Diana Wynne Jones - Chrestomanci 2 - The Magicians of Caprona & Witch Week

There are thousands of worlds, all different from ours. Chrestomanci's world is the one next door to us,

and the difference here is that magic is as common as music is with us. It is full of people working

magic—warlocks, witches, thaumaturges, sorcerers, fakirs, conjurors, hexers, magicians, mages,

shamans, diviners and many more—from the lowest Certified witch right up to the most powerful of

enchanters. Enchanters are strange as well as powerful. Their magic is different and stronger and many of

them have more than one life.

Now, if someone did not control all these busy magic-users, ordinary people would have a horrible time

and probably end up as slaves. So the government appoints the very strongest enchanter there is to make

sure no one misuses magic. This enchanter has nine lives and is known as "the Chrestomanci." You

pronounce it KREST-OH-MAN-SEE. He has to have a strong personality as well as strong magic.

Diana Wynne Jones

Books by Diana Wynne Jones

Believing Is Seeing: Seven Stories

Castle in the Air The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Volume I

Charmed Life

The Lives of Christopher Chant

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Volume II

The Magicians of Caprona ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 )

Witch Week ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 )

The Dalemark Quartet

Book 1: Cart and Cwidder

Book 2: Drowned Ammet

Book 3: The Spellcoats

Book 4: The Crown of Dalemark

Dark Lord of Derkholm

Hexwood Howl's Moving Castle

Stopping for a Spell

The Time of the Ghost

Year of the Griffin

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The World of Chrestomanci is not the same as this one. It is a world parallel to ours, where magic is as

normal as mathematics, and things are generally more old-fashioned. In Chrestomanci's world, Italy is still

divided into numbers of small States, each with its Duke and capital city. In our world, Italy became one

united country long ago.

Though the two worlds are not connected in any way, this story somehow got through. But it came with

some gaps, and I had to get help filling them. Clare Davis, Gaynor Harvey, Elizabeth Carter and Graham

Belsten discovered for me what happened in the magicians' single combat. And my husband, J. A.

Burrow, with some advice from Basil Cottle, actually found the true words of the Angel of Caprona. I

would like to thank them all very much indeed.

For John

1

Spells are the hardest thing in the world to get right. This was one of the first things the Montana children

learned. Anyone can hang up a charm, but when it comes to making that charm, whether it is written or

spoken or sung, everything has to be just right, or the most impossible things happen.

An example of this is young Angelica Petrocchi, who turned her father bright green by singing a wrong

note. It was the talk of all Caprona—indeed of all Italy—for weeks.

The best spells still come from Caprona, in spite of the recent troubles, from the Casa Montana or the

Casa Petrocchi. If you are using words that really work, to improve reception on your radio or to grow

tomatoes, then the chances are that someone in your family has been on a holiday to Caprona and

brought the spell back. The Old Bridge in Caprona is lined with little stone booths, where long colored

envelopes, scrips and scrolls hang from strings like bunting. You can get spells there from every

spell-house in Italy. Each spell is labeled as to its use and stamped with the sign of the house which made

it. If you want to find out who made your spell, look among your family papers. If you find a long

cherry-colored scrip stamped with a black leopard, then it came from the Casa Petrocchi. If you find a

leaf-green envelope bearing a winged horse, then the House of Montana made it. The spells of both

houses are so good that ignorant people think that even the envelopes can work magic. This, of course, is

nonsense. For, as Paolo and Tonino Montana were told over and over again, a spell is the right words

delivered in the right way.

The great houses of Petrocchi and Montana go back to the first founding of the State of Caprona, seven

hundred years or more ago. And they are bitter rivals. They are not even on speaking terms. If a

Petrocchi and a Montana meet in one of Caprona's narrow golden-stone streets, they turn their eyes

aside and edge past as if they were both walking past a pig-sty. Their children are sent to different

schools and warned never, ever to exchange a word with a child from the other house.

Sometimes, however, parties of young men and women of the Montanas and the Petrocchis happen to

meet when they are strolling on the wide street called the Corso in the evenings. When that happens,

other citizens take shelter at once. If they fight with fists and stones, that is bad enough, but if they fight

with spells, it can be appalling.

An example of this is when the dashing Rinaldo Montana caused the sky to rain cowpats on the Corso

for three days. It created great distress among the tourists.

"A Petrocchi insulted me," Rinaldo explained, with his most flashing smile. "And I happened to have a

new spell in my pocket."

