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swains, they might well have something to say about the captain that could be of use.” “An excellent suggestion, my boy,” he replied with an approving nod that warmed me almost as much as thoughts of the handsome captain. “But fear not, despite my previous vow, I shall not leave all the work to you.” He rose from the bench, and I swiftly followed suit. “For my part, I will have another word with the servant Lidia,” he continued, starting back in the direction of the workshop. “Since she apparently has knowledge of the late Contessa di Sasina, she might well be someone in whom the contessa’s daughter would confide. I would also venture that she has some insight into the activities of all the young women—including Bellanca—who surround Caterina.” He slowed his steps long enough to push back his right sleeve and view the odd mechanism strapped to his arm. A wrist clock, he called it . . . a miniature version he’d de signed of the great tower clock topping the castle’s main gate. I noted the clever invention’s reappearance on his forearm with pleasure. During our ultimate encounter with the Conte di Ferrara’s killer, that same wrist clock had been sac rificed as a makeshift shield while protecting the Master from a potentially fatal blow from a knife. Though its case still appeared faintly battered, I could hear the whispering tick as its complicated collection of inner springs and cogs kept track of the hour. “It is almost midday,” he noted. “Return to the workshop 92 Diane A. S. Stuckart and don your usual tunic, Dino, for you shall be back to your role as apprentice for the remainder of the day.” Then, before I could give way to disappointment, he added, “But you shall take the very long way to that cham ber where the others have begun work on the fresco. And perhaps along the way, you shall have the opportunity to discover the identities of the two young men in question. If you succeed, then attempt to find them and engage them in casual conversation; then report back to me what you learn.” “I understand, Master.” Indeed, if all else failed, I would go hat in hand to Mar cella and make Dino’s apologies to her. The kitchen maid would certainly know those youths’ names. Whether she re vealed them to me, however, was another matter . . . one no doubt dependent upon how well I could mollify her injured feelings. “Very well,” he replied, apparently satisfied to allow me to investigate on my own, “but do keep in mind that tomorrow—” Whatever the Master was about to say was abruptly cut short by the echo of a woman’s scream from the far side of the quadrangle. We exchanged swift glances of surprise be fore quickly gazing about for the origin of that frightened cry. It took but an instant to spot its source. A dozen or more people had gathered a short distance from the main gate, standing beneath the cylindrical tower that anchored the farthermost corner of the fortification’s front wall. From their garb, most of the spectators appeared to be servants—some gesturing, others merely staring—though I spied a likely noble or two among them. We were not close enough to see what held their attention; still, to my mind, the gathering was unsettlingly reminiscent of the scenario that had played out a few afternoons earlier in the shadow of a different tower. The Master apparently shared my concerns. “Come, Dino,” he urged, starting toward the group at a quick pace. Portrait of a Lady 93 “It appears someone is in need of assistance, which perhaps we can provide.” I hurried to follow after him. As we drew nearer, I could see the number of people milling beneath the tower swiftly increasing. Likely, the newcomers had been pulled from the ranks of those who, like us, had been strolling about the green and been abruptly attracted by the scream. Like flies drawn to honey. The thought flashed through my mind. Or, like flies drawn to some other, more ghastly sticky substance. With calm urgency, Leonardo pushed his way through the widening circle of spectators, with me close on his heels. Barely had he broken through that ring, however, than he halted. I narrowly avoided stumbling into him as I stopped, as well. Then, rising on tiptoe, I peered over his shoulder to learn what had brought him to a standstill. At first glance, the middle-aged woman seated on the grass but a few feet from him appeared asleep. Her legs were stretched childlike before her, so that her feet and ankles protruded from the simple brown gown she wore over a threadbare chemise. She was leaning against the stone of the portico at the tower’s base, her head drooping and her eyes peacefully closed. A closer look, however, revealed a thin stream of foam dripping from her slack lips, while her skin had taken an unnatural bluish white hue. Horrified, I still continued to stare, for something about this woman seemed compellingly familiar. It wasn’t until I noted her long black braid untouched by any threads of gray that I realized who she was. “Lidia,” I softly gasped, and was met by the Master’s con firming nod. He stepped forward and knelt beside the woman, while I stayed a prudent distance back with the other observers. After a perfunctory check of her pulse, he refrained from laying fur ther hand upon her as he scrutinized her still figure. Then, to my surprise, he leaned even closer and—quite strangely— appeared to sniff at her lips! 94 Diane A. S. Stuckart “It’s Lidia. She’s dead, ain’t she?” squeaked a frantic fe male voice behind us. The speaker appeared to be a laundress, for her volumi nous sleeves were rolled high enough to reveal almost the whole of her beefy, reddened arms, which cradled a bundle of fresh-smelling linens. With a swift jab of a chapped el bow, she managed to press between me and the rotund porter beside me to get a better look. Other voices promptly began echoing the laundress’s question. The crowd had doubled in the past few minutes, their number paying Lidia the attention in death that I was certain she never received in life. All remained a prudent distance from the victim, however, lest whatever caused her sudden death prove catching. Despite myself, I was staring, too, unable to look away. The sight of Lidia lying there abruptly called to mind one of Caterina’s tarocchi cards . . . the one representing Fire. The elaborate imagery showed two figures falling from a crum bling tower. Two. Was it merely unhappy coincidence that two women had each been found lying in the shadow of one of the castle’s towers within days of each other? Or could it be that Caterina’s cards somehow had offered a glimpse of the future? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |