Erik
I could not find the goddamn horse. Of all the dreaded things that could happen…
Rome's outskirts lay serene. I wandered, staring at thick rows of pine, their droppings shrouding the forest floor. I crushed leaves and twigs beneath my boot, the crunching satisfying after avoiding the city's manure for so long.
The sun goldened, and I saw no sign of the creature. I needed to find shelter for the night. Maybe food. Rome turned cold at night. Though I had endured worse within the embrace of iron bars, I sought to avoid such experiences. A frog croaked in the distance, and despite the wind rustling the foliage, I could hear my quiet breaths. A robin chirped, Its orange chest stark against the greenery. A doe appeared. A feeling of safety crept over me within the density of the forest. This little garden of Eden– I wanted to laugh at the absurdity.
A loud gunshot rang. The doe scattered, her thin legs stretching as she bolted. I crouched behind a tree. The veil obstructed my vision, and the black fabric trapped heat inside. Blood pounded in my ears.
One frightening event had already occurred today. Given the rules of probability, it would be logical to assume that the remainder of this day would consist of mundane, ordinary events. Upon hearing a series of successively extraordinary sounds, I abandoned all expectation that this day would follow common laws of nature.
Fuck.
A man's pained yelp resounded. A girl's high-pitched squawking echoed. Would the screaming ever stop? I should leave. I must leave.
I approached the noise, eventually spotting three men and a woman. One grey-haired man dressed finely, a crimson stain spreading on his waistcoat. He slumped over the footboard iron, his blood dripping onto the front. My heart slammed against my sternum. I hid behind a bush. Another man casually approached the carriage and opened the door. He rifled through its contents. The woman's bright yellow dress was stained with blood. She squirmed in the arms of the third man.
Highwaymen.
"My my, what a beautiful young lady," the taller one uttered. His teeth were blackened with tobacco stains, and she grimaced as he held her close. She pawed at his forearm, her gloved hands accomplishing little. However, her struggle must have had some effect since he lifted her slight form into the air. Her feet dangled, covered in clean white boots.
"Monsieur!"
French?
Her screams invaded my ears. God, the screaming! I clutched my head but watched, enraptured. She fought as he attempted to rein her in. Bloodstains dotted her gloves, but she looked uninjured. From the driver?
"Easy, easy." He turned, swaying her comically. "Pietro, help me with this little girl!"
The other man laughed, "If you cannot handle that little girl, what are you good for, you idiota?" He continued rifling through her trunks. "I cannot find anything!" He pulled out piles of fabrics, laces, silks, and women's underthings. My face heated.
"You do not want principessa and her jewels?
"You think of the wrong kind of jewels, boy. Let us take the horses and begone."
"Oh, you are no fun."
The girl bit his hand. He cursed but kept his grip—fierce thing. I found myself hoping for her victory. Though I doubted she would prevail. Her voluminous layers made it challenging to manuever, but also prevented the attacker from finding purchase on the lower half of my body. He gripped a gun, placing it to her temple. She stilled. My breath stopped, and all was quiet for a moment. Then she threw her head back.
She smacked him in the nose. The gun rang out again. They plummeted to the ground. Mud flew. They wrestled, and grime speckled over the girl's skirts. One sleeve ripped. They rolled to the side until he was on top of her. He fisted her skirts.
Dammit. I could not watch this! I rose from my hidden perch.
A knife seemed to appear in her hand. She squinted as she shoved the steel deep in his left cheek. They both yelled. The gun flew and sputtered away from them both. He slammed her forehead into the dirt, and a rush of concern fell over me. Was she unconscious or dead? The pain must have been too much because he fell back on his heels and grasped the wound, the weapon still embedded.
"You bitch!"
She crawled, clawing at the dirt. Alive, then. Grab the gun, I thought. But she did not. She stumbled toward the carriage and snatched a yard of delicate lace from the other man's hands. Stupid!
"Give it back!"
Despite their language barrier, he seemed to understand and laughed. When he saw his companion crawling in the bloodied leaves, his smile fell. The injured fool laid flat-backed, moaning.
Before the old man's hands could touch her neck, I raised the pistol, cocking the hammer. "Leave."
The man's hands immediately fell. I felt giddy with power.
"Who the fuck are you? Why is your face covered?"
