By Dorothy Dunnett
With the bravura storytelling and stinky authenticity of element she dropped at her acclaimed Lymond Chronicles, Dorothy Dunnett, grande dame of the old novel, provides the home of Niccolò sequence. The time is the fifteenth century, whilst intrepid retailers turned the recent knighthood of Europe. between them, none is bolder or extra crafty than Nicholas vander Poele of Bruges, the good-natured dyer's apprentice who schemes and swashbuckles his approach to the helm of a mercantile empire.
Winter 1474 reveals Nicholas exiled within the frozen port of Danzig, Poland. His Machiavellian exploits in Scotland have price him buddies and family--not to say numerous riches. because the ice melts, temptations come up. Will he support the Muslim Prince Uzum Hasan opposed to the Turks? Will he lose himself one of the mystery, scented gardens of the Crimea within the palms of an in depth friend's bride? As Nicholas pursues his destiny, his estranged spouse, Gelis, seeks the reality approximately his earlier, merely to find the key id of his most modern comrade in arms--a tantalizing ghost from the prior poised to deal him the crowning dying blow.
Shimmering with aspect, alive with intrigue, Caprice and Rondo is Dorothy Dunnett's quicksilver evocation of an international the place pleasure is fleeting, love is unforeseen, and fact the rarest commodity of all.
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Extra info for Caprice and Rondo (The House of Niccolo, 7)
Maybe, knowledgeable astrologer that he used to be, Callimaco already knew what he was once asking, or even that Nicholas, on account that he turned Colà, had forsworn either the pendulum and the rod. the kid spoke prior to him. using the fascinating Polish utilization, the kid stated, ‘Will my pricey lord now not do us this favour? ’ ‘Sire,’ Nicholas acknowledged. ‘I am sorry. i've got no pendulum with me. ’ ‘But I have,’ stated Callimaco, and took from the breast of his gown a cameo set in a hoop. The stone used to be Greek, Nicholas guessed; faded and heavy, and carved within the likeness of a child’s face. It was once hot from the place it have been, and the thong on which it used to be threaded was once scarlet. Nicholas held it. Its proprietor endured, in that misleading, mellifluous voice: ‘Let us sit down through the window. this can be a divine reward we training, and God’s air may still breathe upon us because it is finished. My lord prince there. My lord Niccolò at his part. and that i shall take a seat right here. Now the stone hangs from its wire on my lord’s finger. What can we want it to inform us? ’ ‘It can't converse! ’ cried the boy. ‘Oh, it could actually speak,’ acknowledged Callimaco. ‘How else will it let us know what you might have hidden? ’ Nicholas, gazing the wire, felt the opposite man’s gaze as a weight. The child’s voice rose and fell in satisfaction and pleasure. Zygmunt had hid a handbag. Pan Nikolás was once to divine the place it used to be. ‘Now! Please! My pricey lord! ’ ‘I am sorry,’ Nicholas repeated. He met Callimaco’s eyes. Callimaco acknowledged, ‘Perhaps my lord is drained. We comprehend. yet inform the prince what may perhaps take place, have been the pendulum to talk? ’ a baby should not be denied; his interest quenched. a toddler. A susceptible baby. Nicholas acknowledged, ‘To locate whatever of yours, sire, I should still contact you. Then I should still ask the pendulum questions. this isn't my stone, so i don't know the way it solutions. With mine, it swings from one facet to the opposite if the answer's definite. For no, it gyrates. ’ The boy stated, ‘It is raining. Ask it whether it is raining. ’ It used to be raining. The downpour pattered at the bushes open air the casement; the haze of water rose from the floor. Nicholas watched it, his head grew to become, and felt the thong stir. The boy screamed, ‘It is relocating! it truly is relocating back and forth! ’ It used to be precise. He felt it sooner than he gave it, ultimately, his cognizance. The swing used to be well mannered, reasonable, unemotional. Is it raining? it really is. ‘Now locate my handbag! ’ acknowledged the boy. ‘Ask it. Please, Pan Nikolás! Please? Is it during this room? ’ And taking Nicholas by way of the arm, he lifted the wide, grownup hand that used to be unfastened and laid it, palm down, on his personal younger, bony shoulder. His eyes weren't gray yet brown, and entire of expectation. the place is maman? He didn't have to formulate any query in any respect. Of its personal accord, because the boy cried out, the pendulum started to movement in a sluggish circle. No. ‘Is it within the corridor? Is it within the corridor? ’ No. No. The loop, revolving extra promptly, rasped his finger. ‘Is it at the roof? Is it within the privy? Is it within the cellar? ’ No. No. No! ‘Keep clear,’ acknowledged Filippo Buonaccorsi, his voice curt. ‘It is emerging particularly excessive. ’ It was once emerging rather excessive. It was once describing a whole circle now, and lengthening slowly in pace.