Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

"Wait! Wait there!" Domenico jabbed a finger toward the bench I had decorated for so long on Saturday, spun on his heel, and disappeared at a very fast walk.

I waited.

And waited.

I was not seriously worried that Ca' Michiel would send word for the sbirri to come and relieve them of that intolerable nuisance, Alfeo Zeno. The book was my defense. The Michiels would dance to the Maestro's fiddle as long as he held the book.

The knocker rapped. The footman emerged from his unseen kennel to admit two artisan-class men, who asked to see Domenico and were told to wait outside.

At last Jacopo came trudging down the stairs, alone. He was dressed much more modestly than I had yet seen him and I judged that he was scared. Not terrified, but more worried than angry.

I smiled. "Good morning."

He scowled at me and said nothing.

Nor did he speak as we walked along the riva, to the Molo where our boat waited. I put him in the felze and sat on the thwart facing him, because I did not trust him within snatching range of my sword or dagger. Still neither of us spoke until Giorgio had rowed us away from the watersteps and started to sing. It's not easy to eavesdrop while singing.

"How did you steal the old cat's diary?" Jacopo asked.

"She hadn't missed it?"

"No. She screamed and spat and threatened to claw Domenico's face off. What's in it to get her so riled?"

"I think you know."

He shook his head. He was recovering his normal insouciant self-confidence already. Some people believe that they can lie their way out of anything.

"I've seen it there in the casket, but never seen it opened. How did you get hold of it?" His eyes narrowed. "Magic?"

"No magic. I can't tell you, but my master may."

"You're not seriously suggesting that I go around murdering whores, are you?" He portrayed the innocence of angels.

"I'm not suggesting anything. Nostradamus does the thinking, I'm just the messenger boy. It might not hurt if you thought back to where you were on the nights they were attacked, though."

He saw the trap right away. "Tell me what nights those were and I'll try." He smirked. Jacopo Fauro thought he was smart and so he was, but he was in for a surprise when he went up against Nostradamus.

Jacopo did get a surprise, but not quite in the way I expected. I was surprised, too, although I should have been forewarned by the witless expressions on the faces of the twins, Corrado and Christoforo, who were lurking in the salone outside the atelier door.

To start with, Nostradamus was on the wrong side of the fireplace, sitting very upright in one of the green chairs. Secondly, he was socializing in a most atypical manner with the person beside him in the other, but even he cannot avoid being charmed by Violetta when she exerts herself. I had passed on his instructions that she was to wear something provocative and the result had the impact of a Jovian thunderbolt. The square-cut neckline on her gown of crimson and silver silk extended halfway to her bellybutton and the lace bodice under it was a cover in name only. The skirts were as sheer as a dawn mist. She rose and curtseyed to Jacopo when I introduced him. His eyes bulged as if he had a severe case of goiter.

I had my hand on my sword hilt. If she blurted out that they had met before, back when he called himself Zorzi, he might attack her or try to flee. She did not, though, and the moment of danger passed. He bowed to her.

I saw him settled in the red chair and went to the desk to record the match, which ought to be a walkover. The odds were terrible. He had a clear view of Violetta and if he could keep his mind on the Maestro's questions at the same time, then he was not the hot-blooded adolescent he was supposed to be. Violetta was not there just to distract him, although that might be a useful side benefit.

Yes, primarily she had been brought in to identify Zorzi, in case that was Jacopo's real name. With that possibility now disposed of, Nostradamus still had a second string to his bow, which is quite typical of the way his mind works. Violetta was being set up as bait for Honeycat. Did she know? I did not comment, but nor did I bother to hide my anger when I caught the Maestro's eye. He ignored it, waiting while I organized paper and pens. When I dipped my quill, he began.

"I hope you do not object to signorina Violetta's presence here, signor Fauro. She has an interest in this investigation."

Jacopo laughed. "Who could possibly object to the presence of such a goddess? I shall drag out this meeting for as long as I possibly can. And I must say that I am deeply honored to meet a man whose fame has spread all over Europe." He was holding his own so far.

I wrote it all down-not with my normal penmanship, and much abbreviated, but within my powers to turn into an accurate transcription.

"Donna Alina retained me to investigate the death of your honored father, and I was already looking into the death of Lucia da Bergamo for signorina Violetta."

"Poor Lucia was a friend of mine," Violetta explained sadly.

They were overdoing it. The message they wanted to convey was that Violetta was a courtesan, and Jacopo would have to be a babe in arms not to know that just from her dress.

"I regret that I was not familiar with the lady," he said blandly.

"Lucia," said the Maestro, "was one of at least four courtesans recently murdered in the city. It appears that all of these deaths are related."

"You think Zorzi has returned to Venice and is murdering more people?"

The Maestro stretched his lips in what he thinks of as a smile. "That would be the implication if I believed that your brother committed the first murder, but I don't. What exactly is your position in the Michiel household, signor Fauro?"

"Galley slave."

Violetta grinned encouragingly.

The Maestro said, "Be more explicit."

"Kennel boy, then. I have been page, drudge, and gardener. When my beard grew in, they were all ready to give me a couple of ducats and throw me out into the world to seek my fortune, but at the last minute the harridan decided she needed a cavaliere servente. I am much more servente than cavaliere, and there is no romantic aspect to my duties, but I put up with her, which nobody else can."

"When did that happen?"

"Two weeks before Christmas."

"And your responsibilities?"

He shrugged. "Fetch and carry, write letters, read to her, cut her toenails, count the ornaments-she is convinced the servants are stealing from her all the time-shop for her, listen to the same stories a hundred times, dust the tops of the pictures… Very exciting. It wouldn't be so bad if she went out once in a while, to the theater or dinner parties, but she never does."

I set aside a sheet, reached for another, and numbered it. The Maestro paused to make sure I was keeping up.

Then, "You are no relation of hers."

"No, Doctor."

"She pays you well."

"So she should. Galley slaves at least get fresh air and exercise."

"To excess," the Maestro agreed. "Do you recognize this book?" He had been hiding it behind him in the chair.

Leaning back, Jacopo crossed his legs. Then he folded his arms, which is another defensive gesture. If I noticed it, the Maestro surely did. The knife was drawing closer to the quick.

"It looks like donna Alina's diary. She went looking for it this morning and it had disappeared."

"Tell us about that," the Maestro said with another snaky smile. "When Alfeo arrived this morning, his letter was brought to you?"

"No. Last night sier Bernardo decreed that only he or sier Domenico would have any dealings with you or your apprentice. This morning he was out, so the letter went to Dom. He came to ask me what it meant-ask both of us, because I was with the hag in her reception room, writing up her rent books. She rushed into her bedroom and looked in the casket where she keeps the book and it wasn't there. She went into screaming convulsions."