“There’s a pony and trap coming up the track,” Mila called from the field, but Tacit had already spotted it. He lent his shovel against the front of the trailer and collected the shotgun from the cab. He’d told Mila everything. He told her trouble would eventually come looking for him. It appeared that it had.
“You’re not welcome here,” he called to the figures aboard the cart, as it drew to a halt on the track.
“Inquisitor Tacit,” the passenger in the trap replied in greeting, looking down at him and feigning a smile. Tacit recognised him from the Vatican, one of the Bishops who used to clean up around the Cardinals. It was clear he was still doing the Cardinals’ bidding. The Bishop looked up and surveyed the farm. He spotted Mila and his eyes narrowed on her.
“You’re on my land,” Tacit warned.
“Your land?” the Bishop retorted, pulling a face in mock admiration. “My, you have come a long way since falling from grace, haven’t you, Inquisitor?”
“Who said anything about falling?”
“You don’t turn your back on the holy faith, Tacit!” he spat venomously, his eyes burning with an unholy rage. “You don’t simply walk away from the Inquisition.”
Mila had moved a little closer in order to hear what the visitors were saying. The Bishop looked at her and scowled.
“Who’s she?”
“Turn this cart around and leave,” Tacit growled, ignoring the question. The Bishop looked down at him and shook his head.
“Good heavens,” he swore. “Are there really no limits to your degradation?”
One handed, Tacit broke open the shotgun and checked the rounds in the barrels. He flicked the gun shut and leaned it over his shoulder.
“Murder’s not beyond me, if that’s what you mean?” he growled.
“Cut the nonsense, Tacit! We need you back,” the driver called, his eyes shifting between the black of the gun barrel and Tacit.
“I’m not coming back. I’ve had enough. My days with the Church are over.”
The Bishop laughed. “You don’t just leave the Inquisition,” he said, looking over to Mila and back again. He wiped his brow, sweaty under the Italian sun and from the confrontation. “This is not a role you turn away from and leave. You gave your life to it.”
“You took my friends’ lives,” Tacit spat back, his nose flaring. “All of them.” He fought hard against his rising anger. “You took my best friend, my only true friend Georgi. You won’t take anything else from me.”
“Inquisitor Tacit, we gave you your life,” countered the Bishop, shaking his head dismissively. “Before us you were nothing.”
“Enough talk,” Tacit grunted, taking a step towards them. “Get off my land.”
“You’ll be back, Tacit. You’re nothing without the Inquisition. It’s all you know.”
“I know how to count to ten,” he growled. “And when I get there, I start shooting. One,” he began, but the Bishop had already given the order to turn the cart around.
“You’ve stumbled from the path, Tacit,” he shouted, as the cart pulled away. “Damnation is all that awaits you!”
Tacit watched them all the way up the track until they vanished in the cloud of dust kicked up by the pony’s hooves and the wheels of the trap.