Thirteenth Night (23 page)

“No, I don't,” I said, rising to my feet and throwing open the shutters. I needed air badly.

“I think you do, but you're refusing to admit it,” he said softly. “You were attacked after revealing yourself to the Duchess Viola. You were attacked after stumbling upon one of her greatest secrets, perhaps more than one.”

“But that couldn't have been Viola you saw there,” I protested. “He was tall!” I sat down again, gulping the cold air. I no longer knew whose turn it was, nor cared.

“Yes, he was. And he had that distinctive black beard. But would Malvolio still have that same beard after all this time? Would it still be black? Would he risk discovery by flaunting it? And why would he bother putting it on just to kill you? You would know him with or without. I suspect that was someone in Viola's employ, with a little disguise to help. And we know how good she is with a false beard.”

“Stop,” I said hoarsely. “This is nonsense.”

“Is it?” he replied, moving a piece. “Then let me ask you this. She was supposed to meet you at the cliffs. Did she?”

“She was late. Claudius had some business to take care of.”

“And what business is taking place during this season? This town is dead in the winter. Without the Twelve Days, everyone would be sitting at home with the shutters closed, keeping near the fire and telling stories. It's just too convenient that she would be late.”

“But Malvolio's voice…”

“Easily imitated. ‘Like a dog returneth to its vomit,'” he finished in a passable re-creation of the voice. “I can do it, so can you. I'll wager many can do it. He's a legendary butt of stories here, half the town can imitate him.”

I wanted wine, I wanted to drown myself in a barrel of it.

“Let me pose it this way. Viola kills her husband. Why, I'm not sure. From what I've seen of marriage, I'm surprised more wives don't do it. She had opportunity. He's shirking his parental duties and taking his little walk, and she's supposedly out looking for that doctor. It took her an hour, they say. Enough time to get to the cliffs, knock him over the side, find the doctor, and get back. No one's the wiser. Then, out of the blue, Feste returns. And to her absolute shock, not only tumbles to the murder but to her secret identity. But you reveal your chief suspect to her, and that gives her a way of diverting your attention. So she sets up the scene with the fake Malvolio to hammer it into your head even further. And you needed no convincing. You've been sent galloping down the wrong road.”

“How does Fabian fit into this?”

“Don't forget he was Olivia's steward. This whole affair may be mercenary at the heart. Viola may have been doing some shady dealing with Orsino's money, possibly through the missing Aleph. Did you ask her about Aleph yet?”

“No,” I said in chagrin.

“It may be that Fabian was involved, a conspiracy of clerks. Only with you investigating, it was too dangerous to let him live. So, he was killed. And now you're on the verge of proclaiming the second coming of Malvolio to the world. Everyone will be jumping at shadows for the next ten years, which would suit Milady just fine. Where was she at the time of Fabian's death? Can she account for herself?”

It fit. All of it.

“All right, it's plausible,” I said grudgingly. “But you have no proof.”

“I learned that at the hands of the master,” he said, bowing in my direction. “All I am saying is that it makes a better explanation than the return of a vengeful steward. If Malvolio truly carried that hatred, he would have reappeared years ago. Why now?”

“You mentioned a motive for summoning me. What is it?”

“One more leap of faith, if you will. It may have come from Olivia.”

I thought about that. “You think she suspected Viola but couldn't pursue her directly?”

“Precisely. So, she sent you an anonymous message, knowing you would arrive eventually and go after the murderer.”

“That assumes she knows the true nature of the Guild.”

He shrugged. “I don't think we're that secret a society anymore. She's a smart woman, sitting at the center of her web, reeling in whatever rumors get trapped in it. It's a possibility.”

I looked out the window, over the wall to the river. Devoid of traffic. No ships other than the fishing boats. He was right, there was no commerce this time of year.

“I've missed everything,” I said. “How could I have been so blind?”

“You mean you don't know?” he said, chuckling sympathetically.

