Sessio XIV – Cointoss

Avicellus entered the hospital ward early the next morning. He found Fr. Malachi standing quietly, staring into the flame of the oil lantern still providing a bit of light as the sun began to creep through the window.

“A little too much wine with the Abbot last night?”

“Hm,” said Fr. Malachi, distracted. He turned his head slightly but continued staring at the flame.

“You seem a bit ‘out of it’. Did you have breakfast?”

“Oh,” Fr. Malachi said as he turned down the wick to extinguish the flame. “I was just putting these out. Yes, I had some breakfast in the refectory.  You?”

“Yes, Godefroid and I got to eat with the pilgrims. Barley porridge, eggs, and some herring.”

“Same.” Replied Malachi.

Avicellus crossed the room to whisper to Fr. Malachi, “Godefroid told me that Fiona managed to get inside the Abbot’s residence. She found crates of gold in the basement, along with ledgers indicating that he’s working with the Red Scarf cartel and the Byzantines. She said there’s also a locked room with someone or something alive inside, but she wasn’t able to get the lock open.  Did you see any of that when you were in there?”

“No,” replied Fr. Malachi, the Abbot took me upstairs for a…chat.  It’s true what Fiona says. He asked me to join his scheme. Apparently, they’re all working against Venice. He told me that the plan is good for Florence, so I should want to help him.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“For now? Just what I’m doing – tend to the sick and injured. I suspect he’ll have something before too long for me to do.”

Avicellus continued, “I don’t like the sound of that room in the basement. We should try to get in there. Godefroid and I are quartered together. One of the sisters has him and Fiona scrubbing chamber pots and toting water and firewood in the courtyard. We’ll need to round her up once we figure out how we’re going to get in there.”

Fr. Malachi pondered a moment. “I’ve seen the inside of his house, and so has young Fiona. I think I have a way we can do it.”  Fr. Malachi lowered his voice further, eyes sharp despite the early hour. “Here’s the plan: I’ll ask the abbot for a private blessing in his study after midday meal -- claim a pilgrim’s fever troubles my spirit. He’ll take me upstairs as before. While he’s distracted with prayers, I’ll slip a sleeping draught into his wine. When he dozes, I take his basement key from the hook by his desk.

“You fetch Fiona from the courtyard chores; Godefried stands watch at the cloister gate, claiming Teutonic business with the guards. We meet in the abbot’s entry hall, descend quiet as ghosts, and crack that locked room. In and out before Vespers—no traces, no alarms. If Red Scarf scum or worse waits inside, we end it fast and burn the ledgers. Lorenzo gets proof the abbot’s a viper not worth a mask.”

The ward stirred as novices entered with fresh linens. Midday approached. Avicellus nodded and broke off to tend to a patient who was just waking up as Fr. Malachi slipped a small bottle of sleeping medicine from the nearby tray into his cassock.

After the midday meal in the refectory, the four sat together at a corner table among pilgrims and novices. The simple fare -- lentil stew, bread, and watered wine -- had been eaten in relative silence. As the hall emptied, Fr. Malachi rose.

“It’s time. I’ll go to the abbot now.”

He slipped away toward the abbot’s lodgings. Avicellus, Fiona, and Godefried lingered only long enough to avoid notice, then followed separately, converging in the shadowed cloister near the side entrance.

Fr. Malachi had already been admitted. Minutes passed. Then the side door opened a crack, and his hand beckoned them inside.

The abbot’s study lay quiet; Aldobrandino slumped asleep in his chair, wine cup overturned. Fr. Malachi held up a heavy iron key.

“The basement stairs are this way.”

He led them through a concealed panel behind a tapestry, down narrow stone steps into cool darkness. At the bottom, a short passage ended at a stout oak door with a single lock.

Fr. Malachi inserted the key. The lock clicked.

The door swung inward into a 20 ft east-west by 15 ft north-south chamber lit by a single brazier of glowing coals. Crates stamped with Medici seals lined the walls, lids pried open to reveal stacks of gold florins glinting with unnatural reddish light. Ledgers lay scattered on a central table.

A heavy iron door stood in the north wall, barred from this side.

Fiona again twisted her picks in the heavy lock. It resisted for a moment, then yielded with a sharp pop. The iron door swung inward on well-oiled hinges.

A narrow stone stair descended fifteen feet into darkness, the air growing warmer and carrying a faint smell of burning charcoal and incense. At the bottom, a short passage ended at another iron-bound door, this one painted with a fresh red heart.

No sound came from below.

Fiona inspected the door for traps, and, finding none, she quietly pushed it open.

