5 - Her Deadly Mischief

by Beverle Graves Myers

  “If this is more than a lost child, why are we still searching the Piazza?”

  Messer Grande gave an uncomfortable shrug. “What else can we do? Now if we were to receive some word from Pamarino…”

  I rubbed my forehead with both hands. “I just can’t believe Titolino would go off with Pamarino. He doesn’t know him—he’s never even seen him before today.”

  “Children are trusting creatures, especially when lured by someone of their own size. Pamarino could have convinced the boy to go with him as part of a game or told him he was taking him somewhere to surprise you. Who knows? He could have even tempted him with the promise of a toy or a puppy.”

  “If he does have Titolino, what do you suppose he means to do with him?”

  “I believe the dwarf took the boy because he wants something from you. Exactly what we should soon see. Have you sent word to your wife?”

  “Luigi rowed home, both to see if Titolino somehow showed up there and to bring Liya to me. He had orders to keep silent and allow me to tell her what’s happened, but if I know my wife, she’ll have it out of him in five minutes.”

  Our heads turned at the sound of the door opening. An apologetic clerk stumbled over his feet as he burst into the room. “Excellency, you must forgive my intrusion. This woman—”

  “I demand to be admitted. You—” a feminine voice cried and was cut off.

  “It’s all right, Brunetti,” said Messer Grande, rising from his chair. The clerk didn’t hear. Intent on his perceived duty, he put a shoulder to the door. A determined foot in a dainty boot slipped through the crack. After a brief contest of strength, Liya pushed into the chamber.

  My wife’s cloak was askew, and she’d forgotten or lost her zendale. Her mass of black hair had escaped its pins and fallen down her back. I met her halfway across the floor, and we embraced for a long moment. When she pulled away, I saw that her eyes and nose were red. She’d obviously been crying but had managed to compose her features. She stared at Messer Grande as she blurted out, “What are you doing to find my son?”

  The chief constable explained that his men were fanning out from where Benito had last seen Titolino, searching every chest or barrel large enough to hold a seven-year-old boy.

  “You must stop them,” said Liya.

  “Signora?” Messer Grande questioned, surprise in his face.

  She produced a folded note from her drawstring bag. “A gondolier brought this to the door a few minutes before Luigi arrived. Apparently he went to the theater first. Since you’d already gone, Aldo sent him to our home.”

  I snatched the paper that bore my name, cocked it toward the light from the window, and read, “For the boy’s sake, come to the Mascoli Chapel at four o’clock. Come alone. If even one constable follows you into the Basilica, the boy will pay.” I jerked my chin up, dividing my frantic gaze between Liya and Messer Grande. “It’s not signed.”

  “It doesn’t need to be.” Messer Grande strode to the door, beckoned a waiting constable, and began giving orders.

  “Tito, it will soon be four.” Liya’s voice faltered. Tears formed in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  I gathered her into my arms. I yearned to hold her forever—to make this sudden nightmare recede with a brief, ecstatic caress. Impossible. The truth must be faced. “I’ll get going right away. I’ll make the dwarf tell me what he’s done with Titolino.”

  “Be careful.” Her whispered words plunged into my ear with the strength of a steel blade. “There’s danger all around—I saw black clouds forming over both of you.”

  Clouds? Ah, yes, my wife’s endless attempts to peer over the edge of tomorrow. I kissed her wet cheeks and forced my tone to be calm. “You must stay with Andrea—Messer Grande—and do as he says. Be strong and believe that all will be well.”

  The chief constable turned his attention back to us. “It’s arranged. None of my men will enter the precincts of the Basilica, but they’ll continue to comb the Piazza and surrounding buildings. Once you’ve heard the dwarf out, I’ll be waiting for you at the front, at the base of the middle flagpole.”

  “And then?” Liya stiffened in my arms.

  I stepped away, every muscle straining to be off. “It all depends on the dwarf.” Messer Grande agreed with a solemn nod.

