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Authors: Alan Gordon

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BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
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Plossus and I glanced at each other. I refilled Viadro's cup. He barely noticed.
“So the men who had the best opportunity to slip some poison into his drink were a respected merchant who had known him for decades,” I said, “and a tippling stripling who accused him at his own wake of being a traitor. Sounds like a motive to me.”
“Come, fellow, he's besting you,” urged Plossus, whispering in Viadro's ear. “Defend yourself.”
“If I had murdered him, I would hardly want to draw attention to the fact,” protested Viadro. “I would have kept mum and let him go unmolested to his grave with no one the wiser.”
“That is a most excellent point,” applauded Plossus. “What say you o that, old man?”
“Are you saying then that Ranieri is the culprit?” I asked.
“No, no, it couldn't have been him,” said Viadro quickly.
“Why not?” asked Plossus. “If it wasn't you, then it was him.”
“And if it wasn't him, then it was you,” I said. “Tell me more about the dead man. Who would want to kill him? And why?”
“He was an informer,” said Viadro.
“What secrets are worth killing for around here?” laughed Plossus.
“You'd be surprised,” muttered Viadro.
“You're bluffing,” I taunted him.
“Now, Feste,” warned Plossus. “Be kind to the man. If he says there's something, there probably is.”
I leaned my face into his, all sweat-grimed, hideous, white-masked monstrosity. Viadro reared back in alarm.
“Prove it,” I growled. “Or you're a hollow, loud-mouthed fool.”
We had him. At that exact moment, we had worked on the precise nexus of arrogance, indignation, and inebriation to bring the answer spewing out of him. I knew it, Plossus knew it, and somewhere inside the youth, he knew it.
And so did the man standing behind him.
“There you are,” said Ranieri, clapping Viadro on the shoulder. “I've been looking everywhere. We were supposed to dine together.”
“I had forgotten,” said Viadro, sinking a bit under the force of his hand.
“Well, no harm done,” said the older man. “It looks like all you've done is drink. Let me get some solid food into you. Good evening, Fools.”
We bowed as he hauled Viadro away.
“So close,” I said in chagrin.
“I learn so much from watching you. Anything left in that bottle?” chirped Plossus. I emptied the dregs into his cup, and he tossed them back cheerfully. “Let's get out of here.”
 
We walked back to my place.
“Well, we're getting somewhere,” Plossus called from several feet up.
“Please do me the courtesy of walking by my side,” I said a bit petulantly, and he swung down from the stilts and shouldered them.
“So, he was poisoned at the embolum by either Viadro or Ranieri,” he said.
“No.”
“What?”
“Tertius, there is no poison that I know that will take so long to act upon its victim. If he was given it at the embolum, he would have
made it to the street, but not all the way home, up the steps, into his room, into his nightclothes, and into his bed.”
“Then that was all for nothing?”
“No. There is something there. Something Viadro knows and is scared of revealing, despite his braggadocio.”
“And it involves Ranieri. I wonder if he suspects us yet.”
“He might just take us for gossips and fools,” I said. “But watch your back, just in case.”
“I always do. Here's a thought. No one saw anyone go upstairs with Bastiani, but what if someone was already waiting for him in his room?”
I stopped, rubbing my temples.
“Good thinking, my friend,” I said. “The murderer accomplished his task, then waited for everyone in the building to fall asleep before making his escape.”
“Or her escape,” he reminded me. “There's our mystery woman. And a lovely lady lurking in one's chambers may easily tempt one into sampling a little poison unawares. Then she could remove the evidence afterward.”
“That would solve the ‘how' nicely for my lady wife,” I said. “One problem.”
“What's that?”
“If she waited until everyone was asleep, she would be leaving too late to pass through the gates to the city proper. Plus, she would have to avoid detection by the local patrols.”
“Speaking of which, there've been a couple of Varangians following us since we left the quarter.”
“I know,” I said without looking around. “It's Will and Phil. You go on ahead. I'll see what they want.”
All Varangians are deadly by training, but these two Englishmen were deadly by nature. Philoxenites had found this predilection for violence useful for his own needs. Although I had stayed on the eunuch's
good side during my tenure in the city, I always received an apprehensive jolt whenever I encountered them. And I'm a fairly dangerous fellow myself.
I waited for them at a crossroads, standing at a safe distance from anyone who could have been waiting in ambush in a doorway somewhere. Plossus had moved on, but I assumed he had taken a position from which he could keep an eye on me. I assumed that Will and Phil were aware of that as well.
All of this just for a quick conversation.
“Well met, Englishmen,” I said.
William, who was large and burly, nodded pleasantly. Philip, who was larger and burlier, spoke.
“The man who pays all of us would like to see you,” he said.
“He will,” I replied.
“You were supposed to report to him when you found out anything.”
“When I find out something, I will,” I said.
Philip shook his head. “He thinks, knowing you, that you've already found out something, but that you're holding back from him for your own reasons.”
“I haven't found anything that concrete,” I said. “Suspicions, mostly.”
“He'll like those,” said William. “He's a suspicious man himself.”
“How urgent is it that I report to him?” I asked.
They looked at each other, amused.
“Do you see us standing here?” asked Philip.
“I do.”
“Do you think we waste our time on messages that aren't urgent?” asked William.
“I suppose not. Thank you for taking the trouble. Is it customary to tip you?”
William's face flushed angrily. He took a step forward, but Philip stopped him.
“There are limits, Fool, to our forbearance,” said Philip pleasantly. “Don't test them any further.”
“My abject apologies,” I said. “Tell your master I shall see him in the morning.”
 
