A Death in the Venetian Quarter (26 page)

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Authors: Alan Gordon

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
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“Who killed Bastiani?” asked Feste abruptly. “Who killed his lady? It irks me that we haven't found out the answer.”
“I don't know, and I don't think it matters anymore,” replied Plossus. “Bastiani was probably killed by Viadro or Ranieri.”
“They said that they didn't kill him,” said Feste.
“Have you considered the possibility that someone capable of murder is also capable of lying about it?” said Plossus.
“Yes, of course,” said Feste. “But I don't think that they were. And they both died before his lady was burnt.”
“Which could have been an accident or coincidence,” said Plossus. “In any case, it never was the Guild's problem to begin with, and now that the world has changed, even our Lord Treasurer has lost interest in pursuing it.”
“That's true enough,” I said.
My husband looked at me. “Do you think that his lady was the victim of an accident?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I have no idea how to find her killer, and I am no longer certain that it's worth the effort.”
Feste stood and stretched, then dove over Plossus's head, flipping through the air and landing on his feet behind him.
“There,” he said to him. “Better?”
Plossus grinned.
“You know, O chieftain, there is a method that you have not considered,” he said. “And it stands here before you.”
“What is that, my lad?” asked Feste.
Plossus capered over to the euripos and held his arms up before the Serpent Column.
“Behold,” he cried. “The Oracle of the Ancients, whose powers of divination surpassed those of mortal men such as we. I suggest that we invoke them, rouse the spirits from their centuries of dormancy.” He sank to his knees. “Hail, Oracle! We beseech thee, answer our most fervent prayers. Grant us some augury to relieve our master's mind.”
“This is heresy,” I scolded him. “I want no part of it.”
“Besides, you're doing it all wrong,” said Feste, smiling for the first time in days. “There was supposed to be some kind of oil or incense burning in the bowl, and a crowd of vestal virgins undulating in a state of frenzy.”
“Like this?” said Plossus, wiggling before him.
“Not bad,” observed Feste critically. “But do you qualify as a vestal virgin?”
“That's personal,” said Plossus. “But I can reveal to you that—”
He stopped. Feste was staring over his head, his eyes thoughtful.
“I've seen this before someplace,” he said.
“Where?” asked Plossus.
“Quiet,” I whispered. “I've seen that expression before.”
We watched as he walked around the euripos, looking at the column from every angle. Then he stopped again, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“You've figured something out, haven't you?” I said.
“I think that I have,” he said. “And I think that you were right all along.”
“Well, good,” I said, pleased. “It's about time that you came around
to my view of things. I'm delighted to hear it. Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
“Now, if you please, dear husband, explain to me exactly what I was right about.”
“Figure out the how, and you figure out the who,” he said. “Are the two of you free for a little expedition?”
“Right now?” said Plossus.
“Right now.”
“But what about our rehearsal?”
Feste sighed. “We'll do the Two Suitors, the Shepherdess and the Sheep, you do a few minutes on stilts, then we'll finish with three-man juggling, clubs, axes, and torches. Good enough?”
“Could I be the First Sheep this time?” asked Plossus.
“Yes, you can be the First Sheep,” said Feste wearily. “Let's go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to Bastiani's.”
Ravelli: Yeah, it's a my own solution …
Captain Spaulding: Come on, let's go down and get the reward. We solved it, you solved it. The credit is all yours.
—ANIMAL CRACKERS
, GEORGE S. KAUFMAN AND MORRIE RYSKIND
 
 
I
walked toward the quarter at such a brisk pace that Plossus had to pluck at my motley to slow me down.
“What's wrong, lad?” I snapped. “Can't keep up with the old man?”
“Primus, you'll draw attention to all of us, barging through the city like this,” he said. “Secundus, I seem to remember that one of our party is pregnant, although it escapes me at the moment which one it is. I don't have a tertius.”
I slowed down until my wife caught up with us.
“Considering we've done damn little to catch this person, it's rather odd to rush now, don't you think?” she said.
“I want to get there when he's not there,” I replied.
“Now, there's a strategy,” commented Plossus. “Your average murderer-catcher would want to catch the murderer when he is there. But you have always been one for the subtle approach.”
We came to the house of Vitale around noon. The landlord was not about, fortunately. I glanced up at the front of the house and saw no sign of stirring.
“Good,” I said. “Come with me. Keep your weapons handy.”
They glanced at each other. Aglaia grinned and Plossus shrugged, then they followed me inside.
