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Giovanni walks through the open gate to get a better look at Ferran. He leans over to give a quick inspection of the wound and he winces. "Bring him to my tower. Follow me."

You cross the courtyard with the mule and cart and head to the 50m tall tower that is separated from the main keep. As Marco carries Ferran through the doorway you see that the walls of the tower must themselves be at-least 5 meters thick and has it's own set of murder-holes built above the entry as if it were a small castle of it's own. The ground floor room is lavishly decorated with sculptures, paintings and rugs. Curiously, the artworks distinctly lacks any Christian subjects or imagery; instead focusing on historic figures or old mythology. The name plates inform you of some of their identities; Icarus and Prometheus of Greek mythology as well as some busts representing Julius Caesar and Alexander of Macedon.

Marco cannot help but take a look here and there, but quickly he reminds himself about Ferran.

- Maestro, do you think you can help him? He wanted to get here so much, I've heard him mumbling your name when his mind was away...

He leads Marco to the second floor while he answers. "Well, first we'll have the doctor do everything he can." The second floor is some kind of study with shelves of books and a large oak desk dominating the center of the room. "If that fails him..." He pauses to think of the best way to phrase his words. "I can't exactly help him, rather I can facilitate an introduction." He begins clearing the books and clutter from the table. "Lay him down here."

A few tense minutes pass while waiting for the doctor to arrive. An overweight and balding old man ascends the stairs and enters the room. He is wearing a green coat and has a handkerchief tied around his neck, so it might be pulled up to cover his mouth. In his hands he has a folding toolkit and a bottle of clear liquid. His beady eyes take in the scene and bushy grey mustache twitches as he lets out a "hrumph".

Behind the old man, comes another. He is of brawny stature with a large bushy beard. He wears heavily slashed green and white Landsknecht clothing, covered by a tabbard with the Duchy of Mirandola crest emblazoned over the heart. On his belt is a dagger. He looks around the room with a calm and stoic gaze.

Giovanni brightens when the pair come in and he says "Ah. Thank you Maestro."

- Can you help my friend, Maestro?!? - Marco interrupts, not caring for courteous introductions.

The old man waddles across the room to Ferran while he answers Marco. "That depends what is wrong with him, but I will certainly try." He stands over Ferran and when he looks over his face and neck he says "Oh." He pulls the handkerchief up over his mouth and nose and unrolls his toolkit. He speaks to the unconscious Ferran, as if he were scolding a child. "No laudanum for you then! Not in your state." He selects a scalpel and a pair of tweezers from his toolkit. He says without looking up "He's not very lively now, but we'll see how he responds under the knife. Be ready to hold him down would you, Gregor?"

Giovanni steps back from the table and takes a place next to Marco to leave room for the doctor to work. "I'm sorry, I seem to have missed your name." he says to Marco holding his arm out for a handshake.

Giovanni's question brings Marco back to reality.
- Marco Emilio Acerbi, son of Claudio, from Venice... to your service - Marco finally starts acting like a noble. It's an honor to meet you.

The bearded man behind the doctor says nothing, but steps forward and takes hold of Ferran's arms from the other side of the table.

The doctor sets about the task of cutting out the stitching holding Ferran's neck together. Ferran's wound begins to bleed again almost immediately.

Giovanni raises an eyebrow. "My apologies for the guard keeping you waiting, Don Marco." He gives a courteous half bow. "Now tell me, when did you last see Maestro Ambrogio?"

"Indeed? An apprentice..." Giovanni rubs his chin, pondering.

The doctor speaks up. "It doesn't look good Giovanni..."

The bearded man mumbles, more to himself: "If you ask me, he's dead meat already..." he takes a pitying look at Ferran, then at Marco. Then he notices that he actually spoke for anyone to hear and immediately takes a step backwards, eyes fixed on Ferran. Marco can clearly hear a foreign accent.

Ferran suddenly opens his eyes wide, his blazing gaze piercing Gregor. He starts speaking in a surprisingly firm tone.

- What is this? Who are you?
He tries to get up, nearly breaking free from Gregor's grip.

- I don't like this. exclaims the doctor. - Keep him still.

- Marco! Where are you?
Marco rushes to his side.

- I'm right here Ferran! responds the young noble. The doctor mumbles something like "not one bit". Gregor maintains his solemn gaze, keeping a firm grip on the Catalan, and braces himself.

- I can't see you Marco! I can't seeaaaarggghhh!!!!!!!!!!"
The Catalan explodes in wracking seizures, vomitting black blood and bile.
Gregor has Ferran's arms in his grip, the doctor firmly holding the dying man's head, and says with a commanding tone to Marco.

-Grab his legs! Keep him still!
Marco, as in a dream, obeys the strict order.

Ferran's body shakes violently, like the hosts of Hell are trying to escape from within. All three men are awed trying to hold him still, the youth struggling as if possessing the strength of twenty men. Then, as suddenly as it started, it ends.

The doctor checks for his pulse, looks apologetically at Marco, and shuts Ferran's still wide-open eyes. Then he says with a grave tone.
- I am sorry for your loss lad. I did everything that could be done.

In the silence that follows Ferran's death throes, Gregor lets go carefully, as if the Catalan could do some sudden movement at any time. He takes another step backwards, eyes still fixed on the dead. This time, he mumbles in a foreign language "Hab's euch ja gesagt."

Then, he straightens his back, stares into space and awaits further orders.