SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition (11 page)

Weird singing started to reach our ears, which instantly caused our conversation to stop. We winced and held our breath. When we had gathered courage a little later, we saw that the recent sight of the formerly endless corridor had changed. We headed towards the last round arc, apparently the destination of our journey. Behind that it got brighter and brighter, and the weird singing, coming from hundreds of throats, increased in screaming loudness. Beyond the door a high balustrade was blocking the view, so that we still had to puzzle over what might be hidden behind it. Samantha and I exchanged a long anxious look, entailing the question whether we would really find the courage to leave our catacomb which suddenly, considering the real horror outside, didn’t seem as eerie anymore but actually quite cozy. But then I let the suicidal nosiness guide me, made an effort, ran to the
balustrade and jumped upon it.

Saying that what I saw now was hell might be over the top. No, it was the musical version of hell. In fact, featuring Giovanni and Co. from the Largo Argentino in starring roles.

T
he circular vault resembled an arena, architecturally as well as dimensionally. The ceiling was a hemisphere, the floor was a jigsaw of slates. The place was lined with a rather vast number of arc-shaped portals. Those revisited on the upper level, giving the walls a perforated appearance. Stony staircases connected the individual levels, so that one could go upstairs very easily, regardless of the catacomb one just had left. Without a doubt, this temple had once been built by people who were forced to practice their religion secretly. Whether they had been Early Christians or some other bullied religi
ous association, I had no clue.

My high look-out on the balustrade offered an amazing sight, not just from architectonical aspects. First of all, there were burning candles. Candles? Yeah right, my glimpse down spotted something more like a sheer sea of lights. Fixed to head-high holders, they illuminated the place in addition to the torches surrounding us. There was as many bats a
s candles – but in human form.
An army of figures looking like bats crowded between the candleholders. Shiny toppers, tailcoats with long laps, long black capes and exquisite canes in velvet-gloved hands. All of them wore masks to hide their identities. Prince Savoyen totally got lost in the shuffle. The whole thing looked a little like an international confere
nce of ancient sorcerers.

Actually, hocus-pocus did seem to be involved, and apparently a pretty dangerous one. Intonating some Latin sing-song, which left the vaulted cellar trembling, all of the batmen clustered round a place in the center, some sort of stage. On this podest, clearly visible from all sides and flanked by two torches, stood a guy in a hooded robe. The costume reminded a little of the Klansmen’s working clothes, though this one consisted of shiny black silk. The vision slits on the hood had scarlet edgings, and instead of a cross, some garish gold jewelry in the shape of a smiling sun dangled on the protagonist’s neck. The hooded man rested upon a saber, which sparkled so bright as if
it had been polished for days.

Out of the corners of my eyes I noticed a minor matter, which nevertheless gave me an answer to my minor questions from a few minutes ago. Underneath the vaulted ceiling I spotted four giant portholes. They were positioned according to the four cardinal directions and had wooden hatches in the front. An ancient cable operation with steel wires, big levers, cogs and dangling sandbags used as tension weight could be used to open the hatches. It didn’t take much brain acrobatics to figure out the function of these hatches. They acted as fresh air supply and sucked oxygen from the world above us down to this point. This was why the quality of air in the temple was better than that in the catacombs. Right now, there was just one hatch open, probably the one that benefit the most of the
current wind direction.

The sight of the countless toppers and black capes in candlelight wasn’t quite enough to catapult my blood pressure (which by the way hadn’t been that low anyway) into alarming heights. No, the reason for my increasing panic was something that was behind the cape man: a cage that sparkled in the same chrome color than the saber in his hand. It was a funny construction: about seven feet high and so roomy that a whole mid-range car would have fitted inside. The bars on the side were tied into rectangles only by matted drawstrings and simple knots. There wasn’t any grating, so the whole thing looked like an oversized playpen. These safety defects didn’t quite offer any chance of escape to the prisoners though, as they were inferior to even such a primitive cage due to their size and strength. Inside, the whole crew of the Largo Argentina was gathered, some apathically squatting on the floor, some nervously jumping over the others’ heads. The frightened whimpering of our brothers and sisters was drowned out by the choir’s sing-song; only the distress could be seen in their twisted faces. In the first row Giovanni crouched and stared down on the creepy goings-on just as startled as me. Apparently, this night he hadn’t been able to mourn the
killed Siamese for long.

Totally fascinated by this spectacle, I had edited out everything around me for a while. Also Samantha, who had joined me on the balustrade in the meantime. In her sapphire-blue eyes lay as much desperation as in mine, and her fog-colored face was haunted by twitches. »Well, did you think that we would face the killers that fast, Francis?« she quietly said next to me.

»No«, I replied. »You really did a good job, Samantha. However, you should have come out with your assumptions a little earlier. Apparently, we’re not in time for a rescue.«

»I am sorry. But I just didn’t feel confident enough.«

»I wonder how those monsters managed to catch all of our colleagues at Largo Argentina. And why did they only commit one murder at a time so far, when apparently they could have killed all of them at a blow?«

»Do you have more of those witty questions in stock? I have the funny feeling that we will be bathing in knee-deep blood before we can think of the right answers.«

»Yeah, one last question«, I said trying to drown out the roaring singing which slowly began to give me a headache. »How in the world did this hooded clown manage to drill so delicate holes in the victims’ heads with such a giant thing?«

»You can study that in a minute!
Mamma mia!
Are you the king of the smart-asses or what?«

»You’ll laugh but yeah, where I’m from, they actually call me that.«

»Francis, quit talking and do something!«

»Why me? You were the one who boasted that you would think of something in case you faced this doomsday scenario.«

»Unfortunately, at the moment I’m totally tied up mentally.«

»Well great! And opposed to these batmen down there I don’t have a topper nor a wand, so I can’t perform magic.«

Suddenly the singing died down, and harrumphing and coughing filled the vaulted cellar. But there also was another kind of sound. Now I was able to hear the frightened howling of our caged fellows at full volume. It sounded as if the Latin sing-song was continued in a pretty screwy way.

