Night fell once more.
St. Lucia Village sank into darkness as each household extinguished its lights. Only a dim oil lamp still burned inside Jacob's butcher shop.
Beneath the lamp, Giovanni calmly sliced a piece of roasted lamb. He cut a thin slice with a small knife, placed it into his mouth, and chewed slowly.
Jacob stood across from him, watching in silence. He knew the abbot's late visit had nothing to do with the meat.
"The meat is good," Giovanni said after swallowing, wiping his mouth with a cloth. "Cooked just right."
Jacob did not respond.
Giovanni set down his knife and fork and took a sip of wine. "The mother and son are living well in the monastery. They are very devout. Especially the woman, Isabella. Every day she prays to God, filled with guilt over her husband's sins and the unclean wealth she once enjoyed."
Jacob's eyelid twitched. He realized what the abbot was implying.
"She is also very afraid," Giovanni continued. "She fears the villagers. She knows that even though they took her family's property, the hatred in their hearts has not faded. She believes that one day she and her son will be smashed like her husband, their heads crushed by a hammer."
Giovanni set down his wine cup and looked straight at Jacob. "She does not want to live anymore, Jacob. She believes death is the final peace for her and her child. A release. She wants to go somewhere no one can ever hurt them again."
Jacob fully understood.
The abbot wanted him to "help" the mother and son find that "peace."
Although Bartolo's property had already been transferred to the monastery through the donation contract, as long as his legal heirs lived, there was always risk.
Especially Isabella. She was too clever, and the hatred in her eyes ran too deep. Giovanni had seen it clearly.
He never left loose ends.
"Let them go quietly. It must look like their own choice. Out of guilt and fear, they chose that path themselves."
Jacob nodded. He knew exactly what to do.
"Make it clean," Giovanni added as he stood up. He took out a heavy coin purse and placed it on the table. "This is what you earned."
Jacob did not touch it.
Giovanni then took out a smaller bag of gold and pushed it forward. "This one is not for you. Use it to go to Florence, or Pisa. Buy the best carrier pigeons you can find. In the future, it will be easier for me to reach you."
Jacob's eyes lit up. Carrier pigeons. This meant the abbot saw him as a long-term, core tool. That thought excited him more than any amount of gold.
"Yes, Abbot," he replied in a low voice.
Giovanni nodded in satisfaction, pulled up his hood, and disappeared through the butcher shop's back door.
Jacob remained standing, staring at the two bags of gold. He picked up the purse meant for him, weighed it in his hand, then tossed it deep into a cabinet. He took the other bag, the one meant for buying pigeons, and tucked it into his clothes.
He licked his dry lips as a beastlike glint flashed in his eyes.
* * *
The monastery lay silent in the depths of the night.
A dark figure slipped soundlessly over the monastery wall. It was Jacob.
He knew the monastery's layout well, better than many of the monks themselves. Avoiding every route where night watch monks might pass, he moved swiftly toward the side building that housed the guest rooms.
It was remote and quiet.
He followed the wall until he reached the window of the room where the mother and son were staying.
From his clothes, he took out a thin blowpipe and two short needles soaked in special herbs. He had learned of this herb from a Gypsy. Colorless and tasteless, it could send a person into deep unconsciousness without killing them.
He gently pried open the window and slid the blowpipe inside. Then he waited patiently outside for a full quarter of an hour.
Only after confirming that those inside were completely unconscious did he slip in.
* * *
In the village, the well that had once been "polluted" lay silent beneath the moonlight. Its mouth was dark, like a waiting jaw. The villagers now fetched water from the river. This well had been abandoned. No one was around.
Jacob carried the mother and son to the well.
He set Isabella down first. Then he took Anton from his shoulder and placed him on the ground. He glanced at the child. In the moonlight, the boy's face was pale as paper.
Jacob did not hesitate. He grabbed the child by the ankles, lifted him upside down, and dropped him into the well.
Splash!
Water sprayed upward, then quickly went still.
He then picked up Isabella and threw her in as well.
Splash!
Another dull sound echoed. Ripples spread across the surface, then vanished.
Jacob stood beside the well and leaned over to look. The water was deep and dark. Nothing could be seen.
* * *
Early the next morning, as dawn broke, a woman who rose early did not want to walk all the way to the river. She decided to secretly draw water from the abandoned well to wash clothes.
Humming softly, she approached with a wooden bucket. She lowered it into the well, turned the winch, and pulled it back up. The bucket felt unusually heavy.
Straining, she lifted it to the rim and leaned forward to look.
"Ahhh!"
The bucket slipped from her hands. Water spilled everywhere as she stumbled backward, screaming at the top of her lungs.
"There are dead people! In the well! Dead people!"
Villagers rushed over and gathered around the well. They stretched their necks and peered down.
They saw them, two bodies floating on the muddy surface. A woman and a child.
Bartolo's wife and his son.
The crowd erupted.
"My God! How did they die in the well?"
"It was suicide! It must have been suicide!"
"Of course! Didn't the abbot say they were overwhelmed by guilt?"
"They died to atone for their crimes! They used their lives to cleanse this cursed well!"
"This is the Lord's final judgment!"
The panic did not last long. Soon, guided by a few "clear-minded" villagers, everyone reached the conclusion they most wanted to believe.
They looked at the bodies in the well without pity, only relief.
The bloodline of sinners was finally cut off. The village's curse was finally cleansed.
Giovanni arrived later with Luca at his side. He looked at the two bodies and displayed just the right amount of sorrow and regret. Stepping closer to the well, he traced a cross over his chest.
"Rest in peace, lost lambs," he said softly. "The Lord will, in time, forgive your souls."
Then he turned to the villagers and announced in a solemn voice, "Bury them together beside Bartolo."
**
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