by Kai Meyer
“That was their profession, diving,” said Iole.
Rosa wrinkled her brow. “Really?”
“The Dallamanos owned the biggest specialist construction company in Italy for building structures in and under the water,” Alessandro told her. “They didn’t often go diving themselves, but they knew their way around the sea. From harbor complexes to bridges to drilling rigs in the Atlantic, they built all kinds of things, of course with—”
“State subsidies,” she finished the sentence for him.
He nodded. “In the end, none of the projects could be finished without them. But it’s said there were attempts to break their monopoly.”
“Your family did a good job with that, then,” she said dryly.
He didn’t take her bait. “Their firms were dissolved. None of the other capi bothered with them because … because of the informer. I think the Japanese took over a good deal of the Dallamano technology. The rest … who knows?”
Rosa was about to give the picture back to Iole when she noticed something. “What’s that?” She pointed to a narrow strip at the left-hand edge of the photo, which had slipped a fraction of an inch in its frame. There was something else behind it.
“Another picture,” said Iole.
“Does it give a better view of your uncle? Maybe it would help Alessandro”—Rosa gave him a meaningful look—“to track Augusto down.”
He made a face, as if to say Don’t start that again, which she rather liked. She preferred it when he went on the attack, rather than expressing doubt. Defensiveness didn’t suit him.
She quickly turned back to the photo frame.
“There’s nothing interesting in the other picture,” said Iole.
“Who’s it of?”
“No one. Only an old stone statue.”
Alessandro crossed his arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Rosa noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was looking at her, not the picture.
“May I see it?” she asked Iole.
The girl nodded, took the frame from her, and undid the back of it. Sure enough, there was a second photograph behind the first. Iole couldn’t get hold of the thin edge properly with her bitten fingernails, and Rosa’s own were not in much better shape. Alessandro leaned over them and removed the photo with thumb and forefinger. His green eyes darkened as he turned it over.
“What is it?” she asked.
He took a step back and tilted the picture slightly under a ceiling light.
“Alessandro?”
Iole was talking faster, breathlessly. “I thought it was pretty, so I took it. It was with lots of others on my father’s desk, and when Cesare’s men came I grabbed the framed picture of Papa and this other one. But they didn’t notice, and I hid it. Later, when no one was watching, I put it in the back of the frame.”
She would have gone on chattering if Alessandro hadn’t been looking at her with such concern. Rosa jumped up and went over to him. She took the photo carefully and turned it so that she could see it too.
It did indeed show a statue, just as Iole had said. A figure carved from some kind of porous stone, lit by the beam of a flashlight, showing it against a bleak underwater scene. Swarms of particles were drifting through the image, and a silvery fish swam at the edge. In the background, the indistinct outlines of angular shapes were visible. They might have been rocks, or ruins on the seafloor. All that could be seen clearly was the brightly lit statue.
It was of a big cat standing on its hind legs as if ready to spring. The scaly body of a snake, as broad as the muscular throat of the feline, wound around it in a spiral. The panther—for it was obviously a panther, not a tiger or a lion—had its mouth closed and was staring as if spellbound at the head of the snake just in front of its own. The big cat and the reptile were looking into each other’s eyes, but neither of them seemed aggressive. The scene that, at first sight, had looked like the depiction of a fight, turned out to be something quite different when you examined it more closely. The two animals were observing each other, silently communicating. Even the way the snake twined around the body of the big cat didn’t look like a stranglehold.
“Are they embracing?” whispered Alessandro.
Rosa’s pulse raced and pounded in her temples. The hammering noise grew louder and louder, but it was a moment or so before she noticed that the others could hear it as well.
Only it wasn’t coming from her.
Someone was knocking on the door.
TABULA
“OPEN UP, ALESSANDRO!” Cesare’s voice came through the door, muted by its thickness but as commanding as ever. “I know you’re in there.” And after a moment he added, “All three of you.”
Alessandro spun around, dropping the photo. Rosa slipped it into her jeans pocket. Iole, on the bed, moved back until she was up against the wall, clutching her father’s picture.
Alessandro exchanged an anxious look with Rosa.
“Someone’s given you away,” she said quietly. “Looks like they’re all on his side now.”
His cheek muscles were twitching with anger. He strode quickly over to the door. “This is still my house, Cesare.”
“The men have decided against you. Taking the little Alcantara witch under your wing was a mistake.”
“Tano would be touched to know how long you spent mourning him.”
For a moment there was silence, then Cesare’s fist struck the door. “You’re hiding an enemy of your clan here, boy!”
“She’s not to blame for Tano’s death. You know that as well as I do.”
“That’s for the tribunal to decide.”
Rosa touched Alessandro’s shoulder. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “This tribunal … will it listen to what I have to say?”
“Cesare will muster a dozen witnesses to swear on their mothers’ lives that you’re responsible for the death of Tano. And the worst thing is, they’ll start to believe it themselves. In the end it’ll make no difference who pulled the trigger.”
There was more knocking, then the sound of several men’s voices on the other side of the entrance.
“Do I really have to break this door down?” asked Cesare. “If you want to save face, don’t skulk in there like a coward.”
