by Dave Duncan
When we reached the outer door he opened it for me and closed it without another word. It was a fine winter afternoon and I enjoyed my walk home across the city.
I found the Maestro in his favorite chair by the fireplace, opposite a lady dressed in the style and quality that indicate the wife of a successful merchant or member of a learned profession—doctor, apothecary, lawyer. At first glance I assumed we had a new client, probably wanting a horoscope or other foretelling. To my astonishment, I realized that she was Violetta, woman of infinite variety. She was smiling and he seemed to be in a fairly good mood, although it is always hard to tell with him.
“You look disgustingly smug, apprentice,” he said. “You have discovered who is murdering courtesans?”
“No,” I admitted. “I know why they are being killed, though. And I know that Zorzi Michiel did not kill his father.”
Nostradamus cautiously eased himself farther back in his chair. “Then you had better tell us that before madonna Violetta leaves. Bring a chair.”
I fetched one of the pair that stand beside the armillary sphere. Normally it is the Maestro who reveals the solution to the mystery, so I was eager to get my chance this time, especially with my darling present.
“Gentile Michiel was killed with a khanjar dagger, which they still keep on display, and which was freely available to anyone in the house. Contrariwise, any outsider would have had much trouble getting hold of it, and no servant would have been admitted to the Basilica that night. In short, that weapon trumpeted to the heavens that the killer was a member of the family.
“Jacopo was only a child then. Bernardo and Domenico had fair but not unassailable alibis. Zorzi refused to give one. I don’t know about Friar Fedele, but he has renounced the world and the flesh, so what motive could he possibly have? The same goes for the daughter, Sister Lucretzia.
“But donna Alina was frantic that her favorite child was about to be dispossessed. She lived a very secluded life, kept in purdah by a tyrannical, puritanical husband, so—unlike her sons—had no opportunity to go out and buy some nondescript, anonymous weapon. Ergo, she was the one who took the dagger. She need prepare no alibi, because she was entitled to be present. She is right-handed. No man, tall or otherwise, pushed her aside—she made that up. She carried the sheathed dagger in her left hand, perhaps hidden in her sleeve or a muff. In the crowded darkness, she drew it with her right, threw herself at her husband, and stabbed him in the back. They fell together and she screamed that she had been pushed.”
The Maestro did not seem surprised, but I never expect him to. “Why did the Council of Ten not see this?” he murmured. “Are you really so much smarter than they are?”
“On average, yes,” I admitted. “I expect they were hampered at first because the idea of a lady, a noblewoman, committing such a crime is almost unthinkable. Gentile’s sons were unlikely enough, but his wife defied belief. No doubt the inquisitors would have worked their way around to the idea if they had been given time, but at first they did not even think to ask if any of the family recognized the weapon. Eventually young Jacopo blurted out in front of witnesses that the khanjar was missing from its display case.”
“Who told you that?”
“He did. But even before that happened, donna Alina’s children must have known who was guilty. The lady is undoubtedly crazy by most standards, but her sons decided to protect her, which tells you what sort of a husband she must have had. Domenico himself told me, ‘Run from hounds and they will chase you.’ Zorzi was chosen to be the goat. I expect he was bribed with a substantial pension, enough to buy all the courtesans he can handle, wherever he is. Lechery was his only interest in life and it is available anywhere for a price. He probably dropped a confession in the Lion’s Mouth on his way out.”
I gave my master a meaningful glance to convey the message that we would find that out when Circospetto showed me the Ten’s file on the case. So far as I knew Violetta was not aware of my midnight bribery. He might have told her, though, because she was nodding. She was gray-eyed Minerva, the clever one.
“Have you any evidence?” the Maestro asked testily, “or is this all wind?” He would not be happy to have a murderer for a client.
“No witnesses,” I admitted. “But Jacopo hinted on Saturday that Alina was even more upset by Zorzi’s conviction than she was by the murder. I wouldn’t put much stock in anything he says, but Domenico later said much the same. It makes sense if she had known about the murder in advance but the verdict was a surprise. Listen to this: the children had a conference on Sunday. They even included Jacopo, who told me what everyone said except donna Alina, and when I asked Bernardo if she had even been invited, he flew into a rage and threw me out.”
My master snorted. “You are jumping to conclusions again. You do not know for a fact that donna Alina was not present?”
“No, but what were they talking about? Not money or politics or even scandal, because they had brought in the two religious, who don’t care about those. They included Jacopo, whom the lady treats as a drudge but who probably knows more about her behavior and state of mind than anyone else now. Donna Alina was not invited because she was the agenda!”
Nostradamus pouted and I assumed that he was unable to challenge my logic. I should have known better.
“Maybe donna Alina was the agenda,” he growled, “but that doesn’t mean she killed her husband. They may have been trying to stop her from hiring me to prove Zorzi’s innocence because—as you just told us—that means that another of them must be guilty. That other may not be donna Alina.”
Violetta was frowning, too, equally unconvinced. “If the lady really killed her husband, then why has she hired Doctor Nostradamus to find the ‘real’ killer? It would be suicide. Is she as demented as that?”
