“I can’t do this, sir.”
The two men were alone with the alicorno who was enraptured with a bird whistle, a trinket that Balbo had brought earlier. “I’m not the man for this job,” Adalberto added.
Mussolini glanced back at the grimacing blackshirt. “Are you afraid of her?” he quietly asked, careful not let his disappointment show.
“Aren’t you?” Adalberto asked, disbelieving. “When I saw that light lift you up, I...” He cast his gaze downwards, sighing. “I was afraid for both our lives.”
Benito placed a hand on his hip, thinking on what had been said earlier. “So she lifted the man spontaneously?” he asked, pointing to Cadenza with a tilt of the head.
“I don—”
A warbling tweet rang throughout the office, startling the two of them. Turning to see the source they saw a confused alicorno, whistle in mouth. The filly blinked twice before she tentatively blew again, producing a longer and more consistent tweet. She giggled, dropping the loose whistle from her lips.
“Uh, no, Duce,” Adalberto replied, recovering. “At least, I don’t think so. That deputy did tell me to shut Cadenza up, and wasn't polite about it either.” He glanced back at the foal in question, watching intently her horn lighting up again as the whistle returned to her mouth with the aid of the mysterious aura. Once the trills started up again he turned back to Mussolini. “I believe that she thought that he was being aggressive towards me and tried to stop him.”
Mussolini raised his eyebrow. “You’re saying that she tried to protect you?”
The blackshirt sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, sir. After what happened back at Montecitorio, I just don’t know what to think about Cadenza.” He looked once more at her, seeing her blowing on the bird whistle repeatedly and laughing in between long chirps. “I want to see her as a child, but...” Adalberto shook his head, crossing his arms. “I can’t.”
Benito hummed, his own eyes on the contented alicorno. He agreed with Adalberto but only to an extent. Slowly shifting his weight between his legs, Benito had been trying to control the tremors in his hands since the incident at parliament, and he could only still the shakes to slight twitches. Hopefully nobody had spotted the tiny detail in the lobby with all that was going on.
Adalberto glanced down towards the hand before glancing back up. “You were afraid of her too, weren’t you?”
Terrified, Mussolini admitted inwardly. He’d be damned before he did so aloud however, even to someone as trusted as Adalberto.
He placed his hand behind his back. “I was nervous, yes,” Benito half-lied. “But I do not fear Cadenza. I know that she was scared and that she meant no harm to anyone, least of all me. Look at her.” The Duce indicated to the foal with a tilt of his head. “She is but a child.”
Adalberto did turn to Cadenza, who was still doing her best to imitate a singing bird. There was a twitch to the man’s lips, but he still shook his head, sighing all the while. “With all due respect, Duce,” he said, turning back to Mussolini, “but I cannot see her as that. We’ve been wrong about her twice now because we went off from what we saw.” He splayed his palms outwards with a shrug. “What if Cadenza can’t distinguish the good from the bad?”
“If she couldn’t she would have done far worse to me than letting me go, Adalberto,” Benito retorted. “She listened to me. Cadenza listened.” He jabbed his finger into Adalberto’s chest for emphasis. “The foal just needs to learn,” he said softly, distantly noticing that the chirps had ceased.
The silence grew overbearing, enough so that it prompted the two fascists to look at the quiet alicorno. She had dropped the bird whistle and was fully attentive. Neither Adalberto nor Benito made a sound, staring back instead.
Cadenza pouted. “Duuce?” she whined.
Mussolini blinked, almost taken aback. Was she actually calling him? “Yes, Cadenza?” he said, his tone uncertain.
The filly opened her mouth and closed it, screwing her face in concentration. She brought a hoof to her chest. “Caaa-denssa...” she drawled, jaw working hard. “Ca-densa… brra-vva?”
Cadenza good? Had she actually paid attention to their conversation? Benito made a mental note to take care with what he said around Cadenza in the future.
“Yes, Cadenza,” he said with a smile, “you’re a good girl.”
She didn’t appear convinced. Struggling some more with her words, she asked, “Duce... angry?”
Mussolini stole a side glance and saw Adalberto chewing on his lip. The blackshirt himself met Benito’s gaze and offered no help. Honestly, there was a certain sense of schadenfreude when Benito had pictured the socialist deputy panicking as he floated about. If anything, he would have commended Cadenza were it not for all the problems that that would entail, especially from the perspective of their opponents. In fact, how would the Vatican see the alicorno especially in this new light? So far, there had been no official word from the Holy See, but Mussolini wouldn’t be surprised if Pius would accuse her being demon or some such if word of her impossible abilities got out.