The hooded man knocked on the floor of the podest with the saber for three times, then there was total silence. Even the prisoners kept quiet. Their eyes beamed so intensely from their red-rimmed observation slits as if they had been brought to gleaming with a welding burner, and the hood sway from one side to the other in a pretty careful manner as if it was filing everyone in t
he room like a demonic scanner.

»
Cari amici
, I thank you for making me your teacher of mankind and your master«, the hooded guy said. Despite his dark appearance, his voice was surprisingly soft. It came as a shock to me: I knew this voice from somewhere! But no matter how hard I tried to associate this voice with a familiar face, I just wouldn’t succeed. In the face of the soft acoustic color, it still awed me, which may have been caused by the fact that it resonated formidab
ly in this deadly silent vault.

»I had to earn your devotion in the first place, which I did with pleasure«, the masked man continued, and with that he flourished his hands so hammy that he reminded a little of a sign language interpreter for deaf-mutes. »As you all know, the theosophical model of development consists of the knowledge that mankind is divided into different stages of development. Some souls are far ahead, some are far behind. The progressed souls can face the underdeveloped in teaching them. But no matter what stage each of us is in, we all answer just one purpose, peace. Not just peace that is noncommittally, mindlessly and painlessly preached in those soapbox oratories. No, brothers, we want ultimate peace!«

Roaring yells of approval resounded from the audience. Topper hats were yanked from the heads in excitement and thrown in the air, canes were raised as a sign of confidence. The hooded man received this deference with his h
ead bowed.

»But peace doesn’t come for free,
cari fratelli
«, the hood continued after silence had settled again. »Neither does it come into this world on invitation nor on wheels nor can it be summoned. You know that. It takes a
miracolo
, a miracle that we have to work for. This miracle is soon to be revealed, and when it does, it will deliver the world! The miracle will bring endless peace, because there will be no escape for the inferiors, for those who seed hate and war. This miracle will heal the world,
cari fratelli
!«

»
Ah grande maestro, esaudiscimi
!« someone from the audience yelled all of a sudden. In contrast to the smooth voice that was floating down the platform, this yell sounded like the last croak of a frog that just happened to make the acquaintance of a hiking boot’s sole. From afar, it wasn’t
locatable which brother it was.

»
Grande maestro
, you have talked about the approaching miracle so often, and with that you bathed our souls in ointment. I am aware of you being several levels above us and of you being able to see the future that we can’t catch on, yet. But still I already want to know something now, so that I can praise you and our teaching even better. Therefore I ask you: What kind of miracle is this, what does it do and what does it look like?«

Like Moses at the time of his famous prime deed, I saw how the sea of batmen split into two parts in wavy motions. As if the impudent brother had announced that he was infected with the plague, the other brothers departed so that the space around him emptied and he stood alone. Apparently, they feared the master’s anger, and even I didn’t want to be in the heckler’s shoes. The Master though was full of goodness, after he
had paused for a little while.

»
Fratello
, that’s a good question«, he said, and if the stupid hood hadn’t hidden his head, I’d surely been able to see a canting face, just conjuring up the phoniest smile in the world. But, whose face was this? Fanned by the familiar voice, the musing in my head grew into some kind of mental toot
h pain.

»You are right. Because a man, who enters a train without knowing where it’s headed, must be either a fool or crazy. I understand you, my friend. But do you really feel strong enough already for the miracle? Wouldn’t its sight dazzle you in your current level of incarnation, blind you and in the end maybe totally tear you up? I will still give you a description. The miracle knows the face of the evil, of the misanthropist. And wherever the evil may hide, the miracle knows where to find it. Many know the road to evil, but they founder on the guards and the thousand nooks of the maze – do you think that? The miracle won’t! The miracle won’t,
cari amici
!«

The hooded guy yanked his arms up as if finally there had been the long-awaited goal for his favorite soccer team. And as if his followers had just waited for this sign, they went giddy with excitement. In the now closing sea of the batmen the recusant inquirer shrank back into the insignificant black spot he had been before, until he totally disappeared in the billowing crowd. Everyone took of their toppers, cheered their master with waving arms, applauded and hooted their heads off. The hooting and the stamping of feet got louder and louder until the whole room began to tremor. Meanwhile I seriously worried about the intactness of my ears. Samantha faced the same issue, a single glance to my side was enough to get a full impression of the
total distraction in her face.

»So, have you thought of something by now?« she asked me. Her right gray ear twitch
ed in impatient fever.

»Yeah«, I replied. »If you happen to have a map of the route we took here, I’d be willing to pay ten times the price or – if you’re into stuff like that – let you watch how Antonio and I become lovers!«

I quickly averted my eyes, because I didn’t want to see her reaction on my sarcasm that was born out of pure desperation. My eyes were totally caught by the stage on which the hooded guy, cheered up by his roaring fans, ecstatically flounced like a pop star at the zenith of his show and wildly swang the saber in the air. When the crowd eventually began to yell-sing again due to sheer euphoria, the star made some provoking gestures with his free hand as if he was demandi
ng something that he deserved.

»Manna for the miracle!« he shouted at the audience which appeared to be in some kind of a frenzy. »Manna for the miracle,
cari fratelli
! Manna for the miracle,
cari fratelli
!«