Inquisitor

by John Barrowman

  29.

  Take the Cannoli

  Any night in the summer, the cobbled alleys and narrow streets of the Trastevere were packed with revellers. He would be safer there. Callum kept to alleys and crowded squares, feeling reasonably sure he hadn’t been followed. When he made it safely on to the Ponte Sisto, he slowed, catching his breath, figuring out a plan of sorts. Time to take advantage of the good nature and hospitality of Rome’s citizenry.

  Crossing into Trastevere, he stopped at the first off-licence he came across and bought a magnum of prosecco and a sleeve of plastic cups. Then he tucked the cups and the prosecco under his arm and headed along the narrow street towards the Piazza Santa Maria.

  Callum stopped in front of a bar and its crowded patio. He held up the bottle and glasses. ‘It’s my birthday,’ he announced. ‘Girlfriend just dumped me. Who wants a drink?’

  Well-wishers crowded around him, cheerful and drunken.

  ‘Her loss.’

  ‘Happy Birthday.’

  ‘Pour me one!’

  ‘If you need a shoulder to cry on, mine’s available.’

  Taking advantage of the pressing crowd, Callum took the first opportunity to escape around the side of the bar, his back to the wall, keeping to the shadows. No one was looking. No one had followed.

  As he had expected, La Madrina was holding court at the front table of her restaurant. Callum watched as neighbours, friends, business owners, and any number of sycophants stopped at the table to give Signora Orsini her tithes: everything from flowers to wine to small wrapped packages that Callum knew held payment for keeping the area safe and profitable. There was nothing legal or illegal that happened in Trastevere that she didn’t know about. She’d already paid for half of the original illustration upfront. If she still wanted it as badly as he thought she did, then she might also be willing to help him.

  A waiter poured cognac, and waited for Signora Orsini to nod her approval before he moved on. She lifted the glass to her bright red lips, taking a sip before setting the glass down and using the inside of her thumb to erase her lip-print.

  According to Pietra, cognac was always La Madrina’s last drink of the night. If he was going to confront her, it had to be soon. In public, she’d be less likely to kill him right away for missing their earlier meeting. Whereas in private… Word would have reached her by now of the warrant for his arrest, and she might want to make an example of him. He thought of the banker’s head, and shivered.

  He slid down the wall and rested his arms on his legs, closing his eyes. How the hell had he got here?

  When he looked up, La Madrina was staring down at him. She carried little excess on her thin body. Two rugged young men in a uniform of black trousers and white shirts flanked her. The alley was suddenly deserted.

  ‘My dear young Englishman,’ she said.

  ‘Scottish,’ he said without thinking.

  She chopped the silver knob of her cane across his shins. ‘Bring him.’

  Callum winced from the pain as he was yanked to his feet. For better or worse, some dilemmas resolved themselves.

  30.

  Stealth Mode

  When one of the bodyguards clicked open the trunk of the black Mercedes, Callum shielded his eyes from the bright lights while doing his best to climb out of the trunk with grace.

  He gazed with awe at the mansion peeking out from a tree-covered hillside on a curve of the Tiber. He’d read about the place, how the Vatican had once housed a stream of ever-changing mistresses of cardinals and popes here, before the title and land had transferred to the Orsini family to pay off a pope’s gambling debt. The Orsinis had held it as their seat of power ever since. He noted the arched ruins of a bridge designed by Michelangelo with particular interest. It was unfinished, but the original plan had been to connect the Villa Orsini with another palace of similar repute on the other side of the Tiber.

  Signora Fiera Orsini was already out of sight. Callum followed the guard into the loggia of the palace, gripping the satchel. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping. The astonishing fresco began at one side of the massive mahogany front doors, circling around the walls beneath a wide marble staircase where Romulus and Remus fought each other for the city of Rome, and ended with Romulus’ victory. Other artists had painted myths on the borders of the ceiling. The dome above the stairs reminded Callum of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, except the figure was male and was rising from the earth inside a ring of fire rather than the sea. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  ‘Breathtaking, I know.’ La Madrina had appeared beside him. ‘The dome was painted when Lorenzo de’Medici owned the palace. It’s the only Botticelli outside the Vatican that doesn’t belong to the Uffizi.’

