Tears of the Salamander Read Free Page B

irritably.
    One of the vergers, Pietro, opened the door. Somebody was standing a pace behind him, a vague figure in the shadows.
    “Beg pardon, Your Reverence,” said Pietro. “This gentleman…
    But the gentleman in question had eased past him and was making a brief bow to the Precentor. He was a tall, elegant man, wigged, with a sword at his hip. He wore a brocade-trimmed gray dress coat, brown velvet breeches, white stockings and buckled shoes. His cravat was spotless white and he carried a tricorn hat under his left arm.
    “The Cavalier Giorgio di Lucari, at your service, Holy Fathers,” he said in a slow, hoarse voice, as if he found speaking difficult. “I bear a letter of introduction to His Eminence from my friend the Archbishop of Ravenna, but I gather His Eminence is not in town, and my mission isurgent. It concerns, I believe, this boy, my brother’s son Alfredo.”
    With an elegant movement he placed a wax-sealed envelope on the desk.
    After a moment of baffled silence the Precentor said, “Your brother’s son, you say, sir? But the boy’s patronymic is Benotti.”
    The gentleman sighed.
    “Alas,” he said. “My unfortunate brother, despite my most earnest pleading, chose to demean his ancient lineage by becoming a tradesman. But at least I prevailed upon him to spare the family honor so far as to change his name. I have no children, and the boy is my only heir. I have come posthaste, as soon as I heard of my brother’s tragic death, to take the boy under my protection and bring him up in a manner proper to his inheritance.”
    There was another silence. The Precentor looked to his right, but the fat little man refused to meet his eye. Beyond him, Father Brava shrugged. The choirmaster coughed.
    “The boy has just now chosen to become a full member of His Eminence’s choir…,” he began, but the gentleman interrupted him. There was the touch of contempt now in the harshness of his voice.
    “And this is the notary to engross the deed. And this, no doubt, is the surgeon to perform the operation. Fathers, I cannot permit it. The boy is the last of an ancient lineage. Would you snuff it out entirely, knowing that at the last day you shall stand before your maker and confess to such a deed?”
    Yet another silence.
    “In two days His Eminence will return…,” the Precentor suggested.
    “Alas, I cannot wait,” said the gentleman firmly. “I have affairs to conduct. If my poor brother did not appoint a guardian for the boy, then in law that task falls to me. My consent would be absolutely necessary for the operation, no matter what the boy himself has said. Is this not the case, sir?”
    The fat little man jumped as if he had been stung.
    “Yes…yes, I believe so,” he said, with an apologetic grimace toward the Precentor.
    “Well, I do not give it,” said the gentleman firmly, then added, in a quieter tone, “But, Fathers, I gladly recognize the kindness of your intentions, and the generosity with which you have educated and trained my nephew, and in settlement of all such debts I am happy to make a reasonable payment to the cathedral, to be spent for the benefit of the choir, as you think fit.”
    He took a folded document from his breast pocket, opened it and laid it on the desk beside the envelope. The Precentor picked it up. His eyebrows rose as he studied it.
    “That is indeed generous, sir,” he said.
    “My pleasure,” said the gentleman. “Now I must be gone. I deeply regret that I am unable to have the pleasure of meeting His Eminence. You will give him my respects? If you need me, you will find me at the hostelry of St. Barnabas-by-the-Gate. Come, Alfredo.”
    He bowed once more, turned and left. Alfredo followed him numbly. Never to sing again! Never again!
    There was a closed carriage waiting in the courtyard, ofthe sort that plied for hire around the city. The gentleman opened the door and climbed in, Alfredo followed, and the horses trotted away toward the Northern Gate