Duty And Duplicity; Book 5 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 15: The Case Is Altered free porn video
My head ached, my mouth was dry, and I was lying on the uncomfortable floor of a rocking and bouncing carriage. I sat up, groaning.
“Here, drink this. “ A flask was thrust into my bound hands, and I managed to take several sips of the most delicious water I have ever tasted.
“If I let you up will you give me your word not to attack me?”
I nodded, and then, as it was pitch black, spoke.
“Yes, I give my word.”
A hand landed on my shoulder and dragged me onto a seat, a blade severed my bonds, and the flask was put into my unbound hands.
I took a long, satisfying, swallow of cold, fresh, water, and then heard the sound of a tinderbox being used. A glow grew into a bright light of a lantern, held in the hand of whoever it was seated next to me in the carriage.
The lantern was hung on the roof of the cab, and due to the motion of the carriage, rocked back and forth, sending shadows dancing. Giuseppe de Campania was seated alongside me, the fellow with the cudgel was absent.
“You had no cause to attack me, Compo, I had no idea your reception at Cleopatra’s Palace would be so unpleasant. What did you say or do to Cleopatra that she has made you my prisoner for a few days?”
Giuseppe, or Antonio, or whatever, seemed unaware of my true identity, and I wondered if I should reveal myself.
“You took my friend’s sister to The Styx. El – Cleopatra told me what fate befalls those who enter that establishment. How could you treat the female that you profess to love so basely?”
“From your brief acquaintance with the woman you should know one does what Cleopatra orders otherwise you end up regretting not doing so for the rest of your life, which is short but never sweet. Those who disobey her have been known to end up making an acquaintance with Vesuvius. One might say an intimate and close acquaintance of Vesuvius.”
“You mean they are thrown into...”
“Yes, but I did not take Becca to The Styx. I arranged for her to be spirited secretly away from Napoli, and delivered an already demented female in her place. The woman had fair hair and pale eyes, probably a Greek, but enough to satisfy Cleopatra when she asked Charon if a blue eyed, yellow haired, woman had arrived.”
“Where is my si – my friend’s sister now?”
“I do not know. All I know she is safe from Cleopatra. My poor Becca. I know what horrors she endured at the Palace. The girl I knew is gone. Her mind is dead. Her eyes see but do not recognise. Her mouth opens but no sound emerges. The Becca your friend and I knew is no more. All that remains is the shell of a person who resembles Becca.”
His shoulders shook in silent sobs, and I believed he really had loved my sister.
“And what of me, Mister Giuseppe di Campania, or Antonio Rosso, as I learned is your real name. What is in store for me?”
He gave a laugh like a fox’s bark.
“You are a fine one to accuse me of sailing under false colours, Milord Clonygowan. Domingo told me your name is really Elijah Greenaway, and that you are a Colonel in the English army. My orders are to keep you under lock and key until Cleopatra sends for you.”
I was disconcerted my true identity had been so quickly unmasked, but decided to reveal myself completely. Although Giuseppe/Antonio was partially to blame for Becky’s eventual outcome, I could tell he had really loved her. I might be able to use his love for my sister as a lever to unlock my imprisonment.
“What was Becky’s, Becca’s, nom de plume for the pillow books she wrote?”
“Becca via Verde. Why do you ask?”
“Could you translate that into English?”
“Becky Way Green – Becky Greenway!”
Comprehension dawned in his eyes. “You are her brother Jack?”
He grasped my hand, and treated it as if it were the handle of a water pump.
“Becca was always talking about her brother Jack. How he gave her money to have her first book published, saved his regiment at Waterloo, and fought a duel to preserve a lady’s reputation. It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Colonel Greenaway. If I had had my way we would be brothers-in-law.”
I rescued my sorely used hand from his grasp.
“I need to know where Becky is so I can take her home with me. She will recover her reason when back in the bosom of her family.”
“Please believe me, Colonel, nothing would please me more than for Becca to return home, and regain her senses. However, I honestly do not know where she is, and even if I did I could not allow you to leave my castle to join her. Cleopatra would kill me along with you.”
So much for the fond lover!
“I should have known not to rely on help from the man most responsible for my sister’s sad predicament. Cleopatra told me the whole unedifying tale of how you dragged her into vice by plying her with White Lady.” My voice was cold, hard, and hatred welled from me.
“Now just a minute, Colonel. I did no such thing. You do me a great disservice thinking as you do. I was against her using that damned powder from the first. I have seen what damage it does and...”
The carriage came to a halt.
“We have arrived,” he said. “Welcome to Casa Alto.”
It was dusk, too dark to see details, but the building the carriage had stopped outside was at least three storeys high. Lights gleamed from a few slitted windows, and I had the impression we were on a lofty eminence.
It was certainly colder than in Naples, with the sort of chill associated with mountainous areas.
I was not familiar with the hinterland of Naples, but knew Mount Vesuvius was part of a chain of mountains and assumed Giuseppe’s castle was situated in the same mountain range.
We entered the hall, a meagrely furnished space, but with a welcome log fire sending out warmth and light. On the walls hung old, mainly medieval, weapons; halberds, pikes and axes. There were several men standing in the hall. Giuseppe exchanged swift Neapolitan with a large man with a black beard.
“This is Giovanni, my major- domo,” said Giuseppe.
The man briefly inclined his head.
“Please to follow me, signore,” he said, in adequate English, and I followed him up the staircase to the next floor.
He indicated a door, which I opened, and entered a small room furnished with nothing other than a bed, a table and a chair. An unlit candle sat in a lantern was set on the table, and a meagre fire in the grate sent out some warmth.
“I will bring extra blankets when I fetch you your dinner,” Giovanni said, before closing, and locking, the door.
