“I am only here to observe,” he told Imer. “This man is a state prisoner. He has agreed to cooperate with the evening’s procedure.”
Pulaki nodded as if he would agree to anything that would delay his return to prison.
“And I am merely following sier Alfeo Zeno’s orders,” Imer twitched, dissociating himself from anything horrible that might happen and probably would.
Missier Grande turned his regard on me. It traveled from my cap to my shoes and back up to my eyes. “So what orders do you have for me, clarissimo?”
I find jokes from Gasparo Quazza unnerving. “I believe that all you have to do is observe, lustrissimo. What action you take is up to you. The meeting will be held in that room there. So far only my master is here. Will Domenico Chiari be attending?”
“No. He has other business.” I wondered if Quazza’s eyes had always been that cold or if his job had made them so. He turned and walked into the dining room. I heard him greet the Maestro.
“What did they do to you?” Benzon whispered.
Pulaki just shook his head, unwilling or unable to say.
“We don’t need you yet,” I said. “Go and wait in there, please.” I pointed to the salone, and he limped away while the three of us stared after him in horror.
All states use torture, of course. The confessions it extracts come with no guarantee of truth, so its main value is to incriminate people-either the victim or others-and terrorize all the rest. Was Domenico Chiari even then twisting on the cord with blocks of stone tied to his feet? In the Republic such questions are never answered and rarely even asked.
Now the suspects were starting to arrive, all determined not to keep the Council of Ten waiting. The Tirali men were first-Ambassador Giovanni in scarlet robes, sier Pasqual in black. They were steadying Violetta between them as she teetered up the stairs on her ten-inch stilt courtesan shoes. She was a grounded angel in a silver brocade gown, glittering with precious gems, her red-gold hair piled in two horns, her low neckline exposing peerless breasts padded to ride high. Her eyes widened when she saw me. I thought I recognized Aspasia behind them, calculating the political significance of my finery. If clothes spoke, mine were saying surprising things that evening. I kissed the ambassador’s sleeve. He was too gracious to ask, but he was definitely puzzled, wondering why his intelligence on me had been faulty.
Pasqual named Violetta to me as if we had never met. A glint of Medea’s smile warned me to be careful, but I had to live up to my debonair persona.
“I have heard tales of madonna Vitale and thought they were only myths. Now I see that they are legends.”
Aspasia’s response was instant. “Your subtlety flatters my wits, messer!”
“Alas, your wits are faster than my wit, madonna.”
“I keep my wits about me and they introduce me to others.”
“To wit?”
“To who? To you, messer.”
“Can you keep up with this sort of play, Pasqual?” the ambassador asked.
“Usually.” Pasqual was eyeing me thoughtfully.
Clothes talk, but mine had run out of funny things to say. I asked the Tiralis to wait in the salone.
And already the Orseolo contingent was approaching, three figures draped in mourning. I had expected Enrico to escort his daughter, but was surprised he had brought Benedetto. Bene had his sling on again, so perhaps he just wanted to remind everybody of his alibi. Unarmed, he did not look like a good candidate to be the jack of swords. Bianca, alas, was veiled and shrouded. Displayed as she should be, she would give even Violetta competition. I introduced Imer to the men, we both kissed the minister’s sleeve, and I sent them all off to the salone.
The heady sense of power I obtained from ordering a great minister provoked me to smile broadly when I turned to the stairs and realized that Filiberto Vasco had arrived in time to see me do it. He was escorting the northern barbarians.
I made them welcome. “You all know the learned Attorney Ottone Imer, of course…”
Vasco started to translate, but milord Bellamy did not wait for him.
“This outrages me! I have sent complaints to the English ambassador.”
“I hope it will be over very quickly, messer. ”
The foreigner’s absurd horned mustache quivered. He began to gabble and Vasco rattled off a translation. He was good. “We were due to leave today. The boatmen we had hired insisted on payment. The carriage waiting on the mainland will want an extra day’s money. Who will compensate me for these losses?”
There are times when my humor gets the better of my discretion. I pointed to the salone. “In there, messer, is sier Enrico Orseolo-the elder of the two men in mourning weeds. He is one of the six great ministers of the Republic. More even than the doge himself, the great ministers run the government. Why don’t you go and present your problem to him?”
That, I thought, ought to put the chickens in the fox house. As Sir Feather offered his wife his arm, the big woman disconcerted me yet again.
“How much for your outfit, Alfeo?”
“You want me to quote it as a complete set or item by item?”
“Every stitch.” Either she had the strangest way of flirting I had ever met, or her wheels were well off center. I could engage verbal rapiers with Violetta, but the foreigner’s signals confused me.
“Perhaps you and I can discuss that after the meeting?” I said, half expecting her husband to whip out his sword and start yelling at me. He just took her elbow and steered her away.
I noted with amusement that the buzz of conversation from the salone ceased abruptly when the foreigners entered. I smiled at Vasco, who was practicing looking intimidating but had a long way to go.
“You are also welcome, Vizio. The guests are assembled through there, and Missier Grande is in here.” I turned to Imer. “ Lustrissimo , that should be everybody.” I was wrong.
Imer was not looking at me. He was staring aghast at the stairs. Majestic in his scarlet robe and patriarchal 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?”