by Dave Duncan
The vizio translated. “Sir Bellamy denies that his wife did so and demands that the English ambassador be summoned.”
All eyes settled on State Inquisitor Dona in his splendid scarlet robes, presiding like a judge. He stroked his beard a few times. In his way, he was as much a showoff as the Maestro.
“Tell the foreigner to sit down while we hear more of this.”
The Maestro bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Your Excellency is kind. Of course there are questions I must answer. How did she know that retsina, or something equally pungent, would be on offer that evening? How did she know that the procurator would be present, how did she know he would choose the retsina if she had never met him? What possible reason can a visiting art dealer have to murder a senior officer of the Republic? And how did she and her husband come to gate-crash the party?”
“I did not invite them!” Imer shouted. His chair was against the wall at the far end from me, so I could not see him well. I could hear the panic in his voice easily enough. “And neither did Karagounis! I accused him of it. He denied it. He said they had come to his apartment and he had shown them some other documents. He had not told them about the auction and did not invite them to my house! I had told him that nobles would not come if there were foreigners present. I told him not to come, but he did.”
The Greek had not trusted his local hireling.
Vasco’s whisper droned in translation. Both Feathers started shouting denials before he was even finished. He calmed them down and translated.
“Monseigneur Bellamy insists that this is not true. The Greek did tell them that they would be welcome. He invited them to come and dine, to view the books and bid on them, and to meet important people.”
The Maestro nodded. “But that invitation would have had to come through the interpreter, Domenico Chiari. What went in may not have been what came out. Today Alfeo exposed Chiari as a swindler. I trust, Your Excellency, that he was taken into custody and questioned about these events?”
Only the Maestro would have the audacity to cross-examine a state inquisitor. Dona stared very hard at him while the rest of us held our breath. Finally he said, “The man Chiari has confessed to art fraud and is currently naming his accomplices.”
I had sent him to the torture chamber. I said a hasty prayer for both of us.
“But,” Dona continued, “despite careful interrogation, he persists in denying knowledge of the murder. He claims he did not even know about the viewing planned for this house and could not have told the Feathers about it.”
The Maestro shrugged. “It is sier Bellamy’s word against his. Vizio, pray ask the foreigner if he is truly married to-”
Bellamy did not wait for a translation, and his French improved dramatically. “No! I am her servant. We do not share beds. She paid me to pretend!” He jumped up and moved his chair well away from Hyacinth.
Hyacinth was not the sort to remain silent. She burst into an excited babble of French, English, and Latin.
When she paused for breath, a very unhappy-looking Vasco said, “I cannot remember all that, Your Excellency. But she denies using poison. She says she never met the procurator before and would not know him if she ever met him again. She came to Italy to buy art and she pays her secretary to masquerade as her husband because single ladies traveling alone may be molested. Domenico told her the book viewing was open to everyone. And she again asks to see the English ambassador.”
The inquisitor nodded, but I was certain that the Maestro’s accusations had not surprised him. He or someone in the Council of Ten had worked it out. Two people working together are much more effective than one alone. I should have seen that for myself without having to have my nose rubbed in it, and now I could understand her clumsy efforts to flirt with me as a desperate effort to find any available ally to help her escape from the trap.
The inquisitor said, “You have brought serious charges against these persons, doctor. Can you also supply us with their motive?”
The Maestro looked offended. “Certainly.”
“Then will you-”
“Lies!” Hyacinth shouted, on her feet, towering over both her husband and even Vasco. “I demand the ambassador!” She had taken two quick strides towards the Maestro before Vasco grabbed her arm and stopped her. To my regret she did not flatten him on the floor with a single punch; did not even try, in fact. Realizing I was on my feet with my sword out, I sheathed it and sat down.
“Silence!” Dona said. “ Missier Grande, have the foreigners taken to the palace and lodged in the Leads as witnesses in a case of murder. They may have one cell or two, as the woman chooses. You may tell them that their ambassador will be informed in due course.”
