“What is it?”
“The other night, at my master’s performance, there was someone in the audience wearing a black robe. Do you know who it was?”
Galda remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “I thought he was a monk. He wasn’t, and it explains my anger.”
“Forgive me, Signore. I don’t understand.”
“The morning after Mangus’s performance, Count Scarazoni came here. He informed me that he — in a black robe — had been at the performance.”
“Scarazoni!” cried Fabrizio and Maria simultaneously.
“None other. He ordered me never to allow magic again. Furthermore, if I did not forbid such events he would lock my doors. Now do you understand? So please leave and tell your master not to come back!”
Fabrizio and Maria hurried out to the street. After walking a few paces, Fabrizio said, “So it was Count Scarazoni who gave me that warning.”
“But the prince said DeLaBina and Scarazoni were working together,” said Maria.
“Benito and Giuseppe seemed to suggest that,” agreed Fabrizio. “But, then, everyone is blaming the count. Except if Scarazoni warned my master, doesn’t that mean he’s our friend?”
“Yet the prince said the count took away your master so he could accuse him of being the traitor,” said Maria. “Another thing. Why would Scarazoni’s soldiers be sent to my house after they broke up the machine?”
“And,” said an exasperated Fabrizio, “don’t forget the king wanted me to be executed right away. The truth is, everybody seems to be lying!” He slapped his head with frustration. “It’s what people say: Just because you think you know everything doesn’t mean you know anything.”
They walked toward Mangus’s house in silence.
“Fabrizio,” said Maria, “tell me about the message the king sent to the executioner. The one that asked for your immediate death.”
“The king sent and signed it. Fortunately, the executioner couldn’t read. So when I read it I said the king was freeing me.”
Maria stopped. “Fabrizio, you told me you didn’t read.”
Fabrizio’s cheeks grew warm. “I do. A little.”
“Are you sure you read that message correctly?”
“I tried …”
“Could you write out what was on the note? Along with the signature you saw?”
“Maybe.”
They rushed back to Mangus’s house and into his study. Once there, Fabrizio picked up a writing quill and dipped it into a bottle of ink. After thinking very hard, he carefully wrote what he remembered on a scrap of parchment. He handed it to Maria. She drew the skull lantern closer to see.
Letthe boy escapedeath S
She looked up. “You wrote, ‘Let the boy escape death S.’”
“You mean the word I couldn’t read was ‘escape’? And the signature was an S?”
“If what you’ve written is accurate.”
“Then Scarazoni was setting me free! But why?” Fabrizio leaned over the table and gazed at what he had written. He put his finger to the letters and traced them, silently mouthing each sound.
As he did, a pounding erupted on the front door.
“Someone for my master,” said Fabrizio. “I’ll send whoever it is away.”
He hurried to the front door and pulled it open only to gasp. Standing there was a man wrapped in a black robe.
CHAPTER 21
THE MAN THREW BACK THE HOOD AND REVEALED HIMSELF as Count Scarazoni.
“My lord!” said Fabrizio, so startled that he forgot to bow.
Count Scarazoni glared at him. “I’ve come to speak to you.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Yes … my lord, of course. Please …” Fabrizio led the count into the study. Maria was standing behind the table, looking at the count with great alarm. She turned to Fabrizio. He silently mouthed the name: Scarazoni.
The count scrutinized the room. Seeing the skull, he stepped forward, reached into it, and pinched out the candle flame. He turned to Fabrizio. “Your master’s magic is false. I don’t believe in it.”
“He would agree with you, my lord,” said Fabrizio, bowing.
“Nor do I fear him,” said the count.
“With permission,” returned Fabrizio, “I fear you.”
“With reason. Your master is under arrest. He is awaiting trial by the king. For practicing magic.”
“I knew that, my lord.”
The count scowled. “It’s supposed to be a court secret. Who told you?”
“Prince Cosimo. He was just here, my lord. A short time ago.”
