Falcon's Angel
Page 14
* * * *
The next morning, there was a knock on the door.
When Carlo opened it, the young boy held out Carlo’s knee-high Hessians.
“Good as new.” Carlo ruffled the boy’s glossy black hair. He took the freshly shined boots and handed the boy a coin. “For a job well done.”
“Marchese Falco, Signor Baldoni waits for you in the common room.” Dried mud blackened the boy’s feet, which shifted with restless energy as he craned his neck to look into Carlo’s eyes.
Carlo smiled at the back of the little worker, who ran off down the hall.
Closed doors on either side of the corridor ran the length of the Villa Merona, now fully occupied. More visitors had arrived in the last two days since he and Umberto had traveled from Lazio. He wondered which one of them had fainted at the sight of Luciano’s hairy ass.
Carlo was not surprised that Baldoni had found him. The townspeople would talk of strangers in town, especially strangers in the company of Signor Tarcisio.
Two days ago on that terrible night, he had asked Tarcisio to stay close. Baldoni would not be reckless enough to pose a threat to Tarcisio in public, but Carlo wanted to make sure Tarcisio was safe during the impending fray. Tarcisio would be essential to the rebuilding process when the dust settled in Forlì.
Giuseppe Baldoni rose from his chair in a corner of the main hall. “Marchese Falco. What a pleasure to see you again. Please, sit.” His eyes slid to Carlo’s gun belt. Baldoni offered a genial smile before gesturing to a seat at the table. “You are in a peaceful city, my son.”
“Four young girls are missing. A murderer is loose in Forlì. I would not call that peaceful, Signor Baldoni.”
Baldoni’s smile remained in place. “If you lived here you would know there is no need of guns in Forlì.”
“While I am certain that is the case, I must confess it is out of habit that I carry the pistol. Old habits are hard to break.” Carlo sat in a chair opposite Baldoni.
“Quite right,” Baldoni’s eyes flickered briefly at Carlo’s remark. “You have the heart of a warrior. Filled with pain, revenge. Our city will direct the anger that consumes you and help you make the world a better place.”
A signorina served Carlo a glass of Verdicchio. She had remembered his preference for the cool wine. Despite his frustration with Baldoni he smiled at the signorina as she fussed over the brightly colored tablecloth.
Baldoni watched the signorina through narrowed eyes and continued. “We protect our own. All we ask in return is loyalty.”
The signorina looked just old enough to give Carlo the inviting smile she wore. A long, shining black braid swayed off her full hips. She had the same round, dark eyes of the boy who had come to his room this morning.
Carlo gave her an appreciative glance. “Thank you, signorina.” Still, she lingered.
Baldoni cleared his throat.
The signorina executed a quick curtsy and hurried off to the kitchen’s double doors.
Baldoni watched the double doors swing. “You like our quiet village.” He gave a slow nod. “If you were to stay, you would be welcome here. And as a great soldier of Forlì you would not be denied all we have to offer.”
“I have a home, Signor Baldoni. I have an appointment this morning as well. So I must ask you, is there another reason for your visit?”
Baldoni sat back, his fingers stroking the tablecloth. He was the vulture again as that time before in the duke’s study. “I saw you in town and thought I would welcome you to our fair city.”
“You are too kind.”
When Carlo did not elaborate on his reason for being in Forlì, Baldoni’s tight lips stretched once again to parody an affable smile.
Carlo took a sip of the wine. If he had to, he would sip the entire glassful waiting for Baldoni to reveal his purpose for this meeting. Baldoni gave it up and spoke first.
“I couldn’t help but notice you in the company of Signor Tarcisio. A very conscientious young man, but a bit fanciful, I’m afraid.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is unfortunate. Signor Tarcisio has somehow gained a very bad impression of our inn La Verità.”
“Why do you think this is so, Signor Baldoni?” Would the murderer admit to the knowledge of Oberto and Savino’s confessions? It was unlikely. There had been no outcry in the city for the two missing brothers. They were categorically erased from memory, as all unworthy members of il Dragone must be.
