Vasco, meanwhile had completed the enciphering and was staring in bewilderment at the result:
PBLTN VLAZA ZRJVJ L
He had not even noticed my LAZ in there.
“So there you are, Vizio,” the Maestro said. “That is how it is enciphered. Now let us try some deciphering. We need to know if the same keyword will work for all four intercepted messages. Page one of one, if you please.”
With surprisingly little help from me, Vasco managed to reverse the process and start recovering the original plaintext:
He stopped. “This is gibberish!”
The Maestro sighed. “Perhaps the key word is not the same, then.” He was carefully not looking at me, who could read over Vasco’s shoulder. Unlike Vasco, though, I was reading: 11 Agosto. Il Consiglio dei Deci…*
“Let us try the final dispatch then. Page one of four, please.”
Again Vasco balked after a few groups, but this time a ray broke through the clouds. “Wait a moment! They begin with dates!”
15 Settembre. Il presidio…*
“Why, so they do!” I cried.
The game was over. Vasco hastily covered his work with his hands.
“You don’t need to see this!”
“Of course not,” the Maestro agreed. “You can let Missier Grande into the secret and he can decipher the rest.”
But I was confident that the Maestro himself would break the news to Circospetto, so he could watch Sciara gnash his fangs in mortification. Vasco looked at him as if suspecting the sort of elaborate hoax that I love to play on him every time I get the chance, but which the Maestro considers beneath his dignity.
“This nonsense will translate everything?”
Nostradamus sighed and opened a drawer. “Here is a deciphered version of the page you left in the dining room.”
It was his own version, and Vasco needed some time to decipher the scrawl and artificial letter groups. As he did, he grew paler and paler.
“The interesting thing,” the Maestro remarked, and now he was looking at me, although his expression gave away nothing, “was that Circospetto lied to us.”
“Yes, he did,” I agreed. Today was September 23. If Algol’s fourth dispatch reported news of events on September 15, there had not been time for it to reach Constantinople and the Republic’s spy there to copy it and report back to Venice. Of all the states Algol might be working for, even Rome, the closest, would require almost impossible timing. If the Ten were opening Algol’s mail right here in the city, why did they not know the sender?
Vasco would never work that out, but before he rose to the bait, the door swung wide and in marched Bruno, carrying a bundle of firewood that would have flattened me. We have taught him to knock on doors, but he does not understand “audibly,” so it does no good. Beaming at us, he delivered his burden to the hearth, then strode out again, leaving the door open.
“Chilled?” Vasco inquired icily.
“Important business,” the Maestro said. “I must report to the chiefs. You are welcome to accompany us, Vizio. Go and pack up your things. You can be of no further use here.”
Almost no other commoner in Venice would have dared speak to Vasco like that, but he took it from the Ten’s consultant. Glowering at me to indicate that our temporary truce was now ended, he stuffed the latest paper in his satchel and departed.
The Maestro detests having to go out, and I could not recall him ever doing so two days in a row. He must be expecting a handsome reward, in satisfaction, if not in coin. I hurried to my room to don my best. This time I decided to sacrifice good manners on the altar of security, for I knew we were on dangerous business and would be lacking Filiberto’s dubious protection on the way home. I retrieved my rapier and dagger from the top of the wardrobe.
As Giorgio’s strong oar sped us along the Grand Canal toward the Doges’ Palace, I heard the bells of San Giacomo di Rialto tolling sunset.
13
S o we returned to the palace and the same chamber we had left not twenty-four hours earlier, the Sala dei Tre Capi. The three chiefs themselves must have been rounded up especially to hear our report, for we were kept waiting only a few minutes and Marino Venier still had crumbs in his beard. The Pope himself could not have asked for greater deference than that. Obviously the government was still extremely worried; La Serenissima was anything but serene.
The heat of the day had left the room stifling. The lamps were lit, but their glimmer hardly showed against the remains of daylight. As the Maestro shuffled in, leaning on my shoulder, the chiefs were just settling behind their raised table, and the only aide in sight was Raffaino Sciara, the Grim Reaper in blue. Vasco had left us, gone to report to Missier Grande, no doubt. Sciara placed a chair for the Maestro and retreated to the secretaries’ desk. I saw my master seated, then took my place behind him.
Three old men peered anxiously down at Nostradamus.
Trevisan was in the center. “Well, Doctor? You wasted no time. What news?”
I had never seen the Maestro’s pussycat smile better displayed.
“I have not yet identified your Algol, messere, although I have my suspicions. To confirm or disprove those will take a little longer, but I am satisfied that he exists and I have broken his cipher. I deemed this sufficient cause to interrupt your supper.”
Six eyes turned toward Raffaino Sciara. I looked at him also, because I had never seen a skull look humiliated before.
“You will show Their Excellencies the restored plaintext?” Circospetto demanded acidly.
“I did not venture to pry into it all,” the Maestro said with false humility. I could tell he was enjoying himself hugely, although the others might not be reading the signals. “I have no need to know the Republic’s secrets. I deciphered one page, just to be sure, and most of it seemed to be street gossip with a few nuggets of intelligence. I can confirm that the key is the same in all the four documents. Alfeo?” He handed me the fair copy I had made for him, and I stepped forward to hand it up to Trevisan. Three heads almost banged together as the chiefs all tried to read it at once.
“So what is the cipher?” Sciara demanded, quite as furious now as he was supposed to be.
“A simple polyalphabetic,” the Maestro said mildly.
“I am impressed, Doctor.” Sciara had to admit that, however sourly, after his minions had failed to crack it. “I have always understood that there was no way of breaking a polyalphabetic cipher.”
The three chiefs were still muttering together, jabbing fingers at the plaintext.
“The simple Cardano form used by this Algol person is vulnerable,” the Maestro said, rubbing salt in the wound. “Had he followed the subtler recommendations of the sagacious Monsieur Vigenere and used the plaintext to encode itself, then even I might have failed to break it. As it is, I showed it all to Filiberto Vasco. He will explain the technique to you.” He stretched his lips in a helpful smile.
I came very close to exploding. The thought of Sciara taking lessons from dear Filiberto was exquisite.
“We are deeply impressed, Doctor,” Marino Venier growled. “This document appears to be genuine. As you saw, it does include some covert information.” The chiefs were all smiling, though. Their decision to consult Nostradamus had borne fruit and the skeptics within the Ten would have to eat their doubts. “You said you had other evidence for us?”