by Kai Meyer
“Maybe you have it under control better than you think.”
“But I don’t want to be able to do something without understanding why! I’m sick and tired of that. Just for once, I’d like to feel like I know everything about myself, and not keep seeing a total stranger in the mirror.”
“There’s no one I know as well as you.”
“Weird.”
“No, great.” He smiled with difficulty as he sat up straight. “A person who knows you doesn’t have to know anyone else. There are enough facets to your character for twenty people.”
“Schizophrenic, you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“At least you’re not trying to compliment my eyes.”
“Oh, those are only average.”
“Idiot.”
He stood up, more mobile already. Even as a human he couldn’t deny the panther in himself. Rosa, on the other hand, was desperately searching for the supple flexibility of her snake form.
“If you can manage to keep your feelings under control,” he said, “then you can also control the transformations.”
“But I don’t have my feelings under control.”
“You did last night. You simply made up your mind to be the old Rosa—and it worked. That was probably how you kept yourself from turning into the snake.”
She frowned. “Is that the kind of thing the animals in the zoo tell you at night?”
“More or less.”
Rosa shook her head. “I don’t even know if I want to understand all this.”
“It’s not about understanding it. All we can do is feel the truth. This whole thing, being an Arcadian, the transformations, none of it is logical. The early Arcadians let their instincts and urges guide them. That’s why now many of them are so keen for the Hungry Man to come back—it’s exactly what he’s promising them. No more laws, no reason, just animal instinct and the satisfaction of their desires.”
“Then we’re no different from them.”
“No one said we were. We can’t reject our own nature. But giving it free rein, no rules, no consideration—that can’t be the solution either.”
“Sounds to me about the same as what the Mafia does…I mean, what our people out there are doing when they deal in human beings and armaments.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe not. But we can’t just press a switch and turn into someone different. I am what I am, Rosa. Same with you.”
“I’m not like Costanza.”
“And I’m not like my father.”
“Too much moralizing first thing in the morning.” She breathed into the hollow of her hand. “Time to brush our teeth. Shower. And then—”
“Breakfast?”
She shook her head. “Then step two.”
Wild dogs were howling in the hills.
The rotors of a helicopter droned in the distance.
The sun was only just above the peak of the mountain. The silhouettes of trees looked like charred matches against the reddish-gold ball of fire, and the scent of pine needles was wafting down the slope to the palazzo, but it was mingled with the smell of dirty animal enclosures.
“They can’t have been lured here by Sarcasmo’s barking, can they?” asked Rosa, looking up at the mountain. She and Alessandro were standing in front of the palazzo, close to the gateway leading to the inner courtyard. They had hurried outside when the howling in the woods grew too loud to ignore.
Grimly, Alessandro shook his head. “Hundinga,” he said. “Dog men. Slaves of the Hungry Man. The helicopter must have dropped them off up there.”
“Slaves?” she repeated incredulously.
“As he sees it, nothing has changed, and classical antiquity never really ended. There are still masters and servants—and slaves. In that respect, he thinks the same as many of the capi. I mean, do you think all the Africans trafficked by your family into Europe from Lampedusa were anything but slaves?”
“I tried to stop that trade.”
“And of course Trevini wouldn’t go along with you, right? The business makes millions.”
Rosa pushed the thought aside. “Do you really think it’s Arcadians up in the woods? Sicily is teeming with packs of feral dogs.”
He nodded again. “Hundinga have always been his most faithful servants. His first, too. The real Lycaon was changed into a wolf by Zeus, remember. Wolves and dogs have always been the Hungry Man’s favorites. At the time of the witch hunts, the wolf men were almost wiped out, but there’ll always be dogs, and that’s also true of the Arcadians among them.” He paused for a moment. “Two of my managers were attacked by wild dogs yesterday. One of them was killed in the garden of his villa in Mondello. And there’s not much left of the other one.”
“You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I warned you how dangerous the Hungry Man is, and you didn’t want to listen.” This time he wasn’t waiting for her protest. “Look, there are three of my men waiting down at the gate. If you won’t hire any bodyguards for yourself, then take mine. They’re reliable; they know what to do.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Probably the first thing they’d do is shoot Sarcasmo.”
“Gianni loves dogs. Real dogs. Not Hundinga.”
“Gianni?”
“You’ve met him. He’s in charge of the armed guard at Castello Carnevare. He likes Mozart and reads Proust.”
“Nine feet tall, six feet wide? Face like the bark of a tree?”
Alessandro grinned. “I’m not asking you to marry him. If you let him protect you, that’ll be enough.”
“If I let a troop of Carnevares into the palazzo, word will reach Rome and Milan within the day. And you know just what they’ll think there.”
He ignored her objection. “If you want to phone Trevini and ask him questions, then go ahead, but please don’t leave this house. It would be a good idea to close that portcullis.” He pointed to the broad iron teeth protruding from the roof of the gateway above the entrance.
“Doesn’t work anymore,” she said. “All rusted.”
“Will you let Gianni and the others in now?”
The dogs in the woods were howling nonstop.
