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The day had started well.
The weather was as brilliant as a cut diamond, the sun bright and the sky vibrantly cerulean. The spring air was fresh, a merry breeze dancing through the city.
There had been no strange deaths. His superior had been busy haunting other people. A week and Daniele had made no attempt to get revenge. A week and he hadn't seen Giacinto once (twice he had been sure to have spotted the mop of curls in a crowd and once he had been fairly certain the Greek was sitting on a balcony, swinging his legs).
Just paperwork. Paperwork was under-appreciated. Paperwork did not talk back, paperwork did not kill anyone, paperwork did not conspire against the republic. He could put paperwork into orderly stacks. Paperwork was the embodiment of simplicity and order. Two other, under-appreciated things.
Sitting behind a large desk, Alessandro filled out reports. There was a bird chirping near the window, singing prophecies of summer.
That was when heavy steps hammered their way down the hallway to his office. Alessandro straightened up.
Here came his personal poltergeist.
Loud as the entire French army on the move, his superior would always boom 'STENO' — correction, 'STENOOOO' — through the entire building whenever Alessandro had to rush to him or whenever the lanky man burst into his office. Which was entirely too often. Instead of rattling chains, this 'poltergeist' carried either stacks of more paperwork, bad news or insults. Usually a combination of these. Which, given that Alessandro was over a head taller than the man and twice as broad, was only because they both knew Alessandro could not punch him.
Alessandro closed his eyes, clenched his jaw — and the door banged open.
"STENO!"
Alessandro contemplated stabbing himself with his quill.
Lucio Borroni, the third highest ranked police officer in Venice, officially Alessandro's superior, unofficially the self appointed torturer of unfortunate souls and part time poltergeist for Alessandro only.
"Yes, Signore?" Alessandro spoke calmly, hands folded neatly on the desk, straining to break something.
"Why is it that you sit here and listen to the birds —"
"I was finishing the paperwork you gave me."
"Oh, excuse me? I wasn't aware that the middle of my sentence interrupted the beginning of yours?" There was this thin lipped smile, accompanying the impossible mix between sickly sweet and strained voice.
"My apologies, Signore." Alessandro bowed his head, lips pressing into a tight line. A deaf person could have heard the restrained venom in his voice.
"So, if I may ask —"
You may. Alessandro could practically hear the Greek snicker. A grin tugged at Alessandro's lips, before he willed his features back into the hard nothingness. Give him no reason...
"— why you're sitting around while Venice's greatest thief is parading around in broad daylight? This is your case, Steno, you're failing it!"
"La Ombra only appears at night, Signore." His way of emphasizing the 'Signore' was a punch he couldn't actually throw. "For two years he's only ever acted in the cover of night. And never in such close proximity to another break-in. He always waits for things to calm down. Months pass."
"Don't you lecture me, boy! I know he broke into that palace just two nights ago!"
"Then you must also know he's a man of habit. Why should he suddenly change patterns?"
"Is this my job or yours?" Lucio asked. "Answer!"
"Mine, Signore."
"Then do it!"
"Signore, this is impossible. He can't —"
"Then you and your horrible investigations have made it possible! Apparently he feels safe enough to rob Venice's most noble families in broad daylight!" Lucio looked like one of those mad dogs, jumping up and down, having spit fly around as they barked their souls out. "But of course, you nobles don't need to put effort into anything, mommy and daddy will make sure you have a good life on silk cushions." He sent Alessandro a venomous smile, as fake as his polite nod when he stepped out of the door.
Alessandro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. "I will be on my way, Signore."
It had been a good day, really.
Until Lucio. Until those news. Until La Ombra. La Ombra — the Shadow — was always bad news. But the Shadow breaking into a palace at noon, that was bad news.
———————
The Shadow ... Alessandro turned the word around slowly in his head as he made his way over Saint Marcus' square. La Ombra ...
The Shadow was Venice's living myth. A thief. Not the kind of thief you found in the streets, poor and hungry and dirty.
He was a master of the night, broke into the palaces of the richest and most noble and left no traces. Only a strange symbol, carved somewhere, like a signature: a downward half circle, with five lines drawn from it. Alessandro had first thought it was an upside down setting sun -- it was a closed eye. Without it, no one would even notice anyone had been there.
