Free The Alchemist's Apprentice by Dave Duncan Page A

shall try to make time to see him. Ask my clerk to set up an appointment.”
    I shook my head. “My master has difficulty walking, sir. My orders are to take you back to visit with him or else drop his letter in the bocca di leone . You may come and watch me do so if you wish. My gondola is waiting.”
    â€œBlackmail, I say!”
    â€œMay the Lord be with you, lustrissimo .” I held out my hand for the letter.
    â€œVery well. I will come with you, so I can personally caution Doctor Nostradamus that he is violating serious laws.”
    He shooed me out ahead of him in case I tried to rummage through his briefs.
    Â 
    Imer might be doing well for an attorney, but the Ca’ Barbolano overwhelms almost anyone. Sheer size, to start with. In a city squeezed onto a hundred man-made islands, space is the ultimate luxury and the Maestro’s salone is enormous, stretching the length of the building. Huge mirrors alternate along the walls with paintings by Veronese and Tintoretto, chandeliers spread crystal foliage overhead, and the inhabitants on view are built to scale. Michelangelo’s David from Florence stands nearest the door. Beyond him are Sansovino’s Mars and Neptune from the giants’ staircase in the Doges’ Palace, and the Laocoön from Rome. More titanic sculptures loom beyond these. All of them are copies carved in chalk, but the ones I can vouch for are very good copies; the rest are certainly impressive.
    Ottone Imer made a cynical effort to shrug off the vista he saw from the doorway, no doubt assuming that Maestro Nostradamus could not possibly own all this and his real quarters were probably some servant’s kennel under the roof. But when I showed him into the atelier, its display of books, charts, quadrants, alembics, globes, armillary sphere, and the rest told him at once whose territory he was on. There was no one there. I gave him a moment to gape at it all. First impressions last , my master says.
    Belief begins with the wish , is another of his.
    I conducted Imer across to the fireplace and the two green velvet chairs facing the window, the two reserved for visitors.
    â€œThe Maestro will be here directly.” I went to the red chair, adjusted its position slightly, moved the candelabra out of the way, looked past our guest, and said, “ Lustrissimo Imer, master.”
    â€œGood of you to come, lustrissimo . My legs are—”
    Imer almost jumped out his seat. The door was across the room to his left, in plain view so he knew it had not opened, and the old man had not been there a few moments before.
    Another cheap trick, alas. The old mountebank can move quietly when he wants, even with his staff. He would have had Corrado or Christoforo watching for our return. The wall of books is divided in two by a central alcove, which contains a huge wall mirror—a beautiful piece if your taste runs to the syrupy, being oval in shape, with a wide frame of mosaic cherubs and flowers. It turns on a pivot, providing access to the dining room—not truly a secret door, just an inconspicuous one.
    He greeted his visitor with a twisted bow. I saw him comfortably seated and leaned his staff against the fireplace where he could reach it. He enjoys deference when we are alone and insists on it when we have company. Then I went to sit at the desk, where I could take notes if required or just watch the visitor’s face.
    Imer was scowling. “Trickery!”
    The Maestro smiled ingratiatingly. “Of course, but effective.” When he wants to, he can seem very old and small and vulnerable. “My sympathy on your supper party the other night. A most unfortunate—”
    â€œYour apprentice threatened to denounce me to the Ten. I am contemplating lodging a complaint of attempted extortion.”
    Without turning to look at me, the Maestro said, “Alfeo, did you threaten the learned attorney?”
    â€œNo, master. I asked him if he would