Murder at Midnight

by Avi

  “DeLaBina would find me quickly and matters would become even worse.”

  Fabrizio stood up. “With permission, Master. I’m going to search for a way out.”

  “Good. I could use some quiet to ponder all of this.”

  “I’ll not be long.”

  Fabrizio started for the door. “Fabrizio!”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Fabrizio … I think it best if you did not return. It’s quite clear there is … no future for you with me. I’m not sure if I even have a future. Just … go off. On your own. I don’t want you around anymore.”

  Stunned, Fabrizio turned around. “Master, are you … are you … dismissing me from your service?”

  “I can’t afford to be entangled by your ignorance anymore. I have troubles enough.”

  “But, Master,” pleaded Fabrizio, “as they say, ‘If you buy a dog, you also get his fleas.’”

  “When I want a dog, I’ll buy a dog! It’s best you leave my service. Go!” With that, Mangus rolled over on the bed.

  It was all Fabrizio could do to keep from bursting into tears. “Master … please, I —”

  “Leave!” cried Mangus.

  “Yes, Master. With permission, forgive … me.”

  Hardly knowing what to do, Fabrizio fumbled with the key and opened the door. At the threshold he paused. “A thousand, million thanks, Master. Farewell. And … please say … good-bye to Mistress.”

  Mangus neither moved nor spoke.

  “What shall I do with the key?” Fabrizio whispered.

  “Put it where you found it.”

  Choked and tearful, Fabrizio stepped into the hallway and slowly shut the door behind him. Though the corridor was cold and empty, he felt hot and heavy. A sob clogged his throat. He’d failed. He was homeless once more. And now he’d never see Mistress again.

  Pressing his forehead against the stone wall, he began to cry. His shoulders shook. Gradually, his crying subsided. He pushed his hair from his face and smeared away the tears with the back of his hand. The corridor appeared as bleak as he felt. Wanting to fulfill Mangus’s last request, Fabrizio returned the key to its peg and forced himself to step away. After a few paces he stopped and looked back. His tear-blurred eyes made the doors all look alike. He was no longer certain which cell was Mangus’s.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Fabrizio muttered. He took the lantern down from the wall and started to walk away.

  Suddenly, he heard, “Find the magician’s cell!”

  Alarmed, Fabrizio grabbed the nearest key and unlocked the closest door, then shut it behind him.

  The room was identical to the one in which Mangus lay, even to its narrow bed and small, high window. To Fabrizio’s surprise, however, some of the treasonous papers were scattered about on the floor. Moreover, sitting on the bed was a small and huddled humanlike creature, wearing trousers, a long shirt, and boots.

  As Fabrizio stared, a blackened face surrounded by long red hair, with eyes that smoldered with anger, glared back at him fiercely.

  Fabrizio stammered, “What … what are you?”

  “The devil.”

  CHAPTER 14

  FABRIZIO’S BODY TURNED COLD. BARELY ABLE TO BREATHE, he threw himself against the cell door and stared wide-eyed.

  “Who are you?” the creature demanded.

  “A … a … boy.”

  “What do you want?”

  Behind his back, Fabrizio fumbled frantically for the door handle. “I … I was passing by.”

  “Passing by?” returned a voice full of mockery. “In a prison? The door was locked. How did you get in? Did you bring some food? Water?”

  All Fabrizio could say was, “Are you truly … actually … the … devil?”

  “That’s what I’m called,” came the proud answer.

  “What … else might you be called?” asked Fabrizio.

  “My name, stupid!”

  “What … what’s your name?”

  “Maria!” the creature all but shouted.

  “But … but Maria is a holy saint’s name. And a girl’s name at that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be called Maria? I am a girl.”

  “A female devil?” said Fabrizio. “I never heard of anything like that. But you … you don’t dress like a girl.”

  “These” — Maria gestured to her clothing — “are my working clothes. Do you have objections to girls who work?”

  “Oh, no, Signorina,” said Fabrizio, unable to take his eyes from Maria’s sooty face. “But, didn’t you say you were the … devil?”

  “You didn’t ask my name,” said the girl. “You asked me what I was.”

  “Signorina, with the most deep and profound apologies. You must forgive me. I never met a devil before.”

  “This whole city is full of stupid devils.”

  “It is?” cried Fabrizio.

  “There I was walking down the street, when I was arrested for doing my business.”

  “With permission, Signorina Devil, what is your business?”

  “Passing these papers around.” Maria gestured to the ones on the ground.

  “You … were? When?”

  “Yesterday. And I’ve been here ever since.”

  Fabrizio put up his hands in protest. “But, Signorina Maria Devil, where did you get them?”

  “I helped make them.”

  “Make them?” whispered Fabrizio, in shock.

  “Every time I say something, you come back like a stupid echo. Do you have a name?”

  “Fabrizio.”

  “And you, Signor Fabrizio, are you a devil?”

  “Oh, no, no, not at all,” he assured her, hastily making the sign of the cross over his heart. “But, Signorina Maria Devil, please, did you use magic to make these papers?”

  “Magic? It took hard work, paper, and ink.”

