The instructor was still at the school and told them when Luciano had left.

'So he must have been nearly home,' said Rodolfo.

'Look,' said Matt. 'I've got to stravagate, or there'll be trouble. I'm really sorry. I hate leaving you all with no idea about what's happened to Luciano.'

'Yes, you must go,' said Rodolfo distractedly. 'We will keep searching. And you will come back tomorrow? We need you in the Piazza dei Fiori. Even more if, G.o.ddess forbid, Luciano isn't back by then.'

'I will go with you back to the Scriptorium,' said Constantin. 'I don't think any of us should go anywhere alone at present.'

Matt was touched. He strongly suspected that, if they were attacked, he would be the one protecting the Professor rather than the other way round. But it was good of him to offer.

Cesare and Rodolfo, Enrico and Dethridge, split into pairs and went back over the ground to Silvia's house, asking everyone they met if they had seen a young black-haired man pulled from his horse. But no one had seen anything or, if they had, they were not saying.

'I'll have to tell Arianna,' said Rodolfo. He was not looking forward to it.

Luciano himself was completely unaware of the alarm his disappearance had caused. He was heavily drugged, a state that wasn't entirely unpleasant. No one was. .h.i.tting him, nothing hurt, and his only problem was that he felt terribly thirsty.

Faces swam in and out of his vision. One was wearing a big red hat and he knew that meant something bad but he couldn't remember what that was. Hands searched his clothing, taking his possessions, but even that didn't worry him.

The thing he prized most wasn't with him. Just at the moment he couldn't remember what it was but he knew it was very important and he was glad that it was safely in a box at his home.

Home. He tried to picture it but the image in his mind was very blurry. Was there a silver mask on the wall? Or maybe a mirror? Mirrors were important, he knew that. In fact he thought he would say it out loud.

The face with the red hat came back and said, 'You've given him too much.'

This struck Luciano as very funny. Too much what?

'No,' he heard himself saying. 'Not enough.'

Or was that someone else?

Someone put a cup to his lips. Wonderful, thought Luciano. And then the world went black.

'What is he saying?' said Arianna. 'Luciano is missing? Silvia come and look. I can't make out what Rodolfo means.'

Her mother joined her at Rodolfo's mirrors. His tired, careworn face was looking out at them and sending thought-messages. But the two women were so disturbed by the impact of the first one that in the end Rodolfo had to resort to mirror-writing: Luciano has been taken. We are all looking for him. You must not worry. I will tell you as soon as there is any news.

'Not worry?' said Arianna. 'How can he say that? I mean write it? Tell him I'm coming to Padavia. Write it backwards. I haven't got time to send it as a thought message. I must find Barbara and Marco.'

And she whirled out of the room before Silvia could reason with her. Rodolfo looked back at his wife with an expression of mixed exasperation and admiration.

You're no help at all, Silvia thought back at him. You think everything she does is wonderful!

Matt had hardly been able to get through the school day for worrying about what had happened to Luciano. Enrico's hints about the Bellezzan's fate were quite enough to keep his mind off his cla.s.ses. The spy had been quite sure that Rinaldo di Chimici had raised the stakes and was now determined to kill Luciano. And he believed that the Cardinal had chosen that day because the city would be so caught up in the coming execution of the Manoush that they would have no attention to spare for one missing youth, no matter how well-connected.

At lunchtime the Stravaganti bought sandwiches in the cafeteria and took them out on to the freezing cold football pitch. Matt had told them there was something important to discuss and, although Ayesha was with them, there was still no sign of Alice.

As soon as he told them that Luciano was missing, the others were equally horrified.

'I can't bear it,' said Georgia. 'After all he's been through! Why couldn't the di Chimici just let him be? He won that duel fairly, which is more than Duke Niccol would have done, if Enrico hadn't switched the foils.'

'You forget,' said Nick, white-faced. 'We didn't play fair either. It was because he saw me that my father was distracted and Luciano had the chance to wound him.'

It was hard for Matt to remember that Nick had been a di Chimici himself; he was such a twenty-first century person now. But there was still something of the aristocrat about him. It was a sort of confidence that Matt completely lacked. Nick was good-looking and clever and excelled at his sport of choice. He had the girlfriend he wanted and a loving foster-family but there was also something indefinable and extra about him, a sort of glamour that Matt a.s.sociated with celebrities.

Then he had a strange thought: Nick actually looked rather like Luciano. The Bellezzan could have been his brother maybe that's why he had been chosen to stravagate to Talia in the first place? And to end up living there as a n.o.bleman? It made Matt feel even more inferior.

But then he looked at Georgia's stripey hair and tattoo and at Sky's long dreads and chestnut skin and realised that, although they were both pretty special-looking, no one would ever mistake either of them for a member of Talia's ruling family. Besides, if the talismans worked that way, his would have chosen Jago.

'What can we do?' asked Sky. 'I was at the duel too, remember, and I've already seen one di Chimici trying to kill Luciano. And we stopped it because we were there, all of us.'

