Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

Back in my room to collect my sword and cloak, I decided I had just enough time to try a fast tarot reading. Of course urgency and apprehension make the worst possible state of mind to obtain a clear augury, so I should not have been surprised that the results seemed very mixed at first glance. Some cards made sense, others did not. I tucked them away in my memory and the deck under my pillow, then went to tell Giorgio it was time to go.

The night was quiet in San Remo, the sounds of Carnival far away and muffled. Even the Grand Canal was still when we reached it, reflecting the stars. The gibbous moon was close to the rooftops and blurred by haze as we glided through the night, and I sat in lonely silence in the felze, still searching for inner calm and understanding.

Tarot is limited in scope because it is restricted to seventy-eight cards, and only thirty-eight have pictures on them. The numbered cards can drop hints, of course, such as the three of swords to represent the state inquisitors, but the more pictures that turn up, the more explicit the reading. Although mine had been all in pictures, I could make very little sense of it.

The first card, representing the subject or the question, had been the knave of coins reversed, and that I could take as reference to my forthcoming efforts to suborn Circospetto, probably meaning that he would not be able to obtain the information I needed.

The lowermost card of the cross, for the danger or problem, was trump number eight, Justice, displaying a woman with a sword and scales. Had the card been reversed, I could have hoped that it was telling me that the inquisitors had wrongly convicted Zorzi Michiel. Since it wasn't, I had to take it as a warning that I was on my way to commit a major crime.

But the left-hand card, the helper or path, showed the second-highest trump, Judgment, with the angel blowing the trumpet and the dead rising from their graves. What sort of help was that? Did it mean I must wait until Judgment Day to learn the answers I sought? Again, I'd have preferred to see it reversed to indicate that Zorzi was innocent, or that he was figuratively returning from the dead. Again, the card was obstinately upright.

The right-hand card was from the minor arcana, the jack of swords as the snare to avoid. I have known that card to refer to me, which made no sense in this context, but it can also mean my old foe, Filiberto Vasco, the vizio-the king of swords would imply his superior, Missier Grande. I had no need of tarot to warn me to beware of Vasco. If he as much as caught me wearing a sword after dark he would turn me in to the night watch.

Which brought me to the most confusing card of the tarot deck. The top card of my spread had been trump number two, the Popess. Violetta's reading had shown the same card reversed as the snare to avoid, and here it had shown up again in mine, upright, showing the objective or solution.

What the Popess was doing in my reading I could not imagine. I knew of only three women involved in the case. Donna Alina Orio ought to be represented by the queen of coins, because she had wealth of her own. Possibly the Popess's religious implications might be stretched to indicate her daughter, Sister Lucretzia. It could not apply at all, so far as I could see, to Dom's wife, Isabetta Scorozini. If one of the murdered courtesans was intended, I could not see a connection yet.

I was still baffled about the tarot when Giorgio delivered me to watersteps on the Rio di San Zulian. I was no closer to understanding the Maestro's quatrain, either.

"If I'm not back in an hour go without me," I told him with the best attempt at cheer I could manage. "I'll be home in the morning."

"Give her my love, too," he said, which was a surprisingly suggestive remark from him.

As I disembarked, I heard the clock in the Piazza chime midnight. I set off toward the church like a ghost, for my boots made little sound on the stones and I had brought a half-lantern, rather than a torch, so its glow lit the pavement below me and not my face. Carnival is a bad time to wander the streets alone, for the riotous gangs of revelers can be dangerous. Almost every window was dark and I met no one except a quartet of merrymakers, fortunately all too drunk and aroused even to notice me. They went staggering by, sniggering and arguing, with the men blatantly pawing their companions, obviously prostitutes.

I turned south along the Calle Spadaria, walking slowly so I could scan the doorways. Celsi had not said right or left.

"Arghrraw!"

My rapier flashed into my hand, for the sound had been close and-yes!-two golden eyes shone in front of me, on the edge of my puddle of lamplight.

"Arghrraw…" it said again, more softly.

Find one rabid cat and of course you must expect many more, for they will bite one another. The city might be infested with them, although I had not heard anyone mention such a problem. I backed up a step.

The eyes advanced. "Arghrraw!"

"Now look here, Felix," I said sternly, having visions of needle teeth sunk in my ankle… But my mind must still have been grappling with the tarot and the quatrain because then I heard an inner voice that sounded much like the Maestro's: "Be not so proud as to spurn help at your feet."

A cat had led me to Alessa when she was ready to talk. A cat had found me refuge when the mob was after me. I backed up three steps.

"Arghrraw… Arghrraw…" The cat followed, softer still, but more urgent.

A door opened not ten feet ahead of me. Although the light escaping from the entrance was in truth very faint, it seemed to flood the alley. It was not even bright enough to illuminate the man emerging, but I knew his voice.

"I will tell them. Good night to you, lustrissimo."

"And to you, capitano," Sciara replied.

By that time I had closed my lantern and was backed into a doorway, trying to make myself as flat as paint. If the departing visitor turned in my direction he would be certain to see me, even in the dark calle, for it was so narrow I would be within arm's length of him. He would hear my heart thundering like a charge of heavy cavalry.

No. Saints be praised, vizio Filiberto Vasco went the other way, toward the Piazza and the Doges' Palace. His boots tapped off into the night, the puddle of light from his lantern danced around his feet, and Raffaino Sciara closed his door.

I stood where I was until I stopped shaking, which took several minutes. My tarot had warned me of the jack of swords, the quatrain had told me to accept help at my feet. Had the cat not delayed me, I would have rapped on that door while Vasco was standing on the other side of it, and I had no imaginable reason to be calling on Raffaino Sciara even in broad daylight, let alone at midnight. Had I been betrayed? Had Celsi reported what I planned? Or his servant? I assured myself that there were a dozen reasons why Missier Grande might have sent his lackey to ask Sciara something or tell Sciara something, and none of them need have anything to do with me.

For a third time cats had helped me-except that it must obviously be the same cat and more than just a cat. It might be a demon from hell, but I was going to give it the benefit of the doubt from now on. I opened my lantern and saw the cat sitting in the middle of the calle, watching me and licking a paw.

"Thanks, Felix."

"Arghrraw…" It stood up and paraded southward, tail high, until it stood in front of the door with the grille, Circospetto 's door, the door that vizio Vasco had just left.

A cat was telling me that it was safe to proceed and I was crazy.

No, I must trust my new helper, and Felix was now standing waiting for me, staring inquiringly as if wondering why I was taking so long. I walked over to it and bunched my knuckles to make the signal I had been told.