Knives Don't Have Your Back: XI
Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood
Rated: R (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 5,348 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
† XI †
The well-timed kick struck Teodor squarely in the stomach. As he flew backwards, two things registered: one, that he could feel the dent left by the steel boot under his ribcage and two, the air in Italia was strangely absent. All of it. The bit of breath he had left was forced from his body as his spine collided with the grass. His vision went dull, black shadows creeping in at the edges. Choking, he tried to curl over on his side and relieve the pressure in his gut but found he could not move.
A tall figure, silhouetted in the harsh sunlight, prodded Teodor with a heavy boot and rolled him over. Teodor’s hands grabbed weakly for the man’s ankle but came up empty. Defeated, Teodor let out a low groan and closed his eyes.
“I win!” Donato said brightly. “I win, I win, I win!” he sing-songed, circling Teodor in excitement.
“I hate you,” Teodor groused, sucking in air and sprawled sideways on the ground. He rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes with an arm.
Donato clutched at his heart as if he’d been struck by an arrow. “You wound me, my Teodor,” he lamented, but continued his celebratory jig. When he finally took notice of Teodor’s discomfort, Donato promptly collapsed on top of him with dramatic flourish. Teodor grunted upon impact and pushed at Donato, yelling for him to get off. Donato relented and straddled Teodor’s hips. Donato beat on his chest with bare fists and howled at the sky.
“Are you quite finished?” Teodor asked, pouting.
“You’re buying the drinks tonight!” Donato crowed.
Teodor slid a hand over his own chest, feeling the heat from the mark Donato’s foot had left on his ribs. It was tender, but the pain had faded to a dull throb. With a bit of effort he managed to swing his legs up, hooking his knees over Donato’s shoulders and locking his ankles around his neck. Donato’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen and screeched when Teodor flipped them over.
“You flexible whore!” Donato spat, writhing furiously underneath Teodor’s thighs. Teodor laughed and leaned forward, batting away Donato’s fists. He placed a smug kiss on Donato’s forehead before scurrying away as the man bellowed.
“Maybe I’ll give you another chance to redeem yourself,” Teodor teased, pushing himself to his feet. Donato was already off the ground, body coiled like a cat with a berserk expression on his face. Teodor’s other taunts were left unsaid as Donato launched himself across the grass between them, out for blood.
A few minutes later Teodor was pounding the ground with one hand, screaming into the dirt for Donato to stop, STOP! as his friend gleefully ground his face against the thin grass, one knee firmly on Teodor’s back.
Eventually, after Teodor endured another round of “I win, I win!” and a terrible jig, Donato freed him. Together they stumbled to a nearby well and doused their sweaty bodies by the bucketful. Once cooled Teodor collapsed against the wall of the well and Donato followed suit. Donato kept a full bucket at his side and they drank together from a ladle they passed back and forth.
The rest of the soldiers on the training field, having witnessed their commanding officers attempt to beat each other to death, quietly settled their bets and found other places to be.
“I think everyone bet on you,” Teodor said, watching the other men trundle off to practice their swordsmanship or train at the archery station.
“Well of course they did,” Donato replied. He bent forward and began unbuckling his boots, sliding them off to air out his feet. Teodor rubbed his sore belly.
“Oh right, now you take them off,” he whined, kicking off his own. He stretched out his toes, curling them in the cool grass.
“I didn’t think I would land such a kick on the mighty Officer Viscardi,” Donato said, sliding an arm around Teodor’s shoulders. Teodor let his head tip sideways to rest on Donato’s damp shoulder. “You seemed slow today, my friend.”
“Just tired,” Teodor explained, closing his eyes. “The mighty Officer Viscardi is a busy man.”
“Maybe he should take a break,” Donato said, squeezing Teodor’s arm. “I see you sneaking off in the middle of the night to do your beloved paperwork.” He ruffled Teodor’s hair. “Nights are for sleeping.”
Teodor hummed in response, thinking of how he had snuck out before first light this morning to see Malfatto and spent nearly an hour chewing on his own fist as the doctor fucked him on the straw pallet in the backroom, pulling him back from the edge over and over again until he thought he might die from need.
“It’s not all paperwork. I do have a life outside the military, you know,” he said.
Donato’s entire body shook, then a laugh rang out across the training ground. He gave Teodor a playful shove, nearly toppling him. “That is an outrageous lie,” he accused.
“I have fun!” Teodor insisted, catching himself with one hand.
Donato openly guffawed in response. “My Teodor, you are funny. There’s a difference. Please, you are the most boring man I know. You are so boring that when I lie in bed at night I count Teodors instead of sheep. Tiny Teodors who like paperwork and glaring at people.”
Teodor glared at Donato, which didn’t help, so he conked the man over the head with the ladle. Donato only laughed harder, tears pricking his eyes. “I know! If you are so tired maybe you should count Teodors too! You can count tiny yous!”
Teodor, thoroughly peeved, waved the ladle above his head like a flail. “Gentlemen, place your bets!” he yelled. The soldiers all looked just in time to see Teodor dive for Donato, the captain shrieking as the ladle connected with his collarbone. Donato managed to scramble to his feet and for five minutes Teodor chased him through the training field, brandishing the ladle and screaming in French.
“See?” Teodor panted when he finally managed to pin Donato to the ground, “I know how to have fun.”
“Sure you do,” Donato said, breathless. The captain rubbed his head where a ladle-sized welt would probably soon appear. Teodor stood, then held out a hand and pulled Donato to his feet.
“Target practice?” Donato suggested.
“Only if the target is your face,” Teodor said sweetly.
Too hot and sweaty to spar further, Teodor abandoned his ladle as they made it over to the row of targets used by the archers and arquebusiers, pausing to retrieve their boots. Teodor favored neither arrows nor guns, preferring throwing knives if he needed a ranged weapon, and Donato was much the same. Teodor was better with the gun, Donato with the crossbow, and neither of them could use an actual bow and arrow to save their lives.
“The only way I’m going to kill anyone with this is if they’re close enough for me to hit them with it,” Teodor muttered as he struggled to notch another arrow in his bow. He looked up, expecting a smart remark from Donato, but the man was staring distractedly across the field. Teodor’s eyes followed his gaze, trying to discern what had caught his attention.
“Who is that?” Donato asked. Teodor took in the soldiers hacking at dummies with swords, men wrestling in the open field, none of them unfamiliar.
“Who?” Teodor asked, putting one hand against his forehead to block the sun.
“With the Captain General,” Donato said, motioning with an arrow.
