The Mint docked at Mercado’s marina shortly before noon. They found Tomasso waiting outside Sweet Victory Confectionery, clutching a grimy wine bottle in his trembling right hand. He gave them a feeble smile.
Leo seized the wine bottle, staring at it in disbelief. “Is this — it is! Yuzi! Azrael above, Tomasso, this is swill for swine. Is this meant as a gift for the Duke?”
“It is,” said Tomasso, careful to keep his voice low. “Yes.”
“I know our finances are dire, but Tomasso — to a duke this gift is an insult. Hell, it’s an insult to a pauper. No self-respecting man would drink this. Ferdinand will have you impaled on a spike. Honestly I’d volunteer to heave you over the parapet.”
“Very droll,” said Tomasso, glancing around as though wary of eavesdroppers. “Where’s Gianna?”
“She’s staying aboard the ship. Playing Citadels with an Nordian knight, believe it or not. Where are we meeting the Duke? The Ducal Palace?”
Tomasso nodded. “My ship should be ready for us. Come.”
When Duke Ferdinand II, at the ripe old age of 85, had begun taking alchemical potions in a bid to stave off death, one of his first brazen acts had been to relocate the Ducal Palace from Verona to Modena, a private island just a few miles due east. It had flared into a scandal at the time, but as the Duke’s behavior became increasingly erratic, his absence was generally appreciated by most Veronans.
One by one they boarded Tomasso’s ship, the Arrow. It was quite plain and ordinary compared the majestic splendor of the Mint. But here, at least, they had the full run of the Captain’s Quarters. The ship was presumably collateralized in one of the Guild’s many debt covenants. Nico wondered idly if the Duke would have it seized the moment they entered port.
When they were alone, Tomasso placed the wine bottle onto a table, showing its seal to them. “It’s not Yuzi.” He tore off the grimy label, revealing the bottle’s true identity.
Leo gasped.
“A little sleight of hand,” Tomasso said, smiling proudly. “It would be too conspicuous out in the open, even in Mercado’s.”
“Lemontillado,” said Leo, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Silver label,” said Tomasso, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Aged 104 years.”
“That's got to be worth talents. You could buy a frigate with that.”
“I'd rather buy the Duke's favor. He's known to be fond of Vedic vintage. Now tell me, why are you here? What is your business with the Duke?”
“Long story,” said Nico, and he proceeded to recount events since their departure, beginning with Cosimo’s antics aboard the Mint on their first night, and ending with the latest puzzle: Only Duke Ferdinand knows where they key is kept. You may ask him, but his lips are made of stone.
“Could the clue be referring to Duke Ferdinand the First?”
The idea had not occurred to Nico, but he quickly rejected it. “No. Ilhen was born after Ferdinand I died. Logically, it must be referring to the current Duke.”
“Frankly,” said Leo, “I still think this has nothing to do with Ilhen or his Seventh. I think we intercepted a communique. Maybe, as Nico suggested, it’s something political. Something… related to espionage.” It was of course Leo’s paramount ambition to join Pathfinders Espionage & Intelligence sect. Part of him wanted this job — or really any job he took — to cross into that territory. On the other hand he didn’t want Tomasso to get Lucius involved.
“Inside the Library,” Nico said, continuing Leo’s line of thought, “right where we found the second clue, we found the symbol of the Black Cabal.”
“Peculiar,” said Tomasso. So I take it you intend to ask him… ah, where the key is kept?”
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Nico nodded. “Absent a better alternative… yes.”
Tomasso sighed. “The Duke has summoned me to discuss debt, not riddles. This may aggravate him. And you know how… mercurial… he can be.”
Nico shrugged. “It's your call. We can stay back, but one way or other, today or tomorrow or next week, we need to talk to him. Cosimo is anxious.”
Tomasso considered this. “Very well. Your presence may benefit all of us. He does seem quite fond of Leo.”
“It’ll be fine,” Leo said, smirking. “After all, I’m his son.”