“I should not be surprised.”
“He said you took my master away.”
“Me? A lie. Mangus was taken by the king. What other lies did Cosimo tell you?”
Fabrizio darted a look at Maria. She nodded.
“Answer my question!” barked Scarazoni.
“My lord, he said that you … were working in league with DeLaBina to overthrow the king.”
“Prince Cosimo is a fool. Hardly more than a boy. To think he’s the heir to the throne. I should be next in line.” The count glared at Fabrizio as if it were his fault. “May I remind you, the prince sent you to be executed. It was I who saved you.”
Fabrizio bowed. “Yes, my lord, I know that … now. My gracious thanks.”
“My lord,” Maria challenged, “the prince said you had DeLaBina commission my parents to make those treasonous papers.”
Scarazoni swung around. “Who is this girl?”
“My friend Maria.”
“Has she anything to do with this business?”
Before Fabrizio could speak, Maria said, “I’m the daughter of the people who brought the printing press to Pergamontio. Did you know about that?”
“Of course,” said Scarazoni.
“Do you know where my parents are?” Maria demanded.
Scarazoni looked at her coldly. “I do.”
“Tell me —!”
“Be quiet!” Scarazoni turned back to Fabrizio. “I’ve come here to tell you what you must do.”
“Me, my lord?”
“I’ve no particular interest in your master. He’s a charlatan. It merely serves my purpose to save him. But I need your help.”
“But —”
“It’s best I don’t speak to him directly. Informers are everywhere in the Castello. I have arranged — secretly — for you to see your master. Tonight. You will tell him that at his trial he must get the prince to confess his crimes. Moreover, he must use his magic to do so.”
“Forgive me,” said Fabrizio. “Didn’t you just say you don’t believe my master can do real magic?”
“I don’t believe. It’s the king who fears devils, ghosts, and magic. The prince, too. Indeed, if your master is found guilty of practicing magic, he’ll be put to death. But, if he can use his trickery to get the prince to confess, it will convince King Claudio of the truth.”
“My lord, I will tell him. But … but what do you wish the prince to … confess to?”
“That he conspired with DeLaBina to overthrow King Claudio.”
“Against his own father?” cried Maria.
“Prince Cosimo and DeLaBina arranged to have those papers made. Knowing the king believes in magic, they claimed your master made them with magic at my request. Their intent? To get rid of me. But DeLaBina made the mistake of bringing you before the king. You insisted your master was innocent. When the king asked you to say who conspired with Mangus, you looked right at the prince.”
“I was only wishing he would help me,” said Fabrizio.
“He thought you were going to accuse him. That’s why he moved to get rid of you. You see what a coward he is. No doubt he feared the magistrato would blunder everything and give him away, too. So Cosimo murdered him. I have no doubt he would have killed your master if the king had not taken him away.”
“Please, tell me about my parents,” Maria pleaded.
“I have
them in a safe place.”
“But why …?”
“Originally, to protect them from DeLaBina. Now I might need them to testify against the prince. But only if I have to. I much prefer to keep all information about that machine of yours a secret. I’ll not have a printing press — or any modern invention — in Pergamontio.”
“Did you send Giuseppe to my house to destroy the press?”
“While I am glad it was destroyed, it was not me. I believe it was the prince, trying to do away with evidence. I did send my soldiers there to protect the pieces. I might have need of them to show how those papers were actually made.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” said Fabrizio. “I have a question. Was it you who came to this house on the morning of Mangus’s performance?”
“That’s how I learned of it.”
“Was it you who warned my master — through me — about DeLaBina?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Fabrizio. “Can I beg you to release this girl’s parents?”
“Please, my lord,” added Maria.
“You see the mischief a printing machine can do. Indeed, if I release your parents, they will have to leave the city.”
Maria all but shouted, “We don’t want to stay here!”
“Very well,” said Scarazoni. “I will seek a way to release them. If” — he looked hard at Fabrizio — “if you agree to tell Mangus he must make the prince confess.”
