Altai: A Novel Read Free Page B

protected by high walls. In the middle, the fountain and the stone angel, wings outspread, that never ceased to unsettle me. His face and body were tense, raptorial, as if he were about to take flight and seize his prey. One day I had pointed this out to my lord, and he had put it down to bad conscience, to my sinful soul.
    Today, a servant walked with me into the palazzo, up to the threshold of the main hall. He knocked and ushered me in.
    The Consigliere was standing by the window. He seemed to be observing the clouds reflected in the lagoon, but perhaps his eyes saw something entirely different. His soul was labyrinthine, his mind impenetrable. I looked at his tall, slender form, wrapped in a long robe that fell to his ankles; his black hair, sprinkled with gray; his back, still straight.
    He beckoned me in. I already knew where to go and sit, and I knew that he would ask his first questions from a standing position, to dwarf me.
    “You have a determined gait this morning.” He stared at me, as if he were still trying to recognize me. “How do your inquiries progress?”
    “We’ve questioned twenty-three suspects.” I paused, to stress the number. “Most of them gave irrelevant statements, but two of the arsenal workers have confessed names and details that are extremely interesting.”
    “I am glad, De Zante. Just leave out the details. I know how scrupulous you are.”
    A long breath. The Consigliere didn’t like excessive passion. I had to set out my conjectures coldly, as if referring to someone else’s thoughts. “The caulkers have been asking for a pay raise for months. Some of them thought starting a fire and intervening to put it out again might be the best way to get one.”
    He bit the inside of his lip, a sign that he was displeased with this information. I had to find out why. “And these ‘some,’ how many might that be?”
    “I couldn’t yet say, Excellency. We have precise accusations against one Erio Battiston. We’ve been looking for him since yesterday morning; he is said to be the man responsible for coming up with the plan. As to those who carried it out, we do not yet have sufficient evidence.”
    He started drumming impatiently on the wood with his fingers. I couldn’t work out what was bothering him so.
    “I will tell my men to put every effort into capturing Battiston, and . . .”
    “Do you really imagine,” he cut in, raising his voice slightly, “that a discontented arsenal worker could hatch a plot of this kind? Come on, De Zante. You’re doing your own intelligence a disservice.”
    A shiver ran down my spine. I tried to follow my instinct and took some time to put my words in order. Impulsiveness leads inevitably to ruin. “Permit me to express myself better, your Excellence. Various clues suggest a provocation that got out of hand. The men carrying out the plan had apparently taken care to avoid . . .”
    “Care?” This time he allowed me an enigmatic smile. “Our job is not to grant extenuating circumstances to the guilty men.” He slumped onto his chair, emphatically, to show me how wearying he found my stupidity. Then he rearranged the pieces of paper on his desk, as if he needed to calm himself by performing a meticulous task.
    “Listen, De Zante.” he said, looking up. His voice had changed; he sounded as if he were about to have a man-to-man chat with me. “I know your zeal. I can imagine the determination with which you gathered this information. But that’s exactly the problem: You are examining things so closely that you lose the vision of the whole, which all of Venice, apart from you, has seen from the very first.”
    I felt the muscles in my neck twisting like the strands of a cable.
    “Let’s admit that the workers have something to do with it, and they stand to gain financially. Would you agree to bring Venice to its knees for a few ducats? Would you risk your life for an extra slice of bread to dip in your soup? No, of course not, you’d want a