Where is he, this monk? Had he gotten wind of their plan? Perhaps, after conferring with his accomplice, he saw through Carmela’s ruse, devised a surprise of his own. For all Serafina knew, the cunning monster had them in his sights and would appear in fury, whipping steel blades into their hearts. No chance, then, to save her child. She started from her seat, but sat back down and wiped her forehead.
Minutes seemed like hours. Finally she heard footsteps, felt the vibrations of a heavy object on stone. Tap-step-step-tap. Tap-step-step-tap. An iron rod rammed the floor. It shook her skull. Tap-step-step-tap. The sound grew louder.
From out of the shrouded gloom a silhouette appeared, faint at first, becoming more distinct as it approached. She blinked, calmed herself, reached over, and clasped Rosa’s arm. Perhaps their plan would work.
Wearing a cowl and what looked like dark sackcloth covering his head, face, and neck, the monk appeared. Cold eyes peered out from behind two slits. In one gloved hand he held a staff. At its top, a piece of metal coiled around a cross. Serafina recognized the same spiraling snake she’d seen over and over again in Bella’s magazine-the symbol of the brazen serpent. The monk neared Carmela’s form. Bending to her, he said, “You wait for me?”
The old nun was right. Despite the headdress Serafina wore, its starched cotton muffling sound, she heard everything, even the tremor in Carmela’s voice as she began to speak.
“Do you know where I can find the monk?” she asked, her voice growing stronger. “The one who gives absolution to a few of the chosen? I have sinned, and no ordinary priest has the power to forgive me. What’s worse, I probably will sin again.”
My girl. Serafina smiled.
There was a long pause before the monk replied. “I am the one you seek. You must follow me and kiss the brazen serpent.” He pointed to the coiling snake. “It is the serpent, not I, who offers absolution.”
“Give me this absolution, monk,” Carmela said. “I can pay.” She opened her reticule and held out gold coins. They gleamed in the light from nearby candles.
Serafina turned and saw a veiled Beppe, his brow furrowed, his cheeks working in and out. Looking beyond Carmela and the monk, down the main aisle to the vestibule, she could pick out, in a sliver of light from the rose window, a figure walking softly toward them, twitching in his sleeves.
“No gold can buy you absolution, lady,” the monk said, grabbing the coins in his gloved hands. “A few are chosen. You are one of the lucky ones, but you must feel the viper’s sting. I will sign you with his mark, and you will be absolved in his blood. For this you must go with me to my chapel. Are you willing?”
Carmela nodded. “Where is it, this chapel of yours?”
“Follow me.”
Serafina’s heart pounded. Again she rose in her chair, but was stopped by Scarpo’s hands on her shoulders, forcing her to sit down.
The monk was leading Carmela up the steps to the back of the chapel, pointing beyond the main altar to a hall leading to the sacristy.
They were nearing the chancel. Serafina crouched down as far as possible into her chair. The others did the same. She felt the air move as Carmela and the monk passed by. She hoped Mother Concetta was right, that no one could see into the room.
“My chapel is not far from here, in the rocks by the sea. I must hear your confession before the bell tolls midnight. We haven’t much time. Walk faster.”
“Why, monk? Why before midnight? And why not here?”
He turned to her, rapped the marble floor with his staff. “Quiet!” he hissed.
Careful, Carmela. Serafina wanted to pull her daughter inside to safety and rip apart this mad monk. But with one who had shown such quick deadly power, and her daughter’s life at stake, she was too afraid to try and overtake him now. Oh, Madonna, help us, she whispered.
“Keep your head down. Speak to no one. And hurry!” the monk said.
Arcangelo bounded up the aisle, past the chancel and the altar. Serafina opened the grille and the four exited. She led them through the hallway to the sacristy and down the stairs in time to see the door at the bottom closing. They ran down the stairs.
At the bottom Rosa caught Arcangelo’s elbow. “Stalk this monk, but as we rehearsed, as quietly as possible, staying a few meters behind us, keeping close to the walls. Carefuclass="underline" his knife never misses the heart.”
“Everyone, stay close to the walls!” Serafina said.
Arcangelo nodded, grabbed his revolver and, like a cat, slipped out the door.
Outside Serafina looked around. She saw the glint from Arcangelo’s revolver several blocks behind them, followed by two lolloping figures: the guards. Two others should be posted by the monk’s lair. Otherwise the piazza and surrounding streets were empty. The wind swirled around them, blowing their veils, knocking stones against their shoes, burning Serafina’s eyes. Ahead she saw two moving silhouettes.
“Where are they?” Scarpo asked.
Rosa pointed to the monk’s cross glimmering with light from early evening stars.
“Can’t we remove these habits?” Rosa asked.
Serafina shook her head.
They walked toward the lower city, hugging the walls. Buildings closed in on them. Serafina felt light-headed, squinting into the wind, watching the outlines of the monk’s swaying robe. As they passed a tavern, she heard drunken shouts from within, the sudden roar of laughter, pounding fists on wooden tables. The stench of urine gagged her. Rosa held a handkerchief to her nose. They followed the monk and Carmela as they descended through twisting alleys and garbage-strewn passageways.
Soon Serafina smelled seaweed, heard pounding waves in the distance. Her curls tightened. Her wimple bit into her face. She saw Rosa’s veiled form thrashing in the blowing force and was glad for the presence of five men.
Suddenly Arcangelo yelled, “Stop!”
A large wooden crate fell from an upper-story window, crashing to the cobbles, missing Serafina by a hair’s-breadth, and sending debris flying. She stumbled. Rosa gasped. Scarpo and Beppe steadied her before she fell.
“Get back!” she said to Rosa, Scarpo, and Beppe. “Keep to the walls.”
Serafina stood in full view, ready to meet the monk as he approached.
“Give her up, monk!” she yelled.
Ahead, the gleaming cross stopped. The dark specter turned. With a jerk of his free hand, the monk pointed to Serafina. He yanked Carmela in front of him, holding her neck in the crook of his arm, and pushed her forward.
Struggling back up the sharp incline, dragging the brazen serpent behind him, he made his way toward Serafina.
Knee-deep in offal from the fallen crate, Serafina stood, rooted to ground, staring at the approaching monk. Arcangelo and the guards hugged the walls behind them.
“Back here!” Arcangelo yelled.
Serafina turned, saw him pointing to an opening in a building a few meters behind them. “Back!” She motioned to Rosa, Scarpo, Beppe.
“In here, quick!” Arcangelo shouted.
They scurried into an alcove and flattened themselves against the wall. Taking in every detail, Serafina saw Beppe fumbling with something underneath his scapula. Arcangelo whispered to the guards who drew their pistols and retreated several paces.
Serafina brushed garbage off her sleeves. She looked at the dull shine of Scarpo’s shepherd’s knife, the beads of sweat on Rosa’s face. Serafina squeezed her friend’s hand. “Almost over now. A slight change in plans, but if this works, we won’t have to fight him in cave,” she said.
The alcove was cramped for five people and Serafina heard the dull thud of the monk’s staff growing louder, Scarpo’s habit scraping on the stucco wall. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she pointed to a door at the end of a small corridor. Scarpo pounded his fist on the wood.