Chapter Text

Coriander

When Red arrived at the hotel the following evening, half an hour earlier than he was supposed to, William was already in the lobby, legs crossed, reading the newspaper. A full cup of black coffee sat on the table before him, the steam long since gone.

“Mister Ryan?”

“Mister Rossi. You did a fine job last night.”

Red bowed his head for a half a second before thinking better of it. There was something about William that made him feel like he needed to bow. Even though he had never bowed to anyone in his life, short of playing pretend as a child. “Thank you, sir. I just need to buy you the new trunk. But there should be enough room for it.”

There was a soft rustling as William neatly folded the newspaper. “Can you do it tomorrow, and bring it here at eight o’clock?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He hesitated. “Sir.” He added, still not feeling right speaking so casually to a guest.

“Excellent. I will give you the money.” William placed the folded newspaper beside the coffee and got to his feet.

Red noticed William never straightened his clothes when he moved. He had never noticed that most people did, until he noticed someone who didn’t. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

William started towards the room, and Red fell into step beside him. “Please, don’t address me so formally.”

“Sorry.” Red murmured. Although William seemed completely at ease, Red wasn’t.

“Do you know where you will purchase the trunk?” William asked as they reached his room. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

“The day is my own tomorrow, so I’ll have time to look. Any trunk will do, right—as long as it’s big enough?” As he followed William into his room, Red caught himself fidgeting, picking at the edges of his nails, and hastily stuffed his hands into his pockets. Perhaps he shouldn’t have made promises about finding such a specific thing in a city that he still didn’t know all that well.

William approached one of the trunks and pulled another, smaller key out of his pocket with his gloved hand. “Yes, most any will do. Though there is a particular district that I would prefer you buy it from.”

William unlocked the trunk, pulling the heavy lid open with ease. The faintly sweet odor of cedar came from inside. Red couldn’t help but take a few steps forward: he had not seen inside one before, and he was curious what this man had thought important enough to take halfway around the world. The trunk held an odd assortment of wooden items, ranging from simple kitchen tools, to ornamental carvings, and jewellery. It seemed as though more items were stuffed into the trunk than would allow it to close, but he figured that was just a trick of the eye. Maybe the style just made it look smaller than it was.

At the nearest end of the trunk, there was a medium-sized box, about one foot square, secured with a big brass lock patterned with branches with spoon shaped leaves. William picked up the small box and set it on the table, fishing a second key out of his pocket. He unlocked it and opened it: inside there were neatly stacked bundles of notes—a combination of the Allied-issued banknotes and the newer Biglietti di Stato.

“Take one of these. You can use it to buy the trunk.” He held the box out to Red.

Red carefully approached and grabbed one of the bundles from the box. It felt slick and strange; no creases. William closed and locked the box, placed it back into the trunk, and then closed and locked the trunk. Red carefully flicked through the notes, breathing in the smell of the cash as he counted them. Right there, in his hand, was more money than he had earned in his entire time in Italy.

“Sir?” He felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, like a child holding a bag of sweets he wasn’t supposed to have. “This... this is an awful lot of money.”

“I would like a quite fine trunk if you see one, and I would hate you not to be able to purchase it.” He said, simply.

Red had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that this man could trust him so easily with so much. But then again, from the contents of the locked box, he might not even miss it if Red ran off. And if he ran off, he might not find more work for a while: no doubt a man with William’s resources could track him down and ruin him, if he wanted to.

The thought of running left as quickly as it came. No. He liked the job. He liked the promise of stability. And, as odd as he was, he quite liked William, too. He seemed a little eccentric, but pleasant to be around. He spoke English with him and made Red feel like he was being listened to, noticed, seen . He felt comfortable. More comfortable than he had in a while.

“Thank you.” Red finally said. He carefully placed the wad of money into his pocket, suddenly aware of how he normally crumpled notes into his pocket without thinking. He would need to buy something to keep his money secure, especially if William planned to send him on more shopping trips in the future. His pockets seemed too open and obvious all of a sudden.

“Now, come. I will show you where to go for the trunk.”

“You don't need to go out of your way, sir.”

