The Third Uncle

Chapter Seven: Traveling by Reflectology

Chapter Seven: Traveling by Reflectology

Deep, down beneath the Gothic Basilica of Santa Croce, one can find the presence of a great many musty, mouldy and morbid funeral monuments. The citizens of Florence considered the Basilica to be the city's Pantheon, the burial place of the city's most esteemed and illustrious citizens.

Perhaps, less notable in the annals of Santa Croce's history, was the fact, that it was also the place that Leo Tigullio and Joseph L. Bandyford fell heavily into after stepping through the mirror, surprising a family of rats that dashed off into the darkness.

The first thing that struck Joseph was not the damp smell of the underground crypt, nor was it the way his eyes stung from the black smoke of guttering torches along in the wall. It was the remarkably hard back of Leo's hand as it struck him across his head. 'Ow!' He winced, tumbling further into the dirt.

Joseph squeaked, tried getting up, but he suddenly couldn't move. He found himself rather unceremoniously pinned down beneath a large, heavy, black boot. Leo's generous silhouette cast an undulating shadow that stretched out over him.

'Idiot.' Leo spat. 'What are you doing here, and who are you working for?!' The Italian's mood was considerably uglier than Joseph had ever seen it. Joseph stuttered. 'W-w-working for?' Surely the Italian hadn't forgotten? 'Sir,' said Joseph. 'I work for the Airship, you know that, I, well, I wait tables!' He peered up into the flickering darkness, and then groaned, realising Leo was armed ... doubly armed!

He was staring down the barrel of a small derringer, as well as at the point of an uncomfortably close, and glistening metal blade. He shrieked and scampered out from under the boot, rolling backwards across the earthy floor. Leo quickly followed the boy, stomping down onto Joseph's chest again.

'Oh my God Sir, calm yourself, please! I was worried about the machine, and then there was the noise and the smoke, and ... and SIR! Please put the pistol away! Leo held the pistol steady. He knelt down with what might have been a smile, and pressed the blade up against Joseph's cheek. 'How do I know ...' He whispered, his breath still smelling of expensive cognac. 'That you ...' Leo pricked him with the blade. 'Aren't an agent of Napoleon, hmm? Tell me that, young man.'

Joseph squirmed some more, and sweat began to run down his forehead and into his eyes. Squinting up into Leo's silhouetted visage, he stammered. 'Sir, just listen to me, please!' Leo pressed the blade harder, breaking the boy's skin, a thin stream of bright red blood trickled down to his neck.

'I am listening to you, boy.'

Joseph was in tears now. 'No!' He was blubbering. 'I mean really listen to me! Listen to my voice! For God's sake sir, I am British born and bred. I'm a damned British citizen! I'm just a waiter on a damned French ship! My father fought in the war, my brothers fought in the war, and I would have too, had it not bloody ended.'

Joseph looked away, his nose was leaking as much as his eyes were. 'Now I serve tea and cakes. I am not a spy for the French, not with my wages. I'm a WAITER!'

Leo studied Joseph for a while longer, slowly nodded, and finally withdrew the blade. He pulled out a cloth from his pocket and started to clean it, all the while gazing down his nose at Joseph. 'It's usual, I suppose, to spy on the guests of your airship?' Joseph opened his mouth, but Leo cut him short. 'No. I don't want to hear your excuses, it was a foolish thing to do, and dangerous as well. Get up.'

Leo lifted his boot off of him, and pulled the wooly hat off his head and tossed it at Joseph. 'Put this on and follow me.' He glanced back at Joseph, and then handed him the cloth he had wiped his blade with. 'And clean your face off.'