I had never shot a gun, and I was unconfident in my ability to aim true and not hit the girl. So I aimed at his partner, the bullet piercing his leg.
He screamed, then quieted. Blood expelled out of his face and leg now. The other man's eyes widened, backing away and grabbing a horse from the carriage. The horse's galloping kicked up dirt. The pounding hooves receded, and the girl and I were alone.
Her eyes flickered with fear. "Are you the bogeyman?" Before I could reply, her eyes rolled, and she slumped against the carriage wheel.
Finally, some ill fortune that had not happened to me. I looked at the bodies. They may have had something of use. Two dead had no need. I turned over his cheek with my boot. I reached down and pulled the knife, wiping it on his shirt.
"We are twins now, signore." His nose bent at an unnatural angle, and a vast empty hole distracted from his average face.
"Please." I turned my head, my gaze falling on the woman-girl. The small voice contrasted with the loud screaming I had heard earlier. "Please, monsieur. Please help me." I shuddered from the use of my mother's language. It had been so long, and I had been so weak and stupid since I last spoke it. She held out her hand, waving with no possible goal. A weak, pathetic drawl came out of her.
I reached for the carriage. As I dug through various fabrics and bags, a spike of irritation flew through me. At least I could take the horse. I glanced back, the man decidedly dead and the girl in a strewn-about pose in the dirt. I nudged her with my foot. "Get up."
"Uhh." She said in no language in particular. Her eyes blinked open. The corners of her mouth turned upwards. Dazed.
"Do you have anything valuable?" Her nose wrinkled, but she didn't answer. Spatters of blood covered her face. Her own? I kneeled down and instinctively reached for her neck, which lay twisted to the side. I shook my head, my heart thundering against my ribcage. This was wrong. I needed to leave.
I pivoted, intent to walk away from the entire debacle. She would be fine. We were still close to Rome. Someone would find her. I could slip a note under a doorway.
"Please." Her thick eyelashes twitched. She grabbed my shirt collar, her grip loose. I shivered.
"My silks. In the carriage. The yellow handkerchief." She rasped.
I exhaled, relieved. "Vain creature. Get up."
"I cannot."
"Yes, you can. You are talking to me."
"How do you know what I am saying? Aren't we in Italy?"
She had just been robbed and beaten; why was she not afraid? "And I thought you dead." Her nose wrinkled. It was dusted with dark brown freckles. "Where were you going?"
"My uncle… up the road. Please." She rolled over, her speech barely coherent.
"Fine. Come here." Pulling her upper arms, I heaved her over my shoulder. She was surprisingly dense for such a short thing. This uncle better be extravagantly rich.
The brightly dyed attire signaled wealth. Possibilities swam within me. Ransom her? Loot the carriage and leave? The idea of scavenging after those idiots disgusted me. Perhaps I'd play rescuer. Her family could certainly reward me handsomely- if I played it right. The more I thought about it, the more it pleased me.
"Uh."
"You have said that already, you know."
I abandoned plans of chasing my previous mount. The carriage was ruined. The thief had smashed in the splinter bar– and with one horse? After several attempts, I eventually dismantled the harnesses. The carriage rolled back several feet. The dead man fell with a thud, leaves scattering. I searched his pockets and found several Italian scudi and French francs. The other possessed a rosary. I took the money and left the beads.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a violet fabric. Ripped and stained, I quickly turned to the adjacent open trunk. It burst like a treasure chest. Delicate laces, silk dresses, and, much to my embarrassment, women's underthings filled the leather box. I pocketed the yellow silk handkerchief instead. It felt as soft as butter in my hand.
Unceremoniously, I lay her over the remaining horse. This one had the decency to stay still. I attempted to balance her until she appeared sturdy. Fears of cracked necks and broken heads clouded my thoughts.
I needed to leave. A masked freak carting around an injured young girl could never look benign. The diminishing sun poked through the trees, casting insulting rays over the carnage. Birds mimicked each other, and the smell of clean air filled my nostrils- or would have if I possessed any. It felt too peaceful, and my suspicion grew. No one was about? No one had heard the carnage? Why was the world so indifferent to suffering? To one so innocent, so pure?
The two weapons tucked against my waistband offered some comfort.