“My lord, wouldn’t it be better if you told him yourself? He … he doesn’t always listen to me.”
“If I speak to him, the prince will learn of it. He’ll become suspicious and do something rash. No, far better if it is just you.”
“I’ll try, my lord.”
“Good. My carriage will be at your door tonight. It will bring you to Mangus. Tell him what I’ve commanded.”
“My lord,” said Fabrizio, “where is he?”
“You will find out.”
“With permission, may my friend go, too?”
Scarazoni looked at the girl. “No, she should return to her home.”
“Will my parents be there?”
“It depends on this boy,” said the count. He turned to Fabrizio. “Be ready at midnight.”
“Fabrizio,” said Maria after Scarazoni had departed, “can you show me the way home?”
“Do you want to be there alone?” said Fabrizio.
“If my parents return I need to be there. And I’ll try to put the press back together.”
Fabrizio agreed. As he led the way, neither spoke, each thoughtful about his or her own concerns. When they reached Maria’s house it was no longer being guarded. No one was inside.
Maria bid Fabrizio good night, but not before she made him promise he would come back tomorrow to tell her all that happened.
“If I can,” he said, and started off.
“Fabrizio!” she called after him. “Be very careful!”
CHAPTER 22
THE CATHEDRAL BELLS HAD BARELY CHIMED THE MIDNIGHT hour when Fabrizio, fully dressed and sleeping but fitfully on the floor near the front door, heard a sharp rap. He jumped up and peered out. A green-coated court soldier holding a partially hooded lantern stood on the narrow, dark street before the house. Behind him loomed a carriage with four black horses in its traces. At the reins was another soldier.
Fabrizio stepped from the house. One of the soldiers held the carriage door open. Fabrizio climbed in. The moment he did, the door clicked shut.
Having never been in a carriage before, Fabrizio looked around. The cab was gloomy and damp, smelling of moldy leather and sweat. Two seats with wool-leaking cushions faced each other. An unlit candle had been stuck in a wall socket. Fabrizio squeezed into a corner.
No sooner did he settle himself than the carriage lurched forward, swaying and bouncing as it went. He had to put a hand to the carriage wall to keep his place.
Trying not to be fearful, Fabrizio looked out the small window. All he could see was an occasional burning candle in a solitary window.
The carriage went upward, groaning and squeaking. The steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on street stones soon settled into a boring rhythm. The repetition dulled Fabrizio’s senses. The hour was late. He nodded off.
With a jolt, the carriage stopped. On the instant, Fabrizio became alert. The cab door flew open. A soldier poked his head in. “Out!” he ordered.
“Where are we?” whispered a frightened Fabrizio.
“Out!”
Fabrizio stepped out into swirling mist. Two soldiers stood waiting, one of them holding a lit lamp. A gust of wind caused the flame to dance wickedly. “Follow me,” the soldier ordered. Fabrizio hesitated only to receive a sharp jab in his back.
As they walked through the mist, he saw that they were moving along the base of a stone wall. He looked up. The wall seemed to melt overhead into the dark clouds. Looking down he saw a scattering of small lights — as if heaven had fallen.
The soldier stopped. His lamplight revealed a small, low door built into the wall. He unlocked it with a large key, then handed his lamp to Fabrizio. “Walk forward. You’ll be met.”
“Where am I going?” Fabrizio asked.
“Just go.”
Having no choice, Fabrizio passed through the small entryway. The door slammed shut behind him. A lock turned.
He held up the light. A low, narrow tunnel stretched before him. Its walls were built of crudely cut stone, the floor surfaced with jagged, ill-fitting stones and pebbles. Fabrizio was reminded of the passage to the executioner. Am I headed to the same kind of place?
Taking deep breaths to keep calm, Fabrizio walked in the only direction he could, forward. After some fifty yards, he stepped out of the tunnel, held up his lamp, and gasped. He had come into a cavelike room with a domed ceiling and a few entrances. Heaped against the ancient walls were tall mounds of mottled human bones and skulls.