Rosa made the decision for Alessandro. Her hand went out to the key in the lock. She turned it and opened the door.
Cesare was accompanied by five of his men. Rosa recognized their faces; they had all been on his side in the amphitheater.
He wore a silver-gray designer suit with a handkerchief in his breast pocket. His hair was still wet, and the blood was gone from his face. Only under his left eye did she detect a dark mark that didn’t belong there, not much larger than the head of a pin. A splash of dried blood, a tiny reminder of Lilia. Her stomach muscles tightened.
“We can settle the whole thing like civilized people,” he said. From a man who had killed a woman in a frenzied rage only two hours before, this astonished her. “Or then again, maybe not.”
Alessandro was about to step in front of Rosa to shield her, but she moved to stand beside him. Together, they blocked the doorway. Behind them, Iole started crying quietly.
“Never mind the big talk,” said Alessandro. “Just tell me what you really want.”
“Me,” said Rosa. “That’s obvious.”
The corners of Cesare’s mouth moved, but he didn’t actually smile. “What would I do with you, Rosa Alcantara? The tribunal of the dynasties will decide your fate.” He pointed to the hallway behind him. “You can go. Once you’re sentenced, we can find you anywhere, so don’t bother trying to hide. Until then, however, no Carnevare will hurt a hair on your head.”
She glanced quickly at Alessandro.
“I’ve promised the men a hunt,” Cesare went on, “and a hunt they’ll have. Chasing a quarry that many of them have wanted for some time.”
Iole’s sobs were loud and desperate now.
“You can’t allow this!” cried Rosa, looking at Alessandro.
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At the same moment, the five men made their way past Cesare. Four of them moved to seize Rosa and Alessandro, while the fifth crossed the room to Iole.
Rosa screamed with rage. She hit one of the men in the face and kicked the other man’s knee. The pain made neither of them handle her any more gently.
Alessandro’s opponents, larger and stronger than he was, had overpowered him, too. Rosa was hauled away from the door and Alessandro. Cesare didn’t even look at her. He was staring expressionlessly at the bed.
Iole was pressed back against the wall, knees drawn up, holding the photograph of her father to her with both hands. Tears were pouring down her face.
The strange sensation of cold that Rosa had felt a couple of times before was rising up her body. It affected her calves, her thighs, spread through her lower body. Suddenly she was aware of every square inch of clothing on her skin. The fabric scratched and itched; she wanted to be rid of it. Her eyes met Alessandro’s, the eyes of the wild beast that, if that shadowy black fur went on growing over his body, would break out of him at any moment now.
Suddenly she felt a prick on her throat, not even especially painful, and saw that a needle had also been inserted into the muscles at the back of Alessandro’s neck. She had no idea what was in it—only that the substance immediately spread through her, dispelling the cold.
“It will last about fifteen minutes,” said Cesare. “Until then you’ll stay as you are.”
Alessandro’s transformation had also been stopped in its tracks, but he still struggled like a captive animal as the two men held him in an iron grip. The fifth man picked Iole up, pulled the framed photograph out of her hands, and threw it carelessly aside. The glass shattered on the floor. Iole cried out, but she couldn’t fight the man off. He hauled her away from the bed and dragged her past Rosa and Alessandro to the door. Cesare stood aside to let the two of them pass, watched for a moment as they went down the hallway, then turned back to Alessandro.
“You know the tradition,” he said. “A hunt in honor of the new capo. The men expect it.”
“You can’t just kill her,” cried Rosa.
“We can do much more than that, as your own family will soon find out. And then word will get around about what it means to sell yourself to TABULA.”
“Leave her out of this!” hissed Alessandro. A fist punched him in the face, and he almost collapsed. Rosa flinched as if the blow had struck her instead. But Cesare’s baffling words had hit home.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Don’t play the innocent little lamb with me.”
“Let Iole go, and I’ll do anything you want.”
Alessandro groaned. “She doesn’t know,” he gasped.
“You didn’t tell her?”
Alessandro was silent.
Cesare turned to Rosa. “Didn’t he tell you about it?” He gave a snort of derision. “You really have no idea what your family did? What kind of allies they’ve made? Who they’re in league with, against their own kind?”
Rosa spat at him. The saliva hit his cheek, but it only made her feel even more helpless.
Cesare wiped it away with the sleeve of his jacket, shaking his head. “You think I’m doing this just because I want power, don’t you? You’re wrong. That is not why Tano died.”
“Tano died,” she cried, “because he was a bastard who got what he deserved.” Tactically unwise, but it came from the heart.
Cesare’s glare became several degrees colder, increasing her fury. “I assume,” he said, “that someone has at least told you about the dynasties. You must surely know something about that.”
“Leave her alone, Cesare,” groaned Alessandro. He could hardly breathe; one of his two guards had put an arm around his neck from behind to keep him under control more easily.
“TABULA,” repeated Cesare. “Does that mean anything to you?”
She stared at him without replying.
He sighed. “You tell her, then,” he told Alessandro.