“She may be,” I said. “She may be weighed down by guilt and willing to risk anything to see her boy again. She may have put her own guilt completely out of her mind. Or she may have deluded herself into believing that she will never be suspected. People do things like that. She may be playing a huge game of bluff. But she did insist on changing the contract so that the Maestro will report his findings to her before he feeds the lion.”
“You mean she believes he will do that even if he finds proof that she is the murderer?”
“Perhaps. She may expect him to try blackmailing her.”
“Is Jacopo really Zorzi?” the Maestro asked.
Violetta gasped, but I had been expecting the question.
“He could be,” I said. “The Council of Ten has been known to accept a massive fine in return for a secret pardon, even for major crimes. Even if it hasn’t done so in this case, it’s been eight years. He wears a thick beard and Zorzi was clean-shaven. All the servants who knew Zorzi have gone and the genuine Jacopo, if there ever was one, could have been disposed of with a bag of silver and a ticket to Rome or Milan. The family is very small, with no close relatives on either side. Jacopo obviously has more money than most young men can dream of. Also, according to Bernardo, he’s a lecher like Zorzi.”
Nostradamus was nodding impatiently. “But?”
“But,” I admitted, sorry to topple such an elegant solution, especially when I’d worked it out for myself, “I’m more inclined to believe Jacopo is younger than me than older, porcupine beard or not. And if he is the reprobate returned, he is going around killing off the courtesans who knew him in his first life. I can’t see either the Ten or the family standing for that.”
My master grunted. “Neither can I.”
“Then who is doing the killing?” Violetta asked.
That was the primary question, after all.
“A hired bravo,” I said. “Nobles do not do their own strangling or stabbing. They pay other people to do that.”
Medea’s eyes flashed an angry green. “Who?” she demanded. “Who is paying the killers?”
I thought I knew the answer, but I had even less evidence to go on than I had for Alina being Gentil
e’s murderer. “Motive’s been the problem all along, hasn’t it? And timing, too—why is this happening now? I think that Zorzi has tired of exile and wants to come back and clear his name. According to the family, he refused to give an alibi for the night of his father’s murder because he was romancing a noble lady and would not betray her to her husband. Possibly the lady has died, leaving a signed confession. I don’t believe that she even existed. I think Zorzi was with a courtesan as usual.
“As for the motive—Domenico and Bernardo do not want him back because they would have to relinquish his share of the fraterna. Alina shouldn’t, because if he is acquitted she would become the obvious culprit and if he isn’t he’ll be beheaded. Someone in that family, possibly more than one person, thinks that Zorzi’s chances of clearing his name can be undercut by killing whichever courtesan he was patronizing that night so that she cannot testify on his behalf. He probably had a few current favorites, and they don’t know which one they need, so they have hired a professional assassin to hunt down and murder all the most likely.”
The Maestro groaned. “A thousand angels hear my prayer! You think that after eight years the Council of Ten will reverse its own verdict on the unsupported word of a harlot? You can buy that sort of testimony for a ducat! I thought you said Zorzi Michiel left a confession before he ran away. He will now pass that off as a joke?”
“I’m not sure about the confession,” I admitted. “Donna Alina did tell me that she was not questioned again after her son disappeared, and that sounds as if the Ten had very good evidence that he was guilty.”
Nostradamus pulled a face that would have terrified gargoyles. “I doubt very much that anything less than a signed confession from someone else would persuade the Ten to change its conviction of Zorzi Michiel, probably not even that. I think, madonna, that you need not listen to any more of these myths and legends. You may go about your business. Indeed, you will have to hurry to complete it before vespers.”
Violetta rose, so I did. She curtseyed to the old rogue and I followed her out. I followed her all the way out to the landing, pulling the door closed behind me.
“So where are you off to?”
She smiled as angels smile. “To see the Popess.”
“Who?” I must have jumped like a frog, because she eyed me oddly.
“Sister Lucretzia. That’s if I can get in to speak with her. You think you could? You want to try on this gown?”
“The tarot warned you that the Popess was a danger to be avoided!”
Violetta laughed lovingly and blessed me with Helen’s dark-eyed smile. “But I think the Popess trump is more likely to be the abbess than the nun. If the old dragon as much as suspects what sort of woman I am, she will have me run out of town.” Helen is the loveliest of Violetta’s personas, not the smartest.
“Yes, I think the abbess is more likely, and it was the abbess reversed you drew. She could have you arrested, darling!”
“You can kiss me. I’m not painted at the moment.”
I did so, of course, and finished quite breathless. I have a heart condition where she is concerned. “You free this evening?”
She shook her head. “Poor Alfeo! No, I told my patron I might be late as it is. Tomorrow at noon?”
“I’ll try.” I tried to kiss her again, but she declined. “Give all the girls my love.” I watched her go down the first flight, then went back to the atelier. I headed for the chair I had used, intending to put it back where it belonged. The Maestro appeared to be deep in thought, but he spoke.
“Leave that. Use it. Now report properly.”
“Properly” means every word, or as close as I can remember. I sat down and flexed my memory. First I had to empty it of a question.
“You think Sister Lucretzia can help us? She’s probably spent her entire life in Santa Giustina.”
