Chapter 83: Franz: I
Franz’s consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. His mind felt foggy, caught between dream and reality. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in what looked like a cave, with only a single ray of sunlight piercing through the darkness above.
He reached out and felt cold stone beneath his fingers. Pushing himself up, he realized he was lying on his cloak, cushioned by a bed of dried heather that smelled surprisingly pleasant. The vivid dreams he’d been having, of statues and underground palaces, had completely vanished, as if they’d never existed at all.
Franz stumbled toward the light source. As his head cleared, the wild excitement of his dreams gave way to calm reality. He was definitely in a cave, and through a natural opening ahead, he could see brilliant blue ocean and sky. Morning sunlight danced on the waves, and on the beach below, he spotted sailors sitting around, talking and laughing. About thirty feet offshore, their boat bobbed gently on the water.
For a while, Franz just stood there enjoying the cool breeze on his face and listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the rocks, leaving trails of white foam like delicate lace. His mind went blank, the kind of peaceful emptiness you feel when surrounded by nature after a night of bizarre dreams. Then, gradually, as he took in the serene view, memories started flooding back.
He remembered arriving on this island, meeting some kind of smuggler leader, exploring an underground palace filled with treasure, eating an incredible meal, and then... hashish. That explained a lot.
Even standing there in broad daylight, it felt like at least a year had passed since yesterday. The dream had been so vivid, so intense, that it had carved itself deep into his memory. Even now, when he looked at the sailors on the beach, he half-expected to see the shadowy figures from his hallucinations among them.
But otherwise, his head felt clear. No headache, no nausea, actually, he felt better than usual. Lighter, somehow. Like he could breathe deeper and see colors more vividly.
Franz walked down to the beach, and the sailors immediately stood up when they saw him. Their leader approached with a respectful nod.
"Sir, Lord Sinbad asked us to pass along his apologies," the captain said. "He deeply regrets not being able to say goodbye in person, but urgent business called him away to Malaga."
Franz turned to the sailor called Gaetano, confused. "So all of that was real? There really was a man who welcomed me to this island, gave me an amazing dinner, and then just... left while I was sleeping?"
"As real as that yacht right there," Gaetano said, pointing out to sea. "If you’ve got a telescope, you can probably spot your host on deck."
Franz followed his gesture and saw a small ship sailing south toward Corsica, all its sails unfurled. He raised his telescope and adjusted the focus. Sure enough, there at the back of the yacht stood the mysterious stranger, looking back toward the island through his own spyglass. He was wearing the same clothes as last night. As Franz watched, the man pulled out a handkerchief and waved it in farewell.
Franz waved his own handkerchief back. A moment later, a puff of smoke rose from the yacht’s stern, followed by the faint sound of a gunshot echoing across the water.
"There, you hear that?" Gaetano grinned. "He’s saying goodbye."
Franz grabbed his rifle and fired a shot into the air, even though he knew the sound wouldn’t carry across the distance to the yacht.
"What would you like to do now, sir?" Gaetano asked.
"First, get me a torch."
"Ah, I see!" the captain laughed. "You want to find the entrance to that magical underground room, right? Sure, I’ll get you a torch. I’ve had the same idea myself a few times, but I always gave up. Giovanni, light a torch for the gentleman!"
Giovanni quickly prepared a torch and handed it to Franz, who immediately headed back into the cave with Gaetano following behind. He easily found the spot where he’d woken up, the heather bed was still there, but as he searched the cave walls with the torch, he found nothing. Well, almost nothing. There were smoke marks on the walls showing that others had tried the same search before him, also without success.
For two hours, Franz examined every inch of the cave. He studied the granite walls like they held the secrets of the universe. He poked his hunting knife into every crack and pushed on every protruding rock, hoping something would trigger a hidden door. Nothing worked. Eventually, he gave up, and Gaetano couldn’t help but smile knowingly.
When Franz emerged back onto the beach, the yacht had shrunk to a tiny white dot on the horizon. Even with his telescope, he could barely make it out.
Gaetano reminded him that they’d actually come to the island to hunt wild goats, something Franz had completely forgotten about. He grabbed his shotgun and halfheartedly wandered around the island, feeling more like he was going through the motions than actually hunting. Within fifteen minutes, he’d shot one adult goat and two young ones. Sure, they were wild and agile, but they reminded him too much of farm animals to feel like real game.
Besides, his mind was elsewhere. Ever since last night, he felt like the hero of some Arabian Nights tale, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that cave and its secrets.
Despite his earlier failure, Franz started a second search while telling Gaetano to roast one of the young goats. This time he spent even longer in the cave, and when he finally emerged, the meat was ready and a meal laid out. He sat in the same spot where his mysterious host had invited him to dinner the night before, watching the yacht, now looking as small as a seagull, continue its journey toward Corsica.
