Murder at Midnight by Avi

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    “Why, he’s just a minnow,” said Agrippa.
    “What do you care?” said a soldier. “Do what you’re told: Execute him.”
    “Who ordered his death?” asked Agrippa.
    “Prince Cosimo.”
    “That’s unusual. Mostly it’s Scarazoni who sends folk here. What’s this tadpole done?”
    “Does it matter?” said one of the soldiers.
    The executioner shrugged his great shoulders. “I suppose not. What’s his sentence?”
    “To be executed at the end of twenty-four hours.”
    “Twenty-four hours! The usual practice is for prisonersto suffer a week before they are executed. This one must have done something terrible.”
    “Why should you care?”
    “Fine,” said Agrippa. “I can save a
pezolla
by not feeding him. Not that such a minnow would eat much.” He reached out, but Fabrizio jerked back, trying to break away from the soldiers. They were too quick, and held him. The executioner grabbed the boy by a shoulder and yanked him forward. Fabrizio stumbled into the cell, all but tripping over a corpse that lay upon the ground.
    “And take this one out,” said Agrippa, indicating the body.
    “Is he dead?” asked a soldier.
    “I hope so. I broke his neck three days ago.”
    Sick to his stomach, Fabrizio pressed himself against the far wall.
    The soldiers crowded into the small room, grabbed the dead man’s legs, and dragged him out, slamming the door behind them.
    Fabrizio looked about. The small space was illuminated by a few glowing coals in a rusty iron bucket. Along withthe feeble light, the coals oozed caustic smoke that lay like ribbons in the reeking air. The room’s walls, low ceiling, and floor were made of crudely cut stone. Wisps of rotten, clotted hay lay scattered. The only bright thing in the room was a large hourglass hanging motionless from a chain affixed to the ceiling. Its bulky bottom bulb was filled with white sand.
    All that Fabrizio could think was that just a short time ago he had been snug and safe in Master’s house. Now he was in this bleak and desolate place. And there he would remain for twenty-four hours, after which he would be put to a cruel death for no reason at all.
    The executioner sat cross-legged on the floor, blocking the door. Arms folded over his massive chest, he continued to examine Fabrizio with curiosity.
    Fabrizio, struggling to breathe, said, “Please, Signore. My name is —” only to have Agrippa press one of his large, filthy hands over his mouth.
    “I don’t want to know your name,” the man announced. “Hard enough to execute someone. Knowing names makes it harder.” He removed his hand.
    The moment he did, Fabrizio cried, “My name is Fabrizio!”
    The executioner sighed. “Gory. That always happens. Soon as I tell people
not
to reveal their names, they do. Executioners have feelings, too, you know. Not that anybody cares about making things more difficult for me.”
    “For you?” said Fabrizio. “What about me?”
    Agrippa shrugged. “Your life will be short. Mine longer. Look at it that way, and you’ll see it’s more of a problem for me than for you. All the same, I’m pleased to meet you, Signor Fabrizio. I sincerely regret our acquaintance will be brief.”
    “I confess,” said Fabrizio, “I’m not pleased to meet you.”
    He looked around only to notice, with surprise, that the door behind the executioner had been left ajar. His eyes widened.
    “You’re an alert one,” said Agrippa. “Yes, the door is open. I always keep it that way. Gives my prisoners some hope. Hope, I think, is a good thing.”
    “Hope is a good way to start your dinner but a bad way to finish it,” Fabrizio shot back.
    “Ah, a clever lad!” Agrippa’s grin revealed stumps of yellowing teeth. “But I’m strong. So you won’t escape. I mean, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life — short though it may be — in pain, do you?”
    Fabrizio leaned back against the wall, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. “An old man once told me