Thirteenth Night (12 page)

A sleepy and altogether uninterested ass was tied nearby. On its head was a crushed dark green felt hat. The fool began inching towards the beast, the clubs following him at will. He opened his eyes and without breaking the pattern reached down, seized the hat, and placed it on his own head. The crowd, myself included, applauded. He shrugged nonchalantly and transferred the hat back to the ass's head, then back to his, faster and faster until his hands were a veritable blur. I tried very hard not to hate him on the spot. Of course, when I was younger I could do the same trick. Not as well, or as fast, but I could do it.

“You, Signore, come and help me,” he commanded a lad of ten. The boy inched forward nervously until he was standing next to the fool. The hat appeared on his head, then red and yellow hats on the fool and the ass. The clubs continued high into the air, and the hats moved from head to head in a strange sequence. Finally, all three ended up stacked on the fool's noggin and the clubs settled gently into his hands, the fourth in a last-second catch just over the boy's head. The fool took the boy's hand, and they bowed together, the boy laughing hysterically. He ran back to his friends as a small shower of copper rained on the fool.

“Greetings, Orsino!” he shouted. “My name is Bobo, and this is my beloved Fez.” The ass continued to ignore him. “We have come from Toledo for the express purpose of entertaining you. My friend Fez, he is a little ass. And I…”

“… am a big one!” shouted the children gleefully as he looked shocked and offended.

“In Toledo this time of year, it is warm and sunny, and the women smell of musk and spices. Naturally, I could not stand that, so I came here for the climate. Why? Because I am a fool. Let me show you what it is like in Toledo.” He reached into his bag and pulled out an assortment of scarves and wigs. He then put on a quick dumb show, mimicking the walks of the fine ladies and the serving girls, the soldiers and the priests, the Moors and the Jews, switching identities with the flick of a scarf and a marvelously changeable face. I watched him closely, observing what I could steal, guessing who he stole from. A rare opportunity, seeing a colleague in a street performance.

He went on for perhaps an hour, a most profitable one from all appearances, then bowed and collected his gear. He chatted good-naturedly with the townspeople while letting the children pet Fez, then started to load his bags back on the beast. I approached him casually.

“Good Fool, tell me the news of the world,” I began.

“The world, sir? I'm afraid that is out of my sphere.”

“An interesting point. Do you hold with the theory that the world is round or that it is flat?”

“Well, sir,” he said. “I believe that it is both round and flat.”

“Your reason, Fool?”

“It is a pretty one, sir, but requires a demonstration. Oh, that I had something round and flat to demonstrate it with!”

I held out a penny, and he inspected it closely.

“The very thing, sir.” He began walking, and I fell into step beside him. “From all I have observed, men rule the world but money rules them. As the greater must encompass the lesser, so must money encompass the world. And since coin is both round and flat, so then must the world be.”

“But men are not.”

“True, sir. Men with coin tend to be round, while men without end up flat. It is not an argument that Aristotle would put forth, but it works well enough for the real world.”

“Truly, you speak as a fool. But, as they say,
stultorum numerus…”

“… infinitus est.
Indeed, sir.” He shot a glance at me, smiling as we turned down a side street. “So you are the great Feste,” he said.

“Never call me that!” I snapped.

“Forgive me,” he said immediately, crestfallen. “It's just that when I heard who I was going to be working with, well, you can only imagine how excited I was. It more than made up for missing the Feast. What name are you using?”

“I am Octavius, a merchant of Augsburg. I stay at the Elephant, an inn by the wharves. I am the only occupant of the second floor, so you can sneak up the back stairs if you need to find me or leave a message. I notice you have Father Gerald's ring.”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at it. “Unusually cautious for him. The password isn't enough anymore?”

“Possibly not. For a secret society, we have become notoriously penetrable. How much did Father Gerald tell you?”

“Some. I knew the basic story, of course. I've sung it enough times. How long have you been here?”

“Since Christmas Day.”

“You made good time. I left the evening of the same day you did, but I had Señor Slowpoke here. I probably would have made better time without him, but I hate to break up the act.”

“Really? All he does is stand there.”

“Yes, but you have no idea how long it took to train him to do that.”

“I liked the gag with the hats.”

“Thank you. Normally, I work in a fifth club, but it's so damned cold.”

“You're done. Put on a cloak.”

He smote his forehead and rummaged through a pack on the donkey until he produced a cloak and scarf, which he wrapped around him. A warmer hat replaced the felt one. He almost looked like a normal human being, except for the ghostly skin color.

“What do you use for whiteface?” I asked.

“White lead.”

“Really? That's unusual. Most of us think it's poison in the long run.”

“It may be. But I don't expect to live that long, so I might as well look my best.”

“Why the pessimism?”

“I had my fortune told by an expert, and she said I would not see my fortieth year. I am thirty-eight now. She was known for the accuracy of her predictions. She even foretold her own death to the day.”

“Remarkable.”

“Not really. She hung herself when it came up. Kind of a cheat, but then, maybe not. One should at least respect her professional integrity. So, I plan to be a dead fool with great makeup rather than an old fool without. But to the present matter. What have you learned?”

I sketched in my discoveries and speculations. It took all of a minute. By the end, he was shaking his head.

“You can't even prove he was murdered,” he pointed out.

“Not yet.”

“And you have no idea if this Malvolio is even here.”

“Oh, he's here. I can't prove it, but deep in my bones, I know it.”

“Deep in my bones there's marrow, and it's freezing. Where should I stay?”

“Somewhere I'm not. The hostel's your best bet.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Find out what you can. Take a crack at getting inside the villa. I couldn't convince them to let me in.”

“They have children?”

“Two, a boy and a girl. The boy is ill. I suspect they may need some entertainment.”

“I'll go straight away.”