Teodor squinted. Sure enough, Cesare Borgia was standing tall at the far end of the training field, his full armor shining brilliantly in the sun. He seemed to be walking the perimeter, fully engrossed in conversation with the stranger beside him. Or rather, it wasn’t a stranger, since Teodor recognized the short blond hair and lanky frame instantly.
Panic swept through Teodor like a hurricane. Teodor couldn’t understand it, fear striking him square in the belly at the realization that Donato, the soldiers, everyone in sight could see Malfatto’s face. What could he be thinking? What in the world was Malfatto --
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Donato’s hand fell heavy on Teodor’s shoulders, making him start. Donato shot him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?” he asked, following the direction of Teodor’s stare. “Do you know him?”
Teodor ignored him, caught by the sight of Malfatto’s blue eyes glancing in his direction. His mouth went dry as he watched Cesare Borgia laugh at something Malfatto must have said, pounding him on the back with a gloved hand. Cesare leaned in close, whispering something in Malfatto’s ear. For a moment they looked almost intimate, heads tipped together except for the uncomfortable expression on Malfatto’s face. And yet-
“Teodor!” Donato all but shouted. Teodor’s eyes snapped back into focus, Donato’s familiar face filling his vision. Teodor pushed him away with empty hands, realizing he had dropped the bow and arrow on the ground.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. Teodor picked up the weapons and turned his back on Cesare and Malfatto, hoping to avoid drawing further attention to himself.
Donato hovered. “Teodor-”
“I need water,” Teodor snapped, walking quickly away as he mulled over the situation. He knew he was handling it badly. Swallowing a curse, he made his way back to the well, Donato hot on his heels. Teodor filled a bucket and dumped it over his head, letting the shock of the cold water override the surprise of seeing Malfatto unmasked inside the walls of Castel Sant’Angelo.
“What’s going on?” whispered Donato, standing beside him. Teodor wiped the water from his eyes. “You went as white as a sheet.”
“Nothing,” Teodor said.
“I’m not stupid,” Donato barked, sounding more angry than concerned. “Do you know him? Who is that man?”
“Stop,” Teodor warned. His voice was harsh but he sent a pleading look Donato’s way. He could hear Cesare’s voice, still too far away to understand the words, but his jaw clenched as he heard the coaxing tone it carried. Battling the urge to look Malfatto’s direction, he wrapped an arm around Donato’s shoulders and pasted a bright smile on his face. As discretely as he could manage he steered them towards the ring of raked dirt in the distance where sword practice took place.
Taking a deep breath, Teodor gave Donato a furtive look and then tried to lie in the most convincing voice he could muster. “Those late nights?” he said. “Let’s just say I spent those with a...” Teodor thought furiously. “...A very beautiful woman...who may or may not be married.”
“To him?!” Donato’s gasp was less than subtle, but relief flooded through Teodor’s body. He nodded, face the picture of sincerity. “No!” Donato hissed, mouth agape.
“It’s true,” Teodor said, sounding completely ashamed.
Donato wound a hand around Teodor’s waist, giving him a solid shake. “You dog,” he said, delighted, and planted a sloppy kiss on Teodor’s temple. “Oh, I am so proud. I have been waiting for this moment for so long it seems.”
Teodor tuned out the rest of Donato’s exuberant praise and just like that the jovial mood of before returned. He distracted himself by challenging Donato to a duel, but it was almost immediately evident that neither he nor the captain were interested in swordplay. Instead Teodor revealed entirely made-up, highly personal facts about his sexual conquests with Malfatto’s fictional wife. Donato, entertained to no end, gave up all pretense of sword practice and decided to reenact certain scenes with a nearby sparring dummy. Donato was so thoroughly occupied by his own antics he failed to notice the hollow note in Teodor’s laughter.
All the while, Teodor purposely tried to keep his eyes off of Cesare and Malfatto as they circled the training field like sharks, but every time he snuck a glance in their direction blue eyes seemed to find his gaze. His bare skin itched from the knowledge that he was being watched and even after Malfatto disappeared inside Castel Sant’Angelo with Cesare by his side, the sensation remained.
Half an hour later the sun was beginning to set. Donato, engrossed in romancing the dummy he had dubbed “Rosaline,” noticed the change only when Teodor commented on it. The captain’s face lost all traces of good humor as he took in the darkening sky.
“Time to work,” he said absently. Teodor nodded, collecting their abandoned weapons. Donato sighed, then righted poor Rosaline to be skewered for another day.
“Meet back here in an hour?” Teodor asked. Donato grunted in agreement.
They left the training ground and headed in opposite directions. Teodor needed to fetch a fresh uniform from his estate. As he rode in the direction of his house, he thought of his jealousy at seeing Malfatto unmasked in the presence of other men. He felt stupid, ridiculous even for his reaction, but the familiarity between Cesare and Malfatto left a dark feeling swirling inside his chest.
Distracted, Teodor had just enough time to dunk his head in a wash basin before pulling on his uniform and heavy armor. Securing his épieu, he returned to Castel Sant’Angelo with wet hair that he hastily combed into place with his fingers. Donato was already waiting for him, flanked by two of his loyal elite guards.
“I’ll take the south end,” Donato said by way of greeting. “You take the north.”
Teodor nodded. Donato motioned to one of his men who trundled over. Teodor caught a glimpse of curly red hair peeking out from under his helmet that matched the few struggling hairs on the man’s chin. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty.
The guard who stayed at Donato’s side was much older. He sported a grizzled gray beard and Teodor noticed a strong scar tracing along one of his cheekbones. The guard’s name escaped him, but he recognized him as one of Donato’s most experienced soldiers, no doubt brought in from the campaigns to help preserve Borgia rule in Roma.
“What’s your name?” Teodor asked of his own escort.
“Rico Salvatore,” said the guard, twisting the tall halberd he held in his right hand. “It’s an honor, Officer Viscardi.”
Donato, having finished a final check of his weapons, looked to see that Teodor had done the same. Teodor pushed his coat aside so that Donato could see the holstered épieu and his belt of throwing knives, giving him a nod.
“We’ll see you in a few hours,” Teodor said.
“You better,” Donato answered.
† † †
Clouds from a gathering storm blocked any starlight to guide the way through the dark alleys that plagued the poor neighborhoods along the Tiber. The air was warm and damp, each layer of Teodor’s uniform growing heavier by the step. Rico led the way, the blade of his axe brandished before him to ward off any unseen enemies. The prevalence of white-clad assassins had made the job of a guardsman a particularly deadly occupation and Teodor kept his eyes glued to the walls and roofs of the buildings as they strolled past.