Except of course, the several riches missing. Alessandro scoffed. The thief seemed to possess a fine taste in luxuries.
He was a creature of the night, no one had ever seen or heard him. He was the shadow of Venice.
Alessandro had been tasked with finding the culprit long ago. It was the only case he had not solved. Yet.
The Shadow couldn't be caught. There were several stories circulating through the city, each more ludicrous than the other. It was said he could turn into a bodiless shadow to slip in and out unnoticed. Some said he was a supernatural creature, with red eyes and horns that came out of the water in the lagoon every night. He'd hoard treasures in a cave deep in the ocean.
Just two days ago, La Ombra had broken into a villa of the Dandolo family — as always in the dead of night, unnoticed by everyone. At first, nothing unusual. But then ... only a few pieces of jewelry had been snatched, valuable sure, but there was something off about it. More an afterthought. Something about it had rubbed Alessandro the wrong way. A tug in his gut -- but gut feelings were just that. Feelings. Not hard facts. Alessandro only wanted facts.
That was when a fidgeting maid had approached the inspector. The master had a recently deceased bastard son. Hadn't the grieving father asked for his son's rosary, no one would've noticed something else was missing.
He had always put the rosary on his drawer. But a night before his death, she had accidentally observed him use the cross as a key to a secret compartment in the drawer, hastily stuffing letters in there. Being his old nanny and knowing the boy to indulge in fanciful imaginations of secret adventures, she had smiled at it as a child's game.
She had found the rosary on the drawer as always, solemnly resting atop a lonely bible. Looking left and right, as if the boy's ghost might just walk in on her, she fumbled with the cross. It took a while, the complicated mechanism resisting her unpracticed movements. A click. A previously invisible compartment sprung open. It was completely empty.
The women swore on all saints the boy had put a stack of letters there before he left the house to never return. But who would know of that hidden drawer — if he hadn't even told the woman who sang him Spanish lullabies when the thunder roared outside.
The son's name? Guido.
Alessandro felt the chill brush over his neck once more. Like the breath of the boy's ghost.
One of his men rushed over when he reached the palace. His report was outragously absurd: a palace guard had heard a noise, checked and found the thief in the lady's salon. A tall, thin man, clad in black. He had fought off the guards — outnumbered five to one — with just a garrote. Who used a cheese wire as a weapon? Then he had simply jumped out of the window.
Alessandro mustered the window the man kept pointing at. He raised an eyebrow, making the policeman squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. That was the second floor.
Ridiculous. Next time they'd tell him he had gone 'poof' and disappeared just like that.
"Aren't we in a lovely mood? Or did you eat a lemon?"
Alessandro slowly turned to see Giacinto standing next to him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, smirking provocatively. "Wonderful good morning, Giant. Chasing criminals again I see?"
Not him again.
"Do you see me running after anyone?" Alessandro didn't like how snappy he sounded. He'd be damned if he'd let the Greek realize how tense he was.
"Your humor is an insult to anyone ... with a brain," Giacinto said.
"Then I'm glad you can't possibly be insulted." Alessandro turned, his cloak flapping behind him as he strode towards the gate.
Another mystery to solve, shrouded and frustrating and utterly unnecessary. He wanted to rip his hair out.
"Now you're just being mean." Giacinto rolled his eyes.
An amused grin tugged at the corners of the officer's lips when he saw the grumpy glare the Greek sent him. "As you insist on talking to me, I can use that time to question your suspicious presence at crime scenes."
"Nice weather, thought I'd go for a walk," Giacinto said,"I don't spend much time in Venice, just heard about the Shadow. Makes me wonder," he tilted his head, tapping his chin, "is a dramatic name required for being a criminal? The Reaper, the Shadow ... Or do you only give those to your favorites? The people say he's your little ... problem case?" Giacinto tilted his head, smiling innocently.
"Problem is an understatement. It's impossible to catch him. I — did you drink?"
"What?"
Alessandro leant closer, sniffing. "You smell like you've slept in a barrel of rum."
"That is surprisingly close, Inspector. Just like you. Two steps safety distance, please." Giacinto grinned. "I--"
"Alessandro Steno!" A voice boomed through the street.
