Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

"Your mother does not agree."

He drummed fingers on desk, a gesture in a patrician equivalent to a bull pawing turf. "Holy Writ enjoins each of us to honor his father and his mother, and I tolerate her for that reason. Her experience of the world has been greatly limited and you must remember that persons of her sex lack the natural logic and judgmental ability that the Good Lord grants to men. As an elderly, but loyal, daughter of la Serenissima, who has borne many children and endured much suffering through the misdeeds of the youngest of them, she deserves her family's respect, which I freely grant her. I tolerate the whimsies of her old age with patience, but I cannot let affection mislead me into sharing her delusions."

The moment he paused for breath, I asked, "Do you think your brother is still alive?"

Jacopo wandered over to stare out the window, standing with his back to us as if our conversation was of no interest whatsoever.

Bernardo growled. "If you ask do I hope that he is still alive, then of course I must answer in the affirmative. I pray daily that he has found happiness through sincere repentance and the grace of God, as I have found it in my heart to forgive him. I am encouraged to believe that he flourishes by letters my mother has received from him, two of which, so I am informed, have been shown to you."

"I have seen letters purporting to be from him. Sier Domenico admitted to me that they were forgeries."

Bernardo smiled into his beard. "Have you not yet realized that of course he has to say that we believe them to be forgeries? We should have a duty otherwise to turn them over to the Ten."

That did not explain a Venetian watermark on a letter written from Savoy.

"Sier Domenico told me he thinks sier Zorzi is dead."

Sigh, another patient smile. "Same answer."

"You believe, then, that your brother is still alive?"

"Zeno, I have neither seen, nor spoken with, my brother Zorzi for eight years. What I believe and what sier Domenico believes are equally irrelevant and immaterial. As indeed, I regret to say, is this whole conversation. I ask and hope that you and your principal will be gracious to my mother and considerate of her feelings, for if you abuse her trust in you, I shall see that the full weight of the Republic descends upon you."

"Where does Jacopo get all his money?"

Dropping his pretense that he was ignoring us, Jacopo spun around.

"We pay him to wait upon donna Alina," Bernardo growled. "As she ages, her ability to retain servants has deteriorated markedly. She is moody and intractable."

In the background, Jacopo rolled his eyes at an epic understatement.

"You pay him enough to spend ten ducats for amethyst buttons on a single doublet?" Even if the lady had the disposition of a badger, she could not be worth that much.

Bernardo scowled, eyes glittering. "She has recently indulged him by letting him collect some of her rents, and I am of a mind to have my bookkeepers review her ledgers to see how much of that money may have inadvertently gone astray, but I do not see how that can possibly concern you. Now, if you have no further questions-"

I flashed my best mountebank-apprentice smile. "Oh, but I do! Two of them. I should prefer to put them to you in private, though."

Furiously red to the tips of his ears, Jacopo marched across to the door and this time he did slam it behind him.

"I am informed," I said, "that the Ten sent a fante to ask you some questions just after I left on Saturday. Will you tell me briefly what they wanted to know?"

I expected the big man to refuse. He swelled even larger, but then he shrugged. "Questions much like yours. Had I heard from Zorzi? Did I know where he was? I told them I had assumed for years that his head had been turned in for the bounty money so the Ten should know the answers better than I did."

"Had assumed? You don't now?"

"What are you after?"

"I'm curious to know why the Ten feel the need to ask. That was all they wanted-to rehash the old inquiry?"

"They asked much the same rubbish you've been asking-where I was when Father was murdered. Where Domenico was."

I raised an eyebrow. Mine might not be as bushy as his, but they are trained to be expressive. "So the Council doesn't trust its own records? Or it thinks the case needs revisiting? How interesting! Thank you. The second question. You had a family meeting yesterday. Why was your mother not present?"

Bernardo reared up on his feet. "This is intolerable! I have been more than patient with you and shall not stand for any more of this insolence. Get out! Remove your impudent, upstart San Barnaba carcase before I have it thrown out."

I bowed, backed to the door, and bowed again as if he were the doge himself. I thought I knew who had killed his father and so did he. It had not been Zorzi.

The moment I closed the door behind me, Jacopo grabbed my shoulder in a crushing grip, spun me around, and slammed me back against the wall. I had not been mistaken in estimating his strength. His eyes blazed; his face was scarlet with fury. He thrust it close to mine.

"Bernardo is a lying turd!" he roared. "Alina pays me nothing and I do not wait on her! She hates me because I'm living evidence of her husband's lechery. She treats me like mud, as you saw, and wouldn't give me a stale crust if I were starving. My money comes from a share in the family fortune."

I had hold of my dagger by then, and silently raised it so the point was in the gap between our two noses. Realizing that I could have put it elsewhere and still could, he released me and backed off.

"I understood that only sons born in wedlock could share in a fraterna," I said quietly. Was I actually going to hear a true story in the Palazzo Michiel?

"It's only a very small share compared to theirs. They voted me in. There's nothing to stop them doing that."

"Why should they? You said they were planning to throw you out last December."

Jacopo pouted like a sulky child. "I said that because by then you'd spotted that I was one of Gentile's by-blows. We try… My brothers prefer to keep our relationship a secret. Officially I'm just Jacopo Fauro, Domenico's secretary."

That excuse made no sense, but by then he must have been hopelessly entangled in the conflicting falsehoods he had told me.

"Why should they be so generous? Just brotherly love?"

He turned and started walking, forcing me to follow if I wanted to hear his reply.

"You heard Domenico ask my advice. I help him! I have an eye for design. When he hears of a property that may be available, I go and make the first inspection. He almost always accepts my judgment now. I help conduct buyers around. He needs someone he can trust not to accept bribes."

I thought I wouldn't trust Jacopo to put a soldo in the poor box for me. He stayed quiet until we were descending the great staircase.

"Dom likes me to dress up," he said. "It impresses the customers."

"And girls?"

"No. I wear rags when I go prowling. They charge too much if I dress fancy." He said that seriously. It might even be true.

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.