Free The Boy Who Wept Blood by Den Patrick Page A

‘that Mea di Leone did not fall into Dottore Angelicola’s grave.’ The kitchen staff were abashed, avoiding eye contact with the Orfano. ‘Nor did she suffer a heart attack.’ He glared at them, feeling his frustrations finally given vent. ‘Furthermore, there will be no haunting, from the duke or anyone else.’ The pot washer had not looked up from his task. Dino ran him through with a gaze. ‘And Lady Stephania’s courtship, or lack of one, is no one’s business but her own.’
    The staff remembered themselves, managing nervous curtsies or stiff bows before pressing on with their chores. Dino had spent a lot of time in these kitchens as a child, being watched by Camelia when very small. The long table was the same, the cypress timber smoothed to a satin finish by countless tasks. Knives hung from hooks at the far end, dull glints of steel. Produce sat in barrels; sacks were propped against the walls. The faint smell of flour and garlic was present on the air, soothing him. The heat, always welcome in winter, was stifling at this time of year.
    Dino’s eyes fell on Camelia and his anger fled him, replaced with a feeling of sheepishness. She approached, broad honest face unreadable. She was a tall woman, eclipsing Dino in height, close to fifty and showing no sign of slowing or stooping.
    ‘Thank you so much for coming to the kitchens to discipline my staff, Lord Erudito. Is there something we can get you, or were you just passing through?’
    Dino swallowed and looked at his boots. ‘Camelia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … It’s just I was out on the porch and I heard, you know?’
    ‘Will you take coffee then?’ she said, breaking into a slow smile. It was like watching the sun come up.
    He passed a hand over his face, pushing fingertips into the corners of his eyes. The staff were hard pressed not to stare as he talked with Camelia. None dared speak following his outburst, which made what he had to say seem so much louder.
    ‘I only came down for a bite to eat and to help you make gnocchi.’
    ‘It’s been a while since you did that, or was that Lucien? I get confused.’
    ‘Both of us, I think,’ he said plucking at his lip.
    ‘Well, there won’t be much gnocchi made today: we’re having a hard time keeping the stores free of ants.’
    ‘Because of yesterday?’
    ‘No, no. Every summer we have the same problem. And it’s been getting worse. They come in from the courtyard. Some even come in from outside the castle. They’re in everything.’
    ‘And this year they’ve taken to wing.’
    Camelia nodded. ‘They’ve not done that for a while, since before you born, if I’m remembering rightly.’
    ‘What do you normally do, with ants?’
    ‘Most times we get pans of boiling water and pour it in the nest, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference this year.’ She shook her head. ‘They’re in the sugar, and the jam; they’re all over the fruit. And they love breadcrumbs. The corners of the kitchens are filled with the brutes. And they’re bigger this year, I’m sure of it.’
    Dino declined the offer of coffee for some watered wine, settling on a stool at one side of the kitchen.
    ‘You look terrible,’ Camelia said, concern showing in her eyes. She stepped closer and brushed a stray a hair back from his face.
    Dino smiled. ‘I’m not a child any more,’ he said, smoothing back his fringe.
    ‘Sorry, my lord. Old habits die hard. So what’s troubling you?’
    ‘A great many things. I’d rather not speak of them here.’
    ‘And you can’t sleep?’
    ‘No.’ Dino shook his head. ‘I was guarding Anea last night. When I got back to my room I couldn’t settle.’ His gaze came to rest on a woman in a white shift with a ragged hem. She wore an apron, but her attire put him in mind of the disciple at the cemetery.
    ‘There was someone peculiar at the funeral.’
    ‘Duchess Prospero?’
    ‘More peculiar than that.’ Dino grinned. ‘She was in the cemetery when the