CHAPTER 5
Da Vinci's procrastination had become an open secret in Florence.
His teacher Verrocchio, and he himself, certainly produced impressive works, hanging in homes, offering both style and collectible value.
However, commissioning him for a painting might simply mean paying a deposit.
Last year, he completed an order for the Medici family in just a few months, which had already become a famous anecdote.
This time, the contract from the monastery was lengthy, filling six or seven pages, all written to prevent him from disappearing halfway through the work.
The contract stipulated that he must first cover the cost of all materials, including gold leaf, and set a clear deadline of thirty months.
If the thirty months passed without him delivering the finished work, the completed part of the painting would belong to the monastery, and he would not be reimbursed for any materials.
Hedy agreed with this part of the agreement.
She had personally watched the master spend an entire afternoon playing with a piece of wood.
"But this payment method is so strange," Hedy said, pulling out a page and showing him the details.
If the order was successfully completed, Da Vinci would receive several properties near Florence.
These had been donated to the monastery by loyal followers.
Once he obtained the properties, Da Vinci could sell them back to the monastery for three hundred florins and pay one hundred and fifty florins to a young woman as her dowry.
"There's nothing wrong with that," Da Vinci said, stroking his chin. "That's how a land bequest agreement works."
Hedy wasn't familiar with these terms but emphasized, "The dowry must start being paid in installments after three months—do you have thirty florins right now?"
Da Vinci froze. "No."
"And you need to pay for all the materials in advance—paint, gold, eggs—do you have that money?"
Da Vinci tried to deny it but remained silent after a moment, swallowing his words.
"No."
The Adoration of the Magi is one of the most famous scenes in religious painting, with many renowned artists, including Botticelli, having depicted it.
The three wise men, following a star, arrived in Bethlehem to offer gold, frankincense, and myrrh as gifts to the infant Jesus.
For such a scene, every color—gold, red, green, blue—would be required, and frescoes needed even more paint. For someone like Da Vinci… he might have to give up his entire workshop to the monastery.
Hedy felt she had explained everything clearly, so she neatly arranged the contract and handed it back to him. "So think it through, don't make a losing deal."
Da Vinci pondered for a moment, then stood up with the contract in hand. "I'll go talk to them."
By dusk, he returned, seemingly holding a new contract.
Hedy, listening to the distant sound of a lute while reading, noticed Da Vinci's return with a smile on his face. Suddenly, a bad premonition arose within her.
"Did you finish the discussion?"
"Yeah, the total fee is one hundred and thirty florins, no more talk about the properties," Da Vinci shook the contract in his hand. "They'll pay me fifty gold coins upfront, and I must deliver within two years. If I don't, I'll owe them two hundred gold coins in compensation."
Hedy gasped.
She could already envision this guy's impoverished future.
"Your expression," Da Vinci remarked, looking at her, "seems to show some pity?"
"Mr. Da Vinci—"
"Mr. Leonardo," Da Vinci corrected her. "We're friends, no need for formalities."
"Mr. Leonardo," Hedy emphasized, "if you delay again, you might end up bankrupt and in prison."
"But after all—" Da Vinci started to say, but suddenly paused.
She wasn't his servant anymore.
When he slacked off or got distracted, there would be no one to bring him orange juice and remind him of this and that.
He might not even complete the work on time.
The young man with brown hair suddenly looked much paler.
"It's over," he sighed deeply. "I've already signed the contract, there's no turning back now."
Hedy had intended to just talk for a bit and then continue reading, but now she was conflicted.
If she didn’t help, one of the bright stars in European history could end up in prison because of debt, and Renaissance might never fully unfold.
"Alright," she coughed lightly. "I'll come over and supervise."
Da Vinci sighed in relief. "Then I'm saved."
"On the condition that you write a specific work schedule," Hedy insisted. "It needs to be detailed—when you'll finish drafts, and when you'll complete each part."
Da Vinci flashed a smile and waved his hand. "I'll finish the angel's halo for the theater first, then I'll start writing—"
"Write now."
"Well, I'll eat something and come back—"
"Write. Now."
Someone quietly returned to their room.
Hedy waited for a while, sensing that something was off.
She went over and knocked on the door, hearing the frantic sound of someone hastily packing things up.