After an hour, I grew alarmed at the girl's silence. Her arms dangled over the mount's neck, but it didn't seem to mind. Her eyes waned, and her head slumped as if it were too heavy.
"Wake up."
She grunted.
I snapped in her ear. "You."
A groan. "Yes."
"Where is your uncle's?"
"I think up the road." She raised her head. Her voice remained weak, and she groaned. "I feel horrible."
"You most likely have a concussion. Where is this uncle of yours' house?"
"My escort said…" she trailed off.
"Hey." This time, I tugged her hair.
"Oww!"
I was worried she would pass out and not wake up. What was I supposed to do if that happened? I had no shovel. "Where is this place?" The sun dimmed, sinking into the earth. An owl hooted.
"Close."
"We have been walking for hours!"
No we hadn't. She winced. "Help me up." I detected something off in her speech. "We are in Rome?"
I rolled my eyes. "Outside of it. Can you even get up?"
"I– I think so. But help me."
I huffed. Slowly, we both managed to position her sitting. She was so… warm.
"Put me side saddle." She slurred. Her hair blew in my face, and I had to spit it out. Her proximity bothered me. I should have left her there! Here I was, wandering in the woods with an injured stranger.
"You'll fall over."
Rolling her eyes, she did so herself, surprisingly agile, considering the injury. She wobbled, and I grabbed her waist. My breathing quickened.
"Who are you?" she said, turning. Her eyes were large and brown. I breathed a sigh of relief at discovering that they were different from Luciana's.
"No one."
"Is that why you're wearing a hood over your head?"
I looked down, kicking one foot in the dirt."I promise you don't want to see my face."
"Are you a robber?"
"What? No!" I pointedly ignored her coachmen's coins deep in my pocket.
"Do you realize I just got robbed? A man killed?" I nodded. She continued the slurred speech. It reminded me of the drunk patrons at the fairs. "Then what is that hood all about? What are you hiding?"
The first thing people always noticed was my face. One would think I had grown used to such curiosity. I was, in a way, yet people's inane questions still infuriated me. The knowledge was more like a dormant ache. Today represented a powerful flare of a familiar pain. Luciana did not deserve to die.
"Cease your questioning. I will not tell you."
Usually, that shut people up, but she continued, "How am I to trust you will not harm me?"
"I am no robber."
"Yes, but you could be a range of things."
"Would I be walking with you so... peacefully? I will not harm you, stupid child!"
Her eyes narrowed. "How old are you? You do not look so old. I can tell by your shoulders. Your voice has not even dropped yet!" I bristled. My voice was not so high! "So why are you helping me?"
I knew she would never ask this had I been handsome, but I had not argued with anyone in French in a long time, and I relished it. "I am merely a passerby helping a lady in need. Isn't that what anyone would want? If you prefer being alone, by all means, I can go." I gestured dramatically behind us, hoping to scare her into submission.
"No- no, I do not want that." She quickly replied. I followed her worried gaze among the tall trees. Good. Let her be afraid. Pleased with regaining control of the conversation, I quietly offered,
"I need a place to stay for the night. Your uncle can provide this, no?"
Her brown eyes narrowed. "Fine. Who are you, though?"
"Erik."
"Erik? Erik, what?" I stared at her. "That's it?" I blinked. "Very well, Erik. I am Mademoiselle Gianna Post." Who the hell introduces themselves as Mademoiselle? Her hand hung in the air.
Despite Luciana's hovering, she had perhaps sensed danger, never once daring to touch me. My mother said if I dared touch a woman, she would scream. Today, I touched this Gianna several times, and nothing had happened.
"Won't you be a gentleman and kiss my hand?"
"No."
"You must! That is the European way!" The European way? Her glare was so insistent that I conceded if only to avoid her tantrum. I scrambled straight, roughly grabbing her hand. I nearly tugged her off the horse in my haste. My lips weren't visible, but I felt the warmth of her hand on my lips through the black fabric.
I turned around, pulling the halter. She said nothing after my faux pas. The girlish voice quieted. Her clarity seemed to have returned. Her posture was straighter, her chin lifted. "My companion?" She ventured.
"Dead. You just said so yourself ten minutes ago."
Her voice dropped. "Wait- where is he?"
"Back where we were."
