Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy Read Online Free PDF Page A

tedious process and yielded nothing practical. My instincts told me that there was fear in the air, and word of the murder was already travelling fast.
    It was already well past midday by the time we reached the bridge. It was, as usual, a mess of shops and stalls and bodies crammed tight as they could fit. The Ponte Vecchio was quite the collection, filled with every sort of shop one could hope for. At one end were the grocers and meat markets, butchers and fishmongers peddling their aromatic goods in full view as shoppers passed. Other shops here were well known for their exquisite gold and silver works, from filigree to sculpture and jewelry. There were some that specialized in products ranging from crystal and glassware to imported antiques.
    As we passed a row of goldsmith workshops, Pietro asked, "Don’t you think it would be wise to ask around here as well?”
    I’d considered that briefly, but this area seemed less likely the kind of place our man would be familiar. All around us were members of the wealthy class, the popolo grasso , all eager to blow their florins on frivolities like cups encrusted with jewels, or salt cellars made of solid gold and silver. I doubted that our man could afford to keep company like this, and he certainly didn’t have the fashion sense for it, but decided it was worth it to be sure.
    “Fine then, let’s check with some of the shops and see if they’ve heard anything.”
    We questioned several of the proprietors, but none of them claimed to know anything of the man we described. Most of them seemed to have nothing to hide, but to my disappointment there were a couple that I found less than convincing. Whether they were lying or were just nervous, perhaps about some shady backdoor deal that they feared I was investigating, I could not tell and did not have the time nor the patience to probe further.
    After what had turned out to be a predictably unremarkable endeavor, we approached one large workshop near the far end of the bridge. The man behind the counter was thin and wiry, a pair of spectacles perched atop his nose. His skin was taut and his appearance still youthful, though the closer I scrutinized his features the more exhausted he seemed. Dark circles sullied the folds under his eyes. A few premature gray hairs flecked in his light brown mane and beard.
    “Excuse me, messere.”
    “Yes, can I help you with something?” His voice was hoarse, and he seemed dizzyingly preoccupied. He looked up at me then and it seemed to take an extra moment to register everything.
    “We’re looking for information on a man found in the river this morning. Would you know of anyone missing, or have you heard anything suspicious today?”
    His chest sunk in a muffled sigh. “No, no, I haven’t. I’ve been completely overwhelmed with work today. My men are short-staffed again, and I’ve been trying to keep up with my commissions. My lazy brother, Ugo, is late yet again!”
    “Can you tell us more about your brother?”
    “He was supposed to come in but I haven’t heard a word from him today. I thought he might have overslept, which unfortunately is not out of the ordinary. But I’ve been busy all morning occupying myself with his menial work just to keep this workshop running smoothly. What hour is it?”
    “It’s midday,” I said. My heart was racing. “When was the last time you saw your brother?”
    “I saw him two days ago here at my bottega. We often quarrel, and that night we had an especially bad argument. He left that night and said he’d be back today, but I didn’t think…”
    “What does he look like?” I interrupted, regretting my rudeness at once.
    “He’s tall, about your size in fact. Light complexion, sandy hair like myself. Pale blue eyes.”
    “Do you know what he might have been wearing?”
    He laughed. “My brother, alas, has the mad sense of a wild dog and the pride of a cock. I couldn’t answer your question any other way than to say this: whatever