The Alchemist's Code by Dave Duncan

Author:Dave Duncan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2008-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

16

Enough rain had blown in to soak the loggia floor, so my wet feet should leave no traces. I went over to him and said a hasty prayer for his soul. This must be the murder I had seen in the fire, but I swear that this prompt proof of my talent for pyromancy gave me no pleasure. Although I had not liked Danese, I never thought he deserved such a sordid and untimely end. With his fishy stare and idiot mouth agape, he was no longer handsome.

I could not close his eyes, but rigor mortis begins with the face and there was still some play in his fingers, so the Maestro would be able to estimate the time of his death. His knees were scuffed and dirty, as were his hands and cheeks, which confirmed that he had scrabbled on the ground, as I had seen in the fire. There was blood on his right shin and calf. His head lay in the corner farthest from the arches; his legs and lower torso were wet, his hair and shoulders dry. I decided that the bloodstains had dried before the rain started blowing in, so he might have been lying there while I was speaking to Vasco upstairs. Would the judges of the Quarantia accept that argument? The case would never go before the Quarantia. Even without a possible link to the Algol investigation, the murder of a nobleman in another nobleman’s house would be taken over by the Council of Ten as a matter of state security.

What I needed least just then was Luigi coming out and finding me there in my bizarre burglar costume. There was still a chance that he had unbolted the door already and omitted his normal look outside, so I went to check that it was still bolted, which it was. Definitely I was not going to be sneaking in unseen through that door that morning. And now I saw that, while the floor of the loggia was cleaned frequently, the calle and the ledge never were, and my cotton hose had left a trail of muddy smears.

Think!

Cadavers in corners or face down in canals are not rarities, for Venice has its share of bravos and thugs. I dared not take time to search the body for Danese’s purse, but the killer had left a gold ring on his hand and a valuable rapier in his back. It had struck him almost horizontally from behind, missing his heart, for a heart wound would not have bled so profusely. Why leave him there to be found and not drop him tidily in the canal? Why had he returned to Ca’ Barbolano anyway, when he was supposed to be enjoying the connubial bed, back home in Ca’ Sanudo?

Grazia’s horoscope I must not think about. It had shown a dramatic upturn in her fortunes just about now.

Then the first bolt clattered and I was gone. The wind caught me as I swung around the corner, very nearly

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