The Alchemist's Pursuit Read Online Free PDF Page A

Barbolano. They were threatening to tell Mama that her husband was waiting for the brothel to open. He seemed to be holding his own quite well, but Giorgio has a prudish streak and would be happy to escape. We boarded and set off to Castello.
    Our way led along the little Rio San Remo and then out into the Grand Canal, which was magnificent that fine afternoon, with just enough of a wind to ruffle the blue water. The trading fleets were due to leave soon, so many lighters were heading to the basin to load them, sweeping past us, borne onward by sails or many oars. The scene was lovely, but Violetta was lovelier. I rolled down the blinds on the felze so we could do a little preliminary cuddling. Regrettably, her mind was still elsewhere. I wanted Helen and she was hazel-eyed Niobe, the one who mourns.
    â€œHe was a good man,” she said, “Gradenigo, I mean.”
    â€œNot a client?”
    â€œYou know I never discuss my patrons. Besides, he was before my time. It will be a huge funeral.” Her finger idly drew patterns on my knee. “You didn’t discover what he wanted to tell the Maestro?”
    â€œNo, but I can try to find out later. Good man how?”
    â€œHe gave much to charity. He was a member of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista, and he paid to rebuild one of the chapels in the Frari.”
    â€œI don’t recall him ever holding office.” No one can keep track of all the noblemen in the Great Council, but I try to stay up to date on the inner circle, the fifty or sixty old men who actually run the Republic, rotating the senior offices among themselves.
    â€œHe did,” my love said sadly. “He was a senator—maybe even one of the Ten—but he withdrew from politics years ago. As I recall, he suffered some bad health and never returned to the broglio .”
    I had never seen her be so morose before, but having a close friend murdered will upset anyone. Like the Maestro, I found it hard to believe that Lucia had been murdered if her finery had not been stolen.
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    Investigating a mystery with Violetta was almost absurdly easy. Sbirri are mostly ignorant, rough men, and if they have ever heard of Nostradamus, they at once suspect black magic. They hassle apprentices on principle. Another reason I stay away from sbirri as much as I can is that their offices tend to be dark and smelly places, reeking of centuries of prisoners. Castello’s was no different, but we strolled in and I presented my servant, the dead woman’s niece, who was seeking more information about her aunt’s sad end.
    Violetta-Delilah was emphatically not a male apprentice. She was spring sunshine and very soon had the duty captain almost drooling, with his pupils dilated like water buckets. He was a hulking lunk who kept scratching; the vermin inhabiting jails may have any number of legs.
    He insisted on taking down Violetta’s name and address, although I noted that the paper went into a pocket in his cloak, which didn’t matter because the information she had given did not refer to anyone in particular. He would be happy to tell madonna what he knew, he murmured, leering. He did not need to look up the records, he sighed. He had not been there himself, he whispered, but he had heard it from the other constables. Besides, how could anyone forget a murder victim being delivered by a senator ?
    Violetta clasped her hands to her mouth. “A senator?”
    â€œSenator Marco Avonal. A fine nobleman, to trouble himself with a body.”
    â€œAnd what happened then? She was buried right away?”
    He shrugged with an oily don’t-trouble-your-pretty-head smile. “The Board of Health insists, madonna. If the body is not recognizable, then we note anything that might help it be identified and call in the morticians. She was laid to rest on the Isola before sunset, and may the Lord have mercy on her soul.”
    Isola di San Michele is the cemetery