  ***

  The immense Basilica was as deserted as the Piazza was crowded. Passing through its bronze portals, I might have stepped into a series of enchanted caves with walls ornamented in precious metals and gemstones. When the Doge presided over a service, arriving in a canopied sedan chair from the depths of the corridor that connected his palace to the Basilica, there would be brilliant light licking the golden facets of the mosaics, a trumpet fanfare followed by a swelling choir, and robed Senators and councilors filling the nave. Today I found only a vast, silent space pervaded with the lingering scent of incense.

  At the high altar, a priest in a severe black soutane genuflected before a bank of candles before hurrying away and disappearing through the sacristy door. A few other figures, foreign travelers by the look of them, were admiring the pillar that had once commemorated St. Mark’s relics. Moving away from that domed island of light, I darted between rows of marble columns and pushed deep into the silent, murky space where pleasure-mad tourists rarely found anything of interest.

  My footfalls echoed softly and my sense of unreality deepened as I approached the tiny chapel dedicated to Our Lady. Her votive candles had been extinguished, throwing the sculpted reliefs that depicted the scenes of her life into shadowed folds. But I could see someone waiting for me: a squat, hunched figure leaning against one of the pair of prayer railings that faced each other in front of the altar table.

  Pamarino let me come within a few steps before he straightened and nodded with an air of cool malevolence. He had changed from his clown costume to his usual blue coat. He withdrew a pistol from a deep pocket, cocked the hammer, and pointed it at my stomach. “Good afternoon, Tito. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  “Did you really think I could ignore your summons?” In this chapel sequestered by the Basilica’s convoluted floor plan, our voices would be indistinguishable to any casual visitors, but I still felt compelled to whisper.

  Pamarino apparently felt the same. “I knew you’d come if you received my message, but there are so many ways a note can go astray.” He spoke as he used his free hand to pat my pockets and waistband. Finding my dagger, he tucked it away with a toothy smile.

  “Must you?” I asked. “It was a gift from my brother.”

  The dwarf shrugged. “He’ll have to buy you another.” He motioned the pistol’s long barrel toward the nearest railing and forced me to sink down on the knee board while he remained standing. Thus positioned, I was looking up at him for once. “Now we talk,” he said.

  “Where is Titolino?”

  “You do come right to the point, don’t you?” The dwarf rolled his eyes.

  He was enjoying the moment, this evil tin soldier. So be it. The more he talked, the more time Messer Grande’s men would have to search. And if I managed to be very clever, I might just be able to trick him into dropping a hint concerning Titolino’s whereabouts. “You can at least tell me if he’s all right.”

  “Not one hair of his head has been harmed—yet.”

  “Why do you need Titolino? If you have business with me, we can simply talk it out as men should.”

  He gave a nasty laugh. “And have you run straight to your friend in the constabulary? Not likely. I fooled you both for a good while, but when I saw you watching my stilt act, I knew you’d guessed that I was the man in Zulietta’s box. I needed to strike a bargain with you—a quick bargain, too. Unfortunately, I found my pockets empty of anything you might find tempting. I could have danced a jig when I saw you put the boy in the charge of that witless poof. You handed me
the engine of your own destruction.”

  “How did you get Titolino away from Benito?”

  “That’s of no consequence. It is enough that I have him in my power.”

  “Where? Where have you stashed him?” My hands tightened on the railing. Hearing my voice grow raspy, I took a hard gulp. I must remain calm if I was going to get Titolino out of the dwarf’s clutches.

  “The boy is under the guard of…an associate. In a place that you would never discover in fifty years.” He snorted as if he’d made a good joke. “Should you live so long.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I have a simple bargain to offer. You will tell no one of your suspicions until I’ve had time to travel out of Venetian territory. In three days, I should be well away. If you can keep your tongue from wagging during that time, the boy will be released on the Piazza unharmed.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “If I am arrested, my confederate will slit his throat and consign his body to the lagoon.” The little man spoke without anguish or remorse, as easily as he might speak of setting out poison to kill a rat. I had faced murderers before, but never one so thoroughly unrepentant.