"Hey," Franz said to Gaetano, "I thought you said Lord Sinbad was heading to Malaga? Looks like he’s going toward Porto-Vecchio instead."
"Remember what I told you?" the captain replied. "Two of his crew members are Corsican outlaws."
"Oh, right. He’s dropping them off on their home island," Franz said, understanding.
"Exactly," Gaetano confirmed. "That man doesn’t fear God or the devil, they say. He’d sail fifty miles out of his way just to help someone in need."
"But doesn’t helping criminals like that get him in trouble with the law?" Franz asked.
Gaetano laughed. "What does he care about the law? He laughs at them. Let them try to catch him! His yacht isn’t just a ship, it’s like a bird. It could outrun any military vessel by a mile. And even if he had to hide on land, he’s got friends everywhere along the coast."
It was obvious that this Lord Sinbad had excellent relationships with smugglers and bandits throughout the entire region, which gave him special privileges that most people didn’t have.
As for Franz, he no longer had any reason to stay on the island. He’d lost all hope of discovering the cave’s secret. So he quickly finished breakfast, boarded the boat, and they set sail. The moment they left shore, the yacht disappeared into a bay on the far side, and with it went the last traces of his strange night. The dinner, the hashish, the statues, Lord Sinbad himself, it all faded into dreamlike memory.
They sailed all day and through the night. By the time the sun rose the next morning, the island had vanished behind them. Once Franz was back on the mainland, he pushed the whole bizarre experience out of his mind, at least temporarily, and focused on finishing his vacation in Florence before heading to Rome, where his traveling companion was waiting for him.
He set out and arrived in Rome on Saturday evening via mail coach, pulling into the Plaza de la Douane. They’d reserved an apartment in advance, so all he had to do was get to Mr. Pastrini’s hotel. But that turned out to be harder than expected. The streets were absolutely packed with people, and the whole city buzzed with that low, feverish energy that comes before major events.
Rome had four big celebrations every year: Carnival, Holy Week, Corpus Christi, and the Feast of St. Peter. The rest of the time, the city existed in a kind of drowsy half-state between sleeping and waking, which gave it a timeless, poetic atmosphere. Franz had visited five or six times before and found it more fascinating each time.
He finally pushed his way through the growing, increasingly chaotic crowd and reached the hotel. When he asked about his room, the desk clerk, with that special rudeness that hotel staff develop when fully booked, informed him that the London Hotel had no rooms available.
Franz sent up his card to Mr. Pastrini and asked for his friend Albert de Morcerf. That did the trick. Mr. Pastrini himself came rushing down, apologizing profusely for the wait, yelling at the staff, grabbing a candlestick from the porter who was already trying to escort Franz upstairs. Before the hotel owner could lead him to Albert’s room, though, his friend appeared in person.
Their apartment consisted of two small bedrooms and a sitting room. The bedrooms faced the street, which Mr. Pastrini kept emphasizing was an incredible advantage. The rest of the floor had been rented by some wealthy gentleman who was supposedly either Sicilian or Maltese, the hotel owner couldn’t quite figure out which.
"That’s fine, Mr. Pastrini," Franz said, "but we need dinner immediately, and we’ll need a carriage for tomorrow and the next few days."
"Dinner I can do right away," the landlord replied, "but the carriage..."
"What about the carriage?" Albert interrupted. "Come on, Mr. Pastrini, don’t joke around. We need a carriage."
"Sir, I’ll do everything in my power to get you one. That’s all I can promise."
"When will we know?" Franz asked.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Great," Albert sighed. "So we’ll just have to pay extra, I get it. Normally these rental places charge twenty-five lire for regular days and thirty to thirty-five for Sundays and holidays. Add another five for extra services, that’s forty total. No big deal."
"I’m afraid even if we offer double that, we won’t get a carriage."
"Then have them prepare my personal carriage. It’s a bit worn from the journey, but whatever."
"There are no horses available."
Albert stared at Franz like he’d just spoken a foreign language. "Did you hear that? No horses! Can’t we at least get post horses?"
"Everything was booked two weeks ago. The only horses left are the ones needed for the postal service."
"What are we supposed to do about this?" Franz asked, bewildered.
"Personally, when something makes absolutely no sense to me, I just move on to the next thing. Is dinner ready, Mr. Pastrini?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then let’s eat."
"But what about the carriage and horses?" Franz pressed.
"Relax, my friend. They’ll show up when they show up. It’s just a question of price." With that carefree philosophy that comes from having a full wallet, Albert ate dinner, went to bed, slept soundly, and dreamed of racing through Rome during Carnival in a carriage pulled by six horses.