Omens of Death

OMENS OF DEATH The Basilica Diaries Book One Richard Kurti Table of Contents PART ONE 1: SACRIFICE 2: CRISTINA 3: DOMENICO 4: BASILICA 5: PANIC 6: SIBLINGS 7: BLOOD 8: CARDINALI 9: ASTROLABE 10: POST-MORTEM 11: DARKNESS 12: MIST 13: UNREASON 14: WHISPERS 15: IMPOSSIBLE 16: FIRE 17: RESCUE 18: DEUTERONOMY 29 19: CURIA 20: UNREASON 21: MORGUE 22: BURIALS 23: FANATICS 24: BLAME 25: ALTAR 26: EAST 27: PURGE 28: VIGILANTE 29: REFUGE 30: TORTURE 31: TRAUMA PART TWO 32: MURDER 33: SUSPECTS 34: GRIEF 35: RECOIL 36: CONFESSION 37: SPECTACLE 38: DEATH ROW 39: CLEMENCY 40: BONFIRE 41: ENEMIES 42: CASTRO 43: PARTNERS 44: ROAD 45: GHOSTS 46: ABDUCTION 47: WOUNDS 48: FERAL 49: GULLY 50: RESTLESS 51: RADICALISED 52: CAVES 53: EVANGELICALS 54: RETURN 55: CLOSER 56: TIME/MOTION 57: POLLEN 58: ROSARY 59: GILO 60: FALLOUT 61: REFORM 62: ONWARDS NOTE TO THE READER ALSO BY RICHARD KURTI PART ONE 1: SACRIFICE Rome, 1497 As the first rays of sunlight edged over the seven hills of Rome, they fell onto a pair of waxy-white feet. Strangely, the dawn light brought no warmth to the man, who didn’t even stir. The sun rose higher, waking birds, shimmering across the wild grasses, spreading a comforting red glow up the man’s legs. Yet still he remained motionless. Perhaps because he was upside down. Or because he was deep in meditation. Or perhaps because the man was too cold ever to feel warmth again. A curious robin fluttered across from a nearby cypress tree and landed on the white toes. He peered at the upside-down man as if hoping for some friendly words or a few breadcrumbs. But none came. Unable to resist, the bird swooped down, rested on the man’s nose and started to peck at the insects that crawled across his face. Little Enzo was in a good mood considering it was so early in the morning. As the Via Collatina left the city walls, it climbed for two miles up into the farms that spread across the ridge; it meant going out of Rome was a sweat, but the journey back was downhill all the way. So even though the slopping milk churns in Enzo’s hands were 2: CRISTINA Cristina Falchoni folded back the mahogany window shutters and watched light flood into the library. It always gave her a small pulse of pleasure to see the overflowing bookcases come to life each morning. Five years ago this had been the elegant ‘day salon’ in her parents’ townhouse, designed to receive guests and impress business associates. Now, despite all the scepticism she had faced, Cristina had turned it into one of the finest private studies in Rome. Of course, if her parents ever returned to the city, she would have some serious explaining to do, but there was no point worrying about hypotheticals now. Cristina glanced at the iron verge and foliot clock on the far wall and noticed that the weight was almost touching the floor. A day early, she thought to herself. Perhaps it’s the damp air coming off the Tyrrhenian Sea. She slid open a small drawer in the bureau to reveal a dozen different winding keys of all shapes and sizes, selected one engraved with symbols of the zodiac, and carefully wound up the clock. For a few moments Cristina gazed at the intricate mechanism, watching the pallets click against the escape wheel. She loved the steady, logical tick it made; it was the pulse of her life, and she