Chapter 49

Basta had been gone for three days. The length of time made Dafne half hopeful because it meant he hadn't found Silvio and Netta. However, it also worried her because it showed how determined he was in hunting them, refusing to return and report failure. Dafne had spent most of this duration locked in the maids' bedroom where all her meals were delivered to her. Her confinement had surprised her at first. She had expected to be put to work but no.

She supposed shutting her in the bedroom meant she couldn't escape. It also kept her isolated, segregated from the other maids until they came to bed. Not that she wasn't already isolated from them. Marianna and Agnese ignored her completely. As for Resa, Mortola had her transferred to another room. She was probably suspicious of the two conspiring together. Mortola had no doubt been informed of their falling out by Orlanda. But that hadn't stopped her from taking this precaution. Dafne suspected she believed Resa had also had a hand in Netta's escape. Dafne was somewhat glad Resa had been moved. She could take the silence treatment from the other two. Resa's rejection felt far worse.

Mortola hadn't made the decision to keep Dafne imprisoned in the bedroom however. The order had come from Capricorn. Dafne expected that he wanted to her to stew alone in the room filled with worry. But she preferred the restless anxiety of her own thoughts to the time spent in his company each day. Each evening Mortola would deliver Dafne to Capricorn's bedroom for a bedtime story. The worst kind of bedtime story.

He read passages from Inkheart to her, very specific passages describing the deeds of a certain someone. Horrific detailed deeds which Capricorn read aloud to prove his case to Dafne. She remembered the first night he did so. She had been afraid as Mortola shunted her up the stairs. Afraid of what was waiting for her. She had expected to see the terrified faces of Silvio and Netta bound and on their knees before a triumphant Capricorn. With Basta there too, his knife already out.

But Basta wasn't there, neither was Silvio or Netta. Her relief was short-lived however as Capricorn announced his intention for her visit, patting the copy of Inkheart in his lap.

"Since Basta's not back yet, I may as well begin educating you against this foolish misconception you've fostered in your head."

He had prepared too. He had dog-eared all the pages containing Basta's dark exploits. She despondently noticed how many there were.

But he began with a tale of mutilation she was already familiar with.

Dustfinger's heart was beating as wildly as bird in his chest. Basta was on top of him, leering over him with a terrible smirk. Dustfinger couldn't move. Not because he didn't want to, there was nothing more he wanted in the world than to be able to push this man off and flee, but he couldn't. Basta had brought accomplices and they were pinning him down. He was trapped. His heart was a bird and he was a bird himself trapped under the claws of a cat. The cat had a knife, a wickedly sharp knife, the point of which he held very close to one of Dustfinger's wildly open eyes.

"Took some time figuring out who you were," his captor purred. Dustfinger barely heard him. He was concentrating on the knife's tip. He couldn't see past the steel, "My competition. I admit I'm rather disappointed. You're just some pathetic vagabond. I can't see why she's favours you. You have no money and you stink of travelling."

His companions laughed but Basta didn't. He withdrew his knife away from Dustfinger's eye and scraped it along the oval of his face. Dustfinger closed his eyes as he did, thinking the man was about to carve his face off. But Basta didn't press too deep to make blood flow. Dustfinger felt the knife lift from his skin and after a moment he dared to open his eyes. He wished he hadn't. Basta's expression staring back at him was full of hate.

"Must be that face of yours," he said to Dustfinger, "Must adore it as much as the blue fairies you hang about with," then he smiled, a horrible thoughtful smile, "Are you on your way to see her now?"

Dustfinger couldn't speak. His tongue felt too thick with fear in his mouth. When he didn't reply, Basta grabbed him by the collar.

"Answer me," he snarled, "You're going to see Roxanne, aren't you!"

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Basta didn't really require an answer. But Dustfinger wanted him to stop throttling him so he nodded. Basta resumed smiling, slamming Dustfinger back on the ground.

"I'm sure you'll want to look smart for her Dirtyfingers," Basta waved his knife in front of Dustfinger's face, panic rose up Dustfinger's chest, he knew something was about to happen, he struggled uselessly, "So let me help you out..." Dustfinger struggled even harder but Basta didn't look worried, he knew Dustfinger couldn't escape, not from what he was about to do.

When Basta made the first incision, Dustfinger was too shocked to react. It was only when the pain began burning brighter and brighter that he began to scream. He twisted and writhed but Basta had taken hold of his face to stop it moving while he cut with slow drawn-out precision. Blood ran into Dustfinger's eyes, mixing with his tears. Basta made three cuts across his face and then sat back, enjoying his handiwork, enjoying the suffering on his rival's face. Then he leaned over and spat in it. But Dustfinger was too overwhelmed by pain to notice. His vision was too blurred by tears to make out his mutilator's face as he said his parting words,

"To help you please the girls even better in the future!"