In earlier weeks, Donato and Teodor had paired up with each other as they went in search of thieves and killers, leaving other guards to patrol in separate groups. Despite the growing paranoia and emphasis on vigilance, Donato’s forces had begun to wither under the assault of assassins and other assailants alike until they were forced to divide their expertise and pair off with other men. While it better protected the guards who roamed the streets with them, Teodor and Donato felt the loss of one another and were more vulnerable than ever. Each night they went their separate ways on patrol with the knowledge that it was unlikely both of them would return.
While Teodor had been lucky to escape the notice of the assassins thus far, Donato had come under fire only four days before. He had been out hunting for Fiora’s serial killer with a crossbowman and a guard covered head to toe in thick armor. Both of his companions had been brought down with arrows near an art merchant’s shop, Donato saved only because he had ducked under the awning when a particular painting had caught his eye. Teodor arrived on the scene fifteen minutes after the fact to find Donato standing in the middle of the street, his sword slicing through thin air as he screamed for the cowards to come down and fight. Teodor didn’t make it to Malfatto’s shop that night, choosing instead to watch over Donato as the man drunk himself into a stupor at a local pub, carrying him back to the barracks to sleep it off when the liquor and sorrow took its toll.
“I wasn’t built for this,” Donato had confessed after Teodor managed to get him into bed. “I’ve lost more men in the guard than I ever lost in war. How is it I can protect men from cannons and not from this god forsaken city?”
“It’s not your fault,” Teodor had said, pulling off Donato’s boots. He thought of the war machines he had failed to protect, realizing for the first time the body count that had come with it. “We’ll fix this,” he’d promised.
Teodor wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his promise, but he was determined to do so all the same. He made a point to keep an eye on Rico while they moved along the river, vowing not to find Fiora’s serial killer, but rather to keep the young man safe. This turned out to be a timely decision when Rico slipped on the steps of the dock and nearly went crashing into the water. Teodor managed to grab him by his collar at the last moment and hauled him back with one hand.
“Thank you,” Rico said, face white with fear.
“Can you swim?” Teodor asked, voice loud in his irritation. Rico shook his head. “Well if you do that again you’re going to have to learn,” he warned. Rico had the decency to look sheepish, but Teodor was more appeased by the careful steps the man took as they continued on their way.
It took three hours to cover the length of the Tiber with Donato working at one end and Teodor at the other. According to Donato’s sources, most of the courtesans that had been found were no more than two streets from the waterfront. Each night Donato and Teodor would pick a side to start from and scour the area until they met up somewhere in the middle. The criminals they encountered along the way were never arrested, their crimes either petty enough to be ignored or so damning they warranted death.
Two hours into the search Teodor called for a quick break, both of them needing water and a rest from the muggy air. He shared his water with Rico who had forgotten his own, fidgeting with the collar of his doublet as the sweat gathered on the back of his neck.
“Why are we doing this, Signore?” Rico asked once he’d finished his share of the water. “Why risk the lives of good soldiers for a few courtesans?”
“Would you prefer they were shoe cobblers?” Teodor replied after a moment, taking a long drink of water. “Would the losses be more acceptable if only they had a more respectable occupation?”
“No, of course not,” Rico whispered, his face bright red. He looked down at his feet, twisting the halberd nervously. “It’s just...I’ve lost friends.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Teodor said, giving him a reprieve. He was young and lacked training, but Rico Salvatore had chosen to patrol tonight. That wasn’t nothing.
Replenished, they resumed their search. Teodor kept his eyes peeled and listened for the sound of Donato’s tell-tale whistle as the three hour mark approached. Just as he was about to resign himself to another wasted night, a woman’s scream cut through the air.
Rico jumped, halberd swinging wildly before him, and Teodor’s own weapon was in his hand before he realized it. He grabbed Rico’s arm when the man moved to run, trying to pinpoint the sound of the scream. It turned out he didn’t need to listen at all as a courtesan came charging out of a nearby alleyway, her blue dress stained red. She ran directly to them, sobbing hysterically and stopped only when Teodor grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he shouted. The woman shook her head.
“He took her,” she said, and over her sobs Teodor heard another scream. “He took her, he took her, I didn’t see.”
Rico took off running, disappearing into the alley the woman had come out of. Swearing loudly, Teodor guided the sobbing woman onto a nearby bench and told her to stay put before going after him. He shouted for Rico to slow down, to wait, but it was of no use. Teodor’s boots slipped on the ragged stones and he used his hands to push himself off walls trying to gain momentum, but Rico remained a few yards ahead. In the distance the woman screamed for the last time, the sound cutting off abruptly, and Teodor knew he was going to be too late.
Rico skidded to a stop as the alley emptied out along an unlit patch of grass at the river’s edge. Teodor slowed down just in time to avoid colliding with him, gray eyes searching frantically for the source of the screams. There were buildings to the far sides, a bush to his left and a large oak tree right in front of him. The white retaining wall that kept people from accidentally falling into the river was crumbling in places and nowhere, absolutely nowhere, could he see-
“There!” Rico whispered, pointing with his free hand. Teodor looked to the right of the tree and saw the tall figure in the darkness, black on black. Teodor’s jaw fell open, even his grip on the épieu went slack. The man turned, and the brightness of his white mask seemed to light up the night sky.
Malfatto.
Rico hefted the halberd with two hands, then lunged.
Teodor reacted without thinking. He stepped forward and spun full circle, gaining enough momentum to thrust his épieu through Rico’s back, slicing through his spine and out his stomach. Rico’s halberd fell to the ground with a clatter as his body went boneless. Teodor pulled the spear back, sliding to catch Rico as he fell. He pulled off the man’s helmet, revealing a tangle of red curls. Rico’s gaze had already gone dull, his heartbeat silenced.
Ten minutes before, Teodor had promised him protection. Horror burst inside his chest like an exploding star.
Teodor shoved Rico’s body out of the way and jumped to his feet. He whirled around and spotted Malfatto only a few steps from him. The doctor was still standing beside the tree and, hiding behind his long coat, Teodor saw the hemline of an orange dress.
“What did you do?” Teodor roared, advancing on the doctor with épieu in hand. “What have you done!” Malfatto raised his hands to defend himself but Teodor cracked him across both forearms with his épieu before dropping it and taking Malfatto by the front of his jacket. Malfatto stumbled as Teodor rushed him with full force and he fell backwards onto the retaining wall. Teodor’s mad grip kept him from falling, the dark waves of the Tiber rushing below Malfatto’s head.
“It was you!” Teodor screamed, shaking in his wrath. Malfatto’s hands flailed in the air, pawing uselessly at Teodor’s chest and shoulders. “It’s been you this whole time!”
