Murder at Midnight

by Avi

  “I arranged it.”

  “You! I thought it was the magician. Why didn’t you tell me? We’ll be found out!”

  “Not a chance! We’re making progress. You’re such a fool! Just because you —”

  A horrible scream erupted.

  Fabrizio and Maria spun around and ran as fast as they could. After a few minutes they stopped to catch their breath. “What happened?” Maria whispered. “Who was the other person?”

  “I wish I knew,” said Fabrizio, gulping for air.

  “Fabrizio, we need to get out of here.” Walking fast, she led the way through one dismal hallway after another. It was as if they were going in circles. Then, as they turned still another corner, Fabrizio gasped. He grabbed the lantern from Maria and held it high.

  “Look!”

  On the ground, a large body covered by a black robe lay still. The head was covered but the legs stuck out.

  “Is he … alive?” Maria whispered.

  Fabrizio edged forward and knelt down. Then he reached out and drew back the robe. Beneath lay a man with his head twisted to one side. A ruby-encrusted dagger was sticking out of his back. On the ground a pool of wet blood was spreading.

  “That’s … that’s the man who arrested me,” a shocked Maria stammered.

  “It’s DeLaBina. That must have been him screaming. And …” whispered Fabrizio, “I recognize that dagger. It’s the king’s.”

  Grabbing Maria’s hand, he pulled her along the hallway as fast as he could. But barely did they turn the first corner when they all but ran into someone. Jumping back, Fabrizio held up the lantern.

  It was somebody wearing a long black robe.

  “Blessed God!” cried Fabrizio. He turned, prepared to flee, only to bump into Maria.

  “Stand where you are!” the black-robed figure shouted from behind the hood that hid his face. His voice was so commanding that Fabrizio and Maria felt compelled to obey.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded the black robe.

  Not knowing what else to do, Fabrizio bowed. “Signore, I’m just a servant.” Then, remembering Mangus’s words, “Pay attention to what’s visible and you can discover what’s hidden,” he scrutinized the figure. But the man was so wrapped around within his black robe, from the tip of one red boot to the top of his hidden head, Fabrizio could not begin to guess who it might be.

  “Why,” demanded the black robe, “are you wandering around here?”

  “Forgive us … Signore,” said Maria. “We … we … wanted to visit a prisoner. But we couldn’t find him, so we were trying to leave. And go home. We’ve become lost. Perhaps, Signore, you can tell us the way out.”

  As if pondering Maria’s request, the black robe remained motionless. “Who were you trying to visit?” he finally asked.

  “Mangus the Magician,” said Fabrizio. “I … I used to be his servant.”

  “Were you not to be executed?” said the black robe.

  “Signore, the … king freed me.”

  “The king! Why?”

  “I have no idea,” said Fabrizio.

  The black robe made no response. Fabrizio could not tell if the man was even looking at him.

  “Forgive me, Signore,” Fabrizio ventured timidly. “Do you … know if Mangus was … executed?”

  The black robe did not answer. Instead, he said, “Have you seen anyone else?”

  “Signor DeLaBina,” said Maria.

  The black robe turned to her sharply. “Where?”

  “Back there.” Maria pointed in the direction where they had discovered the body. “Not far.”

  “Did you … did you speak to him?”

  “Signore,” said Maria, “the dead can’t speak.”

  The black robe grew still, as if trying to make up his mind. Next moment, he turned and walked in a direction opposite to where DeLaBina lay. After a few paces he stopped abruptly and turned. “The way out is in that direction.” He pointed a white-gloved hand toward another corridor. “Continue along,” said the black robe, pointing. “Make a left, then a right. You’ll find a door. It’s not locked. You may leave the building that way. Indeed, I urge you to leave the city.” That said, the black robe turned and strode away in haste.

  “Many thanks, Signore!” Fabrizio called. He and Maria stared after him until his footsteps became faint and he disappeared into the gloom.

  “Come on!” cried Maria, and she ran down the corridor with Fabrizio close behind. When they reached the first turning, they paused.