Dafne was sickened. She knew Basta had scarred Dustfinger. The knowledge had always made her uncomfortable. The fact he had mutilated another man and for no other reason other than a slight to his ego. But knowing about it was different to hearing it recounted in all its graphic detail. Dustfinger seemed to treat his scars with a sad self-mocking acceptance. He masked the pain of having been dealt them. But now Dafne knew the pain and terror he had felt at the exact moment of their creation. It felt almost as though she had been there, as helpless as Dustfinger as it unfolded, unable to come to his aid, forced to watch, forced to watch someone she loved do such a wicked thing and revel in it.

Capricorn smiled at her repulsion on her face.

"Do you still believe there is good in Basta?" he didn't give her a chance to answer, "I hope you haven't come around to the truth just yet. I have plenty more examples I'd like to give you."

He read out a few others before he released her. She didn't absorb them as vividly as Dustfinger's mutilation, probably because she hadn't gotten over the shock of that to concentrate. Not that it mattered. Capricorn had succeeded in unsettling her. She lay in bed that night, replaying Basta's attack on Dustfinger. She feared for the man now just as much as Silvio and Netta. What would Basta do if he caught him along with the other two? Would he drag him before Capricorn as well, begging to be able to kill him first? The idea filled her with fearful disgust. She felt disgusted with herself too.

You love a man that would do this. You love him. You've had his hand on your face, the same hand which wields his knife and has caused so much pain. But you don't think about that when he touches you. You only think about how good it feels. You forget about what he's done. You don't care...

But she did care. She cared about his past but she also cared about his future. She couldn't let Capricorn shake her belief that he could redeem himself. He had goodness inside him. She couldn't let Capricorn make her doubt that.

The problem was he had gotten to her. The seeds of doubt had already burrowed into her brain.

Maybe he is right. Maybe I'm seeing what I want to see instead of the truth.

Even her subconscious mind was against her. When she eventually fell asleep, she dreamt of a knife stabbing at her through the darkness, stabbing and stabbing until her vision ran red. She woke up whimpering but whether or not her crying stirred her roommates; neither of them came to comfort her. Dafne was afraid to go back to sleep after that. She forced herself to stay awake until sometime after breakfast the next day. At that point tiredness overwhelmed her and she slipped into a mercifully dreamless slumber.

But her sleep was cut short by the arrival of a visitor bearing her lunch.

"Pietro?"

"Hello bella," he smiled at her. He smiled at Orlanda too who was with him. To Dafne's amazement, the woman appeared to blush.

"Just knock on the door when you want to come out," she said in a slightly flustered voice which sounded so unlike her.

"Oh I will," Pietro said, still shining his smile on her, "Thank you for letting me see her."

Orlanda let out a strange girlish laugh,

"Not a problem, not a problem," she turned her gaze to Dafne who was watching her with stunned amusement. She immediately scowled, reverting back to her familiar self, "I don't why you would want to see her though."

"Someone has a crush on you," Dafne observed after Orlanda had closed the door behind her.

Pietro chuckled,

"Orlanda? Perhaps," he came and sat down on the edge of her bed, lowering his voice so no one standing on the other side of the door listening could hear, "She's not really my type."

"Then why were you smiling so charmingly at her?" Dafne asked.

"You think my smile is charming?" Pietro said, giving her same exact smile from before.

Dafne rolled her eyes. What was with this guy?

"I meant Orlanda found it charming."

"Oh I see," Pietro said but he didn't look disappointed. He probably believed Dafne found it just as charming as Orlanda even though she hadn't declared as much, "Well I needed her to let me in to see you."

"Why did you want to see me?" Dafne asked.

"I thought you might be lonely," Pietro replied, "Here, eat your lunch. You must be hungry," he handed her the bowl of salad he'd carried in; "By the looks of it Mortola's not feeding you very generously."

Dafne shrugged, picking at the salad listlessly,

"I don't mind. I haven't had much appetite lately."

"Probably all the worrying you're doing, am I right?" Pietro said with sympathy in his voice.

Dafne nodded. But she didn't add that her lack of hunger also stemmed from hearing all the hideous details of Basta's past deeds. They made her sick to her stomach.

"You must eat though," Pietro said encouragingly, "You need to keep your strength up. There are grapes in your salad, they look nice..."

Dafne held the bowl out to him,

"Take some if you want."

Pietro popped one in his mouth.

"They taste good too," he said with a smile, "Here try one."

He plucked another out of the bowl and held it to her lips. It happened so fast, she automatically opened her mouth without thinking. She ended up with a grape in her mouth, confused as to how it got there. Confused and embarrassed. But she couldn't spit it out so she chewed it up and swallowed it grudgingly. It did taste nice and refreshing much to her chagrin.