“Please call me William.”

“Sorry…” Red hesitated. It still felt odd to call an employer by his first name, especially one who was no doubt used to being waited on. “I’ll be able to find something somewhere.”

“No, I shall take you. There is no sense in you going somewhere that sells inferior merchandise.”

It was hard to believe that such a place could have existed so near the hotel he worked at, and that he had never happened across it before. There were beggars who hid their faces beneath thick shawls; smells of spices and clouds of thick incense that almost choked him even in the open air; and the sound of discordant music that seemed to float through the windows of every other building.

People stared at him as he walked, half a step behind William, trying to take it all in. People stopped talking when they got close, some giving awkward bows when William was within a few feet and not looking up until he had passed.

Red was glad it wasn’t just him who had that urge.

He almost couldn’t find it again the next day. When he did finally find the alleyway that led to the strange street he could swear he had passed the two shops sandwiching it — a shop exclusively selling flower vases and another selling jewelry that had spikes on the underside — three times before he spotted the entrance. The archway to the neighbourhood somehow looked darker, more foreboding in the light of day.

The street was much different; there were fewer people about, and no music or incense at all. There was only the sound of people shuffling about, and the smell of the dirt they kicked up in their movements. Perhaps that had been why he had so much trouble finding his way back. Without William, the few people he saw neither stared or bowed. There were a few small glances out of the corners of their eyes, a few whispers behind cupped hands when they thought he wouldn’t see them. It made him feel exposed and awkward, just in an altogether different way than the night before.

He saw a grand concert hall, with large posters on the outside walls that proclaimed the upcoming shows. He did not recognise the names of any of them, but that was not surprising. He was not exactly a patron of theatres, even back home. He stood out the front, taking in the strange names and looking at the dates. Each performance seemed to have only one or two showings, but rather than being on consecutive nights, they were showing weeks apart. He wondered why they were organised like that. It didn’t sound very sensible.

As he gawked at the the posters (one showed a woman stuffing a man’s mouth with cloth and Red could not figure out what the context of that could possibly be ), he heard the shuffling steps of a woman coming up behind him. She was wearing a heavy red dress that covered her entire body, including her face: the sun’s bright reflection glinted off a pair of black glasses she was wearing underneath. The top of her form was a funny cylindrical shape, as though she was wearing a top hat underneath the thick red fabric. The long-sleeved dress stopped at her knees; her legs were clad in thick black stockings and she wore gloves and heavy shoes.

“Who are you?” She hissed at him in broken Italian. “What is your business?”

Red was quite surprised at receiving such an unprovoked, frosty reception — and in worse Italian than his own, no less. “I want to buy a...” Red searched for the word, but was not able to find it in his limited Italian vocabulary. He gestured vaguely, outlining a rectangle with his hands. “A big box?” He said finally, weakly.

The woman’s manner seemed to soften, though it was hard to be sure with only the most basic outline of her form being visible. “A-ha! On a job for your master?”

Red tried not to cringe; his master? Her Italian was definitely worse than his. He had to remind himself he was in no place to judge. “Yes. My boss needs one for… things.” Okay, he really couldn’t judge.

She touched him gently on the shoulder. It felt unpleasant, and made him think of swimming in the lake as a child, of when his foot scraped something unknown on the bottom. She gestured for him to follow her. “Come to my shop.”

Red followed, wondering about the wisdom of the decision of following strange women in parts of town he didn’t know. He couldn’t even be sure that she had even understood what he was looking for. Moreover, he had never seen someone dressed anything like this woman was. It was beginning to get warm out. She would have to be sweltering under that thing; he could only imagine what it would be like in June. Maybe she didn’t wear it every day. Or maybe it was a religious thing. Maybe she was a nun. Red had never met a nun before. A nun would have to be trustworthy. He relaxed.

Her store was two stalls down, and was far larger inside than the modest door and minimal decoration let on. He stepped inside, and everything smelled of sandalwood; the stall was filled with items in neat rows but scarcely a hair’s width between them. There were old pots with elaborate paintings of scenes he didn’t understand. Hundreds and hundreds of mirrors, from tiny hand mirrors to one that took up most of the side wall: it had to be thirty feet long and ten feet high. It was easily the biggest mirror he had seen in his life. Red wasn’t a tall man to begin with, and this just made him feel even shorter.