  “Fabrizio,” said Maria, quite breathless, “do you have any … any idea who that … was?”

  “He couldn’t have been the king. When I told him the king freed me, he acted surprised.”

  “Who was it, then?”

  “His voice sounded like the one we heard talking to DeLaBina before the scream. I’ll tell you one thing: Count Scarazoni hated DeLaBina.”

  “Would this Scarazoni have murdered him?”

  “He has a reputation for killing people.”

  “Why did he tell us to leave Pergamontio?” asked Maria.

  “Everybody asks me to leave,” said Fabrizio.

  “Come on.”

  They raced on. At the end of a passageway was a door. One hard shove and it swung open onto a rush of damp air and fog. They bolted out, but they could see almost nothing.

  Although Maria was standing only a few feet away, she appeared as little more than a shadow.

  “Fabrizio?” she called.

  “Right here!”

  She drew close. “Do you know where we are?”

  “I suppose behind the Hall of Justice.”

  Straining to see through the swirling mist, they started walking. The fog began to thin. They could see a little.

  “Stop!” whispered Fabrizio.

  “What is it?”

  “Look!”

  A dark figure — some sixty paces away — seemed to float up out of the gloom.

  “It’s the black robe again!” said Fabrizio.

  CHAPTER 16

  FABRIZIO BACKED UP.

  “Fabrizio,” cried Maria, “there are two black robes!”

  Sure enough, two figures, one tall, one short, both cloaked in black robes, loomed out of the eddying fog. One of the figures was about Mangus’s height.

  Fabrizio could not restrain himself. “Master!” he called. No reply came. The black robes vanished into the fog.

  “Was that your master?” asked Maria, her voice hushed.

  “I thought so, but I really don’t know. Maria, I need to go to his house.”

  He gazed around, trying to get his bearings. “I’ll take you home first. But we need to be careful. The curfew is still on. DeLaBina’s soldiers are always on patrol. We’re not supposed to be on the street.”

  “What if they see us?”

  “We’d go back to prison.”

  “My house is on the Street of the Wood Sellers.”

  “Stay close!”

  They hurried along, halting frequently to make sure they were not caught on the deserted streets. Once, they heard the tramp of footsteps. “The watch!” hissed Fabrizio. They hid behind some barrels.

  “We’d better wait for a while,” he suggested.

  They settled back, keeping close for warmth and trying to be patient. Exhausted, at one point Fabrizio even dozed. So did Maria.

  With a start, Fabrizio woke. The fog had thinned.

  A faint glow to the east suggested dawn as the dark of night gave way to the iron blue of daylight. Cocks crowed. Pigeons fluttered. A dog barked and a hungry donkey brayed. As the cathedral bells tolled the hour, Fabrizio and Maria ran through the city’s narrow, crooked streets, avoiding puddles of thin overnight ice. At every corner Fabrizio halted and surveyed what lay ahead.

  “Your street is there,” Fabrizio finally announced, pausing at yet another corner.

  Maria poked her head around. With a start she pulled back.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Fabrizio.<
br />
  “There’s a soldier sitting in front of my house.”

  Fabrizio looked. A soldier dressed in a green court uniform was leaning against the front door of a small, flat-roofed, two-story house. Across his knees lay a sword.

  “A king’s soldier,” said Fabrizio. “They aren’t the usual night watch. Count Scarazoni controls them.”

  “Why would Scarazoni send a soldier to my house?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Fabrizio took a second look. “I think he’s sleeping.”

  “We still won’t be able to get in.”

  “Is there a back door?”

  Maria nodded. They scampered down the street and around to the rear alley. The corner house had an old thick grapevine growing high against the wall. Pushing aside the brittle brown leaves, Maria and Fabrizio looked into the dirt alleyway.

  It wasn’t hard to pick out Maria’s house. Another soldier was posted against a faded blue back door. He sat with legs stretched before him and a sword in easy reach.

  Fabrizio gazed at him. “I have an idea,” he said. “If I went along the alley and yelled something to get that soldier to chase me, you could race into the house. Are you fast?” he asked.