The Petrocchis unkindly claimed that Rinaldo had misquoted his spell in the heat of the battle. Everyone

knew that all Rinaldo's spells were love-charms.

The grown-ups of both houses never explained to the children just what had made the Montanas and the

Petrocchis hate one another so. That was a task traditionally left to the older brothers, sisters and

cousins. Paolo and Tonino were told the story repeatedly, by their sisters Rosa, Corinna and Lucia, by

their cousins Luigi, Carlo, Domenico and Anna, and again by their second-cousins Piero, Luca, Giovanni,

Paula, Teresa, Bella, Angelo and Francesco. They told it themselves to six smaller cousins as they grew

up. The Montanas were a large family.

Two hundred years ago, the story went, old Ricardo Petrocchi took it into his head that the Duke of

Caprona was ordering more spells from the Montanas than from the Petrocchis, and he wrote old

Francesco Montana a very insulting letter about it. Old Francesco was so angry that he promptly invited

all the Petrocchis to a feast. He had, he said, a new dish he wanted them to try. Then he rolled Ricardo

Petrocchi's letter up into long spills and cast one of his strongest spells over it. And it turned into

spaghetti. The Petrocchis ate it greedily and were all taken ill, particularly old Ricardo—for nothing

disagrees with a person so much as having to eat his own words. He never forgave Francesco Montana,

and the two families had been enemies ever since.

"And that," said Lucia, who told the story oftenest, being only a year older than Paolo, "was the origin of

spaghetti."

It was Lucia who whispered to them all the terrible heathen customs the Petrocchis had: how they never

went to Mass or confessed; how they never had baths or changed their clothes; how none of them ever

got married but just—in an even lower whisper—had babies like kittens; how they were apt to drown

their unwanted babies, again like kittens, and had even been known to eat unwanted uncles and aunts;

and how they were so dirty that you could smell the Casa Petrocchi and hear the flies buzzing right down

the Via Sant' Angelo.

There were many other things besides, some of them far worse than these, for Lucia had a vivid

imagination. Paolo and Tonino believed every one, and they hated the Petrocchis heartily, though it was

years before either of them set eyes on a Petrocchi. When they were both quite small, they did sneak off

one morning, down the Via Sant' Angelo almost as far as the New Bridge, to look at the Casa Petrocchi.

But there was no smell and no flies buzzing to guide them, and their sister Rosa found them before they

found it. Rosa, who was eight years older than Paolo and quite grown-up even then, laughed when they

explained their difficulty, and good-naturedly took them to the Casa Petrocchi. It was in the Via Cantello,

not the Via Sant' Angelo at all.

Paolo and Tonino were most disappointed in it. It was just like the Casa Montana. It was large, like the

Casa Montana, and built of the same golden stone of Caprona, and probably just as old. The great front

gate was old knotty wood, just like their own, and there was even the same golden figure of the Angel on

the wall above the gate. Rosa told them that both Angels were in memory of the Angel who had come to

the first Duke of Caprona bringing a scroll of music from Heaven—but the boys knew that. When Paolo

pointed out that the Casa Petrocchi did not seem to smell much, Rosa bit her lip and said gravely that

there were not many windows in the outside walls, and they were all shut.

"I expect everything happens around the yard inside, just like it does in our Casa," she said. "Probably all

the smelling goes on in there."

They agreed that it probably did, and wanted to wait to see a Petrocchi come out. But Rosa said she

thought that would be most unwise, and pulled them away. The boys looked over their shoulders as she

dragged them off and saw that the Casa Petrocchi had four golden-stone towers, one at each corner,

where the Casa Montana only had one, over the gate.

"It's because the Petrocchis are show-offs," Rosa said, dragging. "Come on."

Since the towers were each roofed with a little hat of red pan-tiles, just like their own roofs or the roofs

of all the houses in Caprona, Paolo and Tonino did not think they were particularly grand, but they did

not like to argue with Rosa. Feeling very let down, they let her drag them back to the Casa Montana and

pull them through their own large knotty gate into the bustling yard beyond. There Rosa left them and ran

up the steps to the gallery, shouting, "Lucia! Lucia, where are you? I want to talk to you!"

Doors and windows opened into the yard all around, and the gallery, with its wooden railings and

pan-tiled roof, ran around three sides of the yard and led to the rooms on the top floor. Uncles, aunts,

cousins large and small, and cats were busy everywhere, laughing, cooking, discussing spells, washing,

sunning themselves or playing. Paolo gave a sigh of contentment and picked up the nearest cat.

