A Songbird's Lament

Chapter 4

Author's Note: I may be a bit busier than expected during Winter Break so expect around 2-4 chapters a week, just as usual. I would also like to give a brief general content warning. There *will* be mentions of blood and such, but I think the title of this story would be enough of a clue as to what it's going to be about. So without further ado, let's get to the fun bit! 

 Gabriele's left cheek was pressed up against the cold glass of the window, his chest softly rising and falling as he slept. The man in the wig across from him was also struggling to keep his eyes open. At long last, he dozed off. With every single bump of the carriage, the man let out a loud snore and shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. The sound of raindrops hitting glass was like a lullaby to the boy, and he moved his equally cold hand under his freezing cheek.

If it weren't raining and the sky was clear that night, there would be a bright waxing gibbous moon illuminating the town just as the carriage rolled into the nearest town with a barber's shop. It was just past midnight. The very much soaked coachman dismounted, shivering as he walked to the door. His hand shaking, he knocked on the window as loud as he could with his knuckles. For the second time that day, Gabriele was rudely awakened. The coachman knocked again.

"Signori?"

Gabriele rubbed his eyes, his neck in substantial pain. He sat up straight and tapped the man in the wig across from him on the knee right as he was in the middle of a snore. The breath caught in the man's throat, and his eyes flew open. As he awoke, he threw his body forward, catapulting his wig off his head and into the boy's lap. He tried his best to hold in his laughter, suddenly feeling more awake. The man's nearly bald scalp was covered in an angry red wig rash. A cloud of powder caused both Gabriele and him to cough. The now bald man furiously gestured to the coachman in between hacking his lungs out.

As the door was flung open, the sound of rain escalated to a nearly deafening roar. Gabriele stared at the mass of white hair in his lap, then gingerly picked it up and handed it to the man. Muttering a quick 'Grazie, the man hastily placed it on his head and gave the boy a tight smile.

"Well, shall we?" he asked, beginning to exit the carriage all while straightening out his wig. Blinking his way back to reality, Gabriele followed the now once again bewigged man out. Loudly, the man rapped on the door to the building they had stopped in front of. Rainwater saturated the boy's clothes and hair. The man in the wig placed a hand on Gabriele's back as the door opened.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the coachman had crawled inside the carriage to escape the cold. He sat inside the plush interior, his thoroughly soaked clothes ruining the fine material of the seats.

"Ah, yes Salvatore. You have finally acquired a fortune and left Signore Pagnotto, or rather, Alfonso in the past," the coachman said to himself in an ostentatious tone, pretending to sip from a glass, "My, this wine is excellent..."

After saying this, he took his boots off and reclined on the seat. Within moments, he was asleep.

Meanwhile, Gabriele had been let inside and out of the cold. The men that greeted him were kind, with their warm words and smiles. One was introduced as the barber, and the other his assistant. He was brought to a room above the shop after being dried off, one with a sofa that was softly lit with candles. Through an open doorway, he could see a bed. It looked soft; he yearned for it. The barber and man in the wig sat down and the barber's assistant stood beside them.

"His name is Gabriele Maria Luigi Sanfelice, he hails from the village nearest to this one," the man in the wig said.

"Ah, where that Lorenzo boy lived? Last time I heard, he was an alto," the barber said, "Shame he isn't singing in Napoli or Milano, he has a fine voice," the barber replied with his hand on his chin, staring intently at Gabriele. Lorenzo, the singer in his church choir, who he had spoken to just that morning? The man knew him? The barber raised his hands an brought them down again.
"Well, let us hear him,"

Their eyes shined bright like knives as they all stared at him in front of them. Gabriele wondered if the barber had carried out the operation that let Lorenzo keep his voice. He hoped he did; he wanted to sing as beautifully as him.

"Er, should...may I sing a lullaby my mamma used to sing to me, though my father told me I had to do this to honor the Lord?" Gabriele asked, restlessly fiddling with his fingers.

The barber smiled and clasped his hands together.

"Of course, it does not matter...Nicolò, fetch the wine."

The barber's assistant, presumably named Nicolò, nodded. Pouring him a glass, he mixed in some honey and a few drops of an unknown liquid.

The boy shifted on his feet, and then opened his mouth to sing. The moment he started, the barber's smile widened in delight, and he leaned over to the man in the wig, whispering something in his ear. Gabriele's voice trembled slightly as he sang but nobody appeared to notice or even care.

When he finished, the three men applauded. The boy smiled, basking in the attention. The barber's assistant pulled up a chair for him, and handed him the wine. As he drank from the glass, Gabriele's muscles began to relax and his eyelids drooped. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor, but the noise seemed to have no effect on him. Gabriele slowly inhaled through his nostrils, feeling himself sink into unconsciousness.

He barely felt the strong arms of the barber's assistant carrying him to a back room of the shop. He barely felt the men undress him and lower him into the warm water in the wooden tub. He barely felt the rough fingers of the barber press down on the side of his neck and then later move down between his legs.

A few minutes later, Gabriele's body was lifted out of the water into the cool, steamy air and set on a board. The barber wielded a pair of iron castratori, wiped of the blood from the last time they were used a few days earlier.
"If the boy screams, do y'think he may lose his voice similarly to the Ancelotti boy?" the barber's assistant snickered.

"We only pressed on his neck then, this one's been put to sleep with opium too," the barber whispered back, "Now keep quiet, we wouldn't want to slice the boy's leg open."

Opening the castratori, the barber positioned his hands to make the fateful cut. Whether it was the cold air or the barber's assistant's hands pressing down on him too hard when restraining him, Gabriele's eyes groggily opened.

"...Mamma?" he asked, his brain feeling foggy.

"Hush, my boy." replied a deep and unfamiliar voice. Gabriele's sluggish heart picked up its pace for a moment. The barber clamped the castratori shut.

There was a sudden sharp pain from his crotch. Gabriele's eyes shot open. For a moment, he felt hyperaware of everything. The barber holding the bloodied utensils, the warm feeling of his own blood on his thighs and the table, the muscular hands holding him down. Gabriele whimpered in pain softly. He opened his mouth to scream but his jaw felt too heavy to open. Staying quiet would be easier, he thought. The pain began to ebb away. What was the point in screaming anyways, he was beginning to feel numb again. Blood gushed from his wound and flowed down the table like a small, red river. More blood than would be expected.

The men frowned. The blood dripped on the floor. Gabriele's eyelids remained closed, his chest rising and falling more slowly now. His face looked more pale than usual.

"Well at least this one's keeping his voice," the barber's assistant joked, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere while fetching a cloth for the now once again unconscious boy.

"Not for long though." the barber replied.