Knives Don't Have Your Back: Chapter VIII
Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood
Rated: NC17 (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 4,457 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
NOTICE: Fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see SilvesterVitale's beautiful depiction of the masquerade scene from Chapter VI.
† VIII †
Teodor woke up bathed in the residue of heavy sweat, his face mashed against a lumpy pillow that was rank with smells he’d rather not think about. His tongue and teeth were sour and fuzzy from drink, his throat weak and trembling from fighting against the rebellion in his gut. His mouth felt blistered and bruised and beneath his chin was an ache he recognized from the hard press of the hands that had held it fast.
Malfatto.
With a grunt Teodor pushed himself swiftly onto his hands and knees, twisting to look around the room. After Malfatto’s unmasking the night had become a hurried blur. There were snatches of memory in his mind-a black hand on his shoulder, the feel of an ankle twisting in thick mud, the cruelty of a horse and saddle bouncing underneath him as his body roiled with sickness.
Now he stared blearily against the pale light of dawn as it lit the small room he found himself in. It was simple and worn, furnished with the bed, a cabinet and the tiniest of tables. There was a lantern and a pitcher and bowl for washing, but otherwise the room was bare. Teodor did not see his satchel or coat, but far more disturbing was the lack of a tall, beaked doctor.
Or, as Teodor remembered, temper flaring, the man with blond hair.
A hangover was a simple pain for Teodor to endure. Intoxication was much more problematic as it slowed the limbs and dulled the mind. The aftermath was more easily suffered, for it was only discomfort and weariness and those were things Teodor accepted as readily as air.
Still, that did not keep him from flinching as he moved from the bed to stand, nor did it keep him from swearing as he stumbled to the wash basin. With great haste he rinsed his face, hands and forearms before gritting his teeth and pouring the rest of the water over his head. The cold water woke him as his senses prickled against the shock of it. He ignored his damp shirt and trousers and shook his wet hair, one hand combing it absently as he went to the window to gaze upon the surrounding city.
To his shock, it was not the streets of Castel Gandolfo that greeted him, but the unmistakable countryside that lined the outskirts of Roma. Teodor once more tried to recount the events of the last night, but trying to catch the memories in detail was like taking a fork to a bowl of soup.
Teodor gave the room a last glance before he left it. The hallway outside led left and then down a few stone steps onto the main floor. It appeared he was in yet another inn, one he wasn’t familiar with. A hearth crackled comfortingly in the corner. There were few benches or tables in the place and all of them had been pushed to the sides of the room. On the far wall was the bar and counter with a door that led to what Teodor assumed was the kitchen.
It was still early enough that the bright light filtering in the windows was more gray than yellow and despite the fire the room felt chilly. Teodor’s wet clothes and hair didn’t help and he made for the warmth of the fireplace immediately. Aside from himself there was an old man propped up on a stool behind the bar, fast asleep with an impressive beard spilling over his chest.
When Teodor pulled a chair from the wall and positioned it in front of the fire, another person appeared from behind the counter. It was a young girl, maybe thirteen, with bare arms and a red, sweaty face. In one hand she held a brush and the damp splotch across her knees told Teodor she’d been busy scrubbing the floor. She approached him nervously and apologized for the state of the room. Teodor reassured her he had only a need for the fire and a bit of tea and bread when she had a moment.
The girl scurried off, leaving Teodor absently pushing at his wet hair. He only waited a few minutes before she popped back into the room with a tin plate and mug for him. The tea was scalding but Teodor drank as much as he could, needing the energy. He tore at his bread, watching as the girl returned to her chores.
“Tell me,” he finally said, swallowing the last of his bread, “do you know how I came to this place?”
The girl sat back on her heels, sending him a quick questioning glance before lowering her eyes to the floor. “I would not presume to know such things. I only know, Signore, that you arrived late last night.”
“Was I alone?” Teodor continued, trying to reconstruct the night before. It would be too good to be true if he and Malfatto had escaped notice last night. Anxious, he pushed absently at his hair. Usually he had pot of grease to smooth it and when left to its own devices it drooped in a soft, shaggy curl that obscured his vision.
The girl looked thoughtful. “I think there was a man with you. He-oh!” The girl bounced to her feet and walked behind the bar and disappeared for a moment. When she resurfaced she had a small piece of parchment in her hand. She held it out to Teodor who took it with a resigned expression on his face.
Teodor lowered the parchment and looked to the girl across from him. She had gone back to her work, once more bent and scrubbing at the floor. Teodor walked to the fire and tossed Malfatto’s letter inside.
A calm settled inside Teodor’s chest. He wondered how many people had seen them last night. Surely, it couldn’t have been that many. Even if they were seen, it wasn’t as if a doctor caring for a sick traveler was anything worth noticing.
Except the girl hadn’t said a doctor was with him, only a man. This inn has seen my face.
Teodor frowned, his calm demeanor turning decidedly cool. It had been a mistake to drink last night. To correct it entirely was impossible.
“Are you sure there was a man with me?” Teodor asked lightly, rolling up his sleeves until they bunched neatly at his elbows. He stood with his back to the girl and eyed the wrought iron tool set hanging beside the hearth. Absently he ran his hand over the handles of the brush, shovel, poker and tongs.
“Yes, Signore. He told me to give you that letter,” the girl replied.