“Do I have a choice?” she asked.
“Do it for Iole, if you’re too proud to do it for yourself.” His eyes darkened. “I have to try to speak to the Hungry Man. As long as he’s breathing down my neck, we won’t have any peace to find out more—”
“About TABULA. I know.”
“It won’t be easy to get access to him in prison, but maybe I can call on a few of my father’s old contacts.”
“Are you seriously going to see him?”
“I have to make him understand that we Carnevares weren’t responsible for his arrest. We were not the ones who gave him away back then.”
“And exactly where did you find that out all of a sudden?”
He became evasive, which wasn’t like him at all, and once again she had a feeling that he was keeping something from her. “I think I know who it was now. Someone has promised me evidence.”
“Someone. And that someone wants money for it, of course.”
“No, only a promise. Strictly speaking, two promises. One was that I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. Absolutely anyone.”
“Well, you don’t have to break your stupid promise on my account.”
Smiling, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll be the first to know when all this is over.” He nodded in the direction of the woods. “And until then, keep all the doors locked. Gianni and the others know what they have to do.”
There was no point in arguing with him. Even if the howling up in the hills only came from a few wretched strays, he wasn’t going to drop the subject. It annoyed her that he hadn’t told her either about the attack on his managers or his secret informant. But she consoled herself by thinking that he was soon going to be much angrier with her. Poetic justice. Surely you can understand it, she’d say then. And anyway, you started it.
Rosa took out her cell phone, called the guards she had down on the driveway, and asked them if there was a car there containing three orangutans in suits. “They can come up,” she said.
Alessandro cast an anxious glance at the hills. “If those are really Hundinga, they’re going to take their time. They’re putting on this show to frighten you. Maybe they’ll be satisfied with that for now. It won’t be really dangerous until you don’t hear them anymore. Then they’ll probably be on their way to the palazzo.”
He took her hand and went through the gate with her, back to the inner courtyard. His Ferrari was parked at the foot of the double flight of steps up to the porch. “Don’t let Sarcasmo out of the house. They’d go for him first.”
“He’s busy anyway, guarding Valerie in her dungeon.”
“You shouldn’t have let her stay here.”
“I was going to kick her out today, but while those creatures are still roaming the woods it might not be a great idea.” She had in fact called the doctor in Piazza Armerina, asking him to come and check up on Valerie; he would be here some time in the next few hours to examine her. Then, and only then, would Rosa throw her out with a clear conscience.
“You actually feel sorry for her.” He shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling at the same time.
She leaned against the Ferrari, took Alessandro’s hands in hers, and drew him to her. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“If I don’t go and see him, there’ll never be an end to this. I can’t simply stand by and watch him hurt you.”
“If he kills you, that will really hurt me.”
“I only have to convince him to call someone and listen for a few minutes.”
“And he’ll believe what this person has to say?”
“It’s our only chance.” He kissed her good-bye and slipped behind the wheel of his car. “If you call Trevini, don’t tell him anything about the Hungry Man.”
Suspiciously, she cocked her head. “What exactly does Trevini have to do with it?”
For a moment he looked as if he were going to say something, but then he touched her hand through the open window of the car again and started the engine. Moments later the Ferrari was roaring out of the courtyard. Rosa watched it go until it disappeared at the other end of the gate. For a while she listened to it retreating into the distance, on the long way downhill between the olive groves and lemon trees; then she turned around and hurried up the steps to the porch.
Iole came out of the shadow of the open door. “Sarcasmo’s scared.”
Rosa couldn’t see the dog anywhere.
“I think,” said Iole, “he’s afraid of that howling in the woods.”
Even before Rosa could answer, a black Mercedes rolled into the inner courtyard. Three men in dark suits with mirrored shades climbed out. Rosa rolled her eyes.
Gianni, the tallest and broadest of the three, came up the steps. Mozart and Proust—who would have thought? “Signorina Alcantara,” he greeted her, nodding. “Signorina Dallamano.”
Iole was visibly flattered that he knew her name. “You’re a killer, aren’t you?”
“No, signorina,” he said untruthfully.
Iole thought for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “That’s all right, then.”
Rosa discussed what was necessary with Gianni and the two others and let them take up positions inside the palazzo. She had no choice but to trust the three of them. She didn’t think they were Arcadians, just highly paid professionals who were well trained in the use of weapons and other ways of inflicting pain. Not the kind of men one liked to have in the house—but better than leaving Iole, Signora Falchi, and even Valerie alone here while Rosa was elsewhere, doing what she had promised herself she would do.
“One more thing,” she said to Gianni before the three disappeared into the palazzo. “There should be a doctor arriving from Piazza Armerina. He’s to examine a guest up in one of the bedrooms. I asked him to come, so don’t shoot him in the kneecaps on sight, okay?”
Gianni nodded, and then he and the two others entered the house. As they did, they put headsets on.
Iole’s cheeks were flushed. “Hey, they’re nice!”
“Men from Mars.”
“They’re here to protect us. And they look like they’d be good at it.”
