Grantville Gazette.Volume 22 Read online

  "I understand… the Grand Duke told me…"

  "Perhaps he also told you that I am a stranger to this city, even to this time. You can trust me to seek the truth."

  "At least as long as that truth isn't politically inconvenient for the grand duke."

  "Even then, I might surprise you." Lewis hoped so, at least.

  "Ask your questions."

  Lewis asked her everything a mystery reader or crime TV fan might expect him to ask. The poisonous substances which were kept in the house or its grounds, and whether they had shown signs of recent use. The names and duties of the servants, their term of service, their past employers, and their whereabouts on the day that Pietro was stricken. The medications which Pietro had taken over the past month or so. The names and business of any visitors within the same period, and the dates of their visits. Who might be expected to benefit from or take pleasure in Pietro's death.

  "Is it true that he thought someone wanted to kill him?"

  "Yes."

  "When did he first form this belief?"

  "Several years ago. First he was attacked by ruffians at night, and was saved by the chance appearance of a couple of young noblemen. And then he was standing by a building, and was grazed by a falling brick."

  "He saw someone drop the brick on him?"

  "No, he said it happened too quickly."

  "And do you think he was right, that he was in danger?"

  Silvia shrugged. "This is Florence, who can say? Politics can be vicious. And commerce, even more vicious."

  You aren't being paranoid if people really are out to get you, Lewis mused.

  Domenico was a sullen twenty-something of no clear occupation. Other, perhaps, than his former occupation of "Waiting for Pop to Die So I Can Make a Real Dent in the Family Fortune." He disavowed any knowledge of poisons or medicines, not that in the seventeenth century there was a big difference between the two.

  Olimpia was equally irritating, in her own special way. While Domenico tried to answer every questions with a single word-and then, only after a long pause, Olimpia was obviously in training for the Run-On Sentence Olympic event.

  Before leaving, Lewis took samples of Domenico's tonic, and Silvia and Olimpia's cosmetics. He also borrowed the household accounts book.

  ***

  Lewis and Cosimo compared notes.

  "I spoke to Pietro's manservant, Taddeo. He told me something peculiar. Seems that Pietro was in the habit of making trips by himself, perhaps once every other month. Went in disguise."

  "That's interesting. Sounds like a Clue with a capital C."

  "Frustrating, is what I'd call it. If he were alive, I could have him tailed. With him dead, I can't follow up on it."

  "If he weren't dead, we wouldn't be talking about it in the first place."

  "It's too bad. I would have looked forward to tailing him. Probably lead me through three or four taverns a night. Perhaps even a brothel or two. And I would have to buy drinks, and so forth, all at Medici expense. So I didn't look suspicious, you see."

  "I do indeed."

  "I feel cheated, I must say."

  "Pietro ever say anything about why he made the trips?"

  "Apparently not. As you heard, Pietro was secretive. Didn't trust his own servants. Might have been going to see a girl, but I rather think it was something political. If it was directed against the Medicis, perhaps it's just as well he's dead."

  Cosimo cocked his head. "Any great insights? Has Sherlock Holmes spoken to you from beyond the Great Unknown?"

  "Well, a detective looks for who has means, motive and opportunity. The family members, and the servants, of course have opportunity. And often motive, too. As to means-by God Almighty, there's arsenic everywhere! In Domenico's tonic, in Silvia and Olimpia's face-powder, in the servant's storeroom. They use it to kill rats, they say.

  "If my chemical tests show that Pietro was poisoned, it won't be a surprise to me. The surprise is that everyone else in the damn household is still alive!"

  ***

  "Signorina Bartolli is waiting for you in the courtyard," the butler said.

  Lewis nearly dropped the instruments he was carrying. "Who?"

  "Your sister, Marina Bartolli." The servant gave him a reproving look. "You really should have warned us, sir."

  Lewis ran down the hall. It was Marina all right, sitting on a stone bench, her back to him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he sputtered.

  She turned her head. "It's good to see you, too, brother. The roses here are lovely, don't you think? Not a variety we have in Grantville."

  "I mean, how could you come without sending me word, giving me the chance to tell you whether conditions were safe?"