Bastiani lived and died on the top floor, but I stopped on the middle one and listened for a moment, making sure that no one was about. Then I approached the middle room of the three in back and knocked softly on the door. There was no response, so I quietly opened it.
The room was used by Vitale for storage, with linens stacked neatly on shelves to the right, lumber, old furniture, and some tools on the left. I lit a lamp and held it up, looking around until I saw what I was looking for.
“Very good,” I said. “Come with me.”
I led them across the hall to the opposite room where John Aprenos and Tullio stayed. The huntsman and the carpenter were not at home, but the remnants of their professions were still scattered about the room. I took the three spears from their mounts on the wall and handed them to Plossus, then I took his shield and gave it to my wife.
“Are we hunting something?” asked my wife.
“And what are you going to carry?” asked Plossus.
I picked up a small metal tool by the head of Tullio's pallet. “Back to the other room, if you please,” I said.
They followed me, puzzled looks on their faces.
“The problem has always been how was Bastiani killed, if no one gave him poison at his meal and if his lady did not administer it before she left,” I said. “And what type of poison would have been strong enough to kill him but leave him enough strength to first bar his door and shove the blanket against the crack at the bottom to seal off outside noise? Right now, we're underneath his room. Aglaia, where would you say the head of Bastiani's bed would be, given the identical proportions of the two rooms?”
“About here,” she said, pointing to a spot by the left wall.
I took the three spears from Plossus and rested their points on the floor. “Look,” I said, holding the lamp near the floor. There were three small holes on the spot she had indicated.
“Someone has done this before,” said Plossus.
“I think I'm beginning to understand what you're doing,” said Aglaia.
I placed the spear points in the holes, then rested the shafts against each other, tying them together in the middle with a piece of string. The ends stopped just below the ceiling. I held the lamp up and pointed to what I had observed before. There was a lattice of tiny holes cut through the boards that made up this room's ceiling and Bastiani's floor. The wood here was blackened compared to the rest of the ceiling.
“What worms bored those holes, I wonder?” said Plossus.
“Worms with tools. This augers well, I should think,” I said, holding up the tool I had taken from Tullio's bedside. It was a small one, with a fine, thin blade the size of the holes in the ceiling.
“And this?” Aglaia asked, holding up the shield.
I took it and slid it carefully over the tops of the spears. It nestled snug between them and the ceiling, covering the scorched spot completely.
“There's your tripod,” I said. “Let's see what burnt offering they made.”
I took the shield down and inverted it, then rubbed its interior with the tip of my finger. It came away black. I sniffed it, then passed the shield back to the others, who repeated the process.
“Charcoal,” I said. “They placed burning charcoal in the shield and kept it pressed against the ceiling. The fumes had nowhere to go but up. They knew about Bastiani's peculiar habit of keeping the doors sealed tight. That habit sealed his fate as well.”
“That's what killed him?” exclaimed Plossus. “Fumes from burning charcoal?”
“I got the idea when you drew my attention to the Serpent Column. Bastiani died in a stuffy, airless room, and when his neighbors broke the door down, Vitale had a coughing fit and nearly fainted. I have
heard tell of foolhardy blacksmith apprentices dying in such a manner by working with burning charcoal indoors. I would bet that that was what killed the merchant and gave him that odd pink complexion as well.”
“Then you're saying that Tullio killed him,” stated Aglaia. “Or Tullio and Aprenos. But why?”
“We'll have to ask them,” I said. “And unless I miss my guess, that's the huntsman coming now.”
It was Aprenos's mutterings floating up the stairs as he stumbled home from another midday bout with a barrel of ale. We watched the doorway as he entered his room. There was a pause, then a burst of expletives as he realized his gear was gone. He started to rush out of the building, then saw us in the opposite room.
“And just what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded belligerently. Then he stopped, the blood draining from his face as he saw the tripod standing by the wall and the auger in my hand.
“We'd like to talk to you,” I said.
He nodded, then bolted down the stairs.
“Plossus, fetch!” I said.
He nodded, but instead of pursuing Aprenos down the stairs, he ran to the opposite room, stood by the window for a moment, then jumped through it.
There was a cry and a thud, then the sound of a man being dragged up a flight of steps. Plossus appeared, his arms under the huntsman's and his hands locked around Aprenos's chest. He brought him into the room and unceremoniously deposited him on the floor.
“I wanted him conscious,” I said.
“Well, be more specific next time,” replied Plossus as he rolled Aprenos onto his stomach, tied his hands behind his back, then sat him up in the corner of the room and slapped him a few times until his eyes finally opened.