Two armed blue-coated law-court soldiers appeared from one of the side entrances.
The prince must be in charge here, Fabrizio thought. He grew tenser. Then he saw Mangus standing between the soldiers. Fabrizio was shocked by his appearance. Deep shadows rimmed the old man’s eyes. His beard was ill kempt. His clothing was rumpled, the slippers on his feet torn.
Fabrizio took a step forward, only to halt. Perhaps he will refuse to see me.
Mangus had yet to realize Fabrizio was there. It took a touch on his arm by one of the guards to make him turn. When he saw the boy, his mouth fell open.
Fabrizio was sure he saw disappointment on the old man’s face.
“They only told me that someone was coming to see me,” said Mangus. “I was hoping it would be my good wife.” Tears came into his eyes. “But you — like your beloved magic — you always reappear.”
“Forgive me, Master,” said Fabrizio, not sure he should even call him that. “Mistress is still away.” He started forward again, only to halt. “Are they treating you well?”
“I’m alive. That’s not something everyone here can say.” Mangus gestured around him. “An ancient burial crypt. A fitting place for my trial, don’t you think?”
“Is it to be here?”
“I fear so.”
“When?” asked Fabrizio.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow!”
Mangus turned to one of the soldiers. “Am I permitted to speak privately?”
“Briefly.” The two guards stepped back a few paces.
Mangus, his back to the soldiers but facing Fabrizio, touched a finger to his lips: caution.
Fabrizio, understanding, gave a tiny nod of response. “Master,” he said, stepping closer so he could speak in a low voice, “Count Scarazoni arranged for me to come. He bid me tell you … that if you can get Prince Cosimo to confess that he conspired to have those papers made, the count will help you. Otherwise things will go badly.”
Mangus sighed. “Is that why he sent you here, to tell me that?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, Master.”
“Is that true — about Cosimo?”
“I think so. I met with him, too.”
“You’ve led a busy life since I dismissed you,” said Mangus.
“Prince Cosimo said you must get Scarazoni to confess to the same thing.”
Mangus lifted his hands as if to say, “Absurd.”
“Master, I discovered how those papers were made. After I left you in the Hall of Justice, I met a girl — Maria. She explained how she — and her parents — printed the papers on something called a … a printing press. It’s a machine that can imitate writing. It makes many copies. All the same.”
“I have heard rumors of such a machine,” said Mangus. “A German invention. The rumors sounded too” — he shrugged — “magical. Did you actually see one? In Pergamontio?”
“In a way. It was broken up. And, Master,” said Fabrizio, feeling he had to hurry with his news, “DeLaBina was murdered.”
“Murdered! How so?”
Fabrizio told him about finding the body.
“Who committed this crime?”
Fabrizio, looking beyond Mangus to the soldiers, was afraid to say. They appeared to be listening.
Mangus seemed to understand. “Well, there is much lying in the world.”
“It’s what people say,” agreed Fabrizio. “When liars are found, truth is hidden.”
Mangus gazed at the boy.
“Master, forgive me. There is even more.” Fabrizio told him what Signor Galda had said.
Mangus sighed. “Now even if — by some miracle — I regain my freedom, I shall have no way of making a living.”
“But, Master,” said Fabrizio, “there’s another thing people say: ‘If you have to choose between knowing your friends or enemies, better to know your friends.’”
Mangus considered Fabrizio. “True.”
“With permission, Master, I have some more news.” He told Mangus about Benito and Giuseppe.
As Mangus listened, his shoulders slumped. He took a deep breath. “Where are they now?”
“I don’t know. They ran off.”
“Fabrizio, there’s no pain like the pain of betrayal.” Mangus closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “But no joy like the blessing of loyalty. I’m grateful that you’ve discovered many useful facts. But … how were you able to?”