I went to a narrow, slitted window and peered out. The coach which had brought me to the place was being unharnessed, and the horses led off to what appeared to be stables. There seemed to be no other habitation nearby, and, other than the stables, only one small building, which I took to be a storehouse.
After lighting the stub of a candle in the lantern from a glowing coal, I gazed around my prison. A few books leaned drunkenly against each other on a shelf in an alcove at the side of the fireplace. The titles on the spine indicated them to be written in Italian.
I opened one at random, and the illustration, two men and two women intertwined in sexual abandon, shocked me. I looked at the cover of the book and saw the initials BVV, and realised these were books written by my sister. The book was hurriedly replaced on the shelf as if it were a burning coal.
The key rattling in the lock heralded my dinner and the extra blankets, and so it was, but it was Giuseppe who carried them in.
He put a covered dish on the table, the aroma of which had my mouth watering in anticipation.
“Let me introduce you to a Neapolitan speciality,” he said. “A dish greatly esteemed by the lazzaroni but considered by the nobility only fit for the labouring classes. They are blinkered fools, as this meal is not only cheap and simple to prepare but also delicious and nutritious.”
He whipped the cloth covering the dish off with a flourish.
“Behold, pizza!”
The meal consisted of flat bread, topped with a melted white cheese, tomatoes, anchovies, and herbs.
It was everything Giuseppe had promised, and I cut slice after slice of the tasty provender. He watched me with a smile of a satisfied trattoria proprietor as I wolfed down the entire pizza.
“I shall convey your compliments to the chef,” he said when the last morsel had been consumed.
“I will have a better-furnished room for you tomorrow, Colonel, and forgive me having to lock you in for the night. There is a chamber pot under the bed. Should you use it you can throw the contents out of the window.”
He indicated the small, square, wooden shuttered, window I had not noticed previously, then left the room, locking the door behind him.
I surveyed the room. The only exits were the door Giuseppe had just locked, and the shuttered window. I opened the shutter and peered out. Even in the dark I felt there was a sheer drop beneath. So much for that.
Although my skean dhu had been removed from the top of my right boot in Cleopatra’s Palace, I still had a small, barely five inches long, blade secreted in the left boot of the pair made by Signore Gucci of Livorno. The secret pocket in the boot was so finely crafted no one would imagine a knife lay concealed.
I drew out the knife and made an ineffectual attempt to pick the lock of the door. After an hour of twisting and turning the thin blade in the keyhole I gave up the attempt, and resolved to wait until the morning, when no doubt someone would bring my breakfast. My intention then was to throw the contents of the chamber pot in the face who ever unlocked the door, stab him with my knife, seize whatever weapon he carried, and then dash for freedom.
A forlorn hope at best, but I have experience of Forlorn Hopes.
With a plan of action formed, I blew out the candle, wrapped myself in the thick woollen blankets left by Giuseppe, lay on the bed, and slept like a log.
The slitted window faced east, and I awoke when a shaft of sunlight played on my face. Looking through the window I saw an azure sky, and in the middle distance white topped mountain peaks.
I opened the wood shuttered window, and, as surmised the previous evening, the rear of the castle was on top an unassailable cliff.
I used the chamber pot, saving the contents for later, closed the shutter, and then removed my knife from my left boot and awaited my breakfast.
A key rattled in the lock. I picked up the chamber pot and readied myself. Then I heard voices.
“I cannot open this damned door holding a tray, cretin.”
A muttered curse from outside, was echoed by me in the room. Two guards were one too many, and I quickly replaced my knife in my boot and the chamber pot under the bed.
The black bearded fellow, Giovanni, entered carrying a tray bearing a bowl of steaming water, face cloth, soap and a towel. Behind him I saw the cudgel bearing man of the previous day.
Giovanni laid the tray on the table.
“His Excellency Don Giuseppe invites you to join him for breakfast after you have completed your ablutions. Guido here,” he indicated the cudgel man, “will wait outside, and you can bang on the door when you are ready to leave for breakfast.”
He bowed and left, as did Guido, and I heard the key turn in the lock.
I threw the contents of the chamber pot out of the window, and then stripped to the waist and carried out a thorough, and well-needed, wash. When dry and dressed I banged on the door.
Guido opened it, and then swiftly stepped back, the pistol in his hand aimed at my gut.
“Down stairs, please Milord. I shall be right behind you, and will fire if you try to make a bolt for it.”
Back on the ground floor he indicated I go down a corridor to my left.
We stopped by a door and he motioned for me to enter. Inside the room Giuseppe was seated at a small table, the appetising aroma of coffee and fresh baked bread wafted tantalisingly over to me.
“Good morning, Colonel. I trust you slept well?”
“Well enough, considering I am a prisoner.”
“My apologies for that but I am under orders. Given my preference I would free you this minute, but I dare not.”
He indicated that I sit, and for the next fifteen minutes all that passed between us were a cups of coffee, and bread covered with a sweet preserve.
We had finished our breakfast when Giuseppe invited me to see around his estate. Being out of the castle would allow me the chance to escape, and I readily agreed to his suggestion.
We left by the front door and made our way down the granite steps. At the bottom of the flight of steps I noted two ancient naval swivel guns, mounted on marble plinths, one each side of the stairway.
“Where on earth did you get these museum pieces?”
Giuseppe put his hand on the barrel of the swivel gun on the right of the steps. “My grandfather served in the Venetian Navy, fighting the Turks. These were on the last ship he commanded.”
“Are these in working order?”
Giuseppe nodded. “Yes, I fire them off on my mother’s birthday, which is the day after tomorrow, la Befana, the feast day you know as Epiphany.”
“So they are loaded, primed, and ready to fire?”
Bree
- 13.11.2021
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