Chapter 1665 - 1571: Atrocities

The bespectacled boy next to them glanced at the Secret Police, his expression tense. "Josh, even if you want to help, we're no match for those three bastards…"

"Then we use our brains against them." Josiah said, pulling a glass bottle filled with white powder out of her pocket and shoving it into the tall student's hands, then pointing at the alley across the street. "Severino, you go there and make smoke… Oh, this is sodium nitrate, heat it with gunpowder and it'll smoke. Go!"

"Sodium nitrate" is ammonium chloride; when burned it produces thick clouds of smoke. She was the "chemistry expert" in the group and tinkered with these things whenever she had nothing else to do.

Severino, helpless, could only take the bottle and stride off at a run.

Josiah straightened the dark gray men's overcoat she was wearing, pressed down the old felt hat, estimated the time, and ran toward Charles.

"Wait, gentlemen." Charles shifted to a serious expression, pressing down the hand of the Secret Police officer dragging him, and said in Latin, "I need to see Orsi…"

He had meant to say Cardinal Orsini, responsible for the Pope State's foreign affairs, but halfway through his sentence a frantic, sharp voice cut him off: "Officer, over there! I saw someone moving stuff that looked like gunpowder over there, they must be planning to blow something up…"

The three Secret Police turned their heads at that, their faces all changing drastically.

White smoke filled the alley not far away, looking very much like the smoke from a flintlock gun shot.

"Damn it!" The lead Secret Police officer snarled a threat at Charles. "Stand right here and don't you run, or I'll break your bones!"

Then he took the other two and hurried toward the alley. After all, Archbishop Muzareli had been blown to pieces by a bomb that very morning; any clue related to gunpowder was far more important than some rabble-rouser distributing banned writings.

Before Charles could react, a thin hand seized him and pulled him toward the side gate of the University of Rome; that slender voice was still quietly urging him on: "Move, they'll realize what's going on soon."

Charles followed "him" through the gate, and once they'd slowed down a little he bent slightly and said, "My thanks for your help."

Josiah was panting from the run; she turned her head to him and said, "Your French is really good. But next time you've got to be quicker on your feet; if those 'Evil Dogs' drag you off, it's trouble. Oh, I'm Josh. What's your name?"

"You may call me Charlie."

Josiah nodded, then asked, "You're probably not with the Free Rome Party. Are you with the Vitale Society, or the Human Rights Declaration Research Association?"

"N-no, neither…"

"So you're from a small group. No wonder your guard isn't high enough." As she spoke she glanced at Rosh behind him. "Which faculty are you from, Professor?"

"I…"

Josiah waved a hand. "I know it's inconvenient for you to say; that's fine. Right now you both need to change clothes quickly, then go to the library and pretend you never left. That should be enough."

Just as she was speaking, a "janitor" with brown hair came quickly from behind a flowerbed not far away, hurried up to her and, speaking at high speed, said, "Josh, you did a brilliant job! Now all of Rome knows Muzareli is dead. Mr. Sorendino wants you to go to the 'Harbor' immediately to discuss the uprising…"

Josiah frantically gave him meaningful looks, but couldn't stop his torrent of words; in the end she could only slap him hard. "Benigno, ahem, this is Mr. Charlie, we just met him."

Benigno froze at once. He only knew Josiah herself; he'd heard she and two other companions had gone to carry out the mission, but hadn't expected that the two beside her weren't them.

Just then Severino and the bespectacled student came running over as well, waving to Josiah. "Good thing I run fast; those 'Evil Dogs' sealed off the whole alley… Next time don't take such risks, all right?"

Benigno pointed at the two. "And they are?"

"My companions." Josiah finished, then looked somewhat awkwardly at Charles. "You two didn't hear anything just now, did you?"

Charles and Rosh nodded in unison.

Benigno, however, grabbed them in a vise-like grip. "No, you can't leave. God, this must not leak out, not a single word."

"It's fine, they're revolutionaries too." Josiah signaled to Charles. "Quick, tell Mr. Ferro which organization you're with?"

Benigno shook his head flatly. "I don't care which organization. Gentlemen, for the next two days you must stay with me until this matter is over. I'll take care of your room and board."

Rosh frowned, then quietly translated Benigno's demand into French for Charles, after which he said in Italian, "No, we have to go home. I swear I will never breathe a word of what I heard to anyone!"

Benigno's tone was stiff. "I'm sorry, it's only two days. I hope you'll cooperate."

Before he'd finished speaking, a sudden clatter of hoofbeats came from around them, and faintly they could hear the whistles of the Secret Police.

Severino's pupils contracted. "That can't be the Noble Guard, can it?"

The so‑called Noble Guard was the Holy See's Cavalry unit; normally they didn't take part in affairs inside the city, but this time Muzareli was dead, so they had been deployed.

Benigno frowned. "Why would they come here?"

He had no way of knowing that the smoke Josiah used to lure away the Secret Police had drawn in all the Holy See's military and police forces within a radius of two kilometers.

From a distance that stuff looked far too much like the gunsmoke from firing.

Two members of the Patrol Team from the schools passed by, shouting loudly, "The police order everyone to remain in their dormitories and wait to be questioned!"

The bespectacled student went pale. "We—we have to get out of here!"

Cold sweat seeped from Benigno's forehead. "I'd guess they've blocked every road already."

"Damn! What do we do now?"

Josiah, however, looked composed as she took an "iron ball" from her backpack and fingered the fuse. "At worst we go a few rounds with these lackeys of the Holy See!"

Charles recalled what Benigno had said earlier—translated for him by Rosh—and narrowed his eyes at the bomb. "So it was you who assassinated Archbishop Muzareli?"

No one answered.

Charles hesitated for a second, but still said in a low voice, "With respect, this is murder; you ought to confess your crime before a judge."

Josiah turned a cold look on him. "I can't believe it—you speak French, and yet you're defending the enemies of freedom and human rights!"

"No, I'm only opposed to atrocities."

"Atrocities?" Josiah let the hand holding the bomb fall to her side, her tone as calm as if she were saying "The price of bread went up today." "My neighbor's son, fifteen years old, because he recited a doggerel in a tavern mocking Muzareli's corruption, was chained to a horse's tail by the Secret Police and dragged once around the Colosseum. His leg is gone.

"Several little boys from the choir at St. John's Church would be called to Muzareli's house from time to time, usually disappearing for days. In the end only one of them was still alive.

"My philosophy professor was kept in Castel Sant'Angelo for thirteen months—no trial, no visits. Muzareli had already signed the order to hang him next week."

She turned to look at Charles. "We don't want to kill anyone. What I want to blow up is that power that 'can make someone lose a leg and never be judged for it.'

"We don't want to kill him. What I want is a city where no one has to kneel, and he is the lock that clamps down on 'the power to enjoy being knelt to.'

"There are other locks, yes, but he was the biggest one; smash him, and the others will start to loosen."