  It was Botticelli then, thought Callum, feeling dazed. ‘And the Roman fresco is Raphael?’

  ‘Most of it,’ she said. ‘The rest was completed by his students.’

  She tapped her cane on the marble floor. Another attractive young Italian appeared in seconds at her side. ‘We’ll have supper in my salon, Andrea. Set a place for my guest. This way, young man,’ she said, beckoning Callum. ‘We have a lot to discuss.’

  Callum followed her along a hallway to an old-fashioned lift in the shape of a birdcage. It didn’t look big enough for two. Signora Orsini used her cane to tap a gold button and stepped inside.

  ‘Bring Signore Muir to my salon, Enzo,’ she murmured to a guard as the golden doors closed.

  Callum turned to see another chiselled servant waiting for him. Perhaps, to work for La Madrina, you needed a stealth mode.

  31.

  A Long Day’s Journey Into Night

  The salon was on the third floor, tucked in the northwest corner of the palace. Comfortably furnished, the room was modest in size with an unlit fireplace, a wall of built-in bookcases, and four tall windows looking out over the treetops towards the floodlit Vatican.

  Callum stood hesitantly at the doorway until Andrea had finished setting supper out for each of them on a round coffee table.

  ‘Sit. Eat,’ Signora Orsini instructed. ‘Then we will talk.’

  Callum thought he’d lost his appetite after seeing the grotesque display in the garret, but he ate the plate of cheeses and meats quickly enough, saving the two arancini – tiny fried balls of rice and cheese – for last.

  La Madrina was watching him closely. He wondered if he could make a run for the windows and jump into the gardens if things got out of hand.

  ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘If I were going to hurt you, I would already have done so.’ She dabbed her lips with her napkin and stood. At an open bar on a shelf of the bookcase, she poured a glass of port from a crystal decanter. ‘May I offer you something other than water?’

  Callum would have liked nothing more than to drink away the entire nightmare of the past month, but he shook his head and sat back in the chair, his hands resting on its over-stuffed arms, his adrenaline dissipating.

  ‘Pietra was a loss to all of us,’ Signora Orsini said, unexpectedly. ‘I’ve known her family for years. I fear they’ll never recover. I’m sorry.’

  Callum squeezed the arms of the chair, pressing back his grief. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Still, you missed our appointment.’

  ‘I couldn’t get away,’ Callum blurted. ‘Something strange happened at the museum and I was locked inside.’ In a rush, he told her about the door and the strange woman. ‘I thought maybe she was working for you. Did you plan to take the original and cut me out?’

  Her tone stiffened. ‘I would not have done that. I gave Pietra my word.’

  Callum’s full stomach and overwhelming exhaustion were making it difficult to keep his eyes open. ‘I think the woman in the museum may have drugged or hypnotized me. Whoever she works for is going to be really pissed off when they realize she took a forgery.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. That’s why I think you’ve been framed for Victor Moretti’s murder and it’s why I’ve brought you here.’ She finished her port
and set it on the table.

  Relief washed over Callum in a flood. ‘I never met the man.’

  Signora Orsini gestured at Callum’s empty hands with her cane. ‘I can see that you don’t have the original illustration with you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I hid it until I could figure out what was happening.’

  ‘I can help you with that.’

  Again, she tapped her cane, this time on the hardwood floor. Andrea appeared.

  ‘Signora?’

  ‘Coffee, Andrea.’ As La Madrina looked at Callum, he thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. ‘It may be a long night.’

  32.

  Heaven is a Place on Earth

  ‘Like all efficient secret societies, the Camarilla’s beginnings are clouded in conspiracy and mystery,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘They were formed as an elite legion to protect the first King of Rome. When Romulus died, they continued to protect his descendants.’

  ‘Like a family’s private army?’

  The older woman inclined her head. ‘If both family and army consisted of supernatural beings, yes.’