Teodor bent down over the pile of firewood near the hearth. He picked out a hefty chunk of wood and tossed it into the fire. Selecting the poker, he gently prodded the embers underneath, listening to the flames pop and sizzle as the wood began to burn.
“Your father there, did he see him too?” Teodor asked, referring to the man asleep behind the bar.
“I guess so,” the girl answered after a moment. “We were busy last night. You were the first one I’ve seen this morning though.”
“Any others?” Teodor asked, considering.
“I suppose, Signore. We were very busy.”
Teodor nodded, then turned to look at the girl. She had stopped her scrubbing and was now staring at him with a curious look on her face. Teodor gripped the handle of the poker, testing its weight.
“Signore?” the girl asked, watching him.
Teodor said nothing.
The girl glanced towards her father, still fast asleep on his stool. As Teodor began to walk towards her, he saw fear replace the expression of confusion on her face. It was a realization he had seen on many faces.
In an impressive move, the girl grabbed her bucket and jumped to her feet. She brought her arm back and threw first the bucket and then the scrub brush at Teodor. Teodor blocked the bucket with the poker and barely avoided the brush as it whizzed past his face. He lunged for the girl, his free hand reaching out to catch her by the hair.
She screamed. It was unavoidable but Teodor winced at the sound all the same. He yanked her hair brutally, pulling her up to her toes. Blood trickled down her forehead and neck as bits of her scalp came loose. The girl scratched at him with her hands, but she was too small, too young, and to her Teodor was unstoppable.
Teodor swung the poker. It caught her in the shoulder, sending her to the ground and leaving him with a fistful of hair and skin. She howled as she fell. Teodor adjusted his grip, then buried the poker between her ribs. The girl died instantly, bloody face streaked with tears.
Her father, the sleepy, bearded man behind the bar, had awoken to the sound of his daughter’s dying screams. As Teodor pulled the poker from the girl’s body, he saw the man slide from his stool. To his credit, the man stayed behind the counter, his eyes locking onto Teodor’s, confused and terrified, using the barrier to protect himself.
“Julianna?” he asked, voice light with disbelief.
Teodor tried to not hear the word and went for the father. He stabbed with the poker once more, pushing himself across the counter. The man, dumb with surprise, didn’t seem to register the blow, gaping openly as he looked down and saw the metal weapon protruding from his chest. He stumbled back against the wall.
“Julianna?” he asked again, beginning to cry. He pawed at his beard, pushing it out of the way to get a better view of the poker that had impaled him.
Teodor grabbed absently for one of the many bottles beneath the bar. Finding one, he smashed it against the counter, leaving a jagged piece of glass in his hand.
Advancing, Teodor grabbed the man by the chin. The man’s arms went feebly to Teodor’s shoulders, but did not push him away so much as hold onto him. Careful not to cut himself, Teodor pressed the jagged bottle’s edge to the man’s throat and neatly slit him from ear to ear.
Teodor pulled back and let the body fall to the ground. Blood covered his hands and wrists, but that could be washed. He was thankful for his red shirt and black pants of the previous night, for the shirt had already hid the stain of wine and the fine blood spatter across his chest was easily absorbed.
Now came the bigger chore and time was running out. The sun was up and the girl’s scream had no doubt awoken the other patrons. Teodor briskly searched the kitchen and pantry for what he needed. Success came in the form of a large wooden barrel, nearly full with oil. It was heavy and Teodor almost strained his back as he moved it, but he managed to carry it up the stairs.
It took ten minutes to coat the doors and floor with oil and another ten to do the same downstairs. Teodor saw only one person in that time, an old lady with hair the purest white. He gave her the small mercy of a broken neck and went about his business.
Teodor used the tongs to remove the large chunk of wood he had placed within the fire. It glowed red in places but did not break. Carrying it slowly, Teodor backed to the front door of the inn before dropping both it and the tongs on the oil-soaked floor.
Teodor took the first horse he saw and road hard and fast to the heart of Roma. Despite the blood and oil on his skin and clothes, the only thing he smelled was smoke.
† † †
The winter sun beat down on Teodor’s shoulders, a bright and mild relief from the cold. His fingers were numb and his shoulders and hips ached from the brutal ride into Roma. On some level he realized he was dangerously chilled but the urgency that burned within his chest kept him warm enough.
The guards at the gate of Roma paid little attention to Teodor’s ragged state. If they were unused to his lack of uniform they made no mention and he entered the city with ease. It was likely he had beaten the news of the burned inn, if that was even news, but Teodor was unsure if the death of Cardinal Sforza was known amongst the people. That information would travel fast and despite this morning’s efforts he had little knowledge as to whether or not he would be featured in the story.
He had to find Malfatto.
For a brief moment Teodor considered going directly to Baltasar’s shop, but he did not know what waited for him there. If Baltasar had no suspicions about whatever had happened in Castel Gandolfo Teodor’s presence would only give him such.
Teodor’s mount quivered beneath him. He had ridden her cruelly; he felt how her belly heaved beneath the saddle and saw the spittle that dripped from the bit between her teeth. Teodor had mercy enough to leave her at the closest stables he could find, lest she collapse on the road. He made the rest of his way to Malfatto’s shop on foot.