If Malfatto was speaking, whatever words he had were lost on Teodor. The memory of his many nightmares were returning to him, the roaring river beneath Malfatto’s head transformed to that of the Po, his sister’s voice in his ear. Teddy, it said, rising from the water. Teddy, Teddy please. For a moment he imagined doing it, killing Malfatto. It would be so easy, he realized, to simply let go and let the doctor fall to his death, lost forever under the roiling waves. For a moment he saw Nanette’s face reflected in the black lens of Malfatto’s glasses, laughing.
Lightning flashed in the sky as the storm arrived, bringing with it rolling thunder and heavy rain that did nothing to appease Teodor’s fury. With a wordless scream he yanked Malfatto off the wall and threw him across the grass. Through the thick sheets of rain Teodor saw Malfatto crash into the ground, but his attention went to the crumpled body that lay behind the tree.
Teodor took a few steps forward then dropped to his knees. The courtesan was dressed in orange, her blonde hair turning dark in the downpour. Her green eyes were fixed on something in the distance and her naked shoulders pale as bone. Teodor thought about how cold she must be before he could stop himself. Malfatto had slit her from ribcage to belly button and turned her inside out, ensuring she would never be cold again.
The rain diluted the bloody grass, soaking Teodor’s hands and knees red as he took in the sight before him. Even in battle, where people were skewered on swords and riddled with arrows, nothing compared to the nightmare Malfatto had created. He had pulled the organs out of the girl’s chest and stomach, some neatly removed with the help of a blade, and arranged them in a tidy row by the body. The monstrosity of what Malfatto had done rushed over Teodor like a wave and he scrambled to his feet, spitting bile over the side of the wall. He heaved until he had nothing left, soaked by both sweat and rain.
Teodor felt a hand on his shoulder. He recoiled at the touch as if burned, lashing out with a fist that barely missed Malfatto’s head. Malfatto had enough sense to dodge the blow but tried to reach for him again. Teodor stumbled away from him, turning his back on the courtesan’s body, the water, all of it. His épieuhad rolled under the nearby bush and Teodor stooped to retrieve it.
“Teodor,” came Malfatto’s voice.
“Don’t,” Teodor warned, gritting his teeth against the bevy of emotions that threatened to choke him.
“Teodor-”
“I said don’t!”
Malfatto’s broad shoulders were hunched, his beaked nose tipped toward the ground. Water dripped from his waxy coat, and if Teodor squinted he could see the pink tinge it carried.
“I just saved you,” Teodor said in disbelief. With his free hand he gestured to the ravaged body of the courtesan on the ground. “I just saved this. Do you understand what kind of a man that makes me?” he asked. “Do you realize what I just did?”
“You don’t understand,” Malfatto pleaded.
The shrill sound of Donato’s whistle felt like a blow to the head. Teodor looked around feverishly, trying to determine how much time they had. It couldn’t be much, maybe minutes, before Donato and his escort would arrive and everything would be over. Malfatto would be discovered as the killer. The dangerous patrols could stop, men safe at home instead of in the streets where the assassins could get to them. Donato, instead of facing Cesare’s wrath, would be rewarded for his service and Teodor would be free of Fiora’s blackmail. The courtesans would be avenged, the citizens of the Centro district saved, and Teodor could play the hero.
All Malfatto had to do was die.
“Run,” Teodor whispered.
Malfatto looked up sharply.
“They’re coming,” Teodor said. Donato’s whistle sounded again, spurring him into action. He dashed over to Rico’s fallen body, struggling to lift it. He knew Donato would recognize the signature of his épieu and realize who had slain him. “Help me,” Teodor said, and Malfatto hurried over to grab Rico’s legs. Together they hefted the body up and over the retaining wall, Teodor wincing at the sound of it splashing in the dark water. Teddy, came the whisper.
There was no time for the courtesan. Teodor turned on Malfatto and took him once more by the front of his coat.
“Listen to me. Go north,” he instructed. “Get away from the river when you can.” He released Malfatto and took a step back. “Now hit me.”
Even with the mask, Teodor could see Malfatto blanch. The doctor shook his head. Teodor slapped him.
“Hit me!” he commanded. Malfatto hesitated and Teodor backhanded him a second time. Malfatto’s head snapped to the side. “Don’t act like you’re not capable,” he snarled. He raised his hand again, but this time Malfatto caught him at the wrist. With surprising force Malfatto shoved Teodor at the shoulder and flipped him round. Fear burst in the center of Teodor’s chest like ice.
Malfatto’s hands struck him on either side of his neck like blades, as if he were cleaving meat from bone. Teodor’s body went limp as a puppet without string. Whatever Malfatto had done left him deaf in both ears and his eyes saw only a dark blur rush down the street. He toppled face first into the muddy grass, gasping for air and sucking in only the red rainfall that puddled beneath his cheek. With the thunderstorm above him and the Tiber churning a few feet to his left, Teodor began to drown on solid ground.
† † †
He was sitting underneath the dock. The wooden planks above him cast a mild shadow that kept him hidden from the late afternoon sun. The dirt beneath his bare toes was damp from the morning’s tide and he wrapped his arms around his knees to keep from becoming chilled. A breeze was blowing. It sent whispers through the grass that lined the riverbank and caused the dock to creak and groan. He didn’t know how long he’d been here, it felt like forever, and soon the moon would be rising and the water with it.
The far pillars that held up the end of the dock were already half-submerged. At the edge of the water crouched Nanette, her long hair twisted over one shoulder as she carefully stacked rocks into unwieldy mountains. It was something they had used to do as children, a competition to see who could build the biggest pile. He had almost always won.
She kept having to retreat as the water began to move in, each stack she managed growing shorter and smaller until she was out of both rocks and time. With a sigh she came to sit beside him, staring at the water lapping at their ankles. They sat together in silence. When the water grew high enough to force them to their feet he offered her a hand, pulling her up.
The sun went down, a flash of yellow in the small slit between the river’s surface and the underbelly of the dock. Shadows were all around and the waves cut like knives when they slapped his chest.
Do you know why you’re here? she asked.
He shook his head.
She smiled sadly. This is where the monsters go, she told him. All the way down.
Her hand was still held tight in his. The water rose to his chin which meant it was too high for her. That was odd. Nanette had towered over him until he turned seventeen, a summer he remembered spent mostly in bed as his bones twinged and stretched.
It didn’t matter now, or maybe it did, because now he was tall enough to keep her above water a little longer. Her arms went around his shoulders, his hands to her waist. She kissed his temple, then rested her forehead there.
Will you stay with me? she asked. Water began to fill his nostrils, fetid and relentless.
“Yes,” Teodor said, and breathed deep.
