Chapter 31
Dressed in an outfit similar to the one I had on when I landed in Cairo, I quietly leave my room in the early morning.
I fiddle with my nonna’s ring on my pointer finger. This is the second time I’ve put it on since Cec handed it to me in Cairo. It feels strange, like it doesn’t belong. I felt the same way about the amulet at first, though, and now I can’t imagine taking it off.
Patting my pocket, I feel for my father’s switchblade.
Satisfied, I tug on the gun holster around my thigh, the Derringer tucked inside and two bullets already in the chamber.
I check my watch, hoping Nonna is getting a good night’s rest, wondering what she’s going to make for her early-morning snack in a couple hours.
God, I miss her. She kept so much from me, but she was both bound by the blood oath, and wrapped up in the pain of losing her only daughter. If I ever get the chance, I’m going to yell at her and then instantly commiserate with her.
The pack across my back weighs on me. Once I dressed fully, I repacked it, dumping out everything—including Claude’s Luger—but my sleep aide first. Not that I couldn’t use another gun, but it still holds the memory of my killing him with it. And I can’t have that hanging over my head—not now.
I took the rest of the clean clothes from my suitcase, along with a couple of items I’ve grown fond of from the armoire.
Rolling them and pressing them tight into the bottom of my bag, I packed in all I could until it was three-quarters full.
I then added the simple first-aid kit I brought with me and the miniature crossbow with its arrows.
I’m not sure what this mission will bring, but I need to be prepared for another adventure.
Turning down the hall, I run into someone—thankfully, it’s Bes. He wears a cream button-up and dark brown pants, his glasses flickering in the torchlight. Was he coming to wake me? A knock on my door earlier did that, though I have no idea who it was—I imagine it was Cec, or perhaps Anders.
“Miss Hawkins,” is all he says, his voice deep. Dejection poisons his words, even as he tries to disguise it.
I speak past the pang in my chest. “Bes.”
When his tired gaze shifts up to my hair, I realize I haven’t done a thing with it. At this stage, it probably resembles a rat’s nest. I smooth it down enough to pull it into a messy ponytail with the strap on my wrist.
“You look well,” he offers after a moment.
I grip the straps of my pack and tighten my hold. “I feel like vomit warmed over, but I appreciate you trying to cheer me up.”
His gaze cuts deep. Does he know what I’m thinking? That I’m sorry for getting so angry at him, that I wish I could go back to that moment and do things differently? That I miss his touch?
I look up and down the corridor. “Where’s Cec?”
“Paying a visit to the lavatory. You’ll have to settle for me.”
“I’m never settling for you,” I say truthfully, taking a risk and stepping into his space.
His shoulders fall from his ears, and his jaw visibly unclenches. “Ah, a compliment. It warms the heart to hear it.”
This close to him, my pulse hurtles around inside my body, reliving the moment in the Archives before we were interrupted. I have a hasty compulsion to reach out for him. He glances away from me but doesn’t move.
Maybe I should apologize to him now, before something—
“There you two are,” Cec disturbs us once again.
I glance over Bes’s shoulder, feeling both relief and disappointment at the interruption.
“Yes, we were just talking about you.”
He comes up next to me. “All good things, I hope.”
“We should make our way down to the car park,” Bes says abruptly. “Anders is waiting for us.”
I stick out my bottom lip. “What about breakfast?”
Cec offers me a thick napkin folded over. “Fear not, I braved the kitchen galley for a slice of today’s savory torte.”
I flip the top of the napkin back to see what he brought me. It reminds me of the one I whip up from time to time: its main ingredient is scrambled eggs, sprinkled with greens and tomatoes, and shaped like a long triangle. I gobble it up in three bites.
Licking my fingers, I look up to find Bes staring at me and Cec smirking.
“This should not surprise you,” I reason, mouth full.
Cec chuckles. “You sound like a ravenous hyena when you eat. I can only imagine how it looks.”
“I always look beautiful,” I tell him, “even when I’m eating.”
He bows his head. “Forgive me.”
I can’t help glancing over at Bes, whose attention lingers on my mouth a moment longer before he looks anywhere but at me.
The three of us make for the car park in silence. Which is fine with me, considering I’m a ball of nerves. I always get anxious before heading out on an expedition: it’s a heady concoction of both excitement and fear of the unknown. It keeps me on my toes—and might also be giving me ulcers.
Once we reach the bottom of the stairs, we head for a different car than the one we drove in last time. It sits on its own facing the tunnel entrance, the color an unappealing dark brown, metal rusted around the wheels. Anders waits in the driver’s seat with the window down, facing forward.
“Will this hunk of junk make it to Liechtenstein?” I wonder.
Anders’s response is terse. “It drives fine. And we don’t have time to argue the matter.”
I raise a brow but don’t debate the topic.
Piling in, Anders and Cec seem to be purposefully avoiding each other. Wonder what that’s about. Bes takes the front passenger seat again, leaving Cec and I to fill in the back. I toss my bag onto the space between us.
Anders wastes no time starting the car.
I speak over the low rumble of the engine as Anders pulls forward and rolls us down the dark tunnel. “Remind me where exactly we’re going again?”
“Gutenberg Castle in Balzers,” Bes explains.
Another place I’ve never been.
