“Not by blood. I’m Nonna Alessa’s sister’s husband’s son’s wife’s son,” the young man, Anders, reiterates in what I believe to be a Norwegian accent? Danish? Maybe Swedish? It’s hard to say; from what I remember, their languages are so similar they’d be able to understand each other if they conversed in their own native tongues.
Luckily, he speaks English more than well enough.
“If you’re Nonna Alessa’s sister’s husband’s son’s wife’s son, then wouldn’t you just be Nonna Alessa’s sister’s husband’s son’s son?” Bes wonders.
My headache worsens with trying to keep up, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“What the bloody hell is happening?” Cec mutters.
Headache abating slightly from the pressure, I crush my lips together to hold in a laugh. I don’t think Cec meant to say that out loud.
“My mother had me when she married my father,” Anders continues, “after Nonna Alessa’s sister’s husband’s son, my mother’s first husband, died in a motorcar accident.”
Cec scratches his head and blinks his milky eyes. “They’ve broken my brain, Hawkins.”
I pat his shoulder. “I don’t think you can reasonably blame them for that, old chap.”
Cec smirks.
Bes tucks his hair behind his ears, unrelenting. “But then wouldn’t—”
Enough of this.
“Bes,” I bark.
He turns around in his seat, wincing from the sewed-up stab wound in his chest he earned the night before. Luckily, the boat kept a robust emergency kit and a bottle of vodka stocked. I’ve never sewed flesh before, and I hope to never experience it again. He flashes me the shiner he received too. It’s healing quicker than I would’ve thought possible, somehow already splotched with yellow.
“It’s too damn hot for this,” I tell him. “And I swear to God, Iwillleap out of this moving car if you ask Anders about his connection to your family one more time.”
Bes purses his lips, choosing the silent route.Knew that’d do the trick. He learned from our quarrel near the Port of Civitavecchia that I don’t make idle threats.
Cec leans into me and speaks softly. “I can’t believe that worked. I’ve threatened to harm myself hundreds of times if he didn’t shut up, and it’s gotten me nowhere.”
“I could attempt to teach you, but unfortunately it’s a natural talent.”
Cec nods sagely.
The driver sighs at the sweet peace of Bes’s silence. “Thank you, Miss Hawkins.”
I sniff, falling back on the worn leather seat and trying not to sound bitter when I say, “I didn’t do it for your benefit.”
Cec leans forward now. I silently beg him to let it go, knowing he won’t.
“Come on, Bes, leave the poor bloke alone. He knew the password, knows where Arturo’s place is. I even met him the last time I was there. What could possibly make you think he’s not a part of”—he glances in my direction—“our cause?”
The cause of anti-fascism, I presume.
Desperate to find a way to stretch out in this tin can of a car, I shift my legs awkwardly for the dozenth time.
“I thought Gino and Francesca were a part of yourcause,” I start, “but then one of them betrayed us.”
“Betrayed us?” Bes demands. “Why do you think one of them betrayed us?”
“How else did Ingrid find out where we were?” I ask, wondering how he, of all people, could possibly be so naïve.
“Francesca couldn’t have,” Cec reasons.
“How could you possibly—” I look over to find him cocking an eyebrow near me. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear another lie.”