I looked at him in dismay, tears blurring my vision.

“I'm sorry, but it's clear that you're in love with her. Probably have been from the moment she walked into town disguised as a boy. She was more like one of us than one of them, wasn't she? But you had to carry out the plan, like a good fool, so you did. And now, you've come back to save her. She probably saw this when you revealed yourself and has been playing on it ever since. It's your move, by the way.”

“I'm sorry, I haven't been paying attention,” I said, wiping my eyes and sitting down at the board. “Where did you move last?”

“The bishop.”

“What?”

He indicated the piece with his finger. I stared at the board in confusion and followed the diagonals.

“The bishop, to be sure,” I said. “And I see you've pinned my queen. Apt, very apt.” I knocked over my king angrily. “Look at me, I'm losing to a man with a broken head.”

He laughed gently. “That's more like it,” he said. “Now, what do we do? If it isn't Malvolio, then it really doesn't involve the Guild. We could just abandon the assignment and sneak out of here with dignity.”

“No,” I said. “There's still a murderer to catch. A murderess, I should say.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “Then maybe you should find out more about Aleph.”

I stood and held out my hand. He grasped it. “I'm sorry for involving you in all this,” I said. “I have managed to get us both lodgings in what may be the most dangerous place in Orsino for us. Will you be all right?”

“I think so,” he said. “She thinks we're looking for Malvolio. She won't try anything right under her own roof. Be careful out there.”

I nodded and left for the stables.

Zeus looked up at me expectantly as I walked up with his saddle. “Come on, old Greek,” I said. “We have work to do.”

F
OURTEEN

Even when the fool walks on the road, he lacks sense.

ECCLESIASTES 10.3

 

I managed to hold Zeus to a slow trot as I worked my way up the riverside, past the baths, past the wharves, up to where the fresh water first meets the salt. Normally, one could take a ferry across to the south road, but this winter had been long and cold enough to ice over all but a narrow channel in the middle. Which Zeus promptly jumped the moment I gave him a little slack.

I let him fly on the open road, past snow-covered fields and occasional flocks of sheep or goats huddling together, scraping the ice away, searching for frozen clumps of weeds. The ridge was further from the sea on this side of the river, and the farms provided no cover as far as I could tell. I wasn't being followed, nor did I worry about it. Any threats lay ahead.

The south road clung to the shore, and the wind whipped up the salt spray so that I was chilled beyond the already frigid air. I was deeply grateful when the farms petered out and the forests reclaimed dominance, providing some respite from the wind, though these trees were planted, dormant groves of olive awaiting spring. I slowed Zeus down to a trot and started scanning the woods on either side of me.

No signs of recent travel, but I was looking for something older. Though I was not a woodsman by training, I have slept under enough trees to know them by name and inclination. I didn't know what precisely I would find, but I would know it when I saw it. I traveled some five or six miles in this fashion, studying the slightest break of a branch, the most casual disturbance of fallen leaves, but found nothing. Judging my travels sufficient, I turned Zeus around and trotted back to town.

Which gave me time to think about the accusation of love that had been tossed in my direction by Señor Bobo. A strange idea to a jester, long used to concealing his feelings not only from others but from himself, yet apparent to my observant colleague. Such are the perils of strolling around sans makeup. I cursed my traitorous face.

I have sung about love, joked about love, composed lengthy poems of courtship for stricken swains with coin to spare, reenacted the wooings of the mighty and the meek. But love for myself—well, there's not much I can do when it happens. A cat may look at a king and a fool may love a duchess, but only the cat will be satisfied. I had a job to do when she first strode into Orsino in boyish attire, and I had one to do now.

“What say you to this affliction, Old Greek?” I asked my steed. “If the legends have but a kernel of truth to them, then you've had much vaster experience with it than I. Is it worth the trouble?” Zeus snorted, which was his answer to everything I said. Nevertheless, a good answer.

