CHAPTER 16 #3
On days with light rain, the world seemed to take on a more cinematic feel, with raindrops falling in intermittent sheets beneath the eaves and swifts swooping low, circling above the square.
Hedy walked alone with an umbrella, her thoughts wandering.
She had designed a pair of waterproof shoes with excellent performance, which didn’t require the wearer to constantly balance like a runway model and still managed to look elegant and stylish.
Leonardo was still helping her sort through sketches of the disease-resistant plants, and he was probably sneaking in some fun with a wooden yo-yo on the side.
As for the lord, he wore a cold and distant demeanor, but this time she wouldn’t rush to guess his thoughts. Her mindset had become much more relaxed.
In hot weather, ambition and passion seemed to rise and ferment, burning the heart like flames.
But on rainy days, the weather was perfect for deep sleep, as if one could become lazily boundless, lying in a soft, warm bed all day long.
She unconsciously yawned and suddenly caught the scent of beef patties.
— It was almost amusing how, back then, she had refused to eat any offal, and now she could casually talk about how well lamb tripe should be grilled to a perfect degree of doneness.
Hedy reached into her coin pouch and walked toward the shop, eager to try the new flavor.
Ever since the method for making pizza had spread, various peculiar versions had become popular in the city, receiving great attention.
Not only were there versions with tuna or mushrooms and green onions, but some had even tried using the dough to wrap up half a chicken and bake it.
As she walked over, she noticed a grimy boy hiding beneath a nearby eave, hugging his knees with his head buried in his arms.
He looked tall but frail, probably around twelve years old, retaining the faint features of a boy while exuding the clarity and freshness of youth.
What stood out, though, were the numerous rips and tears in his clothes—seemingly from being scraped or torn.
His pale ankles were exposed and splattered with raindrops.
Hedy quietly approached, noticing that the dark marks on his elbows, arms, and ankles weren’t dirt, but rather scars or wounds.
Some of them already showed signs of bruising, looking like the remnants of old injuries.
She furrowed her brow, suddenly reminded of how Atalante had looked when she was about twelve or thirteen—
That child had lived a carefree life, always humming a little tune or whistling while helping Leonardo move paints or doing her own accounting. Compared to the boy before her, Atalante had seemed like someone from a completely different world.
…Another child raised in suffering.
The boy noticed someone was approaching and raised his head with a wary expression, his face both stubborn and defensive.
Like an angry black cat.
He had black hair and eyes, and though his clothes were tattered, his delicate features still shone through.
Hedy realized his heightened caution and made a soothing gesture. She spoke softly, “You’re hurt… how about eating something first?”
The boy quickly shook his head, as if preparing to get up and run away, but his stomach betrayed him with an unmistakable growl.
The owner of the shop nearby noticed a customer and eagerly lifted the lid off a fresh batch of baked pizzas. The mouthwatering aroma of baked wheat wafted out, so tempting that it made one want to buy ten in one go.
The boy, clearly drawn to the smell of the pizza, twisted his head away in a more defensive manner, hugging his knees even tighter.
Hedy sighed inwardly, thinking that if this were Atalante from five years ago, she would have been pleading and coaxing her to buy one by now.
The former had been like a stubborn, reclusive black cat, while Atalante had been more like a clingy and obedient white cat.
Hedy pulled out a silver coin and asked the shopkeeper to add a generous scoop of hot meat sauce.
— She didn’t quite understand why pizza was served this way, but the smell alone made her feel a little hungry herself.
Hedy gently placed the pizza in his arms, offering no more words than a brief, “The wounds will get infected if they’re exposed to rain,” before turning and walking away.
At this age, teenagers were likely at their most sensitive, their pride the most fragile.
If she stayed and watched him eat, he might rather starve than take a single bite.
As she walked with the umbrella in hand, her thoughts remained uneasy.
When handing him the pizza earlier, she had noticed that the scars on his body were far more numerous than what she had first seen—
Elbows, hands, the side of his face, and his neck…
Was he a servant of some sadistic noble?
Or had he been tortured by an employer?
Hedy walked halfway down the street but then stopped.
Something didn’t seem right—she had overlooked something.
The boy’s clothes were clearly long overdue for a wash, and there were stains on them—colored stains.
It was oil paint.
