Magicians of Caprona - Diana Wynne Jones [84]
“He took me in,” Old Niccolo said, wonderingly.
“But someone was bound to find out in the end,” said Elizabeth. “What did you mean to do then?”
“Just hoped,” said Marco. “We thought perhaps people might get used to it—”
“In other words, you behaved like a couple of young idiots,” said Old Niccolo. “What is that terrible stench?” And he leaped up and raced out onto the gallery to investigate, with Elizabeth, Rosa and Marco racing after him to stop him.
The smell, of course, was the kitchen-spell again. The insects had vanished and a smell of drains had taken their place. All day long, the kitchen belched out stinks, which grew stronger towards evening. It was particularly unfortunate, because the whole of Caprona was preparing to feast and celebrate. Caprona was truly at peace. The troops from Florence, and Pisa and Siena, had all returned home—somewhat bewildered and wondering how they had been beaten—and the people of Caprona were dancing in the streets.
“And we can’t even cook, let alone celebrate!” wailed Aunt Gina.
Then an invitation arrived from the Casa Petrocchi. Would the Casa Montana be pleased to join in the celebrations at the Casa Petrocchi? It was a trifle stiff, but the Casa Montana did please. What could be more fortunate? Tonino and Paolo suspected that it was Chrestomanci’s doing. The only difficulty was to stop Old Niccolo getting out of bed and going with the rest of them. Everyone said Elizabeth had done enough. Everyone, even Aunt Francesca, wanted to go. Then, more fortunately still, Uncle Umberto turned up, and old Luigi Petrocchi with him. They said they would sit with Old Niccolo—and on him if necessary. They were too old for dancing.
So everyone else went to the Casa Petrocchi, and it proved a celebration to remember. The Duke was there, because Angelica had insisted on it. The Duke was so grateful to be invited that he had brought with him as much wine and as many cakes as his coach would hold, and six footmen in a second coach to serve it.
“The Palace is awful,” he said. “No one in it but Punch and Judys. Somehow I don’t fancy them like I used to.”
What with the wine, the cakes, and the good food baked in the Casa Petrocchi kitchen, the evening became very merry. Somebody found a barrel organ and everyone danced to it in the yard. And, if the six footmen forgot to serve cakes and danced with the rest, who was to blame them? After all, the Duke was dancing with Aunt Francesca—a truly formidable sight.
Tonino sat with Paolo and Renata beside a charcoal brazier, watching the dancing. And while they sat, Benvenuto suddenly emerged from the shadows and sat down by the brazier, where he proceeded to give himself a fierce and thorough wash.
They had done a fine, enjoyable job on that white rat, he informed Tonino, as he stuck one leg high above his gnarled head and subjected it to punishing tongue work. She’d not be back again.
“But is Vittoria all right?” Renata wanted to know.
Fine, was Benvenuto’s answer. She was resting. She was going to have kittens. They would be particularly good kittens because Benvenuto was the father. Tonino was to make sure to get one for the Casa Montana.
Tonino asked Renata for a kitten then and there, and Renata promised to ask Angelica. Where upon, Benvenuto, having worked over both hind legs, wafted himself onto Tonino’s knees, where he made himself into a tight brown mat and slept for an hour.
“I wish I could understand him,” said Paolo. “He tried to tell me where you were, but all I did was see a picture of the front of the Palace.”
“But that’s how he always tells things!” said Tonino. He was surprised Paolo had not known. “You just have to read his pictures.”
“What’s he saying now?” Renata asked Paolo.
“Nothing,” said Paolo. “Snore, snore.” And they all laughed.
Sometime