Missier Grande opened the door and called in two fanti, large young men wearing swords. He nodded to Vasco. No one said a word. Even the Feathers seemed to be shocked into silence. They vanished out the door with the vizio and the guards.
But just before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of more fanti standing outside. And also two slender youths I knew very well, Christoforo and Corrado Angeli, wearing matching grins as wide as the Grand Canal. My tarot had prophesied help coming from the two of staves-who else but the gondolier’s twin sons?
26
T he room settled. Only Missier Grande remained standing. The mood had changed, the dark clouds of worry rolled back to reveal the pearly sunlight of the Adriatic. It had been the foreigners all along.
“Now,” the Maestro said happily, “we can forget Domenico Chiari and the Feathers’ visit to Karagounis. It is probably irrelevant, except that it may explain how the woman knew-or could gamble-that there would be a strong-tasting wine like retsina on offer. No doubt Karagounis proclaimed its excellence. I cannot prove the details of their conversation, of course. How can we ever know what a spy told a thief to tell a murderess? I expect her secretary-husband will prove to be a cooperative witness. So, if you will give me the benefit of the doubt on that point, we shall proceed to the question of how she could be sure her victim would choose the retsina, so that her plot would work.”
“And her motive,” the inquisitor said.
“Ah, yes, motive.” The Maestro rubbed his hands. “And yet there is one small puzzle that remains unsolved. For a private gathering, the book viewing was curiously infested with gate-crashers. The doge had not been invited, nor had the Feather woman and her escort. Nor had you, sier Pasqual. Clarissimo, why did you go out of your way that evening to come here, bringing your charming lady with you?”
Pasqual threw back his head and laughed, seemingly quite unworried. “But I was invited, doctor! Not by our host, I grant you. By my father.”
The ambassador favored him with a rueful glance and then addressed the inquisitor. “So it is all my fault, of course! But my son does speak the truth in this case, Marco. I know old manuscripts. I knew at a glance that the supposed Euripides had been copied out in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century, almost certainly by a Greek monk. The hand is distinctive and the paper characteristic. The document was valuable in its own right, therefore, as an early copy of much earlier copies, but when had the original work been written? I asked Pasqual to come and look at it because he is a much better Classical Greek scholar than I am. I wanted to know if it read like something Euripides might truly have written.”
“Ah! And what did you decide?” the Maestro asked.
Pasqual appraised the company and then looked to his father.
The ambassador sighed. “Tell them.”
“Yes, father. I told him I was certain it was genuine. The imagery, the vocabulary, the flow of language-all cried out that this was a work of Athenian genius. And another thing! A few lines from the play have been preserved in works by other writers, as you are probably aware. Just glancing through it, I chanced upon the famous one about cowards not counting in battle-and the wording was not quite the same! A forger would certainly have been careful to include the known version, to give his fake a semblance of auth
ority.”
“What does this have to do with the murder of Bertucci Orseolo?” barked the inquisitor.
Pasqual smiled. “Nothing, so far as I can see.”
“Nothing,” the Maestro agreed. “I was just tying up a loose end. I already knew that His Excellency the ambassador was not guilty, because he volunteered the information that he had seen the procurator pull a face after draining his wine. You, sier Pasqual, asked Madonna Violetta if she had noticed the same thing, and the timing of your query required that your father must have asked you the same question before rumors of poisoning started to circulate. That is not the action of a guilty man, nor one who suspects his son of being guilty.”
“Motive!” roared the inquisitor. “Why did that woman put poison in Bertucci’s wine?”
“Motive?” said the Maestro. “Ah yes, motive. I require another demonstration, a very brief one this time. If all the gentlemen present would kindly stand along this table, facing the door? Missier Grande has some witnesses he wishes to bring in to identify the real murderer. Thank you.”
