Page 258 - The Grotesque Children's Book

“No need to threaten, sire, I won't repeat what you say.”

“That's better.”

“But still, what you say to me now will not remain in confidence.”

Francesco closed his eyes, trying to parse Zaccario's obfuscated reply. “You know I
enjoy a good puzzle, Zaccario,” said the Duke.

“I do indeed. We have that strongly in common.”

“But I don't understand what you're saying. On one side of your face you say I can trust
you, but on the other side you say you'll betray my confidence. Which is it? Think carefully,
good man, before answering.”

“With both sides of my face do I say you can trust me. However, we may be
eavesdropped upon here,” (meaning the alchemist's offices). “In the far recesses of my
workshop, I have apprentices and journeymen working on experiments and manufactuary. If
you wish to speak without being overheard, let us go to the Tribune. It has only the one
entrance, and we can keep our eyes on it as we speak.”

The Duke nodded, and led the alchemist out of his offices, up the hallway, and then to the
right into the Tribune which, you call, was the octagonal room with the jewels and bric-brackery
and odd symbols of the four seasons and eight sides. So into the Tribune stepped Francesco and
Zaccario, to discuss ways of poisoning Joanna of Austria without leaving a trace.

What they failed to see, however, was Santi del Meglio high above their heads on a
scaffold in the hallway. When he realized who had entered the octagonal room and what they
were discussing, Santi didn't dare move, nor make a sound. He drew in his breath and listened to
every word.

“God reward your discretion!” said the Duke, gleeful at the conspiracy despite its dark
nature. “So, alchemist,” he began, “it's no secret that my wife and I are at odds with each other.”

“Do not refer to her as your wife, sire.”

“Joanna? She is my wife. Would you have me call her?”

“Call her, call her your swan.”

“My swan?” asked the Duke.

“You know, the symbol of fertility. The mother of your child. The beginning of your
lineage.”

“Won't 'wife' accomplish the same thing?”

“Sh-hh, yes,” whispered the alchemist. “But in this room, we must speak in symbols and
allegories.”

Francesco's face lit up. “Oh, ho, symbols and allegories. Yes! You alchemists, always
the puzzlers. This is fine! This is fun! So, my swan...you know, my swan....” Here Francesco
mimed the curves of a woman and winked boldly with one eye.

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