Plossus swung down from a nearby rooftop as I turned into the courtyard by my home. Rico's cart and ponies were already tied up in front of it. He and my wife already had dinner prepared when we entered.
“Plossus may have solved your how,” I announced.
“Really?” she said.
“He thinks the murderer was already in the room, possibly our mystery woman. She induced him to take the poison, waited for the rest of the building to fall asleep, and left, taking the poison with her.”
“After first barring his door from the inside,” she said. “How do you account for that?”
“Yes, Plossus,” I echoed, turning on the poor boy with my hands on my hips. “How do you explain that?”
He slumped dejectedly onto a stool.
“I had forgotten about that,” he admitted.
“As did the great Feste, it seems,” said Rico. “Well, I have some small news to share. I was performing down at the Akropolis and saw one of those silky fellows walking by.”
“Dark hair, about thirty, watching everything at once?” I guessed.
“That's the one,” said Rico.
“Ranieri,” said Plossus. “And Feste saw him there yesterday. Why does he keep going to the Great Palace?”
“Were you able to follow him?” I asked.
“Alas, I was in mid-ballad. I could not leave my adoring public in
suspense. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to keep up with him on foot at the pace he was going.”
“And you, my love?”
“I'm looking into a few things,” she said vaguely. “I'll let you know when I have a better idea of what's going on.”
“All right. I've been summoned to a meeting with Philoxenites in the morning.”
“How much are you going to tell him?” asked Aglaia.
“I'll tell him about the weapons cache, but that we need more time to know who is behind it. We know about Ranieri, but there has to be more to it than him. Tomorrow night, Aglaia and I will go back to Bastiani's room. Rico, will you be our coachman?”
“Certainly, milord,” said the dwarf, bowing low.
“Plossus, fetch our horses and get hold of a decent-looking coach. We'll meet back here mid-afternoon.”
“I have a suggestion,” said Aglaia.
“What is it?”
“I think Plossus and Rico should stay here until this is over,” she said. “We don't know how much Ranieri suspects us, but if he does, he may come after us. There's safety in numbers.”
“I can take care of myself!” said Plossus indignantly.
“That sentence can be chiseled onto the markers of many a fool's grave,” said Rico. “She's right. There are four backs to watch here, so eight eyes will be needed to watch them. Besides, we're coming back here for dinner every night, anyway. You'll eat better with us, boy.”
“Then it's agreed,” I said. “Only keep the noise down at night. Milady needs her rest more than ever.”
“Because God knows when I'll get it after the baby comes,” muttered Aglaia.
“I'll be there to help,” I protested. She just rolled her eyes and went back to her meal.
 
 
When I arrived at the palace the next morning, I was met by Will and Phil and taken immediately to the eunuch's office. He was standing by the window, looking across the Golden Horn.
“God's chosen vessel is with his army,” he said. “Standing at the edge of the water, waiting for the enemy to brave the straits. But the enemy will not do so until they are finished raiding Skutari for supplies.”
“How long will that take?” I asked.
“A few days, I think. They have comfortable quarters, room to exercise their horses, and all the time in the world. In the meantime, the Emperor will become anxious about being outside the safety of these walls. He dashed heroically northward, like a little boy charging the sea, only to scamper back when the tide comes in again. I predict that the great Alexios will be back in the palace within two days, safe in the arms of his Egyptian.”
He turned back to me.
“Which gives you ample time to tell me what you've learned about Bastiani's death,” he said.
“About his death, very little,” I replied. “It may have been from natural causes, but Lord knows the other silk merchants have been spooked by it. But I don't know if it's because they killed him, or because they're afraid the death will draw the attention of some outsider.”
“And that's it?” he said.
“No. We found a cache of weapons, large enough to arm a squadron or two.”
“That's more like it,” he said, sitting. “Where did you find it?”
“In Bastiani's storeroom.”
“But he was …” he began, perplexed. Then his face cleared. “Someone put them there after he died.”
“Yes. But I need more time to find out the full extent of the plan behind all of this. I have the other fools helping me, so we should come up with something fairly soon.”
“All right,” he said. “However, there is another task that I need you for. Something that just came up.”
“What is it?”
He drummed his fingers on his desk, looking back out the window. “You were right to warn me about the threats to my other conduits to the Venetians,” he said. “One of them has disappeared. They say that he fled the city, but no one knows for certain. The other is now too frightened to do anything for me.
“There is a delegation forming at the behest of the Emperor, ready to seek parley with the Crusaders. They'll hurl defiance, make all the appropriate noises, and try and frighten them away.”
BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
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