32

Antonio led us down to the loggia-me and a grinning Matteo shepherding donna Alina. She had refused to let him carry her, but she had fallen silent and was trembling violently, close to shock.

There were still only four boatmen there and I recognized all of them as Michiel employees. A quick peek out between the pillars confirmed that Missier Grande's boat was still tied up outside Ca' Barbolano.

I recalled some names from my experience of servant fare in the Michiel kitchen. "Zaneto, isn't it? Alfeo Zeno."

He scowled at me and my companions. "I remember you. What do you want?" He could not possibly recognize donna Alina under her veil in that light and I did not want to reveal who she was.

"This lady is a real lady, not a worker here. She fell and injured her arm. A doctor lives in that house where your masters are visiting. Would you be so kind as to ferry us to the watergate?"

"There are other visitors there, messer."

"Missier Grande, yes. But I need to talk with him also."

Left with no further argument, he helped us load our patient aboard, which was hard to do without jostling her injured arm.

"Business as usual now?" Antonio asked.

I hesitated only a moment. Vasco had wanted me to give him the book, so Missier Grande had come for the book, so the chiefs of the Ten had sent him for the book, and if the chiefs knew about the book, then they had Jacopo Fauro under lock and key.

"Business as usual," I agreed.

Our voyage took only moments, but that was long enough for me to work out the timing. Had Jacopo been arrested, he would have been left to meditate on his sins for a while before he was questioned, and even then, being Jacopo, he would very likely have tried to lie his way out of the mess. The chiefs must have learned of the book from him and their very fast response indicated that he had almost certainly turned himself in, confessing everything, fast and furious. The Maestro had predicted that the Ten would be lenient on him if he did that, a prophecy I hoped would prove to be one of his good ones.

A couple of sbirri eyed us suspiciously as we disembarked in the Barbolano loggia, prepared to prevent our entry.

"I am sier Alfeo Zeno and I live here. This lady is in need of medical attention and I have some evidence to hand over to Missier Grande."

They accepted that, but one of them escorted us upstairs.

Three more sbirri were standing near the atelier door and moved aside to let us in. Bernardo and Domenico were still in the green chairs. Isabetta sat in the red one and Nostradamus at the desk, she wearing a bandage around her head and he a puckish grin. Missier Grande stood in the center with the package under his arm. He seemed to be still asking questions, as if he had not been there long. Everyone looked around when we entered. Then the brothers recognized our veiled companion and leaped to their feet in alarm.

"The lady claims she has a broken wrist or arm," I said. "I haven't examined it." I nodded respectfully to Missier Grande. "She was attempting to kill the courtesan Violetta Vitale with this dagger, which I recognize as coming from Palazzo Michiel. This is the note she used to gain admission, written by herself and signed with her daughter's name."

By then Bernardo and Domenico were helping their mother over to the examination couch.

Gasparo Quazza, Missier Grande, is a large and inscrutable man, whose very impassivity is intimidating. One glimpse of his red and blue cloak can disperse a riot faster than gunfire. No one could like him, but I respect him and he has always played fair with me. Once, very early in my apprenticeship with the Maestro, I did him a great favor by rescuing his infant daughter. That would not stop him from hoisting me on the strappado if the Ten so ordered, but they haven't done so yet.

"And the accused's name, sier Alfeo?"

"Donna Alina Orio, these noble lords' mother. May I assist my master while he attends to her injury?"

I fetched splints, scissors, and bandages from the medical cupboard. Quazza began questioning Matteo to get his side of the story. Missier Grande is not an inquisitor. He merely carries out the orders of the Ten and might have been told little about the Michiel case. He had been sent to fetch the book and no more. He could not ignore dramatic accusations of attempted murder, but he certainly would not arrest a noblewoman on his own initiative, nor me either, unless I had blood on my hands.

Looking alien and scared, Agnesina was huddled behind the door, in what I now thought of as Sister Lucretzia's chair. Isabetta remained hunched in the red chair, looking old and haggard, with a bandage around her head. Seeing that Nostradamus no longer needed my assistance I moved out of the way of Domenico and Bernardo, who were anxious to crowd in and fuss. I went to Isabetta and dropped to one knee. She looked at me with distaste.

"How do you feel?"

"Sick. I hate brandy."

"If that's all, you were probably very lucky." Her pupils were the same size and she did not seem sleepy; both good signs.

"When you held your family council of war on Sunday, why was donna Alina not invited?" I began with a question about Alina because Isabetta obviously did not want to talk with me and I knew that there was no great affection between the two ladies in Palazzo Michiel.

Sure enough, she wrestled her headache aside long enough to say, "She was indisposed."

"What sort of indisposed?"

"She had taken a fall."

"Nasty bruises?" I said. "The previous night I threw her to the ground in Campo San Zanipolo and fell on top of her. How did she dispose of the blood stains on her habit?"

Missier Grande was well within earshot and had stopped his whispered interrogation of Matteo. Isabetta showed no signs of being aware of him, but I noticed that she was speaking louder.

"I suspect she burned it in her fireplace, piece by piece. I noticed an odd smell in her room that afternoon."

"What was decided at Sunday's meeting, anyway?"

"Nothing!"

"You decided nothing, or you decided to do nothing?"

She pouted and for a moment I thought the spring had dried up. Then she said, "All we could agree on was that Fedele would visit Nostradamus and explain the folly of his ways."

Agreed maybe, but I suspected that Isabetta and Lucretzia had been two dissenting voices, if they had been allowed to speak at all. The point was immaterial now. I dearly wanted to find out how Bernardo had described Zorzi's death to the family, but I dare not ask that near our silent listener.

"One thing bothers me still," I said. "I didn't see the feet of the fake friar who stabbed Marina Bortholuzzi, but the one who killed Caterina Lotto had bare feet. To walk city streets without shoes requires either courage, stupidity, or years of practice."

Silence. I tried again.

"Jacopo always made sure he had an alibi, and Alina could slip down that secret staircase by herself, but how did she travel across the city? Did she dare hire a gondola? Friars carry no money and own none. It would be a long walk to San Zanipolo or Cannaregio for her, even with shoes on. I mean, when does a Venetian lady ever go for long walks?"

Isabetta eyed me like dog droppings on a doorstep, but again she couldn't resist the opportunity to tattle on the woman who had ruled her life for so many years.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. I know of one very respectable lady who used to slip out at night and prowl the city disguised as a friar. She started doing this during Carnival once, she said, but she enjoyed a wander in the moonlight so much that she began doing it quite regularly. Eventually her sons found out and tried to stop her. She went on a hunger strike until they relented. There was no danger, she said. No one would try to rape a graybeard friar and everyone knew that it would be no use trying to rob one. They gave her back her friar's robe and tried following her. They discovered that wandering was all she did: no secret liaisons, no dens of vice. So from then on they turned a blind eye."