'And before nightfall a shocked and respectful world
received the news of his decease.'
- Thomas Mann, 'Death in Venice'.
Chapter Four: The News of His Decease
Doujima stepped out of the hotel and onto the street, stopping briefly to adjust to the change in light after the dimness of the lobby. The wave of noise that hit her was almost as oppressive as the sudden, bright sunlight; morning traffic combined with the usual throng of shorts-clad summer tourists. She and Nagira were probably lucky that they had been placed deep within Dorsoduro, rather than closer to the Piazza San Marco and the center of town, where it was impossible to turn a corner without nearly getting run over by a pack of sightseers.
The hotel concierge had given her the directions to Al Profeta, but she still managed to get turned around once she got to the calle, which seemed to stretch on forever. By the time she approached the trattoria-pizzeria, she was fifteen minutes late and just a little bit aggravated. An enigmatic letter-writer and an equally elusive restaurant; today was not off to the best start.
Sometimes, espionage was not nearly as glamorous as it was cracked up to be.
Even if she did get to wear some killer shoes in the line of duty.
The restaurant was packed wall-to-wall with people, both vacationers and locals, enjoying a leisurely lunch hour. Doujima waved off the waiter who came to seat her. Even if she had told him that there was someone waiting for her, it would have been a moot point, since she would have been unable to name that person or even describe what they looked like. For all she knew, her SOLOMON contact could have been an elderly Swedish woman with blue hair, or the studly descendant of some Roman god.
Idly hoping that the latter was the case, she wove her way through the crowded restaurant. When no one made any move to get her attention, she made her way toward the open door at the back of the dining room, which led to the outdoor seating. The small garden, with its neat little tables, was very pretty, and a great deal quieter than the inside of the restaurant had been; it would make sense as a meeting place, especially on a warm day such as this one.
She recognized him the moment she stepped through the door. The summer sunshine made his white hair appear almost gold, and the straight, sober lines of his black clothing looked distinctly out of place when surrounded by the colorful frivolity that was Venice. The dark glasses and hat that she remembered him wearing the last time she had crossed paths with him were set carefully at one corner of the table, but he still appeared tall and imposing, even while seated. It took more effort than she would have admitted to cross the garden and slide into the empty seat across from the man.
"Father Juliano," she said, and she let her bag drop down next to her seat, "Fancy meeting you here."
The elderly priest had looked up from his careful contemplation of a cup of coffee when she had approached, and this close she noted that his eyes were a pale, startling blue. "Miss Doujima. Thank you for joining me on such short notice." He glanced at her, and one of his eyebrows might have twitched upwards. "Please, have a seat," he added, and she thought that she heard a slight, ironic drawl tinge his so-serious tone. Doujima shrugged and crossed her legs, settling more comfortably into the chair that she had already claimed.
"I hope you do not mind," Juliano continued, "but I have already ordered." Doujima shrugged again to show that she didn't.
"I should warn you that Venetian cuisine is somewhat... touch-and-go," she told him. She had been reaching for the menu resting at the edge of the table, but now she set it down again. Unsure of what to do with her hands and, uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his blue stare, she picked up a packet of sugar. She started to fiddle with it absently, pulling on the paper edges of the packet, or shaking it by a corner so that all of the sugar settled into one side.
Juliano watched the quick, restless movements of her hands for a moment. He smiled, but it was a little stiff. Probably from disuse, Doujima decided, a bit sourly. "Alfonso always raved about this place," the priest reassured her. If she was surprised at his use of the spymaster's real name, she didn't show it. "For a man so fond of his cigars and brandy, he did love his pizza."
"Alfonso also liked the zaletti," she retorted, and shuddered a little at the thought of the sun-dried maize cakes found in many of the city's bakeries, which had about the same flavor and consistency as her boot soles. Doujima loved Venice but, unlike so many of their Italian cousins, the Venetians had gained a well-earned notoriety for their inedible cooking. That had changed a lot as the tourist trade grew, but the local baked goods still tasted like sugar-frosted leather. It had been quite a shock to her when she had first moved to the city, especially since she had been used to the lavish decadence of the French patisseries.
A waiter brought her a glass of water, and she abandoned the packet of sugar in favor of taking a drink. She wrapped her hands around the cup, watching as her fingers cut trails through the layer of condensation on the outside of the glass. "Why am I here?" she asked, once the waiter had departed and left them alone again.