“There’s an organization,” Alessandro said after a moment’s hesitation, “an international group that takes an interest in the Arcadian dynasties. It’s known as TABULA to its members. No one seems to know anything definite about them. They play many different parts, pretending that they’re employees of governmental authorities, or politicians, or public prosecutors.”
Rosa was listening, but she had difficulty concentrating on his words.
“TABULA has been trying to find out more about the Arcadian dynasties for years,” Alessandro went on. “At first everyone believed it just had to do with the clans’ business activities—the usual anti-Mafia campaigning. But for some time now there have been rumors that one of the dynasties based in Sicily is working with these people, feeding them information.”
“Why would anyone do that?” Rosa’s voice was husky.
“Promises. Money, power, that sort of thing.”
Cesare spoke again. “It’s no rumor. One of the clans is certainly working with them. Your clan, Rosa. The Alcantaras are traitors. They’ve sold themselves to TABULA.”
“That’s only what he suspects,” Alessandro put in. “He has no evidence.”
“I won’t need evidence once sentence has been passed on the Alcantaras,” said Cesare. “The problem will solve itself then.”
“Tano’s death must have been very convenient for you,” said Rosa.
Cesare took a quick step toward her. In the overhead lighting, his eyes glowed like a cat’s. “Tano was my son,” he cried, only inches in front of her face. “And someone has already died for what was done to him. Others will follow. None of you Alcantaras will be left, none of those who were loyal to you. You’ll pay for his death and your treachery. There’s nothing more valuable than the camouflage under which the dynasties have existed for centuries, and I will not allow anyone to endanger it. I maintain the tradition. I preserve our security. And I will punish anyone who breaks the Arcadian laws!”
He fell abruptly silent. A vein was pulsing at his temple, and his features were shaking, but he got himself under control again. Finally, almost casually, he took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, typed something on the shining surface, and held it in front of Rosa’s face.
“Look at that,” he ordered.
On the tiny screen, no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, a video appeared. The camera, swaying, moved past bars and out into a corridor, passing rows of cages stacked on top of one another. Heavy breathing could be heard over the camcorder’s loudspeaker, along with background animal sounds of many kinds: spitting, growling, hissing. Whoever was filming seemed to have been in a state of panic, afraid of being discovered.
Animals crouched or huddled in the cages. In the dim light, Rosa saw several big cats. An unusually large fox. A gigantic bird, taller than a heron or a stork. A monitor lizard darting its tongue in and out. A couple of wolfhounds and a hyena. Then the camera passed a trembling creature that Rosa couldn’t see properly in the dim light, but it seemed to have too many legs to be a mammal. Shortly after, the screen showed tigers and lions again, a wild boar with curving tusks, a man-size rat with a shaggy coat. They were all shut up in the endless rows of cages, looking undernourished and half-crazed with fear. Some appeared to have mutilated themselves.
“TABULA,” whispered Cesare, as if the word filled him with unspeakable horror. “And that’s only a part of what they do. That’s why I hate the Alcantaras so much. And why you will all soon die. But until then,” he added, breathing out sharply, “until then do as you like.”
He slipped the cell phone back into his pocket, cast a last glance at Alessandro, shaking his head, and left the room. He walked slowly, shoulders bowed, as if in spite of everything he had suffered a defeat.
“Keep them down here for a few more hours,” he called back to his men, “until you’re sure they’ve calmed down. And then you can let them go. We’ll be able to find them as soon as the tribunal has passed judgment.”
A
LLIES
ROSA PUT THE CELL phone down. Outside the car windows, the landscape of Sicily was racing past in the light of dawn.
“Who were you calling?” Alessandro gripped the wheel of the black Mercedes very firmly. At this speed, a moment’s lapse in attention could kill them both.
Rosa deleted the last number in the menu and put his cell phone into the glove compartment. “Can you take me to Catania?”
“I thought you wanted to go home.”
“Change of plans.”
“Rosa—who was that on the phone?”
She didn’t reply. There was a good reason for her silence. Several, in fact.
“You still don’t trust me,” he commented.
She looked straight ahead, through the windshield, at the flame-red sky above the road. “No one ever said anything about a hunt. And why didn’t you tell me my family were working with this—this TABULA, and—”
“Cesare is convinced they are,” he interrupted her. “I’m not. Oh, damn it, Rosa… I know almost nothing about TABULA. Who these people are, what they want … no one knows, and that includes Cesare. They capture Arcadians and keep them in cages. Obviously they have some way of keeping us in animal form. They carry out experiments, or so people say, but whether that’s all—”
“What was that stuff that Cesare’s men injected us with?” She clenched her fists and added, icily, “Forgive me, but I’m just a teensy bit sensitive about injections that I didn’t ask for.”
“Only a tranquilizer. The prescription is as old as the hills, said to date from classical times … but I don’t know if it’s true. Maybe that’s just talk, too. I’ve even injected myself with it. As long as you don’t overdo it, it doesn’t do any harm.”
“Says who?”
He glanced sideways at her. “All we know about ourselves and our kind is what we’ve been told. Traditions are passed on through stories. If we started questioning them, we’d have to doubt everything.”
“You already do. That story about King Lycaon being punished by Zeus … you said you didn’t believe it.”