Read 3 - Cruel Music for Free Online

fall rather goes with the territory, doesn’t it? If your power rests on one man—and that man is hovering at death’s door…” He shrugged his shoulders.
    “That is one thing I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Fabiani use his power with the Sacred College to ensure his own election?”
    Lenci scratched his chin. “It’s a delicate balancing act. My uncles haven’t favored me with all the details, but I gather that the Spanish cardinals are adding their weight to our side. An equal number of the Italians, especially the Romans who are loyal to Prince Pompetti, are throwing their lot in with Di Noce.”
    “What about the French?”
    “You can’t trust the Frogs.” He laughed. “They’ll do exactly as they please, as usual. Probably vote for one of their own, even though they have no chance. It’s the block of votes that Fabiani controls that will tip the scale, but he doesn’t have enough cardinals in his pocket to be elected himself.”
    I nodded. Unfortunately, my companion could shed no light on the cardinal’s current favorite to succeed his benefactor.
    “I believe that’s your lookout,” he told me when pressed.
    Repeated questions only drew descriptions of Fabiani’s fashionable carriages and lavish banquets and receptions. In short, nothing I deemed useful. I soon fell into a moody silence, and Lenci closed his eyes. In a few moments, he began to snore with shallow, wincing breaths—the sound of a fox hibernating in its den.
    Benito sat across from me. Though he had been gazing out the window in cool repose, I knew he had been following the conversation closely. He gestured toward Lenci. “Is the abate to take reports on your progress?” Benito asked in a murmur.
    “Lenci will serve as my day-to-day contact, but if I manage to discover anything of substance, I’m to give my information directly to Cardinal Montorio. The senator instructed me to ask leave to hear Mass at San Marco every Sunday. It’s the church attached to the palazzo that serves as the Venetian Embassy. All the Venetians in Rome attend services there, so I won’t be likely to attract any attention. After Mass, the Cardinal Ambassador will meet with me in private.”
    “Zio Stefano,” Benito whispered with a saucy smile.
    I nodded grimly. “Zio Stefano…who takes a lot of looking after and seems in imminent danger of blowing himself to bits. I wonder what he makes of his brother’s scheme to worm me into Fabiani’s household?”
    “You’ll soon find out. Today is Thursday. Cardinal Montorio will expect some information in three days time.”
    I groaned softly, gave the ham a vicious shove, and bent to furious thought while chewing on a knuckle. Benito went back to looking out the window. “What a benighted country this is,” he observed after a few minutes.
    I had to agree. The lands of the Papal States were wrapped in a ragged cloak of wintering flax, but even in the fullness of summer, these rocky fields wouldn’t compare to Venice’s fertile mainland holdings. In an effort to wrest what they could from the poor soil, the peasants cultivated the hills nearly to the top. Here and there, I spotted a wretched hut unfurling a wisp of smoke into a colorless sky. Nearer to the road, an occasional goat nibbled at a tussock of withered grass. As we jolted along, we passed one of the pope’s subjects bent under a massive load of dry sticks. The toothless visage he raised to our streaking coach was the face of poverty itself.
    The hours rolled on in weary monotony, and by the time we had reached Italy’s ancient capital, I was snoring along with Lenci. I woke with Benito shaking my shoulder. Dusk had fallen, and our coach had come to a halt in the forecourt of a large villa. Still muddled from sleep, I slid the glass in the door open and leaned out to see an arched colonnade lit by a hanging lamp. Its flames threw wavering reflections across tall bronze doors. At each end of the colonnade, a wing of polished stone