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.
24
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?”
Lizard Enrico nodded with poor grace. Bianca, I was happy to see, had raised her veil to expose her angelic child-woman face.
“Then came sier Bellamy Feather and madonna Hyacinth. You spent some time discussing the books with Maestro Nostradamus, I believe. Vizio, you will interpret for them, please? And the next man, as you all know, was the doge, incognito. He will be represented this evening by State Inquisitor Marco Dona.”
I wished I could watch all the faces at once, so that a sudden pallor might identify the murderer for me. I did not see one. Hyacinth demanded a translation from Vasco.
I continued. “ Sier Pasqual, you and the lady were next. That completes the ensemble, except for Alexius Karagounis, who cannot be with us this evening because he is tied up on the Piazzetta. Will you stand in for him, please, sier Benedetto?”
He shrugged his shoulders, sling and all. “If you will tell me where to go.”
“That will be everyone’s problem.”
“This is not going to work, you know,” Pasqual told Violetta. “We all moved around too much. I suppose the person who demonstrates the worst memory must be the murderer? Come, my darling, let’s go and carnival.”
I stood at the dining room door to direct the dance. Wineglass in hand and escorted by our host, Ambassador Tirali swept by me, red senator and black attorney.
“You introduced me to Maestro Nostradamus, did you not, attorney? But the Greek was here when I came in.”
Benedetto Orseolo was summoned and inserted as Alexius Karagounis.
“Then you left, attorney,” Tirali continued. “I walked down there and worked my way back up to about here. And the accursed Greek kept following and yattering at me.”
Benedetto smiled. “Yatter, Your Excellency. Yatter, Your Excellency.”
Tirali laughed. “You’ll do well in the Senate, my boy. I was about here…”
He turned and I nodded to Minister Orseolo. As he entered with Imer, I noticed that the glass he carried was