The window where Malfatto sold his wares was locked tight, as were both the front and side doors. Teodor didn’t knock, not wanting to wait for an answer and chance anyone spotting him loitering outside. Instead he did as the thieves had done in the months before and scaled the walls of the garden out back. The stone scratched his hands but the cold kept him from feeling any discomfort. Struggling, he managed to make his way up and over the wall, landing on the hard dirt with weary knees.
Teodor crept along the barren garden rows until he reached the back of the shop. The back door was shut and the pink afternoon sun made it difficult to see if any candles burned behind the stained glass windows. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for sounds of movement. For a minute he heard nothing, but then he heard the creak of an opening door and peeked through the stained glass.
Inside he made out the tall, swimming shape of Malfatto in full dress. Distorted by the glass, the underside of the white beak curved into a gruesome smile. The doctor must have just entered from the storefront and Teodor wondered if he had beaten Malfatto home by a few minutes. Curiosity overrode Teodor’s urgency for a moment and he stilled his hand on the door.
Malfatto carried with him a large leather bag which he laid down on his desk, furthering Teodor’s theory he had just arrived. Malfatto then moved out of Teodor’s sight and he heard the clatter of glasses knocking together. A few moments passed and then Malfatto came back into Teodor’s line of vision. In his arm were five jars which he set upon an operating table one by one. Malfatto raised each glass to eye level as if studying it before setting it down. Despite the watery lens of the stained glass, Teodor eventually realized the jars held Malfatto’s prize butterflies.
Malfatto placed three glasses to his right and two directly in front of him. He then produced a small bowl. Teodor looked on as Malfatto filled the bowl with water and mixed in a few spoonfuls of light powder. The doctor then took one of his many syringes and filled it with the liquid from the bowl. Thoroughly confused, Teodor strained to better see what Malfatto was planning, and his forehead gently tapped against the stained glass.
Malfatto’s head snapped up immediately, dark hands curling into claws. For a moment the mask stared directly ahead and Teodor held his breath, but then it turned sharply to the left and Teodor’s eyes locked with dark glasses. Teodor stepped back from the window and stood before the door. Needlessly, he knocked.
Seconds later Teodor heard the tumbling of the lock and the door was pushed open, revealing Malfatto, still and silent with syringe in hand. Teodor licked his chapped lips, remembering where they had last been. Where they had been before that, and he hadn’t even known it. But that had to wait.
“Are we alone?” Teodor asked. He stepped inside the shop and closed the door then looked around. The pallet he had spent so many days upon lay in the corner, a sheet and blanket neatly folded on top of it.
Malfatto stood still, considering Teodor awhile before answering the question with a slow nod. The doctor turned and moved back to his table and butterflies, fingers curling around the syringe. Teodor moved with him, going to stand across the table. The two jars in front of Malfatto held a butterfly apiece, one yellow the other brown with ribbons of red down each wing. The three jars Malfatto had placed to the side also held butterflies, but when Teodor peered into the glass he realized they were dead. None of them resembled the butterfly he had delivered to Malfatto weeks before.
“Winter is harsh for them,” Malfatto murmured. He slipped the syringe’s needle through the cloth covering of the first jar.
“As is their master, apparently,” Teodor replied. Malfatto ignored the comment and gently pressed the plunger of his syringe, emptying the liquid one drop at a time along the twig inside. The yellow butterfly at first ignored the breach of its tiny house, but after Malfatto retracted the needle it fluttered curiously to a fat drop caught along the twig’s spine. Teodor watched, fascinated, as a long tongue uncurled from the butterfly’s head and sipped curiously at the liquid.
“Sugar water,” Malfatto explained after a moment, doing the same to the other jar. The brown and red butterfly flapped excitedly as the first drop came and Malfatto deftly maneuvered the needle away from the insect. “You mustn’t get them too wet or too sticky.”
Teodor watched each butterfly feed a moment, then he shook his head.
“Last night,” he said, focusing. “We rode to the Roman hillside.”
Malfatto said nothing, only shifted his attention to the three jars holding the dead butterflies, uncapping them one by one.
“I do not remember riding there. I do not remember you except for...” Teodor trailed off, feeling the rawness of his jaw speak for itself. Malfatto still hid inside his doctor’s uniform, silent. Using a pair of forceps he extracted each brittle winged body from the jars. One by one, he placed them in his open hand.
“What did you do?” Teodor asked with venomous calm.
“What did you do, is the question,” Malfatto said, voice soft inside the mask. Teodor’s mouth went to a hard line, but the doctor continued before he could retort. “Those men last night, they saw me in the cardinal’s room. Whatever you-”
“They were drunks. It was only a bar fight-”
“I took care of it.” Malfatto’s hand slammed shut, the butterflies crumbling to dust inside his fist. “I doubled back to Castel Gandalfo and I took care of it.”
Teodor heard the implied because you were not able to, and looked sharply away. Malfatto clapped his gloved hands together, shaking off the dust. Bits of the butterflies were still intact. Teodor watched a full wing fall to the floor, gray and delicate as paper.
“My letter?” Malfatto asked. He began to undo the buckles on his wrists and arms. As Teodor thought back to the events of this morning Malfatto slowly slid off one glove. At the sight of five long, naked fingers every edge of Teodor turned sharp.
“I killed the girl and her father,” Teodor said, gray eyes trained on the pale underside of Malfatto’s wrist. “Then I burned the inn and all who were inside.”