“What do you want?” he asked when he saw us bending over him.
“I am willing to make a deal with you,” I said. “Tell us who hired you to kill Bastiani.”
“Who says I did?” he said defiantly.
“I do,” I said. “And your reaction to seeing the tripod set up confirmed it. Tell us who hired you.”
“And in exchange?” he said.
“We let you go,” I said.
“Tempting, but no go,” said Tullio, standing in the doorway. “Hello, Feste. Are you buying us that drink that you promised?”
He had a hatchet in each hand.
“Same deal goes for you,” I said as the three of us turned to face him.
He held a hatchet up.
“There's a certain code involved,” he explained. “A course of conduct that is expected of one, especially when one was paid in advance.”
“I suggest you put those hatchets down if you want to live,” I said, stepping away from the others. “There are three of us. I have a dagger and a knife, my wife has a pair of daggers, and Plossus—quite frankly, I'm not sure what Plossus uses in a fight.”
“Oh, I'll think of something,” said Plossus easily.
He looked back and forth at the three of us.
“You are more than fools, I see,” he said.
“Just as you are more than a carpenter,” I said. “A convenient profession for arranging accidents. And you have a talent for arson as well.”
He bowed slightly, keeping his eyes on our hands.
“Can you guarantee our safety?” he said, suddenly.
“Not only your safety, but I know a man who might find good use for your skills,” I said.
He looked at his companion, then lowered his hand.
“All right, then,” he said, resigned. He turned away from the door, then whirled abruptly and hurled the hatchet at me.
So, I caught it.
“Really,” I said. “My wife throws axes at me harder than that.”
But he was already dead, slumping down into the doorway, a pair of daggers in his breast.
“Mine hit him first,” said Plossus.
“Maybe,” said Aglaia dubiously.
I turned back to Aprenos, who was shaking with terror.
“The deal still stands,” I said.
“Go hang yourselves!” he said, spitting at us.
I looked at him sadly. “I suppose this code of yours requires avenging your friend's death.”
He didn't reply. I shifted the hatchet to my right hand.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “But I can't spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”
“Just make it quick,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
I did.
Plossus untied his hands. We left Aglaia's dagger in the carpenter's body and dragged him over to the huntsman, then placed their hands on each other's weapon.
“What do you think?” I said as we looked down at the little tableau we had arranged.
“It might convince someone that they killed each other,” said Aglaia.
“I don't think anyone will look too closely,” said Plossus. “Hey, maybe Philoxenites will want you to investigate it.”
“Let's get out of here,” I said, and we slipped quietly out of the building and left the Venetian quarter unremarked.
“And that's an end,” said Plossus as we walked back to Choniates's house.
“No, it isn't,” said Aglaia. “We don't know who hired them.”
“I can't prove anything,” I said, “but I can make a pretty good guess.”
“Let's hear it,” said Plossus.
“Bastiani and his lady were lovers,” I said. “The lady was married, but we never learned the identity of her husband. She wasn't killed until the night that Alexios fled and Isaakios was restored. I think that the timing was significant.”
“How so?” asked my wife.
“Her husband could have had them both killed, but chose to have her lover killed first. He left her alive for some reason, but needed her dead later. The last time I saw her, she had just been visiting Chalke Prison. Tullio and Aprenos had also been there, supposedly visiting a friend. I'm guessing that she had gone to the prison to visit her husband, perhaps to plead for his forgiveness. Whether she obtained it or not, we'll never know. But when Isaakios was released, and had his supporters released as well, the husband needed her dead if he was going to take his next step.”
“His next step being what?” asked Plossus.
“To marry a woman of position and influence,” I said.
“Evdokia,” said Aglaia. “Bastiani's lady was the wife of Alexios Doukas. But why would he leave her alive before that?”
“He was hedging his bets,” I said. “While he was in prison, he could have two women working independently toward obtaining his release. But once he actually had it, he no longer needed both of them. And marriage with the Emperor's niece, the only member of the usurper's family to visit Chalke and show some sympathy, would cement his influence at Blachernae. Before, he was married to an impoverished woman who was cheating on him while he was imprisoned. Now, he's the Chamberlain and a member of the royal family. Quite a step up.”
“And it won't be his last,” said Aglaia. “Evdokia wants to be Empress.
I have a feeling Doukas has no strong objections to the idea.”
“I think I had better warn Philoxenites,” I said.
 

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