“I assure you again, excellency, that the risk is minor. The safest place in the palazzo will be in the room occupied by Carlo. Indeed, I strongly advise you to be in that room yourself, along with family members who might happen to be visiting at the time.”
Vossi stared hard at Adrian for a moment; then he appeared to relax. “Eleanora will be with me,” he said, “in the room with Carlo.”
Adrian was sure that the assassin would make no attempt on Leon Vossi’s wife, but he said nothing. Vossi’s eight sons were probably just as safe, but under the circumstances it would be foolish to take chances.
“Are any of your sons staying here?” asked Adrian.
“Only Ramiro and Antonio are in Florence. They are both here.”
“I respectfully suggest that they too remain that night in the guarded room.”
A sly smile crept across the old man’s face. His eyes suggested humor one moment, suspicion the next.
“It has just occurred to me,” said Vossi, “that if you were planning a deceit against us there’s no better way than this. Trapping us together in the same room. After all, Adrian, I know that you’re in need of thousands of florins to pay off your debts, and that politically you’re for the Asinno.”
“I support the political goals that also receive the support of the Asinno, but I’m no adherent of that family, excellency. I work for only one family and that family is yours.”
“I hope so.”
The old man stood erect. He walked around the desk to face Adrian. The big lips appeared twisted and the white hair aflame because of the way they were struck by the light streaming in through the windows.
“I’ve plans for you, Adrian. You’ve a talent for solving puzzles and we Vossi have a talent for encountering them. I plan that you’ll work for us a long time, not only here but in Spain, France, England, and everywhere else that we have a bank. We’ll pay you well, and you’ll travel a lot. If I know you at all, I know you’ll like it.”
“I’m pleased to hear all this, but assure you that your concern is unnecessary.”
Suddenly the old man’s face hardened. “These days,” he said, “every concern is necessary.”
“How far do you intend to let this man come?” asked Vossi. “Surely not into the palazzo?”
“No, excellency. The act of being out at night without an armed friend or bodyguard is proof of criminal intent. Coming here under such conditions is proof that crime is planned against the Vossi. He’ll be grabbed as soon as he reaches the palazzo.”
“If he goes for the bait.”
“I’ll bet five florins that he will.”
Leon Vossi snorted like an angry bull. “You cannot afford to bet five florins, young man, and the reason I can afford to make bets is because I never do.”
Adrian, who knew all about Leon Vossi’s often spectacular gambling habits, managed to restrain a smile.
Until Vossi’s own face broke into a huge grin.
“Halt!”
Adrian jumped when he heard the shout. He rose from the chair in the main hall where he’d been waiting, listened for more noise, and then opened the big front doors. The single guard who stood watch there turned to face him.
“Where did that come from?”
“Near the corner, sir. That was Roberto who shouted. I recognized his voice.”
Adrian ran down the street toward the corner of the palazzo.
“Should I come?” called the guard.
“Guard that door, idiot!”
Adrian could barely see the tall building’s corner in the moonlight and he couldn’t see people there. He tried to hear voices, but all he heard were his own boots hitting upon the paving stones.
“Over here!” someone ahead yelled.
Adrian ran towards the voice at the corner of the big palazzo, which was also the intersection of two streets.
Then men became visible in the darkness. Two were facing one, and all had their swords drawn.
Adrian ran up to the two Vossi guards, and found them facing Gian Coslossi.
Coslossi, the Florentine trader, had been one of the four suspects. Now he stood with a fierce look upon his sharp-etched face and a sword in his hand.
Adrian stepped forward, his own sword lifted towards Coslossi.
“Drop your weapon,” said Adrian, “or I’ll run you through.”
“I would prefer to die from a sword than in one of the Vossi’s private dungeons.”
Adrian realized that Coslossi had a good point there.
So, without further talk and without warning, Adrian swung his sword. Coslossi had no time to parry the blow to his right arm. The blade struck bone.
Coslossi dropped his sword.
The guards seized him.
“Where should we take him?” one of them asked Adrian.
“Into the palazzo. Then one of you inform his excellency.”
Adrian watched the three take the stunned and bleeding Coslossi into the night. He then drew his sword blade across the back of his boots, wiping off the blood. Adrian replaced his sword in its sheath, picked up Coslossi’s sword, and walked toward the big front doors of the palazzo.
Coslossi was interrogated in a small room off the main hall. A long table, several chairs, and two broken wheels were the only things in the room. Adrian knew, however, that the room had the advantage of being only a short walk from the door that opened to steps that descended to the palazzo’s dungeon. Florence, unlike many other cities, frowned upon private dungeons and this one had never been used, but the Vossi had installed it just to be ready in case the political climate improved. Adrian suspected that if Coslossi refused to talk the dungeon would be tested tonight.
But Coslossi talked.
He denied everything at first when Adrian questioned him. He claimed that he’d had private business in the area and had come without guards because it was secret. Even after he was searched and the black mask found, Coslossi insisted upon his innocence.
Then Leon Vossi walked into the room with a guard.
Vossi ordered that Coslossi be seated at the table and surrounded by the three guards. Vossi himself took to the chair directly across the table from the prisoner; his face was only eight handspans from Coslossi’s.
“Now,” said Vossi in a quiet tone, “you will tell me who hired you to kill my grandson and why you accepted such a vile commission and why this person wanted my grandson dead and why you killed the others and why this person wanted them dead.”
“The others?” said Coslossi.
“Don’t waste our time, Gian. It angers me.”
“I swear, excellency, that I don’t know of any ‘others,’ only one other. I... I killed Girolamo Eccli.”
“And in Venice you killed a young man named Giuseppe Noppo,” said Vossi.
“No. I was told to kill Eccli and Carlo Vossi. That’s all. I swear that’s all, excellency.”
Vossi’s face reddened. He half stood from his chair, his big hands gripping the table’s edge so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“You dare lie to me,” he screamed. “Do you realize what I can do to you? Do you realize what I can do to your whole family? You can play with numbers. You think I care about the Venetian or the Spaniard or the Milanese? I don’t! Yet you deny them and not your plan to murder my grandson.”
“But that was all,” said Coslossi. “I swear, only two, even though one was Carlo Vossi. Only two.”
Vossi looked at the guard standing behind Coslossi. The guard slammed the prisoner in the back of his head with his right fist, propelling his face into the table. He then grabbed Coslossi by the hair and pulled back his head, which now had blood spurting from the nose.