Baldoni shook his head. “Signor Tarcisio seems to think we pose a threat to him. But nothing could be further from the truth.”
“We? This is the town of Forlì. One town, Signor Baldoni. One group of people.”
“Of course. I did not mean to suggest otherwise. However, there are those who want to divide our people. I seek only to unite the people.”
Too late.
Baldoni probably suspected he was the one who had escaped the catacombs two nights ago. The man would be a fool to accuse Carlo of spying, and he was not a fool. He was much more than that. He was this city’s antichrist.
A vision of dancing flames sprang up in Carlo’s mind, but this time the conflagration engulfed Baldoni.
Carlo smiled. “That is an admirable goal and it would please my father. How do you propose to accomplish this?”
“I’d like to start by hosting a celebration at La Verità, a peace offering. It would be good for the people to see Signor Tarcisio and me dining together.” Baldoni’s smile faltered for dramatic effect. “However, I have not been able to contact Signor Tarcisio. He has not ventured out of doors in several days. Perhaps you know what ails him?”
“I do not, but I will make an inquiry.”
“Would you be so kind as to extend the invitation to him? We would welcome him with open arms. I would be delighted if you would accompany him, Marchese Falco. Perhaps we can convince you to stay a while.”
Carlo could not manage a smile. “I will speak with Signor Tarcisio, and if it is at all possible we shall see you later.”
He watched Baldoni leave the villa. Open arms, indeed.
More so, an escort to the gaping fiery pit designed to silence all naysayers. The man was a monster.
By now, Dagio would have delivered the letter to his father. The duke would arrive with King Vittorio’s Guard just in time.
Baldoni could not have timed his invitation to die better.
* * * *
That afternoon, Carlo went to the Inn of San Mercuriale.
He entered the main hall and found Tarcisio in the library.
“It is the calm before the storm, is it not, Marchese Falco? Sit and enjoy the silence before the storm arrives.” Tarcisio resumed writing in a ledger.
Carlo gave a pensive nod. Tarcisio’s thoughts echoed his own. “A peaceful morning.”
“But not a peaceful night?” Tarcisio looked up.
“She comes to me in dreams,” he said.
It was not the first time they had spoken of Margaux, but Carlo was not used to divulging such confidences. He did so with his mother and brother on occasion. With his father, not at all.
It was disturbing that he was able to talk so easily to Tarcisio about such personal matters. Having borne witness to il Dragone’s evil deeds, they had become allies.
“Your beloved would want you to be at peace. Do you believe that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Marchese Falco, you must not forget that love is eternal. You will see Margaux again.”
He stared at Tarcisio. “Yes, I will.”
“Until then, you have been charged to live a full life here on earth. You don‘t want that, I know.” He put up a hand when Carlo would protest. “Nevertheless, the future waits.”
Tarcisio rose from his chair and put the ledger on the bookshelf. “Perhaps the healing process has already begun. In coming to Forlì, I think you have found a purpose your heart welcomes. You need to save this town as much for yourself as for its inhabitants.”
When they sat in sile
nce, each with a cup, it seemed a tribute to the world and what could possibly be its last night, as Carlo knew it. Such thoughts made it harder to impart the news he carried as a yoke around his neck, but he must find the words.
“They killed your grandfather,” Carlo said.
Tarcisio sputtered and put his cup down. “What?”
“And I doubt that riding accident your father had last year was an accident.” Carlo sat back and jerked a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, I am not known for subtlety, but it is best you are prepared.”
“How do you know this?”
“Last night at the Villa Merona, two of the brown robes came in.”
“They wore the robes? Did they see you?”
“No. I hid in the kitchens. They brought in an unconscious female who fainted during one of their ceremonies. I could not see her face, but the villa is full of guests now, it must be one of them. They were talking about Signor Ventiglia. The one named Luciano suffocated him with a pillow. Your grandfather did not die of malaria.”
