Read Online Leonardo da Vinci: Renaissance Master by Ann Hood - Free Book Online

bridge!” Maisie shouted.
    â€œHe’s probably not even coming,” he finally said, relieved. “What a jerk.”
    â€œWho exactly is a jerk?” someone asked, his voice mocking.
    Felix looked up, straight at Sandro standing before them. “No one,” Felix said, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
    â€œAh!” Sandro said. “All right, then.”
    He linked his arm through Maisie’s.
    â€œShall we stroll?” he asked.
    Maisie could only nod.
    When Felix began to walk on the other side of Sandro, Sandro halted.
    â€œI will return her safely to this very spot at ten o’clock,” he said.
    â€œWhoa!” Felix said. “Ten o’clock? I don’t think—”
    But Sandro and Maisie had already moved away from him.
    â€œUm, Maisie?” Felix called.
    But his sister didn’t even bother to turn around. She had her head tilted up to catch every obnoxious word Sandro Botticelli said to her.
    Felix stood in the crowd in the Piazza della Signoria and watched until his sister and Sandro were nothing more than tiny specks of color in the fading Tuscan light.

CHAPTER 7
    IN VERROCCHIO’S STUDIO
    â€œB oy,” Felix heard someone call to him, “why are you dressed that way?”
    Dejected, Felix stopped walking and looked in the direction from which the voice had come.
    After Maisie took off with Sandro, Felix stood in the piazza, unsure of what to do or where to go. He was tired. He was hungry. And he was angry. Eventually, he started to aimlessly wander the narrow twisty alleys of the city.
    â€œAre you from far away?” the boy behind the voice asked.
    Unlike Sandro and his mocking voice, this boy seemed genuinely curious. His eyes were dark and very intense, and he wore a thoughtful, curious expression on his face.
    â€œYes,” Felix admitted. “Very far away.”
    â€œYou are a traveler!” the boy said, impressed.
    â€œYes,” Felix said again.
    â€œThen you must be weary?”
    Felix nodded.
    â€œAnd hungry?”
    â€œOh, yes,” Felix said.
    The boy broke into a grin. “Then come inside and share my meal with me.”
    He opened the door wider to allow Felix to follow through it.
    â€œIt isn’t much,” he said apologetically. “I’ve been working on this painting, and I lost track of time.”
    Felix studied the unfinished painting, a large canvas covered with what looked like religious figures—angels and saints and the like.
    â€œI’m satisfied with the background,” the boy said, pointing to rocks jutting from a brown mountain stream.
    â€œI don’t know much about painting,” Felix said, “but that looks really good. Realistic,” he added.
    â€œYes,” the boy said, his eyes still on the painting.
    â€œMy father is a painter,” Felix said, feeling homesick. “He studied here, in Florence.”
    â€œThen I must know him! With whom did he apprentice?”
    Realizing what a mistake it had been to say something like that, Felix just shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
    â€œTell me his name,” the boy said.
    â€œJacob Robbins,” Felix said, feeling his cheeks grow warm.
    The boy frowned. “I have never heard such a name. Robbins?”
    â€œIt’s English, I think,” Felix offered, hoping they could just change the subject.
    â€œEnglish?” the boy said, surprised. “Have you come from England?”
    Felix shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he said.
    The boy studied Felix’s face carefully.
    â€œAh,” he said at last, “I promised you some food, didn’t I?”
    He disappeared out of the room for what seemed a very long time, and Felix took the opportunity to look around the studio. The place smelled bad, like oil burning and food cooking, not a good combination. Blank canvases leaned against the wall, and drawings covered a table that reminded Felix of a