Malfatto twitched at the last part, the beaked mask swiveling to Teodor’s face. Teodor looked up from under his eyebrows, mildly surprised that such a thing would shock Malfatto. Perhaps the doctor had not thought him capable.
“Your instructions were vague,” was all Teodor said.
Malfatto did not reply. Instead he took off his hat and laid it on the table next to his gloves. With two hands he lifted the ring of leather that protected his arms and chest, maneuvering it with practiced ease over his mask. For the first time Teodor saw the bony outline of his shoulders underneath the leather. Even through the numb haze that had settled over his body, Teodor felt himself shiver.
“Do you think it coincidence?” Teodor whispered. “You sent to Castel Gandolfo as I was passing through?” Teodor watched Malfatto lay the heavy armor atop the table, pushing aside the now empty jars to make room. A darker thought rose, one that had been swirling in his brain since the first sight of the cardinal’s purple face. “You were sent by Baltasar, weren’t you?”
“Not by Baltasar.” Malfatto’s head cocked to the side. “At one time, Cardinal Sforza wished to unseat the Pope,” he said by way of answer. Part of Teodor realized Malfatto could no more reveal his orders than Teodor himself could. Despite the connection that had seemed to sprout between them there were many unknown alliances and the ever present possibility of betrayal.
He also knew better than to speak. Teodor was used to Baltasar’s requests and knew them to stem from Cesare himself, but the contracts Teodor carried out were always concerned with obtaining and protecting power for Italia itself, although it was an Italia united under Borgia rule. Teodor had never thought of the politics of religion, at least on the level of the Papacy. He had no reservations about killing a holy man, but the idea of the Pope calling for the death of his brother cardinals seemed obscene in a way Teodor couldn’t quite put his finger on. The fact that the task had fallen to Malfatto was even more intriguing.
As Teodor stared dumbly about the room, mind slowly reshaping the shadowy underbelly in which he dwelled, Malfatto took down his hood and lifted his mask off his face. It seemed anticlimactic to Teodor now, the reveal of the blond hair and handsome face in the wake of the realizations of the previous night. There were so many things to consider.
Malfatto’s belt and overcoat were gone. Standing before Teodor was just a man, tall and golden, the dark glasses replaced with blue eyes that could be called expressive, if only because they were not glass. Malfatto still wore the same dark trousers and white shirt of the night before, but in his mind’s eye Teodor saw the man from the masquerade, dressed in blue and brown. Malfatto seemed both smaller and larger now that he was out of uniform. The sinister presence that came with the mask and leather coat was missing, the room empty of that tall, beaked shadow. And yet Malfatto still filled the room, more tangible and alive in ways Teodor had never expected.
Malfatto’s touch brought Teodor out of his mental fog, a bright hot thumb skimming over his bottom lip. He jerked his head back as if burned, tongue immediately sliding over his bruised mouth.
“You are too cold,” Malfatto murmured, and Teodor reveled in the sight of Malfatto’s mouth as it shaped each syllable. In a distant way he realized he was close to frozen. There was no fire in the room and night was coming. Malfatto slid warm hands to the sides of Teodor’s body, palming his ribs.
“You tricked me,” Teodor remembered. He remembered being angry. He remembered wanting to make Malfatto pay for his deceit when he unwrapped him for the very first time. He tried to find that anger again and instead felt sharp and wild under the heat of Malfatto’s touch. The doctor closed the gap between them, gently walking Teodor back from the table, past the bookcases and shelves until Teodor felt a door handle press into the small of his back.
Malfatto’s eyes held no fire, only a studious glint as if Teodor was an exciting puzzle that needed solving, or perhaps a strategy to be overcome. Although his face was naked, his stare was as unrelenting as his mask. Only when Malfatto tipped his head did Teodor realize he was about to be kissed, those blue eyes still unnervingly steady. Teodor reflexively closed his own as their mouths met, moving heavy arms around Malfatto’s shoulders. His fingers grazed the short hair on the back of Malfatto’s neck. Vaguely he recalled the night of the masquerade, the feeling of the masked man pressed against him, teeth to his throat. Malfatto’s initial hesitation was gone and he had remembered how Teodor liked to be kissed. Teodor wondered if he was thinking about that night right now, or perhaps he was remembering the evening prior when Teodor had been on his knees, mouth fucked open. There were too many versions of Malfatto in his head, all strange and all familiar, and it loosed something inside Teodor.
“Malfatto,” Teodor breathed as they pulled apart. Despite the low heat in his belly he felt his teeth rattle inside his mouth, unable to keep the cold at bay now that he had a warm body close against him.
“Teodor,” Malfatto said obligingly, as if trying to gauge the proper response. His hands were still spread across the sides of Teodor’s ribs, holding him. He stared down at Teodor expectantly.
“You look...” Teodor said, then purposefully trailed off because he had no idea what sort of words would fit the many things that swelled inside him. Instead he looked down at the hands that held him, then leaned close into the warmth of Malfatto’s slight frame. “It was very cold today,” he said.
Malfatto’s curious expression smoothed at the edges as their chests touched. He tipped his head to the side like an owl, a dead giveaway that he spent much of his time hidden inside his mask. Teodor felt something a little stronger than lust ping at the significance behind the thought.
“I think I have something for that,” Malfatto said, then leaned in for a kiss and Teodor didn’t think much of anything.
