Ascension

by Gregory Dowling

  “And he wasn’t embarrassed at all.”

  “No, he was delighted that the book had been found. He seemed quite gleeful.”

  “Rather disappointing.”

  “Well, so I thought at first. But it turned out he would be willing to pay to get hold of it since it would be a wonderful opportunity to expose the Doge as a hypocrite and a turncoat. Those were his words. He seemed to really hate the man. And he even contacted Zanotto, who he thought would be just as willing to expose the Doge as he was.”

  “But Zanotto then thought that if there was going to be any money in it, he should be making it.”

  “I suppose so. I never fully understood what was happening.”

  “And then the book disappeared.”

  “Yes.” He frowned and went silent.

  “Do you think it was stolen?” I asked.

  “What else can I think?” he said. There was a touch of despair in his voice.

  “Mr Boscombe told me he thought your brother had faked the burglary, presumably so that he could handle the sale by himself.”

  “But we always worked as a team!” he said. It was almost a cry of despair. To lose his brother so horribly was bad enough, I supposed, but to be forced to suspect that the beloved brother had also betrayed him was too much to bear. Perhaps it was no wonder that he had not found the strength to break away from Garzoni’s house. The only alternative – that which now faced him – was a wide world in which he was utterly alone. He did not even have his dog.

  I said none of all this. Instead I murmured: “Well, I suppose we’ll never know. Not unless the book turns up again.”

  “I don’t care about the wretched book,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I suppose not at this point. But clearly Garzoni does. It seems almost as if he had been waiting for just such an opportunity.”

  “He’s mad, you know,” he said. “Completely mad.”

  “I had an inkling,” I said.

  “And that man Luca just plays on his madness. I think he’s hoping that Garzoni will adopt him eventually. He’s already got his hands on most of his finances.”

  “And the two brothers?”

  “Oh, they’re not in it for the money. Garzoni clearly knew how to inspire total loyalty in the Arsenale. They’re fanatical followers. They’ll do anything for him. And Luca knows how to play on their loyalty as well.”

  I put the question as bluntly as possible. “Do you think their loyalty extends to killing?”

  His face gave another twitchy wince. I had the suspicion that this was a question he had preferred not to pose to himself. “You mean those male prostitutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know,” he said after a long pause.

  “Then what made you think immediately of the gnaghe the moment I asked if they were killers?”

  He leaned forward, his forehead propped up on his hands and mumbled to the floor. “There just seemed to be some agitation in the palace on the days those … those things happened. Nothing I could point to definitely.”

  “And yet you stayed there.”

  His shoulders started to shake again. I went on regardless. “Even though they might have killed your brother.”

  “No,” he said, looking up. “They didn’t do that. I’m sure of that. They were in the palace that evening.” He wiped his eyes again. “That’s partly why I say I don’t know about the other murders. Otherwise I would definitely have gone.” A pause. “I don’t know where.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, “the world’s a big place. And there’s always the theatre again.”

  “Yes,” he said, looking around. “You know, I’m glad you brought me here. You think I could make it again? Be a success?”

  “You’re a fine performer,” I said, quite sincerely. “I didn’t doubt you were Georgian until today, you know.” His range was probably limited, but I felt there was no need to say that. “Anyway, maybe we should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning you can come with me to the Missier Grande and tell him all you know.”

  “The Missier … You’re not serious? Are you really an agent of his?”

  “Yes,” I said, and wished I could feel proud as I did so. “We’ll have to tell them what we know.”

  “But we don’t know anything,” he said, his voice a little agitated.

  “Well, what we suspect. That is almost as good, as far as they’re concerned.” Indeed, I could have added that the Missier Grande dealt almost exclusively with suspicions. But again this did not add to my self-esteem.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I just want to go away now. Back to England.”

  “You’ll be able to do that, I assure you. But we must first do our duties with the authorities here.”

  He fell quiet. After a few moments he said in a resigned voice: “Very well. Now let’s sleep.”

  I thanked him.

  I should have remembered that he was a more than competent actor.

  23

  The next morning I awoke on the floor of the stage with the smell of sawdust in my nose and a crick in my neck. A quizzical rat was inspecting my foot. Otherwise I was completely alone.

  A quick search of the auditorium, backstage and the dressing rooms told me that Alfred’s desire to avoid trouble had clearly won out over his sense of civic duty.

  I set out for Saint Mark’s Square and the offices of the Missier Grande on my own. I suppose I could have taken the rat.

  First, I visited my apartment, which was more or less on the way. There seemed to be nobody watching it, but when I opened the door I saw at once that there had been visitors – and that I was going to owe Sior Fabrizio a good deal of money. The books he had lent me were scattered over the floor, their spines cracked and pages loose. The damage had been wanton. I thought I recognised the hand, or at least the orders, of Luca. But then I suppose Gaetano and Giorgio had no reason to love me either. My other less esoteric books had been treated with less savagery; I suppose they had felt the need to avenge the fact that I had fooled their master with the aid of the occult works.

