Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

She did not return my smile, perhaps did not even see it. She was a very tightly controlled lady. "The latter. First, of course, he was the handsomest boy in Venice and possibly in all Christendom, truly beautiful. He knew it. Men stared at him in the streets. He was witty, talented, and cultured. He dressed like a peacock and danced like a butterfly."

"The furnace?"

"The furnace was the way he looked at women. The moment I met him, his eyes were telling me that he had been waiting for me all his life, that I was indeed fortunate beyond all women, and if we could just slip away from all these other people he would demonstrate what men were for. He was still making the same offer the last time I saw him." She hardly moved a muscle while whispering all this to me. An onlooker at a distance would not have known we were conversing at all.

"And the icicle?"

"Was what I saw when I looked into his eyes."

I bowed my head in praise. "You are a wise and observant lady. Did he kill his father?"

"That is up to you to discover, is it not? She signed your contract?"

"She did."

A tiny hint of a smile came and went, leaving a hint of contempt behind. "I knew she would. She has been obsessed with her lost son ever since he fled."

"You bring Zorzi to life for me. Will you give me the benefit of your judgment of donna Alina?"

"No."

Wise, observant, and careful. "Then was Zorzi capable of murdering his father?"

"Only if it was necessary."

"Necessary for what?"

"For his own happiness. What else mattered?"

"Did you know that he was having an affair with a married woman?"

"Lots of them. You refer to that story that he could not explain his whereabouts without betraying a lover? Zorzi…" She paused, frowning very slightly. "It is hard to talk of such a libertine having any sort of honor, but he did have some standards. He was no puffball. He kept himself extremely fit-so he would never disappoint a friend, he said. And he resisted any sort of authority. I often wondered if he might have run away to protect a woman, just as a temporary measure. His mother might have put him up to it-going into hiding until they catch the real killer. If that were the case he would have had to be innocent, of course."

"Then the Ten declared him guilty and gave up looking?"

"It's possible."

"Yes it is. So he was innocent?"

"I doubt if Zorzi remained innocent much beyond his twelfth birthday, but he may not have been guilty of patricide."

"And his mother may know where he is? Quite apart from the letters you and your husband provide for her?"

"I doubt it, now. If he stayed in any one place for long, the bounty hunters would have caught him. She really believes the letters."

I was inclined to believe that, but not ready to check it off as certain. Alina was a cunning and manipulative old woman, and I strongly suspected that Isabetta Scorozini detested her.

"I understand that you had a family conference yesterday?"

Isabetta's face resumed its waxen inscrutability. "I will not betray confidences, messer. Nothing that was discussed yesterday can have any possible bearing on what happened in the Basilica eight years ago."

While I was working out the politest way of contradicting that statement, I saw Jacopo striding toward us like a war galley preparing to ram. The chance of learning anything from Isabetta had just ended, so I rose and thanked her and spoke my farewells.

"Did you know that Zorzi was having an affair with a married woman?"

Jacopo gave me the answer I expected from the family snoop: "Of course I did." He did not look at me as he said it.

"Even then you knew, or you have learned since?"

"Even then. More than one of them. He didn't care what they were, as long as they were female-servants, whores, or senators' granddaughters."

"But apparently he was with a lady on the night your father died. You don't happen to know her name, do you?"

"No."

By then I trusted very little of what Jacopo Fauro told me, but that time he was probably telling the truth. I had trouble imagining the libertine Zorzi bragging of his conquests to a much younger half-brother. That seemed out of character. He boasted to anger his father, not to impress the cook's bastard.

The Michiel library was not impressive as a book collection but as a room it was spectacular-large and bright and gloriously decorated. There we found Domenico with three artisan-class men, all standing around the central table, studying building plans. He looked up as we entered.

He beamed. "I did not think I should escape for long. Greetings to you, clarissimo!"

I responded. I thought for an instant that he was going to embrace me. If he thought of it he changed his mind quickly. We bowed.

"Jacopo," he said, "you have a good eye for style. See if you can figure out why this chapel extension looks off balance. Let us take a breath of air, sier Alfeo." He escorted me to a glass door leading to a small balcony overlooking the canal, thereby cutting out Jacopo much more graciously than his mother had. With the glass door closed, we were alone and could not be overheard.

Domenico wore well-cut gentleman's clothes in sober, somber gray. With his keen, aquiline features and easy charm he seemed all ready to sell me the palazzo of my dreams or relieve me of my current rat-infested hovel, whichever I wanted.

"So Nostradamus thinks he can find the person who killed my father, does he?"

"He is willing to try, clarissimo."

He leaned back against the parapet and rested his elbows on it, studying me with that odd smile displaying lower teeth.

"Then I had better start by pleading my own innocence and saving you having to ask. On the night in question, I attended San Zaccaria with my wife and her widowed sister, who was living with us at the time and has since died. The priest could testify that I was there, but the church was very full, so his evidence was not quite as convincing as it would normally have been. My companions later swore that I never went out, but of course they would say that, wouldn't they? I was wearing my black robes, the church was dark, and we sat near the door." He shrugged. "I did not slip out and murder my father, but if you want to assume that I was secretly glad when the Ten fixed on someone else as the murderer, then I couldn't deny it under oath. Does that help?"

"It helps a lot," I said. "When did you last see your brother?"

"Zorzi? Right after the funeral. I met him as he was leaving the house, decked up like a peacock."

"Do you know where he was going?"

"I can guess why, but I don't know where, or to whom."

"Did he say… What was his mood?"

"He was scared out of his wits," Domenico said brutally.

"He was?" That was not what donna Alina had told me.

"He was hiding it, but I knew him well enough to tell. Remember that he was a skilled actor and liar."

"Was he?" It must be a family trait.

"He could never have scored so well with women otherwise. Mostly he bought harlots, but he also collected amateurs."

Jacopo had told me that Domenico had taken Zorzi's side in the family quarrels. Perhaps he had, but now I suspected that he hated his youngest brother. If he hadn't hated him back then, he hated him now. Because he had been jealous of the young hedonist? Because Zorzi was a killer? Because the possibility of Zorzi returning was a threat to his share of the family fraterna?

"Do you know what was scaring him?"

"The Council of Ten, of course. Zorzi was a bad boy, a prodigal, a rakehell. He had gotten away with it until then because of his name, but murder changed the rules."

"Do you know who tipped him off that the Ten were about to arrest him?"

"The Ten, of course."