"I will. Did you learn anything?" he asked me.
"We have a name for the killer, the nickname Caterina knew him by."
"Excellent, that will help. Now let's have dinner."
He began to tap his way painfully forward. I exchanged surprised glances with Violetta, for only very rarely does he express any interest in food. I was even more surprised when I followed her in and saw the guest waiting there-Alessa, no less. I had never known her to visit Ca' Barbolano before.
I suppose he really is a wizard.
We all sat down and Mama Angeli came bustling in with loaded platters of her superb Tagliolini ai Calamaretti.
"We found Matteo-" I began.
"No talking business at table!" Nostradamus decreed.
Either he was just being perverse, because he loves to talk business at table, or he did not want Alessa to know what we had been doing. Either way, I was quite happy to start eating. I got one mouthful of octopus down before he started in on me.
"Alfeo, yesterday you began explaining to me how the Venetians elect their doge. I am still anxious to hear more about this fascinating procedure."
Everyone in Venice knows this. Alessa and Violetta smiled politely to hide bewilderment. Talking and eating at the same time is a skill I have yet to master, but I get a lot of practice when the Maestro is in that sort of mood. I detest cold food, though.
"The Grand Council chooses thirty members by lot," I said. "The thirty then reduce their number to nine, again by lot. The nine elect a committee of forty, and the forty are reduced to twelve. Twelve elect twenty-five, reduced to nine; the nine elect forty-five, reduced to eleven; the eleven elect forty-one. And the forty-one elect the doge." Quickly I scooped a loaded forkful into my mouth.
"We were discussing things that make or do not make sense at the time, I recall. You can explain the sense of all that Byzantine tomfoolery?"
"What I have always assumed," Alessa announced bravely-and in a slow, deliberate tone to give me time to chew-"is that the wise ancestral fathers of the Republic wished to avoid the dangers of faction. How terrible it would be if the Grand Council split into two or three contesting groups! That is what would happen, or might happen, if they merely relied on election. And likewise, if the choice were made solely by lot, then we might find ourselves with some incompetent idiot as head of state."
We have done that a few times anyway, but it would be criminal sedition to say so.
"It must go further than that," Violetta said in Aspasia's dry, calculating tones. "Not factions, I suspect, but a matter of the 'ins' and the 'outs.' The inner circle, the handful that like to think of themselves as 'the First Ones,' are certain to have matters arranged so that the next doge will always be chosen from among their own number. All this electing-then-reducing rigmarole allows them several chances to take hold of the process. Once they have a majority on any of the electing committees, they can make certain that only 'sound' people are chosen in the next round. From then on they have the election under their control."
I nodded to show that her analysis made sense, but I noticed the Maestro smirking as if he had another explanation for what is certainly a bizarre procedure. I was sure he wouldn't tell me if I asked, and Alessa changed the subject.
"The food is admirable," she said, "and the ambience quite commendable. I shall marry Alfeo so I can come and live here."
I choked on a throatful of octopus.
The Maestro soon tired of the idle chat and began to fidget, because he really did want to talk business. It may be that the three of us dragged the meal out a little just to turn the tables on him, but eventually we finished our dolce. Mama brought in cups of the newfangled and expensive drink called khave, and we leaned back in our chairs.
I was ordered to report, so I did.
When I had finished, Alessa was visibly tense.
"Madonna?" the Maestro inquired waspishly. "Did you know any of these wretched women?"
Alessa's plump fingers kept playing with her pearls. "All of them slightly, none of them well."
"All about your own age?"
"One must never ask a woman her age, Doctor, especially a courtesan." Even she could not smile at her joke.
"You have nothing more to say?"
"No, Doctor." She shook her head vigorously. "Except the obvious one, that this is a very horrible affair."
Nostradamus bristled. "Paraphrasis!"
"What?"
"Double-talk! I invited you to dine, madonna, because I knew from donna Vitale that the murdered woman Lucia da Bergamo had retired from her profession. Information from a man I questioned this morning suggested that Caterina Lotto may have had some undetermined interaction with a prominent patrician politician eight years ago, and I knew that she was living in San Samuele, an area favored by second- or even third-class prostitutes. In other words, I had reason to believe that two of the three victims that we know about were of roughly your generation. I ask you again, madonna, have you ever met, or heard of, a man known as Honeycat?"
Stony-faced, Alessa shook her head.
"Can you think of any man-a wealthy man, clearly-who patronized courtesans about eight years ago, who might have decided to start murdering them off? Or any reason why he should?"
Again she shook her head. Violetta caught my eye, hinting that Alessa was lying.
"If you know Honeycat, you are in very grave danger," the Maestro said.
Alessa rose, towering and statuesque on platform soles. "I thank you for the splendid meal, Doctor. If you would be so kind as to ask your boatman…"
I went and fetched Giorgio to take her home to the house next door. I steadied her arm as we descended the stairs.
"Is it normal for clients to hide their identity behind nicknames?" I asked.
"Clients?" Alessa shot me an amused glance. "Johns, you mean. Johns will try almost anything, Alfeo my dear, and can always find prostitutes willing to cooperate. Courtesans are different. Wealthy Venetian men provide little education for their daughters and keep their wives housebound-some don't get out more than two or three times a year. They have no friends, no recreations. Then the men wonder why their womenfolk are so dull! They patronize courtesans at least as much for entertainment as for sex, probably more. They pay enormous sums for the best of us, and wealth gives us power. We are not hungry or desperate. To answer your question, yes, I have had patrons who wished to remain anonymous. I almost always knew who they were before they asked, and if I didn't I made it my business to find out."
"But no Honeycat?"
"No Honeycat. Hercules, Don Juan, Squirrel, Jupiter, but no Honeycat."
We had reached the watergate, and I held her hand as she embarked in the gondola.
"Be careful, Alessa," I said.
I ran back up the forty-eight steps, but found Violetta and the Maestro where I had left them.
"Did you believe her?" he demanded.
"No," I said. "She knows. She may be too frightened to tell us."
"Leave her to me," Violetta said. "Meanwhile, the Maestro and I think we should see what we can discover about Ruosa da Corone. I have a friend in San Girolamo who'll know where she lives. Lived, I mean."
I looked for permission to the Maestro, who nodded disagreeably. "It's all a waste of time. Go if you must, but the Ten will have your Honeycat safely locked up somewhere by now."
I was inclined to agree, but I would not pass up the excuse to go adventuring with my lady. It seemed that the Maestro was not going to rise from his dining room chair until I had removed Violetta, so I did that. Smirking like an adolescent, I offered my arm and escorted her to the stairs.
"My master makes me work so hard!"
She was in a serious mood. "I don't see why you have to do all this asking of questions. The sbirri can do that. Why can't he just peer into his crystal ball?"
"Looking for what? He needs something to hunt for." I did not mention that the Maestro might have to try foreseeing the next victim, but even for that he would still need some sort of a pattern to start from. "You didn't know Ruosa?"