CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 36

Nurse wrapped me up in my cloak and hustled me out the Stephano family's door. We sped through Verona's now-sunny streets, heads down, doing our best to be inconspicuous, our whole goal to get to Friar Laurence's shop and to safety. The vibrant city bustled and hummed, ignorant of the scenes of horror we'd left behind, not knowing that the life of one of its bright young men depended on the grace of God and one skilled monk. Grief walked with us, and suspicion. Who had done this dreadful thing? Was it Titania's parents, wrathful at being deprived of their gold?

Or was it, as somehow seemed true, Duke Stephano's wives rising from the grave to take their vengeance on the living?

Yet when we turned onto the dark alley where the apothecaries had hung their signs, we saw a shadowy figure furtively slipping toward the end of the alley. I pushed back my hood to better see. From here, the man looked like—

"Lysander!"

When I would have rushed forward, Nurse shushed me and held me in place. "The good monk instructed you should be defended even against your own intentions, and I will so do!"

I pointed. "But that's Lysander!"

"Perhaps, but that's not our concern now." So saying she shoved me toward Friar Laurence's shop, through the door, and after locking it behind us, she pocketed the key.

"What would Lysander be doing down here?" I went to the soot-smudged window and peered out. "What is he seeking from Toil and Trouble apothecaries?"

Nurse yanked me back. "We don't know what's down there, and we don't know if it was him."

I turned on her fiercely. "It was his cap. I know it well."

She took a breath as if to argue, let it out, and nodded.

I started for the window again.

She yanked me back again.

"I'm still cloaked and there's no light behind me. No one can see in and . . . look!" Another male figure skulked past, following Lysander's route.

This time, Nurse beat me to the window. "That looks like the prince's man, Marcellus of the house of Parisi."

The events of the morning left me suspicious and frightened, jumping to conclusions and wondering if I was overreacting. . . but afraid I was not. "Nurse, what is this conspiracy? I must go. I will go."

"Not you! To Friar Laurence I gave my oath that I would take you to his shop—"

"And you did. But this is Lysander, and Marcellus is following him."

"Or meeting him."

I struggled with that. I didn't like Marcellus . . . but yes. "He might be meeting him. But why, and why at the Toil and Trouble?"

"I don't know. I've never dared go farther than Friar Laurence's shop. The shadows there are deeper, somehow."

"You know what I fear, don't you?"

She nodded. "That Lysander is somehow involved in the murders."

"Or that Marcellus is hunting him."

"Or both." Nurse pulled up her hood and unlocked the door. Whatever was happening, she wanted to know, too. "Me first," she commanded, and slipped out, then gestured me forward. "No one in sight."

The alley dead-ended, and warm summer had left the dirt parched and hardpacked.

We moved quietly, staying close to the wall, past two more quiet, unobtrusive apothecary shops with closed doors and small, dirty windows. When we got toward the end of the alley, we stared across at the doors side by side. One was the Toil and Trouble apothecary shop . . . and one wasn't. A small sign read, LA BOCCA DEL LUPO—the wolf's mouth, and in tiny letters listed the owner as TOPO LUPO.

"What is it?" I whispered.

Nurse indicated I should remain where I was, and crept forward to look into the even filthier windows.

What was with these people with their love of dirt and darkness?

Then I looked at the Toil and Trouble and realized their windows were pristine . . . and the shop was owned by women.

The other businesses were run by men.

Oh. That answered that question.

While Nurse peered in the window, I noticed the door of the Toil and Trouble was slightly open, and through the window I could see a neat shop with nothing out of place except—

Nurse tiptoed back. "I can barely see inside, but it's clearly a public house. Dangerous, by the name of it. Lysander and Marcellus are there, sitting at a table holding glasses, heads together. They're holding a conference about something, and they don't want to be overheard."

"Hmm." I glanced at the door of the apothecary shop again.

"You can't go in. It's a sleazy place, empty except for them. I don't know how they stay in business."

"You're correct, I can't."

"You couldn't slip in unnoticed and you can't confront two grown men and ask . . . what?" Nurse did a double take. "You're not going to insist on going in?"

"I thought only the Toil and Trouble was down here. But you're right, I can't go into a public house, no matter how I long to discover what they're discussing." I started toward the open door of the Toil and Trouble. "But I can go in here."

"What? No, you can't." Nurse hurried to catch up.

"Something's wrong," I said.

"What do you mean? Why do you care? Those two women are in pact with the—"

I pushed the door open far enough to see inside.

"—Devil," Nurse finished weakly. "Is she dead?"

"So it would appear."

The woman's body was dressed all in black and stretched out on the floor, a dagger clutched in one hand and the hilt of another stuck in her throat.

"She must have given someone the wrong potion." Nurse whispered as one does in the presence of violent death . . . unless one falls on the body, in which case one screams.