† † †
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author's notes | warnings
Rated: R (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 5,348 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
† XI †
The well-timed kick struck Teodor squarely in the stomach. As he flew backwards, two things registered: one, that he could feel the dent left by the steel boot under his ribcage and two, the air in Italia was strangely absent. All of it. The bit of breath he had left was forced from his body as his spine collided with the grass. His vision went dull, black shadows creeping in at the edges. Choking, he tried to curl over on his side and relieve the pressure in his gut but found he could not move.
A tall figure, silhouetted in the harsh sunlight, prodded Teodor with a heavy boot and rolled him over. Teodor’s hands grabbed weakly for the man’s ankle but came up empty. Defeated, Teodor let out a low groan and closed his eyes.
“I win!” Donato said brightly. “I win, I win, I win!” he sing-songed, circling Teodor in excitement.
“I hate you,” Teodor groused, sucking in air and sprawled sideways on the ground. He rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes with an arm.
Donato clutched at his heart as if he’d been struck by an arrow. “You wound me, my Teodor,” he lamented, but continued his celebratory jig. When he finally took notice of Teodor’s discomfort, Donato promptly collapsed on top of him with dramatic flourish. Teodor grunted upon impact and pushed at Donato, yelling for him to get off. Donato relented and straddled Teodor’s hips. Donato beat on his chest with bare fists and howled at the sky.
“Are you quite finished?” Teodor asked, pouting.
“You’re buying the drinks tonight!” Donato crowed.
Teodor slid a hand over his own chest, feeling the heat from the mark Donato’s foot had left on his ribs. It was tender, but the pain had faded to a dull throb. With a bit of effort he managed to swing his legs up, hooking his knees over Donato’s shoulders and locking his ankles around his neck. Donato’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen and screeched when Teodor flipped them over.
“You flexible whore!” Donato spat, writhing furiously underneath Teodor’s thighs. Teodor laughed and leaned forward, batting away Donato’s fists. He placed a smug kiss on Donato’s forehead before scurrying away as the man bellowed.
“Maybe I’ll give you another chance to redeem yourself,” Teodor teased, pushing himself to his feet. Donato was already off the ground, body coiled like a cat with a berserk expression on his face. Teodor’s other taunts were left unsaid as Donato launched himself across the grass between them, out for blood.
A few minutes later Teodor was pounding the ground with one hand, screaming into the dirt for Donato to stop, STOP! as his friend gleefully ground his face against the thin grass, one knee firmly on Teodor’s back.
Eventually, after Teodor endured another round of “I win, I win!” and a terrible jig, Donato freed him. Together they stumbled to a nearby well and doused their sweaty bodies by the bucketful. Once cooled Teodor collapsed against the wall of the well and Donato followed suit. Donato kept a full bucket at his side and they drank together from a ladle they passed back and forth.
The rest of the soldiers on the training field, having witnessed their commanding officers attempt to beat each other to death, quietly settled their bets and found other places to be.
“I think everyone bet on you,” Teodor said, watching the other men trundle off to practice their swordsmanship or train at the archery station.
“Well of course they did,” Donato replied. He bent forward and began unbuckling his boots, sliding them off to air out his feet. Teodor rubbed his sore belly.
“Oh right, now you take them off,” he whined, kicking off his own. He stretched out his toes, curling them in the cool grass.
“I didn’t think I would land such a kick on the mighty Officer Viscardi,” Donato said, sliding an arm around Teodor’s shoulders. Teodor let his head tip sideways to rest on Donato’s damp shoulder. “You seemed slow today, my friend.”
“Just tired,” Teodor explained, closing his eyes. “The mighty Officer Viscardi is a busy man.”
“Maybe he should take a break,” Donato said, squeezing Teodor’s arm. “I see you sneaking off in the middle of the night to do your beloved paperwork.” He ruffled Teodor’s hair. “Nights are for sleeping.”
Teodor hummed in response, thinking of how he had snuck out before first light this morning to see Malfatto and spent nearly an hour chewing on his own fist as the doctor fucked him on the straw pallet in the backroom, pulling him back from the edge over and over again until he thought he might die from need.
“It’s not all paperwork. I do have a life outside the military, you know,” he said.
Donato’s entire body shook, then a laugh rang out across the training ground. He gave Teodor a playful shove, nearly toppling him. “That is an outrageous lie,” he accused.
“I have fun!” Teodor insisted, catching himself with one hand.
Donato openly guffawed in response. “My Teodor, you are funny. There’s a difference. Please, you are the most boring man I know. You are so boring that when I lie in bed at night I count Teodors instead of sheep. Tiny Teodors who like paperwork and glaring at people.”
Teodor glared at Donato, which didn’t help, so he conked the man over the head with the ladle. Donato only laughed harder, tears pricking his eyes. “I know! If you are so tired maybe you should count Teodors too! You can count tiny yous!”
Teodor, thoroughly peeved, waved the ladle above his head like a flail. “Gentlemen, place your bets!” he yelled. The soldiers all looked just in time to see Teodor dive for Donato, the captain shrieking as the ladle connected with his collarbone. Donato managed to scramble to his feet and for five minutes Teodor chased him through the training field, brandishing the ladle and screaming in French.
“See?” Teodor panted when he finally managed to pin Donato to the ground, “I know how to have fun.”
“Sure you do,” Donato said, breathless. The captain rubbed his head where a ladle-sized welt would probably soon appear. Teodor stood, then held out a hand and pulled Donato to his feet.
“Target practice?” Donato suggested.
“Only if the target is your face,” Teodor said sweetly.
Too hot and sweaty to spar further, Teodor abandoned his ladle as they made it over to the row of targets used by the archers and arquebusiers, pausing to retrieve their boots. Teodor favored neither arrows nor guns, preferring throwing knives if he needed a ranged weapon, and Donato was much the same. Teodor was better with the gun, Donato with the crossbow, and neither of them could use an actual bow and arrow to save their lives.
“The only way I’m going to kill anyone with this is if they’re close enough for me to hit them with it,” Teodor muttered as he struggled to notch another arrow in his bow. He looked up, expecting a smart remark from Donato, but the man was staring distractedly across the field. Teodor’s eyes followed his gaze, trying to discern what had caught his attention.
“Who is that?” Donato asked. Teodor took in the soldiers hacking at dummies with swords, men wrestling in the open field, none of them unfamiliar.
“Who?” Teodor asked, putting one hand against his forehead to block the sun.
“With the Captain General,” Donato said, motioning with an arrow.
