Free The Collector of Dying Breaths by M. J. Rose Page A

Brother Serapino. He is the only family I have known. He is my teacher. I . . . I . . .”
    “But in the end he convinced you?”
    “The pain convinced me,” I said. My voice was low.
    “You decided to play God?”
    “No. I would never do such a thing. Brother Serapino asked me to give him the poison.”
    “You swear that you gave him the poison because he asked for it?” Beneto asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Not because you were tired of being his apprentice? Not because you wanted to take over the apothecary?”
    So this was what was at the heart of the inquiry.
    “No.”
    “But that is what would likely happen, is it not? You are the most knowledgeable of all of us. You are in a position to use what you have learned to gain power here.”
    “I was satisfied working with Serapino. I had nothing to gain by having him die.”
    “Unless he was holding you back. Unless he was keeping you from grander ambitions. You have been an apprentice far longer than is customary. Isn’t that true?”
    It was true. Serapino had kept me an apprentice longer than I thought was right. There had been some rancor between us over how far and how fast I was progressing.
    “There are some of us here who have heard arguments between the two of you to that effect. You wanted more than Serapino was willing to give you. You were greedy for power, René Bianco, were you not?”
    “Those were just conversations, Friar. Two men arguing about ideas. I would never want to hasten his death for my own benefit.”
    “Look at the evidence. We have heard the fights between you about how you wanted more responsibility in the pharmacy. You knew how to make the poisonous bitter almond paste. You were alone with him day and night for weeks with no one to witness your actions. And we know, because we have all taken the same oath and love the same Lord, that Serapino would not break the sacraments in the last hours of his life. So close to heaven to risk entry by disobeying a major rule?”
    “No!” I leapt up, stepped forward and pounded my hands on the table. “He was in terrible pain. Serapino said God would not have made these herbs and flowers and nuts capable of such things if he did not intend for us to use them. He said that God did not make the rules that men impose upon one another in his name—”
    “Heresy!” The abbot screamed and stood, pointing his finger at me. All the hatred in his heart visible on his face. How could I have been so stupid? This was not about burying Serapino in hallowed ground. I alone in that hall knew what I was really on trial for. Years before Beneto had wanted Serapino to be his lover. I had heard the abbot proposition him. Had heard Serapino rebuff him and then listened as Beneto threatened to remove him from his position overseeing the apothecary if he uttered one word of his proposition to anyone. And then, as the abbot left my mentor’s room, he noticed me huddled on my pallet. He’d forgotten I slept just outside Serapino’s cell. Hatred flashed in his eyes. He’d been mortified in front of an apprentice.
    I finally understood. This trial, my demise, was Beneto’s revenge.
    He was conferring with the archbishop and the librarian. The room was silent. Everyone waited to hear the verdict.
    It was the archbishop who spoke. “I declare you guilty, René Bianco. Since you are not a religious man, we cannot charge you. Therefore we will turn you over to the government of Florence and they will mete out your fate.”
    The abbot addressed the monks who had escorted me into the rectory: “Take René Bianco to the laboratory and lock him up again until the chief magistrate from the city arrives later this afternoon,” Beneto said.
    And then, with a smile that he was trying so very hard to hide playing on his lips, he gazed at me and offered a benediction.
    “May God have mercy on you, René Bianco. I fear you are going to need it.”

Chapter 9
    THE PRESENT
    FRIDAY, MARCH 14
    BARBIZON, FRANCE
    Jac never lost