Marco's Journal - the House of the Crow

It was bitterly cold in January; dull grey clouds hung over the Eternal City and the ancient stones seemed to draw all the heat from your bones. We had celebrated Christmas and now had the rest of winter to look forward to. Firewood cost a fortune, as usual, so we really needed some more work to get by without freezing solid. Then Noli came to the Black Cat with news - the flying monkeys were back and haunting the streets at midnight. So the sorceror had not fled after we broke up his auction, and straightway we all agreed to pursue him and put an end to his evil deeds. Besides, it seemed to me that he might be rich with a lair full of ill-gotten gains.

Noli been studying the ledger we took from the ruined mansion and talking to the locals in the Quirinale. No-one had got paid for their work, and the merchants named in the ledger had no recollection of a contract to supply goods. Several had seemed dumbfounded when they checked their own books and found entries matching the ledger. No-one could remember who they sold to, or what they looked like, and it seemed their memories had been clouded by some sorcery. ' A use of magia' Friar Giovanni tells me. 'Sinful and Shameful' he adds, which is much the same verdict he has for most things in this life connected with enjoyment. For such is the way of a mendicant.

So Father Arturo and Noli went forth to visit the merchants together and see if the power of Prayer might clear some of the mind-fog and so discover the name of the sorceror. Meanwhile Rocco, Astore and I, accompanied Friar Giovanni back to the ruined mansion and set a night watch on it. Some time around midnight I saw a dark shadow against the night sky flitting southwards from the top of the tower, confirming that the rumours were true.

When we all met up to share our news, Father Arturo reported that by the grace of providence and prayer one merchant had recollected the name used had been 'Corvo', but he believed he had met him years before when he called himself Aristofane Caltagirone. At last we had a real clue, but whether it led to a place or a family name none of us could tell, as none of us had been born and raised here. So we went to Cola and put our cards on the table. He was pleased we had shown our own initiative and confirmed that the Council of Thirteen had offered a reward for a flying monkey - dead or alive. His library also provided us with a coat-of-arms for the family of Caltagirone. Cola said they were once a power in Rome, but had now fallen back into obscurity.

So we followed a line south from the Quirinale and searched the streets and alleys for days looking for anywhere where three ravens on a shield were carved or painted. We hunted high and low, and eventually Noli spotted one. Another crumbling mansion, albeit still intact, bore the device above a doorway. As well as the front door into the street, there were smaller doors into a side alley, and from the garden at the rear. The walls there were 15 feet high, and the place itself was built for defence, so there was no easy way to spy inside. All the windows were shuttered and far above we could see the arches of an open enclosure on the top floor, which would give shade and a cooling breeze in summer. We were freezing on the streets in January, so we rented an apartment in a nearby insula and set a warmer and more covert watch on the place. There were no comings or goings at all, except one delivery of water and provisions each week. Day and night we watched, until at last I saw three dark shapes fly out of the arches far above the street an hour or so after dark. At last we could be sure we had found our quarry, and would not assault some innocent citizens who happened to live behind an ancient coat-of-arms.

Now we needed a plan, and like many sieges silver proved to be the answer. The deliveryman was bribed with Matteo Corsini's money, so we could make a special delivery instead. When they next opened the shutter, they saw the deliveryman and his cart; but when they opened the gate a few moments later, we pushed inside instead. Rocco took the lead and faced a gigantic retard with a maul, before dodging round him to pursue a hunchback with one arm many sizes too big for his body. While Rocco pushed and shoved against a door shut in his face, Matteo engaged the simpleton while I pushed into a small courtyard. A necromantic hulk appeared, and then a second, woken from their slumber by a few words in latin from the hunchback. We had faced these before at the Virgin's Auction, and they have to be hacked into pieces before they fall. For they feel neither pity nor pain nor remorse, and are relentless in their attack. Both were armed with rude mauls - it looked like the sorceror had bought in bulk from the blacksmiths. I hacked into my opponent with a heavy axe, but this time with the help of Noli. In battle, some men fight with rage, some with malice, and some just for the love of killing. Noli was calm, unhurried; more like a butcher dismembering a hog - one careful cut at a time. Snick, snick went his Cinquedea. A hand here, a foot there, then a leg. Soon the hulk was crawling and thrashing on the floor, no longer a threat.

