“The deceased,” Vasco said, “is nobile homo Danese Dolfin, recently married to Grazia Sanudo, daughter of the ducal counselor, Zuanbattista Sanudo. His body was found in the loggia this morning by the night watchman when he opened the watergate at sunrise. It was not there when I arrived here, as per instructions, at approximately ten o’clock last night, although Doctor Nostradamus judges that the time of death was between eight and ten. I assume the murder was committed just after I arrived, but I have not yet asked the watchman if there were any other callers. The weapon was this rapier, which had been thrust through the deceased from behind and has been identified by Alfeo Zeno as being his.”
Missier Grande looked to me for confirmation. So far not a single muscle in his face had moved.
“It is my rapier,” I said. “I wore it to the palace last night, and the fante who took charge of it will confirm that he returned it to me. When we came home, about seven o’clock, I put it back in its place on top of my wardrobe, out of reach of children. I did not touch it after that. It was stolen.”
“By whom?”
“Filiberto Vasco.”
Vasco chuckled. Nobody else did.
Quazza studied me in silence for a few moments. I studied him right back. Soon after I was apprenticed to the Maestro, Quazza’s daughter was abducted, literally snatched out of her nurse’s arms. The Maestro foresaw her and I recovered her, much as I recovered Grazia Sanudo, except that on that earlier escapade, in excess of juvenile rashness, I veered much closer to collecting my eternal reward. Quazza owes me a debt, therefore, but that will never divert him from doing his duty.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Because he was the only other person I know of to enter my bedchamber during the night.”
The deadly gaze returned to Vasco.
Vasco, regrettably, maintained his confident smirk. “I was keeping watch for intruders in the salone, as instructed. When the storm struck, the casement in Zeno’s room began to bang. After a few serious crashes, I decided he was either dead or absent. To prevent damage to the building, I made my way in and-”
“You picked the lock,” I said.
“-obtained entrance and latched the casement. The bed had not been slept in. I did not look underneath it, nor in the wardrobe. Nor on top of it. I went out and closed the door behind me. I did not see his sword and did not take it.”
My bruised and abraded shin was hurting. The other was undamaged, but in fact I did not have a single leg to stand on. If I denied leaving Ca’ Barbolano during the night, I would easily be proved a liar by the evidence of the broken glass, removable window bars, and wet clothing. Calling Violetta as a witness would merely make everything worse, because the distinction between an “honest” courtesan and a common harlot is easily blurred. The court would assume I was her bravo protector, that Danese had hurt her or failed to pay her, and I had run him through. Off with my head.
“You deny this story?” Missier Grande inquired.
“I cannot answer your questions, lustrissimo.” I did not have to, for Missier Grande is not an inquisitor; he carries out the orders of the Ten.
“But you will answer mine.” The patrician stepped forward. Andrea Zancani was serving a term as one of the Lords of the Night Watch, the Signori di Notte, and thus was Sergeant Torre’s current boss. That is a starter position for the nobility, and I would have put him around the tender age of thirty. He is a resident of San Remo, so I often see him in church.
I bowed to him. “Alas, clarissimo, I was about to explain that this is a matter of state, in which I can answer only to the noble Council of Ten.”
Vasco did not make a sound, but was obviously enjoying himself hugely.
Zancani pouted and turned to Missier Grande. “You are taking this man into custody, lustrissimo?”
“I have no instructions regarding sier Alfeo,” Quazza said. “I should point out, though, that he is in fact of noble birth, sier Alfeo Zeno. Consequently he can only be tried by the Council of Ten itself.”
Zancani pulled a face. “He doesn’t look it. But let us make sure we know where he is when Their Excellencies want him. Sergeant, arrest sier Alfeo.”
“Bah! That is absurd!” the Maestro said. “Missier Grande, you know what work I am engaged in, or at least for whom I am working. You know why your vizio was sent here last night-to protect Alfeo. Now you will let him be dragged off to share a lockup with drunks and thugs? Who defends him there?”
Missier Grande looked thoughtfully at Vasco, who flinched. Yes, truly, his happiness was quite cast down. If he were sent to the local dungeon with me in order to continue guarding me, he would be in considerable danger from the other inhabitants.
“I should welcome his company,” I said, “but Sergeant Torre may resent the damage to the reputation of his establishment.”
“I shall put Zeno under house arrest,” Missier Grande said, “and leave-”
“Absurd!” the Maestro repeated furiously. “Enough of this nonsense.” He grabbed his staff from me and elbowed me aside. “Come and sit down, clarissimo, and you also, Father. Alfeo, bring a chair for Missier Grande, and you, Sergeant, kindly send one of your men to fetch Giorgio, my gondolier.”
The invitation to be seated obviously excluded Vasco and Torre, so I brought one more chair to the fireplace and then stationed myself behind the Maestro. Zancani, Quazza, and the priest sat opposite us, seeming wary, inscrutable, and mildly amused respectively.
“Now, Alfeo,” the Maestro said without trying to look around at me. “Why were you talking such rubbish just now?”
“Rubbish, master?” Mainly I had been trying to muddy the waters and pin Vasco down so he could not change his evidence to suit the case he wanted to make.
“You know what I mean! What did you really learn from looking at the body?”
“I may have been a little hasty in jumping to conclusions,” I admitted. “Now I realize that I see no gory footsteps on our floor here, so the watergate loggia is not drenched in a mixture of rain and blood, as it would be if Danese bled to death there. So he could not have been murdered downstairs. He died somewhere else and was brought here later. In fact, he was almost certainly dead before the vizio claims he arrived at Ca’ Barbolano.”
“With your rapier in him?” Vasco demanded.
“That is a curious detail, isn’t it?” In fact that detail was almost driving me crazy. Fortunately I do know something about ghouls, so I could blame Algol, even if I had no hope of convincing a court. “Dolfin died facedown, but he could not have been run through from behind and fallen forward, as one would expect of a man stabbed in the upper back. Does the point of that sword show damage, Filiberto?”
Vasco looked and said, “It’s blunted,” with a poor grace.
“A good lunge with a rapier will go right through a skull,” I continued. “A lung would offer almost no resistance, nor would a rib, and yet the sword did not break, so Danese did not fall with it sticking out of his chest. Yet it must have protruded from his breast because that was where his ruptured aorta hemorrhaged most. The wound in his right leg also came from behind, and we must explain the separate bloodstains on the back of his neck, where the ruff has been crushed. There is no mud on his dorsal side, as there is on the ventral.”
“And your conclusion?” the Maestro asked impatiently.
My conclusion was what I had seen in the fire and had described to him at the time. “Danese was in a fight, master. The murderer wrestled his sword away from him and stabbed him with it.”
“You base that assumption on the fact that his right thumb is broken?”
I had missed that. “Of course, and his wrist shows damage also. These things may have happened when he fell, but more likely when the killer wrenched the sword out of his grip. The leg wound must have come next, when he was trying to run away. He would have fallen. Having disabled him, his assailant then callously stabbed him in the back as he was trying to rise. Danese probably still tried to get up, and the murderer put a bloody shoe on the back of his neck to hold him down while he bled to death.”