Playing fair, the Maestro obeyed his own orders, struggling to his feet and leaning on the table before him. Violetta took Bianca’s hand and together they moved to the far corner, out of the way. The rest of us moved like galley slaves-promptly and in unison-until we were lined up as required. All except the state inquisitor. Marco Dona moved to a chair against the wall, so he could study the faces in the lineup. His acceptance of Hyacinth’s guilt had been so quick that he must have known exactly what was going to happen, but now he seemed more wary. If he did not know who was going to be denounced this time, then the Maestro must have cooked up this demonstration with Missier Grande after we arrived, while I was welcoming the guests. And Giorgio must have gone back to Ca’ Barbolano to fetch the twins. How did they fit in?
Who was next? Whom did Inquisitor Dona suspect? In his ducal counselor’s red robes, he was sitting directly opposite me. Beside me stood Ambassador Tirali in his senatorial red robes. Was it mere coincidence that we had lined up like this? Did Dona suspect Tirali?
The demon in the illusion had claimed that Tirali was possessed, but what demons say must never be trusted. They can turn around and speak the truth to deceive, though, and Tirali’s bribe to me had come at a very convenient moment. He had known that the poisoning must have happened in this room, he had known about the attack on me, even that the bravi had used knives and not swords. He had known I would be coming to call on him. Had the doge really revealed all that to a man who had been present at the scene of the crime? Surely Pietro Moro would not be so indiscreet?
Charming, Violetta had called Tirali senior, but also ruthless. What motive could he possibly have to order the murder of old Bertucci Orseolo? So that he could buy the Euripides manuscript to give to the Pope for the Vatican Library?
That was utterly ridiculous.
Missier Grande was still by the door. “If Your Excellency permits? The two persons outside have been assured that they are required only to tell the truth and will not be punished for it in any way.”
Dona said, “Let’s get it over with.”
Quazza opened the door, peered out, then stood aside.
It was neither of the Angeli boys that entered, though, but a man in his twenties, wearing his church best, obviously a laborer and a scared one.
Missier Grande closed the door behind him. “Do what I said. Take your time and don’t be frightened.”
Pulping his cap in both hands, the man walked along the line of us and then turned and walked back again. It is amazing how much guilt that sort of inspection can generate. I searched my soul all the way back to puberty. I didn’t bother going farther than that, because my earlier memories are less interesting.
“Well?” Missier Grande said. “If you recognize him, point.”
The man raised a very shaky hand and pointed. Nobody said a word, but Bianca stifled a gasp.
The first witness was dismissed. The second had more confidence, although he was only a youth, little older than the twins. Grinning cheekily and without even removing his cap, he strolled along the line. He, too, stopped in front of Enrico Orseolo.
“Him, Missier Grande.”
“Are you sure? You haven’t looked closely at all of them.”
“No, him. I’m sure.”
The door was closed behind him. We returned to our seats, mostly in the same places, but I strolled along to the end, where I had a better view of them all.
The great minister stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. It was a bizarrely informal pose for a Venetian magistrate. “Well, Missier Grande? Who were those men and what am I supposed to have done?” He was admirably calm. His children, flanking him, looking considerably more frightened than he did.
Inquisitor Dona said, “Maestro Nostradamus?”
Fingertips went back against fingertips. “Yesterday morning, assassins tried to kill my apprentice. Such things happen in the Republic, but rarely in broad daylight, and it would be stretching belief to dismiss a connection between that assault and his inquiries into the procurator’s death. At that time very few people knew that he had begun asking questions about it. The doge did, but it was at his suggestion that I had set Alfeo to work on the matter. Alfeo began by consulting a physician I respect, and a couple of personal friends. All of those we trust. He also called on the Feathers. Bellamy, if that is his name, drove him out at sword point.” The Maestro chuckled. “It is an interesting, but probably immaterial, question as to whether the alleged sier Bellamy is naturally so irascible, or if he has been acting so at every opportunity on the woman’s orders in order to justify the outburst he staged in this room four nights ago.
