The Black Opera Read Free Page B

friends .
    â€œâ€¦All right. We can sort it out with the Teatro Nuovo opera board by letter. Give me two minutes to fill a carpet bag!” Conrad turned away from the outside world, mind on his desk, his papers—
    Sudden loud sound jolted him from head to foot.
    Mind and body dislocated; he clapped both hands to his head. Agonising pain blossomed, as if his skull opened along its fissures; laudanum did not touch it. Conrad swore at himself for weakness.
    He forced his eyes open. Dazzles hung in the centre of his vision; left him more than half blind.
    And again! —the crash of something heavy striking against wood.
    â€œThe door!”
    â€œWe won’t make the back stairs now.” Tullio left off emptying the wardrobe and chests, and called grimly but quietly down from the window. “Signore Spinelli, you may need to make a run for it!”
    Conrad rubbed his fists over his eyes. The corners felt wet with pain. Some of his vision cleared, but left him squinting
    Two—three—four more thundering blows of fists against wood came from the lodging’s locked and bolted outer door. “Merda!”
    Tullio Rossi held a wicked little flintlock pistol in one hand. It had once been the property of the Emperor’s gendarmerie , and rarely missed fire. The broad-shouldered man directed a look at him. “Padrone?”
    Conrad instinctively gestured to him not to load it. “All we need is an accident and a man killed! No. Go! Keep them talking!”
    Tullio Rossi was already moving towards the door.
    JohnJack’s right. It’s the Inquisition .
    Conrad squeezed his eyelids shut and opened them; more of the shifting dazzles dispersed. Fear of the Church coalesced in his belly and grumbled in his bowels. By some alchemy, it transmuted into anger.
    Here I am, yet again at the mercy of the irrational!
    Who have law and power on their side . The fury turned on himself. A man who can think himself safe from the righteous if he keeps his head down—and then goes ahead and puts it all on stage in an opera! What a fool I am —
    And more than a fool, because I have no intention of changing.
    Conrad leaned over the balcony, ignoring the shattered glass. Sunlight crept down the house-walls. He cupped hands for shade, his skin speckled with blood, and ignored the blurred sunlit curve of the Bay of Naples, and the looming, blue-grey broken crater. Because otherwise he might allow himself to think, Is this the last time I’ll see the outside for weeks? Or months?
    The cells of the Holy Office are terrible.
    â€œJohnJack!” He called down urgently. “There’ll be officers coming round the back of here! Go. Now!”
    Tullio’s voice sounded at the outer door in gruff innocence. Increasingly aggressive voices raised against him, words inaudible but the authoritarian sound clear.
    â€œCorrado—” Spinelli reached up, fruitlessly; the balcony was too high. Jumping down will mean a broken leg, or worse injury.
    Conrad forced himself to focus through the pain behind his eye. “Get your coach out of here. They might let you go if you’re on your own. I’ll catch up with you later.”
    Spinelli’s round features were not suited to dark emotions unless in heavy stage make-up, but his stance was telling: shoulders tight and fists clenched. “Come after us! Try Rome first, it’s the last place they’ll expect us to be. Be safe!”
    Spinelli seized the bag at his feet and turned on his heel. Conrad staggered as he pushed himself back into the room.
    Every minute they’re here may be one minute they’re not following JohnJack .
    Conrad walked through the tiny main room of his lodgings. The outer door was open on chaos, Tullio’s broad back blocking most of the view. Seven or eight men in dark clothing crowded the landing beyond him. By the volume of noise, every man present must be attempting to out-shout the rest.
    Conrad