All the windows in Giovanni Boromeo's print-shop were open, but the heat of high summer lingered, pungent from the canals, and undisturbed by breezes. The water had a harsh, brazen shine, and the sky glared down with the full weight of midday. Four apprentices struggled to align paper in the main press while another two busied themselves in preparing the type for the next page. Boromeo himself, his giaquetta set aside and his camisa pulled out from his hose, redfaced with effort, wrestled a pallet of paper nearer the press itself.

"Feel the grain!" Boromeo ordered the pressmen. "Follow the paper, don't force it!"

The sound of an opening door from the side of the print-shop that faced the Campo San Proccopio provided all the sweaty, aggravated men the opportunity to stop working, at least long enough to see who had arrived.

"Gran'Dio e tutt'santi!" Boromeo exclaimed as he swung around to face the dark figure outlined in the hazy brilliance. "What do you want?"

"I am here in answer to your summons," said di Santo-Germano, coming through the door and into the print-shop. He was superbly dressed in a black-silk doublet piped in silver, with silver lace at throat and wrists; the dogaline that topped this was also silk: fine black satin lined in silver taffeta. His hose were black, slashed and studded in more silver, and his leggings were black, as were his low, thick-heeled boots. He wore a sword, but had not bothered with a hat, and in spite of the heat, there was no trace of moisture on his face or clothes.

Boromeo stood very still, as if disbelieving his senses; all around him work ceased and the men stared, the only sounds in the room drifting in from the canal just beyond the open door. Slowly Boromeo took a step toward the man in black-and-silver. "Conte?"

"Eccomi," said di Santo-Germano, bowing slightly, sounding more Fiorenzano than Veneziano.

"Thank merciful Heaven," said Boromeo as the noise in his print-shop resumed.

"I came as quickly as I could," said di Santo-Germano. "Your letter dismayed me."

"At last!" Boromeo exclaimed. "I had feared you had been thrust into a Protestant prison-or worse-a Spanish one."

"Fortunately neither. Yet I find that I might as well have been, for all the information I have been provided."

"But I have been telling you for months how badly we were faring here," said Boromeo. "I prepared my report every month, and put it into Emerenzio's hands to be copied and sent on to you. I even provided him paper for his clerk." His face darkened, as if this were the ultimate betrayal.

"I have had only superficial reports from Emerenzio," said di Santo-Germano. "Nothing from you until you sent one to me on your own."

"Only superficial reports," Boromeo repeated. "Nothing about the precarious state of your business? from anyone?"

"No. Emerezio assured me he was sending me all information entrusted to him. He claimed that the earthquake in Lisbon had caused a delay in some of my profits, and that he needed time to prepare an accurate assessment of how much would be needed to restore the trading company there, and in the meantime, those of my ships bound for the New World would be setting sail from Oporto, and a new wharf and warehouse would have to be built there." Di Santo-Germano held up his hand. "I have spoken to one of my ships' captains already, and he informs me that no such building is taking place."

"I am astonished to hear it," said Boromeo with heavy sarcasm. "If you were not informed of how matters stood here, then why should the state of affairs elsewhere be any different? I understood that you had been informed by Emerenzio of what your circumstances were here and in Lisbon-that you knew of the severity of your losses."

"Alas, no," said di Santo-Germano. "Had I heard earlier, I would have taken steps to correct matters."

"Delfino, do not bother yourself with our discussion," Boromeo snapped suddenly, rounding on one of his apprentices; when the youth turned away, Boromeo gave his attention to di Santo-Germano again. "You certainly acted swiftly when I contacted you, and I am grateful to you for such swift response: I had the funds you sent from the north six days ago; the courier came directly here, requiring only twelve days to make the journey-a punishing pace, to be sure. Apparently he took your instructions to make haste to heart. As you see, I have put the money to good use." He gestured to indicate that his shop was busy. "That paper was delivered this morning."

"Excellent," approved di Santo-Germano. "If you haven't sufficient money to complete your projects, you have only to inform me of that fact, and I will see you have what you need." He glanced around the print-shop. "I do not see Niccola here, or Mascuccio."

"Niccola is carrying messages for me; I suppose you'll want him back again? Mascuccio has gone to work at the Casetta Santa Perpetua ; he left when my funds could not continue to cover his wages." Boromeo coughed delicately. "He was given a reference by Gennaro Emerenzio-he said he regretted he could do so little for your former servants."