  Though sweat broke out under my clothes, I shivered in the church’s cold air. My boy’s life was in this creature’s hands, and I didn’t trust the dwarf as far as I could walk on his stilts. For all I knew, Titolino might already be dead. But what could I do? I couldn’t overpower Pamarino and strangle the truth out of him. His pistol was trained on my heart.

  I drew a deep breath. “I agree—I’ll say nothing.”

  Pamarino nodded. “Very wise. I would expect no less, even though you do have a reputation for aiding the law.”

  “But,” I said wildly, casting around for a question that would keep Pamarino talking, “how can you be certain your confederate will follow the plan you’ve laid out?”

  The dwarf’s mouth opened to reply but abruptly snapped shut.

  From out of the air came a great throbbing sound. A giant’s wail.

  Pamarino twisted toward the chapel entrance. “What in Hell’s name—”

  “It’s the organ,” I whispered. “Only the pipe organ in the choir loft. The organist must be practicing for the next service.”

  Indeed, the first tentative chords settled into a recognizable tune. Somber and slow moving, it filled the Basilica with aching melancholy. Pamarino turned back toward me. It had grown darker. He was little more than a blurred shape between me and the doorway.

  “Your confederate?” I prodded.

  “You have nothing to fear—as loyal as the day is long.”

  Did I dare push him? Would I weep for the rash words I was about to speak?

  “It would be very easy to dispose of a small child,” I said, shifting my weight from one knee to the other. “Much easier than keeping him under wraps for three days and releasing him without a fuss.”

  The dwarf’s eyes glittered in the dimness. His voice was taut. “I’m not as cruel as you might think. If I get clean away, the boy will live. I don’t kill without reason.”

  “Meaning you had reason to kill Zulietta and the maid, Sary?”

  The dwarf clamped his jaws shut. He showed no surprise that I was aware of Sary’s death. Neither did he contradict my accusation. Had I gone too far? I felt a sudden, cold foreboding in my chest.

  Finally Pamarino spoke. His words were wracked with pain. His agony, accompanied by the deep strains of the organ, lent him a dignity I could never have imagined. “Zulietta—yes, I can call her that now—in death there is no mistress and servant—she was going to throw me away like a piece of trash. Or a stained handkerchief. For years I served her, and for most of them, I loved her. In this world that was never meant for my kind, I lived only for her smile, a kind word, the touch of her hand. My love was never returned, but still, it gave me reason to face each new day. Without her…” His voice trailed off until only the sorrowful music remained.

  “Do you mean that Zulietta wasn’t planning to take you to the New World, after all?”

  “No, I only pretended that I wasn’t sailing to America because I feared crossing the sea. In truth, I would have followed Zulietta anywhere—to the northern ice caps, to the deserts of Arabia, to the pit of Hell itself.” He took a sharp breath. “In private, I begged her to take me along. I could have persuaded her, too…if it hadn’t been for Alessio Pino. For some reason, he thought it was a fine idea to take Sary. But me? No. I would only remind him of Zulietta’s old life as a courtesan. There would be no passage for me, no place at the new glassworks in Charles Town.”

  “So Zulietta offered you a pension instead.”

  “A slap in the face! After all I’d endured to ensure her success! Can you imagine what it felt like to know she gave her body to those who were my inferior in every way except height?” In a flash, his manner had changed from agonized to angry. “I swore a holy oath to myself—if I couldn’t make the voyage to America, neither would Zulietta. Neither would any of them. But I had to fashion a plan that would leave me free to enjoy my triumph. I glued a silly smile on my face and bided my time, nursing the pretense that I applauded Zulietta’s selfish schemes. When La Samsona’s jewels were about to be snatched, I knew I had to act. My plan to destroy Zulietta and her sentimental suitor took final shape when I learned that Alessio would be late for the opera due to his meeting with the sea captain.”

  I recalled the tale Alessio had told—something didn’t fit. “I thought no one besides the people involved knew anything about that meeting.”

