The Street Thief's Apprentice
Prologue: 1503 Somewhere in the Countryside of Italy
Rain fell hard in the fields outside the little parish; thrashing relentlessly against the wooden shudders of the tiny church as if it was begging to be allowed in. Yet, on this night, nothing human or otherwise would have wanted to gain entrance into the forsaken old building. The small sanctuary and halls reverberated with the coughing and moans of the thirty or so inhabitants, only four of which had escaped the wretched plagues cold grasp.
In the front hall a young monk filled a cracked cup with water, and hurried back to the sanctuary. Lightening illuminated the faces of the ill that the feeble candle light had otherwise mercifully kept hidden. To the young monk the faces appeared ghostly, wraith like, shadows of what was to come; their cries and moans echoed in his ears as he stepped precariously between them. Once or twice a poor victim who no longer held his mind, and had mistook the passing monk for an angel or forgone saint would reach out grabbing his legs with a plea for mercy. It was a terrifying encounter for the man who was too young to have been thrown into this den of suffering.
At last, he made it through the labyrinth of disease, and ascended the two steps to the altar, careful not to spill any of the precious contents of the cup. He knelt holding the cup to the lips of a man scarcely older than himself who's face glistened with sweat, and who's body convulsed so violently with fever it was hard for the water to find its way to his lips. After three feeble sips he spoke;
Timothy, the name wheezed from his throat, Timothy..Timothy, his eyes stared ahead, unaware that his protg was so close.
Yes, Father, I am here, Timothy whispered.
Timothy, the eyes began to focus on the monk. You must not..you must not., his words were racked by another coughing fit, but he kept his senses, and weakly he continued, You must not allow them..to find it. The secret would die with me tonight..if.if I did not think.they would come.
Who, who will come Father?
Years.years it has been safe, but no longer, coughing interrupted him again. He gulped for more air.
What has been safe?
The man's head collapsed softly against the stone floor, time was short. There, he gasped pointing with trembling fingers toward the altar.
A small impression in the otherwise flawless wood revealed a compartment of some kind.
The man reached, up with sweaty palms and grasped Timothy's cloak pulling him close, his words were just above a whisper, It muststay safe, he said. Timothy.keep it saffffffffe.
With one final effort he turned himself toward the cross on the far wall, reaching toward it with shaking twisted hands, as if it was beckoning him to salvation. His head fell again softly to the floor; unblinking eyes fixed on the two perpendicular beams on wood above him.
Timothy shook him, he did not move, Father, he whispered, but the clergyman made no sound; the labored breathing, tremors, and terrible fever gone forever.
Timothy looked back to the outline of the compartment in the altar, he pushed it and a small lever appeared; giving the lever a hard tug he freed the door and reached into the darkness. His hand groping the floor feeling for something; it slid over a small box, and he pulled it from its prison.
Hurriedly, he removed the lid. Inside the box was a tattered piece of leather wrapped around a silver key. Despite the years the key still glimmered immaculately in the eerie flickers of candle light that bounced off the stone walls.
Timothy stood, and walked to a window. The coughing and moaning behind him was dying now; some for only the night, some forever. He held the ancient leather to a candle on the sill. His eyes caught something crudely carved into it. Timothy held up the candle. Scratched into the rough surface was a series of Roman Numerals: III IV II V VIII.
He tucked the leather and the silver key under his cloak, and opened the window just enough to see toward the town of Torina. Glowing bonfires dotted the landscape the only way to adequately get rid of the dead, and curb this hideous plague. The fires burned intently, despite the torrential rain; testimony to just how much fodder they had.
Knowing they would find him soon and his time was short, he did what was necessary. Pulling a dark hood over his head he stepped back through the sprawling labyrinth of victims, this time with much more haste. When an elderly nun stopped him, he pushed past her ignoring her pleas for him to stay, and stepped through the door into the driving rain.
In the churchyard a soldier, a captain to be precise, dismounted from a tall horse in front of him. His boots caked with mud, and his cloak soaked through.
I need to speak with him, said the soldier to Timothy.
He cannot be disturbed, was Timothy's cold response.
The soldier grabbed his arm. This is urgent, I must see him now. We are in grave danger. There are reports of a spy.
You are too late for that, Timothy said solemnly.
Slowly the words sunk in, the young captain's shoulders slumped. He stood silently; seemingly oblivious to the rain washing over him.
Did he tell you anything? Did he give you anything before he passed?
The young clergyman eyed the soldier wearily; lightning flickered again illuminating the faces of the two men. Timothy's eyes betrayed him.
'He gave them to you didn't he, asked the captain. Thank goodness, I was coming to retrieve them myself. I knew the Friar would keep the secret safe. Well, thank you lad, give them to me now. You do not know the service you have done. Our king himself may reward you.
The captain stepped forward, as Timothy reached into his cloak.
Suddenly, without warning, the Captain's knees buckled, as he let out a muffled gasp, a bubble formed on his lips and then burst in the drops of rain. He collapsed to the ground the hilt of a long dagger protruding from his abdomen.
Timothy stood over the victim for only seconds, then removed the weapon, cleaned it and put it back in his belt. Caution captain, caution, he said mockingly, there may be a spy about.
With that the spy shed the clergyman's disguise, mounted the horse, and disappeared into the wild blackness of that stormy night.