  "I did send you word, a few weeks ago. But then I had the chance, thanks to Duchess Claudia, to snag a seat on the Monster." That was the world's first commercial airplane. "You can't begrudge me having chosen to cross the Alps in just a few hours, rather than a month by land, can you? And then it was just a coach ride from Venice to Florence." She added impishly, "I'm sure my letter will get here eventually."

  "Claudia de Medici? The arch duchess and regent of Austria-Tyrol? How do you know her?"

  "Why, she came into the store."

  "Claudia de Medici visited Bartolli's Surplus and Outdoors Supplies?"

  "No, she just pressed her face against the window glass, idiot. Yes, she came in. It was refreshing to have a visitor who asked questions about things that didn't go boom. We hit it off."

  Lewis stared at the ceiling. "I don't suppose she asked about our family, too?"

  "Oh, yes, I bragged a bit about our brother-in-law." Greg Ferrara, once Grantville's high school chemistry teacher, and now the USE's Grand Poo-Bah of Military R amp;D. "And I might have mentioned Toni Adducci, Senior." He was their first cousin, once removed, and the Secretary of the Treasury for the State of Thuringia-Franconia.

  "Good God, Marina, you were talking to a Medici. For them, there is no boundary between family life and political life. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she knew about Greg before you opened your mouth. She flew you to Venice-"

  "And arranged for me to be escorted here. And I have a letter to her nephew Ferdinand, asking that he see to it that I am safely returned to her townhouse in Venice when I am done here."

  "How nice. Given that 'nephew Ferdinand' is the grand duke of Tuscany, I am sure you'll travel in style. But what sort of favor do you think Claudia will expect from you? And what will she do if you can't deliver?"

  "Oh, pooh," said Marina. "I can deliver. I already had cousin Greg and Arch duchess Claudia over for dinner, for example. It went fine, even if Mother nearly had a nervous breakdown. And I can ask my brother Lewis-" She winked. "-whether there might be any 'investment opportunities' in his boric acid operation. So, are there?"

  "Given that the operation is backed by Medici money, and Claudia is a Medici, I think that's a safe assumption."

  "Good. I also have a list of chemistry questions for you. Mind you, I think Claudia already put the same questions to cousin Greg, and just wants to see if your answers are the same. She's a smart cookie."

  "I'm sure."

  "She kinda hinted that she might be able to take me on as one of her ladies-in-waiting."

  "You want to be a glorified servant to a noblewoman?"

  "Oh, that's right. I could stay in Grantville and be a sales clerk in a sporting goods store. What was I thinking?"

  "Still-"

  "Okay." She held up her left hand, palm up. "Sales clerk in Grantville." She held up her right hand the same way, at the same height. "Lady-in-waiting and ornamental up-timer in Tyrolia." She jiggled the hands up and down, as if they were the pans of a balance, then suddenly raised the left and lowered the right, sharply. "Tyrol wins!

  "Anyway, you're one to talk. Isn't 'nephew Ferdinand' your patron now?"

  "Technically speaking, he, and his brother Leopold, are patrons of the Academy, not my personal patron. I am still an officer in the U
SE Army."

  "Technically speaking, 'Mister Consulting Detective,' if he tells you to piss, you say, 'yes sir, how far, sir?' Because we want Tuscany to be a friendly neutral. At least, that's what the Ambassadress told me when I passed through Venice."

  Lewis winced. "As a matter of fact, he has given me a little assignment. A murder investigation."

  "Ooh, tell me more."

  ***

  "Well, the gruesome part is done," Lewis said. After the grand duke's physician had clucked-clucked over the corrosion of the stomach lining-typical of arsenic, antimony or mercury poisoning-Lewis had divided the stomach contents into two parts. One part he preserved intact, for study under the microscope, and the other part he homogenized, acidified, and heated. He let it cool back down, and ran it through a filter.

  "Your Grace, if there is any arsenic in the filtrate, it is now sodium arsenate. We can now perform the Marsh test." Lewis pointed at a bottle. "That contains arsenic-free sulfuric acid." Lewis pulled some small rods of metal out of a chest. "And these are arsenic-free rods of zinc metal; what the alchemists call 'Malabar lead.'"

  The World's Most Blue-Blooded Lab Assistant, otherwise known as Grand Duke Ferdinand, put the rods into a flask and poured the acid over the metal.

