Murder at Midnight (6 page)

F
ABRIZIO’S BODY TURNED COLD.
B
ARELY ABLE TO BREATHE
, he threw himself against the cell door and stared wide-eyed.

“Who are
you?”
the creature demanded.

“A … a … boy.”

“What do you want?”

Behind his back, Fabrizio fumbled frantically for the door handle. “I … I was passing by.”

“Passing by?” returned a voice full of mockery. “In a prison? The door was locked. How did you get in? Did you bring some food? Water?”

All Fabrizio could say was, “Are you truly … actually … the … devil?”

“That’s what I’m called,” came the proud answer.

“What … else might you be called?” asked Fabrizio.

“My name, stupid!”

“What … what’s your name?”

“Maria!” the creature all but shouted.

“But … but Maria is a holy saint’s name. And a girl’s name at that.”

“Why shouldn’t I be called Maria? I
am
a girl.”

“A
female
devil?” said Fabrizio. “I never heard of anything like that. But you … you don’t dress like a girl.”

“These” — Maria gestured to her clothing — “are my working clothes. Do you have objections to girls who work?”

“Oh, no, Signorina,” said Fabrizio, unable to take his eyes from Maria’s sooty face. “But, didn’t you say you were the … devil?”

“You didn’t ask my
name,”
said the girl. “You asked me what I
was.”

“Signorina, with the most deep and profound apologies. You must forgive me. I never met a devil before.”

“This whole city is full of stupid devils.”

“It is?” cried Fabrizio.

“There I was walking down the street, when I was arrested for doing my business.”

“With permission, Signorina Devil, what is your business?”

“Passing these papers around.” Maria gestured to the ones on the ground.

“You … were? When?”

“Yesterday. And I’ve been here ever since.”

Fabrizio put up his hands in protest. “But, Signorina Maria Devil, where did you get them?”

“I helped make them.”

“Make
them?” whispered Fabrizio, in shock.

“Every time I say something, you come back like a stupid echo. Do you have a name?”

“Fabrizio.”

“And
you,
Signor Fabrizio, are
you
a devil?”

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” he assured her, hastily making the sign of the cross over his heart. “But, Signorina Maria Devil, please, did you use magic to make these papers?”

“Magic? It took hard work, paper, and ink.”

“Ink?”

“What do you think I’m covered with?”

“Signorina Devil, I —”

“Stop calling me ‘devil’! If you don’t call me Maria, I won’t talk to you.”

“Yes, of course. Maria Devil, then. But why was the work hard?”

“I suppose you think it’s easy to use a printing press.”

Fabrizio stared blankly at the girl. “What’s a … a … pant … presser?”

“A …
printing
… press!” said the girl with loud, overstated slowness, as if Fabrizio were hard of hearing.

“Forgive me, Signorina. In my whole entire life I’ve never heard of such a … thing.”

“That’s because you live in the most ignorant, backward city in all of Italy. Printing is our
work.
My parents —”

“Are
they
devils, too?” asked Fabrizio.

“I’m
the printer’s devil!” Maria cried, slapping herself on her chest.

A baffled Fabrizio sat on the bed as far away from the girl as possible. “Signorina, I beg you — tell me about this … pressed … painting.”

Exasperated, Maria leaned back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. “I’m tired of answering stupid questions. Just try to understand. We — that’s to say my parents
and I — came from Milan. We brought along the German invention,
the printing press.
Though the invention is forty years old, and lots of places in Italy have one, this kingdom is such a backward,
stupid
place it has no printing press. It may be 1490, but you all dress, talk, act, and think as if it were still the Dark Ages.”

“Signorina —”

“Don’t interrupt. We came here to start a printing business. Fine! My parents purchased a license from the authorities and put the press together.”

“Is it a … machine?”

“You could call it that. Mostly, my task is to rub the ink on the letters, help with the printing, clean the type, and put it away.”

“Can you read?” asked Fabrizio.

“Lord of heaven! Of course I can read. Can’t you?”

“Not really.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Pergamontio is the most ignorant place!”

“Signorina, I beg you, go on with your story.”

“Fine. I usually deliver what we print. So, after we printed these papers — some four hundred of them — I was told to pass them about the city. I had almost finished when I was arrested.

“The work I do keeps me filthy most of the time. That’s why I’m called a ‘printer’s devil.’ I’m filthy because the ink I work with is hard to scrub off. Now do you understand?”

