[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

room in earnest, so that with every anguished cry I choked
upon its acrid tendrils.
Yet I was fixed where I stood, staring in disbelief at the
empty space where Gregorio and Caterina had been but an
instant before. Surely this has not happened, the small voice in
my head cried out. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I would wake
up in my bed in the workshop surrounded by the other ap­
prentices, both Caterina and Gregorio alive and perhaps
never destined to meet in this way, after all.
Then a rough hand grasped my shoulder and shook me,
so that I was forced to open my eyes before I was quite ready.
“Dino!” the Master was shouting. “Cease your lamenta­
tions and come with me. We must flee before the smoke
overtakes us, or we will suffer Caterina’s same fate.”
Those last words, more than anything, spurred me back
Portrait of a Lady
299
to awareness. “Yes,” I agreed and then started coughing as
smoke filled my lungs.
“Quickly, Dino, drop to the floor,” he shouted, his words
almost drowned now by the crackling fire as he fell to his
knees and pulled me down beside him. “The smoke is less
dense here, and we will be able to breathe a bit longer.”
“But surely we are trapped,” I managed to gasp in fear,
seeing now that the fire blocked our way to the tower door.
“We cannot walk through the flames!”
“We need not risk the fire. Stay low and follow me,” he
sternly ordered. “The hidden door that will be our way out
is but a few feet from us.”
We made our escape, not through some secret opening in
the wall, but instead by means of a small trapdoor in the
floor. Barely large enough to accommodate a man the Mas­
ter’s size, it opened down onto what appeared to be a narrow
railed platform.
“Take the greatest care,” he said, gripping my arm a mo­
ment to make certain I understood his words before he low­
ered me through that opening in the floor. “The platform
leads a few steps to the wall. There, you will find a series of
iron rungs set into the stone. You must make your way
down them, until you reach the bottom of the tower. It is a
dangerous descent—one misstep, and you will surely plunge
to your death—but it is our only chance.”
“I can do it,” I stoutly assured him; then, recalling his in­
juries, I stared at him in fear. “But what about you, Master?
You are hurt, and—”
“I shall manage,” he said with a brisk nod, though I
could see that his skin beneath a faint layer of soot was
pinched and white. “Now, quickly, my boy . . . we must
close the door after us to keep the smoke out as long as pos­
sible.”
How long the descent took, I do not know. All I recall is
hot and dizzying darkness relieved only by an occasional bit
of light where a chink between stones allowed in the moon­
light beyond. Above me, I could hear the rhythmic metallic
300
Diane A. S. Stuckart
clang of boots upon iron as the Master made his own way
down. His labored breathing was punctuated by an occa­
sional muffled grunt of pain, so that I feared the exertion
might be too much for him in his wounded state; still, as
he’d said, we had no choice but to make our escape this way.
Finally, my foot touched stone. With a sigh of relief, I
let go of the last rung and stepped aside as I waited for
Leonardo to join me. Across from me, I could make out a
faint rectangular outline of light that must be the hidden
door. In my disoriented state I could not guess if it led out
to the courtyard or somewhere inside the fortifications.
A moment later, the shadowy figure of the Master had
joined me, his own reflexive sigh of relief at safely reaching
the bottom sounding even more heartfelt than mine. He
swayed a little, and I caught his uninjured arm to steady
him.
“Thank you, my boy,” he murmured. “Now, come, we
must be out of here.”
Leaning his hand upon my shoulder as much to support
himself as to guide me, he led us to the same faint rectangle
of illumination that I’d spotted. He paused there, and I
could see that he was running his hand down the rough
bricks.
“It must be here somewhere,” he muttered just before I
heard the distinctive click of a latch giving way. The section
of stone slid outward like a door, opening into the tall cov­
ered alcove at the tower’s foot. Beyond was the grassy lawn
of the quadrangle, from which frantic cries of alarm and
shouts from the soldiers were already sounding as the fire in
the tower above raged on.
I should have been prepared for the sight that met me as
we stepped from the alcove, yet I was not. Just beyond us in
the tower’s fearsome shadow sprawled two motionless fig­
ures. A few tiny flames still gently danced upon what re­
mained of Caterina’s glorious gown, though mercifully she
was long past knowing any pain. Gregorio lay a few feet
from her, facedown as if he were but sleeping upon the soft
Portrait of a Lady
301
grass. One arm was stretched toward his sister in a final ges­
ture of yearning so tender that the sight of it abruptly broke
what was left of my heart.
With a cry of anguish, I fell to my knees and buried my
face in my hands. I could hear the voices around me now,
hear the Master’s halting explanation of a terrible accident.
One voice, oddly familiar in its rough accent, simply cried
out, “God, why?”
Then I felt the Master’s arms as he gently pulled me to
my feet. His voice full of sadness, I heard him say, “This is
no sight for a boy. Please, take him to the tailor Luigi so he
may look upon this horror no more.”
I was aware of strong arms lifting me as if I were no heav­
ier than a child, and then carrying me off into the night.
Listlessly, I opened my eyes for a moment to see which poor
soul the Master had commandeered for this thankless task.
Through my tears I saw above me a familiar coarse face and
a sweeping blond mustache. No genial leer twisted the mer­
cenary’s face this time. Instead, his features were set in an
attitude of stony misery unexpected for a man who dealt in
battle and death.
I closed my eyes again, only to feel a single small drop
that was not my own tear splash down upon my cheek. So I
am not the only one who grieves him, I thought with a sigh and
gave myself up to darkness for a time.
I roused myself again when I heard the sharp pounding of
a fist upon wood, and the harsh cry, “Tailor, open your door.”
Blearily, I opened my eyes to see that we stood upon
Luigi’s step. Through the window of his workshop, I could
see a small lamp begin to glow. The door opened a moment
later, and the sputtering tailor, dressed only in his long
shirt, stuck his head out.
“Who is breaking the peace?” he demanded, only to stop
short, mouth agape, as he recognized me beneath the layer [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • szkla.opx.pl

    •