A few grand swords hung on the far wall, clearly never intended for combat with elaborate designs carved into the blades, and handles so covered in jewels they would tear open the hands of anyone who tried to wield them. And at the back of the store, with one end against that far wall, there were two—no, three—large trunks. Four, if you counted the great stone thing that looked more like a giant granite coffin. The woman led him towards them, and gestured for Red to examine them.

They seemed normal enough. Two of them were made of dark wood, with the third being slightly lighter in colour. He nudged each in turn with his foot; they seemed sturdy enough. He considered for a moment whether he should buy a wooden trunk at all. He knew steel would be stronger and cheaper; and getting a steel trunk would mean leaving here, which sounded quite appealing at this point. William had not specifically requested that it be made of wood. Still, his other six were wooden, and this store was in the right part of town. And William seemed the sort who would like things to match, at least in colour scheme.

The shrouded woman watched Red intently as he ran his hand over the lid of one, feeling the smoothness of the well-varnished wood. “They please you?” She asked.

“Maybe.” Red didn’t know how to begin deciding. Apart from the differences in the carved designs and the colour of the wood, they seemed identical to him. He decided to open them and check the hinges and clasps. Those would be the most likely places for the trunk to fail, he reasoned.

He went to the leftmost trunk and opened it. The first thing he noticed was how it was more roomy than he had expected it to be. He felt a small bit of pride for noticing, even though it had been something of a trend lately.

The interior was bare, basic, with no lining. He pulled at the heavy lid, trying to put some force on the hinges. They held firm. The musty scent of old, unaired wood reached him.

He walked to the right, to the rightmost trunk, one made of the lighter wood. He nudged the corner with the toe of his boot; although the wood was softer, the trunk less heavy, it was still plenty strong enough to withstand the bumps and jostles that it would be expected to endure in its life. The design on the front was an intricate geometric pattern—mostly squares and triangles, with a few flowers carved amongst them. He paused as a distinct discomfort began to rest in his stomach. He looked to the left, at the middle trunk. The second he allowed himself to focus on it, he immediately felt the urge to move his attention elsewhere. He frowned, forcing himself to look back at it. He focused on the way it made him feel. Once again, the urge to look away began to consume him.

Despite himself, he shuffled sideways, towards the middle trunk. As he got closer, the skin on his neck began to prickle at some unseen danger. He glanced back at the woman, hidden beneath her robe. Her demeanor did not betray the slightest apprehension; she was probably bored, what with how slow Red was being. He leaned forward; now the hair on his arms began to stand up, and he felt the vague terror, the imprecise apprehension, of watching a scary film or reading a suspenseful book. He grabbed at the catch, which felt colder than the others, and opened the trunk.

The effect was immediate and intense. The apprehension, the dread, it all vanished. He felt… ordinary, as though he was an ordinary customer in an ordinary shop examining an ordinary trunk with an ordinary shopkeeper standing beside him. And, indeed, it looked ordinary on the inside. Much like the first one, it was roomier than he’d expected. It was lined with a smooth, shiny, dark red fabric with pockets stitched into it with gold thread. He knew this was the trunk William wanted. He cleared his throat and lowered the lid with a soft thud. On some level he was prepared to have that funny feeling again, to want to get away from the trunk; but when he closed it, it just looked ordinary. The apprehension was gone, replaced with a feeling of slight embarrassment at having been so worried in the first place.

Now he could bear to look at it, it was beautiful. The dark wood was carved with an elaborate series of scenes: on one of the sides, a tower in a rainstorm; a baby floating in a chest, fished out of the water by a man in a small boat. On another side, a man being given a variety of things: a shield from a nude woman, a helmet and a sack from a group of three mermaids, and a sword and pair of winged sandals from a muscular man in a loincloth. The third side had the man walking through a crowd of statues, wearing the items he had been given. With a small pull he could pull it far enough away to see the side flush against the wall, a man throwing a discus. It had felt a little like a let down, given the rest of it.