“I’m trying to,” said Fabrizio. “But this … machine, this … presser.”

Maria grunted with frustration. “Printing press. Do you know how writing gets onto paper?”

Fabrizio, recalling what Mangus had told him, brightened. “Each letter is written out by hand. It takes forever. At a scriptorium.”

“That’s the old-fashioned way. The German invention — the printing press —
imitates
writing to perfection. It’s cheaper, faster, and makes each page look exactly like the other.”

“Exactly?”
cried Fabrizio, excited by this revelation.

“It’s as my mother says: ‘The inked type kisses the paper so wonderfully the paper never forgets.’”

Fabrizio jumped off the bed. “Signorina, are you truly telling me that the way these papers” — he gestured to the floor — “came to be
exactly
the same as the others is by your … printing machine?”

“Why else do you think Signor Gutenberg invented it?”

“Because he’s the devil?”

“No!
I
am the printer’s devil, but by the name of God, I assure you, our work has nothing to do with devils.”

“Good!” Fabrizio clapped his hands with glee. “You’ve told me more than you know. The mystery of the many same papers is solved! I’ll tell my master. He’ll be thrilled. Where is this machine?”

“At my house.”

“I’d love to see it. And so will my master. But, Signorina, another very important question. Was it your parents’ idea to make—?”

“Print,” the girl corrected.

“To …
print
those papers?”

“You are so stupid! I told you: My parents were just setting up the business. By the time we got here, we had no more money. With someone willing to pay them to do the job, they were not going to turn it down. In fact, after they got their printing license, it was their first work in Pergamontio.”

“Well then,” said an excited Fabrizio, “who asked them to do the job?”

“I have no idea, though I did wonder who might be trying to overthrow your king.”

“Was it your parents?”

Maria pulled away. “You don’t listen well. Somebody
told
my parents what to print. A printer’s job is to make words appear. It’s censors who make them disappear. Printers fight censors all the time. I hate censors!” She crossed her arms. “I still don’t understand who you are and why you’re even here.”

“Signorina, as I said, my name is Fabrizio, and I’m trying to do a huge number of things. Number one: Protect my master who sits in a cell down the hall. I have failed completely. Two: Get rid of these treasonous papers.
Failed again, miserably. Three: Find out how the papers were made. Which —
brava!
— you have explained. Four: Find the one who ordered the papers. Five: Tell DeLaBina. When I do all that, my master will be free and, without doubt, he’ll let me live in his house forever, which will make me the happiest boy in the whole entire city.”

Maria shrugged. “The only person I know in this stupid place is the fellow who arrested me. I don’t even know his name. But he’s fat, sweats a lot, and is pompous.”

“That’s DeLaBina! The primo magistrato. The chief prosecutor, in charge of all laws and licenses. A great power here in Pergamontio. Amazing! He arrested you, me, and my master.”

“Why were you arrested?”

“For the same reason as you: putting these papers around the city.”

“But you didn’t. It was me.”

“True! I was trying to get rid of them — to help my master. Still, when I got here, Prince Cosimo sent me to be executed. But I was clever enough to get free.”

“You’re still in prison. That’s not very free.”

“I was on my way out.”

“I’d like to get out, too,” said Maria.

“So would my master. I just wish you had told DeLaBina about your printing machine.”

“He already knew,” said Maria.

“He did?” cried Fabrizio. He thought for a moment. “Of course! He’s in charge of all licenses. Your parents must have gotten theirs from
him.”

“Maybe.”

“If they did, it means DeLaBina was lying to my master!” Fabrizio related how DeLaBina accused Mangus of making the papers.

“Are you suggesting,” said Maria, “it was DeLaBina who asked my parents to make them?”

Fabrizio nodded. “But that didn’t keep him from charging my master with using magic to make them!” Fabrizio jumped up and went to the door of the cell. “I must tell my master about your machine and that DeLaBina knew all along that it was your parents who made the papers.”

Maria slumped back against the wall. “I wish I knew where my parents are.”

Fabrizio swung around. “What do you mean?”

Tears filled Maria’s eyes. “They’ve disappeared. I’m really worried about them. Wouldn’t you be if your parents were gone?”

“Forgive me, my parents died some time ago.”

Maria bobbed her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Did DeLaBina know anything about your parents’ whereabouts?”