  “Ink?”

  “What do you think I’m covered with?”

  “Signorina Devil, I —”

  “Stop calling me ‘devil’! If you don’t call me Maria, I won’t talk to you.”

  “Yes, of course. Maria Devil, then. But why was the work hard?”

  “I suppose you think it’s easy to use a printing press.”

  Fabrizio stared blankly at the girl. “What’s a … a … pant … presser?”

  “A … printing … press!” said the girl with loud, overstated slowness, as if Fabrizio were hard of hearing.

  “Forgive me, Signorina. In my whole entire life I’ve never heard of such a … thing.”

  “That’s because you live in the most ignorant, backward city in all of Italy. Printing is our work. My parents —”

  “Are they devils, too?” asked Fabrizio.

  “I’m the printer’s devil!” Maria cried, slapping herself on her chest.

  A baffled Fabrizio sat on the bed as far away from the girl as possible. “Signorina, I beg you — tell me about this … pressed … painting.”

  Exasperated, Maria leaned back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. “I’m tired of answering stupid questions. Just try to understand. We — that’s to say my parents and I — came from Milan. We brought along the German invention, the printing press. Though the invention is forty years old, and lots of places in Italy have one, this kingdom is such a backward, stupid place it has no printing press. It may be 1490, but you all dress, talk, act, and think as if it were still the Dark Ages.”

  “Signorina —”

  “Don’t interrupt. We came here to start a printing business. Fine! My parents purchased a license from the authorities and put the press together.”

  “Is it a … machine?”

  “You could call it that. Mostly, my task is to rub the ink on the letters, help with the printing, clean the type, and put it away.”

  “Can you read?” asked Fabrizio.

  “Lord of heaven! Of course I can read. Can’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “Pergamontio is the most ignorant pl
ace!”

  “Signorina, I beg you, go on with your story.”

  “Fine. I usually deliver what we print. So, after we printed these papers — some four hundred of them — I was told to pass them about the city. I had almost finished when I was arrested.

  “The work I do keeps me filthy most of the time. That’s why I’m called a ‘printer’s devil.’ I’m filthy because the ink I work with is hard to scrub off. Now do you understand?”

  “I’m trying to,” said Fabrizio. “But this … machine, this … presser.”

  Maria grunted with frustration. “Printing press. Do you know how writing gets onto paper?”

  Fabrizio, recalling what Mangus had told him, brightened. “Each letter is written out by hand. It takes forever. At a scriptorium.”

  “That’s the old-fashioned way. The German invention — the printing press — imitates writing to perfection. It’s cheaper, faster, and makes each page look exactly like the other.”

  “Exactly?” cried Fabrizio, excited by this revelation.

  “It’s as my mother says: ‘The inked type kisses the paper so wonderfully the paper never forgets.’”

  Fabrizio jumped off the bed. “Signorina, are you truly telling me that the way these papers” — he gestured to the floor — “came to be exactly the same as the others is by your … printing machine?”

  “Why else do you think Signor Gutenberg invented it?”

  “Because he’s the devil?”

  “No! I am the printer’s devil, but by the name of God, I assure you, our work has nothing to do with devils.”

  “Good!” Fabrizio clapped his hands with glee. “You’ve told me more than you know. The mystery of the many same papers is solved! I’ll tell my master. He’ll be thrilled. Where is this machine?”

  “At my house.”

  “I’d love to see it. And so will my master. But, Signorina, another very important question. Was it your parents’ idea to make—?”

  “Print,” the girl corrected.

  “To … print those papers?”

  “You are so stupid! I told you: My parents were just setting up the business. By the time we got here, we had no more money. With someone willing to pay them to do the job, they were not going to turn it down. In fact, after they got their printing license, it was their first work in Pergamontio.”

  “Well then,” said an excited Fabrizio, “who asked them to do the job?”

  “I have no idea, though I did wonder who might be trying to overthrow your king.”

  “Was it your parents?”

  Maria pulled away. “You don’t listen well. Somebody told my parents what to print. A printer’s job is to make words appear. It’s censors who make them disappear. Printers fight censors all the time. I hate censors!” She crossed her arms. “I still don’t understand who you are and why you’re even here.”

  “Signorina, as I said, my name is Fabrizio, and I’m trying to do a huge number of things. Number one: Protect my master who sits in a cell down the hall. I have failed completely. Two: Get rid of these treasonous papers. Failed again, miserably. Three: Find out how the papers were made. Which — brava! — you have explained. Four: Find the one who ordered the papers. Five: Tell DeLaBina. When I do all that, my master will be free and, without doubt, he’ll let me live in his house forever, which will make me the happiest boy in the whole entire city.”

  Maria shrugged. “The only person I know in this stupid place is the fellow who arrested me. I don’t even know his name. But he’s fat, sweats a lot, and is pompous.”

  “That’s DeLaBina! The primo magistrato. The chief prosecutor, in charge of all laws and licenses. A great power here in Pergamontio. Amazing! He arrested you, me, and my master.”

  “Why were you arrested?”

  “For the same reason as you: putting these papers around the city.”

  “But you didn’t. It was me.”