The top of the chest showed two astonishing scenes each bordered by intricately carved serpents. The first scene was the man cutting the neck of a frightened looking snake-haired woman, holding the shield up in front of him. The other showed a winged horse half-emerging from the neck stump, as the soldier held the serpent-haired head in the air. Red had never seen anything quite like it. He ran his fingers along the intricate carving, feeling the sharp angles, and gave the shopkeeper a small nod.

“I’ll take this one.”

The shrouded woman moved her head up and down in an exaggerated mirror of his nod. “Very good. Carry it to the front. Do you want me to wrap it in paper?”

Red shook his head. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

She walked towards the counter at front of the store, making a small hiss beneath her cloak, apparently irritated with him for who knows what. Red bent down, picking up the trunk. Empty, it was not nearly as heavy as any of William’s had been. He placed it gently on the floor near the counter, and grabbed the wad of money to peel off the appropriate number of bills when she quoted the price. It was far more expensive than he thought was fair, but he remembered William’s desire for the finest trunk he could find. This was the one. There was a feeling of sureness about it, that even if he went elsewhere, this would still be the right one. The sun rose in the east, water was wet, and this was the trunk William needed to have.

That evening, Red knocked on William’s door, the elaborately carved trunk in tow. It was still unscratched, which was more than could be said for Red, who was nursing some very uncomfortable bruises from carrying something so awkward all the way back. Even carrying it the short distance up the stairs from the cloakroom to William’s room, it had taken Red a minute to catch his breath before he had knocked.

William opened the door almost immediately, and Red lugged the heavy, awkward trunk through the narrow door, placing it down in the small amount of space that he had cleared for it. Mercifully, it fit. He looked to William, who was wearing a fine navy blue suit, shiny black shoes, and thin black gloves. Red felt suddenly aware of how his third-hand shirt stuck to the sweat of his chest.

“What do you think, sir?” Red asked, rubbing his hands together to ease the ache in his fingers. The ones on the left had gone numb from where he knocked his elbow on the stairwell. William smiled, approaching the chest. If he felt any apprehension as Red had, it didn’t show. In fact he seemed quite charmed by it. He opened it and caressed the luxurious red interior. He gave a brief nod.

“This is very nice.”

“Glad you like it.” Red said, trying not to smile. He started folding the long sleeves of his shirt to his elbow, attempting to hide how pleased he was at the validation. “I thought it seemed to your tastes. What I’ve seen of them, anyway.”

“I appreciate that. Given your background, I must confess I was afraid you would have chosen one of those horrible American metal trunks. But this one is excellent.” He said, silently closing the chest.

Red considered mentioning the feeling of dread he’d had when he first saw it. He decided against it; he knew it must have been his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe it was just that the shopkeeper had been vaguely unsettling.

“Oh, and before I forget.” Red pulled the money from his pocket. “This is what was left. It ended up costing more than I thought it would.”

“Deduct your fee and then place it on the writing desk.” William waved him off, not even looking at the money. He was focused on tracing the carved design on the front of the trunk with his gloved fingers, the same way Red had done.

Red pulled a few bills free, quickly stuffing them into his billfold and cramming them into his pocket. It still didn’t feel secure enough. He placed the rest of the money on the desk and wondered what it was like to be so unconcerned about money that you wouldn’t even look. “Did you need anything else this evening?”

“I do not believe so. Does the hotel require your services?” William stood up, and moved to the trunk that contained the box of money; the one that was full of the wooden carvings. He opened it and began to delicately pick a few of the carvings up.

“I don’t think so.” Red shook his head. “They had me run a few errands today, so I was going to head home and catch up on sleep, if you didn’t need anything else, s—” He stopped himself, remembering William’s reminder about being called ‘sir.’ Instead, he let the sentence linger. That seemed worse, somehow.

William paused, gently placing the carvings down. He went back to the new chest and placed his fingers to the clasp for a moment. Red hesitated. William hadn’t dismissed him, but walking off seemed like it would be rude. He wished William would say something, and it seemed like he would, eventually, but there he was, running a thumb over the clasp like he was looking for something. Maybe he was expecting Red to keep talking. Should he say something? It seemed he was maybe supposed to, but what?