"No doubt," said di Santo-Germano sardonically. "I have called at Signor' Emerenzio's place of business, without being permitted to speak with him."

Boromeo stared, shocked. "Conte?" He glanced around his print-shop again, aware that the men were listening.

"That was after I went to my house on Campo San Luca and found only a single footman left there with an under-cook, and half the household furnishings gone," said di Santo-Germano. "I have left my manservant there to make inventories of what is missing."

"You say there has been theft at your house? On top of all the rest?" Boromeo exclaimed.

"No; I say that many things are missing-I have not yet determined the reason, although theft is likely." He paused. "I also went to Pier-Ariana's house and found a merchant from Pisa in it. What do you know of this?"

Boromeo was about to answer when he realized that what was being overheard would provide fodder for gossip. He straightened up and waved vigorously. "All of you: take your prandium now, and return after your midday rest. The Conte and I have much to discuss."

Reluctantly the men gathered up their wallets and straggled to the door leading out of the side of the shop, onto the Campo San Proccopio, and the small cluster of hastily erected canvas-sided stalls where food was being prepared to supply the many craftsmen who worked in the immediate district.

"A good precaution," di Santo-Germano approved.

"By nightfall there will be dozens of versions of our conversation circulating in the city," said Boromeo as if he were acknowledging a fault.

"That will suit me very well," di Santo-Germano declared, and went on as he saw confusion in Boromeo's face. "How else am I to rout out Emerenzio if not through questions from his fellow Veneziani?"

Boromeo blinked. "You want my workers to talk?"

"Oh, yes. And to spread as many rumors as possible, without too much invention in their telling; let it be known that I have returned and that I am making inquiries into the state of my businesses. If Emerenzio wants to hide from me, so be it. But he shall not be allowed to do so without scrutiny." Di Santo-Germano walked to the center of the shop, out of the blocks of light from the open windows and doors. "Tell me all that you can."

"About Emerenzio?" Boromeo speculated. "Or would you like me to cast a wider net?"

"At heart I want to know about Emerenzio, yes, but include all that his acts have entailed."

"That may take some time," said Boromeo, going to shut the quay-side door. "And you will have many false accounts to sort through."

"More than you suppose: today I have as much time as you need; tell me as much as you know," said di Santo-Germano, and leaned back against the tall rack of type-trays, prepared to listen, asking only a few questions as Giovanni Boromeo told him of all that had transpired here in Venezia over the past year. The midday rest ended, and the men and apprentices returned to their work, but Boromeo took another hour to finish his account. At last he thanked Boromeo, saying, "You have given me much to deliberate; I must take my next steps after heedful consideration."

"For your own sake, and others," said Boromeo. "All of us could be at risk if Emerenzio has the chance to oppose you."

"Yes; that is clear. But what puts you in danger is also dangerous to him, for he has overstepped himself," di Santo-Germano said with calm purpose. "He might have managed if he had only stolen from an absent foreigner, but from good Veneziani-that is another matter entirely."

"If Emerenzio had played you so foul, then he will be a desperate enemy," Boromeo warned.

"No doubt like a cornered crocodile," said di Santo-Germano in grim whimsy, and went on in a more detached voice, "When the White Gull arrives from Amsterdam, she'll be carrying books from the press I have there. I have ordered them delivered directly to you. You may sell them yourself, or arrange with a dealer to handle them. All I ask from you is a full record of-"

Boromeo interrupted. "-of all our transactions, and the amounts paid. Of course. I will copy all that I have on hand and bring it to you myself, tomorrow. After what Emerenzio has done, it is the wisest course to have as much proof of his crimes as you can obtain. You will need to gather your proofs circumspectly if you are not to lose more to Emerenzio's avarice." He folded his big arms and studied di Santo-Germano. "Will you permit me to help you in your dealing with Emerenzio?"

"I may, depending upon how this all falls out," said di Santo-Germano. "You have been damaged by his actions, so you should share in his comeuppance." Di Santo-Germano straightened up. "I am going to return to my house now, and see what my manservant has found out. Then I will try to find Pier-Ariana." He lifted his brows. "Would you have any information on where she has gone?"

"I don't know. She brought a manuscript of songs to me at the start of summer, but I haven't seen her since then," said Boromeo uncomfortably. "The book has yet to be set, so I have had no reason to speak with her. Had I known she was bearing so onerous a burden-" He stared at the press and the men working it. "Perhaps I should have done something, but I knew you had secured her that house, so ..." He finished with a bunglesome shrug.