The door opened into a 30 ft east-west by 20 ft north-south chamber, its walls rough-hewn tufa glistening with moisture. A large iron brazier of glowing coals dominated the center, casting flickering red light and waves of heat. Six stone pedestals ringed the brazier, each bearing a small pile of gold florins that shimmered with an unnatural crimson glow.  There was a plain wooden door on the east wall.

Chains hung from the ceiling in the northwest corner, attached to a rusted iron cage containing a gaunt, hooded prisoner—alive but unmoving, head bowed. Bloodstained straw covered the floor beneath the cage.

Fiona examined the east wooden door: solid oak, untrapped, unlocked.  Avicellus approached the cage. The hooded prisoner -- a thin, middle-aged man with scarred wrists -- lifted his head weakly. "Water... please," he rasped in Venetian accent.  Fr. Malachi studied the brazier, noting etched red-heart symbols, then grew transfixed by the flames, eyes glazing. Godefroid inspected the gold piles from afar: thousands of florins, glowing unnatural crimson, radiating faint heat and subtle demonic aura.

Avicellus lifted the hood. The prisoner was a gaunt Venetian merchant in his forties, eyes sunken, lips cracked. He drank greedily from the waterskin Avicellus offered, coughing.

“Thank you… name’s Tommaso Bianchi. They took me weeks ago. Said I knew too much about the gold shipments from Byzantium. The abbot… he’s deeper in the Red Scarf than anyone guessed.”

He glanced fearfully at the glowing coins. “Don’t touch them. That gold burns the soul.”

Avicellus and Godefroid quickly turned toward Tommaso when he said that. "What do you mean it 'burns the soul'?" Avicellus asked.

The caged man rasped, eyes fixed on the glowing piles, “That gold is cursed by fire from below. Touch it, and it whispers -- first warmth, then rage, then commands. The abbot gives it as alms to the poor, to merchants, to guards. They spend it, pass it on, and the fire spreads. Souls burn without flame. I carried one purse…now the dreams won’t stop.”

Avicellus beckoned Fiona to come and unlock the cage, which she was successfully able to do. Godefroid headed for the eastern door, “This ritual we see here is undoubtedly how the curse is imparted to the coins. Come on. We’d better see what else is going on here and put a stop to it. Can we disrupt this ritual by knocking over the coins or brazier Father?”

He made it all the way to the door with no reply from Fr. Malachi. He turned back to see the priest staring into the flames of the brazier. “Father!”

“Yes?” said Malachi, quiet and distracted.

“Can we?”

Fr. Malachi snatched his attention away from the flames. “Can we what?”

“Can we disrupt the ritual to curse the coins by knocking everything over?”

Fr. Malachi looked at the coins and brazier. “I believe so,” he said after a brief moment.

Avicellus kicked over the pedestals one by one. The cursed florins scattered across the stone, their unnatural red glow dimming as they rolled away from the ritual circle. He finished by toppling the heavy brazier. Coals spilled in a wide arc, hissing and sparking on the damp floor, the chamber’s heat suddenly broken.

The crimson light in the coins faded entirely. A low, almost inaudible sigh—like wind through distant flames—passed through the room and died away.

Fr. Malachi blinked, shaking his head as if waking from a trance. “It is done,” he murmured. “The ritual is broken… for now.”

Tommaso remained seated in the open cage, breathing shallowly, watching the scattered coals warily.

Godefried stood at the east door, hand on the latch.

Tommaso rose unsteadily from the cage, rubbing his wrists. He followed the party at a distance, limping but determined, whispering, “I know these passages… I won’t slow you.”

The east door opened into a 60 ft east-west by 40 ft north-south chamber, its vaulted ceiling supported by thick stone pillars. Frescoes of flaming hearts adorned the walls, faded but vivid in the light of two braziers burning at the room's center.

A single wooden door stood in the center of the north wall.

Fiona's fingers traced the flaming-heart motifs; one section felt loose. Pressing it revealed a hidden niche containing a small leather pouch with 200 gp in florins that did not appear to be cursed and a silver key etched with a flame symbol.  She took both.

Avicellus examined the pillars for mechanisms but found none.

No other secrets emerged.

They opened the door to find a small-ish room with a door on each wall. As it appeared this room was just a junction of other rooms, they opted for the western door.

A vast, echoing hall stretched 80 ft north-south by 10 ft east-west, its walls lined with ancient Etruscan niches holding charred bones. Dim red light pulsed from cracks in the floor.

There was an iron-bound door in the center of the north wall.  There were also ten Red Scarf thugs, shortswords drawn. They spun at the creak, shouting alarms.

Avicellus unleashed a fireball that blossomed in the hall's midst, engulfing the front ranks in roaring inferno. Screams choked off as flesh blackened and armor fused to bone; six thugs collapsed into smoking ruin.

