Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume 22

Or perhaps he thought it more effective to leave them to Lewis' imagination.

The coach stopped in front of a villa. The footman stepped down and open the door. Lewis was about to step out when he was stopped by a soldier. He aimed a lantern into the compartment. "Excuse me, Your Highness, Your Lordship, Dottore. I have my orders. Would you wait just a moment, please?" He closed the door.

"This is exciting, isn't it, Dottore?" asked Leopold.

Lewis reminded himself that Leopold was only sixteen. With the gravitas that came from being fully two years older, Lewis acknowledged that the case might have its interesting aspects.

When the door was opened once more, it was to reveal the familiar visage of the ruler of Tuscany. "A curious turn of events, eh, Lewis?".

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But with you here, the game is now afoot."

Lewis fought back a groan. "Indeed."

"Thank you for your assistance, Lord Cioli. Oh, and hi, Leopoldo. Try not to bother Lewis with too many questions."

Ferdinand beckoned to a tall fellow in an officer's uniform. "This is Lieutenant Cosimo Capponi. He and his men will help you conduct searches, question suspects, and so forth. I want to make sure that you encounter no difficulties on account of your being a foreigner."

Cosimo bowed. "I look forward to working with you, Dottore. I will make sure that you can go where you need to go, and that people answer your questions. And of course I can question witnesses on your behalf."

Cosimo pointed out two soldiers. "Carlo and Rocco. If you need a suspect watched, or a door broken in, they're your men.

"Also permit me to introduce Giovanni di Niccolo Ronconi, who is one of our family physicians. A Padua man."

"I'm a West Virginia man, myself," said Lewis. The Tuscans all nodded sagely.

"But please proceed with your investigations, Lewis."

"Your Grace, who was at the table besides yourself?"

"Pietro, the deceased. His wife Silvia, and their children Domenico and Olimpia. The Senator Francesco di Alessandro Arrighi, and his wife Lucrezia. The banker Alberto Spinelli, and his sister Isabella. La Cecchina -"

"I beg your pardon? La Cecchina? 'The Songbird,' who's that?"

"I perceive you are not a musician, Lewis," Ferdinand said. "Why not? Didn't Sherlock Holmes play the violin?"

Cioli intervened. " La Cecchina is the composer and singer Francesca Caccini. She sang for our court for at least two decades. Maria of Tuscany, the Queen of France, tried to steal her from us but her uncle, Ferdinando the First, forbade Francesca to leave."

"A wise move. She was, I think, the first woman to write an opera. Do you remember it, Cioli? It was 'La liberazione di Ruggiero dall'isola d'Alcina'; it was performed at my villa in 1625."

"It was exquisite. She married a Luccan nobleman, he died, and she returned to Ferdinando's service last year."

"That's right. And then there was Lorenzo Pippi, the poet. Or perhaps I should say Perlone Zipoli, since that's his pen name."

"Would-be poet," muttered Cioli. "Wise of him to use a pen name. Should have stuck to painting."

Ferdinand laughed. "Perhaps a half-dozen others whose names slip my mind. Silvia can tell you who they were."

"So describe the dinner," Lewis prompted. "What was served, who ate what, that sort of thing. And when did Pietro show the first signs of distress?"

"Hmm… first course was prosciutto cooked in wine and Neapolitan spice cakes. Those were served off the sideboard, 'help yourself.' I did."

"No spit-roasted songbirds, this time?" asked Leopold.

Cioli shook his head minutely. "Now that wouldn't have been very polite, with Francesca Caccini in attendance."

Ferdinand chuckled. "Second course, several different roasts. I had the goat and the rabbit, I am not sure what else there was.

"For the third course, there was a stuffed goose, smothered with almonds, with cheese, sugar and cinnamon on the side. Also Turkish-style rice, in milk, with more sugar and cinnamon sprinkled over it. Cabbage soup with sausages half-submerged, like those submarines you once told me about, Lewis. And boiled calves' feet. How could I forget that?

"We saw, but never got to taste, the fourth course, the desserts. They were arranged on the sideboard. Quince pastries. Pear tarts. Leopoldo, do you remember the time-"

"Please, brother, don't tell them."

"Oh, very well. More cheese. More almonds. Roast chestnuts. My, it's making me hungry just thinking about them. And it's barely an hour past sunset.

"Anyway, La Cecchina sang between the first and second courses."

"Paying for her supper," Leopold said.

Better than listening to restaurant muzak. Or worse, karaoke, thought Lewis.

"Lorenzo recited a few of his poems between the second and third courses. That's when Pietro started seeming out of sorts."

"And no wonder," grumbled Cioli.

"The remains of the third course had just been carried off and we were heading toward the sideboard, when Pietro clutched his stomach and claimed he was nauseous. We urged him to lie down, but he refused. Then he vomited.

"Silvia ordered the servants to carry him to the nearest couch and lie him down there. At that point of course, none of us were thinking about poison."

"Or dessert," Leopold said.

Ferdinand gave his brother a quelling look. "We assumed it was just a case of indigestion. At worst, that he ate something that was spoiled. Pietro complained that he was thirsty, and we brought him some wine. He seemed to have difficulty in swallowing, and he complained that his throat was sore. He soon vomited again.

"When Pietro was still in great distress an hour later, I sent a messenger to fetch Dottore Ronconi. Since the incident happened in my presence, I was insistent that Pietro be seen by the best doctor in Florence." Ronconi bowed.

"Ronconi will have to tell you what happened next."

Ronconi took a deep breath. "I came and questioned Pietro. He told me that he was of the opinion that there were people 'out to get him.'"

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "So he thought he was poisoned. Did he name any names?"

"He did not. He said that they must be in league with the Devil to get through his defenses."

"Defenses?"

"He has an armed guard at the door," Cioli said. "And I have heard that he has detailed servants to spy on each other, and that it is rare for a servant to stay more than a year or two before being dismissed on suspicion of wrongdoing. It is not a happy household."

"In any event, I examined him," said Ronconi. "Besides the obvious problem of the nausea and repeated vomiting, his stomach was very sensitive to pressure. He found even a light touch to be painful. I prescribed some medications, and departed.

"The following morning, I received a message from Silvia, urging my return. He had had an attack of diarrhea. Several in fact. By the time I arrived, he was in an advanced state of tenesmus."

"No medical gobbledygook, please," ordered Ferdinand.

"You feel you have to poop, and you can't. And it hurts." Ronconi shrugged. "It was at that point that I began to wonder whether there was some truth to Pietro's speculations, and I asked that the leftovers be gathered together for testing."

"I am surprised that the servants hadn't eaten them all by then," Leopold said. Since he was a sixteen year old boy, the concept of failing to eat any available food was no doubt alien to him.

"They had, indeed, eaten most of what had been left from the first and second courses, but naturally that tended to suggest that those courses were free of any taint. The servants had not disturbed the third course; no doubt Pietro's sufferings discouraged them from doing so.

"Hence, I was able to feed the remains of the third course to the family dog, and he seemed none the worse for the experience."