“I was already confident that the Feathers as a team had committed the crime, but I did not know why. Without a motive, they were unassailable, so why should they have been sufficiently worried by a boy’s questions to attempt a second murder? By his own admission, Alfeo had no authority and fled from Bellamy’s threats. They are strangers to our city. They had met me, but a senescent bibliophilic doctor should not seem dangerous, even if they knew of the spectacular clairvoyance I demonstrate in my almanacs and horoscopes. How would they find their murderous assistants in time? They had acted extremely fast to prepare such a trap overnight.
“Many great houses employ large staffs of manual workers-boatmen, warehousemen-and sometimes employ them for wrongful purposes. It was more than likely that Alfeo’s attackers came from such a source, but two of them had been killed and thus would be missed by their workmates. Although the Council of Ten has sometimes been accused of turning a blind eye to misbehavior of the nobility, this case was clearly related to the death of a senior magistrate-the doge knew that, even if no one else in the Ten did. I could be confident that inquiries would be made in both Ca’ Orseolo and Ca’ Tirali. The fact that both Your Excellencies were available to attend this conference is evidence that the thugs did not come from either of your workforces. I hasten to add that I would not expect either of Your Excellencies to be so foolish as to involve your own workers in a criminal affair already being investigated by the Ten.
“So the would-be assassins, despite their lack of swords, had been drawn from the ranks of bravos who lurk in the dark corners of our fair city. I should know where to send Alfeo to hire such vermin and I expect most of you would. But would foreigners know this? Unlikely! So they must have reported to a local, an accomplice, who took fright and arranged for my investigation to be hamstrung by the loss of my mobile assistant. Perhaps I was supposed to be frightened off by such terror tactics.
“I already knew that the Feather woman was the murderess. How had a married woman, staying with her husband in a strange city, passed word at night to-I assumed-another man? I surmised that Feather was not her husband and her local accomplice would turn out to be a lover.”
The Maestro peered around as if looking for argument, but no one spoke.
“So how did he set up the ambush? Walk i
nto any parish in the Republic, other than your own, and start asking questions about a resident, and in moments you will find the local men around you six deep, asking counterquestions. Someone who already knew the victim by sight would have to identify him, either to the entire gang or to one member of it. One member would make my problem more difficult, for two men gossiping on a corner or in a boat are not remarkable. But the attack went off so fast that there had been no time for elaborate preliminaries. The whole gang must have been standing by, ready to pounce as soon as their prospective victim was pointed out. A lurking gang should have been noticed.
“No doubt the Ten’s agents in our parish have been making inquiries, but my gondolier has a pair of sons with wearisome amounts of youthful energy. As residents, they can ask questions, so I set them to work. They met with no success in our parish, but they are resourceful and they were lucky. Some days the boys do odd-job work at a building site directly across the canal from my residence. On the morning of the attack, as you will recall, the town was in mourning. The builders were not working, but a man and a youth were on watch, with little to do. At dawn they noticed a gondola full of men loitering on the canal just beyond the bridge near our watergate. So many men with time on their hands seemed unusual enough to attract their attention.
“The boat stayed in place for about an hour, they said, and then suddenly approached the Ca’ Barbolano. No doubt these predators expected their quarry to embark in my gondola as he usually does, and were prepared to give chase to some distant place where the crime could be committed. The plan went awry, because Alfeo went along the calle to the campo instead. Six of the men disembarked and ran after him-and that was very curious behavior! It is not surprising that the witnesses remembered. The boat departed, bearing its gondolier-and you, Your Excellency.”
Bianca cried out and clapped her hands over her mouth.
Benedetto said, “No! That is-”
“Shush, both of you!” their father commanded. “This is total rubbish. My government duties keep me far too busy to go wandering around at random. I have not been near Ca’ Barbolano in months and I never saw that woman before the night my father took ill. How much did you pay those louts to identify me? Did you explain the penalty for perjury?” The politician was about to start bargaining.