  “Fast enough,” said Maria. “But if he catches you, does that mean you’ll go back to prison?”

  “Don’t worry. I can get past him. Then I’ll circle back around and slip in. If I can’t, I’ll wait for you here. For a while, anyway. You’re the one who has to get by him. You know what they say: A first chance is worth fifty second ones.”

  Maria, her face solemn, nodded.

  “All right,” said Fabrizio. “Here I go.”

  “Fabrizio …”

  “What?”

  Maria gave him a hug. “You’re the only one in this whole city I like.”

  “Even though I’m stupid?”

  She grinned. “I was wrong. You’re smart.”

  Fabrizio stepped out from around the corner, took a quick look back at Maria, and ambled down the alley. Acting as if there were nothing in his mind, he kept his eyes fixed on the soldier.

  As Fabrizio drew closer, the soldier shifted his head slightly.

  He’s pretending to be asleep, thought Fabrizio. Good.

  When he came within thirty feet of the soldier, he saw the man’s hand move stealthily toward the hilt of his sword.

  Fabrizio ran past the soldier yelling, “Asleep! Asleep on duty!”

  The soldier bolted up and groped for his sword. Trying to do both things made his movement awkward. “Halt!” he shouted. “In the name of the king! Halt!” He staggered after Fabrizio.

  Fabrizio reached the alley’s end. “Asleep! Asleep!” he jeered. He tore around the corner, plunged into the first recessed doorway, and pressed himself flat.

  Moments later the soldier clumped by, yelling, “Halt! Halt!”

  As soon as he passed, Fabrizio sprang from his hiding place and ran back to the faded blue door. He shoved it open, leaped inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. Where was Maria?

  CHAPTER 17

  A LITTLE LIGHT SEEPED THROUGH THE SHUTTERED window, enough to allow Fabrizio to see that he was standing in a small room. Save for a pair of old and broken leather boots that lay upon the rough wooden floor, it was empty. He heard nothing. With care, he crept into a larger, darker room. It was heaped with household goods: pots, clothing, and a collapsed chair. Shreds of paper lay strewn about like feathers from a broken bed. On one paper, Fabrizio saw a bit of the treasonous message. Its letters were smeared.

  “Maria?” he called softly.

  Hearing a slight wheezing noise, he stepped into the next room. Maria was leaning back against the far wall, arms tight around her stomach. She was shaking. Tears slid down her inky cheeks.

  “What is it?” Fabrizio whispered.

  Maria shook her head as if not capable of answering.

  Fabrizio gazed around the room. In the middle lay a jumble of wooden frames. Sticking out from the heap were heavy metal tubes and one huge screw. There were shallow boxes with multiple small compartments. To Fabrizio it seemed to be little more than a pile of junk.

  Scraps of paper lay scattered about, while hundreds of small metal pieces — like wildly sown wheat — were strewn everywhere. And every surface of the room — walls, floor, even the low ceiling — was spotted, stained, and blotched by a dark liquid that dripped and pooled onto the floor like black blood.

  “Are your parents here?” Maria shook her head.

  “What’s that?” Fabrizio asked, gesturing toward the heap.

  Maria sniffed and dabbed at her tears with a strand of her red hair. “Our printing press.”

  “That’s the machine you were talking about? The one that made the papers?”

  Maria nodded.

  Fabrizio bent over and picked up one of the small metal pieces. It was rectangular, half an inch long, with a notch in its shank and smeared with black goo. There seemed to be something engraved at one end. Fabrizio gazed at it, gradually realizing he was looking at a raised letter, his own name letter, the letter F. Backward. He held it up. “What’s this?”

  “Type.”

  “A type … of what?”

  “A piece of type.” Maria’s voice was thick with frustration. “A letter.”

  Fabrizio tried to shake the metal bit off his fingers, but the black ooze made it stick. He had to pick it off.

  “What’s … what’s all this black stuff?” he asked.

  “Ink.”

  Fabrizio looked at Maria quizzically, then bent over and poked a finger into one of the dark pools. His finger came up black. He smelled it. It had a sweet, oily odor. When he wiped it off on his tunic, it left a dark smear.