When she helped Leonardo wash clothes, the hardest part was always dealing with oil paints mixed with turpentine—washing them with the soap available at this time was nearly impossible.
Hedy worried that if she left now, there might be another ghost haunting the streets of Florence, one that had died a cruel and tragic death. So, she quietly turned back.
She had to take a final look before leaving.
Because of the rain, the street was nearly deserted, with the shopkeepers all setting up awnings to shield from the downpour.
The abandoned boy, like a black cat, was huddled up, eating his pizza with a look of distress, his body shivering from the cold, fine rain that kept pelting him, making him curl up even tighter.
Hedy carefully tried to conceal her presence, but then she realized he was crying.
The boy was crying while eating.
It was as though he refused to admit defeat, repeatedly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, the scars on his palms and wrists becoming even more visible.
The pizza wasn’t large, but because of his injuries, he seemed to struggle to swallow, his crying quiet and muffled, as if the pain was too much to bear.
Hedy quietly waited for him to finish eating before she walked over, holding the umbrella.
The boy, realizing it was the same strange woman, instinctively shrank back.
"Don’t be afraid…" she felt like a woman with ulterior motives, and sighed softly. "I need a servant to help clean the courtyard. Would you like to come?"
The boy watched her pale blue eyes warily, quickly shaking his head.
"I..." His voice was hoarse as he spoke. "I have work."
"Well then," Hedy said, feeling more and more like she was coaxing a stray cat, and softened her tone. "Would you mind helping me carry some things back to the Doge's Palace? I’ll pay you fifteen silver coins as a reward."
The boy was silent for a moment, then nodded.
Hedy, her hands empty, had to take him to buy some fabric and new glass dishes. Then they went to a general store for some herbs that weren’t essential.
...She just wanted him to feel like he was truly earning something, not just being pitied.
The boy’s wounds were clearly still hurting, his walk a little unsteady, but he took great care in holding all the items and tried his best to keep the rain from touching them while holding the new umbrella.
On the way back, Hedy’s gaze wandered to the blurred, cool-toned Florence skyline, and she casually said, "You might have heard of me."
The boy lowered his head as he held the goods in silence, his ears quietly perking up.
"Prussian blue. I’m the one who created it." Hedy glanced at the dark blue stains on his cuff, speaking slowly, "It’s a deep blue, isn’t it?"
The boy froze for a moment, his expression one of disbelief. He even took the initiative to ask her, "You’re… the Miss Medici?!"
As expected... Whenever oil painting was mentioned, young people, whether they were boys or men, seemed to suddenly come to life as if they had regained their soul.
Hedy smiled and nodded, asking, "Which workshop are you an apprentice at?"
The boy relaxed noticeably, his previously distant expression softening at last. "Domenico Ghirlandaio."
When he said the name, there was a hint of pride and self-regard in his voice.
— Domenico, she had seen him at the ball a couple of days ago, surrounded by several noblewomen who were asking for portrait commissions.
The artist was a man nearing thirty, and although his fame didn’t rival that of Botticelli or Leonardo, he had his own distinct qualities.
According to Lady Clarice, another seasoned patron, the artist likely owed his unique style to his background as the son of a goldsmith. This allowed him to highlight colors in a way that evoked a sense of opulence, and his portrayal of figures had a sculptural, three-dimensional quality.
Hedy had seen his painting The Adoration of the Magi at the Doge's Palace last year. Compared to Leonardo’s classical atmosphere and Botticelli’s ethereal sense, his work felt more vibrant in color and intense in emotion.
"But… does he have a habit of punishing you?" As they approached the high towers of the Doge's Palace, Hedy slowed her pace and, in a calm and measured tone, asked, "Are those whip marks on your body?"
"Of course not." The boy, probably having eaten only half his fill, spoke with more strength. "I’m his apprentice. I help my master transport the stone materials!"
Stone... materials?
Hedy hadn’t expected this and instinctively asked, "The kind of stone used for sculptures?"
"Yes," the boy, despite holding a large bundle, still tried to gesture with his hands to describe the size and shape. "We go out before dawn to the nearby mountains to find the best marble for sculptures. Then we use ropes to carry it back."
Clearly, there weren’t many mules available to carry the load, so everything was left to child labor.