Fiona's crossbow loosed a bolt that punched through a thug's throat, dropping him. Fr. Malachi charged through the smoke, hammer descending in a bone-shattering overhead smash that pulped his target's head. Godefried followed, sword carving a bloody furrow from shoulder to hip, bisecting the last forward thug.

The four survivors howled and surged forward. One dagger skidded off Godefried's gauntlet; another gashed his thigh shallowly. A third slashed wildly at Fr. Malachi, blade whistling past his ear. The fourth flung his knife at Fiona, the throw going wide into the wall.

Avicellus's silver dagger plunged into a thug's gut. Fiona's blade gashed another's arm. Fr. Malachi's hammer swung wide. Godefried's sword carved a crimson arc across a fourth thug's chest.

The survivors lashed back. One dagger raked Godefried's arm. Another slipped past Fr. Malachi's guard into his side. The others slashed air.

Avicellus's dagger struck with perfect fury, gutting a thug. Fiona's blade glanced off another's guard. Fr. Malachi's hammer crushed a thug's ribs, leaving him wheezing. Godefried's sword swung wide.

The two survivors lunged. One dagger gouged Godefried's thigh; the other slashed air near Fr. Malachi.

Avicellus pivoted smoothly to Fiona's foe, silver dagger plunging deep. Fiona's blade sank into the reeling thug's chest. Fr. Malachi's hammer crushed another's shoulder in a spray of bone. Godefried's sword bit into the last, carving flesh.

Two thugs fell lifeless. The pair staggered but lunged back -- one dagger gouging Godefried's shoulder, another slipping past Fr. Malachi's guard into his ribs.

Avicellus and Fiona converged on one thug, their daggers flashing in tandem -- the first carving his arm, the second sinking deep into his side. He reeled.

Fr. Malachi's hammer swung wide. Godefried's sword followed, ripping across the second thug's chest in a crimson spray.

The survivors lashed back. One dagger gouged Godefried's forearm; the other slashed air near Fr. Malachi.

Avicellus's dagger struck true. Fiona's blade carved deep. Fr. Malachi's hammer smashed bone. Godefried's swing missed.

The last two thugs fell, throats slit and skulls crushed.

The hall lay silent, littered with corpses.

They picked up some alchemist’s fire pots and coins off the bodies. Avicellus and Godefroid used their healing skills on Fr. Malachi and Godefroid. Fr. Malachi quipped, “physician, heal thyself!”  Then, he cast cure light wounds.

The party continued through the door. They entered a large chamber where they encountered four more Red Scarf lieutenants and a fire elemental. The party surprised their opponents and launched straight into combat.

Avicellus detonated his last fireball, knowing it would do nothing against the ember tyrant, secure that it would still harm the Red Scarf soldiers.  He was right, and the fireball engulfed all four, leaving them smoldering corpses on the ground. Everyone else could concentrate on the elemental. It didn’t escape Avicellus’s notice that one of the Red Scarf was holding a staff that seemed completely unharmed by the flames.

Fiona struck next. She snuck behind the elemental. Whether it was distracted by the blast or missed her because of her cloak, she wasn’t sure. She was able to use her backstab ability successfully, but her dagger seemed so very small once the fiend turned on her.  Seeing her look of surprise and horror, Fr. Malachi quickly cast resist fire on her. It wouldn’t grant her immunity, but hopefully it would protect her long enough to get out of harm’s way.

Godefroid charged in and swung his sword, doing damage and hoping to capture the living flame’s attention.

It didn’t work. The elemental first slammed Fiona, knocking her across the room. It then tried to do the same to Godefroid, but the veteran saw the mighty blow coming and managed to evade the flaming fist.

Avicellus dashed into the path of the elemental and dove for the staff. He rolled twice, but managed to grab it. It felt cold in his hands. Fiona picked herself up with a wheeze. She charged in again with her dagger, but in her weakened state, she missed it entirely.

Fr. Malachi, seeing the danger she was in, charged the elemental with his hammer. The steel swung harmlessly through the corona of the fire. Godefroid swung again with the same effect.

Again the fire elemental batted Fiona away, this time catching her worse than before. This time, she hit the ground smoldering and didn’t stir for a disturbingly long time. His second slam went to Godefroid. He connected, but Godefroid held his ground. Tommaso rushed to Fiona’s side.

Avicellus, thinking Fiona might be dead, pointed the staff at the living fire and caught the elemental in a cone of icy cold. Fiona sat up with Tommaso’s help, coughing, the skin on her face and arms raw.

Fr. Malachi swung again and missed, but Godefroid connected. The elemental slammed both of them, finally connecting with Godefroid as solidly as it did with Fiona.

Avicellus, relieved to see Fiona moving, unleashed his magic missiles. The living flames dissipated as all three found their mark.

