The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction (30 page)

“I don’t believe it. The place is so damp. How could it have gone up like this?”

Katie just gazed in horror at the sight.

“Nick. All your precious things from the East.”

Zuliani knew what she meant. It was a lifetime – his lifetime – going up in smoke. Even as they watched, the flames found their way up to the next floor, only one below his attic rooms. And all his memories. Tongues of fire burst from the shuttered windows, and smoke billowed out across the canal. Suddenly, Katie pointed upwards.

“Look!”

Zuliani followed where she was pointing, and saw a face at an upper window. Someone was inside – but who? Zuliani had left the house bolted and barred. Vettor, his servant, had been sent off to visit his family at Malamocco. Surely he could not have returned yet? If he had, he was in dire trouble now. The figure at the window leaned out, waving his arms. Zuliani’s eyesight wasn’t so good, but Katie recognized him.

“It’s Francesco Tiepolo.”

“Tiepolo? What’s he doing in my house?”

Even as Zuliani spoke, the terrible cries of the traitorous conspirator carried over the roar of the flames.

“For pity’s sake, help me. I am roasting to death.”

Zuliani called up to him.

“Is there anyone else trapped with you?”

For a moment, Tiepolo seemed to look fearfully back into the room, and Zuliani thought there was someone. But Tiepolo must have just been looking at the encroaching flames. He now turned back to the horrified onlookers, terror in his eyes.

“No one. Please, help me. The stairs are on fire.”

Zuliani thought of the beautifully carved oak handrail he had slid down as a boy, only to be faced with wrath of his father, Agostino, at the bottom. He had slid off before encountering the iron escutcheon on the newel post, cast in the shape of a lizard. That would have been painful. But his father’s beating had been just as painful. Now the staircase was in the middle of a raging fire. Zuliani felt infinitely sad, but called up to Tiepolo all the same.

“I will try and open the door. Can you reach it?”

“I will try.”

By now, two or three enterprising neighbours had arrived with wooden buckets, and were ferrying water from the canal to the site of the fire. Zuliani could see their efforts were useless. Each bucketful turned into steam even as it was thrown in the ground floor windows. Somehow, the fire must have taken a strong hold in the accumulated junk he had stored on the lower floors of Ca’ Zuliani. His childhood home was burning down before his eyes. Zuliani edged closer to the doorway, holding his cloak up as a shield against the heat. He leaned against the iron-bound door. The wood was hot and the metal straps even hotter. It was no use. The lower floors were already an inferno.

As he scuttled back from the heat and flames, a horrible scream pierced his heart. He looked up to Tiepolo, and saw the man’s face disappear from the upper window. It was replaced with a sheet of flame. Francesco Tiepolo was gone.

*

The representative of the Avogadori de Comun was a fat, ponderous man who lifted his long, fur-trimmed robe to keep it clear of the blackened, water-damaged debris in the shell that once had been Nick Zuliani’s home. His name was Matteo Mocco, and he would have preferred to have avoided entering the house. Especially as he could still feel the heat of the fire through the soles of his fine leather shoes. But it was necessary for him to see in situ the charred lump of flesh that was all that remained of Francesco Tiepolo, traitor to the Serene Republic. Zuliani had found it on the second floor, one level below the top rooms where Tiepolo had last been seen alive. It had been a while before he could get back into his home, and he had cautiously tested the stairs and each floor level before venturing into the recesses of each room to find out what had happened to Tiepolo. On the top floor, he had found that most of his collection had been destroyed. The lion skin was merely a burnt jawbone, and the wonderful almanac a pile of papery ash. Even his old companion, the suit of armour, was unrecognizable. He had hung his head, and descended to the next floor down. There, he had found the body.

Now Mocco was poking the husk cautiously with the toe of his shoe. It stirred in a way that suggested it was as light as the ashen remains of a burnt log. The avogador shuddered and wiped the black smear on the tip of his shoe on the back of his leggings. He snorted.

“Good riddance.”

“What am I to do with the body?”

Mocco shrugged at Zuliani’s question.

“If it was me, I would throw him out with the rest of your fire-damaged rubbish. But I suppose he warrants a Christian burial. If there are any of his family left after recent events, tell them to come and collect him.”

