Author's note: Unfortunately, the Stravaganza series is not mine so apart from the characters i've invented, all credit to Mary Hoffman...

Stravaganza: City of Ships

Prologue: Dry Land

The port at Classe was busy, as it always was when an important ship like the Clementia returned from a long voyage. Captain Marco Perrotti was attempting to orchestrate the removal of the goods from his ship onto the waiting carts, in order that they could be taken to various parts of the city. His mind, however, was not fully on the job. Whilst his orders were being carried out he scanned the bustling crowd that filled the port, eventually spotting a dark head rushing towards him through the throng of people.

"Gianna!" he cried as she ran into his arms. He buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head. At that moment, a large woman hurried up to them, panting for breath.

"Running… my age… most uncivilised…" she gasped.

"My long suffering Edita," Marco laughed and then indicated the girl who was now clutching his hand. "And how has my daughter been?"

"She has been well, Captain. Though from the way she's been acting since we received word of your return you would have thought she was a child, not a young woman of fifteen."

Marco smiled at his daughter. "You know you must try and contain your emotions," he pretended to scold.

"Oh father I do try. Nurse is always telling me I will not get a husband by being a wild thing, but sometimes I feel so excited on the inside that I must let it out or else I may explode!"

Marco laughed again and turned back to the nurse. "You must tell me about everything that happened whilst I was away. I heard that there was some trouble at the di Chimici weddings?"

Edita glanced around. "That is not something we are free to speak of here," she said. "I shall tell you the news when we return to the house."

Marco did not quite understand, but nodded in agreement and gestured for her to lead on.

*

That evening, Marco sat at his desk considering all that Edita had told him. He was worried about the future of Classe, the city he loved. The dukedom was threatened by having an alliance with the di Chimici pending, something he was strongly against. Classe, he believed, had a right to be its own dukedom, rather than a lesser one ruled over by a large family. He also disliked the idea of the di Chimicis having control of the port. It would give them too much power over Talia's trading links, and therefore her wealth, and could also damage the work Marco did for the other large families, such as the Nuccis. The Nuccis were another worry of his. The fact that they had fled to Classe after the fight at the weddings made things much more difficult. What would happen to them if the di Chimicis did take over? Marco did not want a repeat of the events in Giglia. In his opinion, fighting solved no problems. Maybe it was time? He could not be sure… He studied the object that was lying on his desk. It was a good size and certainly had the right links. Yes, it would do. He opened one of his desk draws and drew out a mirror. He needed to talk to Rodolfo, hear his thoughts on the matter, though he was pretty sure he knew what he would have to do.

Chapter 2 – Ship in a bottle

Anthony peddled furiously through the streets. He couldn't wait to see his father, who should be home when he arrived. He had exciting news for him; he had managed to get full marks in the maths test he had got back that day. And to think that his teachers had worried that he would find moving up a year too difficult! When he got to his house, he jumped off his bike and punched the code into the keypad on the side of the gate. The gates opened and he pushed his bike in, leaving it next to the two cars in the garage. Two cars, great, that meant she was there. Well, he should have expected it, after all, she had practically moved in with them, she even hung her clothes in his dad's wardrobe and kept her latest diet super foods in the fridge. Tony walked round the side of the house and entered through the back door. Anita was in the kitchen rolling out pastry. She glanced up as he came in.

"Hi Tony," she said. "How was school?"

"Oh, it was okay." He replied. "I got my result for that maths paper I told you about."

"How did you do?" she asked.

"I did alright," Tony told her. "I got 100 per cent, but it's not that big a deal, it wasn't a hard test."

"Oh sure! You're too modest, Tony!" Anita exclaimed. "That's really great! Your father will be so pleased. You can tell him at dinner."

"Is Samantha here?" asked Tony.

"Yeah, she's just taking a shower," Anita nodded.

"Great," Tony muttered sarcastically.

"She's really not that bad," Anita informed him. "I know you find her difficult but…

"Anita," Tony interrupted, "Please don't turn into my Dad."

"Alright, Alright. Don't get angry with me, I was just trying to help," said the housekeeper.

"I know that but it's just that's all I ever get from my Dad. I just need a break sometimes," Tony groaned. "Anyway, I better get on with my work."

Tony climbed the stairs and made his way to his bedroom, passing that of his dad on the way. He could hear the shower going in the ensuite. He hated it, the way she was trying to replace his mother. Well she couldn't, and she never would. It had been three years since his mother's death. Not long enough, in Ant's opinion, for his father to find someone else. He had started seeing Samantha just a year after the accident and she had basically moved in just over eighteen months later. She still had her own house, but she hardly ever used it. After his mum had died, Ant's dad had told him that the two of them had to stick together, just the boys. Anita had agreed to move in fulltime rather than just the one day a week she had done when his mother was alive. But that was fine with Anthony. He liked Anita… he didn't like Samantha.

Anita called him down for dinner an hour later. Sam and his father had already taken their places and Tony slipped into his own. That evening, Wednesday, and Sunday were the only time he usually got to eat dinner with his father. As the owner of a booming company that dealt in imports and exports, his father was always busy.

"Hi Tony! How was your day at school?" Samantha asked. Ant bristled at the sound of his name. His parents called him Tony, his friends called him Tony. Samantha was neither. She should call him Anthony.