  He shook his head. “People see me, yet they don’t—little Pamarino, always underfoot. Put yourself in my place. What would you do to gain information?” He went on without waiting for an answer. “I fit my smallness into small places and kept my ears open. I was actually under Zulietta’s bed when Alessio gave her his box key and explained that he would join her at the theater once he’d arranged the passage to America.

  “Perfect, I thought—Zulietta alone in the box on opening night. The entire audience would have eyes and ears for nothing except the performance. I could leave her on some pretext and hurry to the cloakroom to don my disguise and stilts that I would stash there earlier in the day—if any servants happened to see me re-enter the box, they would describe a tall man in a bauta, not Zulietta’s four-foot companion. In my mask, I could take her by complete surprise and plunge my dagger home before she even uttered a scream. On my way out, I would lock the box using the key Alessio had supplied.”

  I was beginning to fathom the depth of the dwarf’s hatred for Alessio. From the little man’s point of view, his plan made inexorable sense. Attempting to quell my disgust at his triumphant tone, I continued with his train of thought, “You must have originally intended to stage your capture as soon as you returned to the cloakroom. As you hung from the hook, you were going to make a racket loud enough for every footman on the fourth tier to come running. Once freed, you would report that Alessio Pino clonked you on the head. Desperate with worry over your mistress, you would lead the witnesses to the Pino box, which would of course be locked. Receiving no answer to your knocking, you would insist that the door be broken down. In the curtained box, they would find one murdered courtesan. The obvious suspect—Alessio Pino. You had even arranged for him to be delayed so he wouldn’t show up and ruin your plans.”

  A look of confusion passed over the dwarf’s face at my last observation, but then he nodded with a thin smile. “You do love to tease out secrets, don’t you?”

  I went on, “But something you weren’t expecting happened. Zulietta fought like a tigress, pulling the box curtain down and finally tumbling over the railing. Now the entire theater was on the alert, and Alessio’s key was in Zulietta’s pocket on the floor of the pit. That’s when our eyes met across the auditorium—that fateful moment that led Messer Grande to dr
aw me into his investigation.” I leaned forward, forearms on the railing. “I confess I’m puzzled—how did you come to have a duplicate key? And why did you use it?”

  “You’ve put your finger on my mistake,” Pamarino replied. “It was easy to borrow the key once it was in Zulietta’s hands—too easy. Every time I saw it laying on her dressing table, I got to thinking an extra key might come in handy, so one day, I took it to the ironsmith. In the end, the duplicate just caused problems. Standing there in that box, my crime exposed to the world, I must have gone mad for a moment. You say our eyes met—not really—I wasn’t aware of you at all. The only thing in my mind was escape. I hardly remember leaving the box—I suppose I locked it because I’d rehearsed the movements in my head so many times. I barely made it to the cloakroom before people began pouring out into the corridor. I thought it better to wait to make my presence known until the tumult died—”

  Pamarino fell silent and swayed slightly. The organ had stopped playing. Its final chord echoed off the walls and lingered under the soaring curves of the Basilica’s five domes. He raised the pistol which had sunk to his side while he’d been talking. “Get up. Time to go.”

  “Wait,” I cried, still striving for delay. Though I knew the answer perfectly well, I asked, “What about poor Sary? Why did you need to kill her?”

  “She had something that belonged to me, and very unwisely refused to give up its hiding place. She paid with her life.”

  “The duplicate key, perhaps? I noticed that something was different in Zulietta’s foyer. It finally dawned on me that your trunk had been removed. Perhaps Sary had become suspicious enough to search the contents before you came for it. But if that’s the case, why on earth would you leave an incriminating item in your baggage?”

  Pamarino screwed up his face. Was it undiluted resentment? Or regret over his own blunder? He motioned for me to stand. “No more questions—I’ve already said enough. We’re going to walk toward the front—slowly, calmly. Once you’re through the main entrance, you won’t see me again. I know another way out.” He underscored his words by nudging my back with the pistol, then tucked it under his jacket.