It was amusing in a way: the Duce had to deal with the Roman Question, whereas the Pope almost certainly had to deal with the Alicorno Question. He’d have to remember to make the comparison in his newspaper eventually—it’d sell more copies.
That thought ebbed away and Benito sighed. “I’m not upset with you,” he said softly. “But you will need to be more careful.” The Duce approached the alicorno and kneeled in front of her. “Do you understand, Cadenza?”
Once more she pouted, albeit this time the foal looked far more pensive. Slowly, she nodded. “Vva be-ne.”
“Good girl,” Mussolini said with a small smile, scratching at her ear. The teacher in him was amazed at Cadenza’s impressive language acquirement, especially since Balbo seemed to have hit a wall in his attempts. He suspected that the aviator would be elated to hear the news.
Cadenza cooed, and when the feast behind her ears ended her horn was alight with a light blue that forced Benito to withdraw his hand. It took all of his self control to not recoil beyond flinching.
Another source of that same light entered his view from below: it was the bird whistle that was encased in the same blue. The whistle floated upwards and remained just centimeters from his Benito’s face. Risking a glance, he saw a Cadenza that looked on encouragingly.
A part of him warned against taking the offered whistle, but he went against his better judgement and slowly grasped it. The fascist looked back at Cadenza. A small smile grew on her snout and her tail swished this way and that. The lights disappeared, and Mussolini was left with an unremarkable bird whistle in hand.
Again he glanced at the filly, and again her smile grew.
Benito brought the whistle to his lips and, for a long moment, a lone bird-like chirp rang in the office.
“Duce!” Cadenza cheered, shrieking joyfully and beating her hooves together in applause. The man joined in the mirth, chuckling along with the foal, and ran his hand along her mane.
A knocking from the door made Mussolini sober up and stand up. “Enter,” he said aloud.
Through the threshold came Balbo, Bianchi and De Vecchi, the latter two out of breath. The alicorno perked up at the sight of her playmate.
“Duce,” Bianchi began, arm thrust in salute, “are you alright? We heard there was a confrontation at Montecitorio. What happened?”
The Duce returned the salute, but didn’t immediately respond, carefully examining the newcomers’ expressions. “What did you hear?”
Both Italo and Michele exchanged uncertain glances, while Cesare stepped forwards. “According to the men there was a socialist who threatened Cadenza, and guns were drawn.” He paused, his eyes flicking momentarily at the filly with no small sense of skepticism. “Apparently there was a magic act in that lobby where both a deputy and you yourself were floating in the air, thanks to her,” the squadrista commander explained, pointing to Cadenza with a tilt of his head.
There was a pregnant pause as none of the fascists spoke. It was cut short by a happy filly shrieking and galloping on her stubby legs towards Balbo. This wasn’t strange in itself, but her horn was aglow with a blue shimmer. More incredulously the bird whistle, encased in the same light, floated lazily through the air towards the aviator.
All three newcomers gaped at the sight of the whistle slowly rising upwards to Italo’s face. It remained there as Benito, hands on his hips, declared, “See for yourselves, gentlemen.”
Michele inched away from the whistle without actually taking a step, and Cesare blinked profusely, as if he were trying to determine whether or not he was seeing things.
Italo’s face grew all the more boyish as a grin slowly crept up his cheeks. His hand reached for the whistle before stopping short, his smile faltered, looking to Mussolini for guidance. At Benito’s nod and sly smile, Italo grasped the levitating toy. With the ethereal lights dissipating, Cadenza pawed a hoof at his shin, looking up to the aviator expectantly.
Like before, a trill rang in the office followed by more contented shrieks from the excited alicorno.
“You incredible girl!” Italo exclaimed. “Come here you,” he said, playfully chasing Cadenza, who shrieked with excitement as she galloped as quickly as her legs could carry her. The sight was somewhat unbecoming for the rising star in Benito’s mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to chastise the man, especially with what he was scheming in his mind.
While Italo and Cadenza did laps in the office, Bianchi spoke up. “How in the devil did she do that?”