We moved to engage two more as they came down stairs from a room above - while I faced them, Noli skipped behind, stabbing. Soon there was another pile of disabled hulks with me pinned beneath, and Noli above, still grabbing and slicing. Meanwhile Astore had engaged a fourth hulk and Rocco battered in vain against the door the hunchback had fled through crying 'Master, Master, Help!'. Father Arturo and Friar Giovanni pushed by the cart at last, and came into the courtyard to join the fray. Now 'The Last shall be First' as the Good Book says, and indeed it was Friar Giovanni who was the first target of the flying monkeys. They swooped down from above and snatched at him with their clawed feet, and stabbed at him with their little falcata. He swiftly abandoned prayer in favour of defence with a stout staff, and belaboured the demons with it.

By now Matteo had completely befuddled the gigantic simpleton with his swordsmanship, but amidst the fray I saw clearly that mercy stayed his hand and he merely disabled him rather than run him through. A fine gentleman indeed, not the sort you meet on the field as a common soldier. For us, it is all blades and brawling in the mud and the blood and the beer. ' Both Grace and Mercy Fall From Heaven' Friar Giovanni remarks and he writes these letters. I will be sure to look out for it, but more in hope than expectation.

After Matteo had demonstrated his quality, Father Arturo prayed up a storm of pious words and set the Holy Ghost on the last necromatic hulk which was ponderously chasing a disarmed Astore around the yard. After a few seconds of slow thought, it recollected that it was dead, and slumped face down in the dirt - just a corpse once more, no longer animated by the malice of the sorceror's will. That left Rocco, Matteo and I to deal with the flying monkey-demons swirling round Friar Giovanni. After a flurry of blade and staff blows we downed two of them, and the third fled, only to meet the banishing prayers of Father Arturo.

We were now masters of the field, and by the grace of providence all still standing. A few prayers from Father Arturo set Rocco back on his feet while I axed down the inner door which had been slammed in his face. It took a while, and within we found only a small kitchen and guard-room with a side door out into the street, locked fast. There was no sign of the hunchback or his master. It was then that Friar Giovanni revealed skills he had not learned from the Franciscans - for searching the room in minute detail he found a secret way to open a hidden trapdoor. This led down into an empty bedroom - dark indeed without any door or windows. Again we searched in vain, knocking here and tapping there, until once more the Friar found a hidden thing to unlock another secret way down into the basement of the mansion. Stairs led far below the level of the street until we found a great slab of stone and nearby an ice-room full of dismembered human bodies, ready to be made into more necromantic hulks. The basement was large, with pentagrams in the floor and a bench full of glass twisted and formed into strange shapes, as well as bottles full of mysterious liquids. Once more our Franciscan bloodhound sniffed out a secret door which led even further down into the darkness below the streets of Rome, this time full of the smell of the sewers. The sorceror had fled into this maze of tunnels after seizing his books and taking his gold with him. So we made do with all the glass from his laboratory, and a few scrolls we found tucked into neglected corners. We loaded up the grocery cart and set off with our booty to the Black Cat.

Before locking the mansion behind us, Matteo once again showed his quality as we deposited the gigantic simpleton in our rented apartment, along with all the water and provisions delivered that day. We left him battered and bruised, still mewling feebly 'Must ...Protect.. Master', but perhaps in time Providence will grant some return of his scattered wits. It felt better to leave him thus, rather than cut his throat and dump him in the gutter. One less sin to confess, anyway.

And so ends our tale of mercy found unexpectedly on the battlefield - as we return in triumph to Cola with ancient scrolls for his library and some hope of a reward from the Council of Thirteen for two demon corpses. Even if that turns out to be cheap talk, the glassware should sell for a goodly sum of florins and keep the wolf from our door a while longer.

Marco's Journal - Sins of Impatience and Anger

The autumn rains had given way to the first real bite of Winter, so I had to loan Friar Giovanni an old cloak to prevent him freezing solid while begging in the street. My golden fortune in ducats dwindled quickly into a small puddle of silver once I gave alms for the care of a sick women and bought a fine mail haubergion. Now I look like a soldier again, although wearing it in the streets is asking for trouble. The Friar says that poverty is good for the soul, as it removes so many temptations from reach. He set a fine example dressed in rags and his summer sandles while I threw the last of our wood on the fire. Good firewood costs a fortune in the Eternal City, and my little pile of silver would not have kept us warm for much longer.

Then our fortunes changed, as Father Arturo stuck his head round the door and said ' Come on, Cola has given me a job to do and I need some street security'. So Rocco and I followed him to the Convent de Formosa, and met no trouble along the way. Friar Giovanni tagged along, bowl in hand, hoping for alms and a warm greeting.