† † †
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author's notes | warnings
Rated: NC17 (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 4,457 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
NOTICE: Fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see SilvesterVitale's beautiful depiction of the masquerade scene from Chapter VI.
† VIII †
Teodor woke up bathed in the residue of heavy sweat, his face mashed against a lumpy pillow that was rank with smells he’d rather not think about. His tongue and teeth were sour and fuzzy from drink, his throat weak and trembling from fighting against the rebellion in his gut. His mouth felt blistered and bruised and beneath his chin was an ache he recognized from the hard press of the hands that had held it fast.
Malfatto.
With a grunt Teodor pushed himself swiftly onto his hands and knees, twisting to look around the room. After Malfatto’s unmasking the night had become a hurried blur. There were snatches of memory in his mind-a black hand on his shoulder, the feel of an ankle twisting in thick mud, the cruelty of a horse and saddle bouncing underneath him as his body roiled with sickness.
Now he stared blearily against the pale light of dawn as it lit the small room he found himself in. It was simple and worn, furnished with the bed, a cabinet and the tiniest of tables. There was a lantern and a pitcher and bowl for washing, but otherwise the room was bare. Teodor did not see his satchel or coat, but far more disturbing was the lack of a tall, beaked doctor.
Or, as Teodor remembered, temper flaring, the man with blond hair.
A hangover was a simple pain for Teodor to endure. Intoxication was much more problematic as it slowed the limbs and dulled the mind. The aftermath was more easily suffered, for it was only discomfort and weariness and those were things Teodor accepted as readily as air.
Still, that did not keep him from flinching as he moved from the bed to stand, nor did it keep him from swearing as he stumbled to the wash basin. With great haste he rinsed his face, hands and forearms before gritting his teeth and pouring the rest of the water over his head. The cold water woke him as his senses prickled against the shock of it. He ignored his damp shirt and trousers and shook his wet hair, one hand combing it absently as he went to the window to gaze upon the surrounding city.
To his shock, it was not the streets of Castel Gandolfo that greeted him, but the unmistakable countryside that lined the outskirts of Roma. Teodor once more tried to recount the events of the last night, but trying to catch the memories in detail was like taking a fork to a bowl of soup.
Teodor gave the room a last glance before he left it. The hallway outside led left and then down a few stone steps onto the main floor. It appeared he was in yet another inn, one he wasn’t familiar with. A hearth crackled comfortingly in the corner. There were few benches or tables in the place and all of them had been pushed to the sides of the room. On the far wall was the bar and counter with a door that led to what Teodor assumed was the kitchen.
It was still early enough that the bright light filtering in the windows was more gray than yellow and despite the fire the room felt chilly. Teodor’s wet clothes and hair didn’t help and he made for the warmth of the fireplace immediately. Aside from himself there was an old man propped up on a stool behind the bar, fast asleep with an impressive beard spilling over his chest.
When Teodor pulled a chair from the wall and positioned it in front of the fire, another person appeared from behind the counter. It was a young girl, maybe thirteen, with bare arms and a red, sweaty face. In one hand she held a brush and the damp splotch across her knees told Teodor she’d been busy scrubbing the floor. She approached him nervously and apologized for the state of the room. Teodor reassured her he had only a need for the fire and a bit of tea and bread when she had a moment.
The girl scurried off, leaving Teodor absently pushing at his wet hair. He only waited a few minutes before she popped back into the room with a tin plate and mug for him. The tea was scalding but Teodor drank as much as he could, needing the energy. He tore at his bread, watching as the girl returned to her chores.
“Tell me,” he finally said, swallowing the last of his bread, “do you know how I came to this place?”
The girl sat back on her heels, sending him a quick questioning glance before lowering her eyes to the floor. “I would not presume to know such things. I only know, Signore, that you arrived late last night.”
“Was I alone?” Teodor continued, trying to reconstruct the night before. It would be too good to be true if he and Malfatto had escaped notice last night. Anxious, he pushed absently at his hair. Usually he had pot of grease to smooth it and when left to its own devices it drooped in a soft, shaggy curl that obscured his vision.
The girl looked thoughtful. “I think there was a man with you. He-oh!” The girl bounced to her feet and walked behind the bar and disappeared for a moment. When she resurfaced she had a small piece of parchment in her hand. She held it out to Teodor who took it with a resigned expression on his face.
Teodor lowered the parchment and looked to the girl across from him. She had gone back to her work, once more bent and scrubbing at the floor. Teodor walked to the fire and tossed Malfatto’s letter inside.
A calm settled inside Teodor’s chest. He wondered how many people had seen them last night. Surely, it couldn’t have been that many. Even if they were seen, it wasn’t as if a doctor caring for a sick traveler was anything worth noticing.
Except the girl hadn’t said a doctor was with him, only a man. This inn has seen my face.
Teodor frowned, his calm demeanor turning decidedly cool. It had been a mistake to drink last night. To correct it entirely was impossible.
“Are you sure there was a man with me?” Teodor asked lightly, rolling up his sleeves until they bunched neatly at his elbows. He stood with his back to the girl and eyed the wrought iron tool set hanging beside the hearth. Absently he ran his hand over the handles of the brush, shovel, poker and tongs.
“Yes, Signore. He told me to give you that letter,” the girl replied.