"We have to go back. Oh my God. How horrible. We can't just leave his body! And my things! Oh, God."
I preferred her previous state. More concussed, yet less delusional. "Your things? How could we ever forget!" What a stupid little girl. Stupid little girls ruined everything! My chest tightened. I just needed a place to sleep tonight. She would be safe, and I could go on knowing my presence did not devastate everything by sheer proximity.
"Oh, you know what I mean! We can't just keep going!"
I probably would be better off searching for the runaway horse. "It is a well-traveled road. Someone will find him and report the crime. I was too busy worrying about you to carry anything else. It will be dark soon. No good comes at night for little girls such as yourself."
"No good comes during the day either." I gave her a long glance. She had the decency to look sheepish for a moment but argued, "We must go to the police now." Her face reddened. Hopefully, the blood was going to her head. She smacked the reins loudly, and the horse spooked and trotted several paces forward. She didn't fall off, through. I merely stared at her antics, pausing.
"Fine. I will leave, then." I glibly replied.
She stilled the horse. "What?"
"Do you think reporting a crime with a masked man will help anything?" Man was an exaggeration, I knew. "Your attacker is dead. The other is long gone. Be glad you are alive." I did not care about this driver- he was dead. What could I do?
"Be glad?" Her pretty voice turned shrill. "But there needs to be justice. They killed him! They- they harmed me- and robbed me! And now I am alone- with a stranger." At her anger, I detected a slight lilting in her voice. Irish? No, it was slower, uglier. More staccato and less rhythmic. Less musical.
"As I said, I will not harm you. I do not mix with law enforcement. Suppose you go to the authorities. I will leave you here." Her mouth dropped, and I added. "It is dusk, and we must find shelter."
She stiffened, sighing. "Fine."
"Fine."
The horses's hooves clipped the ground. At her pouting, my temper flared. I helped her. I very well could have left, should have left. She could at least have the decency to thank me. My mood took a turn for the worse.
Out of nowhere, she said. "I am not a little girl; I am nearly sixteen. That is marriageable age."
"How modern of you."
She scowled off into the treeline, her mouth set in a firm line. I decided the best way to deal with her was simply to ignore her. We walked for several minutes in wondrous silence.
"I am realizing…" She trailed off. "Thank you. It was Erik, you said?" I ignored her again. She should be groveling. My generosity and her insolence truly tested my resolve. She kept her head forward, and I could relax without those inquisitive eyes inspecting me.
We approached a small cottage with closed blue shutters. Overgrown grass dotted the property, and several rotten lemons lay untended. Flies swarmed them, as they probably would be doing over her driver's body soon. Too much death today. Lightning bugs dappled the surrounding treeline. Crickets murmured as if nothing of great importance had occurred.
"This is it?"
"I think. I do not know."
"How do you mean?"
"I have never met my uncle. This may be his house, but I am not sure."
Vain and stupid, it seemed. "Well, go up and knock. See if it is he."
"But you are the boy."
I scoffed. "And?"
"And that is the appropriate and polite thing to do. The lady has also had a severe injury."
The lady. If my eyes rolled back any farther, they would detach. She remained blissfully ignorant, however.
Upon my approach, I grabbed a note, wet with moisture, wedged in the door's crack. Dear uncle wrote a note addressed to Cherie. How quaint. I handed it to her, but her eyes scanned the page, dropping the thick parchment in my still outstretched hand. Her face paled. "My head… I cannot."
I snatched the letter.
My Dear Gianna,
I am very sorry to tell you this after your long journey. Though I hate to admit it, I have been called away on urgent business in Venice. I will return posthaste, perhaps a month. Please enjoy my home and its humble accommodations in the meantime. I pray you and your guardian find it pleasing, and please send my apologies to him for extending his trip. Please enter using the combination lock. The password is your birthday. I did not include it here for to maintain the security of my home.
p.s. I am looking forward to bringing you several trinkets from the fashion district.
Sincerely,
Your Uncle Charles
That squashed my plans for a reward. I groaned, then switched to Italian, seeking to test her.
"So, when is your day of birth, Gi-" My heart fell to my stomach, my throat clenching.
She interrupted, her voice annoyed. "Can we not converse in French?"
"We are in Italy."