Mocco departed, leaving Zuliani staring at the blackened remains.

“Is that him? Tiepolo?”

The question had come from Katie Valier, who now stood in the doorway of the room that was Tiepolo’s last resting place for the time being. As ever, she did not take much care of her fine clothes. Zuliani could see a layer of soot and ash on the dress’s hem. There were dark marks on the front of her gown too. She must have got soot on her hands, and had wiped them clean on the sumptuous material. Zuliani wondered if her grandmother, of whom Katie spoke a great deal and with adoration, would approve of her granddaughter’s careless attitude. Even as he looked at her, he saw her move her hand from the door frame, where it had come to rest, down to the side of her dress. Another black smear ensued. Endearingly she also had a sooty mark across her brow.

“You should not be up here. It is not safe.”

He strode over to her and, whilst still reprimanding her, wiped the smear from her face with his thumb. She laughed.

“Nonsense. If the floor can stand the weight of Matteo Mocco, it can bear three of me.”

“Yes, but there are not three of you, Katie Valier. There is only one, and I am sure your mother holds you to be precious.”

The girl pulled a face.

“My mother and father are dead. Of the plague.”

Zuliani apologized for his blunder.

“I am sorry for that. Then it is that blessed grandmother of yours of whom you should think.” Hearing a creak, he cast a fearful glance up at the ceiling. “Let’s get downstairs before this all falls in on us.”

Despite his best efforts, Katie still managed to get a good look at Tiepolo’s body before Zuliani could grab her arm and steer her down the ruined staircase. They stayed close to the wall as the wooden handrail had almost gone, but, at the bottom, the newel post and metal strap still remained. Katie pointed at the lizard shape that adorned the metal, and smiled.

“Look. It must be a salamander to have survived the fire. They do say that the creature can put out fires with milk from its skin.”

Zuliani gave her a sceptical look.

“Then this one failed miserably, didn’t it. Besides, it’s all a legend, and … oh, never mind.”

Zuliani was thinking again of all he had lost in the fire, and he couldn’t bear to contemplate it. Better to forget than get morbid. Besides, he needed to find somewhere to stay. As of now, he was homeless. The same thought must have occurred to Katie.

“I think it is time you met my grandmother. We have a spare room, and you could stay until you sort out your own house.”

Zuliani gratefully accepted the offer. To tell the truth, he didn’t know what else he would have done. His last few years had been spent more or less as a hermit, inhabiting the upper reaches of his now ruined house. His few forays into trading had been with partners who were young enough to be his grandsons, and with whom he had nothing in common, other than the love of a good deal. Most of his old friends and adversaries were long dead. Loneliness was the penalty of longevity. Until Katie had appeared, he had not thought much of his situation. Now he longed for company again, and her company in particular. The idea of staying in the same house as her appealed greatly. But he was not so sure of the grandmother. Would she be some whiskery old lady who harboured suspicions about his motives in relation to Katie? As they made their way on to the Rialto Bridge, Zuliani clutched the girl’s arm.

“Will your grandmother approve of this? It is quite something to foist an old, cantankerous bastard like me on a frail old lady, at a moment’s notice.”

Katie’s tinkling laughter rang out, dispelling any doubts Zuliani had.

“I shall tell her you said that … frail old lady indeed.” She released her arm from his grip, and sped off, lifting her skirts up to help her to run. “Come on, last one over the bridge must pay a forfeit.”

He groaned.

“I am too old for this. Wait for me.”

When she faltered, he laughed and sped past her. Elbowing the crowds of people that thronged the bridge out of the way, he reaching the other side of the Grand Canal first. He cheered his victory, but his heart was pounding in his chest. He leaned forwards with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Are you alright?”

Zuliani waved away Katie’s anxious enquiry with his hand.

“Let me get my breath, and I will tell you. In the meantime, lead me to your house.”

He was shocked to be taken to a palazzo he had once been very familiar with in another life. He stood before the heavy oaken doors and frowned. He turned to Katie, who had a broad grin on her face. He could barely speak.

“What is this? This is the old Dolfin palace. But there’s none of the family left.”