The changes in Juliano's demeanor at her sudden question were clear. The faint smile that had curved his lips disappeared and, if anything, the intensity of his gaze on her face became even more pronounced. She could understand how this man had become one of SOLOMON's top Hunter-trainers, before eventually making his way into the ranks of the Assembly, the closest thing that the syndicate had to a ruling body. Her father, also a member, had charisma and sly sort of intelligence. Juliano had... power. A strong presence, and a certain commanding air that demanded respect. She wondered what it would have been like to grown up under such a man, and felt a pang of sympathy for Robin. No wonder the craft-user had been so quiet and polite.
Doujima stole a glance at the priest, and dismissed the thought. No matter how unapproachable Juliano seemed, there had been honest regret when he had spoken about his protégée on the night of the Factory's collapse. She would guess that he had been a strict warden, but she also couldn't doubt that he had felt a great deal of affection for the young girl.
"I have an assignment for you," he said, and it took Doujima a moment to recall what she had asked him. She couldn't quite keep the skepticism off of her face at his words.
"With all due respect, Father," she said, "I'm not allowed to take my assignments from you. SOLOMON Intelligence is supposed to be mostly autonomous from the rest of the syndicate, to keep us impartial in the event that we're sent to investigate another branch within the organization." A precaution that was usually only partially successful at best, as her own experiences in Japan had proved.
There was a pause. It only lasted a few seconds, but to her it seemed longer. "You sound just like him," Juliano said quietly, and for just a moment she fancied she saw something sad and tired in his eyes.
"Alfonso? I guess so. He has a way of making sure that if he teaches you something, it sticks in your head. Occasionally he does so by smacking you on it with a rolled up newspaper, but it works."
"He was very fond of you."
Something about the way that Juliano phrased the comment bothered her, but she couldn't pinpoint what. "I guess I kind of like the old guy," Doujima replied. "He...," she trailed off, and shook her head. There was absolutely no reason to go sharing personal information with Juliano and, when she stopped to think about it, she really wasn't inclined to do so. Why would she tell Juliano that she was probably closer to SOLOMON's Head of Intelligence than she was to her own parents? Why would she bother to share with the Hunter-trainer just how grateful she was that Alfonso had come out of nowhere one day after her thirteenth birthday, and given her a purpose and a mission besides sitting around the villa, spending her family's money and learning useless things from her expensive tutors? Being lazy by choice was one thing; forced idleness was quite another and, although there were days when the life of a spy downright sucked, it was certainly better than either doing nothing. Or worse yet, following in daddy's footsteps.
So, she would never actually be able to leave SOLOMON Intelligence. So, there had been times when Alfonso had manipulated her as easily and ruthlessly as he did everyone else around him. So what? At the end of the day, she still owed him what little loyalty she was capable of. He had seen potential in her, and gone out of his way to develop it, all the while treating her like a favored niece instead of an agent. It was a good deal better than what her parents, always busy with their jobs and ambitions and political ladder-climbing, had given her.
No, there was no reason for her to share any of that with Juliano.
Of course, Doujima knew that her own childhood had been downright sugary compared to that of some of SOLOMON's other employees. The worst that her parents had ever done was withhold affection, and even that hadn't been intentional; just a side-effect of their upwards climb in SOLOMON's ranks. Others had not been so lucky.
She had been given access to the STN-J's personnel files when she started her mission, and she remembered them clearly. Michael, a computer prodigy snatched from his home and family at the tender age of fourteen, because he had gotten a little curious and gone digging where he wasn't supposed to. Amon, who had been recruited by the very same syndicate that had hunted his mother. Miho, newly awakened in her powers and very carefully extricated from the care of her loving but panic-stricken aunt, a woman unable to cope when her niece had started to see things that couldn't possibly be real. Only Sakaki had remained relatively untouched by personal tragedy. Another SOLOMON baby like herself, he had joined the STN with the intention of following in the example set by his father, also a SOLOMON Hunter.
To her initial surprise, Robin's files had not been made available for her perusal. It had only been later that she had realized this was because Robin had been sent with an ulterior motive of her own: to find out what secret the witches of Japan had been hiding.
Alfonso had been incensed when she had told him that SOLOMON headquarters had sent in another spy without informing him. Not even one of his spies. Like Éloise, Robin had been entirely HQ's creature up until the time when they had started hunting her. It made Doujima smile a little to remember the old man's anger; above all, the Spaniard loved to try to put together all the little puzzles that made up the whole of SOLOMON, and became very frustrated when he realized that he had somehow missed an integral piece of one of those puzzles.
"He's kind of a crafty old buzzard, but he's a good boss," she said finally.
