Chapter 2

Ritornello

As Kitty stared at the ground, she felt her body start to sway, and just before everything went black, she felt herself falling. She saw the young man running towards her as her eyes closed and she fell to the ground. Her hand opened, and the silver key dropped gently into the grass, flashing in the sunlight.

When Kitty opened her eyes, she was in a simple bedroom. The walls were bare, and sheets of paper were scattered everywhere. As her eyes gradually focused, Kitty could see cramped musical notation adorning each and every sheet. On a small table, a wooden flute lay on top of a pile of sheet music, and in the corner, a harp lay propped against the wall. Kitty's heart leapt. Music; that was something she recognised. A worried face was looking down at her, which she recognised as the man in the garden.

'How are you feeling?' his words were soft and calming. Vaguely, Kitty wondered if he sang. His voice had a vibrant quality that suggested it, but she couldn't be sure.

'Don't be afraid,' he said with a smile, 'you had a slight shock in the garden.' Kitty's eyes widened as she realised that he was waiting for her to respond. She was so used to everyone leaving her alone and expecting her to be silent. Her throat felt tight. She hadn't spoken to anyone in so long...

The young man pressed a cold cloth to her forhead, and continued to talk to make up for Kitty's silence. 'What's your name? I haven't seen you at the Conservatorio before. I am , I know it means "winner". My parents were very ambitious.' He let out a short laugh. 'Imagine their disappointment when I became a mere musical apprentice. All the same, Signor Pazzo – I mean, Signor Pendola promised me that I could be a great musician one day.' As he spoke of this man whom he obviously respected, Vincitore's eyes lit up. 'Are you an apprentice too?'

Kitty looked at the young man in disbelief. After years of silence, it astonished her that someone could say so much in a single minute.

Concern crossed Vincitore's face. 'Can you not speak?' he asked, 'Should I send for a physician?'

Kitty shook her head and opened her mouth. Her throat felt tight through disuse, and the sound that came out was harsh and scratched against her windpipe. 'Ki- Kitty. My name. Kitty.'

'Kitty?' said Vincitore, 'are you foreign? We don't have a name like that. The closest we have is Micina. I shall call you that.'

Kitty smiled. This young man was so sure of himself; she wasn't sure how he could be a figment of her imagination. Most of the dreams that she had had recently involved her running away from a shadowed fear: a stark conrast to the glorious sunlight of this particular dream.

'Is this a dream?' she wondered, and Vincitore smiled. With a start, Kitty realised that she must have said that aloud.

'No,' he said, sitting back in his chair, 'but many people think that on first seeing the Conservatorio. It's beautiful, isn't it?'

'I'm sorry,' she murmured, 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'The Conservatorio. Volana's pride and joy. The building you are in at this moment.' Vincitore was speaking slowly as if to a small child. He stood up. 'Come.' He said, 'I shall show you around.' He hesitated. 'But first, we must find you some decent clothes. You are not from Talia, are you?'

Kitty looked down. She was still in the simple cotton nightdress that she had fallen asleep in. She still didn't quite believe Vincitore when he said that she wasn't dreaming, but the notes that she had scribbled on her hand earlier that day were still there. What kind of dream included that sort of detail? So many questions were pounding around in her head, but she chose the easiest.

'Talia? What's that?'

Vinitore stopped walking towards the door, and slowly turned to look at Kitty, an expression of stunned disbelief on his face.

'You- you don't-' he spluttered. Well, at least that shut him up for a bit, thought Kitty with a wry smile. Still, she didn't like being thought stupid, and Vincitore clearly thought her ignorant.

The young man sighed. 'Talia.' He said very slowly and clearly. 'This country. Did you hit your head earlier?'

Kitty was beginning to lose her patience. 'Look.' She said, flicking her hair out of her face. 'I know this is a dream, so can you stop patronising me and treating me like a child; I get enough of that when I'm awake. Anyway,' she said with a smile, 'this dream came frommy imagination. Therefore, I made you up and you are under my control. So just stop acting as if you know everything, because you only know what I know.'

Vincitore raised an eyebrow. He didn't raise his voice, but spoke gently. 'Firstly, this isn't a dream and the sooner you accept that the better. I don't want to have to spend my whole time trying to convince you that this is real. Secondly, I am not deliberately treating you like a child, but you have obviously lost some of your memory. Also, you look very much like a child. How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?'

'Seventeen.' Kitty said through gritted teeth. She was small and she kniew it, but she hated to be reminded.

Vincitore blinked. 'Seventeen. My apologies.' He smiled. 'Thirdly, I am most definately not from your imagination, and I very much doubt that I only know what you know.' His grin widened. 'For example; do you know the best place in Volana to find roses in May?'

Kitty shook her head. 'I don't even know where Volana is.' She said.