Hands still on his hips, Benito shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips. “That is a question that I have no answer to.”
“Hang on a moment,” De Vecchi interjected, “did Cadenza actually lift you in the air?” At Mussolini’s affirmative, the Squadristi Commander ran a long hand along his face. “Christ, the men weren’t lying.”
“They most certainly haven’t in that instance,” Mussolini confirmed. Crossing his arms and slowly approaching Cesare, he asked, “Who else knows about this?”
The commander chewed on his lip. “Besides us?” He threw out his arms to the side. “Probably everyone in Rome, knowing how talkative and boisterous the men can be. But I doubt that most will believe a word of it.”
Benito gave a brisk nod. “Good. Tell them to keep it to themselves, lest there be consequences,” he ordered before turning to Michele. “Have our newspapers question the validity of the stories of Cadenza’s...” The Duce turned to the alicorno, now in Balbo’s arms. “...powers,” he finally said, “without outright denying or dismissing them.”
Michele was quick to salute with a ‘Duce!’ (which Cadenza copied). Both Italo and Cesare merely gave Benito a questioning look.
“I ah, I don’t understand, Duce,” Italo said, setting the filly down on the floor. “Why are we hiding her ability?”
Cadenza, looking up to the man, answered for the Italian leader. “Cadenza… careful!”
While not to the same degree as that of the other fascists, Mussolini was surprised seeing her initiative and hearing her newest word—one that he had used just minutes earlier, no less!
De Vecchi was the first to recover. “Accidenti,” he said in a whisper, running his hand over his scalp.
Balbo was far more enthusiastic, clapping once and grabbing at Cadenza again. “Well done! Very well done!” Laughing as he scooped up the foal in his arms, Italo nuzzled her. “You beautiful thing, you were paying attention all this time, weren’t you?”
Benito watched quietly as Cadenza gave a long-winded ‘sì!’, taking in the man’s unfiltered joy. The Duce glanced at Adalberto, who was doing his best to blend in the background. Perhaps the solution to the issue that the blackshirt had brought to Mussolini was currently caressing the alicorno.
That conversation would have to come later. Running a tongue along his teeth, Benito said, “You were right, Balbo.” He approached Italo, adding, “Not just that she’s more intelligent than we had given her credit for, but that we’ve made too many assumptions and have been acting upon them as though they were facts.
“Bianchi,” Mussolini called, turning to the secretary-general, “have the open letter modified to include physicists, nuclear scientists, and anyone else from similar fields of expertise. We’re not going to take half-measures this time.” His gaze fell upon Cadenza. “We’ll figure her out by the end of this.”
Bianchi saluted once more whereas Italo nodded. “I understand, Duce,” he said as he put down the alicorno again. “But why are we hiding her?”
Benito gave the man a quick once-over. “Fear,” he answered. “Unfortunately the church still holds great sway in Italy, and while the pope has been quiet insofar, I am not convinced that he and the Vatican would accept Cadenza in view of their faith.”
He clicked his tongue. “Do you think that seeing her do her—” Benito rolled his hand, searching for the right term. “Seeing her do magic, for lack of a better word, would make her seem better in their point of view?” He snorted. “Pius would probably jump at the chance of denouncing Cadenza as a demon or something as absurd as that.”
“The Duce’s right,” Cesare agreed. “If Cadenza can do more that just lift things, we need to know about them before we reveal anything to the public. It wouldn’t look good on us if it turns out that she can,” —he shrugged— “I don’t know, set people on fire just with a thought, and we didn’t say anything about it.”
Balbo was the only to scoff at the idea. Mussolini was careful not to show that he was taking even the farfetched hypothetical seriously; he did a better job of hiding his worry than Michele, who swallowed hard, stealing glances at the alicorno, whom suddenly didn’t seem so harmless now.
“Jokes about immolation aside,” Italo began as he recovered, “I see why we’d want to keep her out of the public eye.”
“In Milan,” Benito added. At the querying looks, he explained, “For all we can muster here in Rome, there are too many elements of the left.” He brought a fist into an open palm. “I want Cadenza safe in fascist hands.”
“Why? Has the left made a threat?” Bianchi asked.
It was Cesare who beat Mussolini to the answer: “Come on, Duce,” he said with a smile, “what are the reds going to do? That deputy shat himself—”
“Language!” Balbo suddenly reprimanded, pointing to an attentive Cadenza.