"Good yes?" Pietro said as if reading her mind. It frustrated her that he looked so damn amused.

She scowled at him,

"Yes good," she said resentfully.

Her scowling didn't seem to bother him. He picked up another grape and went to see if he could repeat the trick. But she was prepared this time and turned her head.

"I'm not a baby. I don't need you to feed me," she told him with irritation.

Pietro shrugged, eating the grape himself,

"I'm just trying to help," he said after he was done eating it, "What will Basta say when he gets back and finds you malnourished."

"Malnourishment is the least of my worries," Dafne remarked bitterly.

"He will find them you know," Pietro said, thinking this would comfort her, "That's why he's been gone so long. He doesn't want to come back without them."

"I don't want to talk about it," Dafne said testily. She didn't even want to think about it. Not that she had any control of that. But she could stop this man discussing it with her.

"As you wish," he said gently, "What would you like to talk about instead?"

Dafne shrugged.

"How's Nico?" she asked.

"Nico's fine," he told her, "Ernesto, you met him recently I believe, my brother-in-law, took him sight-seeing today."

There he went, reading her mind again. She had been wanting to know why Pietro hadn't brought Nico along with him.

"What is he sight-seeing, all the dilapidated houses on offer?" Dafne said.

Pietro laughed at her sarcasm.

"No, he's not interested in houses," he said, "They aren't touring around this village either. They went to the next one over."

"There's not much to sight-see over there either," Dafne said, "I should know. I've been."

Pietro smiled,

"There is if you want to sight-see women, which what they're up to. Ernesto says there are a few nice looking local girls there. He's dating one of them," he shook his head bemusedly, "Half his age, still lives with her parents but I'm not one to judge. His sister is younger than I am... not that I'm old."

Dafne chose not respond to the last part, even though she would have liked to know how old his wife was. Pietro appeared to be in his thirties.

"Why didn't you go with them?" she asked instead.

"Me?" Pietro chuckled, "Shame on you for asking me that. I'm a married man. I can't go looking at other women," he sighed almost regretfully, "Besides I wanted to see you."

"Why? You hardly know me," Dafne said.

"Yes that's true but there's something about you..." his gaze on her became uncomfortable, "Something about you that I find appealing for some reason. I just can't put my finger on it yet."

"Is it because you find me attractive?" Dafne said, angry at herself for blushing.

"Well you are attractive," Pietro said, shaking his head as she began to edge away from him, "There's no need to shy away just because I'm admitting this. I'm not about to throw myself on you and ravish you."

Dafne stared at him in alarm.

"You better not," she warned him, sliding away a little more quickly.

Pietro sighed,

"What did I just say to you? Like I said before, I'm a married man and my wife is actually incredibly beautiful. I don't need to find beauty elsewhere... Would you like to see her picture?" he added as she still looked doubtful.

He handed her a photograph he took from his wallet. It was black and white and looked professionally taken. His wife had similar features to her brother, the same colour hair and pouty lips, which looked better on her. If this photograph was recent, principessa couldn't have been older than thirty. She was wearing a black dress which accentuated her curves and had a beatific smile on her face. There was no trace of the vitriol she was capable of, the photograph only showed how stunning she was. Pietro hadn't been lying.

"She's very beautiful," Dafne said, passing the picture back.

"Well that's why I married her," Pietro said, admiring his wife before the photograph disappeared back into his wallet, "That and it brought the families closer together."

Dafne frowned,

"You do love you though?" He hadn't mentioned loving her.

"Do you love Basta?" Pietro replied instead of answering.

Dafne bowed her head. That was difficult question for her to answer at the moment.

"Forgive me," Pietro said, causing her raise her head to look at him, "That was quite rude. It's not my place to ask you that. Or to bring him up at all since you're so worried about him."

Dafne sighed wearily,

"You don't need to apologise. It's fine."

It wasn't fine and they sat for a moment in awkward silence until Pietro broke it.

"I have to admit I wasn't entirely honest before," he said.

"About what?" Dafne said a little uneasily.

"About Nico," Pietro replied, "I said he was fine but he's actually rather worried about you. He's like me. He's taken a shine to you."

Dafne smiled,

"Well I like him too. He's very nice."

"You like him but do you like me?" Pietro asked and when she didn't reply, his face fell a little, "No?"

"I'm just not sure what to make of you," Dafne said apologetically. She felt somewhat bad as he had come to keep her company and he had helped defend Basta from treason, "Don't take it personally. I used to be the same around Basta. It's because you're both..." dangerous "intimidating."

Pietro smiled, accepting her answer.

"You don't need to feel intimidated by me," he said, reaching over to pat her hand reassuringly. She had never met a man who went to touch her so often. She was wary of this even though he had stated he wasn't interested in her romantically. "I suppose Nico's easier to like because he's so sweet and harmless."