“Yes,” said Rosa. “I’m sure they are.”
Iole glanced at her. “You’re going somewhere, aren’t you? And you didn’t tell Alessandro.”
“How do you know that?”
But Iole simply walked away. “I’ll look after Sarcasmo. Take care.”
Rosa watched her go. “You, too. And Iole?”
The girl turned back.
“If there’s any kind of danger, I don’t care what, just hide. There’s a secret room in the study behind the—”
“Behind the paneling. The room with the white telephone. I know.” Iole waved to her, began humming a tune, and disappeared.
With the soft melody in her ears, Rosa shook her head and set off for the greenhouse.
In the humid, hot, tropical thicket she talked to the snakes.
THE CONTESSA
SHE FELT UNEASY as she went down the driveway, a mile through plantations and light woodland. She had chosen a black BMW cross-country vehicle, not her father’s Maserati, so she stepped on the gas harder than usual on the uneven gravel drive. Dust clouds rose behind her, obscuring her view in the mirror. She kept looking out for wild dogs among the trees, but she couldn’t see any, and there were certainly no humans in sight. The howling had come from higher up. They might be on the mountain or the nearby hills behind the palazzo.
She’d had the guards down on the road reinforced. Four men were keeping an eye on the surroundings there. A dozen more were patrolling the slopes. Her aunt used to have just as many stationed there; Rosa was relying on the fact that Florinda must have known what was necessary to keep the property secure.
Soon she was racing northward, passing Piazza Armerina and Valguarnera, and at Enna turning onto the A19 toward the east coast. Several times she thought she saw pursuers behind her, but as soon as she had convinced herself that she was being shadowed, the suspicious vehicles disappeared along a side road or turned off into a picnic area.
Two hours later, around noon, she finally drove up the winding road to Taormina. The sky on the cliff tops above the town was overcast. Uniformed police officers at barriers were turning tourists in rental cars away from the historic city center, but Rosa had a special permit obtained by Trevini years ago for the Alcantara family.
She parked the BMW right outside the entrance to the Grand Hotel Jonio. As she got out, she took her bag off the passenger seat. It contained only one item.
She was wearing a black fabric coat, slim pants, and leather boots. Her blond hair fell loose over her shoulders, fluttering in the brisk wind blowing up to the cliffs on the steep coast. In spite of the mild weather, there was a chill to the gusts off the wide expanses of the Ionian Sea.
Two of Trevini’s bodyguards, in bespoke suits, were sitting in comfortable armchairs in the hotel lobby. Seeing Rosa, one of them spoke into a microphone in the bracelet on his wrist. Same as during her last visit, there were no other guests around. Maybe Trevini had rented the entire hotel for himself.
She turned to the man at the reception desk. From a distance he looked like any ordinary reception clerk. His expensive jacket bulged under his left armpit, just enough to be noticeable to anyone keeping an eye out for a shoulder holster. Rosa was sure that he had other weapons hidden under the counter in front of him.
The two men in armchairs never took their eyes off her. One of them rose to his feet and strolled between Rosa and the exit.
In a calm voice, she asked to see the attorney, and she watched the reception clerk pick up a receiver and speak quietly into it. She guessed who was at the other end of the line, and was not surprised to be told that at the moment Trevini was in an important meeting. Contessa di Santis w
ould enjoy keeping her waiting.
She leaned as far over the counter as she could, hoping the man on the other side wouldn’t notice that she had to stand on tiptoe to do so.
“This place,” she said, “is financed by my money. I’ll give you one minute to make sure that the avvocato sees me at once.”
“I know who you are, signorina, and I’m very sorry that—”
She wasn’t listening to him anymore. Turning around, she went over to an opaque glass double door. Beyond it lay the lounge leading out to the terrace.
“Signorina Alcantara,” the man called after her, “I really must ask you to wait until the avvocato sends for you.”
The bodyguards began to move.
She pushed the lounge doors open with both hands. On the other side, she was expected.
“Contessa di Santis,” she said, with an icy smile, as she paused in the entrance.
“Signorina Alcantara.” The avvocato’s assistant glanced past Rosa at the bodyguards and gestured to them. The two men immediately withdrew. The contessa stopped directly in front of Rosa, and lowered her voice. “We should talk.”
“I’m not talking to anyone but Trevini himself—”
“Please,” replied di Santis, unmoved, “follow me.”
With a glance out of the corner of her eye, Rosa made sure that the clasp of her purse was open. She didn’t usually have much time for handbags, and until recently hadn’t even owned one. But now she was glad to have it with her.
Cristina di Santis went ahead, not out onto the terrace but through a side door and into the former ballroom of the grand hotel. She walked quickly across the room, too, her high heels clicking on the parquet flooring. She was wearing a short, snug dress, dark red like her lipstick, and her hair was just as perfect as it had been the day Rosa had met her for the first time. A signet ring, presumably that of her clan, was her only jewelry. A discreet touch of perfume wafted behind her.
“Are you bringing me to Trevini?” asked Rosa suspiciously, as the contessa led her into a narrow stairway.