  Callum swallowed too quickly, the coffee catching in his throat. ‘You’re not serious,’ he said, coughing.

  La Madrina looked coolly at him. She wasn’t the sort of woman to fool around. Callum reminded himself that he’d seen a door melt, a woman vanish from a locked room, and a head on a platter in his flat. Nothing was normal or natural in his life any more.

  Signora Orsini set her cup and saucer on the table, walked over to one of the bookshelves where she ran her fingers along their spines until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out the book and handed it to Callum. The title was printed in raised gold letters: Book of Songs.

  Callum opened it.

  ‘A true compendium of conjurations, invocations, curses, and the mystical instruments to raise up the Watchers and bring the Second Kingdom to earth,’ he read aloud. ‘What are Watchers?’

  ‘Fallen angels,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘Trapped in Chaos. For now.’

  ‘Angels,’ said Callum, carefully. ‘Right.’

  On the next page of the ancient book was a tree similar to the illustration he’d forged. But instead of rising out of the ground with strange glyphs on each of its branches, this tree was spread across the pages with the trunk at the centre, its roots spreading under what Callum knew was an ancient world-view: every land mass connected and birthed from what was labelled as the Tree of Life. He looked up.

  ‘It looks like Byron’s tree,’ he said. ‘But here it’s more like a world map.’

  ‘It is indeed a map,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘A map stolen from the Camarilla centuries ago. It is, needless to say, by neither Byron nor Polidori. Polidori’s papers were simply a convenient place to hide it.’

  The headache that was tapping at the edge of Callum’s brain was thumping now. The shot of caffeine hadn’t helped. Neither had the food.

  ‘The Camarilla knew that Pietra had discovered the map,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘But they did not know of your plan to forge a duplicate. They are now hunting for you. They can’t afford to have a copy muddying the waters before they implement their final plan.’

  Callum wanted to believe he was experiencing some kind of grief-stricken hallucination, but the elegant woman sipping coffee in front of him was all too real.

  ‘How do you know all of this?’

  ‘My great-grandmother was Francis Polidori’s sister,’ the older woman continued. ‘She realized that he had discovered the map, and it had resulted in his murder.’

  Callum set down his cup. ‘I thought Polidori committed suicide because his poem was badly received?’

  ‘That’s the story they let circulate. It made everything easier.’

  ‘So the illustration is a map,’ Callum repeated, trying to get his head around what the older woman was telling him. ‘A map to what?’

  ‘The map depicts the place where a Conjuror is prophesied to open the portal to Chaos.’ Callum noticed the fearful look in Signora Orsini’s eyes again. ‘When the portal is opened, the Watchers will rise and make slaves of us all in their Second Kingdom.’

  ‘What was the first one?’ Not sure what else to say.

  ‘It’s had many names. Paradise, Elysium, Olympus – a place of the divine before time was measured.’

  A jumble of questions ricocheted around Callum’s head. But before he’d had a chance to ask any of them, Andrea burst into the room, breathless and pale.

  ‘He’s here,’ he gasped.

  Callum jumped to his feet, knocking his shin against the coffee table. ‘Should I be worried?’

  La Madrina moved with surprising agility to the door. ‘I thought we’d have more time. You are connected to Victor Moretti, you see, and the Camarilla are exploiting that connection.’

  ‘I swear I never met the man!’ Callum protested.

  ‘He arranged the money for me to buy the illustration. There is your connection. Now, there’s someone you must meet if you are going to survive.’

  33.

  Revelations

  A young man was staring up at the domed ceiling with his hands folded behind his back, the long tails of his vintage tuxedo not quite hiding a leather sketchpad with a pen clipped to its cover. He looked as if he’d stepped out of an Italian opera. Straight blond hair slicked back with product, an old-fashioned wing-collared white shirt, an untied bow tie. His eyes were the most unusual colour of blue, like aggies: big blue marbles. He nodded at Callum.

  ‘You’re here already,’ said Signora Orsini dryly. ‘That can’t be good. Have you been at the opera? You look quite dashing.’