  The means of ingress had been the window again. If I were going to continue in this line of work I would have to find an apartment on a higher floor, I thought resignedly.

  Their revenge had not extended to my clothes, so I was able to change into something less funereal and to don a less itchy wig. The change did not exactly cheer me up but it left me at least feeling slightly less conspicuous as I set out for the square. There was also the fact that it was a gloriously sunny day; the storm had cleared the air and I walked down the Riva degli Schiavoni enjoying the morning sunshine on my back.

  Preparations for the Ascension feast were now well under way. Numerous workmen were busily assembling the wooden colonnade; wooden vases, painted to look like marble, were leaning against the real marble pillars of the square’s stone colonnade, waiting to be hoisted on top of the wooden columns. As I watched, a workman jocularly pretended to be staggering under the weight of a vase, which his colleague then picked up with one hand.

  When I reached the offices of the Missier Grande I found that the Dante quotation still worked as the password. It seemed there had been a certain amount of exaggeration about the elaborate nature of the security procedures guarding the place. Sior Massaro greeted with me with some surprise. “We were not expecting to hear from you so soon,” he said. “I’m not sure the Missier Grande will be ready to receive you just yet.”

  “I do bring important information,” I said. “I think he must hear what I have to say.”

  “Well, I’ll try to speak to him,” he said. “Wait in the little room.”

  I went into the small room with the devotional paintings and gave a smile and nod to Saint Jerome, whose hand was still raised with the breast-beating stone.

  Eventually I heard Sior Massaro’s quick footsteps returning accompanied by the more measured pace of the Missier Grande.

  I stood up as they came in. The Missier Grande
sat down at the desk and looked hard at me. “You have been remarkably swift,” he said. Sior Massaro sat down at his side and at once started writing.

  “I was unable to stay any longer,” I said. “Nobleman Garzoni wanted me to commit a murder and my failure to comply inevitably meant that I would be the next person to die.”

  “This is a very grave accusation you are making,” he said, his voice as unruffled as ever.

  “I realise that, Illustrissimo. I don’t do it idly.”

  “So please explain.”

  I swallowed. I had rehearsed the story in my mind but now that it came to telling it I found my grand design crumbling away. It all seemed so absurd.

  I began, trying to keep my voice as level as his own. “I decided that the best way to gain access to the palace was to pretend to possess occult powers. I drew on the knowledge I had acquired from the secret reports to persuade him that I knew things that only someone gifted with such powers could possibly know.”

  “Go on.”

  I told him of my spectacular entrance, of my trick with the statue of Santa Giustina and then of exploring Garzoni’s bedchamber and being discovered there.

  “You seem to have precipitated events with unnecessary haste,” he observed. “Was there any special urgency that prompted you to explore the chamber on your first evening in the palace?”

  “It seemed like a good opportunity at the time,” I said.

  “But it clearly proved not to be.”

  “I suppose so,” I said, a little disheartened. Maybe the honest thing would be to tell him that I had had no desire to spend any more evenings than necessary in that house.

  I went on to recount the test to which I had been put and my subsequent hairbreadth escape with the count. He listened with no sign of emotion as I told the story of our flight across the roof and the confrontation with the pistol-wielding bravo. Sior Massaro did look up momentarily, his quill pen hovering in the air as he looked at me, perhaps in awe but also perhaps in disbelief.

  “And where is this so-called count?” asked the Missier Grande.

  “I’m afraid he has run away. He told me he would come with me to talk to you, but then…” My voice tailed away feebly.

  “You seem to have a remarkably trusting nature,” he said. “Not the greatest asset in this line of work.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t trust nobleman Garzoni,” I said.

  “No, that is clear. But I would like to know what evidence you have gathered of any actual nefarious activity. And I don’t mean foolish but harmless games with occult symbols and the like.”

  “He asked me to kill the count,” I pointed out.

  “He said he wished to put you to the test,” he said. “Do you have any concrete evidence that he would have let you carry out this deed?”

  “But why would he ask me such a thing?”

  “Nobleman Garzoni believes in unfailing loyalty. We know that. It might be just the kind of dramatic test he would put someone to, without letting them carry it through to the bloody denouement. You, of course, failed the test and so lost the opportunity to continue to observe him and his activities.”

  “So I should have agreed to cut the count’s throat,” I said.

  “I can see the dilemma, but I suspect that you made a short-sighted and in the end unproductive decision.”

  “I’ll remember to be more ruthless in future.”

  “I am not certain that you have a future in this line of work. It comes down to a question of assessing possibilities with the necessary detachment and intelligence.”

  Perhaps I should have felt relieved to learn that my career prospects were limited in this field, but actually all I felt was anger. I did my best to keep my voice calm. “Nobleman Garzoni is to my mind a dangerous man with an obsessive longing for power. He practically admitted to me that he had ordered the killing of the male prostitutes.”