"I don't think the Casa Petrocchi can be anything like this inside."

Before Tonino could agree, they were swooped on lovingly by Aunt Maria, who was fatter than Aunt

Gina, but not as fat as Aunt Anna. "Where have you been, my loves? I've been ready for your lessons for

half an hour or more!"

Everyone in the Casa Montana worked very hard. Paolo and Tonino were already being taught the first

rules for making spells. When Aunt Maria was busy, they were taught by their father, Antonio. Antonio

was the eldest son of Old Niccolo, and would be head of the Casa Montana when Old Niccolo died.

Paolo thought this weighed on his father. Antonio was a thin, worried person who laughed less often than

the other Montanas. He was different. One of the differences was that, instead of letting Old Niccolo

carefully choose a wife for him from a spell-house in Italy, Antonio had gone on a visit to England and

come back married to Elizabeth. Elizabeth taught the boys music.

"If I'd been teaching that Angelica Petrocchi, " she was fond of saying, "she'd never have turned anything

green."

Old Niccolo said Elizabeth was the best musician in Caprona. And that, Lucia told the boys, was why

Antonio got away with marrying her. But Rosa told them to take no notice. Rosa was proud of being half

English.

Paolo and Tonino were probably prouder to be Montanas. It was a grand thing to know you were born

into a family that was known worldwide as the greatest spell-house in Europe—if you did not count the

Petrocchis. There were times when Paolo could hardly wait to grow up and be like his cousin, dashing

Rinaldo. Everything came easily to Rinaldo. Girls fell in love with him, spells dripped from his pen. He

had composed seven new charms before he left school. And these days, as Old Niccolo said, making a

new spell was not easy. There were so many already. Paolo admired Rinaldo desperately. He told

Tonino that Rinaldo was a true Montana.

Tonino agreed, because he was more than a year younger than Paolo and valued Paolo's opinions, but it

always seemed to him that it was Paolo who was the true Montana. Paolo was as quick as Rinaldo. He

could learn without trying spells which took Tonino days to acquire. Tonino was slow. He could only

remember things if he went over them again and again. It seemed to him that Paolo had been born with

an instinct for magic which he just did not have himself.

Tonino was sometimes quite depressed about his slowness. Nobody else minded in the least. All his

sisters, even the studious Corinna, spent hours helping him. Elizabeth assured him he never sang out of

tune. His father scolded him for working too hard, and Paolo assured him that he would be streets ahead

of the other children when he went to school. Paolo had just started school. He was as quick at ordinary

lessons as he was at spells.

But when Tonino started school, he was just as slow there as he was at home. School bewildered him.

He did not understand what the teachers wanted him to do. By the first Saturday he was so miserable

that he had to slip away from the Casa and wander around Caprona in tears. He was missing for hours.

"I can't help being quicker than he is!" Paolo said, almost in tears too.

Aunt Maria rushed at Paolo and hugged him. "Now, now, don't you start too! You're as clever as my

Rinaldo, and we're all proud of you."

"Lucia, go and look for Tonino," said Elizabeth. "Paolo, you mustn't worry so. Tonino's soaking up spells

without knowing he is. I did the same when I came here. Should I tell Tonino?" she asked Antonio.

Antonio had hurried in from the gallery. In the Casa Montana, if anyone was in distress, it always fetched

the rest of the family.

Antonio rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps. Let's go and ask Old Niccolo. Come on, Paolo."

Paolo followed his thin, brisk father through the patterns of sunlight in the gallery and into the blue

coolness of the Scriptorium. Here his other two sisters, Rinaldo and five other cousins, and two of his

uncles, were all standing at tall desks copying spells out of big leather-bound books. Each book had a

brass lock on it so that the family secrets could not be stolen. Antonio and Paolo tiptoed through. Rinaldo

smiled at them without pausing in his copying. Where other pens scratched and paused, Rinaldo's raced.

In the room beyond the Scriptorium, Uncle Lorenzo and Cousin Domenico were stamping winged horses

on leaf-green envelopes. Uncle Lorenzo looked keenly at their faces as they passed and decided that the

trouble was not too much for Old Niccolo alone. He winked at Paolo and threatened to stamp a winged

horse on him.

