4 - The Iron Tongue of Midnight

by Beverle Graves Myers

  Ernesto dusted off his jacket and faced the constable. “I’ll answer any question you would care to put to me, Captain. But I can’t tell you how Santini got out of the tack room, because I don’t know.”

  Forti’s scowl deepened. “When was he shut up?”

  “I locked Santini in after dinner, at about five o’clock. With tonight’s concert, I had too many things to do to supervise him as well.”

  “Was that the last time you saw him?”

  “Yes, Captain.” Ernesto nodded uneasily.

  “When was his escape discovered?”

  The deputy answered, “Just a few minutes ago, during a search of the outbuildings.”

  A new light came into the constable’s eyes, and he grinned with cold satisfaction. “I thought that mute had a rank smell about him. And I never did get to the bottom of the business with the nightshift.” Captain Forti hit the desk with a closed fist. “So, our Santini was locked in, stewing and sweating over his guilt until fright got the better of him. He broke out and ran, but we’ll soon have him. The man can’t have got far.”

  Captain Forti came around the desk in limping bounds. Moving faster than I would have thought the old soldier capable, he crossed the study and clapped Ernesto on the back. “You’ll have your chance to track him. We’ll make up several search parties, blanket the area. You’ll come with me—you must know all the man’s haunts.”

  Ernesto protested, but for naught. He was swept along in the constable’s headlong rush to begin the hunt.

  For a moment, I stood in the book-lined study forgotten and bemused. Captain Forti had changed his focus to a new quarry. I wouldn’t be clapped in irons that night, but I couldn’t rejoice. Even if the constable managed to capture Santini, I sincerely doubted that justice would be served. Sighing, I shot a glance toward the only other person remaining in the room.

  The secretary merely shrugged and took out his penknife to sharpen his quill.

  ***

  For once Gussie awakened before me. I had passed a dreamless night, so deep in sleep that I forgot where I was. When Gussie shook my shoulder, I kept my eyes glued shut. “No, Liya,” I insisted with a groan. “I don’t have to go to the theater for hours. Slip back under the sheets for a bit.”

  “Tito, wake up,” Gussie’s deep voice replied with an exasperated sigh.

  My eyes flew open. I took in the lofty bed chamber as different from the confined room under the eaves that I shared with Liya as the surrounding fields were from the city of stone and water that was Venice.

  Everything suddenly came flooding back: Gussie and I were in the midst of a bucolic paradise that had been invaded by a clever, merciless killer. And for all Captain Forti’s bluster, the chief lawman had no more clue to the murderer’s identity than I did.

  “Tito!” Gussie’s expression and tone were both urgent. Fully dressed, he waved a sheaf of papers under my nose. “You must read this letter at once.”

  I rolled over and propped myself up on one elbow. My brother-in-law pressed the missive into my hand. “Where did this come from?” I asked with a dry, thick tongue.

  “Giovanni brought it from the Post yesterday, but in all the commotion, it slipped his mind. He gave it to me when I went down to breakfast. It contains urgent news from Alessandro.”

  I scooted to a sitting position and unrolled the pages on my crimson coverlet. The morning sunlight fell on shaky and uneven characters quite unlike my brother’s usual bold script.

  Constantinople, 15th September 1740

  Dear family,

  I write to you from bed, a bit battered and sore, but do not be alarmed. By Allah’s mercy, I am now safe at home. My writing arm is propped up on a pillow, so you must excuse my scrawl, as well as my brevity. I send you a warning. Pray don’t ignore it as I did mine.

  A few days after I told Sefa of Danika’s death, the city was abuzz with rumors about a whore who had murdered her keeper in the middle of Taksim Square. Every person who came through the doors of the warehouse had a more fantastic story to tell. Fearing the worst, I sent one of our more capable workers out to discover the truth.