"I understand," said di Santo-Germano, aware of the many difficulties Emerenzio had caused. "I will return again, not long from now; if you need to send me a message, direct it to the Campo San Luca house. I will be staying there."

"And Niccola?" asked Boromeo. "What is to become of him?"

Di Santo-Germano considered. "If he wishes to return to my service, I will be glad to have him; if he desires to stay here, then he shall."

"You are most generous, Conte, most generous," said Boromeo.

But di Santo-Germano met this praise with a self-effacing turn of his hands. "No, I am not. What man is well-served by a reluctant page? And who wants to train a recalcitrant apprentice?" He inclined his head. "I thank you again, Signor' Boromeo."

"You have no reason to thank me, Conte," said Boromeo as he bowed di Santo-Germano out of his print-shop to the canal. "Shall I summon a gondola for you?"

"No, it is not necessary. I still have my own," said di Santo-Germano, and raised his hand to signal to Milano da Costaga to bring his craft up to the steps that led down to the water.

"Signor' Conte?" asked Milano as he helped his employer into the special, earth-lined boat.

"Back to San Luca, Milano," said di Santo-Germano, offering a single wave to Boromeo.

"More trouble?" Milano guessed as he swung toward the Gran' Canale. "Or more of the same?"

"I fear more of the same," said di Santo-Germano, then lapsed into a thoughtful silence as the sun bore down on him and shone off the water. Finally, as the gondolier turned his craft into the Rivi San Luca, di Santo-Germano spoke again. "It seems my factor here has been using my money as his own."

"So I assumed from what Raffaele told me," said Milano, mentioning the lone footman left at the di Santo-Germano's Venezian house. "In June, I heard him explaining to Padre Bonnome why he could not provide money to San Luca this summer, and when I asked him what was wrong, he told me."

"Ah, Venezia," said di Santo-Germano as he got out of the gondola and went up the two freshly scrubbed marble steps into his house, saying over his shoulder as he did, "I may need you later this evening."

"Then I will be at your service." Milano touched his oar and the gondola slipped away into the shadows cast by the tall houses on either side of the canal.

Raffaele, the footman, had been sorting through a carton of newly arrived glass goblets that would replace those taken from the household. Rising slowly so as not to overset any of the beautiful goblets standing around him on the floor, he pressed his lips together and said, "There is too much to do, now you are returned; I will need more help, Signor' Conte."

"Of course you will. You may recommend to Ruggier anyone you like, and he will engage them if they prove satisfactory," said di Santo-Germano.

"I would prefer to begin with a cook and a few more footmen," said Raffaele. "And you will need a houseman or a steward-I haven't the training for such work."

"Whatever suits you best," said di Santo-Germano as he climbed the stairs and went toward his study. On this floor there had been very little taken, and di Santo-Germano touched the familiar objects as if to make certain that they were still in place. Going through the study door, he found Ruggier with three sheets of paper spread before him, most covered with notes in his archaic hand. "Have you determined yet how much is gone?"

Ruggier showed no surprise at di Santo-Germano's question. "For the main floor, yes; the inventory is still being conducted on this floor, and the one above. It isn't as bad as we feared at first; the furniture that has been sold is mostly the kind found in all households: the dining tables and chairs, the clothes-press, the two Turkish couches, the crockery and goblets and the chest to hold them, the two upholstered benches, the work-desk, most of the bed linens, the painted basins, the silk draperies from the-"

"In other words, at Emerenzio's instigation, the whole of the house has been turned into a source of money for him." Di Santo-Germano stared down at the floor, a suggestion of a frown between his brows. "I have lost more goods than I can think of, over the centuries, some of them valuable beyond measure, but that was through exigencies of circumstances, and although the losses were sad or bitter, they were not inherently repugnant. This willful confiscation-and for so demeaning a purpose-is different, and it offends me to the soul."

"This is not the same," Ruggier agreed.

"No, it is not," said di Santo-Germano, ending the matter. "When the inventory is-"

"I will put it into your hands," said Ruggier.

"I am maladroit, old friend," said di Santo-Germano with a quick, rueful smile. "I have no reason to urge you on, for you are already doing all that you may, and I appreciate all your efforts." He sighed. "At least I still have the athanor and the rest of my laboratory equipment. I shall have to make another four packets of gold to compensate for Emerenzio's depredations."