"It was fine," Tony felt no incentive to divulge more than he had to say to stay polite and instead concentrated on his food.

"Oh, well that's good," Samantha smiled at him. "Do you enjoy your school?" Tony hated the fact she was always asking questions, never letting him sit quietly.

"It's okay," Tony replied, shortly.

"I've always found it strange that you go to a comprehensive. I mean, there are plenty of wonderful private schools in the area." Samantha kept probing him. Tony bristled. She knew perfectly well why he went to a comprehensive, and there was no way he was moving to some smarmy public school full of people with wallets bigger than their heads.

"Jullietta was a great believer in the state schooling system. She worked for the Department of Education." Anthony's father said from his place at the end of the table.

"Yes, but the point has been proven, don't you think? I mean, I don't see why Tony's education should suffer because of his mother's beliefs," Samantha insisted. Tony could not believe what he was hearing.

"My mum knew what she was talking about," he felt like shouting, but managed to control himself. "I think she knew more about this kind of thing than you do and I also think that her opinion is of a greater value." Samantha seemed shocked and shot his father a look.

"Anthony!" his father's voice was firm. Tony put down his cutlery.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he said. "I'm going upstairs."

Tony hurried up to his bedroom and lat down on his bed. He hated it when his father took her side. She wasn't even a member of the family; she had no right to treat him like her own child. It was true he didn't love his school, he'd always been a bit too clever to really fit in and had no close friends, but his mother had wanted him to go there and he would never, ever go against her wishes. Not now.

Tony was still lying on his bed when his dad came in. He heard the door open and close and his dad sitting down on a chair. "Your mother taught you not to be rude, Tony, didn't she? I always thought she taught you well but obviously not, because you are rude to Samantha every time she talks to you."

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. He sat up and looked at his father, channelling all his grief for the loss of his mother and hatred for Samantha into his words. "How can you say that about mum?" he asked. "Do you not care for her any more, not miss her at all? You've just moved on without even thinking how I feel about it, how she would feel to know she'd been replaced so easily! You act as if she doesn't matter at all! "

"I loved your mother very much, and not a day goes by when I don't wish that she was still around. Bu Tony, the reality is that she's not, and we have to move on with our lives without her. I've found someone else whom I love, Sam. It's true, she's not your mother, but there are so many wonderful things about her which you would see if you just took the time to get to know her. You haven't even given her a chance! Maybe, in time, you'll realise that she just wants to be a good mother-figure to you-"

"- Why are you always trying to replace her?" Tony shouted. "Samantha will never even come close to being anything like mum, so why does she try and get involved where she isn't wanted? I hate her, and I hate you for bringing her to this house!" he paused, and then said quietly, "I wish that it had been you that was driving that car, not mum."

There was silence for a long time, then his father got up and placed a brown paper package he had been holding onto Tony's bed. "Well," he said, "I'm glad we cleared that up. I bought this for you; I saw it on a market stall as I walked by. I thought it might soften the blow when I told you that we can't do our sailing trip this year. That's the only free week I've got and I'm taking Sam to Italy instead, I'm going to propose. I thought I'd just let you know." And with that, he turned and left the room.

Tony sat for a moment, stunned. He could not believe what his father was going to do! He was angry and upset, their annual sailing trip was the one time he got to spend time with his father, just the two of them, and now his father had decided he'd rather spend that time with Samantha! He picked up the parcel and pulled of the paper, revealing an object so beautiful it made him gasp. It was a clear glass bottle, but inside was a model of a ship, perfectly proportioned despite its small size. Rigging was draped over spindly masts like cobwebs, there were minute portholes and a miniature, but beautifully carved figurehead of a lady with long, flowing hair. On the side of the ship, in tiny golden letters, were the words The Clementia. Tony lay back on his pillows, exhausted and still clutching the bottle. How he wished he could get on board that ship, and sail away to some distant land to get away from all his troubles, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.

***

When Tony awoke, the world seemed to be rocking around him. He felt it tilt one way, then the next, before he even opened his eyes. When he eventually did, he gasped and bolted upright. He was in a tiny, wood panelled room, just with space for a desk, a chair and the cramped bunk on which he lay. There was a small, round window in one of the walls and Tony walked over to it. He stood on his tiptoes to peer out, the room rocked once more and, unable to balance on his tiptoes, Tony fell back and hit his head on the opposite wall. He sat, leaning against that wall for some time. He had realised two things: firstly, he was on some kind of galleon, much like the ship in the bottle which he still held in his hand, and secondly, the throbbing pain in his head told him that this whole thing was not a dream, it was real. At that moment the door opened and a man came into the room. He was tall, tanned, and muscular, with hints of grey streaking his black hair. But what shocked Tony most about his appearance was his clothe. They were obviously fine, but the ruffled shirt, black doublet, velvet cape and what to Tony appeared to be padded shorts, though he new were called hose, looked like they'd come from somewhere in Elizabethan times. Also, if tony had walked onto a ship to see a strange boy sitting in what must be the captains cabin, he would have reacted with shock, or anger. Yet this man seemed perfectly calm, almost relieved.

"Ah, you're here. Good, I have been expecting you," said the strange man. "Welcome to Talia."