Read Online Ring of Fire by Pierdomenico Baccalario - Free Book Online

‘they’ are, I am, too. Now tell me, Guardian … where is it? Where is the Ring of Fire?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    The violin’s bow hisses through the air like the gleaming blade of a knife.
    “Look here!” Jacob Mahler cries out. “Don’t fool with me!”
    The Guardian swallows hard and then lets a faint smile flash across his face.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “Nothing. I was just thinking. You flew twenty-nine thousand kilometers to come here to get something I don’t have. And neither one of us knows what it is. Don’t you find that … comical?”
    “No. Where is the Ring of Fire?”
    “Good question. But answering that would be like answering these: Is there order in the universe? Is there life after death?”
    “Don’t play games with me. Not now. Not tonight.”
    “Then I won’t. Tell them they won’t find the Ring of Fire. Because tonight it’s all begun,” the Guardian replies in a serious voice.
    “Where is it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Jacob Mahler grabs him by the shoulders. His grip is strong and firm. The violin bow slides a single time across the man’s throat, just below his Adam’s apple. He offers no resistance. He feels no pain.
    He slides to the ground, drained.
    Light.
    The last thing he sees is a pair of women’s boots. They’re green.
    The last thing he hears is the voice of the violinist, who orders, “Take his picture. And send it to the newspapers tonight. It’s got to be on the front page.”
    Tonight.
    White.
    There’s snow everywhere.
    Everything’s white.
    After which everything goes dark.

FIRST STASIMON
    “Hello?”
    “Who is it?”
    “It’s me. I wanted news. …”
    “The kids met each other.”
    “All four of them?”
    “Yes.”
    “And then?”
    “Then they went out together.”
    “What time is it?”
    “It’s nighttime. And it’s snowing.”
    “Is everything going … as it should?”
    “I think so. Alfred must’ve run into them by now.”
    “What are they like?”
    “Curious enough. And, in case you’re interested, Harvey’s a lot like you.”
    “Let’s hope not.”
    “Harvey will manage. The others will, too.”
    “You’re optimistic.”
    “I need to be. Once they’ve opened the briefcase, I won’t be able to help them anymore.”
    “And if they get it wrong—”
    “They won’t get it wrong. There won’t be any more mistakes.”

8
THE PAPER

    “S O HE’S DEAD?” S HENG WHISPERS TO H ARVEY .
    The American boy takes a sip of his cappuccino with a dismal look on his face. “What do you think?”
    “I don’t know,” replies Sheng, biting into his cream pastry. He silently waits for the others to show up. It’s the morning of December 30, in the dining room of the Domus Quintilia. Aunt Linda has made a stunning assortment of pastries, including a chocolate and vanilla marble cake, an apple pie, orange tarts and a ring cake. She circles cheerfully around the tables, humming as she offers her guests boiling hot coffee as black as oil.
    “Did you sleep well, kids?” she chirps happily, distractedly picking a hair off of Harvey’s shirt.
    “Very well, thank you.”
    The adults at the hotel are relaxed and calm. None of them seem to have any idea what happened last night.
    Elettra’s father is tranquilly reading today’s edition of
La Gazzetta dello Sport
. Sheng’s father is rubbing his eyes groggily. Harvey’s parents, on the other hand, are looking over a brochurelisting the current exhibits, after having uselessly tried to convince their son to go with them to visit the Capitoline Museums.
    Elettra and Mistral are the last ones to walk into the dining room. Mistral’s eyes show she’s had a restless night, but she forces herself to smile and keep their promise that they won’t say anything to anyone. Elettra walks beside her, far more carefree than her friend. They cross to the table where the boys are sitting alone and ask, “Any news?”
    “I can’t read Italian very well,”