Old Niccolo was in the warm mildewy library beyond, consulting over a book on a stand with Aunt

Francesca. She was Old Niccolo's sister, and therefore really a great-aunt. She was a barrel of a lady,

twice as fat as Aunt Anna and even more passionate than Aunt Gina. She was saying passionately, "But

the spells of the Casa Montana always have a certain elegance. This is graceless! This is—"

Both round old faces turned towards Antonio and Paolo. Old Niccolo's face, and his eyes in it, were

round and wondering as the latest baby's. Aunt Francesca's face was too small for her huge body, and

her eyes were small and shrewd. "I was just coming," said Old Niccolo. "I thought it was Tonino in

trouble, but you bring me Paolo."

"Paolo's not in trouble," said Aunt Francesca.

Old Niccolo's round eyes blinked at Paolo. "Paolo," he said, "what your brother feels is not your fault."

"No," said Paolo. "I think it's school really."

"We thought that perhaps Elizabeth could explain to Tonino that he can't avoid learning spells in this

Casa," Antonio suggested.

"But Tonino has ambition!" cried Aunt Francesca.

"I don't think he does," said Paolo.

"No, but he is unhappy," said his grandfather. "And we must think how best to comfort him. I know." His

baby face beamed. "Benvenuto."

Though Old Niccolo did not say this loudly, someone in the gallery immediately shouted, "Old Niccolo

wants Benvenuto!" There was running and calling down in the yard. Somebody beat on a waterbutt with

a stick. "Benvenuto! Where's that cat got to? Benvenuto!"

Naturally, Benvenuto took his time coming. He was boss cat at the Casa Montana. It was five minutes

before Paolo heard his firm pads trotting along the tiles of the gallery roof. This was followed by a heavy

thump as Benvenuto made the difficult leap down, across the gallery railing onto the floor of the gallery.

Shortly, he appeared on the library windowsill.

"So there you are," said Old Niccolo. "I was just going to get impatient."

Benvenuto at once shot forward a shaggy black hind leg and settled down to wash it, as if that was what

he had come there to do.

"Ah no, please," said Old Niccolo. "I need your help."

Benvenuto's wide yellow eyes turned to Old Niccolo. He was not a handsome cat. His head was

unusually wide and blunt, with gray gnarled patches on it left over from many, many fights. Those fights

had pulled his ears down over his eyes, so that Benvenuto always looked as if he were wearing a ragged

brown cap. A hundred bites had left those ears notched like holly leaves. Just over his nose, giving his

face a leering, lopsided look, were three white patches. Those had nothing to do with Benvenuto's

position as boss cat in a spell-house. They were the result of his partiality for steak. He had got under

Aunt Gina's feet when she was cooking, and Aunt Gina had spilled hot fat on his head. For this reason,

Benvenuto and Aunt Gina always pointedly ignored one another.

"Tonino is unhappy," said Old Niccolo.

Benvenuto seemed to feel this worthy of his attention. He withdrew his projecting leg, dropped to the

library floor and arrived on top of the bookstand, all in one movement, without seeming to flex a muscle.

There he stood, politely waving the one beautiful thing about him—his bushy black tail. The rest of his

coat had worn to a ragged brown. Apart from the tail, the only thing which showed Benvenuto had once

been a magnificent black Persian was the fluffy fur on his hind legs. And, as every other cat in Caprona

knew to its cost, those fluffy breeches concealed muscles like a bulldog's.

Paolo stared at his grandfather talking face to face with Benvenuto. He had always treated Benvenuto

with respect himself, of course. It was well known that Benvenuto would not sit on your knee, and

scratched you if you tried to pick him up. He knew all cats helped spells on wonderfully. But he had not

realized before that cats understood so much. And he was sure Benvenuto was answering Old Niccolo,

from the listening sort of pauses his grandfather made. Paolo looked at his father to see if this was true.

Antonio was very ill at ease. And Paolo understood from his father's worried face that it was very

important to be able to understand what cats said, and that Antonio never could. I shall have to start

learning to understand Benvenuto, Paolo thought, very troubled.

"Which of you would you suggest?" asked Old Niccolo. Benvenuto raised his right front paw and gave it

a casual lick. Old Niccolo's face curved into his beaming baby's smile. "Look at that!" he said. "He'll do it

himself!" Benvenuto flicked the tip of his tail sideways. Then he was gone, leaping back to the window so

fluidly and quickly that he might have been a paintbrush painting a dark line in the air. He left Aunt

Francesca and Old Niccolo beaming, and Antonio still looking unhappy. "Tonino is taken care of," Old

Niccolo announced. "We shall not worry again unless he worries us."

