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Rumour has it that, despite children’s tales of dark creatures haunting the night, it is a white silhouette that terrorises Firenze. As agile and silent as a feline, leaping from rooftop to rooftop under the moonlight’s glow; streets always bustled with the news of multiple sightings once dawn broke. A ghostly apparition, they called him. A flash of white and red that only some were able to catch a glimpse of through cracked windows. Evidence of his presence was the sound of clicking roof tiles. It seemed the whole city knew of him. You, as a newcomer, barely had a clue of whatever everyone was so blinded with.Barely a few months since you’d crossed the gates, Firenze still brewed with undiscovered secrets passed on between its residents. For a young girl fleeing the boredom and familiarity of the countryside, it was paradise: you never thought you’d ever uncover every single one, visit every corner that city had to offer. God knew, for the first weeks, you’d tried. But the measly stash you’d stolen from your family home wasn’t enough to sustain you any longer, and after getting robbed of the last of your florins, you saw yourself stranded in the streets. With twilight approaching, you were discouraged, wondering if it was time to return back to your family with your tail between your legs. After all, the city was no place for a young woman to wander through deep into the night. Yet, as destiny would have it, you were taken in by a stranger who’d observed your dire situation. Giulio owned a small herbal shop in the area you frequented, which mostly provided medicines and ointments to the wandering doctors in beak masks. The old man had seen you running around for the past few days, and had noticed how you needed help that night. He was kind enough to provide you with refuge and sustenance, allowing you to sleep in a room upstairs from the shop. And, while this had come from the good will of his heart, you knew you’d have to repay that man in some way. And so, you offered to become his apprentice. Since then, you’d become Giulio’s right hand. You knew none of your work could ever repay the massive favour he’d done you, but you slaved yourself away to become one of his own. In a matter of months, you’d learnt more about herbs and their different medical properties than ever before. Apart from working in the shop, you’d taken on the role of errand girl. Giulio’s old age prevented him from running his business like he once used to, so you’d started doing and picking up deliveries yourself. The job allowed you to mingle with Florentine crowds, hearing the latest news and gossip that slithered between the residents. It was a busy life, but one you’d always dreamed of. However, it’s by these local tongues that you first start hearing talks of this ghost. “Who knows what he does, using the roofs like they’re alleyways!”“My daughters are scared of him, after they heard his footsteps thunder over our roof.”“That bastardo broke one of our tiles. Better watch himself before coming close to our home again.”You knew The Ghost was real. It was evidenced by the wanted posters stuck to the walls, always torn in a rushed manner such that his name was never present. Just parts of his hood, his darkened face, and the dizzying bounty set on his head. Still, you insisted on calling him that. Because you’d never seen anything, and you weren’t one to trust every fear-mongering story Florentines spouted in your direction. That, however, comes to an end on a regular night.
A lingering breeze has prompted you to shut your windows for the past few nights, so you do no less before slipping under the covers. You had had a tiring day, stress oozing away the second you stretch yourself to fit the length of your bed. Giulio’s spare room was surprisingly spacious, with a decently sized bed: after years of practically sleeping on wooden mattresses, you always took a second to wonder how you’d ever gotten so lucky. Moonlight bathes the room in a pearly glow when the oil lamp dims out completely, and you’re left facing the ceiling, accompanied by your thoughts. You had a few deliveries to complete in the morning, before returning to the shop to prepare a batch of some medicine vials the doctors had been selling non-stop. Mind wandering as well as your eyes, you settle on looking out the window, gazing over the red sea of tiles covering Firenze. Your attic was high-up enough to observe the city from a privileged view, and you’d never get tired of it. Was that how The Ghost felt about it? If you could, you too would roam those interconnected pathways every once in a while, and observe the city from a bird’s point of view. It’s a liberating thought, but one you don’t hold on to for long, as it’s interrupted by a flash of white falling past your window.Shaken, your hand aims to turn on your oil lamp as your torso shoots up in shock, heartbeat suddenly doubled. Had you just imagined that? It must’ve been it - your own mind playing tricks, focusing on The Ghost so much that you’d pictured him falling down to the ground. You definitely needed some sleep. But you can’t turn your light off before there’s a knock on your window. That was not your imagination. There seems to be nothing outside, yet you’d heard it clearly. Someone had firmly tapped the glass, and curiosity churned you inside with such fervour that you didn’t even think about how the only garment covering your bareness was a thin nightgown.A trembling hand unlocks the window, which swings open with a creak. You can’t do much else but step back before the figure lifts itself from seemingly nowhere, effectively slipping through. A white silhouette. The Ghost terrorising Firenze was standing in your room. His face is mostly obscured, pointed hood covering his gaze, yet you can see the way his mouth contorts in shock at the sight of you. Something unexpected. This was new for the both of you. Before you can start panicking, the stranger speaks up. “Mi scusi, signorina. I thought this house was owned by the man who runs the herb shop.”