“If you are interested, I may have an opportunity for you.” William said, finally.

Red almost sagged with relief. “Yes?”

“I was planning on employing a valet in the next few weeks. I have errands that must be attended to: shopping, deliveries, that sort of thing. Much like what you did today.” He stood and wiped the front of his already spotless jacket with his right hand. It seemed deliberate, somehow.

Red considered it, but not for long. It sounded like a good deal. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Excellent. What is your weekly wage?”

“150 lire, sir.” Red replied. It was reasonable enough for a hotel’s night-porter. Really, considering his murky background and awful Italian, he thought the hotel had been generous. He couldn’t afford any luxuries by any means, but with some notable sacrifices he was able to eat three simple meals a day and still slowly accumulate a nest egg for the time when he would inevitably need to go on the run again.

“I will pay double that to have you on retainer.” There was no hesitation in William’s voice.

“Oh. Um. That’s very generous, si—Mister Ryan. Are you…sure, though?” He raised his eyebrows, almost skeptical. “That’s a lot of money, and I don’t think…I’m not quite worth that much money.” He said finally, hating how it sounded.

William smiled. “You are worth whatever someone is willing to pay you. Besides, it is not easy work. The hours will be long, and you will have to travel all over town. And, as you will be on retainer, I will need you to be available at my convenience.”

“I can do that.” Red held his hand out for William to shake. He found himself more than slightly motivated by the opportunity to work more closely with William, in addition to the wage. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, someone to see more than once, and to get to speak in English again.

“Excellent.” William pulled off his right glove, deliberately, slowly, leaving Red’s hand hanging in the air. When he finally shook it, it felt completely different to any other hand he had ever shaken. William’s skin was soft, his grip strong, and his palm slightly cold. He knew his hand would have had to be awfully clammy in comparison, warm and sweaty from having carried the trunk up the stairs.





William pulled his left glove off with the same amount of care, and placed them neatly on the writing desk. He then moved back to the carvings, picking them up and placing them next to the new trunk. “Where do you live?” William asked, feigning mild interest.

“Oh, uh…” Red hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m just staying on Signore Polidoro’s property, a few miles out of town.”

“Ah, in a spare room?” He opened the new trunk, and started placing the wooden carvings into it, as though they would shatter if he wasn’t careful.

“…not exactly.”

“Oh?”

Red paused, trying to think of how best to phrase it. “Technically speaking, I sleep in the barn.”

William’s eyes flickered to him, just for a second. His eyebrow raised, just barely. It was a tiny movement. “Is the pay at this hotel not adequate?” He asked, ceasing the business of relocating the carvings.

“It’s not the hotel’s fault.” Red added quickly. “Times are hard for everyone right now. And the barn’s not so bad.”

William frowned. “Well, I had best let you get back there. Give the hotel notice at once. I will have a job for you at eight o’clock tomorrow evening.”

Red was never comfortable speaking to Paola Di Pietro, right from when he first met her. It had been three months earlier, back when he had been going door-to-door, trying to sell services—cleaning, repairing, mending… anything—in awful Italian that consisted mostly of the word ‘lavoro’ (job) and a lot of gesturing. She had approached him in the street, telling him that her hotel needed a porter urgently, and that she was willing to take a gamble on him. He’d been suspicious at first: Paola looked to be his younger sister’s age, with long, impossibly straight blonde hair, smooth skin, and a sharp look in her eyes. What authority could a young woman like her possibly have to hire a hotel porter?

But Red had been knocking on doors for hours that day: and it was nearly noon and he hadn’t even been able to do so much as sweep a floor for a crust of bread. If she was willing to take a gamble on him, then he was in no position to be picky.

And now, after working in her hotel for three months and seeing how perfectly suited she was to running it, he’d become intimidated by her—especially now he had to resign. He was worried she’d be cross with him, leaving after everything the hotel had invested in him: not just the third-hand uniforms, but the help with the language and the advice that Adelina had given him on how to lift things without hurting his back. He knew that if things didn’t work out with William, he’d have to try to get this job back. It wasn’t a bridge he wanted to burn—or smoulder even slightly.

