Murder at Midnight (8 page)

F
ABRIZIO STOOD IN THE DOORWAY TO HIS MASTER’S STUDY
, staring after the prince. When he was sure Cosimo was gone, he returned to Mangus’s table. He picked up one of the treasonous papers, stared at it, and then put it down. “If we believe what the prince said, it must have been Scarazoni — along with DeLaBina — who wanted these made.”

Maria, who was behind the table, said, “He didn’t convince me. I thought he was making things up as he spoke.”

“The place is a mess. He said he came here to look for something to prove Master’s innocence. But why would he be going through Master’s magic books?”

“Maybe he believes in it,” said Maria. “He was nervous and frightened. Fabrizio, do you think he really didn’t know that DeLaBina was killed?”

“He acted surprised,” said Fabrizio. “I keep thinking about what he said, that he visited my master in his cell. Maria! The man who was with DeLaBina right before he
was murdered, didn’t he say he visited Mangus in his cell? And did you notice the prince’s boots?”

“No.”

“They were red. Master Mangus told me, ‘Pay attention to what’s visible and you can discover what’s hidden.’ That black robe we met — right after DeLaBina was killed — was completely covered except for the tip of one boot. A
red
boot.

“Another thing,” said Fabrizio, growing more excited, “the king’s dagger. I just remembered. When I stood before the king, I saw the prince take it. I didn’t see him return it.” He stared at the skull on the table. “Maria, do you think the prince killed DeLaBina?”

“And is now trying to blame Scarazoni.”

“Except, according to the prince, it was Scarazoni who took my master to the Castello….” Fabrizio didn’t finish his thought.

“Couldn’t you go to the count, tell him what we’ve discovered, and plead for your master?” said Maria.

“But — what if the prince is right?” said Fabrizio. “He warned us to avoid Scarazoni. Maria, the count is really
frightening.” Full of gloom, he sank down into Mangus’s chair.

After a while, Maria said, “Fabrizio, is there something to eat? Even some bread. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten.”

Fabrizio got up and led Maria out. “There should be food in the kitchen.”

He stopped at the doorway and stared at the black robe that hung on the wall.

“Maria,” he said, “look!” A piece of type clung to the sleeve of the cloak. Fabrizio plucked it off. It felt sticky.

“Fabrizio, it has to be one of ours. There’s no other printing press in the city.”

“This is Giuseppe’s robe. He’s my master’s servant.”

“How would he get the type?”

“We’d better ask him.” Fabrizio led the way to the kitchen shed. “Hello!” he called.

Giuseppe poked his head out of the inner room. “You!” he cried upon seeing Fabrizio. “How did you get here? You were arrested.”

“I was able to get free.”

“How?”

“With permission, Signore. The door was open.”

“Idiot! And what are you doing with my robe?”

“I was just bringing it to you,” said Fabrizio.

Giuseppe snatched it. “Who’s the filthy girl?”

“My friend Maria. Signor Giuseppe, we haven’t eaten since yesterday. Can we get something?”

“Take what you want.” Giuseppe started to retreat into his room.

“With permission, have you heard what happened to Master?”

Giuseppe hesitated. “He’s being held in the Hall of Justice.”

Benito came into the room and said, “For treason.”

“He’s not a traitor,” Fabrizio said hotly. “Not even Prince Cosimo believes Master is guilty.”

“How would you know?” said Benito.

“He was just here. He told us.”

Giuseppe and Benito exchanged looks of alarm.

Fabrizio noticed that Benito was holding a full sack. “Signore, are you going somewhere?”

“We’re leaving Pergamontio,” said Giuseppe. He hurried into the inner room.

“Did he say you’re
leaving
?” Fabrizio asked Benito.

Benito nodded. “We no longer wish to be associated with Mangus.”

Giuseppe reappeared holding a bulging sack of his own. “Besides, we’ve made enough money to be independent.”

“How?”

The two servants grinned. “I was working for the Primo Magistrato DeLaBina,” said Giuseppe.

“And I for Count Scarazoni.”

“Since when?” cried an astonished Fabrizio.

“I met with DeLaBina the other night, right after Master’s performance,” said Giuseppe.

“And I with the count,” said Benito.

“But why?” said Fabrizio.

“The magistrato wished to know what Mangus did at his performance. I told him — for a price.”