Teodor squinted. Sure enough, Cesare Borgia was standing tall at the far end of the training field, his full armor shining brilliantly in the sun. He seemed to be walking the perimeter, fully engrossed in conversation with the stranger beside him. Or rather, it wasn’t a stranger, since Teodor recognized the short blond hair and lanky frame instantly.
Panic swept through Teodor like a hurricane. Teodor couldn’t understand it, fear striking him square in the belly at the realization that Donato, the soldiers, everyone in sight could see Malfatto’s face. What could he be thinking? What in the world was Malfatto --
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Donato’s hand fell heavy on Teodor’s shoulders, making him start. Donato shot him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?” he asked, following the direction of Teodor’s stare. “Do you know him?”
Teodor ignored him, caught by the sight of Malfatto’s blue eyes glancing in his direction. His mouth went dry as he watched Cesare Borgia laugh at something Malfatto must have said, pounding him on the back with a gloved hand. Cesare leaned in close, whispering something in Malfatto’s ear. For a moment they looked almost intimate, heads tipped together except for the uncomfortable expression on Malfatto’s face. And yet-
“Teodor!” Donato all but shouted. Teodor’s eyes snapped back into focus, Donato’s familiar face filling his vision. Teodor pushed him away with empty hands, realizing he had dropped the bow and arrow on the ground.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. Teodor picked up the weapons and turned his back on Cesare and Malfatto, hoping to avoid drawing further attention to himself.
Donato hovered. “Teodor-”
“I need water,” Teodor snapped, walking quickly away as he mulled over the situation. He knew he was handling it badly. Swallowing a curse, he made his way back to the well, Donato hot on his heels. Teodor filled a bucket and dumped it over his head, letting the shock of the cold water override the surprise of seeing Malfatto unmasked inside the walls of Castel Sant’Angelo.
“What’s going on?” whispered Donato, standing beside him. Teodor wiped the water from his eyes. “You went as white as a sheet.”
“Nothing,” Teodor said.
“I’m not stupid,” Donato barked, sounding more angry than concerned. “Do you know him? Who is that man?”
“Stop,” Teodor warned. His voice was harsh but he sent a pleading look Donato’s way. He could hear Cesare’s voice, still too far away to understand the words, but his jaw clenched as he heard the coaxing tone it carried. Battling the urge to look Malfatto’s direction, he wrapped an arm around Donato’s shoulders and pasted a bright smile on his face. As discretely as he could manage he steered them towards the ring of raked dirt in the distance where sword practice took place.
Taking a deep breath, Teodor gave Donato a furtive look and then tried to lie in the most convincing voice he could muster. “Those late nights?” he said. “Let’s just say I spent those with a...” Teodor thought furiously. “...A very beautiful woman...who may or may not be married.”
“To him?!” Donato’s gasp was less than subtle, but relief flooded through Teodor’s body. He nodded, face the picture of sincerity. “No!” Donato hissed, mouth agape.
“It’s true,” Teodor said, sounding completely ashamed.
Donato wound a hand around Teodor’s waist, giving him a solid shake. “You dog,” he said, delighted, and planted a sloppy kiss on Teodor’s temple. “Oh, I am so proud. I have been waiting for this moment for so long it seems.”
Teodor tuned out the rest of Donato’s exuberant praise and just like that the jovial mood of before returned. He distracted himself by challenging Donato to a duel, but it was almost immediately evident that neither he nor the captain were interested in swordplay. Instead Teodor revealed entirely made-up, highly personal facts about his sexual conquests with Malfatto’s fictional wife. Donato, entertained to no end, gave up all pretense of sword practice and decided to reenact certain scenes with a nearby sparring dummy. Donato was so thoroughly occupied by his own antics he failed to notice the hollow note in Teodor’s laughter.
All the while, Teodor purposely tried to keep his eyes off of Cesare and Malfatto as they circled the training field like sharks, but every time he snuck a glance in their direction blue eyes seemed to find his gaze. His bare skin itched from the knowledge that he was being watched and even after Malfatto disappeared inside Castel Sant’Angelo with Cesare by his side, the sensation remained.
Half an hour later the sun was beginning to set. Donato, engrossed in romancing the dummy he had dubbed “Rosaline,” noticed the change only when Teodor commented on it. The captain’s face lost all traces of good humor as he took in the darkening sky.
“Time to work,” he said absently. Teodor nodded, collecting their abandoned weapons. Donato sighed, then righted poor Rosaline to be skewered for another day.
“Meet back here in an hour?” Teodor asked. Donato grunted in agreement.
They left the training ground and headed in opposite directions. Teodor needed to fetch a fresh uniform from his estate. As he rode in the direction of his house, he thought of his jealousy at seeing Malfatto unmasked in the presence of other men. He felt stupid, ridiculous even for his reaction, but the familiarity between Cesare and Malfatto left a dark feeling swirling inside his chest.
Distracted, Teodor had just enough time to dunk his head in a wash basin before pulling on his uniform and heavy armor. Securing his épieu, he returned to Castel Sant’Angelo with wet hair that he hastily combed into place with his fingers. Donato was already waiting for him, flanked by two of his loyal elite guards.
“I’ll take the south end,” Donato said by way of greeting. “You take the north.”
Teodor nodded. Donato motioned to one of his men who trundled over. Teodor caught a glimpse of curly red hair peeking out from under his helmet that matched the few struggling hairs on the man’s chin. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty.
The guard who stayed at Donato’s side was much older. He sported a grizzled gray beard and Teodor noticed a strong scar tracing along one of his cheekbones. The guard’s name escaped him, but he recognized him as one of Donato’s most experienced soldiers, no doubt brought in from the campaigns to help preserve Borgia rule in Roma.
“What’s your name?” Teodor asked of his own escort.
“Rico Salvatore,” said the guard, twisting the tall halberd he held in his right hand. “It’s an honor, Officer Viscardi.”
Donato, having finished a final check of his weapons, looked to see that Teodor had done the same. Teodor pushed his coat aside so that Donato could see the holstered épieu and his belt of throwing knives, giving him a nod.
“We’ll see you in a few hours,” Teodor said.
“You better,” Donato answered.
† † †
Clouds from a gathering storm blocked any starlight to guide the way through the dark alleys that plagued the poor neighborhoods along the Tiber. The air was warm and damp, each layer of Teodor’s uniform growing heavier by the step. Rico led the way, the blade of his axe brandished before him to ward off any unseen enemies. The prevalence of white-clad assassins had made the job of a guardsman a particularly deadly occupation and Teodor kept his eyes glued to the walls and roofs of the buildings as they strolled past.
