Page 24 of Bloodlines and Birthright

I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves. “We have left the hotel.”

“We’re still within its grounds.”

How could he be so calm? Despite being well after midnight, I felt conspicuous as we walked along the drive to the hotel’s front gate. I pulled my cap low to hide my face, but then I felt even more conspicuous. Anyone who saw me would know I was up to something. Fortunately, that insomniac guest was the only person we saw. Once we left the gate behind, the streets of Monteoro were silent, still.

And dark.

The lamps lit only the main street where the best hotels were located. The rest of the village hadn’t been granted the modern luxury of street lighting. Indeed, it felt very Medieval as we trudged along the well-worn cobbled streets, some sporting the grooves of wheel ruts formed over centuries. The houses grew smaller further from the center of Monteoro, their shutters open to let in the cooler night air after a hot day.

With enough light from the waxing gibbous moon to guide us, we stayed on the wider main road, not prepared to risk one of the narrow shortcut lanes that sliced through the village. Unlike the shortcuts, it wound ever upwards on a steady but gentle slope that could be managed by carts. It felt interminable to me, however.

Whenever the gap between us grew more than four or five paces, Oscar waited for me to catch up. He showed no signs of exertion whereas my breathing was labored, and we still had some way to go. He glanced past me, scanning the shadows, searching for unsavory types lurking there. Satisfied that we were alone, he led the way forward again.

It seemed to take forever, but it was probably only fifteen minutes before we reached the faded sign pointing downhill to Pecco. According to the map I’d studied that afternoon, the fastest route between the two villages was by boat around the head separating them. If going by land, there were two routes. One was the road, the other a path. This time, we chose the path.

The map had not told us how steep it would be. The shortcut lanes through Monteoro were not as steeply sloped nor were they as long. Whereas the Monteoro lanes cut a swathe through neighboring buildings, the descent into Pecco was lined with a low stone wall on each side, behind which grew dense shrubs and trees. We seemed to be descending the ancient stone steps for a mile before we finally rejoined the main road in the village at the bottom.

I caught a glimpse between the buildings of the moon’s reflection shimmering like molten silver on the lake’s surface. The shore wasn’t far from where we stood at the village’s edge. Pecco was indeed much smaller than Monteoro. It was little more than a row of stuccoed houses wedged between the shoreline and the street. The piazza could barely be called as such. Roughly square, a vine-covered chapel stood on one side and a warehouse on the other. At its foot was the lake’s edge. Three fishing boats had been pulled out of the water, while several others were moored to iron rings along the stone wall on one side of the inlet. The stink of fish hung in the air.

Oscar drew my attention to the warehouse. No, not a warehouse. The faded white painted letters above the double doors read COLOMBO. This must be the boat building shed of Giovanni Colombo, the man who’d stolen Signore Scala’s wood strengthening spell.

Oscar signaled for me to follow him. He tried the double doors, only to find them locked. The smaller door to the side was unlocked, however. He opened it and slipped inside. I waited until he’d lit the oil lantern hanging on a hook before closing the door on him.

As agreed, I waited outside and turned my attention to the shadows surrounding the piazza. All was silent and the only movement came from the moonlight shimmering on the water, and my own nervous shivers.

Mere moments passed before the door re-opened. “Found it already?” I whispered.

Oscar jerked his head to indicate I should follow him inside. “You need to see this.”

I stayed close to him as he clutched the lantern high to cast the light as wide as possible but even so, the darkness beyond its glow was deep. I could make out the shapes of boat hulls, some stacked crates, and a small forge with the glowing remnants of a fire, but little else.

Then a pair of booted feet came into view. They were connected to a man’s body lying on the floor. He didn’t move.

I gasped. “Is he dead?”

“Going by the amount of blood, I’d say so.” Oscar stepped closer and cast the light over the upper torso.

The man’s hair was matted with blood and had pooled beneath the head. Thank goodness the face was turned away. I didn’t want to see the vacant stare.

Oscar pointed at a hammer a few feet away. “The murder weapon.”

“Murder! Are you sure it’s not an accident? Perhaps he fell and hit his head on something.”

“There’s blood, hair and what appear to be fragments of skull on the hammer, but not on anything else in the vicinity. Except the floor, of course.”

I turned away and bent forward, gasping air into my lungs and willing myself not to throw up.

“Sorry,” Oscar said. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, but did not look again at the ghastly sight.

“Go back outside,” Oscar said. “I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“You’re going to keep searching for the spell?”

“I’d barely begun when I saw him.” He held the lantern high again and looked around. “That bench has some paperwork on it. I’ll start there.”

“Oscar, we have to report the body to the Carabinieri.” I dogged his steps to the desk, partly because I wanted to encourage him to leave, but mostly because I wanted to stay near the light. “Oscar, we can’t stay here a moment longer. What if someone comes? We’ll be accused of killing that man.”