Benito grinned. “As for me, the count wished to know about the magistrato.”

“So it was you who told DeLaBina about Master’s ‘making something from nothing’! And me collecting the papers!”

Giuseppe laughed. “He pays well.”

Fabrizio turned to Benito. “What did you tell the count?”

Benito was unable to hide his amusement. “Giuseppe told me what DeLaBina was doing and I told Scarazoni. Didn’t we tell you servants run the world? Good-bye.”

The two headed for the door.

“Signor Giuseppe! Signor Benito,” Fabrizio called after them. “Perhaps you didn’t know Magistrato DeLaBina was murdered last night.”

The servants swung around.

“We found him,” said Maria.

They stood openmouthed.

“It’s true,” said Fabrizio.

“Who … who killed him?” said Benito.

“The prince told us it was Count Scarazoni. And to protect himself Scarazoni is accusing Master. He took Master to the Castello.”

Benito, looking ill, pulled at Giuseppe’s arm. “We need to get out of the city fast.”

Fabrizio held up the piece of type. “We found this sticking to that robe of yours.”

“It’s from my house,” said Maria. “Signor Giuseppe, do you know anything about DeLaBina going to a house on the Street of the Wood Sellers and destroying something there?”

“Giuseppe, we must leave now!” cried Benito.

Giuseppe held back. “You two need to understand what kind of friends we have. Yes, I was asked to go to a house to pull apart some machine.”

“Early this morning?” said Fabrizio. “In the fog?”

“Exactly so. I met someone outside the Hall of Justice. He sent me.”

“Who was it?”

“When you’re given orders by higher-ups, you don’t
look at their faces, just their money. I can assure you, I saw a lot.”

“Giuseppe and I,” bragged Benito, “only deal with powerful people.”

“The one who sent me to that house,” said Giuseppe, “told me he spoke for the king.”

“The king!” cried Fabrizio.

“Did he wear a black robe?” asked Maria.

“What of it?” said Giuseppe. “I wear one, too.”

“Why did this person ask you?” Maria said.

“He knew I worked for DeLaBina.”

“Is that why the prince was here?” cried Fabrizio, finally understanding. “To pay you off?”

Benito yanked at Giuseppe again. “You’re talking too much!”

Giuseppe glared at Fabrizio. “Say anything about this and you’ll find yourself in great trouble.”

Maria glared at the servants. “What you destroyed belonged to my parents. Do you know where they are?”

“That house was deserted when I got there,” said Giuseppe.

“No soldiers?” asked Fabrizio.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have been able to get in. Now keep your mouths shut. Both of you! Just remember how powerful our friends are.” He shook a fist. The two servants ran off.

I
THINK THINGS ARE GETTING EVEN WORSE FOR
M
ASTER,”
said Fabrizio as he watched the servants run off.

Maria, meanwhile, had found a loaf of bread, tore off a piece, and offered some to Fabrizio. Then she uncovered a hunk of cheese. They shared that, too.

“The awful thing is,” said Fabrizio, who had been trying to sort things out in his mind, “I really don’t know if we should believe everything the prince said. Or any of it. And Giuseppe suggested he was sent to your house by the king.” He shook his head. “My master told me it’s best to find the simplest solution, but this seems so complicated.”

“Do we know anything for sure?” asked Maria.

“We need to think it out,” said Fabrizio. The two went back to Mangus’s study. While Maria sat behind the table, Fabrizio walked around, putting things back in place.

“Just a few nights ago, at my master’s performance,” he began, “somebody warned him that he was in danger. Two days later, DeLaBina came barging into this room. And now … he’s dead.”

“That we certainly know,” agreed Maria.

“My master thought DeLaBina didn’t really care about the
making
of the papers. That he was after someone else, some ‘devilish’ person who asked that those papers be made.”

“That was Scarazoni, right?” said Maria.

Fabrizio nodded. “At least DeLaBina wanted my master to say it was Scarazoni who told him to make the papers. The prince wants the same thing. But Mangus didn’t make the papers. And Scarazoni didn’t tell him to make them.”

“It was DeLaBina,” said Maria, “who asked my parents to make them.”

“Then somebody killed DeLaBina.”

“Your master needs to have some friends,” said Maria.