The young man sighed. 'You are in the middle of Volana as we speak. I shall show you around later. There is a little copse just outside the city where the roses bloom early. Few people know about it, but I am one of them.' He thought for a moment. 'Or how about the names of all the cats that my family has owned in the past 20 years. Do you know that?'

Silently, Kitty shook her head again and looked at the floor.

'No. I didn't think so.' Vincitore turned and opened the door. 'Come. I expect you have more questions but you must hold them for now. I want to ask you a few things as well, but now I shall show you the Conservatorio.'

Arianna clapped her hands, laughing. The brightly dressed man in front of her laid down his flute and acknowledged her applause with a short nod of his head.

'The Manoush wish Your Grace well with your impending marriage.', he said. 'We have heard tell of your plans concerning it, and we greatly approve of your selflessness.'

'Thank you, Ludo.' Arianna said, smiling. 'And of course, all of the Maoush are invited! You must play at the ceremony.'

'Thank you, Your Grace,' Ludo replied, 'But I fear that our music would not be appropriate for a State ceremony, and may be frowned upon by those it would not be wise to offend. I hear that the music in Volana is wonderful however, and more befitting the marriage of a Duchessa.'

Arianna sighed. 'You may be right,' she said, 'but I do love the music of the Manoush. You play so beautifully, and it gladdens my heart to hear your songs.'

'Thank you for your praise,' Ludo said rising from his chair, 'but I fear that your kind opinion is not shared by many in your society, and it would be unfavourable in the wake of the new laws in Talia for Your Grace to be seen welcoming those whom in other cities would be condemned.'

Bowing towards Arianna, Ludo swept from the room.

Kitty walked through the draughty corridors in a daze. The Conservatorio was beautiful, with the summer sun streaming through the glassless windows. The architecture looked Renaissance, but she couldn't be sure, and it reminded her of churches and palaces that she had seen when her parents had taken her to Italy. Her heart seemed to constrict as she thought about that summer. She had been little more than a child then; just before her parents left for America. Her lip curled slightly. She had grown up since that day, no matter what Vincitore said. Music streamed from every doorway, all of the melodies intermingling with one another until it was hard to distinguish one from another. She had met so many new people, all of them intruiged by the new 'apprentice' as they believed her to be. Vincitore was quick to introduce her, and it felt strange to be called by the new name of 'Micina' that he had given her.

She noticed Vincitore come to a halt beside her, and she looked up to see an old man standing before them, his hair pure white; long and tied back with a black ribbon. His face was tired and lined, but he had an air of power surrounding him, and piercing green eyes that seemed to to look straight through Kitty. Vincitore bowed, and she hastily inclined her head, unsure whether she was expected to curtsey. The man dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand, and started to talk to Vincitore as if Kitty was not there.

'Your recital was pleasing, Vincitore. I hope that you can maintain that standard in future. The violoncello is a difficult instrument to master, but you seem to be in control of it.'

Vincitore's eyes widened at the man's praise, and he seemed speechless.

The man hardly noticed, but turned his gaze on Kitty. 'Who is this new apprentice?'

'Micina, um, Libera, Maestro. A new apprentice. She arrived this morning.' Vincitore stuttered. This man was obviously important.

'You are showing her around?' Vincitore nodded. 'Very good.' He turned to Kitty. 'You will come to the courtyard this afternoon. I am to assess your skills.' He strode away, seeminly oblivious to the stunned silence he left behind him.

Kitty turned to Vincitore. 'Who was that?' she asked.

Vincitore stood with his mouth open for a moment before replying. Then he grinned. 'He liked my performance!' he said, 'I'm on my way!' Then he seemed to notice that Kitty was still standing there. 'That was Signor Rinvio. He is the most senior person in the Conservatorio, save for Signor Pendola, but his approval is notoriously hard to come by. And he liked my performance!' Vincitore beamed at Kitty, and seemed to notice that she was still confused. 'Of all of the teachers here, Signor Renvio is the most feared. Signor Pendola is kind to everyone, but Signor Rinvio strives for perfection in everyone; he is never satisfied. He will give you a harsh assessment this afternoon. Do you have a piece prepared?'

Kitty started. 'I have to perform in front of that man? But I've never performed in front of anyone!'

Vincitore seemed unfazed. 'Well, he was obviously expecting you, so you're meant to be here. And if you're meant to be here then you must be good. What do you mean, you've never performed before?'

'No one's ever heard me play. I'm not even that good.'

'Stop being modest. Someone must have heard you otherwise you wouldn't be here.'

'You do know that I still think this is a dream, don't you?'

'Don't start that again. Instrument?' They were back in Vincitore's little room, and he put forward a chair for her to sit in. 'You didn't have anything with you in the garden except for that key.' As he spoke, he picked up the key from a small table where Kitty hadn't noticed it before, and placed it in her hand. 'Does it open your luggage? Your family must be very rich; that key is pure silver.'

