Page 380 - The Grotesque Children's Book

fool! Then you pop into the portrait room today, and you don’t say a word; like you don’t even
know me! I have your money, by the way; I won it back for --” Carolyn stopped, finally looking
at Santi and seeing his red-rimmed eyes. “Oh dear. What’s wrong?”

“My father died this afternoon.”
“Oh no. Oh, I’m so sorry. Come here, come here!”
Carola pulled Santi over to her, and swallowed him with her arms. The warmth of her
flesh and the wholeness of her spirit was too much for him, and he let out a terrible wail, loud
and long, in a final release of his family. He reeled back and gave a second wail, just as long as
the first. For minutes, he sobbed in Carola’s arms, and might have sobbed all the rest of the
evening had he not spied out the corner of his eye something terrifying...someone terrifying.
It was a Southern Italian man, bearded and swarthy. One of the Cardinal’s men. One of
the whisperers whom Santi had overheard plotting to assassinate the Duke. This whisperer now
knew that Santi was no deaf man. Santi slipped out of Carola’s arms and bolted out of the
tavern, running for his life.
Santi knew the back alleyways of Florence like a squirrel knows branches of trees; he
headed off to the east, in a direction away from his rooms in the Ghetto district, casting glances
over his shoulder to make sure that the whisperer was following him. Santi lured him into the
tangles of the Augustinian District, whereupon Santi made a quick beeline back west to his
rooms, along a threaded route which would be quicker than the whisperer would find. Santi
knew he now had a few minutes’ head start on the whisperer, but only a few minutes.
Santi slipped into his rooms, and under cover of darkness, overturned furniture and
shelves; he emptied drawers; he stabbed his own forearm and smeared blood around, to simulate
an attack; he dragged the bed several feet. And lastly, he asked his dead father’s forgiveness for
leaving him to the mercy of those who would find him in the morning. He kissed Jacopo on the
forehead in final farewell, then fled into the night.
His last act in Florence was to drop off the folio upon Aurelio’s doorstep. Not enough
time now to finish the portrait of me on the fish! Oh, Aurelio, you’ll think the worst has
happened. No time, no time! What have I done....?
With that, Santi del Meglio then fled north.

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