"A 'crafty old buzzard'?" Juliano repeated, and Doujima found that her words sounded distinctly strange coming from the priest's mouth. "Yes, I suppose that is an apt description of the man. We were friends for a very long time, he and I. We went through training together."
Doujima stared at him, and tried to figure out where he was going with this line of conversation. Once again, a touch of foreboding flowed through her, setting her nerves on fire. "That's nice," she said, and, although she tried to sound sarcastic, her voice came out cautious, worried about what he was planning to say next.
When he caught her eyes with his own, his face was once against serious and closed-off. There was something searching about his gaze, like he was trying to gauge her reactions. "Alfonso is dead, Miss Doujima."
"Oh."
There was the strangest buzzing sound deep in her ears, a quiet swarm of angry bees that had suddenly taken up residence inside of her head. The glass slid through her damp fingers, landing base-down on the tabletop with a quiet 'thump' and sloshing water over the rim. "Oh," she said again, softly, and she couldn't help but think that it didn't sound right, not like her at all. Too faint and whispery, without the bright confidence that usually colored her voice. She stared at the thin puddle of water on the table, before reaching out blindly for one of the napkins to wipe it up.
Juliano covered her reaching hand with his own, barely stopping her from knocking over his coffee. The unexpected feel of warm, dry skin against the back of her hand pulled her out of her temporary daze, and she looked up at him. Once again, she thought that she saw his hawk-like features soften around the edges. There was something very tired and human on his face, and, for just a moment, he actually seemed like the old man that he appeared to be; past his prime, full of regrets, and weary. It was a startling realization; like Alfonso, Juliano had always given the impression of being very solid and sure of himself. He had seemed, to her, like the Alps to the north; harsh, craggy, and unforgiving, but unlikely to crumble any time soon.
Doujima knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving, but the realization that Juliano was just as vulnerable and flawed as the rest of them was not reassuring. The revelation came too close on the heels of the news of Alfonso's death, and a part of her decided that if these two mountains of SOLOMON could crumble, then the rest of them really were screwed.
"I need you clear-headed," he said curtly, and that was heartening because he sounded like himself; like a grim Hunter-trainer who obviously wasn't crumbling yet, in spite of the losses that he had suffered in the past year. "I said I had an assignment for you, and I do. It concerns Alfonso's death, and grief is a luxury that you can ill afford, my child." He took the napkin and released her, dabbing up the water with slow, careful movements.
She tried to feel angry at his easy dismissal, but ended up feeling a quiet sort of resignation instead. Experience told her that snapping at the priest would probably make her feel better, but even she was professional enough to know when to put personal feelings aside and get down to the job at hand. She had done so successfully at the STN-J, ignoring her somewhat grudging affection for her coworkers in order to betray Zaizen to HQ. She would do the same now.
The first order of business, of course, would be to send Nagira home. If this was about Alfonso's death, then it was too risky to keep the lawyer here. Risky for whom, Doujima couldn't exactly say, but she was almost certain that no good could come of his involvement. Damn, but she would miss his company. She had the feeling that she was going to be in need of a good deal of cheering-up before this was over, and Nagira's wisecracking never failed to make her smile... Or at the very least, inspire her to think of a really good comeback.
"I'm going to become as broody and morose as Amon," she muttered to herself.
"What?"
"Its nothing." Doujima leaned forwards across the table. "What happened to Alfonso, Father? He was healthy last time I spoke to him."
"He was found in his office without a mark on him. Dead. We think that it was the Craft."
She frowned. "It's possible. I'm sure that there were witches out there with a grudge against him, and Venice has a big population of people with witch powers."
"The largest population in an Italian city, in fact," Juliano informed her. "It is because the Hunters do not have a presence here. We stay away to give Intelligence space but, unfortunately, that means that the witches in this area are not as well monitored as they are on the rest of the peninsula." He smiled with difficulty. "I had been trying to convince Alfonso for years that such isolation was unwise. He valued his relative independence from the rest of the Assembly too much to give it up, though, even in such a small way as letting me set up a branch of the Hunters here."
"I'm surprised that the Assembly allowed it."
"Knowledge is power, as the saying goes," Juliano said with a sigh. "Alfonso had a great deal of information in his possession, and he was very good at procuring more. That made him powerful. So they gave him his space, and they listened when he spoke."
Doujima snorted softly. "I told you in Japan that I wasn't ambitious. This is why. I don't think I could stand to play the SOLOMON political game."
"Sometimes, I believe that I feel the same way."
