the D in Medici is for Venice. This gives us an itinerary. He’s telling us—or, rather, Cosimo—to search the cities in this order.”
“Oh, my, oh, no, you horrible children —but let me see that riddle again,” Dr. Riccardi breathed all over the pages. “I do have to say, the letter does make more sense with this information. What’s the second stanza— In City One find a tomb ? Where upon a Fool— What was it?”
“In City One find a Tomb / Where upon a Fool worms feed / One hand holds the Toy of doom / The other grips your first Lead,” Marco recited from memory.
“Yes. Don’t you see how we need to bring in my experts? This is of critical importance. I must get the letter authenticated. City One must be A —that is here — in Florence . There was that crypt I was speaking to you about, Cappella dei Principi at the Basilica di San Lorenzo, where Antonio interred his slave—the Fool.”
“I wish you could have told me Antonio called him that name before, Isabel,” said Marco. “This whole year I’ve been digging around the university’s medical school, trying to find any records of the burial sites of the imbeciles young Antonio used for his human experiments. It hasn’t been the easiest job.”
“Wrong fools,” she said.
“Why didn’t I know that? I thought I studied all the important records.”
The doctor flicked her eyes at me. “Perhaps you missed something.”
“You know what this could mean?” I asked, just as Adriana walked in through the door, saying, “I forgot to ask if our guests like their duck rare or— my God! ”
A look of scholastic ecstasy passed over Erik’s face. “What could it mean? We could find Montezuma’s gold, the Aztec idols, the calendars, the lost druidical gold books.”
Dr. Riccardi had two bright spots on her cheeks. “Cellini, in his autobiography, wrote of rumors that Antonio brought back so much treasure it nearly sank his ship.”
“Mary Magdalene, I told you people to behave yourselves—what happened to the Pontormo?” cried Adriana.
Marco smiled as he reached down to the table, where I had placed Antonio’s signature page over the Pontormo map. With a twirl of his long pickpocket fingers, he spirited up the paper, and then slid the remainder of the leaves from the grasp of Dr. Riccardi, who blurted: “Hey, hold on. Give that back—”
“Marco, what’s going on?” Adriana asked.
“They’ve gone crazy,” Dr. Riccardi shouted, as most everyone began switching to manic Italian. “Signor, you must know that letter has to stay here!”
“Sorry,” Marco said. “It’s time that my friends and I took our leave.”
“I’m afraid—that’s not—possible.” Dr. Riccardi’s voice wavered into a banshee-like caterwaul as she snatched at the letter.
“You must let me study it—if you only knew how valuable this could possibly be—”
“No—no—let go.”
“You’re going to rip it—”
“Give the doctor what she wants,” Adriana ordered in a mortally serious voice.
Dr. Riccardi had her hands on Marco’s shoulders, tugging at them with surprising strength. Marco yanked himself away, but she clung to him like a barnacle, her red hair waving over her shoulders.
“Let go of her, Moreno!” Adriana yelled.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” Erik thundered at Marco.
“Domenico,” Marco spat.
The blond immediately sprinted over to the doctor, lifted her off his employer, and threw her splay-legged to the ground, as Marco said, “It really didn’t have to come to this, you yappering old bird. But if you continue shrieking like that, I might just have to break your beak. And Adriana—for hell’s sake—stop scampering around—”
Adriana did not hesitate. She sprang forward and began to expertly and brutally stab her sharp thin fingers into Domenico’s thorax in a shocking display of self-help. “Dr. Riccardi—Dr. Riccardi—”
“My girl,” the older woman cried, “get out of here!”
At my
“Oh, my, oh, no, you horrible children —but let me see that riddle again,” Dr. Riccardi breathed all over the pages. “I do have to say, the letter does make more sense with this information. What’s the second stanza— In City One find a tomb ? Where upon a Fool— What was it?”
“In City One find a Tomb / Where upon a Fool worms feed / One hand holds the Toy of doom / The other grips your first Lead,” Marco recited from memory.
“Yes. Don’t you see how we need to bring in my experts? This is of critical importance. I must get the letter authenticated. City One must be A —that is here — in Florence . There was that crypt I was speaking to you about, Cappella dei Principi at the Basilica di San Lorenzo, where Antonio interred his slave—the Fool.”
“I wish you could have told me Antonio called him that name before, Isabel,” said Marco. “This whole year I’ve been digging around the university’s medical school, trying to find any records of the burial sites of the imbeciles young Antonio used for his human experiments. It hasn’t been the easiest job.”
“Wrong fools,” she said.
“Why didn’t I know that? I thought I studied all the important records.”
The doctor flicked her eyes at me. “Perhaps you missed something.”
“You know what this could mean?” I asked, just as Adriana walked in through the door, saying, “I forgot to ask if our guests like their duck rare or— my God! ”
A look of scholastic ecstasy passed over Erik’s face. “What could it mean? We could find Montezuma’s gold, the Aztec idols, the calendars, the lost druidical gold books.”
Dr. Riccardi had two bright spots on her cheeks. “Cellini, in his autobiography, wrote of rumors that Antonio brought back so much treasure it nearly sank his ship.”
“Mary Magdalene, I told you people to behave yourselves—what happened to the Pontormo?” cried Adriana.
Marco smiled as he reached down to the table, where I had placed Antonio’s signature page over the Pontormo map. With a twirl of his long pickpocket fingers, he spirited up the paper, and then slid the remainder of the leaves from the grasp of Dr. Riccardi, who blurted: “Hey, hold on. Give that back—”
“Marco, what’s going on?” Adriana asked.
“They’ve gone crazy,” Dr. Riccardi shouted, as most everyone began switching to manic Italian. “Signor, you must know that letter has to stay here!”
“Sorry,” Marco said. “It’s time that my friends and I took our leave.”
“I’m afraid—that’s not—possible.” Dr. Riccardi’s voice wavered into a banshee-like caterwaul as she snatched at the letter.
“You must let me study it—if you only knew how valuable this could possibly be—”
“No—no—let go.”
“You’re going to rip it—”
“Give the doctor what she wants,” Adriana ordered in a mortally serious voice.
Dr. Riccardi had her hands on Marco’s shoulders, tugging at them with surprising strength. Marco yanked himself away, but she clung to him like a barnacle, her red hair waving over her shoulders.
“Let go of her, Moreno!” Adriana yelled.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” Erik thundered at Marco.
“Domenico,” Marco spat.
The blond immediately sprinted over to the doctor, lifted her off his employer, and threw her splay-legged to the ground, as Marco said, “It really didn’t have to come to this, you yappering old bird. But if you continue shrieking like that, I might just have to break your beak. And Adriana—for hell’s sake—stop scampering around—”
Adriana did not hesitate. She sprang forward and began to expertly and brutally stab her sharp thin fingers into Domenico’s thorax in a shocking display of self-help. “Dr. Riccardi—Dr. Riccardi—”
“My girl,” the older woman cried, “get out of here!”
At my
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