“Singora Di Pietro?” Red murmured, knocking on her open door. Her office was small, sparsely decorated: tall, metal lockers that were never opened dominated the far wall and a pair of crossed swords hung on the wall by the door, glinting in the electric light. Red had always felt intimidated by those swords: they almost looked as though they had been placed there so they could be pulled off in a fight. Unlike the ones at the trunk stall, these swords were practical, with sturdy handles and blades that looked like they had been kept sharp enough to glide through a man’s rib cage. Finally, there was the window: it took up the whole of the back wall and showed the vertical columns of the pantheon illuminated in the soft moonlight. This was, to Red, the oddest part of the entire room: the window was not only unobscured but completely bare, not even sporting a curtain rod above the frame. Every other window in the hotel had shutters and layers upon layers of thick black curtains, but this one had no way to block out the sun’s glare.

“Yes, Carlo?” She asked, not even looking up from the letter she was writing. She was one of the few people who normally spoke English to him, but they were still the most uncomfortable conversations he had. She was never rude with him, but something about how she spoke always made him feel like he was interrupting something.

Red cleared his throat and began to pick at his cuticles. “I won’t be coming in for work tomorrow. Or after that. For the foreseeable future.”

That was enough to make her look up. “Why?” The question was sharp, firm and her eyes narrowed slightly.

“One of the guests has asked me to work as his valet full-time, so I won’t be able to stay on as a porter.”

Paola nodded, tapping her finger nail against her teeth. He wondered if it hurt. “Ah, yes. I had noticed Mister Ryan had taken a… liking to you.”

Red felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine and into his belly, where it coiled like a snake. He felt scrutinised, like he was missing something; like the other staff were talking about him behind his back, gossiping in rapid-fire Italian they knew he wouldn’t understand even if he overheard. He knew that his work for William couldn’t have gone unnoticed: she had once seen he was missing a button on his shirt even though the button would have been tucked in anyway. Nothing got past her, not in her hotel.

“I’m sorry,” Red murmured. “It meant a lot—really, an awful lot—that you hired me, considering… my Italian and everything.”

“It is a compliment to the quality of our staff that our discerning patrons take such a liking to them.” Paola turned her attention back to her letter.

Red had never heard her compliment anyone. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “He wants me to start tomorrow night.” He said, deciding to act as though he didn’t find it odd. “But if you’re short, I can try to work something out with him so I can cover the desk when you need.”

Paola shook her head. “No, Carlo. You are excused.”

Red nodded, his chest almost deflating with relief. “Thank you, Signora Di Pietro.”

She waved him off, not even looking up to see him leave.

“Good evening, Carlo. Are you ready to check in?” Adelina, the front desk clerk, asked when Red came through the door the next evening. While Red’s Italian wasn’t perfect by any means, the three months he spent working at the hotel meant he had a good command of all the relevant vocabulary.

“Oh, no. I still live at Signore Polidoro’s. I am here to see William Ryan. Did Singora di Pietro tell you I work for him now?” Red replied, a bit surprised by her assumption. She had to have known there was no way someone on his wage could possibly afford to stay at the hotel.

“Yes, she did. But Signore Ryan had us prepare you a room. He said you will check in tonight.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“He was very clear.”

Red stared at her for a moment, mouth slightly open. He cleared his throat. “Well, alright then. I suppose I will be staying here tonight.”

“Please sign here.” The clerk handed him a piece of paper, his name already filled in. Red took her pen and made an ‘X’’ on the dotted line. He would have to sort it out later; he didn’t want to be late for his first day as William’s valet.

“Is that everything you need?”

She nodded. “Yes, here’s your key.” He pocketed it—it was small, brass, and felt warm in his hand—but went straight to William’s door and knocked.

“Good evening, Mister Rossi.” He said, motioning Red inside. “Have they shown you to your room yet?”