De Vecchi rolled his eyes and exclaimed, “Me ne frego, Italo.” When that didn’t deter the glare, he huffed. “Fine—Adalberto,” Cesare suddenly called, “take Cadenza outside and watch over her for a while.”
Adalberto blanched. “Sir...” His words died and the blackshirt turned to look at the alicorno, who in turn greeted him with a soft smile. “Yessir,” he finally said with a sigh. “Come along, Cadenza.” The foal sat up, cantering along with a dejected Adalberto. A tinge of pity touched Benito, but he otherwise said nothing as the two left.
“Duce,” Cesare began once again after the doors closed, “that socialist wouldn’t dare try to raise a stink after being scared to death.” He crossed his arms. “Even if he did, do you really think that his cronies would believe him?”
“We didn’t when we were told about this, Duce,” Michele admitted, his tone humble.
Mussolini hummed, taking into consideration the fascists’ input. He had worried that if Andrea were bold enough to speak out about his run-in with Cadenza, it could have offered the opposition an invaluable speaking point against the government. Not only that, but they’d in all likelihood demand an investigation into the incident back at Montecitorio. And if an investigation was launched, that meant that the foal would be studied in Rome, where most of the left’s strength was. If the King himself was more than willing to threaten Benito with Cadenza, the fascist knew that his political opponents would jump on the first chance to remove the PNF’s newest symbol.
The Duce would rather be damned before it came to that.
He would allow an investigation if it came to it, but he’d make sure that it was done on his terms, and not the communists' or even the socialists’. That meant vetting any and all investigators that the opposition would throw at him, and this would be easier to do in the party’s main stronghold in Milan.
However, Andrea had been thoroughly embarrassed, and if what De Vecchi and Bianchi said was true, the socialist’s word didn’t carry any real value for his colleagues and thus, no threat to Mussolini’s government.
He pouted pensively. “Perhaps I was too impulsive,” Benito conceded. “But I trust you understand my initial worry, gentlemen.”
“Of course, Duce,” Michele said immediately.
“Still, that does not mean that we can showcase her publicly before we fully understand her,” Mussolini insisted, slowly pacing back to his desk. “Today will be the last day that Cadenza will come to parliament, at least until we can figure out more of her powers.” He narrowed his eyes, focusing particularly on Italo. “Have I made myself clear?”
De Vecchi and Bianchi nodded, whereas Balbo hesitated. After a long pause, he gave his own nod. “Perfectly, sir.”
Benito himself nodded as he sat down. “Good. Spread the word to all of the blackshirts that were present and make sure today’s events remains as hearsay.”
The three Quadrumvirate leaders saluted and made to leave, but the Duce called out to Italo.
“Wait just a moment, Balbo. I’d like a word with you.”
After some moments and the door swinging twice, Mussolini was left in the office with an attentive Italo, a jittery Cadenza, and a growingly anxious Adalberto.
Benito shifted his weight in his chair and thought about how best to tackle the topic at hand. Clasping his hands on the table, he looked up to Balbo; the aviator kept a careful expression, betrayed only by his hand that ran across his brushed back hair. The blackshirt fidgeted, keeping the foal within his peripheral vision. Between the two men, Cadenza was once more enraptured with the bird whistle.
“Before I continue, I want to be sure of one thing.” Mussolini glanced at Adalberto. “Adalberto Serafino Bellomo,” he said aloud, “is there nothing that I can say to change your mind?”
Italo piqued an eyebrow, but Adalberto knew. “No, Duce,” Adalberto replied with a weak headshake. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Benito did not say a word, only letting out a sigh. “Balbo,” he called, “it’s no secret within our circle that Cadenza is very fond of you.”
The man’s nod was punctuated by renewed trilling from the alicorno in question. “And I her, sir,” he added with a small smile.
“Of course,” Mussolini muttered. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Rapping his fingers on his desk, he finally asked, “Would you be willing to be her caretaker?”
Balbo blinked. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Did I stutter, Balbo?” Benito groaned and spoke more slowly. “Would you, Italo, be willing to be Cadenza’s caretaker?”
The man glimpsed at Adalberto before asking, “Duce, I would, but...” He paused momentarily as Cadenza let out a particularly loud whistle. As he scratched the filly’s ears, Italo continued, “But I thought that Adalberto had that role.” He turned to the man in question. “Do you need help with her?”