His solemn statement startled her, and she raised her water glass to her lips to give herself a moment to think over what he had said. After taking a sip, she lowered the glass and returned her attention to him. "That's an odd thing for you to say. No one is as deeply embroiled in SOLOMON politics as you are. The Assembly respected Alfonso but, as I understand it, you have them eating out of the palm of your hand."
"Is that what they say?" Juliano asked, his pale eyes keen. "Its not entirely accurate. The reality is much more... complex. Things change." Another one of his strange, brittle smiles. "'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'"
She shifted uncomfortably at the quote, and wondered what he meant by it. It sounded like a warning, but she couldn't understand what he was warning against – or if the warning was even intended for her. "What exactly is my assignment? Do you want me to look into Alfonso's death?"
Although his expression remained the same, Doujima got the oddest impression that Juliano was holding back a grimace. "If I said no, would it stop you?" He didn't wait for her answer; apparently the look on her face told him all that he needed to know. "I thought not. However, that is not your assignment. There are certain files that Alfonso had possession of, which SOLOMON needs. However, he had them hidden away, and told no one else where they could be found, before his death. Among these documents are the personnel files for Intelligence, an unfortunate dilemma which makes it impossible for us to name a successor for him. Without the files, there is no agency to run. Only he knew who and where all of his spies were." Juliano let out a long, heavy breath. "That is something else that he always refused to do. Long after the rest of SOLOMON had been computerized, he kept all of his records secret and safe, inaccessible to all but himself. We have found most of them in the cabinets in his office, but some are still lost to us." He pinned her to her seat with a look. "You knew him better than most others. If anyone can find what we seek, it is you."
He paused, and looked away, contemplating his coffee again. It had to be freezing cold by now; he hadn't taken a drink from it since before she had arrived. "As for Alfonso's death, I cannot stop you if you decide to dig deeper. But I can warn you of the dangers involved. You know as well as I that he was not a man who would be sit back and easily accept death, and yet there was no sign that he tried to defend himself against whatever power killed him. Whoever did this is dangerous, and I fear for you if you decide to pursue it."
Doujima tried to shoot him a devil-may-care grin, but it felt faint and insincere on her lips. "I like to live dangerously. It's funny, though; you're the third person to warn me about what a messy a situation I've gotten myself into." First Éloise, then Marco, and now Juliano.
"Perhaps you should take their warnings to heart." Even as he said it, she could tell that he didn't have much hope of convincing her. Predictably, she shook her head.
"I have to try to find out something. Sticking my nose where it doesn't belong is a part of my job, remember?" she replied flippantly.
"So it is," he murmured. He took a sip of his tepid cappuccino, and his mouth twisted downwards sharply for an instant at the flavor of it.
Their pizza arrived, and they sat in silence through the meal. Doujima ate without really tasting the food and, had Juliano asked her, she would have been unable to say whether or not her initial judgment on Venetian food had been correct. He didn't seem to be savoring the experience either, cutting neat, bite-sized pieces with his knife and eating them with a very efficient sort of haste. They finished the pizza between them, but there was little pleasure in the meal and silence hung heavy over the table as they ate. When she finally set down her fork and nudged the plate away, he stood.
"You may draw on whatever resources you require to find the files. I cannot stress their importance enough. You have full run of Intelligence's Venice offices." He reached into the folds of his black clothing, and removed another neatly folded piece of paper. This time, she recognized the graceful calligraphic writing on it. "I will be staying here if you need to contact me."
"Thank you, Father," she replied, tucking the piece of paper into the bag at her feet.
"I understand that you brought someone with you to Venice?"
Doujima didn't have to ask how he knew about Nagira. The walls had ears, after all. "Yes. I'll be sending him home as soon as possible. I know better than to let work and play mix."
Juliano nodded once, curtly, and set his hat on his head before turning to go.
"Father Juliano?"
He stopped and half-turned back to face her, giving her a good view of the harsh, hard lines of his profile. "Yes?"
"Aren't you going to wish me luck?"
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "Luck is an unreliable thing, Miss Doujima. It comes and it goes. I pray to God that you never need to rely on it." He slid his tinted glasses back up his nose, using them like a mask to hide his eyes and cheeks. "Buongiorno."
"Arrivederci," she murmured, and watched him go.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Notes: WiccanMethuselah is my marvelously talented beta reader. Most of the Italian used in this chapter is either fairly well known, or has already been defined, but the word arrivederci means 'goodbye'. Stay tuned for the next chapter, which will involve Doujima doing something kinky with a zaletti. (Lies! All lies!) Edit: Juliano's uncredited Shakespeare quote is out of Henry IV, if I remember a-right.