The girl made a moue with her lips.

“Except for me. And grandmother. Come and meet her.”

It was a strange feeling for Zuliani to cross the portal he had never been able to as a young man. He had been the lover of Caterina Dolfin, but her father had disapproved of the daredevil trader whose family was not recorded in the
Libro d’Oro –
the Golden Book of ancient families of Venice. Now, he half-expected the old man to rise from his grave and peremptorily demand he leave. Instead, another voice from the past did quite the opposite.

“Welcome to Ca’ Dolfin, Nick. It’s about time you saw inside those doors.”

Suddenly, his breath was taken away in a far more exhilarating way than when he had raced Katie. He was so disconcerted he managed only one syllable.

“Cat?”

Down the other end of the long-pillared hallway stood a woman, slender and erect. She was in semi-darkness, and for a moment Zuliani thought he had been thrown back in time. It was the Caterina Dolfin of forty years ago – slim, but curvy in all the right places, her exquisitely carved features framed by thick blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulders. He moved towards this vision, hardly believing it as real, and she stepped into the light of three candles set atop a tall stand. Then he saw that his vision was real after all. Of course it was his lover Cat, and of course she was older, just as he was. Closer to her, he saw the wrinkles round the corners of her eyes, but they were the same clear, blue eyes, full of mischief. The blonde hair had strands of silver, but was just as thick and alive. She smiled at Zuliani, and her face lit up just as it used to when he stroked her naked body.

“What do you think of Katie’s old grandma, then?”

Zuliani pulled a face.

“You’ve aged somewhat better than I have, Caterina.”

She reached out a hand, and stroked his weather-beaten, wrinkled face.

“Ah yes, but I like older men.”

Before either of them could say another word, Katie broke into their colloquy.

“Granny Cat, can Nick stay here? Only, his house has burned down.”

A look of alarm crossed Caterina’s aquiline features.

“Burnt down? My God, how did that happen?” She squeezed Zuliani’s arm. “You weren’t inside, were you?”

Zuliani waved her concerns aside, still unable to tear his gaze from her face.

“No, no. I am fine.”

Katie couldn’t contain herself, though, and had to take over the conversation.

“But Francesco Tiepolo isn’t. He burned to a crisp. I saw him.”

Cat turned a stern gaze on Zuliani.

“When I asked my granddaughter to talk to you, I didn’t expect you to show her dead bodies. God, you haven’t changed, have you?”

She turned her back on him and took a few steps away into the semi-darkness. Katie was about to speak, but Zuliani quieted her with a raised finger. He walked over to Cat and, from behind her, whispered in her ear.

“So you sent Katie to spy on me. I thought it was all her idea. Of course, I didn’t know then that she was your granddaughter. I was flattered enough to imagine that anyone of her generation had even heard of Niccolo Zuliani. All my celebrity is in the past, after all.” Then he recalled the fire. “And what was left of it has just gone up in smoke.”

Cat’s face, when she looked at him again, showed her deep feelings. She looked distraught.

“I am so sorry about that. But surely there are friends who can help you? You were always such a …”

“Schemer? I was, but that is the problem. People you get to know only want you for your expertise, or else you con them out of money and don’t want to cross their paths again.” He squinted at Cat as another thought crossed his mind. “Was it your idea that Katie asked about my love-life?”

Cat Dolfin had the good grace to blush at this stage and look away from Zuliani. He laughed uproariously.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

She stamped her foot, and bunched her hands into fists.

“Don’t you laugh at me. It was you who dumped me forty years ago when I was carrying your child.”

That stopped Zuliani in his tracks.

“My child? So Gurbesu was right all along.”

Cat wagged a finger at him.

“Gurbesu, eh? That was your Eastern … trollop, I suppose.”

Zuliani gave her a wry smile.

“One of many, actually. But none so … exotic as Gurbesu.” He leaned forward, and whispered in her ear again. “She reminded me of you.”

Cat pushed him away, but she couldn’t wipe a smile off her lips. This old man with grey hair shot through his red locks was as roguish as he had been all those years ago. She couldn’t help loving him all over again.

“You couldn’t keep your hands off me, could you?”