“Ah, yes. About that. I do appreciate it, but even with the generous wage you’re offering me, staying here really isn’t a possibility for me. Financially.” He said awkwardly, not wanting to refuse William’s good will, but not wanting to spend so much of his income on a place to sleep. The thought that he may have to run again was itching at the back of his mind, and he wanted to save as much as he could in the meantime. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was a necessary one.

“No, no!” William replied, amused. “Living so far out of town, in a barn that I can only assume has no telephone is simply unacceptable if you are to do everything I require of you. I will be paying the bill, of course.”

“Oh! That’s very….generous.” Red hastily tried to add up how much it would cost to pay for two rooms here on a long term basis. It was absurd. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of money for convenience’s sake.”

“Are you questioning my financial situation?” William raised an eyebrow at him; another tiny, barely noticeable movement.

Red’s eyes went wide. “No, of course not! I just meant that… it’s a lot of money.” He repeated weakly. The pressed on as William’s eyebrow twitched again. “And I understand your need for convenience, but… I don’t think my work is worth quite so much, sir.”

“If that is the case, then you will find I will not keep you on for long.” He replied, but with no threat in his voice.

“Well, okay. Then what can I do for you, sir?”

The corner of William’s lip twitched. “That’s twice now you’ve called me sir. Have you forgotten our previous discussion?”



“Right, of course.” That urge to bow was bubbling up again, like a gentle weight on his shoulders and a heaviness in his stomach.



William went over to the writing desk to pick up a thick, wax-sealed letter and a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. He handed each to Red in turn. The package was heavy for its size. He wondered what was in it.

“Deliver these to the address on the front.” He paused. “I do not trust the Italian postal service.”

“Neither would I.” Red agreed, studying the parcel and the letter. He turned his attention to the address. “I can be there and back in two hours. Should I report to you when I get back, or will you be asleep?”

“I am expecting a return letter, so deliver it when you return. I will not be asleep.”

How could someone already have the reply when the letter hadn’t been delivered yet?

He shrugged it off. Rich people were strange.

Red made impressively good time. He’d gotten the hang of how the Italians built their winding streets and narrow alleys, and how to hitch a ride from drivers who would actually save him time instead of costing it with long stories and bad shortcuts.

He returned in ninety minutes with another envelope. It, too, had been heavy, made from a textured linen and sealed with an intricate design, stamped into black wax.

He spent the walk thinking about the hotel room that William had arranged for him. He seemed far too generous. Was he being foolish? Kind? Or maybe he just didn’t understand how expensive it was, or didn’t care? Was the work Red was hired for so important it justified the cost?

Or, maybe, did William like him enough to justify the cost?

The thought gave him a heaviness in his stomach, uncomfortable but not unpleasant. He tried not to dwell on it.

Regardless, he was determined to live up to the expectation that the man had set. He maintained a slow jog most of the way back, catching his breath as he entered the hotel. He was still covered with a thin sheen of sweat when he knocked on William’s door.

There was a short pause as William opened the door. “That was quick.” He said; clearly, he was impressed.

“I’m getting the hang of the city.” He handed William the envelope, trying to hide how pleased he was with himself. “The servant gave me this for you. She said it was important to tell you that her master is enjoying the current weather.”

“Thank you.” He took the letter. “Could you please go back and inform the servant that I found the rain rather charming?”

It had not rained in more than a week; and even then, it had been a mere spatter of rain that barely dampened the soil.

That was definitely odd. Was he delivering a code? Could William be a spy?

Perhaps being on the run had made Red paranoid.

Still.

Deserting was one thing; treason was another. But William had said he was Australian. Australia wasn’t allied with the Axis. Maybe William was a spy for the United Nations? But then he would have to be suspicious of Red, an American, here, now, with the draft in place. Maybe—

William was looking at him. “Are you alright?”

Red snapped out of it. It wasn’t a problem for now. He could figure out what to do later. It wasn’t likely. It couldn’t be. And if it was...it was a problem for later.

“Of course.” He muttered, trying not to think about how he was already a little tired. “Did you want me to take anything with me?”

“No. I hope to have a letter ready when you return.” William had clearly not been joking about this job being more challenging.

“No problem.” Red forced a smile. “Anything you need.”