Free The Alchemist's Pursuit by Dave Duncan Page A

death throes herself the moment she knew the target.
    â€œThat leaves one big question,” I said. “I’m sure the sbirri asked you already, but I must. Did you hear the man’s name?” Matteo would not have read the note.
    â€œNo,” the big man growled. “But I know the name he gave her. She laughed, see, and told me an old friend was coming to see her at sunset.”
    â€œDid you see the note?” I asked eagerly. “Did you give it to the sbirri ?”
    No, he mumbled. He’d looked but couldn’t find it. The sbirri thought the friar must have found it and taken it.
    â€œBut she did tell you the name of this surprise caller?”
    Matteo reached for the wine bottle, tilted it up, and drained it. If he had been drinking like this all week, it was amazing he hadn’t killed himself yet.
    â€œShe did. Sbirri wouldn’t believe me. You won’t.”
    â€œTry me. Nostradamus has taught me to believe all kinds of unbelievable things.”
    â€œGattamelata.” Matteo’s eyes burned with a challenge to call him a liar.
    I would never be so stupid as to do that, but Gattamelata means “Honeycat.” I looked at Violetta, whose mouth framed a perfect O of surprise.
    So now we had a name for the Strangler, except that Gattamelata had been dead for a hundred and fifty years.

8
    G iorgio was waiting for us when the noon bells rang. As we were rowed swiftly along the Grand Canal, Violetta and I chewed over the Honeycat problem. That nom de guerre was made famous by Erasmo of Narni, one of the greatest of the condottieri who ravaged Italy in the intercity wars of the quattrocento. Toward the end of his career Erasmo led the armies of Venice with some success, although he is mostly remembered for being honest, a rarity in his profession. After his death in Padua, the Republic commissioned an incredible equestrian statue of him by Donatello to stand in that city. Bronze statues do not go around strangling women.
    â€œIt must be a nickname,” I declared profoundly.
    Minerva gave me a pitying look. “Did you work that out all by yourself, darling, or did Matteo drop you a hint? But not just an idle pet name, I think. Caterina knew it at once and called him an old friend. That sounds as if it was generally used. Other people might have known him by that name also.”
    â€œYou’re jumping to conclusions,” I protested. “The other victims may have had completely different names for him. You need to find someone else who knew him as Honeycat before you can make such assumptions.”
    â€œMe,” she said, frowning in annoyance. “I remember stories about a man called Honeycat. He was reputed to be very generous and quite dashing. It was a long time ago, though, when I was just starting out, and I don’t know his real name.”
    I was encouraged. “We can find out what it was, though! Lucia and Caterina were both, um, mature women. You have a long-ago memory. Now that could be a pattern!” And Battista had said that Giovanni Gradenigo had known Caterina Lotto “years ago.”
    Minerva nodded impatiently, as if she had seen that ages ago. “I’ll ask Alessa.”
    Alessa is one of her business partners, part owner of Number 96. Alessa still supervises the brothel, but has retired from active male entertainment. She is a very shrewd woman, who had the sense to get out while she still had her health and money. I like her, and she would still be worth a serious cuddle.
    Â 
    Â 
    I swung opened the door of the apartment for Violetta and followed her in. To my pleased surprise, the Maestro was halfway along the salone , just about to enter the dining room. He was leaning on his two canes, but at least he was mobile again. He waited for us, leering a welcome.
    â€œDid you sign the contract, madonna?”
    â€œI did. Send Alfeo around to collect the expense money.”
    â€œI will. Did you learn