Fabrizio shoved a few books onto shelves. “Maria!” he suddenly said. “That person in a black robe who warned me that my master was in danger. He seemed to know what the magistrato was planning. If we could find out who that person is, maybe we could discover a friend.”

“How can we do that?”

“At the Sign of the Crown, where the performance took place, the tavern owner, Signor Galda, is Master’s good friend. Maybe he knows who that black robe was. I think I know how I can ask him.”

It did not take long for them to run to the Sign of the Crown. Inside, the dim air was thick with the stench of sour wine and stale garlic. Cured Parma hams hung on the walls. In one corner stood a large basket of fresh-made bread, its yeasty smell inviting.

There were only a few patrons. Off to one side, Signor Galda was sitting at a small table. In the gloom of the room his bald head gleamed as he bent in close conversation with an elderly man.

Fabrizio and Maria approached. “Signor Galda …”

Galda turned and smiled. But the moment he realized who had spoken he scowled. “What do you want?”

“With permission, Signor Galda, I am Master Mangus’s servant, and —”

“I know perfectly well who you are,” said Galda.

“My master wishes to know the best night for his next magic performance.”

Galda frowned. “You may tell your master he’s
not
welcome here anymore. I’ll have nothing to do with those who dabble in magic. And you can also tell him I wish he had never performed his evil arts in my establishment. Now, get out of here!” He rose up from his chair, threatening.

Taken completely by surprise, Fabrizio stepped back. “But, Signore —!”

“Out!” Galda pointed to the door.

“Signor Galda, with permission … one more question.”

“What is it?”

“The other night, at my master’s performance, there was someone in the audience wearing a black robe. Do you know who it was?”

Galda remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “I thought he was a monk. He wasn’t, and it explains my anger.”

“Forgive me, Signore. I don’t understand.”

“The morning after Mangus’s performance, Count Scarazoni came here. He informed me that he — in a black robe — had been at the performance.”

“Scarazoni!” cried Fabrizio and Maria simultaneously.

“None other. He ordered me never to allow magic again. Furthermore, if I did not forbid such events he would lock my doors. Now do you understand? So please leave and tell your master not to come back!”

Fabrizio and Maria hurried out to the street. After walking a few paces, Fabrizio said, “So it
was
Count Scarazoni who gave me that warning.”

“But the prince said DeLaBina and Scarazoni were working together,” said Maria.

“Benito and Giuseppe seemed to suggest that,” agreed Fabrizio. “But, then, everyone is blaming the count. Except if Scarazoni warned my master, doesn’t that mean he’s our friend?”

“Yet the prince said the count took away your master so he could accuse him of being the traitor,” said Maria. “Another thing. Why would Scarazoni’s soldiers be sent to my house
after
they broke up the machine?”

“And,” said an exasperated Fabrizio, “don’t forget the king wanted me to be executed right away. The truth is, everybody seems to be lying!” He slapped his head with frustration. “It’s what people say: Just because you think you know everything doesn’t mean you know anything.”

They walked toward Mangus’s house in silence.

“Fabrizio,” said Maria, “tell me about the message the king sent to the executioner. The one that asked for your immediate death.”

“The king sent and signed it. Fortunately, the executioner couldn’t read. So when I read it I said the king was freeing me.”

Maria stopped. “Fabrizio, you told me you didn’t read.”

Fabrizio’s cheeks grew warm. “I do. A little.”

“Are you sure you read that message correctly?”

“I tried …”

“Could you write out what was on the note? Along with the signature you saw?”

“Maybe.”

They rushed back to Mangus’s house and into his study. Once there, Fabrizio picked up a writing quill and
dipped it into a bottle of ink. After thinking very hard, he carefully wrote what he remembered on a scrap of parchment. He handed it to Maria. She drew the skull lantern closer to see.

She looked up. “You wrote, ‘Let the boy escape death S.’”

“You mean the word I couldn’t read was ‘escape’? And the signature was an
S
?”

“If what you’ve written is accurate.”

“Then Scarazoni was setting me free! But why?” Fabrizio leaned over the table and gazed at what he had written. He put his finger to the letters and traced them, silently mouthing each sound.

As he did, a pounding erupted on the front door.

“Someone for my master,” said Fabrizio. “I’ll send whoever it is away.”

He hurried to the front door and pulled it open only to gasp. Standing there was a man wrapped in a black robe.