In earlier weeks, Donato and Teodor had paired up with each other as they went in search of thieves and killers, leaving other guards to patrol in separate groups. Despite the growing paranoia and emphasis on vigilance, Donato’s forces had begun to wither under the assault of assassins and other assailants alike until they were forced to divide their expertise and pair off with other men. While it better protected the guards who roamed the streets with them, Teodor and Donato felt the loss of one another and were more vulnerable than ever. Each night they went their separate ways on patrol with the knowledge that it was unlikely both of them would return.
While Teodor had been lucky to escape the notice of the assassins thus far, Donato had come under fire only four days before. He had been out hunting for Fiora’s serial killer with a crossbowman and a guard covered head to toe in thick armor. Both of his companions had been brought down with arrows near an art merchant’s shop, Donato saved only because he had ducked under the awning when a particular painting had caught his eye. Teodor arrived on the scene fifteen minutes after the fact to find Donato standing in the middle of the street, his sword slicing through thin air as he screamed for the cowards to come down and fight. Teodor didn’t make it to Malfatto’s shop that night, choosing instead to watch over Donato as the man drunk himself into a stupor at a local pub, carrying him back to the barracks to sleep it off when the liquor and sorrow took its toll.
“I wasn’t built for this,” Donato had confessed after Teodor managed to get him into bed. “I’ve lost more men in the guard than I ever lost in war. How is it I can protect men from cannons and not from this god forsaken city?”
“It’s not your fault,” Teodor had said, pulling off Donato’s boots. He thought of the war machines he had failed to protect, realizing for the first time the body count that had come with it. “We’ll fix this,” he’d promised.
Teodor wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his promise, but he was determined to do so all the same. He made a point to keep an eye on Rico while they moved along the river, vowing not to find Fiora’s serial killer, but rather to keep the young man safe. This turned out to be a timely decision when Rico slipped on the steps of the dock and nearly went crashing into the water. Teodor managed to grab him by his collar at the last moment and hauled him back with one hand.
“Thank you,” Rico said, face white with fear.
“Can you swim?” Teodor asked, voice loud in his irritation. Rico shook his head. “Well if you do that again you’re going to have to learn,” he warned. Rico had the decency to look sheepish, but Teodor was more appeased by the careful steps the man took as they continued on their way.
It took three hours to cover the length of the Tiber with Donato working at one end and Teodor at the other. According to Donato’s sources, most of the courtesans that had been found were no more than two streets from the waterfront. Each night Donato and Teodor would pick a side to start from and scour the area until they met up somewhere in the middle. The criminals they encountered along the way were never arrested, their crimes either petty enough to be ignored or so damning they warranted death.
Two hours into the search Teodor called for a quick break, both of them needing water and a rest from the muggy air. He shared his water with Rico who had forgotten his own, fidgeting with the collar of his doublet as the sweat gathered on the back of his neck.
“Why are we doing this, Signore?” Rico asked once he’d finished his share of the water. “Why risk the lives of good soldiers for a few courtesans?”
“Would you prefer they were shoe cobblers?” Teodor replied after a moment, taking a long drink of water. “Would the losses be more acceptable if only they had a more respectable occupation?”
“No, of course not,” Rico whispered, his face bright red. He looked down at his feet, twisting the halberd nervously. “It’s just...I’ve lost friends.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Teodor said, giving him a reprieve. He was young and lacked training, but Rico Salvatore had chosen to patrol tonight. That wasn’t nothing.
Replenished, they resumed their search. Teodor kept his eyes peeled and listened for the sound of Donato’s tell-tale whistle as the three hour mark approached. Just as he was about to resign himself to another wasted night, a woman’s scream cut through the air.
Rico jumped, halberd swinging wildly before him, and Teodor’s own weapon was in his hand before he realized it. He grabbed Rico’s arm when the man moved to run, trying to pinpoint the sound of the scream. It turned out he didn’t need to listen at all as a courtesan came charging out of a nearby alleyway, her blue dress stained red. She ran directly to them, sobbing hysterically and stopped only when Teodor grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he shouted. The woman shook her head.
“He took her,” she said, and over her sobs Teodor heard another scream. “He took her, he took her, I didn’t see.”
Rico took off running, disappearing into the alley the woman had come out of. Swearing loudly, Teodor guided the sobbing woman onto a nearby bench and told her to stay put before going after him. He shouted for Rico to slow down, to wait, but it was of no use. Teodor’s boots slipped on the ragged stones and he used his hands to push himself off walls trying to gain momentum, but Rico remained a few yards ahead. In the distance the woman screamed for the last time, the sound cutting off abruptly, and Teodor knew he was going to be too late.
Rico skidded to a stop as the alley emptied out along an unlit patch of grass at the river’s edge. Teodor slowed down just in time to avoid colliding with him, gray eyes searching frantically for the source of the screams. There were buildings to the far sides, a bush to his left and a large oak tree right in front of him. The white retaining wall that kept people from accidentally falling into the river was crumbling in places and nowhere, absolutely nowhere, could he see-
“There!” Rico whispered, pointing with his free hand. Teodor looked to the right of the tree and saw the tall figure in the darkness, black on black. Teodor’s jaw fell open, even his grip on the épieu went slack. The man turned, and the brightness of his white mask seemed to light up the night sky.
Malfatto.
Rico hefted the halberd with two hands, then lunged.
Teodor reacted without thinking. He stepped forward and spun full circle, gaining enough momentum to thrust his épieu through Rico’s back, slicing through his spine and out his stomach. Rico’s halberd fell to the ground with a clatter as his body went boneless. Teodor pulled the spear back, sliding to catch Rico as he fell. He pulled off the man’s helmet, revealing a tangle of red curls. Rico’s gaze had already gone dull, his heartbeat silenced.
Ten minutes before, Teodor had promised him protection. Horror burst inside his chest like an exploding star.
Teodor shoved Rico’s body out of the way and jumped to his feet. He whirled around and spotted Malfatto only a few steps from him. The doctor was still standing beside the tree and, hiding behind his long coat, Teodor saw the hemline of an orange dress.
“What did you do?” Teodor roared, advancing on the doctor with épieu in hand. “What have you done!” Malfatto raised his hands to defend himself but Teodor cracked him across both forearms with his épieu before dropping it and taking Malfatto by the front of his jacket. Malfatto stumbled as Teodor rushed him with full force and he fell backwards onto the retaining wall. Teodor’s mad grip kept him from falling, the dark waves of the Tiber rushing below Malfatto’s head.
“It was you!” Teodor screamed, shaking in his wrath. Malfatto’s hands flailed in the air, pawing uselessly at Teodor’s chest and shoulders. “It’s been you this whole time!”
