Tesorino

The sweltering heat of another summer’s day bore into Edmundo de Santi’s back as he strode into the market. Sweat coated his body, soaking through his once-white button down shirt. That always seemed to happen to people living in Cessirae. Finery went to waste faster than money changed hands in the back alleys of the city. No one was rich or poor in Cessirae, they just were. At least, that’s what the government tried to shove down it’s people’s throats from their ivory pulpets.

Edmundo spit on the ground in disgust. No decent government would allow people to live the way they did in Cessirae.

The brightly painted buildings and glass windows were a facade. A distraction from the true filth and poverty that gripped the city. Shops and houses clustered together along both sides of the street, leaning against one another for support. Pools of suspicious-looking liquids littered the roads and cracked cobblestones proved treacherous for anyone out past dark.

The sounds of vendors calling out their wares and hecklers looking for a bargain flooded his ears. Those like Edmundo, who didn’t have enough rubinos to pay for a single egg, flocked to the market to earn money in the only way they could.

Steal it.

Edmundo whistled to himself as he walked, making sure to keep a steady gait. He had managed to steal quite a bit of money in the past, but it was becoming more difficult thanks to the overwhelming presence of city guards roaming the pavilion.

But Edmundo was desperate. Rent was due in a few day’s time. Food was running low. And, he had his sister to worry about.

Their father had left before Lissetta was born. When she turned five, their mother placed Lissetta into his arms, told them she was going to find work, and never came back.

His eyes scanned the market, looking for his next target. But, with so many people jockeying for position at the many wooden tables scattered around the square, it was hard for Edmundo to spot his prey. The market was too crowded. Sighing in defeat, Edmundo began to shuffle back the way he had come, vowing to try again later that afternoon, when he caught sight of a man heading his way. Broad shouldered and bulky, the man was built like a barrel of wine. He wore a trench coat that must have been unbearable in the heat and a fedora was pulled low over his eyes. Though odd, the man’s clothes weren’t what snagged Edmundo’s attention. It was the perfect outline of a wallet stuffed into one of the coat pockets that had him changing course.

Just twenty paces from the man, Edmundo began to look upwards, seemingly to glance at the clouds that streamed across the sky. At the last moment, Edmundo stepped discreetly into the man’s path, knocking into him and almost sending them both sprawling into the dirt.

“Hey, watch yourself kid!” the man shouted, brushing the front of his coat.

“I..I’m so sorry, sir,” Edmundo stuttered. He had hardly finished his sentence before the man swept past him in an angry huff. But it didn’t matter. Edmundo got what he came for. Slipping the man’s wallet into his pocket, he strolled out of the market and back towards home.

Edmundo descended the weather-worn steps that led to the basement of the Giocatore, a dingy and foul-smelling tavern near the center of the city. Rats skittered back into the dark as he made his way behind a wall of crates stacked near the left side of the cellar. The small amount of light let through the glazed window illuminated the little hideout and there, on a moth-eaten mattress, was Lissetta, sitting up straight, her faded pink nightdress slipping off of her skeletal shoulders.

“You scared me,” she whined.

“Sorry, tesorino. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Edmundo kicked off his shoes and perched delicately on the edge of the mattress.

“Want to see what I picked up from the market today?” He cast her a sly gaze.

She nodded eagerly.

Pulling the wallet from his coat pocket, Edmundo turned to face his sister, ready to empty his plunder onto the mattress so they could sift through it. But, when he flipped the wallet over, rubinos didn’t litter the torn blanket like Edmundo had hoped. Rather, a small sheet of paper covered in a hastily written scrawl fluttered to land between the siblings.

“What on earth?” Edmundo spluttered in disbelief. He flipped the wallet over only to have it fall open in his hands.

Lissetta squealed with laughter.

“You really are a terrible thief, aren’t you?” she snorted, “you stole some poor man’s book.”

“This isn’t funny, Lissetta!” Edmundo roared, rising to his feet and pitching the book into the corner of the room. “How am I supposed to pay rent? How am I supposed to buy food to get us through tomorrow?”

Lissetta frowned at his tone, tears on the verge of spilling over.

“Sorry tesorino, I didn’t mean to snap.” He said, sitting next to her and drawing her close.

“It’s alright.” Lissetta murmured.

Sighing, Edmundo picked up the book and turned it over in his hands. A corner of the cover was bent backwards. The spine was covered in creases that spread like the tributaries of a river. Whoever owned the book must have used it everyday. The glue holding the binding together had all but worn away and many of the pages were on the verge of coming unbound.

Edmundo thumbed through the pages quickly. Random lists and reminders littered the once blank sheets. The writing itself wasn’t in orderly rows, but scattered at haphazard angles till almost none of the white paper could be seen.

“Why does he write so much?” Lissetta asked.

Edmundo shrugged. “Must be some old geezer who can’t remember anything.”

“How old was he?” Lissetta pondered in disbelief, “I thought you said you wouldn’t steal from old people.”