  Callum watched as the young man moved his hands fluidly through the air. Sign language.

  ‘Dinner at the Vatican?’ said La Madrina. ‘What did Cecilia want you to do there? Never mind, tell me later. Ah, she’s personally invited the Pope to her concert.’ She turned to Callum. ‘Callum, this is Zach Butler. He is also from Scotland. Among other amazing abilities, he reads lips exceptionally well.’

  Zach’s handshake was warm and firm.

  With her hand on Callum’s arm, Signora Orsini nudged Zach towards a salon to the right of the front doors. ‘Zach, I need you to get Callum out of Rome tonight.’

  Callum pulled away. ‘Woah! I’m not leaving,’ he protested. ‘Whatever’s going on, I’m going to see it through.’

  Zach’s face was sympathetic as he moved his hands.

  ‘We can’t bring Pietra back,’ said Signora Orsini, squeezing Callum’s arm. ‘We did what we could, but we were too late.’

  Callum froze. ‘What about Pietra?’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ she said simply.

  Callum backed up to the bottom stair, shaking his head. He’d probably known since early this afternoon that Pietra’s death hadn’t been an accident. Best laid plans get really effed up.

  Signora Orsini placed a slim hand on his shoulder. ‘She didn’t suffer. Zach was watching you both from the moment you came to my restaurant and took that money. The map was too important to risk.’

  Callum felt a great weight pressing down on him. Zach tried to catch him before he collapsed, but he shoved him away and slumped against the wall. His stomach was pitching madly and he thought he might be sick.

  ‘I liked Pietra,’ said Signora Orsini gently. ‘Truly.’

  ‘The Camarilla wanted the sketch enough to murder Pietra for it,’ whispered Callum. ‘Didn’t they?’

  ‘They’ve murdered for much less,’ said Signora Orsini matter-of-factly.

  Callum wanted to howl. He wanted to hit someone. ‘This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been so bloody arrogant to think we could live without my trust fund, she’d still be alive! Who was it? Give me a name, dammit!’

  ‘Who knows? A mercenary,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘Someone promised fame and fortune. It’s how the Camarilla have got most of their dirty jobs done.’

  *

  Callum fled down the hallway to a bathroom th
e size of an exhibition hall with busts of the Caesars at each corner. There he lost it, throwing up into a porcelain sink everything he’d eaten since he’d arrived at the villa. He scooped water into his mouth, gulping furiously. Inside the toilet, he lost it again. Everything he’d stomped down inside since Pietra’s funeral erupted, racking his body.

  34.

  Naked and Numb

  Andrea knocked on the outside door. ‘Signore?’

  Trying to calm himself, Callum rinsed his mouth again before stepping back into the hallway. Signora Orsini led him gently into a smaller salon off the main foyer, where Zach was standing in front of another unlit fireplace. Callum dully noted the same high ceilings and elaborate cornices and borders as the grand foyer. The art on the walls exclusively depicted goddesses: Gabriel Dante Rossetti’s Proserpine, Lavinia Fontana’s Minerva, Gustave Jean Jacquet’s Flora.

  ‘We are under some time pressure here,’ said Signora Orsini. ‘Tell me where you’ve hidden the original map and I’ll get you safely out of Rome.’

  La Madrina seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being. Callum couldn’t read Zach, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t come this far to run.

  ‘I’m not leaving Rome,’ he said. ‘I may not be able to find who murdered Pietra, but maybe I can help bring down this Camarilla.’ He fixed Signora Orsini with his most insolent look. ‘And when I get the rest of the money, you’ll get the sketch.’

  Zach started forward, but Fiera Orsini cut him off with an angry wave. ‘Bring me the map and I’ll wire the money immediately.’

  Callum stood his ground. He owed Pietra that. ‘If you’ve been watching us, then you know that creating the forgery took all the resources we had. I need the money first.’

  Signora Orsini studied him. ‘If the Camarilla has a target on your back, it’s only a matter of time before they find and kill you too.’