If Malfatto was speaking, whatever words he had were lost on Teodor. The memory of his many nightmares were returning to him, the roaring river beneath Malfatto’s head transformed to that of the Po, his sister’s voice in his ear. Teddy, it said, rising from the water. Teddy, Teddy please. For a moment he imagined doing it, killing Malfatto. It would be so easy, he realized, to simply let go and let the doctor fall to his death, lost forever under the roiling waves. For a moment he saw Nanette’s face reflected in the black lens of Malfatto’s glasses, laughing.
Lightning flashed in the sky as the storm arrived, bringing with it rolling thunder and heavy rain that did nothing to appease Teodor’s fury. With a wordless scream he yanked Malfatto off the wall and threw him across the grass. Through the thick sheets of rain Teodor saw Malfatto crash into the ground, but his attention went to the crumpled body that lay behind the tree.
Teodor took a few steps forward then dropped to his knees. The courtesan was dressed in orange, her blonde hair turning dark in the downpour. Her green eyes were fixed on something in the distance and her naked shoulders pale as bone. Teodor thought about how cold she must be before he could stop himself. Malfatto had slit her from ribcage to belly button and turned her inside out, ensuring she would never be cold again.
The rain diluted the bloody grass, soaking Teodor’s hands and knees red as he took in the sight before him. Even in battle, where people were skewered on swords and riddled with arrows, nothing compared to the nightmare Malfatto had created. He had pulled the organs out of the girl’s chest and stomach, some neatly removed with the help of a blade, and arranged them in a tidy row by the body. The monstrosity of what Malfatto had done rushed over Teodor like a wave and he scrambled to his feet, spitting bile over the side of the wall. He heaved until he had nothing left, soaked by both sweat and rain.
Teodor felt a hand on his shoulder. He recoiled at the touch as if burned, lashing out with a fist that barely missed Malfatto’s head. Malfatto had enough sense to dodge the blow but tried to reach for him again. Teodor stumbled away from him, turning his back on the courtesan’s body, the water, all of it. His épieuhad rolled under the nearby bush and Teodor stooped to retrieve it.
“Teodor,” came Malfatto’s voice.
“Don’t,” Teodor warned, gritting his teeth against the bevy of emotions that threatened to choke him.
“Teodor-”
“I said don’t!”
Malfatto’s broad shoulders were hunched, his beaked nose tipped toward the ground. Water dripped from his waxy coat, and if Teodor squinted he could see the pink tinge it carried.
“I just saved you,” Teodor said in disbelief. With his free hand he gestured to the ravaged body of the courtesan on the ground. “I just saved this. Do you understand what kind of a man that makes me?” he asked. “Do you realize what I just did?”
“You don’t understand,” Malfatto pleaded.
The shrill sound of Donato’s whistle felt like a blow to the head. Teodor looked around feverishly, trying to determine how much time they had. It couldn’t be much, maybe minutes, before Donato and his escort would arrive and everything would be over. Malfatto would be discovered as the killer. The dangerous patrols could stop, men safe at home instead of in the streets where the assassins could get to them. Donato, instead of facing Cesare’s wrath, would be rewarded for his service and Teodor would be free of Fiora’s blackmail. The courtesans would be avenged, the citizens of the Centro district saved, and Teodor could play the hero.
All Malfatto had to do was die.
“Run,” Teodor whispered.
Malfatto looked up sharply.
“They’re coming,” Teodor said. Donato’s whistle sounded again, spurring him into action. He dashed over to Rico’s fallen body, struggling to lift it. He knew Donato would recognize the signature of his épieu and realize who had slain him. “Help me,” Teodor said, and Malfatto hurried over to grab Rico’s legs. Together they hefted the body up and over the retaining wall, Teodor wincing at the sound of it splashing in the dark water. Teddy, came the whisper.
There was no time for the courtesan. Teodor turned on Malfatto and took him once more by the front of his coat.
“Listen to me. Go north,” he instructed. “Get away from the river when you can.” He released Malfatto and took a step back. “Now hit me.”
Even with the mask, Teodor could see Malfatto blanch. The doctor shook his head. Teodor slapped him.
“Hit me!” he commanded. Malfatto hesitated and Teodor backhanded him a second time. Malfatto’s head snapped to the side. “Don’t act like you’re not capable,” he snarled. He raised his hand again, but this time Malfatto caught him at the wrist. With surprising force Malfatto shoved Teodor at the shoulder and flipped him round. Fear burst in the center of Teodor’s chest like ice.
Malfatto’s hands struck him on either side of his neck like blades, as if he were cleaving meat from bone. Teodor’s body went limp as a puppet without string. Whatever Malfatto had done left him deaf in both ears and his eyes saw only a dark blur rush down the street. He toppled face first into the muddy grass, gasping for air and sucking in only the red rainfall that puddled beneath his cheek. With the thunderstorm above him and the Tiber churning a few feet to his left, Teodor began to drown on solid ground.
† † †
He was sitting underneath the dock. The wooden planks above him cast a mild shadow that kept him hidden from the late afternoon sun. The dirt beneath his bare toes was damp from the morning’s tide and he wrapped his arms around his knees to keep from becoming chilled. A breeze was blowing. It sent whispers through the grass that lined the riverbank and caused the dock to creak and groan. He didn’t know how long he’d been here, it felt like forever, and soon the moon would be rising and the water with it.
The far pillars that held up the end of the dock were already half-submerged. At the edge of the water crouched Nanette, her long hair twisted over one shoulder as she carefully stacked rocks into unwieldy mountains. It was something they had used to do as children, a competition to see who could build the biggest pile. He had almost always won.
She kept having to retreat as the water began to move in, each stack she managed growing shorter and smaller until she was out of both rocks and time. With a sigh she came to sit beside him, staring at the water lapping at their ankles. They sat together in silence. When the water grew high enough to force them to their feet he offered her a hand, pulling her up.
The sun went down, a flash of yellow in the small slit between the river’s surface and the underbelly of the dock. Shadows were all around and the waves cut like knives when they slapped his chest.
Do you know why you’re here? she asked.
He shook his head.
She smiled sadly. This is where the monsters go, she told him. All the way down.
Her hand was still held tight in his. The water rose to his chin which meant it was too high for her. That was odd. Nanette had towered over him until he turned seventeen, a summer he remembered spent mostly in bed as his bones twinged and stretched.
It didn’t matter now, or maybe it did, because now he was tall enough to keep her above water a little longer. Her arms went around his shoulders, his hands to her waist. She kissed his temple, then rested her forehead there.
Will you stay with me? she asked. Water began to fill his nostrils, fetid and relentless.
“Yes,” Teodor said, and breathed deep.
† † †
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