Dave Duncan - The Alchemists pursuit

"I do pray that it didn't bite him," I murmured. Rabies is always fatal, and it can take months for the symptoms to show.

Ignoring my good wishes, Missier Grande glanced around the company. "Their Excellencies may wish to question some of you tomorrow regarding these events, but now I bid you all a good evening."

So our guests departed. Giorgio took Matteo Surian back to San Samuele, and the Michiels left in their own boats.

I had not realized how hungry I was. Fussing and scolding, Mama Angeli had removed our uneaten Bisato Anguilla Sull'ara and produced piping hot Canestrelli alla Griglia. The Maestro, in an astonishingly good mood, raided his hoard of favorite wines for a bottle from a vineyard I had never heard of. Although impatient to return to 96 and comfort Violetta, I sat down without complaint and set to work.

"A most interesting case," he remarked between scallops.

I thought we had been very lucky to avoid disaster. "You may have trouble collecting a fee from Violetta. Her contract specified that you would catch a man."

He puckered his cheeks in satisfaction. "Jacopo was just as guilty, and the Caterina note condemns him as an accomplice."

I conceded the point with a nod. "But you have no hope of seeing any lucre from the Michiels."

He took a sip of wine and smacked his lips. "They will not want to face a lawsuit."

The gall of the man! Bill the brothers for proving that their mother had murdered their father?

"You gave the Ten your sacred oath that you had no interest in Zorzi's death."

He scowled. "So I did. A letter of sympathy, then, and hope that they feel like acknowledging my assistance with a suitable honorarium."

"Yes, master." I was more interested in eating than talking. The sooner I could leave the better.

"Of course the case is not quite closed. You still have to tie up a few loose ends."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Nostradamus waved a fork vaguely. "Every adept develops his own particular style to some extent, his personal talents. I am detecting hints-as I should be by this time-that you are finding your own skills, your particular strengths. For example, after you almost caught Honeycat in the Campo San Zanipolo, you were quite insistent that the root of the mystery lay in Palazzo Michiel. That suggests a burgeoning intuition."

I swallowed. "Um… Maybe. Matteo had told me that the fake friar didn't smell like a friar, and the one I tackled certainly didn't. When I grabbed donna Alina tonight, I… I was reminded that she uses rose water. I think the whole palazzo has a scent of rose water, and that smell was what I was detecting-without realizing, of course."

My master banged his fist on the table. "You don't need to explain everything, you know!"

"Sorry."

"Remember that in future! But your tarot, now. What did Circospetto let slip so that the knave of coins was reversed? Certainly Sciara alerted us to the fact that Jacopo had been lying about the dagger, but we would have discovered that soon enough without him. By the way, who first misled us about the khanjar dagger?"

"Jacopo."

"No, he just encouraged your misapprehension. Think about it. What was the cat that sought you out so often, and what were its motives? Does it relate to XX of the major arcana?"

I probably blinked like an owl. Trump XX is Judgment, of course, the card my tarot reading had used to represent my helper. The cat had helped me several times and died for its pains, but that was the only resemblance I could see to the trump.

"What had a cat to do with angels blowing trumpets and the dead crawling out of their coffins?" I demanded.

The Maestro did not answer. "Are you starting to channel spirit help?"

"Not that I am aware of, master."

He smiled. "I'm sure you will, once you have meditated on these matters enough and attained the necessary trance state. Clearly the final answers are up to you this time."

I swallowed my last scallop and emptied my glass in barbaric indifference to the vintage. I pushed my chair back. "Then, if you will excuse me, master, I will start my meditation at once." I left at a run, before he could forbid me, but I thought I heard him chuckle as I went out the door.

After locked myself securely in my room, I headed for the central window. Number 96 would be back to normal now, so I need not fear feckless sword-wielding guards. Violetta had canceled her engagements, meaning I could have her all to myself for the whole night, perhaps several nights. And she should be especially grateful. The warrior's reward! Bliss! I opened the casement.

"Arghrraw…?"

The cat was sitting on the window ledge, licking a paw.

Everyone knows that cats have nine lives. I reluctantly set aside my lustful ambitions. It was pay-off time.

"The cathouse is on the other side of the calle," I said. "All right, Felix. I am grateful for all your help. What do you want from me?" Other than my immortal soul, perhaps.

The cat leapt silently down and stalked across to the door, where it turned its golden stare on me again. "Arghrraw…"

"You want to lead me somewhere?"

"Arghrraw…"

I retrieved my cloak from the wardrobe.

A dense winter fog had come in with the tide, so thick now that a golden halo glowed around my sputtering torch. Again I let myself out through the courtyard gate. Well muffled in my cloak, I followed the cat around the bends of the calle until we came to the T where we had first met, and where it had rescued me from Vasco that evening. Without hesitation it turned right, toward the campo, tail stiffly upright.

We met no one. With sounds muffled by the bone-freezing fog, the city seemed deserted. Canals lay flat as smoked mirrors, without a ripple. We headed generally westward, along deserted calli and across the empty Campo San Polo. I soon knew that we were heading to either the Palazzo Gradenigo or Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. The latter was the one. In the middle of the Campo dei Frari, my guide jumped up on the gossip bench at the wellhead and turned to look at me.

"Too early?" I sat there also and opened the edge of my cloak invitingly. With fastidious paws the cat climbed up on my lap and lay down. Its fur was cold to the touch, which made me shiver, so I refrained from trying to stroke it. I made a covering for it, leaving its head free. It purred.

"Is there anything I should know?" I asked softly.

It curled up tighter and went to sleep. Count that a negative.

Perhaps I had been brought there to meditate in the dank and salty night. I needed no trance, though. The Maestro had identified the questions for me and the bones of the tragedy were visible now, like a rocky headland emerging from the fog. The last pieces came into view-the Judgment trump, and all those assorted pieces of paper I had seen in the last few days. Without meaning to, I had collected handwriting samples for just about everyone in the Michiel family.

Although it felt much longer, I probably sat there no more than fifteen minutes before I saw another torch approaching. The bearer was darkly anonymous, with his cowl raised. He had bare feet.

I rose, cradling the cat in one arm, raising my torch with the other.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

He stopped where he was, some paces back. "Who's that?"

"Alfeo Zeno."

"You have a good priest in San Remo. Take your burdens to him."

"These burdens concern you also, Brother Fedele."

"Good reason why I should not hear your confession."

"All the more reason why you should, as you were the cause of some of my troubles."

The friar sniffed. "You are insolent. Include that in your next confession."

"You may assign me a penance for it if you wish. I assure you that I have sought you out on a matter of grave urgency. I also bring sad news of your mother."