Chiari said, “I think the picture is in the master’s style, painted by one of his pupils, messer.”
“No doubt, but it purports to be signed by him. How much did Feather pay for it?”
“I don’t remember.”
I had no need to ask more questions. He was pale as ashes and Vasco scarlet with fury.
“What are you implying, Zeno?”
“Truce, remember? One or two bad fish in the net I could understand, but the Feathers’ association with your friend turned out to be astonishingly unfortunate for them. The lady showed me six paintings, and only one of them was any good. Your friend must consort with very unscrupulous dealers. Does he spy for the Ten?”
Vasco said, “Yes,” through clenched teeth. Domenico gaped at him in horror.
“So when a rich foreigner and his wife arrived and rented a luxurious-”
“No!” Chiari squeaked. “His bankers in London wrote to Ca’ Pesaro before he even arrived-”
“Immaterial,” I told Vasco. “Ca’ Pesaro reported the London request to the Ten-or the Ten opened their mail, perhaps. Probably both. House Pesaro was told to assign your friend to the Feathers, because very rich foreigners are suspect. He discovered they had more money than knowledge, and no evil intent whatsoever. He proceeded to swindle them blind, feeding them the sort of junk that is painted only to dupe tourists. He may even have embroidered his reports to Circospetto to make the Feathers seem dangerous enough to justify watching. What sort of kickback did the forgers give him, do you suppose? Half? A third? Then either the Bellamys found out what he was doing and threw him out, or the Ten decided that they were harmless and pulled him off the case. I remind you, my dear Filiberto, that while we Venetians are the world’s hardest bargainers, we do always keep our word. Swindling customers is just not in the cards.”
Vasco was snarling. “Have you finished?”
“Certainly. I proved my point, didn’t I?”
“The truce is ended. Get out of here.”
“Do I have to report this thief to the Lion’s Mouth?”
“I will take care of him. Get out!” Vasco repeated furiously.
Domenico Chiari crumpled to the ground in a dead faint, causing heads to turn. Spectators cried out in alarm, with undercurrents of anger against the bullying vizio. I bowed with an ironic flourish and left Vasco to deal with the situation.
About ten points to me.
As I limped back across the campo, I reflected that I should have played my hand a little more subtly. I had not discovered the truth about the Feathers’ visit to Karagounis. They had insisted that the Greek had invited them to the Imer book viewing; he had denied doing so. No doubt Domenico Chiari had arranged that misunderstanding for his own purposes. Well, although Karagounis was beyond questioning, Chiari was not and the Ten’s tormentors would soon strappado the truth out of him.
“You’re looking happy, Alfeo,” Giorgio said, as he rowed us sedately along the Grand Canal.
“It’s been such a wonderful morning! I haven’t had so much fun since I was four years old and pulled wings off flies.”
“Now you pull feathers off the vizio?”
“Darling Filiberto!”
“Be careful of him, Alfeo. He’s a dangerous enemy.”
“He’s a wonderful enemy. He never stops trying.”
“That’s what I mean,” Giorgio said.
It was too early to call on Violetta, so I went upstairs to see if the Maestro had opened and read my letter from Ambassador Tirali.
He had, of course. Then he had used it as a bookmark, so I had to ask him where it was and he had to find it for me. He was still deep in his pursuit of Hermes and Mercury. While reporting on the last couple of hours I tried to bring some order to the incredible clutter he accumulates the moment my back is turned.
He nodded. “Satisfactory. There are some letters to write, and…About tonight…” He fixed me with a scraggy eye. “Wear your sword.”
He knows perfectly well that wearing a sword at night is illegal.
“Certainly, although I wouldn’t be much good with it. My leg still hurts.”
“I mean for appearances. How much would it cost to dress you like a real noble?”
“I am a real noble.” I let my annoyance show. “You really did rummage about in my memories last night, didn’t you?”
He managed to seem surprised. “I asked you only questions relevant to the murder, nothing private. My point is that I can’t shout. I can’t overawe people. I need you to keep control of the meeting tonight. You have to look the part. Clothes talk. How much?”
“You want me to control Missier Grande, his vizio, a great minister, an ambassador, the ambassador’s son, an attorney, and possibly the entire Council of Ten?” I said, awed. “I am humbled by your trust. Perhaps the doge would lend me his corno? To dress me as a noble from scratch would take at least a week, but the Ghetto’s pawnshops are full of good stuff. I could look there and have things altered to fit. Four or five ducats. Ten would be better. Otherwise it will look pretentious and fake.”
He swallowed as if it hurt. “Go and do it. Enter it in the ledger.”
“As what?”
“Maintaining appearances. Hurry before I change my mind.”
23
B runo has his own strange ways of knowing things, and when I returned to the casa with my worthy apparel, he became excited and asked if the Maestro was going to need him later. When I nodded, he ran to get out the carrying chair and strap it on. For the next two hours he wandered about wearing it, a menace to the Barbolano artwork every time he turned around.
But eventually I was ready too. Blue has always been my best color. It sets off my sultry good looks, or something. I had chosen a doublet of peacock blue silk, embroidered in gold, with a wide white ruff collar, puffed sleeves tied at points with silver ribbon and frothy white linen peeking out through the slashes. My buttons were nuggets of amber shaped like pears, and amber strawberries decorated my belt. Below a very low waist I sported matching knee britches and white silk stockings tight and sheer enough to reveal every wrap of the bandage on my calf. My fur-trimmed short cloak of silver brocade hung on my shoulders so as not to conceal my sleeves; my bag-shaped bonnet stood half a yard high. I hoped Violetta would be able to control herself when she clapped eyes on such splendor. With a last minute adjustment to the hang of my rapier and dagger, I minced out into the salone in my gold-buckled shoes.
Christoforo cried out and dropped to his knees. Corrado and Archangelo came running to see what was wrong and were even more overcome, falling on the floor, writhing and moaning. Then came a torrent of younger brothers and sisters, Mama herself, and Giorgio in his best red and black. Giggling at their clowning brothers, the small fry began bowing and curtseying. The merriment stopped when a steady thumping announced the arrival of the Maestro in his black physician robe-even the twins mind their manners near him, having been warned so often that he might turn them into frogs. Which the rest of us think would be an improvement, mind you.
Bruno rushed over and knelt to offer the chair. I went to assist, moving carefully in case my cloak fell off and shamed me. The Maestro eyed my radiance with intense dislike.
“How much did all that cost?”
“About twenty ducats, I suppose. It isn’t brass and glass, you know.”
He said, “Obscene!” and clambered awkwardly into the chair.
As soon as he was settled, I tapped Bruno’s shoulder to let him know he could now rise, and the three of us followed Giorgio downstairs. It was a fine evening and Carnival revelers were out already, boatloads of them singing along with their gondoliers, even on sleepy Rio San Remo. The Maestro and I made ourselves comfortable in the felze -I having some trouble managing sword and bonnet, I admit. Bruno sat in the bow to block the view as only he could. Giorgio pushed off.