"You will work tonight?" Ruggier asked.

"In the late watches, I will, and the next few nights as well. After I have made another sally through the city." Di Santo-Germano began to pace. "Padre Bonnome tells me, as of this morning, that Pier-Ariana may not be still in Venezia, but he has not found out where she is living. He may be wily and political, but he is glad to have my annual donation once again, and he will help me if he can get more: the roof of San Luca is in need of repair."

Ruggier waited patiently. "Is there anything you would like me to do for now? Is there someone you would like me to enlist in the search?"

Di Santo-Germano shook his head. "If she had shared her blood with me another two times it would be much easier to find her: the Blood Bond would guide me. As it is, I have only a vague sense of her presence." He stopped. "I will have to go about the city, looking for her, and I may not discover anything useful. It is exasperating. She is in need because of me, and I am having difficulty providing her remedy."

"Milano may help, if you enlist him," said Ruggier. "He has been constant in your absence."

"Because his salary was paid through Merveiglio Trevisan, with a report to Emerenzio; he would have had to find other patronage had Emerenzio had control of Milano's salary." Again di Santo-Germano took a turn about the room, asking the air, "What does he do with the money he has stolen?"

"The rumor is he gambles," said Ruggier, remaining unflustered.

"Yes; yes." He touched his hands together. "But if that is the case, he has gambled away enough to build and outfit fifty ships. Such losses must occasion some notice, and in a man such as Emerenzio, who is not known to be wealthy, such profligacy should be all the more distinguished since it is so disproportionate to his means."

"Gamblers may lose and then win," said Ruggier.

"Apparently not Emerenzio," was di Santo-Germano's wry rejoinder. "He seems predisposed to lose."

"And that is lamentable: what is reprehensible is that he loses money not his own," said Ruggier.

"Certainly an unfortunate habit," said di Santo-Germano. "But I will shore up my accounts over the next few days; I will have gold in plenty in three days-well beyond what is required to rectify the defaults Emerenzio has occasioned. Once I have brought my various taxes up-to-date I will be allowed to file a complaint about Emerenzio's conduct. I am only sorry that I cannot demand restitution personally and directly, rather than through the Maggior Consiglio."

"Can't you challenge Emerenzio face-to-face to produce his accounts?" Ruggier asked.

"If I were a Venezian, I could. But I am a foreigner, and I must have the permission of the Maggior Consiglio before I take action against a Venezian, no matter how blatant the Venezian's trespass might be." Di Santo-Germano shook his head twice.

"Sic semper Venezia," said Ruggier, coming as close to humor as he ever did.

"Sic; truly," said di Santo-Germano, and went to open one of the shutters, only to notice that the glass in the narrow side-windows had been shattered. He touched the remaining shards warily. "Now, who ..."

"There are nine broken windows on the ground floor," said Ruggier, a suggestion of perplexity in his remark. "None of the shutters are damaged, so the windows must have been broken to some purpose during the day, or from the inside; at least one shutter would show breakage were that not the case."

"True enough," said di Santo-Germano. "Has Raffaele anything to say about the windows?"

"Only that he has no notion who did it, or why," said Ruggier in a tone that suggested he was not completely persuaded.

"So," said di Santo-Germano, to indicate he agreed with Ruggier. "And the under-cook? What has he to say?"

"Vulpio has told me nothing, but I think he is afraid of Raffaele," said Ruggier. "It may be that to get a candid answer from Vulpio you will have to dismiss Raffaele, or engage a steward to supervise them both."

"No doubt you are right, and I shall seek your advice-but after I have made another attempt to find Pier-Ariana and have made up more gold. I have two small caches of gold I can use for now-until I have made enough to fill my coffers. For now, there are more immediate requirements being visited upon me, and on the gold Emerenzio knows nothing about." Di Santo-Germano patted the black-leather wallet hanging from his narrow, embossed belt of silver links.

"Shall I tell Padre Bonnome that you will donate the money to repair the church roof?"

Di Santo-Germano answered readily. "Why not? It will help to restore my reputation, as well."

"He will be thankful for your gift, I am sure," said Ruggier, his demeanor contained to the point of inscrutability.

"I will take what comfort I can in that knowledge," said di Santo-Germano, an ironic light in his dark eyes. "Money and faith, money and faith-what wonders they promise and what havoc they wreak."