Maria shook her head. “That was the one thing he didn’t know. In fact, he said he must find them. He kept questioning me as to where they might be.”

“Don’t you have any idea?”

Maria shook her head.

“I’m sure my master could help.”

“How?”

“My master knows more about things appearing and disappearing than anyone in the whole world. He’s a magician.”

Maria sniffed. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Of course there is. And he’s taught me. Look.”

Fabrizio reached into his pocket, pulled out his hand, and made some motions so that it appeared as if a coin came from her nose. “There,” he said. “Magic.”

“You took the coin from your pocket, hid it in your palm, and then slipped it into your other hand,” said Maria.

Fabrizio sighed. “I need more practice.”

“Do you live with this magician?” asked Maria.

“I did. He just dismissed me because … of this business with DeLaBina. But when I tell him how those papers were made, I’m sure he’ll be so happy he’ll take me back. So, with permission, Signorina Devil, I’ll go to him.” He got up and put his ear to the cell door and listened. Hearing nothing, he poked his head out. No one was in the hallway.

“I’m going,” he whispered over his shoulder.

Maria jumped up. “I’m coming with you.”

“Good. You can tell him about your machine.”

As Fabrizio stepped into the hallway, Maria picked up the lantern and followed.

After locking the cell door behind them, Fabrizio hung the key in its proper place. Next he gazed up and down the corridor, hoping he’d recognize which door led to Mangus.

“I thought you said he was right here.”

“He is,” Fabrizio insisted, trying desperately to remember the right door. “Somewhere.”

Maria leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. “Why don’t you use magic?” she suggested.

Embarrassed, Fabrizio said, “I’m sure it’s this door. Master!” he called into the door crack.

There was no reply.

He went on to the next door and called. Again no reply. A glance at Maria convinced him she was looking at him with scorn.

He pulled down a key, put it in the nearest lock, and turned. It opened.

“I’ve found him!” announced Fabrizio as he poked his head inside.

But the cell was empty.

F
ABRIZIO, PRAYING HE HAD GONE INTO THE WRONG CELL
, went to the bed, dropped to his knees, and gathered up the blanket that lay there. He examined its edge. “A hole,” he announced, his heart sinking.

“There are always holes in blankets,” said Maria impatiently.

“When I was hiding under my master’s bed I peeked out through this
exact
hole. I’m sure of it.”

“Why were you hiding under your master’s bed?”

“I can’t explain now. But right after I left him I heard voices. Someone was coming for him. I jumped into your cell so no one would catch me. I didn’t know who it was, but if it was DeLaBina, I just pray he didn’t send Master to be executed. He threatened to.”

“Fabrizio,” said Maria, “I’m truly sorry for your troubles. And for your master’s. But I have to find my parents.” She took a step away.

Fabrizio, thinking about what might have happened to Mangus, didn’t move.

The girl pulled on his sleeve. “Once we’re free and I find my parents, I’ll help you look for your master.” She held the lamp before her and set off through the hallways. Her red hair seemed to smolder.

After a moment, a pensive Fabrizio followed, passing through one deserted hallway after another. From what seemed like far away, the cathedral bells began to toll. The two halted and counted out the twelve peals.

“Midnight,” said Maria and started up again with Fabrizio by her side.

Yelling shattered the silence: “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet elsewhere.”

Fabrizio and Maria stopped immediately.

“I think … I think that’s DeLaBina!” Fabrizio whispered.

“You’ve acted like a fool,” returned another voice. “That magician believes you’re the one behind all the papers and what we’re doing.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I spoke to him in his cell.”

“Don’t worry. I have him under control.”

“And those papers?”

“They were made on something called a printing press.”

“How do you know?”

“I arranged it.”

“You! I thought it was the magician. Why didn’t you tell me? We’ll be found out!”

“Not a chance! We’re making progress. You’re such a fool! Just because you —”

A horrible scream erupted.

Fabrizio and Maria spun around and ran as fast as they could. After a few minutes they stopped to catch their breath. “What happened?” Maria whispered. “Who was the other person?”

“I wish I knew,” said Fabrizio, gulping for air.

“Fabrizio, we need to get out of here.” Walking fast, she led the way through one dismal hallway after another. It was as if they were going in circles. Then, as they turned still another corner, Fabrizio gasped. He grabbed the lantern from Maria and held it high.

“Look!”

On the ground, a large body covered by a black robe lay still. The head was covered but the legs stuck out.