  “This is new information,” he said. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

  “I was trying to recount events with the necessary detachment,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “One thing at a time.”

  “So now tell me about the male prostitutes.”

  I reported Garzoni’s words on the need to create an atmosphere of terror in the city. And I mentioned my suspicions that Luca and the two brothers had been responsible for the actual killings.

  “You have no definite evidence for what you say?”

  “He didn’t show me the decapitated heads.”

  “I would ask you to restrain your impulse to give sarcastic replies,” he said, his voice as flat as ever. “I am not saying your information is incorrect. I am simply pointing out, as before, that if you had not jeopardised your position in the household you could have gathered some concrete evidence to prove what you now only suspect. You may have a certain flair for the theatrical, as I said on the occasion of our previous meeting, but I fear that if it is not coupled with the necessary detachment and caution it is not of immediate use to us.”

  “I will be more careful next time.”

  “It remains to be seen whether there will be a next time,” he said. “For the moment I would ask you to draw up a detailed report of what you have observed – keeping as closely as possible to the bare facts. This will then be filed –”

  “Along with all the other gossip,” I said. I did not care how bitter I sounded.

  “Along with all the other unverified information,” he said. “Then you may go.”

  “Illustrissimo, there is another reason why I thought it might be expedient to report to you as soon as possible.”

  “Yes?”

  “I suspect that nobleman Garzoni is planning something to disrupt the Ascension Day festivities.”

  “And your evidence?”

  “Nothing definite, just stray words about the need to make an impact.”

  “I see. Another of your intuitions. Well, write a detailed report. We will recommend vigilance to the arsenalotti on duty.”

  So he was not going to do anything.

  “When can I return to my work as cicerone, Illustrissimo?” I asked.

  “Ah, that too remains to be seen,” he said. “Good day. Sior Massaro, please pay Sior Marangon whatever remains to be paid.” He turned and left the room.

  It took me an hour to write an account with the required detachment and caution. Sior Massaro handed me the rest of my wages, which I accepted with some relief, if not effusive gratitude. Then he thanked me and told me not to worry too much.

  “Bark worse than his bite?” I said drily.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Sior Massaro.

  “No, I thought not,” I said. “Well, thank you Sior Massaro. You’ve been very kind to me. Since it seems there’s no future for me in this city you might as well throw away the file bearing my name.”

  “Oh no,” he said. “Of course not.”

  “There is a future for me?”

  “No, I mean we never throw anything away.” He added rather awkwardly: “And of course, the best of luck.”

  24

  I stepped out into the square and the sunshine hit me full in the face. I remembered how I had felt the previous morning, when it had struck me that I belonged in this city since I was, after all, being paid to protect it. Well, now I had been paid and the change of tense resulted in a distinct change of mood. I still had the money in my pocket to take a cup of coffee at Florian’s if I wanted, but I had no idea whether I would in a week’s time.

  I decided to forgo the coffee and made my way towards Sior Fabrizio’s bookshop. I was going to have to tell him what had happened to his books and work out some system of repayment.

  I arrived just as Lucia was approaching the shop from the opposite direction carrying a basket of groceries. We paused outside the door.

  “We didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Sior Alvise,” she said. “Surely you have not already read those tomes?”

  “Well, you would be surp
rised to hear how much I did read of them,” I said. “And how useful they’ve been.”

  “Useful?” she said. “So you have discovered the Philosopher’s Stone then?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But before we go any further I have a confession to make.”

  “To me?”

  “Well, to your father, since it was he who lent me the books.”

  She looked troubled at these words and glanced towards the shop window. Her father could not be seen inside. “What has happened?”

  “The books have been damaged.”

  “Sior Alvise,” she said, “what have you been doing?” Her dark eyes looked straight into mine, and their expression suggested that her mind was already at work, conjuring up sinister occult rituals.

  “My apartment was broken into,” I said, “and a good deal of damage was done. But I will repay your father in full.”

  “What sort of damage? And who did it?”

  “It’s a long story. I know who did it but the knowledge is not much use at the moment.”

  “Can you not denounce these people?”

  “Siora Lucia, let me tell the story to both you and your father. It will be a relief to me and I will appreciate your advice, as ever.” I had decided that if I was no longer a confidential agent there was no longer any reason to remain confidential; the Missier Grande would probably not have agreed but I was not going to ask his opinion.

  “Let’s go in.” When we got inside her father was nowhere to be seen. “He must have gone upstairs,” she said. “One moment.” She ran up the stairs, and returned a few moments later with her father.

  He looked perturbed. “Sior Alvise, my daughter tells me there has been trouble.”

  “I am extremely sorry for the damage to your books.”

  “It is not the material damage that concerns us.”

  “It is good of you to say so, sior. You both deserve a full explanation of what has happened to me.”