“It is,” You almost stumble over your words, they come out of you so fast. “I’m his apprentice.” The Ghost seems confused at this discovery, yet you don’t allow him to continue asking questions.“It is a sinfully late hour of the night to be sneaking into ladies’ rooms. Do you need anything in particular, or should I start yelling for the city guards?”His hands raise in a pleading matter, displaying the strange attachment on his forearm. Something tells you, if he really wanted to keep you silent, he could do so without the need for begging. “Ma dai, you opened the window for me! There are no doctors out this late, and your shop is closed, but I saw the light in your room.”Arguments threaten to leave your lips before you let your eyes scan his figure, and you see it. Staining the impeccable white of his costume, cut fabric sticks to his skin in a growing patch of garnet red, ruining the sleeve of his blouse. Reticence washes away into inexplicable worry. He’s badly hurt. Not another word said, you rush to your dresser and fling cupboards open, in search of your own emergency kit. You liked to keep a stash of good for yourself, in case anything ever happened. Tonight seemed like the night. Though you’d grabbed some medicine vials to hand him, you watched his silhouette in silence for a split second. He seemed to be in actual discomfort, arm as stiff as possible while you returned with a wooden box. “I can give you medicine and have you on your way, but that cut isn’t going to patch itself up.”You can’t see his eyes, but you’re sure he looks at you in confusion. “You know how to dress wounds?”“It isn’t exceptionally difficult.”He seems ready to grab the vials and jump out of the window, but the pain surging through his arm keeps him glued to his spot. When you cock your head at him, he silently agrees, beginning to remove his armband. Never in a million years had you imagined your night would end with the man you’d considered fiction sitting on your bed, hissing as he rolled his sleeve up to reveal a nasty cut. You gulp, afraid to even get too close without first assessing the situation. Giulio had told you he used to be a practising doctor, but his thorough enjoyment of botanics was what had urged him to focus solely on that aspect of the profession. Still, his past was known in Firenze, and some would come to him in extreme occasions where no other doctors were around to tend to some patients. You’d seen your fair share of wounds being patched to know the steps you needed to take. When you approach the hooded stranger, you do so with some cloth and a bottle of vinegar. “It’s going to sting.”His mouth twists at your warning, a partially hidden smirk. “I can take it.”Despite how careful you try to be, his muscles still tense under the feeling of vinegar on flesh, the tendons in his forearm pulled taut when he closes his fist. Slowly, but surely, you tend to that stranger’s cut in the most caring way possible, eventually cleaning all that caked-up blood. Cut now visible and fleshy-red, you can see him utter a breath of relief, some of which brushes against your cheek. You hadn’t noticed how close you’d inched into that man in the quest to clean his arm, but you’re just as swift to remove yourself and turn to the box of jars. You pick a second one up before finding the gauze, carefully removing the ceramic lid. “What’s that?”“Mint and myrrh. It will stop it from getting infected,” You dip your fingers in the ointment, the look you give him as soft as his questioning tone. “May I…?”
“Naturalmente.”
Index and middle finger press against his skin, dousing the surface of the cut with that soothing cream. Maybe you’re being too caring. Giulio always swabbed a quick blob of it before wrapping the wounds with bandage, but you liked how the man’s breathing had calmed down to a steady rate as you carefully touched him, treating him like he was fine porcelain. “Gauze, now.”The bandage wraps tight around his arm, ensuring no bleeding could continue. When you’re done, you stand straight and pack everything back in the box, facing your back to him as he unrolls his bloody sleeve. Before he leaves, you hand him some medicine vials. “Take those if it hurts too much.”He pockets the medicine without second thought, clearly used to buying those from ambulant doctors. “How much is it?”For some reason, you falter. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as you shake your head, much to his incredulity. “Those are some of my own, not the shop’s. And the dressing… I was just trying to help.”He stares in silence, one which extends for too long. “You’re sure?”
“Completamente.”
His foot slings over to the window sill, turning to look at you one last time. Despite the shade covering his expression, you swear you can see a glint come from sincere eyes.
“Grazie mille, signorina. Mi hai salvato questa notte.”
The ghost vanishes into the night before you can even ask for his identity, as quickly and mysteriously as he’d appeared.