Valerio Manfredi - The Ancient Curse

‘How can you say you’re so sure?’ asked Francesca, turning towards him. ‘Nothing is certain when you’re dealing with such a distant past.’

Fabrizio continued as if he hadn’t heard her: ‘The meaning I’ve been able to glean from the first part of the text will certainly help in reading the last fragment, if and when we find it. In any case, we’ll have interpreted an exceptional find and turned it over to science. But if I’m right, we’ll also have found a way to stop this massacre, or maybe avoid something even worse.’

They continued to search the countryside for hours and hours, stopping just once at a little shop to buy a couple of salami sandwiches. When it began to get dark, Fabrizio decided to call the tavern at Le Macine. He got the number from directory enquiries, but the phone rang twelve times without anyone answering.

‘Where could he have gone?’ he wondered, pressing hard on his forehead as if to crush a nightmare.

‘It’s useless racking your brains over it,’ replied Francesca. ‘He could be anywhere… somewhere you’d never think of. A friend’s house, for instance. He’s just a kid. He couldn’t still be wandering out here alone in the middle of the fields at this hour. Stop worrying.’

‘He didn’t look like a kid who had friends to me. He looked like a kid who was always alone and never saw anyone.’

‘Fabrizio, all we can do now is go back. If Massaro realizes you’re gone he’ll send out the troops.’

‘Why couldn’t I have taken a drive in the country with my girlfriend?’

Francesca tried not to smile. ‘And who would this girlfriend be?’

‘In the city!’ said Fabrizio a moment later, in an entirely different tone of voice.

‘Who, your girlfriend?’ prompted Francesca.

‘No, him. Angelo. My girlfriend is here, at the wheel of this car.’ He squeezed her hand tightly.

‘Why do you think he may be in town?’ asked Francesca.

‘It’s only a hope, really. I remember seeing him slip behind the door of the Caretti-Riccardi palace a few days ago. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it was him.’

‘You can’t possibly be sure of such a thing! That old mansion has been closed for years. It’s falling apart and no one lives inside. I’m very sure about that.’

Fabrizio recalled the last call from Signora Pina, telling him about the strange lights coming from the cellar, and turned to Francesca. ‘Are you very, very sure?’

FRANCESCA TURNED the Jeep around and headed towards the city.

‘This way you’ll be convinced that there’s absolutely nothing in there and that the palace has been locked and bolted for years,’ she said.

‘I couldn’t have dreamed of seeing the boy there,’ said Fabrizio.

‘I’m not saying that, but it’s a fact that sometimes we see what we want to see or what we expect to see. The brain is a very powerful machine, much more so than you or I can imagine…’

Fabrizio looked at her with a strange expression. Could she read his mind? Was there some secret memory there, buried deep in his unconscious, that was responsible for what he’d been experiencing?

Ten minutes later they were back on the regional road and could see that the grey Uno was still parked in its place, although probably someone had come to relieve Massaro. In the distance they could see the Semprini farmhouse with the downstairs lights on.

‘Do you suppose that’ll be enough to keep them thinking I’m at home?’ asked Fabrizio.

‘Maybe yes and maybe no. But if Reggiani calls there and you don’t answer he’ll smell a rat. They’ll be turning over the rubbish bins looking for you.’

‘Reggiani’s a smart guy and that agent sitting in the car is a sort of alibi for his conscience. I’m sure he knows I’m out somewhere and he also knows that trying to keep me in a cage is counterproductive.’

‘And the beast? Where do you suppose it is now? You know, since I saw it myself the other night, it hasn’t been easy to keep it out of my mind. I find myself thinking: where’s its den? What does it eat? Who’s in there with it?’

Fabrizio didn’t answer.

‘Don’t you wonder about that?’

‘I do. And maybe I’m starting to form an idea, but don’t ask me yet what it is. I need to get a few things straight first. What about you? Are you still so sure that these killings have nothing to do with the inscription and the finds inside the Phersu tomb?’

‘You believe that the human bones you found inside the Rovaio tomb belong to that Turm Kaiknas in the inscription, don’t you?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

‘I imagined as much. And you also believe that this stray dog that wanders around seeking prey at night is that creature reborn, the creature whose bones your friend Sonia is putting together.’

‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Fabrizio without batting an eye.

Francesca brought her hands to her face. ‘Christ, I feel like I’m living in some kind of graphic horror novel… Come on, Fabrizio, I understand that all these weird coincidences are pretty spooky. But that’s all they are. Coincidences. And when this whole thing is over, you’ll agree with me.’

Fabrizio didn’t speak. He seemed lost in thought, very far away from the present time and place. Francesca drove past the fortress and soon entered the city through the great stone arch.

VOLTERRA was deserted. Not a soul was on the streets. Even the bars were half empty; the rare customers inside sat playing cards and drinking wine in a smoky atmosphere. A carabiniere squad car passed them, its blue roof light slowly revolving to cast a spectral reflection on the ancient facades. Marcello Reggiani was keeping watch over that urban desert.

Francesca parked her Jeep at a corner, then they got out and went on foot towards the Caretti-Riccardi palace. They walked close to one another and close to the walls, as if they wanted to blend into the old city stones. Francesca held Fabrizio’s arm and his hands were plunged deep into his pockets. The cold wind blowing down the narrow streets of the medieval city made the telephone lines stretching from one building to another vibrate like a harp’s strings. In less than ten minutes, they’d arrived at the palazzo and Fabrizio gave the door a hard shove. It didn’t budge.

‘What did I tell you?’ asked Francesca. ‘That door has been bolted for years.’

She hadn’t finished speaking when a howl sounded in the distance. It was very faint, but Fabrizio’s ear was trained to sense that sound and he jumped, becoming visibly pale.

‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.

Francesca shook her head, but then the howl rang out louder and more clearly, carried by the wind, and she could no longer pretend not to have heard it.

‘Do you hear it now?’

‘I heard something,’ admitted the girl. ‘But I’m not sure what it was. We can’t lose our heads, Fabrizio. We have to find an explanation for all this or we’ll go crazy.’

‘And that kid could be out there. Oh, holy Christ!’ said Fabrizio, as if she hadn’t spoken. His voice was shaking. ‘I have to find a way to get in here.’

He looked around, examining the wall of the facade. There was no name plate, no number, no bell or even any trace of there ever having been any, as if no one had ever lived between those walls. Heavy iron grilles covered the only two windows on the ground floor, but the openings had been walled up with bricks. The windows on the upper floors were covered by heavy wooden shutters with massive wrought-iron hinges. Huge time-blackened oak beams supported the fourth-floor roofing. There was a single distinctive feature at the centre of the facade: a stone shield with a badly worn and barely recognizable coat of arms.