Teodor bent down over the pile of firewood near the hearth. He picked out a hefty chunk of wood and tossed it into the fire. Selecting the poker, he gently prodded the embers underneath, listening to the flames pop and sizzle as the wood began to burn.
“Your father there, did he see him too?” Teodor asked, referring to the man asleep behind the bar.
“I guess so,” the girl answered after a moment. “We were busy last night. You were the first one I’ve seen this morning though.”
“Any others?” Teodor asked, considering.
“I suppose, Signore. We were very busy.”
Teodor nodded, then turned to look at the girl. She had stopped her scrubbing and was now staring at him with a curious look on her face. Teodor gripped the handle of the poker, testing its weight.
“Signore?” the girl asked, watching him.
Teodor said nothing.
The girl glanced towards her father, still fast asleep on his stool. As Teodor began to walk towards her, he saw fear replace the expression of confusion on her face. It was a realization he had seen on many faces.
In an impressive move, the girl grabbed her bucket and jumped to her feet. She brought her arm back and threw first the bucket and then the scrub brush at Teodor. Teodor blocked the bucket with the poker and barely avoided the brush as it whizzed past his face. He lunged for the girl, his free hand reaching out to catch her by the hair.
She screamed. It was unavoidable but Teodor winced at the sound all the same. He yanked her hair brutally, pulling her up to her toes. Blood trickled down her forehead and neck as bits of her scalp came loose. The girl scratched at him with her hands, but she was too small, too young, and to her Teodor was unstoppable.
Teodor swung the poker. It caught her in the shoulder, sending her to the ground and leaving him with a fistful of hair and skin. She howled as she fell. Teodor adjusted his grip, then buried the poker between her ribs. The girl died instantly, bloody face streaked with tears.
Her father, the sleepy, bearded man behind the bar, had awoken to the sound of his daughter’s dying screams. As Teodor pulled the poker from the girl’s body, he saw the man slide from his stool. To his credit, the man stayed behind the counter, his eyes locking onto Teodor’s, confused and terrified, using the barrier to protect himself.
“Julianna?” he asked, voice light with disbelief.
Teodor tried to not hear the word and went for the father. He stabbed with the poker once more, pushing himself across the counter. The man, dumb with surprise, didn’t seem to register the blow, gaping openly as he looked down and saw the metal weapon protruding from his chest. He stumbled back against the wall.
“Julianna?” he asked again, beginning to cry. He pawed at his beard, pushing it out of the way to get a better view of the poker that had impaled him.
Teodor grabbed absently for one of the many bottles beneath the bar. Finding one, he smashed it against the counter, leaving a jagged piece of glass in his hand.
Advancing, Teodor grabbed the man by the chin. The man’s arms went feebly to Teodor’s shoulders, but did not push him away so much as hold onto him. Careful not to cut himself, Teodor pressed the jagged bottle’s edge to the man’s throat and neatly slit him from ear to ear.
Teodor pulled back and let the body fall to the ground. Blood covered his hands and wrists, but that could be washed. He was thankful for his red shirt and black pants of the previous night, for the shirt had already hid the stain of wine and the fine blood spatter across his chest was easily absorbed.
Now came the bigger chore and time was running out. The sun was up and the girl’s scream had no doubt awoken the other patrons. Teodor briskly searched the kitchen and pantry for what he needed. Success came in the form of a large wooden barrel, nearly full with oil. It was heavy and Teodor almost strained his back as he moved it, but he managed to carry it up the stairs.
It took ten minutes to coat the doors and floor with oil and another ten to do the same downstairs. Teodor saw only one person in that time, an old lady with hair the purest white. He gave her the small mercy of a broken neck and went about his business.
Teodor used the tongs to remove the large chunk of wood he had placed within the fire. It glowed red in places but did not break. Carrying it slowly, Teodor backed to the front door of the inn before dropping both it and the tongs on the oil-soaked floor.
Teodor took the first horse he saw and road hard and fast to the heart of Roma. Despite the blood and oil on his skin and clothes, the only thing he smelled was smoke.
† † †
The winter sun beat down on Teodor’s shoulders, a bright and mild relief from the cold. His fingers were numb and his shoulders and hips ached from the brutal ride into Roma. On some level he realized he was dangerously chilled but the urgency that burned within his chest kept him warm enough.
The guards at the gate of Roma paid little attention to Teodor’s ragged state. If they were unused to his lack of uniform they made no mention and he entered the city with ease. It was likely he had beaten the news of the burned inn, if that was even news, but Teodor was unsure if the death of Cardinal Sforza was known amongst the people. That information would travel fast and despite this morning’s efforts he had little knowledge as to whether or not he would be featured in the story.
He had to find Malfatto.
For a brief moment Teodor considered going directly to Baltasar’s shop, but he did not know what waited for him there. If Baltasar had no suspicions about whatever had happened in Castel Gandolfo Teodor’s presence would only give him such.
Teodor’s mount quivered beneath him. He had ridden her cruelly; he felt how her belly heaved beneath the saddle and saw the spittle that dripped from the bit between her teeth. Teodor had mercy enough to leave her at the closest stables he could find, lest she collapse on the road. He made the rest of his way to Malfatto’s shop on foot.
