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Wine is her preference, but after the day she’s had, Bedelia reaches for whisky. This is likely her last night in Florence, so she’ll indulge and let herself get swept away in memories. A few hours of weakness to strengthen her armor for the arduous trials ahead.
Sometime later, when she looks up from the fireplace, Chiyoh is standing there, much like earlier in the day, though this time her rifle is presumably in the case she holds. Her outline is blurry, from the drugs and alcohol, but snaps into focus when she speaks. “I need your help.”
Marveling at the ease with which she asks, Bedelia points at the chair across from hers. Hannibal’s chair. How fitting. “What do you need?”
“Hannibal has been captured.” Bedelia knows she means by the bounty hunters and not la polizia or the FBI. “I need to follow him.”
“Why do you think I can help?”
“You would not be with him if you were not … resourceful.”
It’s ridiculous, but those words are a balm after dealing with Crawford and Graham. The insulting disbelief had been too easy to read, the skepticism that she was still alive after months with Hannibal.
Bedelia pours two more drinks. Chiyoh explains how he was captured but doesn’t give anything else away, matching wits as well as Hannibal. When it’s time for her to leave, Bedelia’s almost sad, intrigued by this newest mystery of his.
“Find me.” Bedelia’s lips twist into a smile. “When you’ve caged him.”