Tarcisio held onto the desk before him with both hands and lowered his head.
Carlo came around the desk and placed a hand on Tarcisio’s back. Comfort was not his strength. He thought of his mother. He must have been hell to live with this past year. He gave Tarcisio a pat on the back, perhaps too hearty but meant to reassure. “All will be avenged, my friend.” All will be avenged, Margaux.
He gave Tarcisio a few minutes before saying, “This morning I received a visit from Signor Baldoni. He has requested your presence at La Verità.”
Tarcisio’s brown eyes lit up with the fire of retribution. “Well, let us not disappoint him.”
Chapter Eight
Baldoni stood on a raised dais at the front of the hall.
His welcome speech took all the patience Carlo could muster. No one appeared to listen to the saccharine speech anyway.
The audience’s furtive glances at Carlo and Tarcisio were comical. Finally, like the devotees they were, the members of il Dragone followed Baldoni’s lead, and ignored their visitors.
He and Tarcisio were unworthy until such time as when they were baptized and branded with the ancient symbol of il Dragone seared into their flesh. Only then would the congregation deign to speak with them.
Carlo disguised his amusement at the chilly reception with a stoic countenance. He looked neither left nor right and kept his eyes on Baldoni.
“Hear me, brothers and sisters.” Baldoni’s booming command turned all heads his way as the crowd waited for an explanation of the visitors. “Tonight we are honored by two guests, Signor Tarcisio of the Inn of San Mercuriale and Marchese Falco who has traveled to our township from Lazio.”
The members of il Dragone sat in stunned silence. Their leader continued after a moment’s pause, with upraised hands. “We welcome you to La Verità.”
The furtive glances became sneers. There was an awkward silence, which made it clear the crowd did not share Baldoni’s sentiments of greeting.
At least not now. That would soon change.
“In a gesture of goodwill and in the hope of great success in uniting our town, I have arranged a ceremony commemorating this fateful day. Let us all make our way to the ceremonial hall.”
Murmurs of delight coursed through the crowd. There were smiles on the faces of il Dragone, who finally appreciated their presence.
Carlo glanced at Tarcisio. The moment had come. They were to be the night’s entertainment.
Carlo caught the gleaming eye of one man who was as tall as he. The round dark eyes looked familiar. This man was the owner of the Villa Merona.
He had been sleeping in the midst of il Dragone since his arrival in Forlì. His anger shifted to Tarcisio, who surely knew with whom the innkeeper’s loyalties lay.
Carlo cast a scathing glance at Tarcisio, but the man would not meet his gaze. He recalled the first frustrating conversation he had experienced with Tarcisio. No wonder the man had been on the verge of apoplexy when shown the symbol of il Dragone in the Villa Merona that day.
They followed the crowd through the hidden door in the painting and walked through the grand antechamber, past the red velvet curtains.
What gall Baldoni had. The killer was so confident he would extinguish their lives tonight that he did not mind revealing a few secrets to them in their final hour.
When they reached the circular limestone chamber, there was an older man with a close cap of silver hair waiting for them.
“Welcome, I am Brother Conti.” The man’s voice resonated, his eyes calculating as if assessing two lambs for slaughter.
Brother Conti’s was the deep, commanding voice Carlo heard issuing the order ‘Bring them back’ that night they’d spied on il Dragone. Though Brother Conti was small in stature, he had the bearing of a king. His old back was ramrod straight on a thin frame.
Brother Conti walked at the head of the procession through the tunnel.
Four men moved up behind Carlo and Tarcisio, a silent escort in case they changed their minds about attending the ceremony. One brown robe held Carlo while the other took his gun.
“I will shoot him, Senior. It is much faster,” Luciano said, close to the back of Carlo’s head. “You should not have left your fortress in Lazio, Marchese Falco.” Luciano’s laughter was a subhuman gurgle.
Brother Conti ignored Luciano, but Carlo could not do so. The big brown robed figure was poking him between the shoulder blades with a pistol as they walked.