“Is he … alive?” Maria whispered.

Fabrizio edged forward and knelt down. Then he reached out and drew back the robe. Beneath lay a man with his head twisted to one side. A ruby-encrusted dagger was sticking out of his back. On the ground a pool of wet blood was spreading.

“That’s … that’s the man who arrested me,” a shocked Maria stammered.

“It’s DeLaBina. That must have been him screaming. And …” whispered Fabrizio, “I recognize that dagger. It’s the king’s.”

Grabbing Maria’s hand, he pulled her along the hallway as fast as he could. But barely did they turn the first corner when they all but ran into someone. Jumping back, Fabrizio held up the lantern.

It was somebody wearing a long black robe.

“Blessed God!” cried Fabrizio. He turned, prepared to flee, only to bump into Maria.

“Stand where you are!” the black-robed figure shouted
from behind the hood that hid his face. His voice was so commanding that Fabrizio and Maria felt compelled to obey.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the black robe.

Not knowing what else to do, Fabrizio bowed. “Signore, I’m just a servant.” Then, remembering Mangus’s words, “Pay attention to what’s visible and you can discover what’s hidden,” he scrutinized the figure. But the man was so wrapped around within his black robe, from the tip of one red boot to the top of his hidden head, Fabrizio could not begin to guess who it might be.

“Why,” demanded the black robe, “are you wandering around here?”

“Forgive us … Signore,” said Maria. “We … we … wanted to visit a prisoner. But we couldn’t find him, so we were trying to leave. And go home. We’ve become lost. Perhaps, Signore, you can tell us the way out.”

As if pondering Maria’s request, the black robe remained motionless. “Who were you trying to visit?” he finally asked.

“Mangus the Magician,” said Fabrizio. “I … I used to be his servant.”

“Were you not to be executed?” said the black robe.

“Signore, the … king freed me.”

“The king! Why?”

“I have no idea,” said Fabrizio.

The black robe made no response. Fabrizio could not tell if the man was even looking at him.

“Forgive me, Signore,” Fabrizio ventured timidly. “Do you … know if Mangus was … executed?”

The black robe did not answer. Instead, he said, “Have you seen anyone else?”

“Signor DeLaBina,” said Maria.

The black robe turned to her sharply. “Where?”

“Back there.” Maria pointed in the direction where they had discovered the body. “Not far.”

“Did you … did you speak to him?”

“Signore,” said Maria, “the dead can’t speak.”

The black robe grew still, as if trying to make up his mind. Next moment, he turned and walked in a direction opposite to where DeLaBina lay. After a few paces he
stopped abruptly and turned. “The way out is in
that
direction.” He pointed a white-gloved hand toward another corridor. “Continue along,” said the black robe, pointing. “Make a left, then a right. You’ll find a door. It’s not locked. You may leave the building that way. Indeed, I urge you to leave the city.” That said, the black robe turned and strode away in haste.

“Many thanks, Signore!” Fabrizio called. He and Maria stared after him until his footsteps became faint and he disappeared into the gloom.

“Come on!” cried Maria, and she ran down the corridor with Fabrizio close behind. When they reached the first turning, they paused.

“Fabrizio,” said Maria, quite breathless, “do you have any … any idea who
that
… was?”

“He couldn’t have been the king. When I told him the king freed me, he acted surprised.”

“Who was it, then?”

“His voice sounded like the one we heard talking to DeLaBina before the scream. I’ll tell you one thing: Count Scarazoni hated DeLaBina.”

“Would this Scarazoni have murdered him?”

“He has a reputation for killing people.”

“Why did he tell us to leave Pergamontio?” asked Maria.

“Everybody asks me to leave,” said Fabrizio.

“Come on.”

They raced on. At the end of a passageway was a door. One hard shove and it swung open onto a rush of damp air and fog. They bolted out, but they could see almost nothing.

Although Maria was standing only a few feet away, she appeared as little more than a shadow.

“Fabrizio?” she called.

“Right here!”

She drew close. “Do you know where we are?”

“I suppose behind the Hall of Justice.”

Straining to see through the swirling mist, they started walking. The fog began to thin. They could see a little.

“Stop!” whispered Fabrizio.

“What is it?”

“Look!”

A dark figure — some sixty paces away — seemed to float up out of the gloom.

“It’s the black robe again!” said Fabrizio.