Adalberto seemed to shrink at the attention before standing straight. “I am resigning, sir.”
“Why?” Italo asked, his voice growing concerned. “What’s wrong?”
The blackshirt didn’t respond, but kept stealing glances at the placated alicorno. Italo followed the gaze and after a false start, he understood.
“You’re afraid of Cadenza.” It wasn’t a question, but Adalberto nodded all the same. “But she didn’t harm anyone,” Balbo said, before pausing and turning to Benito. “Did she?”
“Unless you consider scaring a socialist half-to-death as bodily harm, then no,” Mussolini replied, careful to not let his inner satisfaction seep out.
Balbo slowly turned back to Adalberto. “Adalberto,” he said slowly, “she’s not a threat to anyone—least of all you.”
“We don’t know that,” the Umbrian emphasized, balling a fist.
“For heaven’s sake man!” Italo exclaimed. “You’ve been with her more than anybody else, you’re her parent in her eyes.”
A momentary spark of indignation flared up in Benito at Balbo’s statement: if Cadenza saw anyone as a parent it would be the Duce first and foremost.
He did not need to hold his tongue as Adalberto faced his superior and repeated, “We don’t know that!” Cadenza’s ears folded at the raised voice, but the man ignored her. “We have no idea what Cadenza is! Every time we thought we did, she did something to remind us that we don’t! We need to stop pretending that we do!” After a beat, he belatedly added a ‘sir.’
The silence felt wrong in Mussolini’s mind. It was an uneasy quiet that highlighted Adalberto’s agitated state, so much so that his breath was clearly audible even from where the Duce sat. Cadenza perceived the discontent, and had drooped in stature with her ears flat against her skull and had curled her tail around her body when Adalberto half-shouted. The Quadrumvirate leader stood his ground, but his expression had softened somewhat.
“You’re right,” Balbo admitted in a soft voice. “We’ve made mistakes. We don’t know enough about Cadenza, and we must figure her out.” He indicated to Adalberto with an open hand. “And to do that, we need to make sure that she’s with as many familiar faces as possible.
“Think about it, what– how will Cadenza react when she’ll have strange men observing her?” Balbo asked, bringing the hand over to point to the alicorno.
Admiration briefly touched Mussolini seeing Italo’s angle of attack. Why hadn’t he considered the familiarity argument?
Adalberto followed the hand and looked upon the foal with eyes that lacked the previous fear from before, Mussolini noticed; in fact, it was Cadenza who shrank at the blackshirt’s gaze this time.
After a long moment, eyes still locked on the filly, he said, “I wouldn’t know.”
Judging by Balbo’s rapid blinking, that wasn’t the answer that he had hoped. “But you’ve seen it already before!” he exclaimed. “She’d do best wi—”
“Stop,” Benito piped up, raising an open palm. The aviator shot the Duce an incredulous look, whereas the blackshirt merely turned to raise an eyebrow. “It’s clear that Adalberto’s not going to budge on his stance.”
Italo was on the verge of a response, but Mussolini shut it down with a downwards tug at the corner of his mouth.
Balbo sighed. “Va bene.”
Cadenza’s ears perked up at the phrase, and her mouth worked as if she were primed to try to repeat it, but she seemed too frightened to look away from Adalberto.
For his part, the man seemed grateful. “Thank you, Duce,” Adalberto said with a slight bow of his head, before thrusting his arm in a final salute and made for the exit.
The doors closed, and the little foal walked up to them. “‘berto?” she whined, pawing at the bottom rail.
Benito watched, his gut growing heavy, as Cadenza continued to call for her departed caretaker. He was touched by the trust that she held for Adalberto, even in the face of his outburst and anger. He had seen it years ago in his daughter Edda with…
Mussolini sighed: he’d have to revisit his family ties later once he had the time.
“Duce?” Italo approached Benito’s desk. “Is this for the best?” he asked, adding, “For Cadenza?”
Benito straightened in his chair. “The world is not a comfortable one, Balbo. This is but a taste of things to come for her.”
“Even when you have the power to make it a comfortable one?” Balbo replied. “For her?”
Mussolini was quick and resolute with his answer: “Sì.”
Cadenza’s increasingly desperate calls and tears planted doubt in that resolve, however.