Suicide Kings by Christopher J. Ferguson Page A

resources are limited, Lady.” His tone was unapologetic.
    “You want me to trust you, even while you treat me as an enemy of the Republic.” Niccolo’s face remained calm, though stern. She felt an urge to strike him, if only to make him share some of her agitation.
    “My only thought was for your safety, Lady Savrano.”
    She breathed out a long cone of cold through her teeth. “The words on the page are those of a religious fanatic. I might expect them to be the words of the Mad Friar Savonarola himself, were they not burdened by the name of Satan.”
    Niccolo blinked at the friar’s name. “If it is Savonarola who opposes you, you’ll burn in the Piazza delle Signoria before the week is out if you persist. We must both hope that you are wrong in any such suspicion.”
    She scratched the side of her head with her cold fingers. Looking at him askance, she told him. “There was a man today at the church at Piazza Madonna delle Grazie. He followed me. Disease disfigured his face, the lips damaged, his teeth like the tusks of a boar. Do you know of such a man in Firenze?”
    He frowned. “A man with the face of a boar?” He thought for a moment. “Dear Lady, I think I may know the man of whom you speak. I’ll go to confront him at once.” He called out to several of his gendarmes, who came to his side. He turned to her again, his face softer now. “I truly am on your side, Lady Savrano. I wish you could believe that.”
    She nodded, eyes averted. She wished she could believe that too.
    As he led away the little group, he and two of his gendarmes, with herself and Siobhan in tow, Diana managed to feel a little burst of hope. Niccolo looked to know the man with the diseased mouth. If he was correct about the man’s identity, perhaps they would finally make some progress. Perhaps she would finally have some answers on the circumstances of her mother’s death. With that hope in mind, she dared to trust Niccolo, if only for this moment.
    The home at which they stopped was a modest palazzo not far north of the Arno. The building was old and in need of repair, but it nonetheless spoke to the repute of the family in residence. Two lamps were kept lit outside the main door, above which the family crest of a man’s arm holding a holly branch was emblazoned. Aside from this there was little sign of life. Evening fell, the sun having disappeared, and on such a cold night the street stood empty.
    Niccolo went to the door and knocked loudly. Within seconds, an attendant answered and exchanged words with Niccolo. The door closed momentarily and more waiting ensued. Niccolo shuffled his feet without a word; the gendarmes stood by silently. Diana kept to the back with Siobhan, not quite sure what her role was in this. Was she expected to accuse the Boar of following her to his face?
    A moment later the door opened once more and an elderly man with a skeletal frame and a shock of white hair stood waiting.
    “Signore Benedetto,” Niccolo demanded. “I am here to speak to your son.”
    “My s-son?” the old man stammered. “He has done nothing wrong. What would you want with him?”
    Diana watched the exchange with curiosity. The old man, frail though he was, spread his body across the threshold, blocking entry. The gesture was defensive, and not that of a man who believed in his son’s innocence. Her heart beat fast again, but she was glad for once to let someone else take charge.
    “I must insist on having words with him,” Niccolo replied. “Stand aside or I will have the gendarmes move you.”
    Above, the sound of scraping across roof tiles made Diana look up. A shadow disappeared behind a stone chimney. A moment later it reappeared, sailing like a bat across the space between two stone palazzos. “There!” Diana pointed toward the sky. “He flees across the rooftops!”
    “Damn!” Niccolo hissed. “Get him!”
    The gendarmes rushed off immediately, intent on tracking the dark figure above. Diana could see it