“ He wasn’t that old. Besides, I didn’t know this guy’s memory would be so terrible.” Edmundo mused, flipping to the last page that had writing on it. A simple series of notes dominated the middle of the page.

D’azzardon St.

Alley behind Sovrana’s.

Bello Raccol. Midnight.

Collect reward.

“What does it say?” Lissetta asked, peering over his shoulder and squinting at the letters.

“He’s meeting someone to collect a reward during the festival of Bello Raccol.”

Lissetta’s face lit up as she whirled on Edmundo.

“That’s today!”

Edmundo froze. That was why the markets were so crowded this morning. Suddenly, a foolish, brazen idea came alive in Edmundo’s mind.

“If this man’s memory is really as terrible as it appears, maybe he won’t remember about his meeting tonight.” Edmundo pulled a trenchcoat and fedora that used to belong to his father from inside one of the empty crates. “The man from the market was wearing clothes just like this when I stole the book. What if I show up to this meeting, pretend to be him, and claim whatever reward he’s talking about?” He turned to Lissetta, a triumphant smile adorning his face. She stared dumbly back, not understanding why he was so excited.

“But what if they figure out you’re not the man they’re meeting. What if you get hurt?” Tears welled in her eyes once more.

Edmundo swept down to her level, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll only have a look around. I promise I won’t get involved. Don’t cry, tesorino.”

Lissetta sniffed a few more times.

“Why do you call me that?” she pondered, “What does it mean?”

“I’ll tell you when I get back. But for now, you need to rest.”

The festival of Bello Raccol was one of the more sombre parties held throughout the year, but that never stopped people from consuming far too much of all the pleasures the vines had to offer.

It was ten minutes till midnight when Edmundo crept in the direction of D’azzardon Street. He didn’t want to show up too early for fear of bumping into the man from the market.

With five minutes to go, Edmundo leaned against a cool brick wall, taking in the lights streaming from Sovrana’s. He studied the crowd, looking for the fedora and trench coat from before.

Only one minute to go and Edmundo hadn’t caught a glimpse of the man. When the bells of the cathedral peeled across the streets, Edmundo’s eyes snapped to attention. Across from him, in the entrance an alleyway, stood the most terrifying man Edmundo had ever seen. His black trench coat sheathed him in darkness. But, the fedora on his head did nothing to conceal the jagged scar that swept from across his face. It seemed that he too was scanning the streets for the mysterious man from the market.

The man’s eyes locked on Edmundo’s, his gaze beckoning him to follow. The man turned and stalked deeper into the alley. Heart racing, Edmundo crossed the street and headed into the darkness.

Near the end of the alleyway sat another man, just as horrifying as the one from before.

The man who had caught Edmundo’s attention stood behind his comrade who sat lounging on a crate full of bottles, a cigar between his lips.

“What took you so long? Did Gazino frighten you?” The man with the cigar questioned.

“My apologies. Just making sure I wasn’t followed.” The lie slid smoothly from Edmundo’s lips as he tried to mimic the gruff tenor used by the man from the market.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The man with the cigar, clearly the leader of the two, snapped his fingers. His comrade, Gazino, pulled a briefcase from somewhere Edmundo couldn’t see. Undoing the clasps on the front, the man flipped open the lid, then stepped aside, allowing Edmundo a closer look at the contents of the case.

“Five thousand rubinos, as promised.” The leader said. “Mr. Ruka knew far too much. Thank you for dispatching him.”

The blood in Edmundo’s veins turned to stone.

What had he gotten himself into?

He looked up at the men who were waiting patiently for a response, circling like vultures.

Edmundo steadied his breathing.

“Don’t mention it.” he joked, as if the implications of his words meant nothing to him.

Gazino closed the briefcase in a swift motion and passed it to Edmundo. The case felt foreign in his hands, the leather pristine and unblemished.

How did he just get away with this?

Wanting to leave as soon as possible, Edmundo turned on his heel and almost ran back the way he had come, when someone behind him cleared their throat.

Edmundo turned again to face the men.

The man with the cigar laughed. “I could use your service again, Mr. Rumlo. If you’re interested.”

Edmundo struggled to make eye contact for fear the man could read the terror written across his features.

The man smirked, his gaze never breaking from Edmundo’s as he snapped his fingers once more. His partner produced yet another briefcase, this one bigger than the last.

“I can assure you the rewards will be more than worth your while.” Gazino opened the case and rubinos, more than Edmundo could spend in three lifetimes, filled the case.

Edmundo weighed his options. If he said no, would they dispatch him too? If he said yes, what sorts of things would he have to do to earn his keep? His thoughts kept snagging on Lissetta. He was supposed to provide for her. He wouldn’t let her go hungry. Never.

Edmundo looked at the man one more time, eyes meeting nothing but deep pools of black, the empty sockets of a skull.

“What do you need me to do?”

The man smirked and it was the smile of a demon. His voice wound itself down Edmundo’s spine as his words, laced with venom, struck Edmundo in the chest.

“Write this down.”