  "Take it easy, Your Grace," warned Lewis. "We want to keep the temperature low, and the evolution of hydrogen slow." Lewis stuck his precious up-time thermometer into the flask. "Hmm… you were perhaps a little too enthusiastic. Let's cool things down a bit." He put the flask into a dish of cold water for a few minutes, then removed it.

  "All right, next step." Lewis stoppered the flask, and inserted two tubes into it, one for adding the sample at the proper time, and the other to a U-shaped drying tube. This in turn he connected to an L-shaped tube with a long arm passing over a candle.

  "Now we wait for all the air to be expelled."

  The minutes passed.

  Leopold fidgeted. Finally, he asked, "Why is it called the 'Marsh test'? That is your English word for a 'swamp,' si?"

  "It's named after the English chemist, James Marsh. Marsh was called upon in a case in which a young man was accused of poisoning his grandfather with arsenic trioxide… that's what your apothecaries call 'arsenic.' He detected it by its reaction with hydrogen sulfide, but by the time of the trial, the yellow precipitate had deteriorated, and the jury refused to convict. Marsh was apoplectic over this miscarriage of justice, and worked long hours in his laboratory until he devised this test."

  "Why the zinc?"

  "The zinc reacts with the sulfuric acid to generate hydrogen, and the hydrogen reacts with the arsenic to form arsine gas."

  "A gas? Like air?" Leopold, clearly, had attended Lewis' lecture on how air was a substance. "How will we see it?"

  "When the gas is brought to a red heat here"-Lewis pointed to the part of the tube right above the alcohol burner-"it will decompose into metallic arsenic and hydrogen, and a shiny black deposit of arsenic will be deposited on the inside of the tube, just beyond. That's what we call the…" He paused for effect "… 'arsenic mirror.'

  "It is time. Leopold, would you like to do the honors?" The World's Second Most Blue-Blooded Lab Assistant dropped the filtrate down the sample tube into the flask. And his older brother lit the burner.

  "I can't believe you're letting them do everything," Marina complained.

  "I thought you hated lab work when you took chemistry last year."

  "I did. But you still should have asked me."

  "I don't see anything yet," said Ferdinand.

  "Let me see if this helps." Lewis held a white paper behind the tube.

  "No… Wait… yes! I see a brown stain."

  "It's getting blacker," said Leopold.

  "Black as sin," pronounced Ferdinand. "We have a poisoning, don't we, Lewis?"

  "It looks that way, Your Grace. But let me confirm." Lewis brought the burner to the free end of the tube, and ignited the escaping gas. It produced a bluish white flame, with white fumes.

  "So far so good. Or bad, depending on your point of view."

  Lewis held a cold porcelain dish to the flame, then brought it away. There was a brownish black spot upon it. "And that, my friends, is the 'arsenic spot.'"

  ***

  Marina walked into Lewis' house, followed by a servant trying to balance a large pile of goods.

  Lewis eyed the pile warily. "I hope Archduchess Claudia gave you an expense account."

  "Nothing to worry about, brother. These are gifts from relatives."

  "Relatives?"

  "You didn't think that the Bartollis climbed out of the trees in West Virginia, did'ya? There are Bartollis right here in Florence. Cosimo, Lorenzo, Giovanni, Matteo, Niccolo, Piero…"

  "And you think we're related, just because of the last name?"

  "Well, they thought it was reasonable. Of course, they weren't sure of the blood connection until I mentioned that I had been in Ferdinand and Leopold's private laboratory, and flew to Venice with Archduchess Claudia."

  "You impudent namedropper, you. Even if it's true, let me think. .. 370 years… twenty years a generation… you might be their cousin eighteenth removed, if I've got the terminology straight. You're probably more closely related to John F. Kennedy than you are to them."

  "Whatever. So, who d'you think knocked off Pietro?" Marina said.

  Lewis laughed. "Suspects? They are as common as mosquitoes in the Maremma. Silvia is sure it's some business or political rival. She gave me a list. Pietro was recently appointed to a salt magistracy, and she thinks that perhaps he discovered that one of his colleagues was embezzling funds, and threatened to inform the authorities if he didn't turn himself in."