We got neither, although we were finally admitted into the Convent after freezing outside for an eternity. Without the good Father being expected we would not have gotten in at all, and the Prioress did not seem pleased to see us. Nonetheless we were ushered into the presence of the Abbess Hildegard herself and offered a watery cup of wine. We let the good Father do the talking, mostly; the abbess did not take kindly to men-of-arms. Mendicants she ignored altogether.

The Abbess explained that one of her oblates was missing. The young lady had been sent by her family to the convent to negate a romantic association with one Matteo Corsini, a young man they had not selected as suitable for their daughter. Apparently young love had blossomed, and they sent her here to prevent things going any further. Now she was gone, and Prioress Maria Ascente was certain she had eloped ‘with the Corsini boy’. Apparently she recognised his distinctive hat while viewing a midnight assignation in the courtyard from a convenient window. A ladder had been found in the back street, left against the courtyard wall. The job seemed simple enough so far - find the sweethearts and bring the girl back without fuss or bloodshed.

Then things took a turn on the weird side. Father Arturo asked to speak with any other witness, and Sister Ursula enters our story. Young and foolish, she admitted her part as chaperone to the midnight tryst, but burst in tears and wailed that the oblate had been abducted by three demons from hell, and not some would-be-lover. Her despair and misery seemed real enough, however bizarre her account. After much bawling we let her go back to her prayers and then Father Arturo spent an age examining every tree in the inner courtyard as well as the ladder found outside before we left the convent.

‘Patience is a virtue,’ says Friar Giovanni, and I must confess that it is one I lack. For it seemed clear to me that the suitor must be a minor sorceror with the power to confuse weak minds with colourful nightmares, and we should move without delay to recover the missing oblate from his clutches - by whatever means were needed. But my learned colleagues were wiser than I, and insisted upon words not deeds as our next move. I went along grumbling, and impatient.

Matteo Corsini met us in an bar not far from his town-house that very evening and confirmed the same fantastic tale as Sister Ursula : whilst he declaimed romantic poetry from the top of a ladder the object of his desire was seized and dragged into the night sky by three demons from hell ! Ever since he had been searching the city for their lair, and had found rumours of unnatural birds flying by night, haunting the alleys around the Saint Angelo district. To check, we made straight for that district and discovered the same rumours from several sources; something was definitely up, and Corsini seemed on the level.

Early next morning we met Matteo and his loyal servant Noli once more. It was clear we all had a common cause and would do better as allies than rivals. So Matteo and both priests had breakfast with our friends at the Deliziosa, whilst Rocco, Noli and I investigated strange goings-on reported at a ruined mansion at the top of the hill of Saint Angelo. We helped a waterman push his cart up the hill to the ruin where someone was spending a fortune tarting up the place for a massive party two nights hence. Rocco and Noli mingled with the workers and spied out the work site while I loafed around on a break and kept a lookout.

A horde of workmen were refitting the shell of the old mansion as some sort of playhouse with a central stage. We also learned that there would be no admittance to the party without a private token, and entry to the playhouse for the 'midnight auction' was for token-bearers only. A vast outlay for a secret gathering - but what was to be sold ? Perhaps abducted virgins? The whole thing seemed bizarre and required more investigation, so we crept back after dark and dodged around the watchmen. Rocco and Noli crept about and found a door under the stage which led to a tunnel with further doors leading to a small house in a nearby street, from which a clerk ran the construction. So this ruin had a secret back entrance, and seemed to be visited by the night-devils haunting the run-down district below the hill, seeking out young women and children.

Surely Providence had led us this far with a purpose, so we all agreed to see it through - to whatever end.

So the next night saw us pick a lock and creep quietly up that tunnel to wait beneath the stage for the midnight auction. Waiting quietly for hours in darkness before an ambush is thirsty work, and it gives time for doubt to creep into your mind. What devilment is afoot here? Is the girl still alive? Will we live to see the dawn? Such is the life of a soldier. But Father Aurturo had called upon the Holy Spirit to bless our endeavour, which gave me both hope and comfort. He said we were to follow the path of the Righteous Man, and to confront the Tyranny of Evil Men with cold steel - that was good enough for me. Only Forward Now…

The murmering began as the crowd assembled around the stage, a hushed hubbub of excitement.Then the boards above creaked as they bore the weight of several men. "Welcome friends, Welcome' boomed a voice above. He sounded like a market-trader showing off his wares, confident and well-spoken. But this was no regular meat market. His patter made it plain it was an auction to buy a secret ritual to summon a 'flying monkey' and bind it to service with blood. A drop of blood from the winner, and all the blood of a young virgin. Those of a squeamish nature were advised to leave before the ritual was completed.

