Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

I sighed in wonder.

She sighed in nostalgia. "And then, oh horrors! The glorious Mass came to an end, as everything must come to an end. We had just gone out into the atrium, and it was so dark out there, but I had found Gentile and taken his arm, and suddenly someone pushed me roughly, and I cried out in complaint and clung tighter to my husband, but he made a strange noise… more like surprise than pain, really. He fell, dragging me down with him. And I realized that he was bleeding… So, no, I didn't really see the murderer. Except that he did not seem very tall." End of recitation.

"Thank you, madonna."

"What else?"

"The reasons known to you why Zorzi could not prove his innocence."

The letter she had shown me previously had been invented by Domenico and his wife and meant nothing, but the forgers had avoided mentioning the explanation Zorzi had given his mother for failing to clear his name, perhaps because they had not known exactly what that was. What he had said might or might not be whatever she was going to tell me after she stopped glaring at me like a Barbary corsair.

"Jacopo, go and wait outside."

The family by-blow's face froze, but he spun on his heel and marched to the door. I expected him to slam it behind him, but he managed to close it quietly. Silence. I waited.

Finally: "Sier Alfeo, I do not deny that at times my late husband was very autocratic. He had strict standards, even by the standards of the Venetian patriarchy."

I nodded understandingly.

"Nor do I deny that my son was a sinner, but he was a man of spirit also and knew that he had two half-sisters and a half-brother born out of wedlock. He regarded Gentile's reprimands as sheer hypocrisy." She paused, as if realizing that she was avoiding the issue. "Zorzi frequented courtesans, yes. But at the time of Gentile's death, he was enamored of a woman of noble birth."

Even after so long, telling me this was a strain for her. Her hands were knotted into fists and her cheeks blotched red under the paint. I helped her along.

"You are saying, madonna, that on the night your husband died, your son was clasped to the bosom of a married lady?"

She nodded. "That was why he could not defend himself from the charge of murder."

Zorzi had an alibi? I was tempted to laugh aloud. Even a notorious libertine could have delusions of honor, apparently, but this might be the easiest two hundred ducats the Maestro had ever earned.

"If you, in strictest confidence, were to tell me the name of-"

"I do not know her name."

I must have looked disbelieving, because she continued grimly.

"I know only that she was young and married to an older man. Zorzi told exaggerated fairy tales of his debauchery with courtesans just to annoy his father, but he was very discreet about the others. Other one, I mean. That was a true love affair!"

"Did you tell the inquisitors about her?"

"No. They asked me about the murder itself, because I was there, and I told them everything I knew. They never asked me where my sons were at the time, why should they?"

"Did they not question you again after he fled?"

"No. By then they had convinced themselves of his guilt."

"You are certain that your son refused to tell the inquisitors the name of the witness who could give him an alibi? It was not that he did name her and she contradicted his story out of fear of her husband's wrath?"

"No. I begged him to tell them, but he insisted he never would."

That was the end of that path. Was she lying to me? Had Zorzi lied to her? Had the boy's mistress lied to the Three? I was no nearer knowing why some maniac was going around murdering courtesans.

"Still more questions, messer Zeno? I find this conversation wearying and unnecessary. I engaged Maestro Nostradamus to clear my son's name, not to inflict you and your eternal questioning upon myself."

"Just one more, madonna, undoubtedly a painful one for you. When did you last see Zorzi?"

She sniffed as if I had committed a social gaffe. "The day of my husband's funeral. We had no sooner returned to the house than he changed out of mourning and appeared in his usual finery. No long months of mourning for him, he said; he had paid his respects, and anything more would be hypocrisy."

"Did he hint that he was heading to the mainland?"

"No. No, he certainly did not. He told me he had found the archangel of all courtesans, Venus in the flesh, and he was going off to, um, visit with her and see if she was as good as her reputation." Donna Alina's face hardened. "It must have been she who warned him that the Ten were going to arrest him."

"I think not, madonna. I have spoken to the woman, and she claims that she was expecting him but he never arrived."

"Indeed?" She raised her painted brows, corrugating her forehead. "And what is the name of this paramount beauty?"

"That I may not reveal. I am much indebted to you for your help." I rose to take my leave. "My master gave me some questions to put to both sier Bernardo and sier Domenico; also some for a few senior servants. I may tell them that you wish them to cooperate?"

She pulled a face. "Let Jacopo back in."

I went to the door and opened it slowly in case he had his ear to the keyhole and needed to skedaddle, but he was leaning against the wall on the far side of the corridor, arms folded and eyes hot with anger. I winked and stepped aside.

He marched in and bowed excessively low. "How may I serve, madonna?"

"Stop sulking," she said. "It's childish. Escort sier Alfeo around and tell everyone that he asks questions with my permission. If anyone refuses to answer, report them to me. Now go away, both of you. I am upset and need to lie down."

"Frail as the Walls of Troy," Jacopo remarked after the door had been safely closed and we were walking the corridor together.

"She is a tough lady," I agreed.

"Where to, sier inquisitor?"

"Sier Bernardo is inspecting meat at this time of day?"

"Yes, but in a dignified, aristocratic way."

"Is sier Domenico available?"

"He told me he would be in the library all morning. This way, then."

Our path returned us to the big salone where the murder weapon was preserved in its glass mausoleum. In the window overlooking the riva and the shipping basin sat the plump little lady I had seen with donna Alina on Friday. At first I thought she was alone, the epitome of the sequestered Venetian nobleman's wife dying of boredom as the world went by without her; but then I saw she had a child with her and was pointing out the sights. I knew who she was.

"Pray present me to donna Isabetta," I asked my guide.

"Signora Isabetta," he snapped, but he changed course.

Isabetta acknowledged me with a careful lack of expression, but she did invite me to be seated, which was both gratifying and unexpected. The child, aged about five, huddled close to her mother, alarmed by a stranger.

"Maria, dear," Isabetta whispered, "you go with Jacopo and find Nurse. Thank you, Jacopo." Mousey she might be, but she had no hesitation about giving him orders. She watched the two of them depart, and then waited for me to speak, all bland and respectful, eyes demurely downcast. The huge salone was hardly a private space, but her behavior in meeting alone with a man would not meet with her mother-in-law's approval. I wondered if she had planned this.

"I am sorry to interrupt you, madonna."

She nodded agreement to my feet.

"Do you mind answering a few brief questions?"

"What do you wish to know, messer?"

"You married sier Domenico before his father's death?"

Another nod.

"So you knew Zorzi. What sort of a man was he?"

"An icicle in a furnace." She spoke softly, guardedly.

"You refer to his lifespan or his character?"