"What an unexpected apparition," Becker whispered, his smile betraying genuine surprise.
The crowd parted like a curtain. At last I could see the one who had frozen the tumult.
A rider was dismounting from a black warhorse with a mane of fire. Each step of the beast left glowing embers on the cobblestones, and the man who led it was no less striking: tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar that slashed across his head from left eyebrow to nape. His gaze, fiery like Charon's, burned in a different way: red corneas, blue irises floating like ice upon blood.
His tunic, black at first glance, was embroidered with fine silver filigree that shimmered at each movement, like veins of light trapped in the fabric. His gloves, reaching up to the elbow, were reinforced with plates of burnished steel set with gleaming studs—not for defense, but for display. At his waist he wore a broad studded belt adorned with engraved gold medallions, each depicting an animal in the act of tearing its prey apart.
Over his shoulders, instead of a regular cloak, fell a stole of black fur bordered with thin silver chains that chimed at every step. Even his boots, of polished leather, bore buckles decorated with tiny designs in precious metal.
The multitude, tamed in an instant, gave way before him with obsequious deference, as though moved by a single will.
A name ran from mouth to mouth, whispered in fear and respect: "Filippo Argenti…"
Becker lowered his voice."Filippo Cavicciuli degli Adimari. Known to most as…"
"Filippo Argenti," I finished, while the murmur of the crowd swelled, rendering the moment almost unreal.
Argenti reached the Lemures' barrier. He looked them over with contempt, then raised his voice.
"Citizens, do not be foolish. Go home. Thou shalt have bread tomorrow. This is the first and last warning. After that, thou shalt answer to me."
Someone still shouted that they were hungry, but his bloodshot stare was enough to smother the voices.
"No bread until tomorrow! Be gone, by order of the Podestà!" he thundered.
The air smelled of salt and tension. For a moment it seemed the crowd might rebel. Then, like a receding wave, it began to scatter in whining silence. On the pier only the demons and the Lemures remained.
"Argenti! Argenti!" croaked the little amphibious demons, hopping about—two misshapen toads, with tails that glowed on and off like faulty lamps.
Argenti seized one by the neck, lifting it with ease.
"Say my name again, demon," he said, his voice thick with scorn, "and I shall snap thy neck with a single finger."
The tails of both demons stopped flickering.
"Let me go, or Charon will teach thee a lesson…" gurgled the one caught in his grip.
Argenti dropped him to the ground—then spat on him and turned away. The toad coughed, managing only to croak:
"…again."
Those words froze him. He spun back in fury and, with a single kick, split the demon's body in two. The torso burst apart, shards of black blood and scraps of flesh splattering onto the wooden planks of the pier. Only the arms and head remained, its expression of astonishment frozen forever.
The companion shrieked and scrambled up onto the Red Barge, calling back the Lemures, who filed aboard in order like puppets.
I was breathless. That kick had passed through a body as though it were jelly. Argenti grabbed the severed head by its bristling crest and hurled it away in a perfect arc toward the reddish waves.
"Let him come!" he roared, chest heaving with rage. "Let him come, God damn him! I shall be waiting!"
The ship was already tearing away at full speed. Argenti mounted his horse and vanished amid the sparks from its incandescent hooves.
And as if by magic, the market men appeared. Unbothered by blood and remains, they retrieved the crates of food and tossed the demon's remaining arms into the sea.
Becker spoke again, calm as ever."It is dangerous to stand near Argenti when he loseth his temper. Well then, the tour is over. Let us go home."
I was still shaken. That kick echoed in my skull like a thunderclap.
"Herr Cremaschi!" he scolded. "Do move thyself; it is late!"
I snapped out of it and followed him, the smell of blood still in my nose. In the end, that had been a demon. And our jailers did not deserve pity.