"Yes, I just, it's been a long day." At my silence, she continued. "My Italian is not so good. Let us stick to French. And it is Gianna."
"Yes- open the lock Gi-."
"-anna."
"Yes."
She huffed. "If you have difficulty saying it, just call me Gi."
"Fine."
"Now help me dismount."
"You can very well climb off yourself." I bit out.
"It is not about can, but want. Now help me, Erik. Please." The last word swooped upward in a begging, assertive manner. Her strange accent fascinated me. The French pronunciations were not wrong but less sophisticated for a wealthy heiress like herself, as if she learned secondhand.
"As if I have not helped you enough today."
"And you will receive a bed tonight, so quit complaining."
I offered my hand. Why did she want to keep touching me? Though she flinched at my cold touch, she provided no other acknowledgment. She slid off the horse gracefully, her hand barely exerting pressure on me. She smiled at me as if enjoying the show of it all. All drowsiness which had previously kept her docile and quiet left, much to my chagrin.
"Thank you."
Her damaged dress flounced, the tassels swinging as she approached the door. As she fiddled with the lock, her face dropped. The silence stretched, only interrupted by the rattling of metal. She slammed the lock with a loud bang, walking away from me and toward the back end of the property.
"If you cannot open the lock, I will be forced to seek other lodgings tonight, " I said.
"No! Don't leave me!"
Her begging was rather pleasing, albeit whiny. "Very well, I can break a window."
"No! What impression would that make? Just let me think."
"Impressions do not matter." Why was I arguing with her? Her opinion was inconsequential, and it would no sooner reach us to our goal. My goal.
"You do not know what you are talking about."
This was asinine. I waited long enough. Tired of standing and stomach panging, I wanted to be alone. I cursed my inconsistent sense of decency, which manifested in this situation.
"Are you usually this stupid?"
Her mouth hung open. Mademoiselle Gi- whatever her name- was unused to directness. "I will ignore your childishness. When he hit me- I can't think. It's been fuzzy. How does my forehead look?"
Oh, spare me. "We have more important things to deal with."
"How does it look?" She seemed genuinely concerned.
"Fine."
"Really?"
"You are fine. There are uglier people in this world."
"Perhaps if I talk about my birthday, I can remember the date."
"What a wonderful idea. Shall we chat over tea? I baked some lovely scones and am dying for you to try them."
Her face flattened. She sat in the grass, not bothering to arrange her skirts.
"When is your birthday?"
Her question momentarily disarmed me. When was my birthday? Vividly remembering its last celebration, I had been too young to recall the specific date- perhaps March? April? It was raining, not that it mattered. I was always stuck inside. Still, I could not remember. It was for the best. Birthdays did not matter. Leaves rustled. Several of them fell, though it was not yet autumn. Crickets hummed, and the utter quietness of this place calmed me.
"I do not know."
"So why are you mean to me for not knowing mine?"
I looked away.
I mimicked her, settling on the ground, suddenly exhausted. "What kind of gifts did you receive?" She received all kinds of gifts, I could tell. I expected a diamond necklace, perhaps some pretty shoes. Why was I playing this stupid game? No good would come from talking to her.
"My father bought me an old pony. Her name was Stumps. He thought it would keep me from pestering him from work. It did, I suppose." After a while, she spoke again. "What was your favorite gift you received?"
"A book."
"So you enjoy reading?" Her perpetual questioning left me uncomfortable. I longed to take the attention off me. I waited for suspense; then I threw my voice toward the lock.
"Oh, Gi, won't you open me?"
Her head whipped around, then back. Her face brightened. She pushed my shoulder playfully.
"How did you do that?"
"Merely a book of tricks I received." I waved a hand, secretly enjoying her amazement.
"That was incredible! Do it again!"
I obliged for a while, giving alternative voices to the shutters, door, and roof. She laughed loudly- I found myself enjoying the sound. It was rich and wrapped around us.
She gasped. "August first! August first!" Suddenly, she shot up, and I cringed, though she failed to notice. Her foot caught, and she stumbled, snapping me out of my mild terror. Without thinking, I reached up to take her hand, steadying her. She bounded off.
The lock gave way moments later, revealing a well-furnished, respectable parlor, if dusty. She sneezed.
"Will this do?"
Better than the cold ground. I nodded.