We stop at the end and Bes gets out, heading toward the rock wall in the semi-dark. At the sound of a lever being pulled, he heads back and the mechanism starts.
Idling for a moment, we wait for the grate to drop. The amount of light doesn’t change much the further the mechanism draws it down, and I remember it’s early-morning and the sun hasn’t risen. Clearly, I’ve suffered greatly from sunlight deficiency.
I turn to Cec. “Didn’t you say this man was staying with an acquaintance?”
Bes answers instead. “The artist who owns the castle is named Egon Rheinberger. He studied art in Munich, as did our target, Hildebrand Gurlitt. It’s possible they crossed paths at some point, though we haven’t been able to confirm it.”
Cec rubs his eyes and adds his two cents. “Besides the fact that Rheinberger is over twenty years older than Gurlitt.”
“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to help out a fellow aesthete, at the very least,” Bes argues.
I frown. “Do you think Rheinberger is one of the God Men as well? Or a Nazi?”
Bes considers this. “Unlikely, given he’s originally from Liechtenstein. Though he may be sympathetic to their cause.”
How could a person ever be sympathetic to any cause of the Third Reich?
I sit back, reminded of the quote from John Stuart Mill that came into my head that first night we docked near Civitavecchia, which I promptly share with the group: “‘Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.’”
Cec slaps his thigh. “That’s precisely why we’re here, Hawkins. Throughout its history, the order has been neither the good nor the bad, only the vital anchor between them.”
I hold up a hand. “One could argue you were the bad at the height of it. And you can’t deny you all have a deeply-rooted savior complex, altruistic as you believe it to be.”
I’m met with silence, which is all the answer I need.
The supposed purpose of the order is to protect the knowledge of the world, by any means necessary.
And while I don’t doubt they want to stop the Third Reich, who knows what else may have triggered this need to bring supernatural artifacts into their protection, effectively ripping them away from their cultures.
They’re clearly willing to do whatever it takes, and damn the consequences.
I can’t decide yet what I’m personally willing to do to stop these fascists.
“Wait, did you just call it…”—I think the words before saying them—“the order? How were you able to do that with your blood oath?”
“As long as we don’t mention the actual name, we’re safe,” Cec explains.
“Good to know,” I mutter.
Once we’re on even ground, Bes steps out again, keeping a lookout for passersby.
I turn back to Cec. “On a scale of one to ten, one being a walk in the park, and ten being locked in a room with one of the God Men and no weapon, how dangerous is this going to be?”
“Somewhere between going to a relative’s house without bringing a dish,” Cec explains, “and adopting a feral cat.”
“I honestly can’t tell which one of those is worse.”
“It’s going to be dangerous no matter what,” Anders cuts in.
“But the level of danger is moot. Despite this being an unsanctioned mission”—he glances into the back, unable to meet Cec’s eyes—“I agree that three days was too long to wait. We may very well be the only thing standing in the way of Hitler getting his hands on the Arma Christi and gaining whatever powers they possess.”
That stops me. “Are we in over our heads?”
“There’s a very good chance you might be,” Cec answers honestly. “The three of us have been trained for this. This is our purpose.”
Seems I’ve hit a nerve. This is starting to feel like an ill-conceived sales pitch.
I sigh as Bes slips back inside. “So dramatic.”
“Who’s being dramatic?” Bes wonders while Anders pivots the car around the privacy bushes.
“Give one guess.”
Cec grins. “I would’ve thought you’d be used to it by now.”
“Seems you can still surprise me.”
Once we’re rolling along the streets of Breno, I crank my window down and fill my lungs with fresh air.
The first glimpse of sunlight in days blesses us with its presence when it crests over a vale in the Dolomites.
Ah, sweet freedom, I have missed thee. Until now, I didn’t know how much I needed to be physically free of that place.
I’m not sure how they live down there. I crave the sun.
Hurrying along the cobblestone, I imagine my mother walking these same streets decades ago. Somehow, this is the closest I’ve ever felt to her. It’s a strange sentiment, though not unwelcome. In truth, I’ve never felt akin to her, but now… I feel closer than ever before.
I watch the buildings for any sign of movement.
It’s so empty here. Most Italians sleep late, but still.
Dejection pricks at my heart. I hate how petrified Italy is.
How Mussolini has stifled such a vibrant, lively culture.
The club was evidence enough: an unhealthy dose of fear has turned this country and its people into a shell of what they once were.
Eventually, I can’t bear the silence.
“Will this be anything like our trip to the club?”
Bes flinches, likely remembering the carnage inside Club Sotterraneo, same as me.
“Let’s hope not. However, there may be a time where we need to improvise.” He turns around in his seat to look at me. “In which case, I need you to promise me you’ll follow my lead. No matter what that lead may be.”
“I promise to do my best.”
Grimacing, he shifts back wordlessly.
Once we pull onto the main road and I’ve rolled my window back up, Anders addresses us. “Get comfortable. It’s over a six-hour drive through the mountain pass to Balzers.”
Great, I think. Just what I need: more time to stew. Before long, however, the smooth movements of the car calm me, lulling me to sleep. Considering I didn’t get as much rest as I’d hoped, even with my aid, I deserve a nap.
Folding my arms across my chest, I mumble something about ‘wake me when we get there’ and drift off.