2

TONINO WAS ALREADY FEELING soothed by the bustle in the golden streets of Caprona. In the

narrower streets, he walked down the crack of sunlight in the middle, with washing flapping overhead,

playing that it was sudden death to tread on the shadows. In fact, he died a number of times before he

got as far as the Corso. A crowd of tourists pushed him off the sun once. So did two carts and a

carriage. And once, a long, gleaming car came slowly growling along, hooting hard to clear the way.

When he was near the Corso, Tonino heard a tourist say in English, "Oh look! Punch and Judy!" Very

smug at being able to understand, Tonino dived and pushed and tunneled until he was at the front of the

crowd and able to watch Punch beat Judy to death at the top of his little painted sentry-box. He clapped

and cheered, and when someone puffed and panted into the crowd too, and pushed him aside, Tonino

was as indignant as the rest. He had quite forgotten he was miserable. "Don't shove!" he shouted.

"Have a heart!" protested the man. "I must see Mr. Punch cheat the Hangman."

"Then be quiet!" roared everyone, Tonino included.

"I only said—" began the man. He was a large damp-faced person, with an odd excitable manner.

"Shut up!" shouted everyone.

The man panted and grinned and watched with his mouth open Punch attack the policeman. He might

have been the smallest boy there. Tonino looked irritably sideways at him and decided the man was

probably an amiable lunatic. He let out such bellows of laughter at the smallest jokes, and he was so

oddly dressed. He was wearing a shiny red silk suit with flashing gold buttons and glittering medals.

Instead of the usual tie, he had white cloth folded at his neck, held in place by a brooch which winked

like a teardrop. There were glistening buckles on his shoes, and golden rosettes at his knees. What with

his sweaty face and his white shiny teeth showing as he laughed, the man glistened all over.

Mr. Punch noticed him too. "Oh what a clever fellow!" he crowed, bouncing about on his little wooden

shelf. "I see gold buttons. Can it be the Pope?"

"Oh no it isn't!" bellowed Mr. Glister, highly delighted.

"Can it be the Duke?" cawed Mr. Punch.

"Oh no it isn't!" roared Mr. Glister, and everyone else.

"Oh yes it is," crowed Mr. Punch.

While everyone was howling "Oh no it isn't!" two worried-looking men pushed their way through the

people to Mr. Glister.

"Your Grace," said one, "the Bishop reached the Cathedral half an hour ago."

"Oh bother!" said Mr. Glister. "Why are you lot always bullying me? Can't I just—until this ends? I love

Punch and Judy."

The two men looked at him reproachfully.

"Oh—very well," said Mr. Glister. "You two pay the showman. Give everyone here something." He

turned and went bounding away into the Corso, puffing and panting.

For a moment, Tonino wondered if Mr. Glister was actually the Duke of Caprona. But the two men

made no attempt to pay the showman, or anyone else. They simply went trotting demurely after Mr.

Glister, as if they were afraid of losing him. From this, Tonino gathered that Mr. Glister was indeed a

lunatic—a rich one—and they were humoring him.

"Mean things!" crowed Mr. Punch, and set about tricking the Hangman into being hanged instead of him.

Tonino watched until Mr. Punch bowed and retired in triumph into the little painted villa at the back of his

stage. Then he turned away, remembering his unhappiness.

He did not feel like going back to the Casa Montana. He did not feel like doing anything particularly. He

wandered on, the way he had been going, until he found himself in the Piazza Nuova, up on the hill at the

western end of the city. Here he sat gloomily on the parapet, gazing across the River Voltava at the rich

villas and the Ducal Palace, and at the long arches of the New Bridge, and wondering if he was going to

spend the rest of his life in a fog of stupidity.

The Piazza Nuova had been made at the same time as the New Bridge, about seventy years ago, to give

everyone the grand view of Caprona Tonino was looking at now. It was breathtaking. But the trouble

was, everything Tonino looked at had something to do with the Casa Montana.

Take the Ducal Palace, whose golden-stone towers cut clear lines into the clean blue of the sky opposite.