  Ahmet returned with news that the proprietor of The Red Tulip had been bloodied, but the wound was not mortal. Wielding a broken wine bottle, one of his women had chased him from the brothel into the busy square. Bypassers tried to restrain her, but she struggled and screamed like a mad woman. A pair of Janissaries finally wrestled her to the ground and took her to a nearby guardhouse. According to the descriptions that Ahmet gathered, the attacker was most surely Sefa.

  Nothing is ever simple in Constantinople. Predictable, yes. Simple, no. All officials expect a small present as compensation for attending to their assigned duties. To induce them to go out of their way, a bigger present is required. And it must be the right present, not an outright money bribe. To visit Sefa, I had to work my way through a series of wardens and jailers with astonishingly varied tastes. Fortunately, the bazaar was close at hand; practically any item can be found in its stalls.

  You may ask why I went to such trouble, especially as I had intended to wash my hands of the entire matter. It comes down to simple justice. Yusuf Ali and I agreed that my visits to The Red Tulip set this train of unfortunate events in motion. Sefa had been arrested because of my search for Grisella. I owed it to her to see how she fared.

  Sefa was surprised to see me. They had placed her in a cell with a score of other women, all of whom drew veils over their faces when I approached the bars. Sefa and I talked in a corner, as far from curious ears as possible.

  “With Danika dead, there was no reason for me to go on living,” she whispered between sobs. “I meant to cut my own throat right after I sent Yanus to the firepots of Hell. I would have done the same for Chevrier and your Grisella, but they are long gone.”

  Realizing that I might take exception to the murder of my sister, Sefa lowered her eyes, keened softly, and pummeled her chest with her fist. There was no real comfort I could offer. Instead, I sought to turn her mind to practical matters. I asked if she’d had sufficient food. When she shook her head, I promised I would leave enough piastres with her jailer to purchase dinners for many days. Then I inquired about an attorney. Of course, she had none.

  Ottoman justice is quite different from that of Venice. Turkish courts sit uneasily on the crossroads of imperial law, religious teaching, and tribal custom. The forfeit of blood money is the usual penalty for causing bodily injury. Since Sefa has nothing of her own and no family to provide for her, she could end up in prison for a very long time. Still, if Yanus fails to press his claim with the court, she may well be turned loose. I believe that a skilled attorney stands a decent chance of persuading Yanus that he is hardly in a position to call attention to himself or his activities. As I recounted all this to the unhappy woman, she stopped sniffling and a slight trace of hope brightened her face. I told her that my father-in-law and I were willing to provide counsel for her.

  “But why would you do this for me?”

  Sefa didn’t really understand my explanation, but she did want to show her gratitude in some way. Before I left, she clutched my sleeve through the bars.

  “Please. You must be very careful,” she urged. “I’m sure Yanus has figured out that you were the one who told me about Danika’s death.”

  “And who am I?” I replied, smiling.

  Sefa knew me only as Alessandro the Venetian. She had no idea of my surname, my business, or my place of residence. Even so, when I reminded her that Yanus knew no more, she bit her lip anxiously.

  “Yanus has ways and means that you could only dream of,” she said. “Mark my words. If he wants to find you, he will.”

  “For what purpose?” I asked. “Yanus is no fool. His best course of action is to forget this incident completely. I will certainly never return to The Red Tulip to remind him.
”

  Back at the warehouse, I reported this conversation to Yusuf Ali and left the legal arrangements to him. So confident that his attorney would prevail, my father-in-law spent the afternoon musing about what could be done with Sefa after she was freed. I did a good afternoon’s work among the bales and, after stopping at the mosque for sunset prayers, set off for home. Without a care in my idiotic skull, I took the short way through a doglegged alley bounded by high walls on both sides. By this time it had grown dark, but I knew this passage like the back of my hand.

  A trio of men stood at the entrance, dressed in plain caftans with nothing to set them apart. One faced the wall and had pulled his robe aside as if to make water. The others waited quietly and shuffled aside as I passed. I paid them no heed until I sensed the nearness of someone directly at my back. Running was no good, dear ones. I turned to fight, but they brought me down before I could even reach for my stiletto. A vicious blow left me insensible to the world.

