Dave Duncan - The Alchemist's Apprentice

The heady sense of power I obtained from ordering a great minister provoked me to smile broadly when I turned to the stairs and realized that Filiberto Vasco had arrived in time to see me do it. He was escorting the northern barbarians.

I made them welcome. “You all know the learned Attorney Ottone Imer, of course…”

Vasco started to translate, but milord Bellamy did not wait for him.

“This outrages me! I have sent complaints to the English ambassador.”

“I hope it will be over very quickly, messer. ”

The foreigner’s absurd horned mustache quivered. He began to gabble and Vasco rattled off a translation. He was good. “We were due to leave today. The boatmen we had hired insisted on payment. The carriage waiting on the mainland will want an extra day’s money. Who will compensate me for these losses?”

There are times when my humor gets the better of my discretion. I pointed to the salone. “In there, messer, is sier Enrico Orseolo-the elder of the two men in mourning weeds. He is one of the six great ministers of the Republic. More even than the doge himself, the great ministers run the government. Why don’t you go and present your problem to him?”

That, I thought, ought to put the chickens in the fox house. As Sir Feather offered his wife his arm, the big woman disconcerted me yet again.

“How much for your outfit, Alfeo?”

“You want me to quote it as a complete set or item by item?”

“Every stitch.” Either she had the strangest way of flirting I had ever met, or her wheels were well off center. I could engage verbal rapiers with Violetta, but the foreigner’s signals confused me.

“Perhaps you and I can discuss that after the meeting?” I said, half expecting her husband to whip out his sword and start yelling at me. He just took her elbow and steered her away.

I noted with amusement that the buzz of conversation from the salone ceased abruptly when the foreigners entered. I smiled at Vasco, who was practicing looking intimidating but had a long way to go.

“You are also welcome, Vizio. The guests are assembled through there, and Missier Grande is in here.” I turned to Imer. “ Lustrissimo , that should be everybody.” I was wrong.

Imer was not looking at me. He was staring aghast at the stairs. Majestic in his scarlet robe and patriarchal white beard, Ducal Counselor and State Inquisitor Marco Dona was ascending at a measured pace. I clenched my teeth tightly so they would not start chattering. The last time we had met, he had sent me to the torture chamber.

I n my demonic delusion, the old man had been grim and menacing. Present in the flesh, he was paternal, condescending. He nodded benignly when Imer groveled to him, bleating how honored his house was and how he would brag of this visit for years.

Dona almost patted his head. “This charade is an imposition, citizen, and your cooperation is appreciated.” But then the old man turned cynical eyes on me as I bent to kiss his sleeve. “And you must be the philosopher’s apprentice.”

I had met him in nightmare; he had never met me. “Alfeo Zeno, Your Excellency, honored to be at your service.”

“Mm? It looks as if the Council of Ten should be investigating the permissible scale of physicians’ fees. What do you think, attorney?”

“And the sumptuary laws also, Excellency,” Imer murmured.

“Definitely the sumptuary laws.”

The Council of Ten, its three chiefs, the three state inquisitors, the doge-I had no idea what political currents were flowing and who was on whose side. This was definitely not a moment to create waves. I replaced my bonnet at a more sedate angle. Humble was in.

“I borrowed these clothes for the occasion, Your Excellency.”

He nodded. “From your friend Fulgentio Trau.” He was warning me that I was under surveillance and the Three knew everything. They might know who had poisoned Procurator Orseolo and prefer that no one else did. “I just came to see if your master can make good on his boast. You are about to begin?”

“At Your Excellency’s convenience. You wish to meet the other guests?”

“I think I know them all. Those I have not met I can guess. Where is Missier Grande?”

I would have bet a month’s wages that Gasparo Quazza was standing just inside the dining room, eavesdropping on all the arrivals. If so, he moved quickly. By the time I had bowed the inquisitor through and followed him in, Missier Grande was seated in a chair several feet from the door.

The dining room had been made by joining two smaller rooms and was awkwardly long and narrow, but our host had again been generous with the lighting, loading his Murano chandeliers with lamps. Most of the floor space was taken up by what seemed to be one long linen-draped table, but must in fact be several set end-to-end. A few books had been laid out at intervals along it to represent the Karagounis manuscripts; sixteen chairs stood along the far side, on one of which sat the Maestro, leering at us as we entered. The sixteen on the nearer side had been pulled back against the wall, and it was one of these that had the honor of supporting Missier Grande. He rose to acknowledge the inquisitor, his face giving no hint of whether or not he was surprised to see the old man there.

Dona gave him a quick nod and said, “No, do not rise, doctor,” to the Maestro. “I trust you will make no wild accusations you cannot prove?”

The Maestro’s face turned sulky. “Your Excellency forbids us to proceed?”

“Not at all.” Dona chose the chair behind the door, where he would not be visible to persons entering. He sat down heavily, as if his feet or ankles hurt. “No, I wish to see justice done. The official view, I can reveal, is that the supposed Greek, Karagounis, was an agent of the sultan and had set up a complicated trap to murder the doge. Poor old Bertucci somehow got the wrong glass.” And to suggest otherwise may be unwise.

“That is certainly a theory I considered, Your Excellency.”

The inquisitor raised silver eyebrows. “And discarded? You intrigue me already. You have no objections to these proceedings, Missier Grande?”

“None, Excellency. I have known the Maestro to astonish us before.”

“Carry on, then.”

“Alfeo?”

“Master?”

“Since the doge did not come, either you or sier Benedetto will have to stand in for him.” From where the Maestro sat he had seen everyone going past the door.

Dona chuckled-ominously, of course. A state inquisitor cannot possibly chuckle otherwise. “That should be my role, surely? We mustn’t raise the Orseolo boy’s hopes too high before he has even taken his seat in the Great Council. And we must not distract sier Alfeo from his duties as Carnival King.”

He obviously enjoyed being one of the dreaded Three, and I did not like the way he was muscling in on my master’s production. Had Circospetto Sciara told him what was going to happen this evening? Or told the doge so the doge had told Dona? Had the Ten assigned the case to the Three, or was Dona there without the knowledge of Bartolemeo Morosini and the other chiefs of the Ten? And who could stop an inquisitor doing almost anything he wanted anyway?

“Your Excellency is gracious,” I said. “With your permission, I will sound the trumpet.” I stalked out and headed to the salone.

There I found three separate groups, sitting well apart and conversing in whispers-the three Orseolos, the two Tiralis and Violetta, the Feathers and Vasco. The unfortunate Pulaki sat by himself, with eyes closed and face twisted with pain. Imer had been waiting in the hallway and followed me in.

I apologized for the delay. “We had an unexpected arrival. Pulaki, please go and help Giuseppe with the wine. I know you have only one good hand, but I’d like you to watch and see that everything happens in the same order as last time.” I waited until he had gone. “At the original viewing, the guests entered the dining room in the following order: Ambassador Tirali first, then the procurator and madonna Bianca. Your Excellency, will you represent your father for us?”