Murder at Midnight by Avi Page A

that when there’s nowhere to go, it’s best to stay where you are.”
    “Don’t complain,” said Agrippa. “I’ll be here much longer than you.”
    “Don’t you like your job?” said Fabrizio.
    “When I was your age, I wanted to be a stonemason. Something respectable and everlasting about building homes and walls. Outdoors, too. The good God willed it otherwise, didn’t he? Still, I should be grateful for work that keeps me alive.”
    “Except you stay alive by making others die.” Fabrizio pointed to the hourglass. “What’s that for?”
    “Kind of you to remind me. The sand measures yourremaining time.” Agrippa lumbered up and flipped the hourglass over.
    “You heard the soldier,” he said, resuming his place by the door. “After twenty-four hours you die.”
    Fabrizio watched the sand trickle down. He turned away.
    “Some of my guests,” said Agrippa, “want to end things quickly. The guilty ones, mostly. Not the innocent. Odd how optimism and innocence cling together. A depressing connection, if you ask me.”
    “Do you kill the innocent, too?” asked Fabrizio.
    “I’m not a judge, am I?” said Agrippa.
    “But if you were, you’d find me innocent. All I wanted to do was help my master. He needs help. If you wished, I’d be happy to beg for mercy.”
    “Sorry. I’m not a pardoner, either. Just an executioner.”
    Fabrizio was silent for a while. “How … how do you … execute people?”
    Agrippa held up his large, dirty hands. “I break their necks.”
    Fabrizio, unable to keep from touching his own neck, watched the thread of sand trickle down. He felt it hard to breathe.
    “Unless of course the king decides to send a messenger. A reprieve.”
    “Does that happen?” asked Fabrizio, eagerly.
    “Not once,” Agrippa replied. “Still, they say the more a thing hasn’t happened, the greater the chances are that it might. But I’ll be honest: Your death will more likely take place sooner.”
    “Sooner!” cried Fabrizio.
    “Now that happens a lot. Count Scarazoni gets impatient. But, don’t worry. You’ll be forewarned. A messenger comes and knocks on this door — loudly. If you hear it — and you’re not likely to miss it — pray for your soul. The end is soon.”
    “Considering what you do, you seem cheerful enough.”
    “When I first got this job, I said to myself, ‘Agrippa, no reason to make things worse for your guests, is there?’ A light touch eases the way.”
    Fabrizio, his teeth chattering, drew up his knees to gather some measure of warmth.
    “Look here,” said Agrippa, reaching out and rapping Fabrizio on the foot. “I don’t have much of a social life. Just when I get to know a fellow, I have to kill him. I’d love a chat. It passes the time. Or would you prefer silence?”
    “I’d like the sand to stop.”
    “No one can stop time. Just tell me, Signor Fabrizio, since I’m your sole remaining friend — what was your crime?”
    “I did nothing!”
Fabrizio shouted.
    “No need to yell. I just want you to know I feel it’s my obligation to believe anything my guests say. Makes them feel better.”
    “But I
am
innocent!” Fabrizio covered his face with his hands to keep from seeing the hourglass.
    “Then why did Prince Cosimo condemn you to death?”
    “I don’t know,” wailed Fabrizio. “Maybe he’s protecting his father.”
    “I’m protecting my master! But now they’re going to arrest him. It’s all my fault.”
    “Now, now, no need for tears,” said Agrippa. “Just tell me your story. It usually makes the condemned feel better. I love stories. Never get enough of ‘em. Another service I provide. Now go on, let’s hear it right from the beginning.”
    Fabrizio told the details of his life, concluding by saying, “DeLaBina told the king it was my master who made the papers — magically. But I’m beginning to think DeLaBina doesn’t care about the papers. There’s something else. Only I don’t know what it