“Well, let it be,” I said to him and the wind, and we rode on in silence broken only by the muffled thuds of his hooves in the snow.

A solitary horseman was waiting as we neared the river. It was Perun, his hand resting gently on his sword, perhaps caressing it, although that may have been my imagination. I made certain my own hands stayed in sight, not wanting to give him the slightest excuse for offense.

“I thought of sending a man to follow you,” he said. “But then I realized which horse you were riding and gave up. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“My brother, you mean?” I replied.

He shrugged. “Very well, your brother.”

“Alas, no. But since I am alone, you've already guessed that. Will you ride with me back to town? I assure you that you will find nothing down that road, and it's too bitter a day to venture forth. And night approaches.”

He sighed. “I will send a man out in the morning,” he said.

“Please, spare him. There is truly nothing to find. There is less to me than meets the eye, believe me.”

“What meets the eye is always deceptive, Herr Octavius. I would employ only blind men in my service, but they are such poor marksmen.”

I laughed for the first time that I could recall in his presence. The horses carried us back to Orsino in an almost companionable silence, and he saluted me as we went our separate ways.

I returned Zeus to the villa's stables and gave him a good currying to his surprise and pleasure. A willful, cantankerous beast. Clearly, we were made for each other. When I entered my room, I saw a note in a supremely neat hand requesting my company at the Duke's chess table.

I found him in the Great Hall, well remembered from formal occasions. The Duke's chair, elaborately carved from a massive piece of ebony, sat on a raised platform. Mark was sitting by the base of it, staring out the long, slender window into the courtyard.

He stood and returned my bow and motioned me to the table, an ornate affair of alabaster and black marble, with pieces carved from ivory and ebony. The castles were elephants with siege towers.

“Will you play black or white?” he asked.

“Rather than impose on your hospitality, let us leave the choice to fate,” I said, and took a pawn from each side and hid them behind my back. I held my fists in front of him. He tapped the left and played white.

“Your German is quite good, Milord,” I commented as we played. “You must have your mother's gift for tongues.”

“Do you know my mother?” he asked.

“We've only been introduced,” I said. “But her talent for languages is of great repute. Ah, I see what you're doing.”

“But can you stop it?” he crowed.

I scanned the board, then held out my hand.

“Skillfully done, Milord.”

He took it and pulled me closer.

“You're very good,” he whispered. “You let me win with much more subtlety than that fool did this afternoon. Now, let's play a real game. And don't worry. If you beat me, I promise not to have you beheaded.”

I grinned. “Then it's my turn to play white.”

We reset the board and began anew. He was an excellent player for his age and managed in a short time to erase whatever vantage the white pieces gave me. We ultimately drew.

“Much more fun,” he pronounced. “I wish people wouldn't treat me with so much deference.”

“Unavoidable, I'm afraid. Until you are of age and assert yourself, people will approach you with care.”

“Maybe I should assert myself now,” he mused, sitting back on his chair. I shrugged. He looked sadly at the board.

“My father gave me this,” he said. “It was a present when he returned from the Crusade.”

“He was gone a while, wasn't he?”

“Yes. And now he's gone for good. It's too short a time to have a father. I did not want to be Duke yet.”

“My sympathies, Milord. There's nothing I can say to comfort you, except that such a man has certainly gone to Heaven. Be grateful for the times you had together. Think of the best of them when you miss him the most.”

“He took me to Venice, once,” he said, brightening. “And then to Rome. I had never been overseas before. We saw everything. I even met His Holiness!”

“And think of all the sons who never traveled with their fathers. My father traveled the world seeking spice and would be gone for years at a stretch. You've probably spent more time with your father in your short life than I did in my long one.”

“That is true,” he said. He yawned, looking again like the boy he was. “I must get my rest. I'm trying to get my strength back enough to be in the Play.”

I stood and bowed. “May I thank you for your splendid hospitality, Milord.”