Free Suicide Kings by Christopher J. Ferguson

note taking. Diana’s legs wobbled and so she took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs. “I’m famished, so it’s no bother.”
    The stranger sat across from her without waiting to be invited. “I am grateful for your hospitality. I should introduce myself. I am Niccolo Machiavelli. I work for the Republic of Firenze.”
    Diana wrinkled her nose. “You should speak with my father then. If he were to see you dining with me in such an intimate setting as this, he would have his sword at your throat.”
    Niccolo sat back in his chair, increasing the distance between them. “I meant no impropriety. It is you with whom I have come to speak, however. As for your father, I think that you will find him late coming home this evening. His business experienced an unexpected inspection.” His eyes seemed to twinkle in the light from the fireplace.
    “Is that so?” Diana regarded the man with a critical eye. In the silence, Agathi returned with a bottle of wine, glasses, and plate of stew for each of them. It took Agathi two trips in quick succession and Diana remained silent until the slave woman left them for good. “Are you here about my mother then?”
    “More or less. Specifically I am concerned with the death of the nun called Maria Innocentia outside of Saint Zenobius Basilica, although I have heard it said that there might be some relation to your mother’s death.”
    “I understood the nun’s death is a church matter.”
    “She might have fallen from church property, but she fell onto the streets of Firenze.”
    Niccolo might be an unreadable wall, but she didn’t need terrible insight into his mind to remain skeptical the Republic of Firenze would be eager to grasp a single murder out of the jurisdiction of the church. She considered him silently.
    He helped himself to the stew. “Mmm, this is good.” He ate carefully, his manners impeccable. Sipping at the wine, he put down his spoon. “Cardinal Lajolo has officially declared the nun’s death to be an accident. A merciful gesture as her fall would, on first glance, appear more consistent with suicide.”
    Diana felt the early tendrils of a headache approaching. She got them when she felt stressed, particularly when she was calming down from a bad moment. There were times when they drove her to darken her room, lest the sun itself drive blades of agony through her skull. She hoped this wouldn’t be one of those particularly bad ones. She breathed deeply, which sometimes helped, and continued eating. She decided not to speak yet. He’d asked her no questions, and protesting the nun’s murder hadn’t gotten her far the previous night.
    Niccolo was quiet for a moment, spooning more of the stew into his mouth and chewing with deliberation. They sat in silence. At last he said, “There are some witnesses who say you claimed the nun was murdered.”
    Diana felt a lurch in her chest as she recalled the memory. How long would it be before that image was pushed to the recesses of her mind? “I saw her pushed from the cupola. Most people seem to feel that I experienced a fanciful vision brought on by grief at my mother’s death.”
    “Your reputation in the city is that of a young woman who sometimes violates the laws against vanity as well as the social norms regarding the conduct of a respectable lady.”
    Diana felt her cheeks burn. “I permit myself to be seen and heard is what you mean.” Even as she spoke, she felt embarrassed she allowed herself to be goaded.
    Niccolo nodded once. “Nonetheless, in most circles your name is spoken with respect. No one suggests that you are given to flights of fancy or visions.”
    Diana regarded Niccolo warily. “You’re saying you believe me then.”
    Niccolo waved his spoon slightly in the air as he spoke. “It’s not in my portfolio to examine suicides or accidents.”
    Diana thought about that for a moment. “I didn’t get a good look at the person who pushed her. He was dressed in a dark robe that