Da Vinci had written half of the work schedule but suddenly started studying goose feathers, sketching swans in his notebook, completely ignoring the knocks on the door. At this rate, he would probably write until midnight.
When the schedule was finally done, Hedy took a close look—he only needed ten months.
From thirty months, to twenty months, and now down to ten.
Sure enough, this guy’s sense of time was like water in a sponge…
It was now February, the time when everyone in the city began drying pasta.
Long strips of pasta could be seen laid out in the sun all over the streets, with many rooftops and terraces also displaying pasta.
Although the Palazzo Vecchio looked like it only had three floors, its high ceilings gave it an imposing, almost omniscient feel.
Hedy had heard from Dechio that the microscope was ready, and she was about to go collect it. Just before leaving, she glanced out the window and saw the city bathed in ochre yellow, dotted with bright yellow egg yolk-colored geometric lines. Some places even had wavy lines and arcs arranged.
The residents here liked to grow orange trees on their rooftops and doorsteps, and the pots were surrounded by circles of pasta, giving it the feel of people playing with performance art.
Florence, which in Italian was the "City of Flowers," now seemed more suited to be called the "Pasta Headquarters" of Italy.
The artisans truly had remarkable skills. Not only did they replicate the design exactly as per the blueprint, but they also incorporated a spotlight feature according to her notes, perfectly meeting the basic requirements.
Hedy specially placed a strand of hair under the microscope, and after adjusting the distance, she could clearly magnify it several times.
Her mood suddenly brightened, and she paid an extra two silver coins.
"Thank you—you’re really wonderful," the optician said, smiling so widely he couldn't close his mouth. "We look forward to your next visit!"
As they made their way back, they had to pass through the long Piazza della Signoria to buy some things at the apothecary.
Before they had walked very far, suddenly, a flock of pigeons flew up in a panic, followed by several women shouting in alarm as people rushed over.
What had happened?
Hedy vaguely heard someone calling for help and quickly handed what she was holding to her maid, carefully pushing her way into the crowd.
A rather plump woman had collapsed on the ground, already unconscious.
It could be a heart attack!
Without thinking, she pressed through the crowd and called out loudly, "What’s her name?"
"Alia!" a familiar voice cried out in panic. "Alia Alejo!"
"Alia—wake up! Can you hear me?!"
The woman did not respond. Her pulse was still, and there was no movement when Hedy pressed on her palm.
Hedy leaned down and pressed her ear to the woman’s chest—no heartbeat.
Her pupils had already begun to dilate, and her breathing was faint and barely detectable.
No time to lose, she had to act fast.
She looked around for help and found Mr. Alejo standing beside her, his face pale.
"Come here—use your left hand to support her neck, and your right hand to press her forehead, tilting her head back," she shouted. "Make sure her breathing stays clear!"
In front of the crowd, Hedy crossed her hands and began to strike and press on the woman’s chest just above the sternum, counting in her head, ready to administer mouth-to-mouth if necessary.
If this was considered inappropriate, she might face punishment just like Da Vinci—better not think about that right now...
Hedy ignored the thoughts, maintaining enough distance to give mouth-to-mouth while pressing hard on the woman’s chest, praying she would come around soon.
Mr. Alejo, trembling, supported his mother, his palms icy cold as he stood on edge, panic written all over his face.
Just then, the woman, who had been unconscious, suddenly jolted. Her pupils began to contract rapidly.
Her cheeks flushed with color again, and her lips began to regain their natural hue.
Hedy waited until the woman finally stirred, helped her expel the vomit from her throat, and only then did she let out a relieved sigh.
She was alright—everything else could wait.
When the woman finally stood up with Alejo’s help, the crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause. Some even tried to grab Hedy, asking her to check on their own relatives.
—What a miraculous doctor, capable of bringing someone back to life in front of everyone!
Hedy shyly waved to the crowd, then calmed the still-shaken Alejo before turning to quickly lead her maid back to the palace.
Of course, Dechio would report everything truthfully to the higher-ups.
That very evening, she appeared before Hedy once again.
"Lord wants to see you."
It was him again.
Hedy was no longer surprised. She instructed Dechio to make sure the items in the box were handled carefully before heading to the office right on time.
The palace was enormous, with ceilings high enough to make the angel murals up top almost unrecognizable.