The memory of Duke Stephano's cooling body beneath my palms made me shudder, and when Nurse drew me back, I went willingly—and bumped into the newcomer in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" a woman's voice demanded sharply. "Why are you—" She caught sight of the body and gasped. "Agatha!" She shoved us out of the way and ran to kneel by the dead woman's side. Frantically she felt for a heartbeat, put her ear to the woman's chest. "Cold. She's cold." In a fury she turned on us. "What have you done?"

"We found her," I said. "If she's cold, you know we didn't do it!"

"You could have!"

I broke away from Nurse and went to kneel beside this woman. "You're Nunziatina?"

"Yes."

I extended my hands and showed them to her. "You think we killed her and stayed while the body cooled and grew rigid? No."

Nunziatina stared, wide-eyed, and nodded once, hard. "No, you're not covered in blood. If you'd stabbed her in the throat in that particular spot, you'd be coated." She choked as she gazed at her sister's bloodied body. "It spurts."

"I know," I said. "I . . . work at the apothecary shop on the corner."

Nunziatina's eyes sharpened. "Right. I've seen you. You're Lady Rosaline Montague. Infamous for the killing a few nights ago."

Reflexively I said, "I did not kill Duke Stephano."

"No. Most apothecaries are adverse to killing." Nunziatina waggled her fingers. "Although there are exceptions."

"Nor would we have returned if we'd killed her." Nurse shifted from foot to foot. She wanted to go.

"That does seem . . . unlikely. The problem is, my sister and I have learned to be careful. We're both good with our knives, and fast." With a loving touch, Nunziatina brushed the hair off Agatha's forehead. "No one easily gets close to us. So who did this? Did you see him sneak past your shop?"

"We saw two men, but they've recently arrived and they're in the"—Nurse jerked her head to the side—"La Bocca del Lupo."

I was more patient. "We just got back from a visit with Friar Laurence. We were called to Casa Creppa by Friar Laurence because a young man was going mad. Poisoned."

Nunziatina sat back on her heels. "Tell me."

I did. I told her about Orlando's behavior, his hallucinations, the way he collapsed.

Nunziatina listened closely. "He was fighting the drug. Good. If there's something to be done, Friar Laurence knows what that is. You can have hope for your friend."

Nurse moved closer. "Who's doing this, do you know?"

"It's got to be Curan," Nunziatina said.

"Curan?" I was incredulous. "He who leads the servants of Casa Creppa?"

"He comes to us . . . often. For years. First he wanted a poison to kill rats. Half our business is killing rats. Then he wanted a poison to end the infestation of flies." Nunziatina fluttered her fingers. "Everything must be the strongest, the best, the most deadly. We tell him, to kill rats you need little bits, to end an infestation you need a light hand. Yet every time . . ." Nunziatina's mouth twisted bitterly. "Then, oh then, he wanted a drug to drive someone mad. Once we sold him the rat poison, once we realized that we'd bargained with the devil, we wanted to stop, but we're the women who help other women. Difficult periods? Come to us, we'll help you. Husband who beats you? Come to us, we'll make him sorry. Your father rapes you—"

I held up my hand. "Please, no."

"You're lucky in your family. Your father's a good man." Nunziatina sighed. "I'm happy for you. But once Curan had bought from us, we were trapped. He made that clear. We were females. We were apothecaries. We're witches."

I comprehended the noose with which they'd hung themselves. They had to sell their wares to survive, and when they did, they were no longer free, for a man could accuse them—and they'd burn.

Behind us, the door creaked open wide and a large shadow fell across the shop. We all gasped, then sighed. Friar Laurence. It was Friar Laurence, and when he saw us, he broke down in tears. "Lady Rosaline, why did you leave the shop? Why . . . ?" He focused on Nunziatina, crouched beside her sister's body. "Oh, my dear. No!" At once he transformed into the much-beloved monk caring for his flock. He hurried over and knelt beside Agatha. He placed his rosary on her and prayed.

I don't know what else he did for I, too, bowed my head and prayed, but when he was done, Nunziatina took his hand and kissed it, and said, "Thank you, Friar Laurence." She had tears in her eyes, and again she stroked her sister's hair off her forehead, then ran her hand down her arm . . . and gasped. "Look. Look! There's blood on the tip of her knife. She got the bastard, whoever he was. I hope he dies from this wound."

"I do, too. I'm so sorry for your loss." I extended my hand to Nunziatina.

She grasped it. "Be careful, Lady Rosie. Mutterings rumble through the city. Duke Stephano is dead. No one cares that the bastard is dead, but men hate when a woman escapes their traps. Be wary." Nunziatina touched her forehead. "Think before you speak, before you move, before you—"

"Charge in," Nurse said.

Friar Laurence nodded.

I viewed them, kind people all. "I'll do that."