The Alchemist's Pursuit Read Free

There are few people whose company he enjoys at all and he hates to be interrupted, so he ranks unexpected visitors with lice and vipers, even if they bring money with them. Violetta can be an exception because in her Minerva mode she is at least as brilliant as he is, and the idea of an educated woman fascinates him. I hoped she would be a welcome distraction for him in his present mood; his expression suggested that he thought I had sent for her.
    â€œDonna Violetta Vitale, master.”
    â€œI can see that. Send her home and you come right back here.”
    It was my turn to sigh. I had never known him quite this bad.
    â€œI trust I find you well, Doctor?” Violetta said, advancing toward him. But that silvery, flutelike voice belonged to Aspasia, her political and cultural mode, and if anyone could outmaneuver Nostradamus, it was she. She bobbed him a curtsey, then made herself comfortable on one of the two green chairs on the far side of the fireplace. I beat a strategic retreat to the desk in the window, where I was out of the Maestro’s sight and could adore Violetta at my leisure. Her eyes are the deep blue of the sea when she is Aspasia. I don’t know how she makes these transformations and neither does she; she claims it is not a conscious choice.
    â€œI do not recall inviting you to be seated, woman. Who is this person you want me to find?”
    The city regards Nostradamus as an oracle. All sorts of people come asking Who? Where? When? What? and sometimes even How? or Why? questions. Amazingly often, he can answer them, for a price.
    â€œA murderer.”
    His mouth shrank to a pinhole and his eyes to slits. “You think I’m a common sbirro ? Any time I have exposed a murderer it has been because I needed to know his identity for some other, more worthy reason.” Not true at all, but he likes to think that unmasking criminals is beneath a philosopher’s dignity. “Talk to the Signori di Notte . Or go directly to the Ten.” He dropped his gaze to the book on his lap, believing that he had just ended the conversation.
    Violette lobbed a sympathetic glance across at me, who must live with this. “You have a wonderful wit, lustrissimo , or do you really think that the Lords of the Night can catch anything more serious than head colds? This matter will not interest the Council of Ten.”
    After a moment Nostradamus looked up, frowning. According to what it would have you believe, the Most Serene Republic is governed by the nobility of the Great Council, who elect one another to dozens of courts, councils, and committees, whose mandates overlap so much that every magistrate has some other magistrate watching over him. Our head of state, the doge, is a mere figurehead who can do nothing without the support of his six counselors. This grotesque muddle is justified as necessary for the preservation of freedom and prevention of tyranny.
    In practice, the real government is the Council of Ten, whose official mandate is to guard the security of the state, but which meddles in anything it fancies—permissible wages and prices, what clothes may be worn, the way banks operate, so on and on. The Ten certainly include murder within their jurisdiction.
    The Maestro eyed his visitor angrily. “The name of the victim?”
    â€œLucia da Bergamo.”
    â€œYour relationship to the deceased?”
    Violetta’s smiles normally brighten the room, but this one brought enough pathos to make a songbird weep. “She was my mentor.”
    â€œShe was a . . . courtesan?” That he did not choose one of the word’s many vulgar synonyms I found mildly encouraging.
    â€œShe was.”
    â€œDying is a hazard of your trade. Women who earn their bread in bed are always at risk. Why should this one be any different?”
    I spread my hands and shrugged hugely to tell Violetta that the case was hopeless. In his present mood, the Maestro would not shift himself to