sanctuary, perhaps, or a farmhouse.’
‘You really think so? Look at the way this tunnel proceeds. Does it seem casual? Like it’s proceeding blindly, any which way? I think the Etruscans had refined such a strong sense of orientation that they could perceive magnetic fields.’
‘Like migrating birds?’ asked Fabrizio.
‘Well, yes, more or less.’
‘And you accuse me of letting my imagination run away with me!’
The width of the tunnel – and the sensation that they were distancing themselves from the bowels of that creepy, labyrinthine building – helped to slowly alleviate the hysteria that had gripped them when they realized they were trapped inside. The tunnel widened enough for them to walk abreast of each other and Angelo took Fabrizio’s hand. They continued until they found themselves at a fork. A couple of steps in the stone raised the floor by about thirty centimetres.
‘Which way now?’ asked Fabrizio. ‘I don’t remember seeing this in your map.’
‘No, me neither,’ replied Francesca, ‘and I don’t think there’s enough power left to consult it again. So let’s say we go straight. It should lead us out somewhere. If it doesn’t we’ll come back to this point and try the other direction. Anyway, I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but it seems to me there’s a breeze, which must mean this leads out to the open air. I just hope the exit is big enough for us to get out of…’
‘By this time Massaro will have noticed I’m not in the house and have informed Reggiani,’ Fabrizio mused.
‘And Reggiani will have unleashed his forces to discover where you are and what you’re up to… He hates not being in control. He’ll have tried me first, but my mobile’s not picking up and my answering machine’s on at home.’
‘First he’ll get angry as hell, then he’ll start thinking it through. That’s the part that worries me,’ said Fabrizio. ‘So let’s put ourselves in his shoes and figure out what he’ll do next.’
‘We have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing,’ shot back Francesca. ‘How could he?’
‘OK, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m worried Reggiani will call an early start to the operation, hoping to catch us in his net before something else gets us-’
Francesca stopped suddenly. ‘Shh! Did you hear that?’ she said in alarm.
Fabrizio stopped as well and strained to hear. Angelo squeezed his hand more tightly: he’d heard as well.
It was a clear, distinct sound, distorted and amplified by the tunnel walls: the beast’s snarl, its gnashing teeth, its hoarse, hissing breath. The entire length of the underground chamber was saturated with its presence and the stench was unbearable. The beam of the torch in Francesca’s trembling hands pierced the darkness and shone straight into the monster’s eyes.
‘Oh, my God! My God! My God!’ screamed Francesca in the throes of panic. ‘Run! Get away!’
Fabrizio dropped the slab and all three took off in the opposite direction, racing back to the palace, well aware they had no chance. They could hear the panting of the animal, feel the hot huffing, knew he could spring from one moment to the next. As they reached the widening in the first part of the tunnel, Francesca tripped on the steps and sprawled to the ground. Fabrizio grabbed her arm and yanked her up. He flattened himself against the wall, instinctively covering the girl and the child.
The torch had fallen to the ground and lit the animal from below, making it look even more terrifying, if that was possible. It was approaching more slowly now, seeming to test the ground with its paws. Its enormous blood- drenched fangs were bared, its snout was wrinkled into deep furrows and the black hairs on its back were as bristly as the quills of a porcupine. It had evidently killed for the fifth time and was still on the prowl. Fabrizio gripped Francesca’s hand, as if trying to communicate a last message before they died, but as the monster was about to lunge, the boy wriggled forward and placed himself squarely between his friends and the animal, shouting, ‘No!’
Fabrizio and Francesca were incapable of moving a muscle. Paralysed by their terror, they could only watch as the little boy confronted the beast. Slender and defenceless, he was shaking, his hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes were filled with tears, but he stood his ground. His courage seemed absolutely superhuman. And the miracle accordingly took place: the monster slowed its charge, cut short its leap and took a few steps towards the child, whimpering as if in pain. Then it backed off, raised its head again, stretched its jowls and let out a piercing howl, a cry of impotent ferocity and infinite suffering. It finally bounded into the side tunnel and disappeared from sight.
Fabrizio had reached the child and was hugging him. Francesca embraced the two of them at once as she burst into strangled weeping.
‘It’s over,’ said Fabrizio. ‘It’s over now. Come on. Let’s get going again. Someone else has lost their life and Reggiani will be doing everything he can to get his operation under way.’
A few minutes later, they stumbled on the bronze slab that Fabrizio had dropped and he picked it up again. They walked for nearly an hour until they could see the pale light of the moon filtering through a crack at the end of the tunnel. They’d reached the old cistern at the Salvetti farm.
Fabrizio squeezed out first, then helped Angelo and Francesca through. He held them close with tears in his eyes and led them around the ruined cistern, holding on to wild grape vines for support until they were above ground. The Tuscan hills loomed all around, veiled by an opaline mist pierced here and there by the sharp tips of the cypress trees. They breathed a long sigh of relief and set off in the direction of the regional road.
Fabrizio turned to Francesca and said, ‘You know, when I found myself face to face with that thing, I was about to tell you something.’
‘What?’
‘That I love you, Dr Dionisi.’
‘That’s a strange way of telling me. But I’m glad.’ She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Fabrizio switched on his mobile phone and dialled Reggiani’s number.
‘Is that you?’ answered the officer. ‘Where the hell did you disappear to, damn you? As if I didn’t already have enough trouble and as if I weren’t pissed off enough on my own without you adding to it!’
‘I know. It killed again.’
‘Two this time. A young guy, a drug addict, and his father, who was trying to defend him. But how did you know that?’
Fabrizio ignored his question and went on, ‘I have the missing fragment of the slab of Volterra. Come and get me, please. We’re on the regional road near the Salvetti farm.’
‘Who else is with you?’
‘Francesca and a little… angel.’
‘Don’t move,’ warned the officer. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes with a couple of my men.’
ANGELO WAS curled up on the couch, under a flannel blanket, sunk in the deepest sleep. Every now and then he’d let out a little moan or a suffocated yelp, or he would shudder under his blanket as if in the grip of a nightmare. Francesca was making coffee for the four men sitting at the table.
‘Who were the victims this time?’ asked Fabrizio.
‘Guy named Marozzi,’ replied Reggiani. ‘A farmhand, as big as they come and tough as nails. Hell itself wouldn’t scare him. That’s what got him. When he saw his son attacked by that monster, he ran after it with a pitchfork, of all things. Christ, what a massacre…’
A long, leaden silence followed, then Francesca spoke up.
‘Have you checked whether these victims had anything in common with the others?’
Reggiani took a little notebook from his pocket. ‘They didn’t actually,’ he said. ‘The first ones were all tomb robbers or had actually broken into the Rovaio tomb, but these last ones-’
‘I’ll tell you what they have in common,’ piped up one of the carabinieri, a youth of about twenty. ‘I was born here and I can tell you that all of the guys who were killed are from families that have been in Volterra for generations and generations. They’ve always lived here, as far as I know.’
‘As if it smelt the scent of their blood,’ observed Fabrizio. ‘Native blood… from Volterra… It hates this city with a fierce, implacable loathing.’
‘And its den is under one of the oldest buildings in the city,’ said Reggiani, shaking his head. ‘Christ, what is all this?’
‘We saw it with our own eyes,’ said Francesca calmly, placing the tray with the coffee cups on the table. The look she gave them allowed no doubt.