  “Why would someone destroy our printing press?” asked Maria.

  “Maybe so no one would know how you made the papers. Perhaps DeLaBina.” He waited for her to say something. She only sniffed.

  “Maria — I have to go to my master’s house. I need to see if he really got out of the prison and returned home. He probably doesn’t want to see me, but I’d feel better knowing he’s there. Since your parents aren’t here … maybe we should go together.”

  When she made no response, Fabrizio peeked out through the front shutters and then the back. “Soldiers still front and back,” he reported.

  Maria shrugged with indifference.

  Fabrizio wandered around and found steep ladderlike steps leading up to the second floor. Upstairs there were two rooms, each with a rumpled bed, some chests, and small windows.

  In one ceiling Fabrizio noticed a small, recessed square. He studied it for a moment before going back down. He found Maria kneeling beside the printing press wreckage, trying to fit two pieces together.

  “I think it can be mended.” She sounded more hopeful.

  “Good.” Fabrizio was not very interested. “I’m pretty sure I found a way to get out without being seen. I’ll show you.”

  Maria put the pieces together and followed Fabrizio up to one of the bedrooms.

  “My parents’ room,” she said softly.

  Fabrizio pointed to the square cut into the ceiling. “I’m sure that opens. We can get out that way.”

  “What if my parents come home?”

  “You don’t know when that might be. It could even be tomorrow.”

  Maria’s eyes welled with tears.

  “I promise,” said Fabrizio. “We’ll only go see if my master got home. Then we’ll come back. I just don’t think you should stay alone.”

  Maria sighed. “All right,” she said.

  The two of them lifted the chest onto the bed. Maria climbed up and was able to push the square to one side. Above was nothing but blue sky.

  Maria grabbed the rim of the opening and hoisted herself up and out. Once atop the roof, she lay flat and reached down to help Fabrizio. In moments, they were both on the roof.

  Fabrizio looked around. “This way,” he said.

  They scampered over the
roofs to the corner house. The old grapevine had grown high, curled over the roof, and attached itself to the corner chimney.

  Fabrizio lay on his stomach and shook the vine. “It should hold us.”

  He grabbed the thickest part of the vine, swung a foot down, and felt about until he was sure he had support. Once he did, he climbed down, the leaves hiding him from view. In moments he reached the street. Maria soon joined him.

  With Fabrizio leading the way, they ran until they had reached Mangus’s house. Fabrizio rushed to the door, but when he tried to open it, it would not budge.

  He pounded on it. When there was still no reply, he pounded again.

  After a few moments they heard the sound of a shifting bolt inside. The door eased open a crack. An eye peered out.

  “It’s me, Fabrizio! Let me in!”

  The door swung all the way open. Standing there was Prince Cosimo.

  CHAPTER 18

  FABRIZIO BACKED AWAY FROM THE DOOR. MARIA, JUST behind him, asked, “Who is it?”

  “The king’s son,” Fabrizio whispered. “The one who sent me to be executed.”

  Prince Cosimo stood in the doorway, staring at Fabrizio. Though he was dressed as elegantly as when Fabrizio last saw him in the Hall of Justice, he seemed uncertain what to do. He kept fingering his thin mustache, while his gaze shifted nervously from Fabrizio to Maria, then back again. His eyes were ringed by darkness.

  “My … lord …” Fabrizio managed to say, “is my master, Signor Mangus … here?”

  “I thought … you were … gone.”

  “Gone, my lord? With permission, I’m … right here.”

  The prince hesitated, then, as if making up his mind, he abruptly beckoned the boy inside.

  Fabrizio stepped forward, turning to include Maria. She looked at the prince, asking permission. When he gave a curt nod, she pressed in close to her friend.

  The prince shut the door and bolted it. “Go into your master’s study,” he commanded.

  “Is … he all right?” asked Fabrizio.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” barked Cosimo. “Go!”

  “Yes, my lord.” Fabrizio, making sure Maria stayed with him, went forward. When he reached Mangus’s study, he looked back.

  The prince was watching him intently.