Down in the dark, my eyes met those of Matteo - doubts fled, and only iron remained.

The bidding started at 500 and soared to 2000 before it checked, then crept at last to an incredible 3600 golden florins - a Pope's ransom ! Now the bidder boarded the stage and the crowd gasped as the auctioneeer called out ' See my servants bring down - the sacrifice! ' Which was, of course, our call to arms and ambuscade.

We burst out from beneath, running up the stairs and on to the stage with a shout. It was a scene from a Cardinal's nightmare: three night-devils hovering above a virgin lying helpless at the feet of a sorceror - with the stage surrounded by a crowd of masked cultists.So no shortage of sinners at this party. Our path to the sorceror was blocked by two hulking axemen who felt no pain. Re-born in some necromatic vat, their mockery of God's Work had to be hacked into pieces with many blows. By the time we were done with them Rocco was limping with a smashed foot, Friar Giovanni had been scragged by a devil, and the sorceror had fled into the milling mob who surrounded the stage. But Matteo had the girl.

'Get Them !' was the cry, but the masked mob lacked the courage to face just two armed men. Maybe that was for the best, for I planned to murder, right quick, the first to set foot on that stage as a lesson in prudence for the others. 'Blessed are the Merciful, for They shall be Pardoned'says the good Friar, but I was all out of mercy for evil men who would bid a fortune to murder a young girl. In hard times and tight places, Anger is more useful than Despair. And Providence watched over us, for the mob was leaderless, and hesitated, - so we were gone back down the tunnel and off into the night a few minutes later. The Deliziosa was our refuge once more, and the girls took the drugged oblate to a bed and treated her kindly.

It was here that I must admit a sin of Anger, as Father Arturo would insist on standing in the bedroom while Matteo held her hand and whispered comforting words in her ear, safe from a fate worse than death. He had risked his life in common cause and was now my brother-in-arms; my heart said that he had earned a quiet moment with the poor girl he was obviously devoted to. 'Greater Love Hath No Man' as the saying goes. But Father Arturo kept bleating loudly about chaperones, and absolutely refusing to move, which provoked the sin of anger in my heart. By force I carried him bodily down the stairs and dumped him back at the table outside and told him to sit quiet and leave the two of them in peace. To lay hands on the holy Father was a sin, but it was Pity that moved me, so perhaps my penance will be small. After that the good Friar and Father Arturo busied themselves more usefully healing wounds by the Grace of the Holy Spirit, and there was no more talk about chaperones.

My faith in Matteo was well-founded - in the morning he returned with a litter and four bearers so we could convey the oblate back to the Convent on his behalf, and bear a true witness to all that had occurred to the Abbess. This we did, receiving her grateful thanks and wonderment at the evil that men do in the Eternal City.

And so ends my tale of kidnapping and sorcery, thwarted by devoted love - and men of faith and courage. I came through all our tribulations without a scratch, by the Will of Providence. But I do confess the sins of Impatience and Anger in my part, and ask forgiveness from those I have offended.

Fortune and Misfortune

After our encounter with the coacal demon, life returned to normal and we toiled in the heat to stay fed. The long hot summer ended in heavy rain, which washed the city streets clean again, however briefly.

At the end of summer the Tiber rose again, more and more after each storm, until the scribblers could no longer go down the tunnel of the ancients to copy the lost texts for Cola. It was then we had our first real action in months. It is a tale of fortune and misfortune entwined, with a lesson to confess. Confession is good for the soul, as Friar Giovanni tells me at least ten times each day. His penance for his part is to write these letters for me.

Out of the blue Trucco came to me and said : ' Cola has a job for your crew. When you first came to the city Friar Michele was the good shepherd who sent you here, along with so many other waifs and strays. Now he has gone missing, and Cola would know why. So sniff around, and see what has become of him.'

So with Friar Giovanni and Rocco, Astore and I began our search; we were guided by little Pino who knows the streets and alleys better than all of us together. It seemed to our company that retracing our way into the city was the best way to start our search. The old tunnel of the ancients comes out under the Baths of Diocletian, which is a big ruin surrounded by a rough common of no-mans-land, so we sent the Friar in to sniff for news or trouble, and he found that quick enough.