Each golden tower swept outwards at the top, so that the soldiers on the battlements, beneath the

snapping red and gold flags, could not be reached by anyone climbing up from below. Tonino could see

the shields built into the battlements, two a side, one cherry, one leaf-green, showing that the Montanas

and the Petrocchis had added a spell to defend each tower. And the great white marble front below was

inlaid with other marbles, all colors of the rainbow. And among those colors were cherry-red and

leaf-green.

The long golden villas on the hillside below the Palace each had a leaf-green or cherry-red disc on their

walls. Some were half hidden by the dark spires of the elegant little trees planted in front of them, but

Tonino knew they were there. And the stone and metal arches of the New Bridge, sweeping away from

him towards the villas and the Palace, each bore an enamel plaque, green and red alternately. The New

Bridge had been sustained by the strongest spells the Casa Montana and the Casa Petrocchi could

produce. At the moment, when the river was just a shingly trickle, they did not seem necessary. But in

winter, when the rain fell in the Apennines, the Voltava became a furious torrent. The arches of the New

Bridge barely cleared it. The Old Bridge—which Tonino could see by craning out and sideways—was

often under water, and the funny little houses along it could not be used. Only Montana and Petrocchi

spells deep in its foundations stopped the Old Bridge being swept away.

Tonino had heard Old Niccolo say that the New Bridge spells had taken the entire efforts of the entire

Montana family. Old Niccolo had helped make them when he was the same age as Tonino. Tonino could

not have done. Miserable, he looked down at the golden walls and red pan-tiles of Caprona below. He

was quite certain that every single one hid at least a leaf-green scrip. And the most Tonino had ever done

was help stamp the winged horse on the outside. He was fairly sure that was all he ever would do.

He had a feeling somebody was calling him. Tonino looked round at the Piazza Nuova. Nobody. Despite

the view, the Piazza was too far for the tourists to come. All Tonino could see were the mighty iron

griffins which reared up at intervals all around the parapet, reaching iron paws to the sky. More griffins

tangled into a fighting heap in the center of the square to make a fountain. And even here, Tonino could

not get away from his family. A little metal plate was set into the stone beneath the huge iron claws of the

nearest griffin. It was leaf-green. Tonino found he had burst into tears.

Among his tears, he thought for a moment that one of the more distant griffins had left its stone perch and

come trotting round the parapet towards him. It had left its wings behind, or else had them tightly folded.

He was told, a little smugly, that cats do not need wings. Benvenuto sat down on the parapet beside him,

staring accusingly.

Tonino had always been thoroughly in awe of Benvenuto. He stretched out a hand to him timidly. "Hallo,

Benvenuto."

Benvenuto ignored the hand. It was covered with water from Tonino's eyes, he said, and it made a cat

wonder why Tonino was being so silly.

"There are our spells everywhere," Tonino explained. "And I'll never be able—Do you think it's because

I'm half English?"

Benvenuto was not sure quite what difference that made. All it meant, as far as he could see, was that

Paolo had blue eyes like a Siamese and Rosa had white fur—

"Fair hair," said Tonino.

—and Tonino himself had tabby hair, like the pale stripes in a tabby, Benvenuto continued, unperturbed.

And those were all cats, weren't they?

"But I'm so stupid—" Tonino began.

Benvenuto interrupted that he had heard Tonino chattering with those kittens yesterday, and he had

thought Tonino was a good deal cleverer than they were. And before Tonino went and objected that

those were only kittens, wasn't Tonino only a kitten himself?

At this, Tonino laughed and dried his hand on his trousers. When he held the hand out to Benvenuto

again, Benvenuto rose up, very high on all four paws, and advanced to it, purring. Tonino ventured to

stroke him. Benvenuto walked around and around, arched and purring, like the smallest and friendliest

kitten in the Casa. Tonino found himself grinning with pride and pleasure. He could tell from the waving of

Benvenuto's brush of a tail, in majestic, angry twitches, that Benvenuto did not altogether like being

stroked—which made it all the more of an honor.

That was better, Benvenuto said. He minced up to Tonino's bare legs and installed himself across them,

like a brown muscular mat. Tonino went on stroking him. Prickles came out of one end of the mat and

treadled painfully at Tonino's thighs. Benvenuto continued to purr. Would Tonino look at it this way, he

wondered, that they were both, boy and cat, a part of the most famous Casa in Caprona, which in turn

was part of the most special of all the Italian States?

"I know that," said Tonino. "It's because I think it's wonderful too that I—Are we really so special?"

Of course, purred Benvenuto. And if Tonino were to lean out and look across at the Cathedral, he would

see why.