Avicellus rushed to Fiona’s side. Fr. Malachi was already casting cure light wounds. Both Avicellus and Godefroid used their healing skills. As the spell healed her skin to little more than a bad sunburn, Avicellus brushed her singed hair out of her face. She looked at him. He knew he could see into her eyes, but she couldn’t see into his. He knew she was only staring at a mask. He wanted to say something, but didn’t.

Fr. Malachi broke the silence, “We’ve got to get out of here.” 

Godefroid interjected, “We’re not done with this place, and this is the only chance we have. When the abbot wakes up, he’ll find out what happened here, and he’ll know it was us. There are still more rooms.”

Avicellus looked up at him from where he was crouched beside Fiona, “She’s done – I mean, we’re done.”

Godefroid replied angrily, “Look, if she can’t stand on her own feet in combat, she’s just a liability!”

“I’m fine!” she retorted, staggering to her feet. A slight stumble caused Tommaso to grab her elbow.

Godefroid continued, “If she can’t go on, then Tommaso can get her out of here, and the three of us can –”

Fr. Malachi said, “No, I think Avicellus is correct. He’s already used up his most damaging spells, and I have only one healing spell left myself.”

Godefroid was steadfast. “We have healing potions.” We’ve got to put an end to what the abbot is doing here. Who knows how many of those cursed coins are already in circulation. How many more does he have here at the abbey?”

Fiona called over from where she was picking through the corpses for loot, “Godefroid is right. We have healing potions if we need them.” She let out a satisfied “ah-ha” as she pulled a heavy purse from one of the bodies. It contained 500 gold pieces. “Here,” she said, “you might want this,” and she tossed Fr. Malachi a magical hammer, more powerful than his own.

Godefroid quipped, “See? Looting bodies! She’s already back to her old self!”  Avicellus sighed. “Here,” Godefroid continued, snatching the purse out of Fiona’s hand. “Take…eighty…ninety…a hundred gold and some of the ledgers we saw out there. Get to Lorenzo in the Oltarno district of Florence. Tell him what’s going on here. Tell him we’re going to try to stop it before it goes any farther.”

Tommaso nodded. They put on some of the Red Scarf clothes that weren’t completely incinerated or bloody and gave him one of the guard’s swords. He would follow them back to the junction room and then slip out of the basement and abbey altogether, grabbing some ledgers on his way out.

As they retraced their steps, Fiona said, while quaffing a healing potion, “You know, I don’t think that gold out in the basement has been cursed yet. I think it’s just what’s in here and whatever the abbot managed to get into circulation already.”

“Well,” Godefroid sighed with relief, “that certainly makes our task ahead much easier!”

“I mean,” Fiona continued sheepishly, “that maybe we should grab as much as we could carry on our way out.”

“You really are back to your old self again,” laughed Godefroid, rubbing his knuckles on the top of her head.

“Ssssh,” said Fr. Malachi. We’re here at the junction room. This time, they chose the north door.  It required the silver key Fiona had picked up. Unfortunately the door was also trapped. Fiona sprung back, the flames only catching her slightly.

When they got the door open, they saw it was a tiny room – little more than a storage closet. The only contents were a hook and a pendant with a flaming ruby in it. Clearly magical, it surely offered some kind of fire resistance. Fiona took it in her hand and was about to put it on when she remembered she was already wearing the silver heart pendant Avicellus had given her. She was about to take it off when she looked over at him and saw the beak of his mask drop slightly as he turned away. She looked at Godefroid, “Here,” she said, as she tossed it to him, “you take it. You look like you could use it more than me right now!”

Only then did the rest of the party notice how really battered Godefroid had become. Avicellus offered to tend his wounds, and Godefroid helped him do it. It was of minimal help. Fr. Malachi offered to cast cure light wounds, but Godefroid refused. “It’s your last one. Save it. I’ll just drink a potion.”

The next room was empty, but the long and relatively narrow barracks beyond that contained six sleeping Red Scarf thugs. Godefroid looked at Fr. Malachi, who just shook his head.  Fighting the Red Scarf was one thing, but killing a room full of sleeping men would be cold blooded murder.

On the way out of the basement, Fiona tugged at Godefroid’s sleeve. She nodded her head toward the chests of gold. Godefroid tested one of them. It was heavy enough that it would take two men to carry one. They needed to make a quick getaway and get back to Lorenzo in case Tommaso didn’t get out of the abbey or decided to betray them.

Fiona sighed.

The party made it’s way out of the basement and left the abbey grounds under cover of darkness. They carried with them ledgers, some magical items, and a bit of freshly acquired coin. Fr. Malachi, in particular, had a purse of coins burning a hole in his pocket…