Suddenly, it got quiet. Very quiet. The crowd's chattering and loud speculating had turned into hushed whispers and then those died out as well. No one seemed to move, breath even.
That was never a good sign.
"That's my cue to leave," Giacinto whispered, turning to slip back into the crowd.
"Stay exactly where you are!" the voice thundered.
They both turned, slowly.
The inspector spotted just another police man, the proud lion emblem staring at them from his chest, red cloak flapping in the breeze. He didn't recognize him, he was not one of his men.
Then he froze, a cold wave of dread washing over him. Behind the man stood a squadron of guards, armored in polished steel, hands on their swords.
You could've heard a needle drop on the ground as the crowd held their breath. But just a rustle broke the silence as the man pulled out a parchment. He breathed in.
Alessandro tensed.
"Alessandro Steno! You are arrested for the murder of several agents and planning the assassination of the doge of Venice! Your trial will be swift and when found guilty, you shall hang for your crimes!"
"Shouldn't that be 'if found guilty'?" Giacinto whispered next to him.
The crowd went wild, but the noise was fading into a dull chaos at the back of Alessandro's mind. His face was blank, controlled as always, but the words had shaken him like an earthquake, his entire world tumbling down into unbelieving ruins. He would've staggered — but Alessandro Steno never lost control. Never.
"Giacinto Marinos! You are arrested for assisting Inspector Steno and conspiring against the republic!"
Giacinto's eyes turned poisonous again, teeth bared in a dangerous snarl. "I don't give enough shits about your republic to waste time conspiring against it."
That probably wasn't the wisest thing to say. The punch to his gut sent him stumbling back, right into the arms of a second guard. His arms were immediately twisted behind his back.
Alessandro's eyes shot to the doubled over Greek. Giacinto, admirably, managed a sharp smirk.
"Your wrists, Signore Steno. Resistance is pointless." The police man stepped forward.
A metallic hiss cut through the air. Several swords were drawn — a few of Alessandro's men had stepped between their investigator and the guards.
The tension was flickering through the air, the crowd shivering in anticipation when guards and policemen faced each other, the atmosphere so heavily loaded with nervousness you could've cut it with a knife.
"Step aside, Signori." All air left Alessandro's lungs when he stepped forward, an avalanche of dread crushing him.
He extended his hands, slowly, head held high even when the shackles closed around his wrists. The iron was heavy and cold as ice. This was final.
The policeman waved a subtle gesture, keeping his eyes trained on the Greek.
Alessandro craned his head. A shrewd glint lurked in the green eyes.
Don't you dare!
Giacinto smiled innocently, but the blond saw how he slowly rolled his shoulders.
He wouldn't ...
Two guards stepped forwards, cautiously as if approaching a wild animal.
Giacinto still didn't move.
He would. God, this man.
When one guard raised the shackles, the Greek turned into a black flash. The guard holding him flew backwards. Silver glinted harshly in a sudden whirl. The guards jumped as a knife cut the air.
Then Giacinto stood completely still again, holding out his knife with a smile. "You might want to take this away first, no?"
The bystanders burst out laughing.
It was ripped from his hands before he was shoved into the shackles — the guards had been humiliated in front of the entire crowd, jumping like scared children.
While Alessandro was allowed his proud indifference as they made their way through the city, Giacinto was dragged through the streets. Shoved and man handled, the defying gleam in his eyes never faded. He was grinning the entire time.
That did not go for the people making way for them. Alessandro was popular. They shouted. A rotten apple flew. And while it didn't show on his face, blank and set in stone, he felt dread tear his insides apart with nagging claws. If only they knew... He could hear Daniele's voice whispering in his ear.
The guards were tense, too tense, and more than once he saw a hand twitch for a sword. A fight was the last thing he'd need, blood shed for his walking lie.
There was only one sentence for high treason.
Death.
Quick explanation: a garrote is a sharp wire with handles at each end usually used for cutting cheese — but also a murder weapon
—————————
Now why does death have a thing for Venice?
Do you think they're guilty? Did they really work together all along? Or did someone slander them to stop them from investigating ... or is Daniele getting his revenge? Or something else?
Oh, and ... what about 'The Shadow'?
Thank you for reading!
Avis