Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [73]
“Yes, but what would it be?” said Tonino.
“We could make it in honor of Benvenuto,” shouted Angelica, hoping to please him.
But Tonino thought of Benvenuto lying somewhere on a Palace roof and became more obstinate than ever. He shouted that he was not going to do anything so disrespectful.
“Are you telling me you can’t do a calling-spell?” shrieked Angelica. “Even my baby brother—”
They were shouting so loudly that the Duke had to tell them to shush twice. The military man hurrying up to the Duke stared slightly. “No need to stare, Major,” the Duke said to him. “I said Shush and I meant Shush. Your boots squeak. What is it?”
“I’m afraid the forces of Caprona are in retreat in the south, Your Grace,” said the soldier. “And our coastal batteries have fallen to the Pisan fleet.”
Both pockets drooped as the Duke’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you,” he said. “Report to me personally next time you have news.” The Major saluted and went, glancing at the Duke once or twice over his shoulder. The Duke sighed. “There goes another one who thinks I’m mad. Didn’t you two say you were the only ones who knew where to find the words to the Angel?”
Tonino and Angelica put their heads out of his pockets again. “Yes,” they said.
“Then,” said the Duke, “will you please agree on a spell. You really must get out and get those words while there’s still some of Caprona left.”
“All right,” said Tonino. “Let’s call mice.” He had not seen it was so urgent.
So the Duke stood in a wide window bay and lit the cigar stub from under Angelica with the lighter from under Tonino, to cover up the spell. Tonino leaned out of his pocket and sang, slowly and carefully, the only calling-spell he knew. Angelica stood in the other pocket with her arms upraised and spoke, quickly, confidently and—quite certainly—wrong. Afterwards, she swore it was because she nearly laughed.
Another man approached. Tonino thought it was one of the courtiers who had watched the puppet show, but he was never sure, because the Duke flipped his pocket flaps down over their heads and began singing himself.
“Merrily his music ringing,
See an Angel cometh singing …”
roared the Duke. Even Angelica did not sing so much out of tune. Tonino had the greatest difficulty in keeping up his own song. And it was certainly around then that the spell seemed to go wrong. Tonino had the sudden feeling that his words were pulling a great weight.
The Duke broke off his abominable singing to say, “Ah, Pollio, there’s nothing like a good song while Caprona burns! Nero did it, and now me.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said feebly. They heard him scuttle away.
“And he’s sure I’m mad,” said the Duke. “Finished?”
Just then, Tonino’s words came loose, with a sort of jerk, and he knew the spell had worked in some way or another. “Yes,” he said.
But nothing seemed to happen. The Duke said philosophically that it would take a mouse quite a while to run from the Corso to the Palace, and strode on to the kitchens. They thought he was mad there, too, Tonino could tell. The Duke asked for two bread rolls and two pats of butter and solemnly put one into each pocket. No doubt they thought he was madder still when he remarked to no one: “There’s a cigar cutter in my right pocket that spreads butter quite well.”
“Indeed, Your Grace?” they heard someone say dubiously.
Just then, someone rushed in screaming about the griffins from the Piazza Nuova. They were flying across the river, straight for the Palace. There was a general panic. Everyone screamed and yammered and said it was an omen of defeat. Then someone else rushed in yelling that one griffin had actually reached the Palace and was sliding down the marble front. There was more outcry. The next thing, everyone said, the great gold Angel from the Cathedral would fly away too.
Tonino was taking advantage of the confusion to bash a piece off his roll with the Duke’s lighter, when the Duke bellowed, “Nonsense!” There was sudden quiet. Tonino dared not move, because everyone was certainly looking at the Duke.
“Don’t you see?