"He seems to be," Dafne said, "But no one can stay harmless in your line of work."

"Nico's different," Pietro told her, "He doesn't participate. He only drives me places. That's what I promised his father. Nico's father used to be head of our family you see but then he retired, bought a vineyard. He chose me as his successor because Nico was his only son and he didn't want him following in his footsteps. He wanted Nico to take over running the vineyard when he grew up."

"So why didn't he?" Dafne asked.

Pietro sighed,

"Because Nico has a romantic fantasy about being a man of honour."

"Man of honour?"

"A Mafioso."

"Oh I see."

"He wanted a life which seemed more exciting than being stuck on a vineyard. His father was pretty disappointed but I think he knew he couldn't hold him back. So he made me promise that Nico would only ever be the driver, which is enough for Nico anyway. He can wear his sunglasses and go around playing at being a man of honour without ever seeing the darker side."

"Wouldn't it better for him to see?" Dafne said, "Then he might realise that he's not cut out for it. Go back to the vineyard."

Pietro shrugged,

"One day he will I think," he said, "But it's up to him. Mind you, he got a nasty reality shock when they came to the house to collect you the other night. He told me all about it. What Sergio did to your arm," there was hard disapproval in his voice; "He shouldn't have done that. But he won't ever do it again. I guarantee that."

"What do you mean by that?" Dafne said uneasily.

Pietro smiled almost tenderly at her. Such a smile only increased her unease.

"Because I showed him what it feels like to have someone bend your arm backwards to the point it nearly breaks."

Dafne's fingers went to lips worriedly,

"You didn't," she said.

"I did," Pietro replied, "In fact I went a little overboard and broke his arm."

"You broke his arm," Dafne cried, completely horrified, "How could... Why would you do that?"

"Because he shouldn't have treated you like that," Pietro said.

Basta would have said exactly the same thing. That's what distressed her as much as the fact that a man she had only just met, had been moved to avenge her in such a violent way.

"I think you need to leave," she told him, "You need to leave right now."

Pietro frowned,

"Why? What's the matter?"

Dafne stared at him wildly.

"You. Broke. A. Man's. Arm!"

"Because he almost broke yours," Pietro justified.

"Do you think that makes it okay? It doesn't. Now get out."

"As you wish," Pietro said disappointedly, "Basta would have done the same you know."

"You don't need to tell me that," Dafne said bitterly, "You two are the same. You think you can solve problems with violence."

Pietro shrugged,

"That's just the men we are bella. Good day."

Dafne buried her face in hands as he went.

Just the men we are.

If Capricorn found out Pietro had visited her, he probably would have rewarded the man for assisting his effort. He had reminded her of how violent Basta could be. Not that she needed reminding. Soon enough it was evening and Mortola came to fetch her for more gruesome bedtime stories. Her doubt was now growing bigger and bigger like a shadow descending over her. Her own voice of belief had been pushed aside, drowned out by the voices of Capricorn and Pietro. Their words were in her head and she couldn't get them out.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dafne was lying awake because she had dreamt about fire. This coincided with what Capricorn had read to her the previous night. It had been the account of a kindly miller had sold too much of his produce to the poor at a cheaper price. Unfortunately that had meant that he didn't have enough to pay tribute to the Adderhead. The Adderhead, Dafne had learnt, was a Prince who Capricorn served in a sort of mercenary-like capacity. She was surprised by this as Capricorn gave himself the airs of someone who gave orders, not someone who took them. But this was merely a side note.

What mattered was that Capricorn had sent Basta (accompanied by Cockerell) to sort out the miller by setting his house on fire. In the morning stillness, Dafne could hear the faint screams of the miller and his family. She shuddered, putting her hands over her ears as if to block out the sound. But it did no good since the noise came from inside her head. But the sound of the key in lock wasn't. She sat upright as soon as she heard it. What was going on? It was too early for Orlanda to be rousing the other two for work. It was still too dark.

But the person who opened the door wasn't Orlanda. It was Mortola and she had come for Dafne.

"What's going on?" Dafne forced herself to ask as they headed upstairs. She already feared the worst. How could she not. Mortola was taking her to Capricorn.

"You'll find out soon enough," Mortola said with a sneer, "I hope you're awake enough to react."

How could she not be awake? She had been awake for hours and was even more so now, panic making her extremely alert and frightened.

Was Basta back? Had he found them? What other reason would she be fetched at such an early hour?

She wanted to run away, back down the stairs but Mortola had a tight hold on her, even as she reached with her free hand to open the door of Capricorn's bedroom.

Dafne shut her eyes as they went in, not wanting to look. But she had to. She had to see in spite of her dread.

She opened her eyes. She saw Capricorn. She saw Basta.

But no one else...

To be continued...