Chapter 10
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Alessandro wanted to punch the policemen. The moment he emerged from the cold of the cell they swarmed around him like mosquitos. He waved them away, but they wouldn't stop congratulating their spectacular officer. What a spectacular case. Solved in such a spectacular way. Just as expected from such a spectacular man. What an honor he had chosen to not become a rich, snobby merchant like his rich, influential father. What a heroic decision.
The edges of his rings dug deep into his skin, fingers curled into a tight fist. He hadn't solved a case — he had lied and an innocent boy had died. He hadn't joined the police out of the righteousness of his heart — he had taken the only path left for him.
He hated it, fingers itching. He didn't deserve their admiration. None of it. There it was, the red fury reaching for his heart. He battled it down. It was an old fight, he long knew how to wrestle it back into the twilight between consciousness and subconsciousness.
Alessandro breathed in, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. He wore his confidence as a shield.
He stepped into his superior's office. The moment their eyes met he had fight the urge to yank the other out of his chair. He wanted to punch the smiling man even more than the men outside – but he wanted to do that every time they met. One punch, just one. But Alessandro knew that nothing would be able to tear him away if he ever started.
Every single day a drop of anger fell into his heart. One day it would spill over.
The black goatee and watery blue eyes that never seemed to blink made his blood boil. Alessandro did not have the time to really punch him, because the moment their customary staring match was ended by Alessandro dutifully opening his mouth, the door banged open. One of his men, choking on his own breaths, hastily stuttered something about a strange death. A man had killed himself on Saint Marcus' square. Alessandro was needed. Right now.
The last of the seven. It had to be.
Alessandro had never been this delighted about bad news. Thank god, a corpse. Any excuse was good enough. He would go with his pet hamster dying if he had to. He didn't have a pet hamster.
The poor man attempted to follow Alessandro, but the officer waved him away. "Rest." He looked like he needed it.
Giacinto was leaning against the wall outside the gate, arms crossed casually as he waited. When he spotter Alessandro, his eyes narrowed for a split second. As if he could see the emotions churning Alessandro's insides or read the messenger's report in his eyes.
The Greek didn't ask where there were going, just followed Alessandro for the second time today on their chase of death.
Funny, how all would run from death and they ran after it. How long would it be until they carelessly impaled themselves on the reaper's scythe?
It was impossible to miss the corpse. A large crowd had formed around it, barely restrained by uneasy policemen. Women chattered rapidly, kids tried to slip through the barrier, men speculated loudly and started arguing. Gestures flew, people stretched and leant forward to see more in a disgusting lust for tragedy. The two sides pushed against each other.
Alessandro didn't know when the first of his men would draw a weapon. But he knew they would, soon. Too many in the police had the habit to hit first and think later. Or think at all. He ran faster, strained muscles complaining.
It was a long way all over the square. His eyes kept jumping between the doge's palace and the crowd. Som He pushed through. It was a swamp of bodies and limbs slowing him down. They didn't look at him, just at the corpse. They didn't recognize the officer.
He needed to get to his men before one of them drew his sword. He knew there'd be no turning back once the crowd was enraged.
His men didn't know what to do with the sea of people that grew louder with every push.
Alessandro was fast enough. Fast enough to catch the arm of the police man coming down before he hit the young man. Above the two towered the giant officer. Alessandro had a strange effect on them, a golden gaze so calm, so strong. He stared down at the frozen pair, the policeman's wrist still trapped in a large fist. When he let it go it fell to the man's side limply. The young man stepped back.
The crowd had gone quiet. He felt their eyes on his back. A name rippled through the crowd, a hushed whisper. Alessandro Steno.
Alessandro didn't spare them another look. He stepped through the barrier. The anger from before vanished as he entered the crime scene. As always. Only the case remained.
"He's with me." A wave of his hand and Giacinto stepped next to him.
They both didn't say a word.
Not because they were horrified by what they saw. Actually, the crime scene was plain. Alessandro had seen bar fight's more gruesome than this.
This wasn't as raw and horrifying as the shattered skull of Alvino and the red blood drops on white marble. It wasn't as sickening as the burnt body of Iacobo in the middle of a sea of flowers. It wasn't as moving as Guido dying for hours and trying everything to save the city that had been his death and putting the hope of his baby blue eyes into the hands of two strangers. It was ridiculously simple
From the balcony of the duke's palace dangled a hanged man. Facing the sea, the breeze ruffled his hair and let his cloak flap like a flag. His head hung low, as if asleep.
But Alessandro's heart sunk, pulled down knowing this man was the last clue. The lighthouse they left behind to travel the open, wild, deep, black sea in the darkness. They would be left alone now in a web of war and murder. No one would guide them, they might get entangled and die in another 'accident'.
It was knowing that an entire order had been wiped out for the information they had found. It was the realization that war was a brewing storm at the horizon. The dawning feeling of an all seeing enemy – and that they were blind.
