The Tuscan Child

by Rhys Bowen

To realise that one has nobody in the world—that is a sobering thought.

I want you to know that our beautiful boy is safe. He is hidden where only you can find him.

Lords and chimney sweeps fight side by side and die side by side, and nobody cares what they once were.”

“The Society of Saint George,” she said. “A devotional society of the men of this town. It is an honour to be invited to join.”

I noticed then that their white tunics had a star on the breast. A many-pointed star.