***
The Isle of Modena was still very much a virgin land, with native old-growth sequoias towering its skies. But as the Arrow slid into the royal marina and the Ducal Palace came into view, Nico could see that Duke Ferdinand II had tamed the nature around it in much the same way his forebear had tamed nature in the Boboli Gardens of Verona. The land had been assiduously leveled into tiers, with the Ducal Palace occupying the uppermost level. The two lower tiers consisted of his gardens, planted with an array of exotic trees and flowers.
They debarked and began climbing upward. A half mile of rustic hairpin trails led up the steep face of the hill. The midday sun beat down on them as they climbed it. Beads of sweat trickled down Nico's brow. He wondered if the Duke himself came up this way; it hardly seemed fitting for such a royal personage. But then, the Duke was hardly a sane man.
At the top, two guards in burnished steel stood watch. They crossed their halberds at Tomasso's approach, forming an X with their weapons.
“State your business in Modena,” the one on the right said in a booming voice. He was tall and sinewy, with a stubbly black beard.
“Our business is with his august majesty Duke Ferdinand II. A summons was sent.” Tomasso handed the writ to the guard.
The guard lifted his visor and scanned the letter, his lips moving with the words, brow furrowing.
“Are you Tomasso?”
Tomasso nodded.
“And who are you?” The guard glared at Leo and Nico.
“Leonardo Sforza, and this is Niccolò di Manarola. We are associates of Tomasso.”
“Di Manarola? A bastard?”
Nico’s lip curled. He nodded.
“Well, bastard or associate, your names are not on the writ.”
“We’ve our own business with the Duke,” Leo said. “He is a personal friend.”
“I don't care if he pushed you out of his womb. Your name's not on the writ; you don't pass.”
The guard flung the note, and it sank to the muddy earth. Tomasso scrambled to collect it, wiping bits of dirt from its face and refolding it. His hands trembled as he placed it back into one of his coat pockets.
“Well, that was quite rude,” Leo said. He reached for the hilt of Ice and as he did so, both guards tensed. It might have gone to blows if another voice had not spoken then.
“Leonardo Sforza. I recognized your perfume. It trails you like a noxious cloud.”
Leo turned. Vincenzo di Luca, the Duke's majordomo, was climbing up the hairpin trail. He was a tall and slender man with a pointed chin and thick jet-black hair. He wore a stylish red doublet cinched with a golden belt. He smiled warmly as he approached. Leo had met him previously. It was widely considered that the majordomo was the one man in the Myriad Isles who had any power over the Mad Duke, for the Duke relied upon him considerably.
“Cologne,” Leo said. “Not perfume. It's cologne.”
Vincenzo's eyes went to Leo's sword. “Are you trying to force entry on the Duke's estate?”
“That was going to be my next gambit,” Leo said. “My irresistible good charm was powerless on your boys.”
The majordomo smiled more widely, gesturing them to follow. The winding trail beyond climbed to the edge of the Duke’s gardens. “Come.”
The guard moved to block Vincenzo. “Their names aren’t on the writ,” he protested.
“The Duke shall make an allowance. The Pathfinders Guild is always welcome on Modena.”
Leo could not help but make a smug face as they passed the guards onto the Duke's estate. The majordomo graciously greeted Nico and Tomasso in turn, and took the wine bottle from Tomasso's outstretched hands. “Is this a gift for the Duke?”
“Lemontillado wine,” said Tomasso, beaming. “Aged 104 years.”
“That's very generous of you. But I fear it's wasted on Ferdinand.”
“Oh…? I thought he was fond of Lemontillado?”
“He was, yes. But he has since acquired new tastes. His sommelier is a former Archmage of Skyhold, and has a conceived a novel process for amalgamating alchemy and alcohol. But he’ll still appreciate your gift. I think.”
“Is he…” Tomasso’s voice faltered. “How is he today?”
“Unwell. Ever since the disappearance of his nephew… I fear he has had only bad days. With luck, today will be better. Shall we find out together?”