“Won’t know unless we ask and I can’t send you.”
“True. Did Violetta tell you that her tarot showed the Popess reversed as a snare to be avoided?”
He scowled. “No.”
“And yet last night on my reading the Popess upright showed as the solution.”
Nostradamus pretends that tarot is childish and overrated, but I suspect that’s because it works better for me than it does for him. Despite his scoffing, he does not ignore my readings when he is stuck with a problem.
“Start your report with that, then.”
It takes hours of reporting to cover hours of interviewing. We adjourned for supper and resumed. I was weary and hoarse by the time I got to the point where I was seen off by Jacopo. Then the questions started.
“It was Jacopo who shopped Zorzi? By reporting that the dagger was missing, I mean. Who put him up to that?”
“I didn’t ask,” I said. “I only know because he volunteered the story. I assumed it was just a spontaneous error. He was only a child.”
“I’ve told you: never assume anything. Someone may have put him up to it. Someone may have put him up to telling you . . .”
A rap on the door knocker stopped him. I went out to see and was startled to find the sinister form of Antonio waiting on the landing. Surprise gave way to terror.
“She’s all right?”
His forked beard twisted around a fearsome leer. “She was all right when she promoted me to messenger boy.” He handed me a letter.
I thanked him and started to open it. He had already turned to leave.
“No use replying,” he said over his shoulder as he started down the stair. “She’s gone; her giovane was waiting. And if you offer me a soldo, I’ll break your neck.” He looked back again at the first landing. “I got well paid.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said and closed the door. Damn him! I could easily imagine Helen rushing to go out, handing the note to him and throwing her arms around his ugly neck to kiss him when he agreed to see that I got it. I hoped that was all he had meant.
“A letter from my beloved,” I said as returned to my place in the atelier. “All it says is, Was not allowed in, so Popess no help.” I could not help adding, “As predicted, but at least she’s safe.”
Nostradamus grunted but did not comment on the pros or cons of tarot. “It’s time to count out the gold for Circospetto.”
The night was young yet, but I was happy not to have to talk any more. I fetched the scales and a heavy bag from the secret cache. While the Maestro watched in sullen silence, I counted out one hundred sixty-three sequins and weighed them. I added two ducats and two lira and put the lot in the money pouch. It weighed more than a pound, but it was not bulky.
At that point my master announced that he was going to bed, which did not surprise me when his hips were obviously still troubling him severely. He spurned my offers of help, though, and hobbled off on his canes. I put the money pouch in a desk drawer and tidied up the pile of books he had left by his chair. I had hours to wait before my appointment with Raffaino Sciara, so I could catch up on my housework.
I took the chair I had been using earlier and carried it back to its place behind the door. At that point I said, “What?” to myself. I may even have spoken it aloud. A moment later I started to laugh. An observer might have thought I had taken leave of my senses. I certainly spoke aloud when I said, “Oh, tarot, I love you!” Then I laughed even harder.
24
The atelier door is opposite the fireplace, and behind the door stand the two chairs. The armillary sphere and various astronomical instruments stand farther along the wall, then comes the cabinet of sky charts, and so on. That brings you to the corner with the window wall, which holds only the big double desk, my seat at the near side, and the Maestro’s at the other. I had been able to see Sister Lucretzia from there, but mostly I had concentrated on the Maestro’s verbal tussle with Friar Fedele.
An armillary sphere consists of a series of bronze or brass rings, most of which can be moved, all set in an outer horizontal ring, which is fixed atop a pedestal. We use it to calculate the positions of stars and p
lanets at various times of the year. The horizontal ring, which is called the Horizon Ring, unsurprisingly, is wider than the others, like a circular table with a very large round hole cut in it. It is possible to set small objects on it, or balance larger ones, and what I had found on it was a book bound in brown leather.
I had not put it there and the Maestro never would. I knew right away who had, but none of us had seen her do so. She could have laid it on the other chair, but there it would have been more conspicuous and her brother might have noticed it as he was leaving. Now I knew who was represented by the Popess in my tarot, bless her beads and wimple!
I carried my find over to a lamp and riffed through it. A few pages at the end were blank, but the rest was a diary of numerous short entries. I fancy myself as open-minded, but the very first one I read made my jaw drop.
Thursday, 7th.
Chiara Q, dinner and theater, her house. Twice in bed on her back, once on a chair with her straddling him.
I won’t quote any more of them. Some were much worse. They all followed the same pattern, a date without month or year, a woman’s name, and then a note of the sexual actions and positions employed. In rare cases more than one woman was mentioned, and sometimes men also, although then only by Christian name. Many of the acts mentioned were obscene, some illegal, and at least one carries the death penalty.
The wonder was not that a nun had disposed of the book, but that she would even soil her fingers to throw it in the Grand Canal. Had she stolen it with the deliberate intent of delivering it to the Maestro? I could not imagine her daring to take it home to the convent.
Should I show it to him right away? That would be my normal reaction, but Circospetto might be going to show me the Ten’s records on the case very shortly, and I might do a better job of understanding them if I had studied the book first. I took it to my desk, gathered lamps, and set to work.