'I don't have any luggage.' Kitty said, looking down at the key. It seemed much more in place here than in 21st century London. With every minute that passed Kitty was becoming less sure of her self, and she was even beginning to wonder whether she wasn't in fact dreaming, after all.

'No luggage?' Vincitore looked at her in disbelief. 'Then how did you propose to live here? You must at least have your instrument with you. Unless you are a singer?'

Kitty shook her head violently. She had not sung in years. 'I play the 'cello.' She whispered.

Vincitore's face lit up. 'Ah,' he said, 'a fellow 'cellist! Well in that case, you can borrow mine for your assessment, until your luggage arrives. Now, a piece.' He stood up and began to search through the piles of manuscript that were scattered around the room. Kitty sat frozen, terrified of the prospect of performing, let alone in front of the harshest marker in the Conservatorio. 'Signor Rinvio is a great lover of the ritornello, and I think I have the perfect one somewhere.' Vincitore was muttering to himself. A large mountain of papers collapsed and he cursed. 'I had those in order. Never mind, here it is!' He emerged from the corner, brandishing a sheaf of paper. 'It's not too long, so you can learn it in time, and your assessment shouldn't take too long anyway.' He set it on a stand, and picking up the 'cello, set the music on the page free.

A wondrous sound filled the room, and Kitty closed her eyes. She could tell from the very first note that Vincitore was a very talented instrumentalist, that his 'cello was old, mellow and extremely valuable, and that the piece had been written by a true master of their art. She loved Baroque music, what string player didn't? But this piece was something special.

Vincitore reached the middle section, and his fingers raced up and down the fingerboard. Kitty went pale. There was no way that she would be able to play that as well as he did. His eyes were half closed, and he hardly looked atthe music in front of him, preferring to let his hands be guided by pure instinct. As the piece came to a close, Vincitore looked at Kitty. Somewhat dazed, she applauded, and, laughing at her expression, he took a low, sweeping bow, waving his hand in the air.

'You approve?' he said, his light brown eyes still laughing.

'Virtuoso!' Kitty said. She couldn't help but laugh as well; her heart was racing from the music and Vincitore's performance had left her feeling exhilarated.

'Alright, your turn now.' Vincitore handed the 'cello to her, ignoring her panicked expression. 'Come on, it sounds impressive, but it's not that difficult. Have a go.'

Kitty sat down, and looked at the music. Despite feeling out of her depth in the place that Vincitore called Talia, music was her language. She took a deep breath, and setting the bow to the strings, began to play.

Later that afternoon, Vincitore led Kitty to the small courtyard in the centre of the Conservatorio. He was carrying the 'cello, as Kitty's hands were shaking so much that she was afraid of dropping the precious instrument. Wordlessly, he handed it to Kitty, along with the manuscript. He gestured, and she walked outside into the brilliant afternoon sunlight. Signor Rinvio was standing with his back to her, still dressed in black. On hearing her footsteps he turned, and his green eyes flicked towards the instrument in Kitty's hand.

'Ah,' he said, 'another 'cellist. That explains your affinity with Vincitore.' He turned and strode towards a door. 'Come.' He said, without turning around. Silently, Kitty followed him, and they made their way up a grand set of stairs that Vincitore had not shown her that morning. A dull, aching fear had settled in Kitty's stomach, and her breathing became ragged. Signor Rinvio pushed open a heavy wooden door, and motioned for her to enter.

Kitty found herself in an opulent chamber. Deep red drapes hung at the windows, and a great bed of dark wood took up most of the room. It was covered in red material, and was ornately carved with intricate patterns which twisted and turned up the posts, which were hung with heavy fabric, similar to that over the window. The room was richly furnished, and propped up against a table was a violin.

'Come closer, child.' The voice that startled Kitty was weak, frail, and so quiet that she wondered whether she had imagined it. Walking slowly towards the bed, Kittysaw a man lying there, so pale that his skin seemed to glow. Thin hair was fanned out over the pillows, and the hands that lay on top of the covers were rough, with long fingers that seemed somehow artistic. The old man's face turned to Kitty's, and she saw the same bright green eyes of Signor Rinvio staring at her.

'Light, Nido.' He whispered, and Signor Rinvio walked over to the window. Slowly, he drew the drapes back more. Sunlight streamed into the darkened room, and looking back at the old man, Kitty saw his eyes fixed on the floor. She looked down. As before, in the garden, no shadow stretched out behind her. The man's eyes glittered, and he lay back again.

'At last,' he breathed. Suddenly, his manner became business-like. 'Now, my dear, perhaps you can tell me why you have arrived ten years late.'