Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

Would those safeguards have been observed in the most egregious crime Venice had known in centuries? Surely any lead at all would have been followed up. If the inquisitors suddenly and unanimously decided that they should lock up the prime suspect for a few days and nights and post witnesses to listen to his snoring, no one would ask what had given them such brilliant simultaneous brain waves.

"If that paper you are studying is indeed unsigned," Sciara continued, "then most likely it was left in the folder precisely because it was deemed to be worthless."

"You are implying, lustrissimo, that anything worthwhile has been removed?"

"Oh no, I did not say that, sier Alfeo."

He was very adept at implying without saying. I could never hope to know whether the file had been censored just prior to my seeing it or at some earlier time for some other reason. I handed the papers back in silence and stood up.

Sciara displayed mild surprise. "So soon? You must have a remarkable memory."

"I have better things to do at this time of night," I said. I bowed and turned to the door.

"I am truly sorry your time was wasted, clarissimo."

"It was not wasted, lustrissimo."

I wanted him to think I had learned more than he knew.

In fact, I had learned more than I knew.

The Maestro appeared earlier than usual that morning; I was still sweeping the floor when he came stumping into the atelier, leaning on his staff. The absence of the canes was meant to show that he had recovered. I opened my mouth to congratulate him and he cut me off.

"What's that?" He pointed to the book on his desk.

I told him. He changed direction and went to sit there, instead of in the red chair, and I knew he really must be feeling better. By the time I had put the broom away and returned, he had laid down both the pornography and my notes and was leaning back in his chair, scowling.

"What did you learn from Sciara last night?"

I sat opposite and told him, quoting the documents word for word, or very nearly so. "We have no case left against donna Alina," I concluded. "I should have realized sooner that Jacopo is not merely a liar but an addicted liar. Apparently he never tells the truth if he can fool you with a good yarn. That's an interesting defense, isn't it-if you are known to be perpetually untruthful, you cannot be caught out in a lie?"

The Maestro's scowl did not change. He tapped the book. "And this sewage?"

"The wheel of fortune turns. We can't use the dagger to make a case against the lady, but now we know for certain that someone in the Palazzo Michiel is killing courtesans. It was written by donna Alina, I think. The writing fits her signature, both on your contract and on the statement I saw last night. I glimpsed either that book or an identical one in the casket where she keeps Zorzi's letters. Seems she gave him money and he repaid her with dirty stories. I doubt that he knew she was keeping a record. Sister Lucretzia left it on your armillary sphere when she was here on Sunday. I didn't notice it until last night."

Neither had my master, so he couldn't scold me for being unobservant.

"It is not the sort of uplifting literature I associate with nuns."

"Nor I, master. She had just come from the family reunion. Either someone gave her the book at the house or she stole it. The casket has no lock, just a ward-you spread both hands on the lid and say, 'My dearest treasure.' That's all; easy enough to spot if you know about such things."

"Why?" he demanded, eyes narrow.

"Why did she steal the book? I don't know."

"Why do you think she stole it?"

I had met all these people; he had not. "Assuming Lucretzia was told about the murdered courtesans-and I think they were the subject of the family gathering-she must recognize the book as evidence that someone in Palazzo Michiel is at least involved and likely the actual killer. Whether she intended to destroy the evidence and changed her mind, or knew that Fedele was going to stop in here and try to prevent you from investigating their father's death… or perhaps Fedele himself put her up to it. What do you think?"

"I need to see her," he muttered.

I refrained from uttering mocking laughter. "Even Violetta couldn't talk her way into Santa Giustina. Probably Lucretzia was allowed out to visit her family only because her brother asked. An abbess won't talk back to a priest, but she'd surely set the dogs on people like you and me."

Nostradamus sat and glared at the offending book. "This thing is poison! I don't see why it hasn't provoked more killings already. I ought to have you take it straight to the palace and give it to the chiefs of the Ten."

"I'll take my rowing clothes with me." I wasn't joking, much. The galleys were starting to seem like a real possibility now.

He did not deign to answer. After a while he started tugging at his goatee, which is a sign that he is thinking hard. I quietly opened a drawer and took out Johannes Trithemius's Steganographia so I could get started on the numerology home-work my master had set me five days ago. The learned abbot of Sponheim instructed us in how to send messages to specific angels, and after about an hour, when I was seriously considering an appeal for help to Gabriel, Nostradamus at last emerged from his reverie.

"Damnatio!"

"Master?" I closed the book on a finger.

"Donna Alina seems to have faith in me. She could have given the book to her daughter to deliver to me."

"If she is not the killer…" I had not quite rid my mind of that assumption. "Why the nun, though? Surely a nun should hurl such smut into the nearest canal?"

"Because Lucretzia is the only one Alina trusts?"

I gulped and said, "Yes, master," humbly.

"Get me the knight of cups!"

"Er…?"

"Vitale's solution was to be the knight of cups reversed, you said? Get him. Bring him."

Somewhere a shutter opened… "Ah! The cavaliere servente?" I should have seen that Jacopo might fit the "solution" card in the reading I had made for Violetta, but I hadn't met him when I did it.

"Of course. Bring him and I'll reverse him."

"How far may I turn the screw?"

"All the way to the headsman's ax."

I pursed my lips in a silent whistle. He rarely gives me so much leeway.

"If he won't come, any second-best?"

"No, it must be Jacopo. And I want Vitale here when he arrives."

"Master, Violetta never rises before noon!"

"Then waken her. This is urgent. Tell her to dress like… provocatively."

"You're not asking for much," I murmured, but I couldn't have been quiet enough, because he glared at me. He expected me to drag a natural-born citizen away from whatever he was doing as if I were a Council of Ten sbirro. And also dictate how Violetta was to dress, which was even more dangerous. Tactics would be important. I marked my place in the thrilling Steganographia, selected pen and paper, and wrote a brief note, which I rolled up and tied with a ribbon.

"I think I'll go armed, if you don't mind."

No reply. I set off to fetch my sword. As I stepped out into the salone, someone rapped the door knocker.

It was early for visitors. It was even earlier to see Fulgentio Trau active in the world, but from the look of him he had been on night duty, guarding the doge's bedchamber. He was clearly a bearer of bad news. He spoke no greeting, smiled no smile.

"The doctor awake?"

I nodded and stepped aside to let him enter, ushered him into the atelier.

Nostradamus moved as if to rise, for a ducal equerry far outranks him.

Fulgentio raised a hand in forbiddance. "Please stay, Doctor. I bring a very brief message to you and to your apprentice. It is from 'a high official,' but I am forbidden to say whom." He glanced at me to make sure I was also listening. "I am instructed to tell you both that this is your last warning, and you are granted this mercy only because of your many past services to the Republic. You must stop asking questions about the death of Gentile Michiel. You will disregard this warning at your peril, both of you."