Alessandro slowly circled the man, head craned back to look for anything unusual. Anything more unusual than a man hanging himself from a palace's balcony.
According to Guido this was the last member. Marco. Killing himself to leave a hint, before his information would die with him through the assassin's hands.
"Marco dead on San Marco's place." Giacinto raised an eyebrow. He wasn't looking at Alessandro, but the officer saw the way his lips twitched.
Alessandro sighed. "Really?"
"What? I like his humor."
"I'm – why?"
Giacinto tilted his head innocently. "Why what? Why do I like his humor? Why are you surrounded by idiots? Why are – "
"Can we just go and look at the corpse?"
"I don't know, can we? You're the investigator here."
Alessandro closed his eyes – one more word and he'd consider choosing the greater good and stab the Greek. Though seemingly no one in the entire city knew the man, he was sure they'd thank him. Averting a – surprisingly small – catastrophe of inappropriate humor and unnecessary secrecy.
"Zero to one for Giacinto," Giacinto nodded. Pleased. Very pleased, judging by the smug tug at the corner of his lips.
"The corpse, Signore Marinos."
"You know you're in trouble when people suddenly use your last name ... ," muttered the Greek more to himself as he stared up at the hanged man – Alessandro did not assume he was talking to the corpse. At least he hoped that.
Supposedly Alessandro was better than anyone else at examining corpses. That's why these strange cases had been assigned to him. But Giacinto possessed some knowledge that civilians should not have, found things even the officer with his experience didn't, seemingly unbothered by the dead eyes staring down at them.
"That man clearly died from suffocation," Giacinto said.
"Really?" Asked Alessandro, "I thought he was beheaded."
Giacinto mustered him with a frown. "No more attempts at humor for you."
"We don't need to know how he died, we need to find out what he was trying to tell us."
"Do you believe in tarot cards?" Giacinto suddenly asked.
Alessandro huffed. "What does that have to do with this?"
"I don't know, maybe because he left one here?"
Alessandro whirled around. "He left a tarot card?"
"Are you a parrot?" questioned Giacinto, "Yes, he left a tarot card." The Greek waved a bloodied card in front of Alessandro's eyes.
The investigator snatched it out of his hand. He turned it around, inspecting both sides. "Why is it bloody?"
"To make sure we knew someone didn't loose it. See, he cut his palm." Giacinto stood on his tiptoes, stretching up to show Alessandro the small cut on Marco's hand. "Anyways," he snatched the card back, "that's a Seven of Swords."
"I can count."
Giacinto shot him a pointed look. "And that," he gestured at Marco, "is a Hanged Man."
"And that is the sea," Alessandro nodded at the harbor.
"Hanged Man as in the card, you nut brain."
"Excuse me?"
"Apology accepted. So, the Seven of Swords means betrayal and dishonesty. And the Hanged Man is a symbol for self sacrifice. What he meant with that is clear, but what about betrayal? There must be something else ..."
"There is." Alessandro was looking at something above Giacinto's head. He slowly shook his head. "It can't be."
"What?"
"He means conspiracy," Alessandro muttered slowly, more to himself, as if he didn't quite trust his own words.
"A conspiracy?"
"This is where Marin Falier was executed." Alessandro nodded at the steps they stood on.
Giacinto shrugged. "So?"
Alessandro raised both eyebrows. "So? You say this card stands for betrayal, together with this spot—"
"I have literally no fucking idea what your talking about. Who the hell is Marin Falier?"
"Excuse me?"
"You apologize an awful lot," Giacinto rolled his eyes, "Now, enlighten me. I'm sure you love to lecture people."
"I don't —" Alessandro started, then sighed. Another argument with the Greek would get them no closer to solving these mysteries. "You have no idea who Marin Falier was?"
"You really are a parrot. Stop repeating what I say and start explaining. No, I have no idea. Skipped some history lessons. Arrest me, I'm a horrible person."
Alessandro closed his eyes. This man ... He rubbed his temple. "Marin Falier was a duke of Venice, just a few years ago. He conspired against the republic, planning to overthrow the council and appoint a monarch. He believed the council wasted time arguing, weakening the city. One strong ruler would make decisions swiftly and strengthen the city. His treachery was discovered and he was sentenced to death, together with many of his followers. He was decapacited on this very spot. But many others escaped, some to Croatia, Bulgaria, others to Italian enemy states. Marin Falier's portrait in the gallery of dukes was burnt. An empty spot marks the place. They call him the lost duke."
Giacinto yawned, blinking at Alessandro. "I just remembered why I hated history lessons," he patted the blond's shoulder, "I'll take the hard guess and say you were the teacher's pet."
Alessandro frowned. There's not a single young noble who had not been forced through the story of that doge by his teachers. If there is anyone who doesn't know Marin Faliero anyways. Marin Faliero, traitor, curse, shadow. A failed coup d'etat, numerous executions, the elected tyrant.