The window where Malfatto sold his wares was locked tight, as were both the front and side doors. Teodor didn’t knock, not wanting to wait for an answer and chance anyone spotting him loitering outside. Instead he did as the thieves had done in the months before and scaled the walls of the garden out back. The stone scratched his hands but the cold kept him from feeling any discomfort. Struggling, he managed to make his way up and over the wall, landing on the hard dirt with weary knees.
Teodor crept along the barren garden rows until he reached the back of the shop. The back door was shut and the pink afternoon sun made it difficult to see if any candles burned behind the stained glass windows. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for sounds of movement. For a minute he heard nothing, but then he heard the creak of an opening door and peeked through the stained glass.
Inside he made out the tall, swimming shape of Malfatto in full dress. Distorted by the glass, the underside of the white beak curved into a gruesome smile. The doctor must have just entered from the storefront and Teodor wondered if he had beaten Malfatto home by a few minutes. Curiosity overrode Teodor’s urgency for a moment and he stilled his hand on the door.
Malfatto carried with him a large leather bag which he laid down on his desk, furthering Teodor’s theory he had just arrived. Malfatto then moved out of Teodor’s sight and he heard the clatter of glasses knocking together. A few moments passed and then Malfatto came back into Teodor’s line of vision. In his arm were five jars which he set upon an operating table one by one. Malfatto raised each glass to eye level as if studying it before setting it down. Despite the watery lens of the stained glass, Teodor eventually realized the jars held Malfatto’s prize butterflies.
Malfatto placed three glasses to his right and two directly in front of him. He then produced a small bowl. Teodor looked on as Malfatto filled the bowl with water and mixed in a few spoonfuls of light powder. The doctor then took one of his many syringes and filled it with the liquid from the bowl. Thoroughly confused, Teodor strained to better see what Malfatto was planning, and his forehead gently tapped against the stained glass.
Malfatto’s head snapped up immediately, dark hands curling into claws. For a moment the mask stared directly ahead and Teodor held his breath, but then it turned sharply to the left and Teodor’s eyes locked with dark glasses. Teodor stepped back from the window and stood before the door. Needlessly, he knocked.
Seconds later Teodor heard the tumbling of the lock and the door was pushed open, revealing Malfatto, still and silent with syringe in hand. Teodor licked his chapped lips, remembering where they had last been. Where they had been before that, and he hadn’t even known it. But that had to wait.
“Are we alone?” Teodor asked. He stepped inside the shop and closed the door then looked around. The pallet he had spent so many days upon lay in the corner, a sheet and blanket neatly folded on top of it.
Malfatto stood still, considering Teodor awhile before answering the question with a slow nod. The doctor turned and moved back to his table and butterflies, fingers curling around the syringe. Teodor moved with him, going to stand across the table. The two jars in front of Malfatto held a butterfly apiece, one yellow the other brown with ribbons of red down each wing. The three jars Malfatto had placed to the side also held butterflies, but when Teodor peered into the glass he realized they were dead. None of them resembled the butterfly he had delivered to Malfatto weeks before.
“Winter is harsh for them,” Malfatto murmured. He slipped the syringe’s needle through the cloth covering of the first jar.
“As is their master, apparently,” Teodor replied. Malfatto ignored the comment and gently pressed the plunger of his syringe, emptying the liquid one drop at a time along the twig inside. The yellow butterfly at first ignored the breach of its tiny house, but after Malfatto retracted the needle it fluttered curiously to a fat drop caught along the twig’s spine. Teodor watched, fascinated, as a long tongue uncurled from the butterfly’s head and sipped curiously at the liquid.
“Sugar water,” Malfatto explained after a moment, doing the same to the other jar. The brown and red butterfly flapped excitedly as the first drop came and Malfatto deftly maneuvered the needle away from the insect. “You mustn’t get them too wet or too sticky.”
Teodor watched each butterfly feed a moment, then he shook his head.
“Last night,” he said, focusing. “We rode to the Roman hillside.”
Malfatto said nothing, only shifted his attention to the three jars holding the dead butterflies, uncapping them one by one.
“I do not remember riding there. I do not remember you except for...” Teodor trailed off, feeling the rawness of his jaw speak for itself. Malfatto still hid inside his doctor’s uniform, silent. Using a pair of forceps he extracted each brittle winged body from the jars. One by one, he placed them in his open hand.
“What did you do?” Teodor asked with venomous calm.
“What did you do, is the question,” Malfatto said, voice soft inside the mask. Teodor’s mouth went to a hard line, but the doctor continued before he could retort. “Those men last night, they saw me in the cardinal’s room. Whatever you-”
“They were drunks. It was only a bar fight-”
“I took care of it.” Malfatto’s hand slammed shut, the butterflies crumbling to dust inside his fist. “I doubled back to Castel Gandalfo and I took care of it.”
Teodor heard the implied because you were not able to, and looked sharply away. Malfatto clapped his gloved hands together, shaking off the dust. Bits of the butterflies were still intact. Teodor watched a full wing fall to the floor, gray and delicate as paper.
“My letter?” Malfatto asked. He began to undo the buckles on his wrists and arms. As Teodor thought back to the events of this morning Malfatto slowly slid off one glove. At the sight of five long, naked fingers every edge of Teodor turned sharp.
“I killed the girl and her father,” Teodor said, gray eyes trained on the pale underside of Malfatto’s wrist. “Then I burned the inn and all who were inside.”