Obediently, Tonino leaned and looked. The huge marble bubbles of the Cathedral domes leaped up from

among the houses at the end of the Corso. He knew there never was such a building as that. It floated,

high and white and gold and green. And on the top of the highest dome the sun flashed on the great

golden figure of the Angel, poised there with spread wings, holding in one hand a golden scroll. It seemed

to bless all Caprona.

That Angel, Benvenuto informed him, was there as a sign that Caprona would be safe as long as

everyone sang the tune of the Angel of Caprona. The Angel had brought that song in a scroll straight from

Heaven to the First Duke of Caprona, and its power had banished the White Devil and made Caprona

great. The White Devil had been prowling around Caprona ever since, trying to get back into the city, but

as long as the Angel's song was sung, it would never succeed.

"I know that," said Tonino. "We sing the Angel every day at school." That brought back the main part of

his misery. "They keep making me learn the story—and all sorts of things—and I can't, because I know

them already, so I can't learn properly."

Benvenuto stopped purring. He quivered, because Tonino's fingers had caught in one of the many lumps

of matted fur in his coat. Still quivering, he demanded rather sourly why it hadn't occurred to Tonino to

tell them at school that he knew these things.

"Sorry!" Tonino hurriedly moved his fingers. "But," he explained, "they keep saying you have to do them

this way, or you'll never learn properly."

Well, it was up to Tonino of course, Benvenuto said, still irritable, but there seemed no point in learning

things twice. A cat wouldn't stand for it. And it was about time they were getting back to the Casa.

Tonino sighed. "I suppose so. They'll be worried." He gathered Benvenuto into his arms and stood up.

Benvenuto liked that. He purred. And it had nothing to do with the Montanas being worried. The aunts

would be cooking lunch, and Tonino would find it easier than Benvenuto to nick a nice piece of veal.

That made Tonino laugh. As he started down the steps to the New Bridge, he said, "You know,

Benvenuto, you'd be a lot more comfortable if you let me get those lumps out of your coat and comb you

a bit."

Benvenuto stated that anyone trying to comb him would get raked with every claw he possessed.

"A brush then?"

Benvenuto said he would consider that.

It was here that Lucia encountered them. She had looked for Tonino all over Caprona by then and she

was prepared to be extremely angry. But the sight of Benvenuto's evil lopsided countenance staring at her

out of Tonino's arms left her with almost nothing to say. "We'll be late for lunch," she said.

"No we won't," said Tonino. "We'll be in time for you to stand guard while I steal Benvenuto some veal."

"Trust Benvenuto to have it all worked out," said Lucia. "What is this? The start of a profitable

relationship?"

You could put it that way, Benvenuto told Tonino. "You could put it that way," Tonino said to Lucia.

At all events, Lucia was sufficiently impressed to engage Aunt Gina in conversation while Tonino got

Benvenuto his veal. And everyone was too pleased to see Tonino safely back to mind too much. Corinna

and Rosa minded, however, that afternoon, when Corinna lost her scissors and Rosa her hairbrush. Both

of them stormed out onto the gallery. Paolo was there, watching Tonino gently and carefully snip the mats

out of Benvenuto's coat. The hairbrush lay beside Tonino, full of brown fur.

"And you can really understand everything he says?" Paolo was saying.

"I can understand all the cats," said Tonino. "Don't move, Benvenuto. This one's right on your skin."

It says volumes for Benvenuto's status—and therefore for Tonino's—that neither Rosa nor Corinna

dared say a word to him. They turned on Paolo instead. "What do you mean, Paolo, standing there

letting him mess that brush up? Why couldn't you make him use the kitchen scissors?"

Paolo did not mind. He was too relieved that he was not going to have to learn to understand cats

himself. He would not have known how to begin.

From that time forward, Benvenuto regarded himself as Tonino's special cat. It made a difference to both

of them. Benvenuto, what with constant brushing—for Rosa bought Tonino a special hairbrush for

him—and almost as constant supplies filched from under Aunt Gina's nose, soon began to look younger

and sleeker. Tonino forgot he had ever been unhappy. He was now a proud and special person. When

Old Niccolo needed Benvenuto, he had to ask Tonino first. Benvenuto flatly refused to do anything for

anyone without Tonino's permission. Paolo was very amused at how angry Old Niccolo got.

Diana Wynne Jones - Chrestomanci 2 - The Magicians of Caprona & Witch Week

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