  I awoke in a tiny room with metal shutters over the windows and straw heaped in the corner as a crude bed. The only light came from a barred slit in the door. Manacles and chains pinioned me to the wall. After many hours of being nearly eaten alive by bugs and lice, I was removed to a larger room to face my interrogator.

  I will not distress you with details of my abuse. Suffice to say, a man can learn much from the questions put to him, even in such extraordinary circumstances. My captors were Russian and their chief goal was to learn where Chevrier and Grisella had got to. They obviously blamed them for the fire at the yali which they believed was set for the purpose of covering up the murder of Count Paninovich.

  Apparently, they discovered that the count’s jugular vein had been cut before the yali was set ablaze. I know this because they threatened me with the same fate, even holding a stiletto to my neck while they pummeled me with questions about Grisella’s whereabouts. “An eye for an eye,” they explained.

  Count Paninovich must have been very dear to someone with great power. His murder provoked ten times more anger than the theft of whatever Chevrier and Grisella stole from the yali and sold back at great price. Try as I might, I could inveigle no hint of what that might be.

  Here is my warning, family. Agents from St. Petersburg have been dogging Chevrier and Grisella around Europe, intent on taking revenge. So far, the pair must have managed to stay one step ahead of their pursuers. But now that the Russians know who I am, that Grisella is my sister, and all about our house on the Campo dei Polli, they will surely send a man to our house. No, I didn’t break and supply that information, but they know.

  You must be on the alert. And if Grisella returns, alone or with Chevrier, you must not let her in. Do you understand? It is of prime importance that you provide no refuge. The Russians are out for blood! Harden your tender heart, Annetta. If you shelter our evil sister, you may well condemn everyone in the house to execution.

  I am at the end of my strength for now and must close so that this letter will catch the mail coach. I know you have questions; one more I will answer quickly. It was Calamaro who furnished the information about my identity that set my captors on my trail. Yanus sought him out because he remembered it was he who had first introduced me to The Red Tulip. Together they made hay by selling me off to the Russians.

  Fortunately, Yusuf Ali also remembered what I’d told him of Calamaro. When I failed to return home, he sought out Calamaro at the Bailo’s residence. That feckless wastrel was no match for my formidable father-in-law. Once confronted, Calamaro revealed his scurvy bargain as quickly as an apprentice seaman threatened with the cat-o’-nine-tails. Yusuf Ali then alerted his confidants at the Sultan’s court who called at the Russian embassy and secured my release with their well-polished combination of courtesy and menace.

  Ah, here comes Zuhal with a steaming tureen. To restore my strength, she has made my favorite sheep’s foot soup. She doesn’t seem to realize that the sight of her lovely face will heal me faster than any tasty dish.

  Be on guard, dear family, and keep yourselves safe. More than ever, I wish I could cross the miles in a twinkling and deliver this warning in person. I kiss each of you a hundred times!

  Your devoted brother,

  Alessandro

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I must leave at once.” Gussie had been pacing in tight circles while I’d read Alessandro’s letter. Now he retrieved his boots from the wardrobe and sat down to unbuckle his shoes.

  “I don’t dare wait until nightfall,” he continued as he exchanged his stockings of white silk for warmer wool. “At the very moment this letter reached Venice, a message from the Russians might have been delivered to who knows how many of their agents.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach. Gussie was right—someone had to get home and quickly. At that moment, our entire household consisted of our wives, three small children, an infant, several female servants, and a manservant recovering from broken ribs and a fractured skull. Even when Benito was at his best, his skills ran more to pressing the lace frills of my neckcloths than fighting off intruders.

  “We should both go.” I leapt out of bed and reached for my breeches.

  “Don’t be daft, Tito. Captain Forti had stationed deputies around the house and at the gates. The only way off this estate is to ride over the fields and intercept the public road that leads back to Padua. You can barely keep your seat on a horse.”

  I bleakly agreed. Gussie was the horseman, not I. While I had been singing my first hymns in the parish choir, this son of English gentry had been galloping his pony over fields and streams.

