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The Maestro curled his lip. “I see no reason to choose between the two testimonies just yet.”

“I assure you that the strangler I saw was no blushing Christian maiden, and I refuse to believe that a kapikulu assassin could disguise himself as one well enough to deceive her grandfather, however doddery he was getting.”

“Faugh! You blather like a lace maker. If this affair were straightforward, I could have solved it in ten minutes with the crystal. By all means fold the fair Bianca to your manly breast and dry her tears. The girl may be unduly upset because she saw the glasses being switched and chose not to intervene. Speak with her father, also, the great minister. Find out where he was on Valentine’s Eve, and his son also.”

“Benedetto. He’s supposed to be at the University of Padua.”

“It’s only twenty-five miles to Padua. He would have been sent for as soon as his grandfather fell sick.”

I failed to see how he could have switched glasses at a party in Venice when he was miles away on the mainland, but a well-behaved apprentice does not make fun of his master’s instructions. I nodded, being well behaved.

“And you still have to see Senator Tirali and his son.”

“Pasqual Tirali. Master, I admit I have personal reasons for wanting to send sier Pasqual Tirali to the galleys, but I cannot imagine his managing to poison a wine glass and switch it with another without Violetta noticing.”

“Include him anyway.” The Maestro scowled across at his bookshelves. “Bring me the Midrasch-Na-Zohar before you go. You had better start with Father Farsetti. You may be able to catch him about now. And don’t forget what I said about Bruno and your sword.”

I left him with his ferrety nose deep in the Rabbi Ben Yohai’s masterpiece. If he was willing to try cabalism, he must be really desperate.

11

V ioletta and I have a longstanding agreement. I never ask her to give up her career as a courtesan, because I know how much she values the freedom it gives her, saving her from the closeted, subservient life of a “respectable” woman. Housebound boredom would kill her in a month, she says, and I believe her. Her side of the pact is never to offer me money or expensive gifts. The only exception I allow is something to wear, to mark either my birthday or the anniversary of the day we became lovers. She interprets the terms liberally, which is why I could buckle on my rapier and matching dagger of superlative Toledo steel. I covered them with my kidskin cloak, also given by her.

Bruno is the gentlest and most amiable of men. He beamed with joy when I signed that I wanted him to accompany me. Then he noticed the sword under my cloak and frowned mightily. I signed danger and maybe to tell him I was not going out to pick a fight, but when I told him to bring a cudgel, he glowered down at me like a thunderstorm, folded his great arms, and grew roots.

We often have this argument. I dropped to my knees and clasped my hands in prayer. He scowled, lifted me bodily, and held me there until I put my feet down; but then he did go and fetch the only weapon he will tolerate-Mama Angeli’s heaviest flatiron in a canvas bag with a shoulder strap. Most men would balk at having to lug something like that around for long, but Bruno barely notices the weight. Why it is a more acceptable defense than a stout stave I cannot understand and he cannot explain. I grinned, he smiled sheepishly, and off we went.

We could have run down the back stairs and gone out the servants’ door. It never occurred to me to do so. Instead we left by the watergate as usual, carefully negotiating the narrow ledge along the facade of Ca’ Barbolano to the corner of the building and the calle. It was easier for me than Bruno, who takes up much more space.

Seagulls were swimming on the strangely empty canal. This was the day of the funeral, so the city was in mourning for its procurator, and already I heard bells ringing in the distance. The Marciana porters were not working and the building site on the far side lay silent. Once we had made our way through the maze of calli, we found the morning crowds in the campo much decreased, and few hawkers making their rounds. Even the gossip session around the wellhead was thin, although there were more men than usual. We paused there to chat as neighbors do. I chatted. Bruno just smiled and nodded. Two girls teasingly warned me not to let my companion step on me, but most women are scared of Bruno.

As befits a small parish, San Remo has a small church. It is old and quaint, but it does have good stained glass and Father Farsetti is a personal friend of Jacopo Palma the Younger, who is the finest painter working in the city at the moment. Two of his early paintings hang in the church and afficionados come in droves to argue over them. There was no one arguing there that morning, but the door to the confessional was closed, so Father Farsetti was about his holy duties. I said a few prayers, including one for Bertucci Orseolo. Bruno wandered around, admiring the pictures and the glass. He does not understand churches and what happens there.

A woman came out of the confessional and I went in. Father Farsetti probably knew what to expect as soon as he heard my voice. I admitted to summoning a demon from hell and some lesser sins. He demanded to know why I had invoked the fiend, so I told him. He disapproved, of course, but he could see that an attempt to assassinate the doge justified extraordinary countermeasures. As usual, he was more worried about my sinful relationship with Violetta, but every man in Venice has that sort of problem at least sometimes. He gave me a thorough nagging, absolution, and a much smaller penance than I had feared.

We emerged by our separate doors and bid each other good morning. He gave Bruno his blessing. Bruno, who had been guarding my sword and cloak for me, just smiled politely. There were no other penitents waiting.

Father Farsetti is a small, birdlike man with a warm smile and an enormous laugh. He isn’t quite up to Isaia Modestus at chess-I can beat him sometimes-but he is incredible at chess without boards, able to take on the Maestro and me at the same time and usually win both games.

“You must come and dine with us again soon, Father,” I said. “Arguing with you gives my master an appetite, which he sorely needs.”

He lit his smile. “That is a worthy justification for a personal pleasure. Before you go, though, I have a book on the role of political assassination in Islamic history that I think might interest you.”

Without asking whatever had given him that idea, I assured him that I would enjoy reading it. And so we crossed to the side door of the church and went out that way, emerging into a small courtyard between the church nave on one side, the priest’s house on the other, with the transept closing off the end. I followed Father Farsetti out.

“That’s him!”

There were six of them. One of them had been keeping watch at the corner to alert the others when I came out of the main door. The other five had just been waiting. I couldn’t dive back into the church, because the way was blocked by Bruno, doubled over as he followed me out. Fortunately the bravos needed an instant to react because I had appeared behind them. Had Bruno and I emerged where they expected, they could have come after us and made short work of us in the open. In the courtyard they were going to be hampered by lack of space.

My rapier flashed out. They produced stilettos, but those blades looked as long as swords to me, and bravos know how to use swords. Luckily I had left my cloak just draped on my shoulders, unfastened. I swirled it loose and leaped into the corner to have my back protected. Father Farsetti was hurled aside, his yells ignored.

I parried a slash from the man on my right and enveloped the one on my left in my cloak. My riposte took the first man in the face, but by that time numbers three and four had arrived, number two had shaken off my cloak, and Father Farsetti was bellowing for help at the top of his well-trained lungs. I did not expect to be there to welcome it. I had my dagger out and was parrying with both hands, much too busy just staying alive to attempt to injure my opponents. In theory a rapier should keep a stiletto out of range, and even two stilettos should not be an impossible match in daylight. Five most certainly were.