"We have a traitor among us. Someone wants to overthrow the government once more ... it's all connected. The original conspirators that escaped should still be alive ... they've failed once, but once Venice is tangled up in that war, with a few men inside the city ..." Alessandro's fist clenched.
"... they will succeed," Giacinto muttered darkly.
Alessandro waved one of his men over. "Take him down," he nodded to Marco's corpse, swaying eerily in the breeze floating in from the harbor. "And get him a proper burial."
The officer stared up at him with that strange mix of nervousness, respect and large eyed admiration that Alessandro hated so much. The man shifted nervously. "I'm — I'm afraid I can't do that, Commisario."
Alessandro towered over him. His voice was dark. "And why is that?"
"The bishop forbids it, Commisario, I'm sorry, I— this man committed suicide. He can't have a Christian burial."
Alessandro's nostrils flared. "Bring me the bishop."
He would not stand for this. Marco had died a hero. He would get the burial he deserved.
"Sir, I — I'm sorry, you can't —"
"Get me," Alessandro's eyes hardened, "the bishop."
"Giant, that's not a good idea," Giacinto whispered next to him.
"I don't care. There was a mistake, this man—" Someone stepped onto Alessandro's foot. Hard. He shot a sideways glance to Giacinto, who smiled as innocently as the fat cheeked baby angels in his mothers favorite paintings.
"—hanged himself and we are totally not trying to offend the church. This man happened to be his childhood friend. He's terribly upset." Giacinto sighed dramatically, stepping in front of Alessandro. "We will take our leave now. He needs some rest. I'm afraid this loss has messed up his common sense." The Greek dragged Alessandro away, sporting a sweet smile so fake Alessandro would've spotted it from all the way across the square. dragged Alessandro away from the crime scene, out of the crowd, across the square. "Not that you ever had any," he hissed quietly.
The moment they were out of sight, Alessandro tore his arm out of the other's grasp. He knew he had been unforgivably reckless. He had left this impulsiveness behind long ago. But he would not stand for this. Marco had sacrificed everything for the slim chance they would save this city. He would not be tossed into the dirt outside the city to rot. "I—"
"You are an idiot!" Giacinto snapped, "Now thank me for not letting you cause a scene and then shut up. God, how does that much righteousness and stupidity fit into one single person?"
"Thank you," Alessandro growled. "Good afternoon." He stormed off, anger urging his step.
"Hey, wait," Giacinto jogged to catch up with him, "You seriously think you can get rid of me when you're seconds away from screwing all of this over a guy not getting buried?"
"I had hoped so," Alessandro gritted out.
Giacinto barked a loud laugh. "Hope is the present tense of disappointment."
Alessandro said nothing.
"And I thought I had a bad temper," Giacinto said.
"I don't have a bad temper," Alessandro slowed down, noticing how Giacinto had to jog to match his stride.
"And the sky is green," Giacinto laughed. "Now, Guido mentioned Marco's partner dying at sea after investigating in Croatia. You said some of the original conspirator fled to there. So you might be right about a someone following in this Marin's footsteps."
"Pray I'm not."
Giacinto ran a hand through his hair, messing the black strands up even more. "I'm taking bets on how many buildings here will still stand in a year. "
Alessandro was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Your humor is a threat to sanity."
"I'm trying to compensate for the lack of yours."
"Rude."
"What?" asked Giacinto.
"How would you like it if I said I am not tall, I am compensating for your lack of height?"
Giacinto stopped to glare.
Alessandro looked absolutely serious.
The Greek's lips twitched. Alessandro huffed. And then Giacinto was laughing, green eyes twinkling with honest mirth. After a second of expressionless staring Alessandro's mask fell. His laugh was deep, warm and his eyes lost their stern glare. He felt the last drop of anger evaporate, the weight dropping off his shoulders.
"Hah!" Giacinto grinned, "I made you laugh! Biggest accomplishment of my life!" he whooped.
"You," Alessandro shook his head, "are horrible."
"Why are you talking to yourself?" Giacinto was still laughing, head thrown back carelessly as they walked away from death into the sunlight.
The blond rolled his eyes. A strange sensation prickled under his skin. It has been years since he carelessly joked around with someone like that.
The reserved distrust in his gut had disappeared. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the honest laugh. Maybe all evidence speaking against Giacinto being the assassin. Maybe the dying boy's promise they could trust each other. Or maybe he just didn't want to be alone in this chaos. Maybe all of that. Maybe he could trust him. Maybe he could find a friend.
He turned to the other man — and saw him put a dagger to a child's throat. His heart plummeted.
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Any new theories on the characters?
Alessandro seems to be hiding something ... and what is Giacinto up to with that knife? How come he knows so much about corpses?
Thank you for reading!
Avis
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