“It might be worthwhile sounding out the Duchess. If the Duke was in some way lured to his death, perhaps he mentioned something to her first.”

“Worth a try. Can you describe this Malvolio to me?”

“About my height, a little younger. If he's here, he's here as someone else. He's probably been here for a while, getting himself established. I'm guessing he's somewhere central where he has access to the great houses and the information he needs.”

“Any candidates?”

“There's a Jew named Isaac who assists the Duke's steward. There's a captain of the guards who is itching to take my head off.”

“That was quick. Most people have to get to know us first. Let me offer a suggestion, based on what you told me.”

“Yes?”

“What about the Bishop?”

I thought about it. “I would think he wouldn't have enough time to establish himself in the Church that well.”

“Who needs time? They appoint the Bishop, he leaves Rome, and Malvolio arrives. No one here knows the Bishop. He can pass through all doors unchallenged. It's perfect.”

“All right, why not? Anyway, there may be other possibilities, and we may not have much time.”

“How so? Orsino died over a month ago, and nothing's happened since.”

“He was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For a fool to appear.”

We walked on up the hill. “Feste doesn't arrive but Bobo does,” he said, thinking out loud. “Malvolio will think the Guild sent me instead of you, for whatever reason. I stay visible, draw his fire. Hopefully, he misses, and we catch him.”

“Hopefully.”

“And then turn him in.”

“No. He disappears.”

He looked away. “I see,” he said quietly. “One of those assignments.”

“Is that a problem?”

He grimaced. “I've killed before. So have you, I'm sure. But it always seems counter to what we stand for.”

“He's responsible for the deaths of two of us.”

“Maybe. Possibly. Probably. But vengeance should be the Lord's, not the fool's.”

“He's a threat to the Guild—think of it as self-defense. If you don't have the stomach for it, at least help me catch him, and I'll take care of the rest.”

“All right. I'll go straight to the Duchess. I'll meet you at the Elephant at sundown. Laugh like I've said something funny.”

I chuckled merrily as a guard rode past, staring at us.

“You could have laughed louder,” complained Bobo.

“It wasn't that funny,” I said. “Until sundown. Be careful.”

We parted ways, he to the hostel, I to the northwest.

*   *   *

Olivia's house overlooked the northern wall, halfway between the inland gates. I presented myself to a maidservant who vanished inside the house, then reappeared and bade me enter. The speed of my admission was so much more than I had been accustomed to in this town that I barely had time to prepare my story.

The Countess was in. The Count was in but out, sleeping off the previous evening's festivities in an upper room. A swarm of children passed through the rooms and hallways, in such a constant whirl that I could not possibly begin to count them.

She was seated on a pile of cushions near the fireplace, placidly working on some needlepoint. Many-hued silks were draped on the walls and on the Countess. Her unveiled face was coated with enough rouge and kohl to challenge Bobo for decoration. She indicated a large pillow decorated in some Arab fashion. I bowed and sat down.

“You're the singing German everyone has been talking about,” she said, observing me closely.

“I'm afraid that I overindulged,” I replied apologetically.

“The rumors have been flying about you,” she remarked. “Only natural, since you're the newest stranger in town.”

“The second newest,” I said. “But please tell me, what are these rumors?”

“Oh, you're a smuggler, a fabulously wealthy merchant come to invest in our little town, a fortune-hunter pursuing the Duchess, the new steward for the Duke, and my favorite, a Venetian spy.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. She continued to observe me, basking in her opulence, never missing a stitch.

“The last is more than a rumor. It was propounded by Captain Perun, who happens to be an admirer of mine.”

“As any man in his right mind would be, Milady.”

This drew a slight smile. “A most excellent piece of flattery, Signor Octavius. You may do very well here.”

“Are we speaking of commercial prospects now?”

“Perhaps. If you like. But let's speak of other things as well. You have been to Venice recently? I'm dying to hear the latest.”

I had armed myself in my conversation with Domino and shot off a few choice tidbits that lasted the better part of an hour. She asked a few questions that appeared idle on the surface but in fact probed deeply into Venetian politics. Finally she nodded, satisfied.

“I'd say you have earned a reward. Ho, Julia! Something to eat and drink.” A tray of dates and figs and a pitcher of wine appeared, and she dug in with a will. “Gossip is hard work,” she said, one cheek bulging. “One has to mine deep to find the truth in it. Now, to your business. A new route for spice, is it?”

“You are remarkably well informed.”

“I have to be. It takes a healthy estate to keep this house going. And it has to get healthier to take care of the brats.”

“Are you saying that you manage it yourself?”

“Of course.”

“I was given to understand that your husband did.”

“Probably by my husband. When he's sober, he does. But that's less and less nowadays.”

“A pity that he cannot devote more attention to you.”

A turbulence of children surged through the room, screaming, hitting and biting.

“Oh, I think he's paid me enough attention,” she said dryly, as several of the smaller ones tumbled over one another, hollering at the tops of their lungs. A tired group of nurses chased after them, herding them into another room. “He wants to get away from all of this. I may let him. The next Crusade if he desires. A bit less whining around the house may do us all some good. Now, spice, is it?”

“Yes, but I'm told I must await the appointment of the regent.”

“Then you might as well talk to me.” She started to rethread her needle, tranquilly meeting my gaze, sitting on her little island.

Well, well, I thought. Another contender, and a strong one at that.

“Will they let a woman become regent?” I wondered aloud.

“Why not?” she asked. “There's historical precedent. Irene, Theodora.”

“They were Greeks. They have strange customs.”

“Really, why should the raising of a boy Duke be so difficult? I'm looking after so many already.”

There was a crash and a scream in the distance.

“And a fine job you're doing,” I said. “Well, I have nothing to do with it. If you are going to become regent, I will happily negotiate with you. But why you and not the Duchess?”