'There's nothing,' said Matt. 'Even those of us who were there couldn't do anything. I'm going to stravagate back as soon as I can tonight. It's terrible not knowing what's going on.'

'But what would this cardinal actually do?' asked Ayesha. 'He wouldn't really harm Lucien, would he? I mean they let you get away, didn't they?'

Matt exchanged glances with the others. They realised that his girlfriend had been given a censored account of his captivity. And that she had no idea just what a dangerous place Talia was.

'This cardinal,' said Nick, 'is my cousin Rinaldo. Two years ago he wasn't even a priest and now he's in line to be the next Pope, when our uncle dies. I don't doubt that if Uncle Ferdinando lives too long for his convenience, Rinaldo will find a way to help him out of this world. And if he'd do that to a member of his family, what chance would an enemy have?'

Professor Angeli's anatomy demonstration was on Thursday this week. Doctor Dethridge was not intending to go again; he was too preoccupied with the disappearance of his foster-son and the coming execution of the Manoush.

But the theatre was as packed as in the previous week. And, unknown to the authorities, many of his actual students now owned copies of Angeli's Teoria Anatomica, in which the Professor's discoveries were outlined.

Among the spectators who had paid their soldi at the door were Rinaldo and Filippo di Chimici, in a prime position in the front row. Rinaldo had a scented handkerchief ready to hold to his nose; he knew he would find this demonstration difficult to watch.

No one ever knew what type of cadaver would be used for the dissection; it was rumoured that Angeli himself often didn't know till the table rose up. He didn't make the arrangements himself but relied on Girolamo Gobbi.

But although they did not know whether the corpse would be old or young, male or female, the spectators in the Anatomy Theatre did know what type of dissection it would be; last week's was musculature. Today's would be the structure of the heart.

There was a special frisson in the theatre, knowing that Professor Angeli would soon be plunging his hands into a person's body and taking the very core of his or her physical being out of the once-living sh.e.l.l. There was more antic.i.p.ation for the demonstration than usual because of it, and students and members of the public alike craned their necks over the wooden railings.

Professor Angeli was standing by his table of instruments, his sleeves rolled up and a canvas ap.r.o.n over his clothes, when the machinery that operated the table could be heard clanking underneath the theatre.

At last it rose into view. There was a collective sigh. The cadaver strapped to the table, naked but for a loincloth was young and male and exceptionally good to look at. It was Luciano.

Constantin was distraught about Luciano's disappearance; Rodolfo had specifically asked him to look after the boy and he had failed to protect him. Coupled with the earlier attack on the Stravagante he was responsible for, it seemed to the Professor that he had been a poor guardian. Now it appeared that a scruffy and smelly spy was better at finding out what had happened.

When Matt arrived in the Scriptorium, he was surprised to find Enrico waiting for him.

'I'm sending young Matteo on an errand with this man,' Constantin told Biagio. But Matt had the impression that it was more for the benefit of the other pressmen, who were looking distinctly grumpy after their three-day holiday. 'He did two days' cover for Giovanni last week,' added the Professor, nodding towards the beater, who was back but with a bandage round his head.

Matt couldn't wait to get outside with the spy and pump him for what he knew.

'Don't forget your hat,' said Enrico meaningfully and Matt had to go back into the studio and retrieve Luciano's ridiculous purple number with the pressmen looking at him. He got a few whistles on the way out.

'What's happened?' he demanded as soon as they were out in the courtyard. 'Have you found Luciano?'

'No,' said Enrico grimly. 'But I'm pretty sure I know where he is. And if I'm right, we've got no time to lose.'

But instead of going out on to the street he dragged Matt up the stairs of the colonnaded court, towards the Anatomy Theatre, explaining as he went.

Luciano was dreaming that he was going to die. He recognised that it was not his own dream but Doctor Dethridge's the one he had the night before Matt was captured. Only Luciano was the young man lying on the slab and the knives were being sharpened for him. Unlike Dethridge, Luciano had a twenty-first century knowledge of Aztec sacrifices and he became certain that his heart was going to be cut out of his living body.

A knife was coming closer and closer to his chest and he tried with all his might to wake up. This was the worst nightmare he had ever had. His body felt paralysed. He couldn't open his eyes. But he could hear voices, whispering, like waves on a sh.o.r.e. And he felt sure that there was a bright light somewhere above him. He could sense it, red through his eyelids.

And then there was a voice he recognised.

It was Matt saying, 'Fooled you, again! You thought it was the Cavaliere, didn't you? But it was Matteo, my servant. See, we used the glamour again. We look like each other I've even got the bruises your servant gave him but I'm wearing my own hat!'

The whispers rose to a roar of shouting and accusation.

The Cardinal's voice and Filippo's.

Matt again, in a louder voice. 'The di Chimici believe they have given Cavaliere Crinamorte's body for dissection but it is not him. I am the Cavaliere, under a spell to deceive the Cardinal and his thugs. The poor creature on the table is my servant Matteo, disguised to look like me.'

