Franz had deliberately chosen their route so they wouldn't pass any other ancient ruins on the way to the Colosseum. He wanted the massive arena to hit them with its full impact, without any distractions softening the blow. They took the Via Sistina, cutting through the streets near the Santa Maria Maggiore church, then wound through Via Urbana until the Colosseum loomed before them, impossible to miss, impossible to ignore.
But Franz had another reason for this particular route. It left him free to sink into his thoughts, replaying the strange story the hotel owner, Signor Pastrini, had told them earlier. That story had mentioned his mysterious host from Monte Cristo, a man who seemed to pop up everywhere and nowhere at once.
Slumped in the corner of the carriage with his arms crossed, Franz couldn't stop turning it over in his mind. The more he thought about it, the weirder it got. Questions piled up with no good answers.