“I could have taken your life anytime,” Luciano whispered in his ear. “I should have killed you for taking my Rosa.”
Carlo turned. The gun was now aimed at his chest. “What did you say?”
Luciano stopped in his face. “Know this; she begged for your life only after you put the ring on her finger. She must have a respectable marriage, but she loves me.”
Luciano spat in his face.
A gun went off.
There were shouts.
Blood.
My blood? Carlo could not tell. His ears were ringing, and they were holding him face down on the hard packed earth.
Through it all, Luciano whined.
The ringing in Carlo’s ears intensified as the red haze cleared. The ringing became shouting and then it was arguing.
Brother Conti and Tarcisio were among those shouting, but not at each other.
“Kill him, and you will answer to the Duke of Amadeo!”
“You fool! Give me the gun…”
“I-I can’t breathe!”
“He broke your nose, you ape! Stop babbling, and breathe through your mouth. Lift him. We must not delay the ceremony any longer.”
The brown robes pulled Carlo up.
He saw Luciano again, and lunged.
Hands around his arms, waist and neck prevented him from getting any further than a better look at the bloody mush in the center of Luciano’s face.
“I am the one she wants!” Luciano growled before several others pushed him ahead.
“That depends on the day of the week!” Carlo could not get past the brown robes between himself and Luciano.
Hands continued to restrain him. Struggling with them would have been fruitless. Even if he managed to get away from those that held him, he would not get as far as the archway to kill Luciano before the other fifty-odd members of il Dragone set upon him.
The somber expression on Tarcisio’s face asked questions about a woman who was very much alive, and not Carlo’s beloved.
Whore.
He had been vulnerable.
No, he had been a fool, thinking he had damned her soul to hell when he’d fucked her.
Rosa Bareschi had only been doing what came naturally, as she had with whomever she wanted in il Dragone’s ceremonial orgies.
Carlo would contemplate the gypsy princess’s downfall and Luciano’s death later. He had just put Tarcisio in danger. Why Luciano had not managed to shoot him was a mystery. It just did not seem to be his time to die.
The brown robes did not wait for a signal. They marched their two charges onto the platform to stand before Baldoni.
Baldoni smiled as if they were his guests at a masquerade. “You show no surprise, Signor Tarcisio. So, what Brother Conti thinks is true. You have seen our ceremonial hall before.”
Tarcisio regarded Baldoni with calm reserve, his brown eyes gleaming with hatred. “I know what evil you do here.”
“You know nothing of evil. You do not know what it is like to walk in the dark all of your life, as we have in order to survive.” Baldoni’s words were so soft Carlo almost did not catch them. The man looked past him, towards the crowd, as if he were seeing those ancient days of persecution.
“Do not endeavor to tell me your woes,” Tarcisio spat out. “Untold numbers of Christians have fought and died for their Lord and Savior. Over the centuries, Christians have survived lies, betrayal, persecution, and even war from baseless factions such as il Dragone. There is a reason for it. In the hearts and minds of the fearless, Christianity is the true Church. il Dragone is nothing more than a weak link in history. It survives on the fear of its members, who have the power to break its grip on them if they would only gather their courage.”
Tarcisio turned to the flock below and continued to address their leader. “The reason they stand here tonight,” his upraised arm swept over the crowd, “is because they are afraid for their lives and the lives of their families. They do not wish to suffer the same fate as Oberto and Savino. You control the members of il Dragone with fear, but fear is a temporary state which can be banished with knowledge.”
Only the fire below crackled and hissed in answer as the members of il Dragone stared up at Tarcisio. The brown hoods they wore half concealed their expressions. There was no way to tell how Tarcisio’s exhortations were affecting them, but Carlo admired the man. Even while he awaited his fate above a pit of fire, Tarcisio sought to pull them back from the brink of eternal death.
Baldoni’s eyes were hard as coal and assessing whether the condemned Tarcisio had said something that rang true with his flock.