  "More likely asked for a cut in return for his silence, and got too greedy," said Cosimo.

  "But were those rivals at the dinner?" asked Marina.

  "Even if they weren't there, they could have suborned a servant," said Cosimo. "But actually, I think it's the wife. Wives have poisoned inconvenient husbands since time immemorial. A half-century ago, Bianca Cappello, the most beautiful woman in Tuscany, poisoned Pietro Bonaventuri, so she could marry her lover, Francesco de Medici."

  "Yep, Silvia's a suspect, all right. Silvia would have much more financial independence as a widow, and she's still good looking. For that matter, perhaps there's some young fellow she already has her eyes on."

  "We'll look into it," said Cosimo.

  "Then there are the heirs," Lewis continued. " Domenico and Olimpia. You do know what they call arsenic in this day and age? 'Inheritance powder.' It can be added to food or drink without imparting a suspicious color or taste, and seventeenth century alchemy is quite incapable of identifying it. That made it the ideal poison until chemistry caught up with the poisoners in the nineteenth century."

  "Rocco got chummy with Taddeo, found out that Pietro's got a mistress. Had a mistress, I should say. Her name's Stella. Lives at a nice address, dresses well. Sin pays."

  "Ah," said Lewis, "the plot thickens. Or, more precisely, the list of suspects increases."

  Marina looked unconvinced. "Why would she kill the goose that lays the golden eggs? Surely she would be left with nothing if he died."

  "Right," said Cosimo. "Usually the mistress gets rid of the wife, and marries the husband. Bianca Capello did that, too. Remember her? She poisoned Giovanna, the Austrian princess, and married Francesco de Medici."

  Lewis shrugged. "A mistress might murder a patron. Perhaps she found a fatter 'goose,' and Pietro wouldn't let her move on. Or perhaps he beats her, and she wanted revenge. Or he refused to divorce his wife, and she decided to poison Pietro and hope that the death would be blamed on Silvia."

  Marina had a different idea. "Or perhaps some young fellow is madly in love with Stella and killed Pietro out of jealousy."

  "You're quite a romantic," said Lewis.

  "No, no, your sister's right," said Cosimo. "That sort of thing happens. I'll ask around."

  "Perhaps I should interview
this Stella myself."

  "How very conscientious of you, dear brother."

  ***

  Cosimo found Stella's boy toy. "His name's Fabio," Cosimo reported.

  "Occupation?"

  "Artist."

  "Great, all I need," said Lewis.

  "What's wrong with artists? Even artists named 'Fabio'?" asked Marina.

  "The pigments they use. Which include realgar red and orpiment yellow. Realgar is arsenic (II) sulfide, and orpiment is arsenic (III) sulfide."

  "While those are poisonous, you can't put them in food without anyone noticing," said Cosimo.

  "But you can react them with natron, sodium carbonate, to get arsenic trioxide. And heat that in vegetable oil if you want pure arsenic. As I said, all I need."

  Lewis started pacing, then stopped abruptly. "Although while this Fabio may have had the means, and the motive, I am not so sure he'd have the opportunity. When would he come into contact with Pietro?"

  "Perhaps he gave the stuff to Stella to administer to Pietro. He might not even have told her it was poison. Perhaps that it was an aphrodisiac."

  Lewis snorted. "We're making quite a mountain of accusations out of a molehill of evidence."

  ***

  Lewis knew that Pietro's body contained a large dose of arsenic, the Marsh test on his stomach contents was ample proof of that. If the arsenic had been administered on the day of the infamous dinner, then the list of suspects could be trimmed down, to just the family, the guests and the servants present that day. Still a long list, of course.

  But Pietro and Silvia thought that there had been a series of attempts on his life. And if that were the case, and they were all by the same party, then knowing when the attempts were made could help narrow down the list of suspects.

  Unfortunately, the Marsh test didn't provide a timeline. The statements collected by the investigators, and even the household account book, hadn't been of much help, either. There were payments for medicines, but the responsible doctors and apothecaries swore that these didn't contain significant amounts of arsenic, and Lewis' testing of the remaining vials, ointments and whatnot confirmed that. In fact, it seemed that Pietro had the least chronic exposure to arsenic of anyone in the household.