We had hardly put down our packs and stretched out in the sun, when he ran back outside with a black eye and no begging bowl. 'Get them' he cried, forgetting to turn the other cheek or forgive those who had tresspassed against him. ' Them ' turned out to be two evil-looking thugs, one large and one small, who turned tail and fled as soon as Rocco and Astore ran after them, along with the enraged Friar. Now he often tells me 'Pride Comes Before A Fall' and proved the Gospel teachings for us all with his own example. For they were waiting for him in the dark passages and chambers within, and clubbed him down within a few heartbeats. Astore and Rocco dragged him out under the aim of a crossbow, after exchanging a few choice words with the gang who had taken over that great warren of rubble.

Friar Giovanni was in a bad way - he had fainted after a mace had smashed into his thigh - and now lay as if dead. So we hauled him quickly to two nearby churches, but no Good Samaritans were home for wounded mendicants, so the Barber's shop would have to do instead. I bought an old litter so we could carry him back home as soon we could. Cola paid for a Franciscan Friary to fix him up, and by their prayers the very next day he was able to limp after us as we went off again.

We set a watch on the ruins, and saw the same pair of villians go to-and-fro with a heavy pack of goods and provisions. They visited an address a mile or so away in Monte, a run-down district of the Eternal City. They were wary of spies, and alert for followers, so clearly their affairs of business raised suspicion. Local sources said that the gang had taken over the ruins a fortnight ago, and now controlled the destitute families who lived there. Friar Michele had not been seen since the gang showed up, so it seemed most likely that they were involved in his fate. The goods they were trading were strange - some Greek wine and spices from the end of the world- and they had found a local merchant called Bobboli to deal with.

So we went went back to Cola to report all we had discovered. One of the names mentioned meant something to him, and he sent us striaght back out to ask hard questions of the merchant; a midnight knock and interrogation was the order.

Back through the dark streets and alleys we went, but tooled up properly this time, and midnight saw us knocking on the merchant's door right enough. Rocco and Astore went through a window, while I broke the back door down when the screaming started. Who should we find within but our old pair of villians, who bore their nick-names 'Weasel' and 'Piglet' well enough. They were not pleased to have unexpected guests visit the merchant, so we debated the matter with steel until Roco killed Piglet with some vicious dagger strikes and Weasel surrendered rather than feel any more of my heavy axe.

And now for the moral part of my story.

By misfortune Astore had woken the cook who would scream and fight rather than stay quiet and out of the fray. The more she screamed the madder he got, and the more she got hurt the louder she screamed. A bad business, for it is unwise to provoke those who walk on the iron road to hell. I am no angel to cast a stone, but it was a sin to cut down an unarmed woman who had nothing to do with villany. Friar Giovanni was rightly dismayed and put forth all his skills and prayers to save her life, even though Rocco had taken a nasty dagger wound in his hip and could now hardly walk. The Lord answered his prayers and this pious woman was drawn back from the edge of eternity to her sick-bed.

The merchant spilt the truth without any hard questions - the sight of the kitchen battlefield was enough to convince him of the need to confess his involvement with their schemes straight away. He bitterly regretted agreeing to fence their goods for a tenth part, and wailed that his daughter was now a hostage to ensure his obedience.

Weasel was our prisoner and feared for his skin; he did not like the sharpness of my axe or the look in Astore's eyes. He babbled that he was just a pawn in the game, but one who might be exchanged for Friar Michele, who he said was held captive in the ruins. Such a trade seemed unlikely, but nonetheless we took him back with us unharmed, along with some of the wine and exotic spices the merchant had concealed.

And Lo! Fortune followed hard on Misfortune, for when we returned, well after midnight, we found The Black Cat ablaze with lights and Cola entertaining two Venetian nobles dressed like peacocks. I could not afford a feather in the Venetian Agent's hat, but he was delighted to receive our prisoner and the goods we had found as hard evidence of piracy. All the colour drained from Weasel's face when he saw these peacocks, and it seemed he would need to sing like a canary if he wished to save his skin from the Venetians he had robbed.

"The state of Venice thanks you for your help' - I never thought to hear those words addressed to me, and note them in this Journal for posterity. More to the point, they gave us a heavy bag of gold coins as a reward. They made it plain that they would take our information and the hard evidence recovered and lay their vengeance upon the pirate gang right quick. And away they went, leaving Cola delighted; he gave us each 8 Venetian ducats from the bag, saving us all from poverty once more.

Cola was less pleased to hear that an innocent had been harmed in our afray, and sternly commanded Astore to mind his conduct and do penance for his sins if he wished to remain in his employ.

And so ends this little tale of Fortune and Misfortune: a mortal sin narrowly averted by pious prayer, with golden fortune following swiftly at the whim of Providence.