Sergio nods to the ladder. He waves for us to follow him. We make our way up the ladder and onto the deck of the ship, where Magiano is waiting for us. The Campagnia harbor draws close, while behind us, the Inquisition’s ship stays where it is, quiet.
Magiano has his hands tucked into his pockets. When he hears us approach, he leans toward me and gives a casual nod toward land. “We will continue to sail into harbor,” he says, “and leave the Inquisition’s ship to drift at sea. By the time anyone onshore figures out that something has gone wrong, we’ll have long dispersed into the city.”
“What about the Inquisitors tied up below?” Violetta asks.
Magiano exchanges a glance with Sergio, then looks at me. His eyes are serious for a moment. “Yes, what should we do about them?” he asks. “No matter what, we’ll undoubtedly bring the Inquisition’s wrath down on us. They’ll hunt us relentlessly.”
His words ring in my mind, echoing in the wrong way, and the echo awakens the whispers in my mind again. I can feel their little claws against my consciousness, eager to hear my answer. Down below, I can hear some of the Inquisitors still moaning and struggling. It sounds as if they are ready to beg for their lives. Without answering Magiano, I walk back over to the ladder leading down and stare into the shadows.
At first, I think I’ll spare them.
But then the whispers say, Why worry about the Inquisition’s wrath? You came back to this country to exact your revenge on them. You shouldn’t be the one to fear them anymore. They should fear you.
There is a moment of heavy silence. Magiano watches me with an unreadable expression. I think back to the Inquisitors’ faces. Some of them had cringed away from me, while others had tears streaking their cheeks. Their white uniforms all blend into one in my thoughts. All I can see are the same men who had once so unceremoniously tied me to the stake and thrown fire at my feet. How many have they killed? How many will they go on to kill?
Strike first.
And with that, a dark cloud starts to fill my insides again, and my heart hardens. I look at Magiano. “I’m not afraid of the Inquisition,” I say. Then I nod at Sergio. “Tell your men to kill them. Make it quick and clean.” Violetta shoots me a sharp glance. I wait, perhaps defiantly, for her to say something against my decision … but she doesn’t. She swallows hard and looks down. After a while, she nods her agreement. As I talk, I can hear the whispers saying the words with me, so we are in chorus. Their voices remind me of my father’s.
“Let the youngest one live,” I finish. “When the Inquisition finds him, he can tell them who did this, and how I made them feel.”
Magiano’s eyes slit a little at me. There’s something admiring in his gaze that mingles with something … unsettled. I can’t quite figure out the expression. He glances back at the nearing harbor. He lets out a sigh, then leaves us to walk toward the bow.
Sergio is still smiling. “In that case, we’d better be careful in Campagnia. You have taken on a challenging adversary.”
“And are you and your men going to help us take on that adversary?” I ask.
It’s the question that has been lingering between us since we stepped on board this ship. Sergio looks at me, then around at some of the other crew on deck. Finally, he leans over. “We help whoever can get us the most gold,” he whispers. “And right now, that’s you, isn’t it?”
That is a yes. Something soars in my chest. I don’t want to ask what happens if we fail to take the throne and overthrow the Inquisition. Instead, I decide to revel in his words. I turn my back as Sergio walks over to the ladder and shouts a command down to the other mercenaries. The Inquisitors below let out muffled sobs behind their bonds. Their fear bubbles up to the deck in a thick cloud. It makes me tremble.
Then, the sound of blades against skin, the gush of blood.
The whispers cheer in my head. I keep my mind on the burning stake, the malfettos I’ve seen suffering right in front of Inquisitors who turn a bored eye, the breaking glass and screaming people. I should feel some sense of disgust, some recoil or horror at the thought of the carnage down below. But I don’t, not for those Inquisitors.
I strike first from now on.
We watch in silence as the harbor approaches, until our hull bumps dully against the piers and a worker on the ground ties us in. He casts a glance over at the quiet Inquisition ship behind us, but he doesn’t act on it. Instead, our crew prepares the gangplank, and we gather near the railing. Down on the harbor’s main street, clusters of Inquisitors cut lines through bustling crowds. I wonder how long they will take before they investigate the floating ship.