Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

I went back to the desk and returned with the Orio contract. Again I watched over the Maestro's shoulder as he compared the two documents. The writing on the note exactly matched that in the contract change written in by Jacopo.

"Matteo," Nostradamus said, "this is all the evidence the Ten will need. We know who wrote this!"

The big man's smile exposed a fearsome set of teeth-not complete, but sized to fit a horse. "They'll have his head, then? The sod who killed her?"

"The ax will fall! But this must go to the Ten right away."

His face froze hard as granite. "Let Alfeo take it."

"Matteo," I said quickly, because if those two started arguing I might die of old age before either gave way, "could you recognize the killer's voice if you heard it again?"

He hesitated. "Might. He spoke hoarselike."

"Good. Master, why don't I show that note to Alessa? Those terms of endearment do not come from the book. She can tell us whether they were expressions used by the original Honeycat."

He grunted. "Wouldn't hurt to know, I suppose."

"And I think Antonio might welcome another helper tonight."

I could not expect a man of Matteo's age to leap from roof to roof, or one of his girth to balance on the ledge, so we went around by the land route. This gave me time to explain how we had set a trap for the killer. Then I had to convince our new helper that he must not rip Caterina's killer into cutlets if he did show up.

There were no girls on display in the entrance parlor yet, only two guards I did not know. They regarded me with suspicion and Matteo with alarm. Then one of them recognized him from olden days and the chilly atmosphere thawed. I demanded Antonio, who was fetched. I explained my new helper.

Antonio was not enthusiastic.

"Matteo saw the fake friar!" I protested. "He may be able to recognize the man's voice."

Still the bouncer scowled. "We only have his word for it that there was a fake friar."

I thought there would be sudden murder done then, but the other men intervened, supporting Matteo. I excused myself and went upstairs to see Alessa, being admitted to the piano nobile by Luigi and Giulio. Number 96 was certainly the best-guarded brothel in town that night.

Alessa was entertaining guests-some of her own employees, judging by the female chatter I could hear from the corridor. She peered out to inspect me, looking imperially displeased.

I produced the note but gave her no hints, asking only, "Does this look genuine?"

She read it and pulled a face. "The handwriting is nothing like."

"No. How about the words?"

"Trash. And Zorzi would have written it in Greek hexameters." Alessa was a great deal smarter than Caterina.

"I love you," I said, taking the note back.

"Not tonight, thank you." She shut the door on me.

Downstairs, I found that a compromise had been reached. Matteo would be allowed to share in the guarding, but only downstairs. There he could listen for the fake Honeycat's voice. He seemed content with that and it suited me also, because the chiefs of the Ten would want to speak with him, and now I knew where he was.

"It looks good," I told the Maestro. "Next door, that is. It's garrisoned like a fortress, and anyway I can't believe that Honeycat, real or fake, is going to be stupid enough to try a frontal assault."

"Neither can I," he admitted cheerfully. "But I think he'll do something. Now we'll need a covering letter to the chiefs explaining where we got that note. And when, too."

The writing did not take me long, but I had to unwrap the package and reseal it. Time was running out if I wanted to deliver this to the chiefs before the entire Council met, which I very much did. It would be a peace offering, a letter of surrender. The Lord alone knew what the Ten might decide to do to me if it heard I had been back to Palazzo Michiel after Fulgentio delivered his warning.

"I'll tell Giorgio," I said, rising.

"Later. Tell Mama we need to eat as soon as she's ready."

"I can eat when I get back."

He chuckled. "And exactly when will that be? August? Go tell her."

I sighed, "Yes, master," and did so. He just could not bring himself to give up yet.

Mama said Bisato Anguilla Sull'ara ready in five minutes. Nostradamus would need that long just to get into the dining room, so I went back and told him supper was ready.

I got one mouthful before the door knocker sounded.

I looked to the Maestro for instructions.

He was smirking like a mummified monkey: surely this time someone had taken his bait? "Get it. Use your discretion."

My discretion said my wisest move would be to retrace the steps of Marco Polo on a fast camel, but I headed out obediently. This time the visitors were a lesser surprise than Matteo-Bernardo and Domenico Michiel, grim and imposing in their black patrician robes and tippets. I hauled the door wide and bowed low.

"Messere! You honor my master's house."

Evidently they agreed with that, because they strode in past me without a word. I led them to the atelier and its two green chairs.

"My master will be here directly, messere… Lamps…" I lit a dozen candles in the chandelier, using a long taper, not the Word, and by then the Maestro was hobbling in through the doorway, tapping the floor with his staff. I presented him to the noble guests. As soon as he was seated, I headed to my place at the desk, where the package still lay in its wrapping.

He beamed without showing his teeth. "How may I serve you, messere?"

Domenico spoke first, which surprised me. "You claim to have in your possession a book belonging to our mother. Will you please let us see this book?"

The Maestro leaned back to consider this request. "My apprentice has spent the entire afternoon preparing an account of this volume for the benefit of the noble Council of Ten, explaining how we obtained it. Had you arrived only a few minutes later, messere, he would have been on his way to the palace with it. You may, if you wish, accompany him to assure yourselves that I am telling the truth. Otherwise I am willing to show you the book, or a page or two of it at least, but you will first agree that it is in my custody and you have no claim to remove it. You must guarantee that there will be no unseemly squabbles or attempts to appropriate it."

Bernardo swelled like a bullfrog but got no further than, "Doctor…" before Domenico laid a hand on his arm to silence him.

"We shall be happy to abide by those terms, lustrissimo."

Nostradamus nodded to me. I broke the seals, unwrapped the parcel again, and produced the offensive diary. I took it across to them. Again it was Domenico who took charge, accepting the book with his left hand and then opening it so that his brother could see also.

It was at once obvious that they had been warned what to expect. After one glance Bernardo averted his face. Domenico tried several pages at random before slapping it shut and handing it back to me. Had Jacopo described the contents for them, or had they cross-examined their mother? I took the book over to the desk.

"The illustrious lords and I shall need no record of our discussion," the Maestro told me. "You may go and finish what you were doing."

I departed, but without umbrage, because I knew what he really meant me to do in the dining room. The spyhole there provides an excellent view of the atelier. Domenico (tall) and Bernardo (wide) had their backs to me, but I could watch my master's face and hear everything being said.

"… understand your concern," the Maestro was saying, "and it does you both credit, but filial duty must sometimes come second to our obligations to the Republic."

"Never fear that we understand that completely," Bernardo proclaimed, "but the laws of Venice recognize that there are persons whose responsibility is lessened, persons whom circumstance or the Good Lord in His wisdom have tasked so hard that they cannot now be judged by quite the same standards as we more fortunate folk. Donna Alina was quite unhinged by the tragedy of our father's death, an infamous and sacrilegious outrage committed before her very eyes, and followed so suddenly by the Ten's condemnation of her son and his flight. I confess that she suffered a breakdown that prostrated her for many months, and indeed one may argue with some justification that she has never recovered her former peace of mind, nor thrown off the sorrows that haunt her."