  “Are you going to take one of Vincenzo’s horses?”

  Gussie nodded as he struggled into his boots. “He has a chestnut mare named Alfana—fifteen hands, sleek, with a steady gait. That horse will suit me perfectly. I’ll leave her at the stable where we hired the carriage that brought us here. For a fee, I’m sure the stableman will see that she gets back to the estate.”

  “With luck, you may reach Padua in time to catch the Burchiello.”

  “That’s my plan. The boat stops at every landing along the canal, but that can’t be helped. It’s still the fastest way home.” He stood up, looking as stalwart as any operatic hero that I had ever played.

  “You’ll be in Venice by tomorrow,” I said wistfully, tying my shirt front. The thought of our snug house had me fighting back sudden tears. I abandoned the laces and grasped Gussie by both shoulders. “Keep our family safe, old friend. If harm comes to any one of them, how will we forgive ourselves?”

  Gussie reached up to cover my hands with his and brought them together between us. Still enclosing them in a tight grip, he replied in a fevered tone. “Don’t worry, Tito. Once I get home, the door will be barred to anyone we haven’t known for years, and I’ll hire six-foot bravos to accompany Annetta and Liya to the market. The Devil himself won’t be able to penetrate my defenses.”

  I nodded in a series of jerks. “I know you’ll take care of everything… I just wish there was something I could do.”

  “There is,” said Gussie, dropping his hands. “You can create a diversion while I saddle Alfana and start off. I’ve already had a look round outside. The grooms were pressed into joining Captain Forti’s hunting parties, so the stable is deserted except for one boy.”

  “The deputies?”

  “The pair at the gate presents no problem. The house hides the stable from their view, and I’ll be riding in the opposite direction. But there’s one more man patrolling the house. Earlier, he was flirting with one of the maids at the kitchen door. Who knows where he’ll be when the time comes?”

  I thought quickly. The situation called for something simple, a brief distraction that would shift the focus from the stable for a few minutes and then die down. I could manage that. After all, as Captain Forti had so disparagingly remarked, I was steeped in stage
deceptions of all sorts. Later, I would have to explain both Alfana and Gussie’s absence to Vincenzo, but I thought I could handle that, too. The master of the villa was a reasonable man.

  I finished dressing while Gussie hurriedly packed a few essentials in a pouch he could sling over his shoulder. We agreed on the time of his departure as thirty minutes hence, and set our watches accordingly. Once Gussie was away, I wouldn’t see him again until I’d also reached home. With decidedly mixed emotions, I cautioned him about a hundred dangers of the road and wished him one last Godspeed.

  My brother-in-law stood stiffly without returning my farewell. I detected something unsaid in his glittering blue eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked quietly.

  “Tito,” he replied in a voice heavy with sorrow and worry. “You can’t bring Grisella home. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, smiling faintly. I’d known that since I laid eyes on the first lines of Alessandro’s latest letter.

  ***

  The house seemed strangely quiet without the tinkle of the harpsichord and warbling of the singers wafting from the salon. I paused for a moment in the foyer, listening intently, trying to ascertain where the inhabitants of the villa had got to. A low chatter and the clink of silverware on china came from the dining room. Keeping out of sight, I drew near enough to identify the voices.

  “Has anyone checked on Gabrielle?” Romeo was asking.

  “She was still asleep when I came down.” Octavia answered with more warmth than I would have expected, given the humiliating conclusion to her concert the night before. “I put her in Signora Costa’s old room. It has unhappy associations, but at least Signora Costa’s things have been packed up and the room cleaned. One of the maids is sitting with Madame Fouquet so she won’t wake up alone.”

  “Well, if you ask me,” said Emilio. “That bloodthirsty peasant’s last murder was very convenient for Gabrielle. Her husband was one of the nastier bit of goods I’ve ever come across, arrogant, sly, selfish. Once Gabrielle recovers from the shock of his death, she should do very well on her own.”