  “True! I was trying to get rid of them — to help my master. Still, when I got here, Prince Cosimo sent me to be executed. But I was clever enough to get free.”

  “You’re still in prison. That’s not very free.”

  “I was on my way out.”

  “I’d like to get out, too,” said Maria.

  “So would my master. I just wish you had told DeLaBina about your printing machine.”

  “He already knew,” said Maria.

  “He did?” cried Fabrizio. He thought for a moment. “Of course! He’s in charge of all licenses. Your parents must have gotten theirs from him.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If they did, it means DeLaBina was lying to my master!” Fabrizio related how DeLaBina accused Mangus of making the papers.

  “Are you suggesting,” said Maria, “it was DeLaBina who asked my parents to make them?”

  Fabrizio nodded. “But that didn’t keep him from charging my master with using magic to make them!” Fabrizio jumped up and went to the door of the cell. “I must tell my master about your machine and that DeLaBina knew all along that it was your parents who made the papers.”

  Maria slumped back against the wall. “I wish I knew where my parents are.”

  Fabrizio swung around. “What do you mean?”

  Tears filled Maria’s eyes. “They’ve disappeared. I’m really worried about them. Wouldn’t you be if your parents were gone?”

  “Forgive me, my parents died some time ago.”

  Maria bobbed her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did DeLaBina know anything about your parents’ whereabouts?”

  Maria shook her head. “That was the one thing he didn’t know. In fact, he said he must find them. He kept questioning me as to where they might be.”

  “Don’t you have any idea?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “I’m sure my master could help.”

  “How?”

  “My master knows more about things appearing and disappearing than anyone in the whole world. He’s a magician.”

  Maria sniffed. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

  “Of course there is. And he’s taught me. Look.”

  Fabrizio reached into his pocket, pulled out his hand, and made some motions so that it appeared as if a coin came from her nose. “There,” he said. “Magic.”

  “You took the coin from your pocket, hid it in your palm, and then slipped it into your other hand,” said Maria.

  Fabrizio sighed. “I need more practice.”

  “Do you live with this magician?” asked Maria.

  “I did. He just dismissed me because … of this business with DeLaBina. But when I tell him how those papers were made, I’m sure he’ll be so happy he’ll take me back. So, with permission, Signorina Devil, I’ll go to him.” He got up and put his ear to the cell door and listened. Hearing nothing, he poked his head out. No one was in the hallway.

  “I’m going,” he whispered over his shoulder.

  Maria jumped up. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Good. You can tell him about your machine.”

  As Fabrizio stepped into the hallway, Maria picked up the lantern and followed.

  After locking the cell door behind them, Fabrizio hung the key in its proper place. Next he gazed up and down the corridor, hoping he’d recognize which door led to Mangus.

  “I thought you said he was right here.”

  “He is,” Fabrizio insisted, trying desperately to remember the right door. “Somewhere.”

  Maria leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. “Why don’t you use magic?” she suggested.

  Embarrassed, Fabrizio said, “I’m sure it’s this door. Master!” he called into the door crack.

  There was no reply.

  He went on to the next door and called. Again no reply. A glance at Maria convinced him she was looking at him with scorn.

  He pulled down a key, put it in the nearest lock, and turned. It opened.

  “I’ve found him!” announced Fabrizio as he poked his head inside.


  But the cell was empty.

  CHAPTER 15

  FABRIZIO, PRAYING HE HAD GONE INTO THE WRONG CELL, went to the bed, dropped to his knees, and gathered up the blanket that lay there. He examined its edge. “A hole,” he announced, his heart sinking.

  “There are always holes in blankets,” said Maria impatiently.

  “When I was hiding under my master’s bed I peeked out through this exact hole. I’m sure of it.”

  “Why were you hiding under your master’s bed?”

  “I can’t explain now. But right after I left him I heard voices. Someone was coming for him. I jumped into your cell so no one would catch me. I didn’t know who it was, but if it was DeLaBina, I just pray he didn’t send Master to be executed. He threatened to.”

  “Fabrizio,” said Maria, “I’m truly sorry for your troubles. And for your master’s. But I have to find my parents.” She took a step away.

  Fabrizio, thinking about what might have happened to Mangus, didn’t move.

  The girl pulled on his sleeve. “Once we’re free and I find my parents, I’ll help you look for your master.” She held the lamp before her and set off through the hallways. Her red hair seemed to smolder.

  After a moment, a pensive Fabrizio followed, passing through one deserted hallway after another. From what seemed like far away, the cathedral bells began to toll. The two halted and counted out the twelve peals.

  “Midnight,” said Maria and started up again with Fabrizio by her side.

  Yelling shattered the silence: “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet elsewhere.”

  Fabrizio and Maria stopped immediately.

  “I think … I think that’s DeLaBina!” Fabrizio whispered.

  “You’ve acted like a fool,” returned another voice. “That magician believes you’re the one behind all the papers and what we’re doing.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I spoke to him in his cell.”

  “Don’t worry. I have him under control.”

  “And those papers?”

  “They were made on something called a printing press.”

  “How do you know?”