Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [71]
Paolo and Renata turned and climbed again. “What is it? A call for help?” panted Paolo.
“Must be,” gasped Renata. “Angelica’s spells—always—mad kind of reasonableness.”
An echoing clang brought them whirling around. Another griffin was down, but they did not see where. Fascinated, they watched the efforts of the last one. It had now reached the marble front of the Duke’s Palace, and it was not high enough to clear it. The griffin seemed to know. It put out its claws and seemed to be clutching at the zig-zag marble battlements. But that did no good. They saw it, a distant black blot, go sliding down the colored marble facade—they could even hear the grinding—down and down, until it crashed onto the roof of the marble gateway, where it drooped and lay still. Above it, even from here, they could see two long lines of scratches, all down the front of the Palace.
“Wow!” said Paolo.
He and Renata climbed up into the strangely bare Piazza Nuova. It was now nothing but a big paved platform surrounded by a low wall. At intervals around the wall were the snapped-off stumps of the griffins’ pedestals, each with a broken green or crimson plaque lying beside it. In the middle, what had been a tangled griffin fountain was now a jet of water from a broken pipe.
“Just look at all these spells she’s broken!” exclaimed Renata. “I didn’t think she could do anything this strong!”
Paolo looked across at the scratched Palace, rather enviously. There were spells in the marble to stop that kind of thing. Angelica must have broken them all. The odd thing was that he could not feel the spell. The Piazza Nuova ought to have reeked of magic, but it just felt empty. He stared around, puzzled. And there, trotting slowly and wearily along the low wall, was a familiar brown shape with a trailing bush of a tail.
“Benvenuto!” he said.
For a moment, it looked as if Benvenuto was going to walk straight past Paolo, as he so often did. But that must have been because he was tired. He stopped. He glared urgently at Paolo. Then he carefully opened his mouth and spat out a small folded scrap of paper. After that, he lay down and lost interest in the world. Paolo could see his brown sides heaving when he picked up the paper.
Renata looked over Paolo’s shoulder as Paolo—rather disgustedly, because it was wet—unfolded the paper. The writing was definitely Tonino’s, though it was far too small. And, though Paolo did not know it, not much of Tonino’s message had survived. He and Renata read:
ords to Angel on Angel over
It was small wonder that Paolo and Renata misunderstood. From the Piazza Nuova, now the griffins were gone, an Angel was clearly visible. It stood, golden and serene, guarding a Caprona which was already surrounded in the smoke from gunfire, on top of the great dome of the Cathedral.
“Do you think we can get up there?” said Paolo.
Renata’s face was white. “We’d better try. But I warn you, I’m no good at heights.”
They hurried down among the red roofs and golden walls, leaving Benvenuto asleep on the wall. After a while, Benvenuto picked himself up and trotted away, restored. It took more than a few ill-aimed rifles to finish Benvenuto.
When Paolo and Renata reached the cobbled square in front of the Cathedral, the great bell in the bell tower beside it was tolling. People were gathering into the church to pray for Caprona, and the Archbishop of Caprona himself was standing by the door blessing everyone who entered. Renata and Paolo joined the line. It seemed the easiest way to get in. They had nearly reached the