With a smirk of satisfaction, he began levering himself upright. "Pass me my staff."

I saw him headed for the red chair before I went out to the salone. I had never approached the front door with greater apprehension. Who was out there? A bravo with drawn sword? Missier Grande come to arrest us? Jacopo repentant? One of the Michiel brothers breathing fire? The mysterious Sister Lucretzia returning?

28

I was wrong on all counts. The doge himself would have surprised me less. Beetling over me like a dormant volcano stood Matteo Surian, once Matteo the Butcher. I suppose I gaped at him. He was decked out in his Sunday best, clothes far grander than he would ever have worn in his respectable days as a tradesman, and I could tell at a glance that last week's sodden wreck was now dried out. As an effort of will, that was remarkable. His eyes were no longer bloody pits, but they held a cold, implacable ferocity I recalled from his fighting days on the bridges. At the sight of me he beamed with relief. It was a fair guess that he had never in his life entered a palace like Ca' Barbolano except by the tradesmen's entrance, and mine was the face he had come looking for.

"Sier Alfeo!"

"Matteo! You are welcome! Come in, come in! What brings you here?"

With a leer of triumph he opened one of his huge fists to reveal a tightly folded piece of paper. "I found the note!"

"That's wonderful! Excellent! Come and show it to my master." The sbirri had hunted for that paper, so now we were harboring even more evidence that should be delivered at once to the chiefs of the Ten.

Fortunately the salone was dark, for its grandeur might have scared him away. On the other hand, he was so excited and pleased with himself that he might not have noticed. He did not look around him as I ushered him into the atelier, just went striding over to the only person present. The Maestro had settled in his chair and now looked up with astonishment at the giant looming over him, offering his find.

Nostradamus accepted it and ordered him to a chair, joking that his old neck couldn't bend at that angle any more-he can put people at ease when he wants to bother. Meanwhile I was lighting more lamps.

"So where did you find this, Matteo?" the Maestro asked, carefully unfolding the paper.

The big man shifted uneasily in the green chair, which was hard put to contain his bulk. "It all her furniture, see? She brung it when she moved in. And I knowed she had a place she kept money." He colored. "Didn't mind. I got plenty off her." Meaning Caterina had been cheating her doorman. Most pimps would have beaten her raw for trying that.

"So you went looking for a secret hiding place?" the Maestro asked.

"Press a latch and top lifted up."

"And you found money. How many other papers?"

"No papers… Stuff…"

"It's yours, Matteo. Caterina would have wanted you to have it. I just want to know what else she saw as precious enough to keep there."

Relieved, Matteo mumbled about some jewels he'd never seen before, but only one paper. The Maestro read it in silence with me looking over his shoulder.

My vessel of love, my fountain of joy-

Yes, it is your Honeycat who has returned! Tell no one yet, sweetest of cherubs, not until the pardon has been issued. But the Ten agree that I am innocent and was wrongly condemned. No one else knows, so I must be very careful, but the thought of seeing you again drives me mad. All these years, yours was the laughter that haunted my dreams. I must kiss the roses and roam in the forest again, discarding all caution. What are you doing in this awful San Samuele? I will call on you tonight at sunset and sweep you away to better things again. Be ready then.

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.