In Calabria by Beagle Peter S

Author:Beagle, Peter S. [Beagle, Peter S.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, pdf
Tags: Contemporary, General, Fiction, Fantasy, Fairy Tales, Legends & Mythology, Folk Tales
ISBN: 9781616962487
Publisher: Tachyon Publications
Published: 2017-01-16T05:00:00+00:00

One afternoon in what felt like early spring but was more properly late winter, while he was replacing a fan belt on his tractor, he was approached by a monster. The monster was middle-aged, and wore a tan topcoat in approved movie style, slung around his wide shoulders. He was notably better dressed than almost all of the unicorn hunters, whether they arrived by helicopter or laboring Vespa: they had come clad for utility, after all, and they might have mocked him for being a toff or a dandy . . . but they knew him, and they kept their distance.

The monster sauntered up beside Bianchi, who was too occupied to notice him at first, and peered into the exposed engine with a knowledgeably scornful air. “Bertolini, hey? Underpowered, even for a handkerchief-sized place like yours. Hard to get parts, too.”

Bianchi turned to study the monster slowly and thoughtfully. The monster was actually shorter than he was, with the deep chest and flaring nose of an opera singer; he carried himself with the subdued swagger of a much taller man, with nothing to prove. He gave his name, which Bianchi did not recognize, but he knew a monster when he saw one.

“’Ndrangheta, is it?” he asked politely. “I wondered how long it would be.”

The monster smiled. He had large, strong-looking teeth, showing almost no stains, despite the Cigarro Toscano jutting up between them. That American actor, in the cowboy movies—he smoked Toscanos. I remember. “I am pleased that you did not confuse us with the Mafia. So many do.”

“What do you want?” Bianchi asked. “I have work to do.”

“Of course you do,” the monster agreed. “But this should not take long. How much for the unicorns?”

“The unicorns do not belong to me.” Bianchi’s hands were slipping on the new fan belt, but he kept his voice down to a casual grunt, and did not look at the monster. “You are an intelligent man, you must know that.”

“Mmm.” The monster nodded. “How much, then, for a farm with a couple of unicorns on it?”

“That would be a foolish offer from an intelligent man. Unicorns go where they please. You must know that too.”

The monster crowded gracefully past Bianchi to crane farther under the old tractor’s hood. He brushed the long ash from his cigar tip with a tap of his little finger, and it in turn brushed Bianchi’s hand as it fell into the engine. “Impacciato, goffo!” he berated himself. “My apologies, I am so clumsy. I should not be around machines—things just seem to happen. You know how it is with some people.”

“It is nothing.” Bianchi was consciously taking long, slow breaths as he worked, trying to slow down his racketing pulse.

“On the contrary,” the monster replied. “It is not nothing at all.” He flicked the cigar again, and more ash fell.

Bianchi took a last deep breath and turned to face the monster directly. The monster’s eyes were brown and friendly, with deep space beyond them. Bianchi said, “I will only tell you this once, because you already know what I am going to say.

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