Colombo
He rose when the conductor shouted Viareggio, and stepped down into a warmer place than he’d ever been.
Elias looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud.
Germany only got like this when it was bitterly cold, but here it seemed this way because it was terribly dry.
His skin warmed and cooled with sunburn quickly healing and developing again.
His suit was too warm for this climate, but he did not have time to get another.
He could recognize wealth, even if it looked stranger than he’d seen before. Elias wanted to bend and shine his shoes before walking up these steps.
The door opened to a beautiful oval face, dark lashed and red lipped.
Elias stepped back again and put a hand on his chest to bow.
“Sono Elias, e sto cercando Colombo. è in casa?”
The woman looked him over curiously, then backed inside, waving for him to follow.
Elias closed the door behind him, then seeing her bare feet, removed his shoes as well.
When he was finished, he found her smiling—eyes glittering in amusement and felt somehow that he had erred in some way. But she said nothing.
She took his hand and pulled him to a room where a man was seated at a desk, back to them, hard at work writing something.
Instead of calling his name, she knocked on the door then went to hold him about the shoulders.
Colombo looked over his shoulder to see Elias waiting in the doorway like a shadow. Colombo was maybe ten years older than him and had dark shadows beneath his eyes, and hair as black as charcoal in pretty curls.
“Hello. Colombo?”
Colombo, hearing his accent, furrowed his brow in concern. He kissed his wife on the cheek and muttered something to her in Italian. She left the room, pausing to brush her hand across Elias’s shoulder.
Colombo turned around in his chair to confront him.
“German? Mine is . . . not so good,” he said, voice much higher than Elias had expected.
Elias shrugged; he had prepared for this.
“C’è un bambino che verrà alla vostra porta. I suoi capelli sono gialli e sarà nervoso. Si chiama Victor Frankenstein e chiederà il vostro aiuto. è un fuggitivo dalla giustizia, esiliato dai maghi del nostro paese comune. Mi ha reso schiavo e ha tradito la volontà di Dio.”
Colombo stood and pushed his chair into his desk. He waved Elias deeper into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Slave?” he repeated.
Elias shrugged. “I can . . . show you?”
Colombo stepped back and seemed to steel himself, as though Elias was going to do something violent or exhibit some type of power. But when Elias just began removing his clothes, he relaxed.
Elias bared his chest, began to peel his shirt off completely, but Colombo stopped him and placed a cold hand above Elias’s heart.
“Magia oscura . . .* This is powerful. Does he call you to do tasks for him through this?” Colombo looked disgusted.
Elias shook his head. “This was a gift from another alchemist.”
He shrugged his shirt the rest of the way off and turned.
Colombo gasped. Elias looked over his shoulder and caught him making the sign of the cross. Then Colombo did exactly what Alain had: walked around him in a wide circle, staring at all angles of him, gaze roving over his face, his arms, stopping to consider his hands as well.
“Did you . . . anger this man?” Colombo asked, warm with concern.
Elias shook his head. “I did not know him. He . . . selected me.”
“Selected?” Colombo repeated, stumbling over the word.
“Chose,” Elias clarified. “Picked. A stranger.”
Colombo drew back and emotions flew over his face rapidly, settling on anger. He traced the central circle on Elias’s front.
“I understand this now. I am sorry, but this is . . . beyond what I am able to change.”
He turned from Elias and picked his leather harness up from the floor. He removed the blades and inspected them as Elias watched silently.
“Are these for him?” he asked.
Elias shrugged.
Colombo brushed the hair of the doll down gently. His bottom lip quivered. He handed the harness back to Elias and swallowed hard.
“You . . . must know . . . all alchemists are . . . not like this,” he pleaded quietly.
Elias sighed and rubbed his face. “How could I?”
Colombo shook his head and walked away from Elias. He dragged his fingers through his hair, gripping it in anxiety. He paused, looked at Elias again, then swore and continued to pace.
Elias dressed himself again, shrugging his jacket back over his shoulders. This man was kind but ultimately a dead end.
“Thank you.” Elias bowed again. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Colombo rushed back. “I must . . .”
He delved under Elias’s jacket and removed his knives from the harness to lie spread on the table then rushed from the room. Elias sat down in Colombo’s desk chair and waited for him to return.
The Italian alchemist came back with a sharpening strap. He wet Elias’s blades one by one and then scraped them to a razor’s edge all. Then he laid them in a line and dripped oil from a vial upon them.
Colombo muttered fast Italian and kissed their sharp edges, splitting his own lip, licking it quick. Then rubbed the grease from them with a soft cloth and handed them back.
“I am . . . not so strong,” Colombo said with a shrug. “But I would that they not be . . . lost to you.”
Elias took them back, put them home.
“You shall find . . . support on your journey,” Colombo promised.
He placed a firm hand on Elias’s shoulder.
“We are all not him. Do not . . . feel scared to show him anger.” His lip curved in amusement. “That thing was a good gift.”