Malfatto twitched at the last part, the beaked mask swiveling to Teodor’s face. Teodor looked up from under his eyebrows, mildly surprised that such a thing would shock Malfatto. Perhaps the doctor had not thought him capable.
“Your instructions were vague,” was all Teodor said.
Malfatto did not reply. Instead he took off his hat and laid it on the table next to his gloves. With two hands he lifted the ring of leather that protected his arms and chest, maneuvering it with practiced ease over his mask. For the first time Teodor saw the bony outline of his shoulders underneath the leather. Even through the numb haze that had settled over his body, Teodor felt himself shiver.
“Do you think it coincidence?” Teodor whispered. “You sent to Castel Gandolfo as I was passing through?” Teodor watched Malfatto lay the heavy armor atop the table, pushing aside the now empty jars to make room. A darker thought rose, one that had been swirling in his brain since the first sight of the cardinal’s purple face. “You were sent by Baltasar, weren’t you?”
“Not by Baltasar.” Malfatto’s head cocked to the side. “At one time, Cardinal Sforza wished to unseat the Pope,” he said by way of answer. Part of Teodor realized Malfatto could no more reveal his orders than Teodor himself could. Despite the connection that had seemed to sprout between them there were many unknown alliances and the ever present possibility of betrayal.
He also knew better than to speak. Teodor was used to Baltasar’s requests and knew them to stem from Cesare himself, but the contracts Teodor carried out were always concerned with obtaining and protecting power for Italia itself, although it was an Italia united under Borgia rule. Teodor had never thought of the politics of religion, at least on the level of the Papacy. He had no reservations about killing a holy man, but the idea of the Pope calling for the death of his brother cardinals seemed obscene in a way Teodor couldn’t quite put his finger on. The fact that the task had fallen to Malfatto was even more intriguing.
As Teodor stared dumbly about the room, mind slowly reshaping the shadowy underbelly in which he dwelled, Malfatto took down his hood and lifted his mask off his face. It seemed anticlimactic to Teodor now, the reveal of the blond hair and handsome face in the wake of the realizations of the previous night. There were so many things to consider.
Malfatto’s belt and overcoat were gone. Standing before Teodor was just a man, tall and golden, the dark glasses replaced with blue eyes that could be called expressive, if only because they were not glass. Malfatto still wore the same dark trousers and white shirt of the night before, but in his mind’s eye Teodor saw the man from the masquerade, dressed in blue and brown. Malfatto seemed both smaller and larger now that he was out of uniform. The sinister presence that came with the mask and leather coat was missing, the room empty of that tall, beaked shadow. And yet Malfatto still filled the room, more tangible and alive in ways Teodor had never expected.
Malfatto’s touch brought Teodor out of his mental fog, a bright hot thumb skimming over his bottom lip. He jerked his head back as if burned, tongue immediately sliding over his bruised mouth.
“You are too cold,” Malfatto murmured, and Teodor reveled in the sight of Malfatto’s mouth as it shaped each syllable. In a distant way he realized he was close to frozen. There was no fire in the room and night was coming. Malfatto slid warm hands to the sides of Teodor’s body, palming his ribs.
“You tricked me,” Teodor remembered. He remembered being angry. He remembered wanting to make Malfatto pay for his deceit when he unwrapped him for the very first time. He tried to find that anger again and instead felt sharp and wild under the heat of Malfatto’s touch. The doctor closed the gap between them, gently walking Teodor back from the table, past the bookcases and shelves until Teodor felt a door handle press into the small of his back.
Malfatto’s eyes held no fire, only a studious glint as if Teodor was an exciting puzzle that needed solving, or perhaps a strategy to be overcome. Although his face was naked, his stare was as unrelenting as his mask. Only when Malfatto tipped his head did Teodor realize he was about to be kissed, those blue eyes still unnervingly steady. Teodor reflexively closed his own as their mouths met, moving heavy arms around Malfatto’s shoulders. His fingers grazed the short hair on the back of Malfatto’s neck. Vaguely he recalled the night of the masquerade, the feeling of the masked man pressed against him, teeth to his throat. Malfatto’s initial hesitation was gone and he had remembered how Teodor liked to be kissed. Teodor wondered if he was thinking about that night right now, or perhaps he was remembering the evening prior when Teodor had been on his knees, mouth fucked open. There were too many versions of Malfatto in his head, all strange and all familiar, and it loosed something inside Teodor.
“Malfatto,” Teodor breathed as they pulled apart. Despite the low heat in his belly he felt his teeth rattle inside his mouth, unable to keep the cold at bay now that he had a warm body close against him.
“Teodor,” Malfatto said obligingly, as if trying to gauge the proper response. His hands were still spread across the sides of Teodor’s ribs, holding him. He stared down at Teodor expectantly.
“You look...” Teodor said, then purposefully trailed off because he had no idea what sort of words would fit the many things that swelled inside him. Instead he looked down at the hands that held him, then leaned close into the warmth of Malfatto’s slight frame. “It was very cold today,” he said.
Malfatto’s curious expression smoothed at the edges as their chests touched. He tipped his head to the side like an owl, a dead giveaway that he spent much of his time hidden inside his mask. Teodor felt something a little stronger than lust ping at the significance behind the thought.
“I think I have something for that,” Malfatto said, then leaned in for a kiss and Teodor didn’t think much of anything.
† † †
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