That's not right, thought Luciano through the fog of sleep. I am the Cavaliere. I remember when Arianna gave me the ribbon. It was blue. I did pretend to be Matt once but not now. I wish this dream would be over.

Was that Enrico speaking now?

'And either way, Cavaliere or servant, that's not a condemned criminal on the table, is it?'

A terrible jolt pa.s.sed through Luciano's brain. Perhaps this wasn't actually a dream? With every atom of strength he had left to fight the doped haze he was in, he tried to move his right arm.

There were screams in the s.p.a.ce outside his head.

'It's not even dead,' cried a voice. 'Its arm moved. I saw it.'

And then Luciano seemed to topple into a vortex, spinning and falling slowly into a new kind of darkness where everything was quiet.

Matt and Enrico ran down the stairs outside the Anatomy Theatre, leaving the demonstration in upheaval. They found the room where the bodies were prepared and, as they pushed their way in, Gobbi rushed out.

'Leave him,' said Matt, hurrying to the table, which had swung over, sending a wretched dog's corpse to rise up to the theatre, and leaving an inanimate Luciano hanging from the straps on this side. Gobbi had effected the switch over that had been planned if anyone discovered the Professor was not operating on a criminal's corpse.

'Quick,' said Matt. 'We've got to unstrap him before the table goes up again. Angeli operates it from up there.'

They worked at the buckles and Luciano collapsed to the floor, just as the table started to rise up again.

He was still not able to open his eyes but felt himself being carried and smelled something pungent that seemed familiar.

'Enrico?' he croaked.

'That's me, signore,' said the spy, desperate to get as far away from the Anatomy Theatre as possible. Matt was taking more of Luciano's weight but they made a clumsy, shambling trio.

As they came out into the Great Court Enrico heard footsteps and signalled for Matt to stop. They took cover behind a statue of one of the founders of the University. As they watched the main entrance, two members of the city guard came running in and headed up the stone stairs to the Anatomy Theatre.

'I hope Professor Angeli doesn't get into any trouble,' said Matt.

'Nah,' said Enrico. 'He'll be all right. It's a dog, isn't it? And no sign of any other corpse. The Cardinal though, that's another matter. I don't reckon the students will let him or Filippo off lightly. It's one thing to buy stiffs off poor folk that can't afford to bury them. But it's quite another to go drugging and poisoning respectable young students like our Cavaliere here and then try and get them cut up while they're still alive!'

I'm alive, thought Luciano. Stripped and drugged poisoned he said. And not able to see anything yet. But my heart is still in my body. I can feel it beating.

Arianna had set out as soon as she had been able to, after explaining to Barbara and Marco that she must go to Padavia earlier than planned. She was in an agony of impatience; everything took so long to organise. Clothes for Barbara, a change of duty for Marco the d.u.c.h.essa herself was in her boy's clothes long before everyone else was ready.

The journey to Padavia had never seemed so long: first the mandola to the top of the islands, then the ferry to the mainland and then waiting for the public coach. Arianna longed just to go to the Ducal stables and commandeer her own state carriage and urge the horses to the City of Words herself. But it would have been madness to blow her disguise.

When we have found Luciano, she told herself, willing herself to stay positive, I can be useful about the Manoush. Rodolfo said we needed more people to release them when the Dottore's plan comes off.

The coach stopped near the Piazza dei Fiori and Arianna had to stuff her fist in her mouth when she saw the bonfires. She had banned the practice of execution by burning in her own city; it had always seemed a barbaric punishment to her, even before her own imprisonment and trial.

Rapidly, she turned her back on the square and marched, with Marco following behind her, towards the cathedral. But their way took them past the entrance to the University. Arianna stopped and clutched Marco's arm. She had seen two people she recognised carrying the naked body of a black-haired young man into the Scriptorium.

Constantin was looking through some proofreaders' corrections when there was a hammering at the Scriptorium door.

Enrico and Matt fell into the room carrying Luciano's body.

'It's all right,' puffed Matt. 'Not dead. Drugged.'

Constantin signalled urgently to the proofreaders to clear the papers off their long table so that Luciano could be put on it. While this was going on, two more people burst into the Scriptorium, a young peasant boy and his older companion. To the astonishment of the pressmen, the boy rushed over to the inert body and started keening in a high voice. All work on the machines had stopped and Biagio automatically locked the door.

Matteo the apprentice turned to the boy and grabbed him by the arms. 'He's not dead,' he said again. 'Not dead. Adamo, do you hear me? He's been drugged, poisoned, but he'll be better when it wears off.'

'He could probably do with a drink,' said Enrico, wiping his brow. 'I know I could.'

'Adamo' stopped wailing. 'Do you swear to me, Matteo?' said the boy, deadly serious and gripping his hands. 'Do you swear on what you hold most dear that this is not Luciano's corpse?'

And Luciano, hearing her voice, opened his eyes at last.

'Arianna?' he said.

'What did I tell you?' said Matt. 'He's going to be all right.'