my friend to keep her hands off my remaining trinkets?”
I took a deep breath, thrown off balance by her forthright manner.
La Samsona regarded me severely. Her face was now all angles, her eyes stormy, and she tapped her closed fan against her left ear. I didn’t mistake the fan’s gesture this time. It meant I wish to be rid of you . I was also aware of the ballet music drawing to a close; Maestro Torani would have my head if I wasn’t onstage in five minutes.
I stood, made my bow, and murmured apologies for my intrusion. Her frown turned to a smile at the very last moment. She said, “I don’t know why you’re so interested in Zulietta’s death, but you’ve got on the wrong track. I advise you to take a look at Cesare Pino. To prevent Alessio going astray, his father would have murdered the Doge himself.”
“I thought Cesare didn’t come to the opera.”
“He was here last night.”
“You saw him?”
She nodded. “On the main staircase, going up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. He wore no mask and his face is unmistakable.”
I stepped to the front of the box and cracked the curtains. The last ballerina was disappearing into the wings. The orchestra was silent, but I heard angry shouting and stomping at the back of the house.
A fight had broken out in the pit! Men raised their fists. Women stooped over, searching the floor for hard candle stubs or rotten fruit to use as missiles. What excellent good fortune! If the fight spread, it might afford me another five or ten minutes.
Returning swiftly to the courtesan’s side, I sank back in my chair and clutched her arm. “What do you mean? Unmistakable?”
La Samsona yawned, exposing a set of teeth a mule would have envied. She was toying with me, this infuriating woman. Life must be just one unceasing game for her.
“Please,” I cried, “this is serious. How did you recognize Cesare Pino and when was this?”
She shook her arm from my grasp and let her hand stray to pick at the flowers at her bosom, smiling all the while.
I had one more card up my sleeve. “Beautiful signora , if you truly enjoy my singing, let your answer be my reward.”
Her smile turned to another braying laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. Fair’s fair, I suppose. Vittoria Busanti had just commenced singing when I spotted Cesare. And I recognized him because anyone would. He had an accident at his kiln some years ago—it damaged one of his eyes and made a horrible mess of his forehead.” She gave a dramatic shudder. “Now, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else?”
I certainly was, but I couldn’t help wondering what La Samsona had been doing out of her box when she’d observed Cesare Pino.
I posed that question aloud. It hung in the air unanswered.
“Lelio,” the courtesan drawled as she reached for a morsel of mandorlato . “You’d better see Signor Amato out before he misses his cue.”
***
As I pushed through the corridor crowded with servants removing the remains of suppers and latecomers rushing in from rival theaters, I was so intent on getting backstage for my entrance that I almost missed Pamarino. If the dwarf had not spoken first, I would have tripped right over him.
“Signor Amato,” he cried. “Aren’t you on the wrong side of the curtain?”
“For the moment, but…ah…” I stammered to a pause, surprised at the meeting, unsure what to say to the stumpy creature in the blue poplin jacket festooned with silver epaulets and military-style buttons. Benito was right—he did look like one of the wide-mouthed soldier figurines people give to children.
Pamarino relieved me of my discomfort. Tipping his chin back, he said, “I suppose you wonder what I’m doing at the theater tonight.”
“Well…yes.” I shrugged off my cloak and draped it over my arm, ready to throw it to Benito who would be waiting at the pass door with my helmet. My flimsy mask was already tucked inside my tunic.
“I couldn’t stay away.
I took a deep breath, thrown off balance by her forthright manner.
La Samsona regarded me severely. Her face was now all angles, her eyes stormy, and she tapped her closed fan against her left ear. I didn’t mistake the fan’s gesture this time. It meant I wish to be rid of you . I was also aware of the ballet music drawing to a close; Maestro Torani would have my head if I wasn’t onstage in five minutes.
I stood, made my bow, and murmured apologies for my intrusion. Her frown turned to a smile at the very last moment. She said, “I don’t know why you’re so interested in Zulietta’s death, but you’ve got on the wrong track. I advise you to take a look at Cesare Pino. To prevent Alessio going astray, his father would have murdered the Doge himself.”
“I thought Cesare didn’t come to the opera.”
“He was here last night.”
“You saw him?”
She nodded. “On the main staircase, going up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. He wore no mask and his face is unmistakable.”
I stepped to the front of the box and cracked the curtains. The last ballerina was disappearing into the wings. The orchestra was silent, but I heard angry shouting and stomping at the back of the house.
A fight had broken out in the pit! Men raised their fists. Women stooped over, searching the floor for hard candle stubs or rotten fruit to use as missiles. What excellent good fortune! If the fight spread, it might afford me another five or ten minutes.
Returning swiftly to the courtesan’s side, I sank back in my chair and clutched her arm. “What do you mean? Unmistakable?”
La Samsona yawned, exposing a set of teeth a mule would have envied. She was toying with me, this infuriating woman. Life must be just one unceasing game for her.
“Please,” I cried, “this is serious. How did you recognize Cesare Pino and when was this?”
She shook her arm from my grasp and let her hand stray to pick at the flowers at her bosom, smiling all the while.
I had one more card up my sleeve. “Beautiful signora , if you truly enjoy my singing, let your answer be my reward.”
Her smile turned to another braying laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. Fair’s fair, I suppose. Vittoria Busanti had just commenced singing when I spotted Cesare. And I recognized him because anyone would. He had an accident at his kiln some years ago—it damaged one of his eyes and made a horrible mess of his forehead.” She gave a dramatic shudder. “Now, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else?”
I certainly was, but I couldn’t help wondering what La Samsona had been doing out of her box when she’d observed Cesare Pino.
I posed that question aloud. It hung in the air unanswered.
“Lelio,” the courtesan drawled as she reached for a morsel of mandorlato . “You’d better see Signor Amato out before he misses his cue.”
***
As I pushed through the corridor crowded with servants removing the remains of suppers and latecomers rushing in from rival theaters, I was so intent on getting backstage for my entrance that I almost missed Pamarino. If the dwarf had not spoken first, I would have tripped right over him.
“Signor Amato,” he cried. “Aren’t you on the wrong side of the curtain?”
“For the moment, but…ah…” I stammered to a pause, surprised at the meeting, unsure what to say to the stumpy creature in the blue poplin jacket festooned with silver epaulets and military-style buttons. Benito was right—he did look like one of the wide-mouthed soldier figurines people give to children.
Pamarino relieved me of my discomfort. Tipping his chin back, he said, “I suppose you wonder what I’m doing at the theater tonight.”
“Well…yes.” I shrugged off my cloak and draped it over my arm, ready to throw it to Benito who would be waiting at the pass door with my helmet. My flimsy mask was already tucked inside my tunic.
“I couldn’t stay away.
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