"They do," said Ruggier in superb neutrality.

With a single, sad laugh, di Santo-Germano opened a concealed drawer in the side-panel of the writing-desk and removed a black-leather pouch roughly the size of his hand; the pouch was secured with broad bands of thick Turkish silk, and it clinked as di Santo-Germano tied it to his belt next to the wallet. "But money has its uses: for now I am going out to see if it can lead me to Pier-Ariana."

Text of a letter from Onfroi van Amsteljaxter in Nuremberg to his sister, Erneste van Amsteljaxter in Amsterdam, written in German, carried by regular postal courier, and delivered nineteen days after it was written.

To my most dear sister, presently in Amsterdam at the house of Grav Saint-Germain, my greetings on this, the 10thday of August, 1531, from Nuremberg, where I have come with my good friend, Constans Dykenweld, to investigate the current ructions in this old city. Your reply will find us at the Red Cock near the Cistercian church.

I have in hand the pouch you sent me, and the nine ducats it contains will do much to make my stay here more tolerable than it has been. You answered me most promptly, and in such a generous way that I am more deeply obliged to you than ever. How fortunate that you have an open-handed patron to support you, one who does not mind that you have occasionally to assist your younger brother in his moments of travail.

This place has been in such turmoil as you cannot imagine. Only a few days since we witnessed a flogging of obdurate Catholics by agents of the Protestants in the city, followed two days later by a burning of witches, watched over by monks and priests. The Protestants did not challenge the right of the Catholic clergy to do this, but instead tacitly admitted that in such matters, the Roman Church is more expert than they. It was a shocking thing to see the women, only in plain shifts, being devoured by the fire, their bodies jigging like monkeys as they blackened. One man, who had repented of his witchcraft, was hanged while the women who had served him burned. Surely if the Devil is truly abroad in the land, he is rejoicing in all this cruelty.

I have had no word yet from your publisher, this Grav Saint-Germain you have spoken of so enthusiastically, and you have made it clear that you will not speak up on my behalf to him, regarding the publication of my work. How am I to make my way in the world if you will not extend this very minor support while I seek the same degree of success you have attained for myself? You must understand that, without the endorsement of my former employer, I cannot hope to be engaged as a tutor unless I have some other accomplishment to mitigate my lack of recommendation. Why will you not do your utmost to secure me such an advantage? You cannot want to continue to advance me monies against my eventual engagement, can you? Then why not speak to your Grav and request his consideration of my work?

But I will not hector you, Erneste. You have had much to deal with in the last few months, and although we must always disagree, you and I, as to the wisdom of your actions, we must also respect that both of us have to honor our own consciences, which we have done. If you will take in abandoned wives and hapless widows, that must be between you and the Grav, in whose house you live. If he has no grounds for complaint, then how can I have any?

I will remain here for another three months, unless the policies of the town become so stringent that all foreigners are excluded, in which case I will return to Heidelberg, and to my tutoring and letterwriting; I would not like to have to eke out a living in that manner one instant longer than I must, so if you are aware of any opportunities of which I might avail myself, I beseech you to inform me of them at once. I can only hope that some worthy occupation within my scope will present itself, for I will then be able to present myself to the world in a manner appropriate to my station and education. Unlike you, I cannot forget that our mother was the youngest daughter of a landed official of the Emperor, who had the misfortune to fall in love with her brothers' tutor. If our grandfather had lived, I know you and I would not be in our present predicament, but if you will not approach our aunts and uncles, then I will follow your lead, and remain aloof from them, as well. You will have to forgive me if I urge you to reconsider your position from time to time.

At least you are able to maintain yourself fairly well, which is to your credit. I do agree that having other women in your household would make it inappropriate for me to reside with you, for their sake, if not for mine. It would be harmful to me to have it seem I have ambitions that could include being a whoremaster, for no matter how chaste your companions may be, an unmarried man among them makes it impossible to escape calumny, which could stain my character beyond remedy.

I am off now to see a trial of a coachman on a charge of kidnapping. This case is exciting much attention, for the missing man is a follower of Hus, and therefore at odds with both Catholics and most Protestants in Nuremberg, whose disappearance is fortuitous. The rumor is that his kidnapping was arranged by one of the rival clerics, and that the coachman is meant to be a scapegoat for these men, no matter who they may be.

With highest regard and many thanks,

Your devoted brother,

Onfroi van Amsteljaxter