Chapter 5 Customs #3
Naldo's sea bag produced two shirts, a knife, cord, a whetstone, a carved gaming piece, dried figs, and an object Lucetta could not identify.
Ser Matteo held it up.
Naldo said, “That is private.”
“What is it?”
“A broken pulley cheek.”
“Why is it private?”
“I stole it from a man who deserved worse.”
Bertran closed his eyes briefly.
The object was set aside, then returned when no one could imagine a customs duty applicable to it.
Orsino's tools took longest. Every chisel, pick, file, punch, hammer head, and small iron fitting seemed to confirm the description that had preceded them. Ser Matteo examined the box itself, tracing the reinforced corners.
“You are a locksmith?”
“I am a master metalworker who sometimes rescues locks from the damage done by men who call themselves locksmiths.”
“Can these tools open a strongbox?”
“Given enough time, a kitchen knife can open a strongbox. It will merely embarrass everyone involved.”
“Answer directly.”
“Yes.”
Lucetta watched the clerk write.
That frightened her more than the question.
When her own chest was opened, she moved beside the table.
The bulk of the sensitive papers remained in the document case beneath her cloak, but she had packed copies, abstracts, lists of names, and several damaged records that were too awkward to carry against her body.
Ser Matteo lifted them bundle by bundle.
“What trade?” he asked.
“Document work.”
“For whom?”
“At present, for myself.”
“That is not a trade.”
“It has paid for my bread.”
“Whose papers are these?”
“Copies made from records voluntarily shown to us in Ravenna and earlier places.”
“Why do you carry them?”
“To compare names, dates, seals, offices, and transfers.”
“Concerning?”
“A dissolved confraternity.”
The clerk's quill paused.
Lucetta saw it.
So did Adelasia.
Ser Matteo said, “Which confraternity?”
Lucetta answered after the smallest possible delay. “Saint Aurelia.”
The quill resumed.
There was no reason for the name to mean anything here. There were confraternities in every substantial town, saints enough to name them, hospitals enough to lose records. Yet the clerk had paused before Ser Matteo asked.
Lucetta said, “You have heard the name.”
The clerk looked at his superior.
Ser Matteo said, “Mistress, do not question my clerk.”
“Then I shall question you. Has Saint Aurelia been named in the notice?”
Silence.
Niccolò stepped forward. “That answer matters to my employer as much as it does to her.”
Ser Matteo placed one hand flat on Lucetta's papers.
“The notice refers to records and portable property associated with an eastern charitable-commercial foundation whose ownership is disputed. It does not empower me to decide the dispute. It empowers me to prevent undeclared removal through this port until the goods can be identified.”
Lucetta said, “Then you have already exceeded it.”
The warehouse master shifted his weight.
Ser Matteo's eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“You have not identified goods. You have detained the baggage of seven named descriptions and one commercial agent because someone told you we might carry disputed property. Yet you have permitted every person to retain what is on his body. You have not demanded inventories of purses. You have not searched sleeves, belts, boots, or document cases. If the object sought were truly portable property, your inspection would be absurdly incomplete.”
Bertran said quietly, “Lucetta.”
She continued. “Therefore either the notice is incompetent, which I do not believe, or the object sought is not the principal purpose. Someone wanted our baggage removed from the ship, opened in a public office, and delayed.”
The room went still.
Ser Matteo's anger changed into something less comfortable.
Adelasia said, “And now we know why.”
The official looked from one face to another. “You accuse this office?”
“No,” Adelasia said. “She accuses the person who used it.”
That distinction saved the conversation.
Ser Matteo withdrew his hand from the papers.
“The inspection will be completed according to the notice.
If nothing matching its terms is found, your goods will be resealed and released.
I will also record your objection that the notice may have been maliciously framed.
You may seek the port officer's review.”
Lucetta said, “How long?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Ziani, who had been standing near the door with increasing impatience, said, “My ship sails before tomorrow morning if the wind remains.”
“That is not a customs matter.”
“It becomes one when your customs house detains my passengers' possessions.”
“You may sail without them.”
“No shipmaster enjoys leaving behind people who have paid.”
“Then you possess a tender heart.”
“I possess a reputation.”
Adelasia turned to Ziani. “Will you wait?”
He looked toward the shuttered window as though he could see the wind through wood. “Until midday tomorrow. No longer. Weather is not Corrado Salviati and cannot be negotiated with.”
Niccolò said, “My employer will compensate—”
Ziani cut him off. “Your employer can compensate a lost day. He cannot return me a wind.”
Ser Matteo ordered the inspection continued.
Nothing prohibited was found.
Nothing openly identifiable as Saint Aurelia property was found either.
Lucetta watched every item returned, every bundle retied, every seal pressed.
By dusk the baggage had been moved to a locked customs store because the office would not release it until the port officer reviewed the notice.
Lucetta was permitted to keep the document case she had worn throughout because it had never been included in the sealed baggage and because Ser Matteo, once challenged, had become scrupulous about exceeding written authority by even a finger's breadth.
That did not comfort her.
They found lodging in a crowded house near the warehouses.
Bertran took a room whose window faced the customs yard.
Ysoria went to inquire about couriers. Naldo disappeared into the working quarter with instructions to listen, not steal.
Odelin wrote a brief memorandum of the inspection while the details remained fresh.
Orsino sat on the edge of a bed and mourned the temporary captivity of his tools with greater sincerity than some men mourned cousins.
Adelasia closed the door after Niccolò left to send a message to Corrado.
Then she turned to Lucetta.
“You were right,” she said. “But you showed them we understood.”
Lucetta removed the document case from beneath her cloak. Her shoulders ached where the strap had pressed. “Should I have pretended stupidity?”
“No. I am saying there is a price to being right in public.”
Bertran remained at the window. “There is a greater price to letting whoever sent that notice decide the room in which our things are kept overnight.”
Lucetta looked at him. “You think the theft has not happened yet.”
“I think if I wished to steal from travellers under guard, I would first persuade honest men to gather everything in one place.”
Orsino stood abruptly. “My tools.”
“Sit down.”
“My tools are in one place.”
“Sit.”
Orsino sat, furious.
Adelasia said, “What exactly would they take? The keys are with us. Lucetta's principal papers are with her. My husband's letters are on my person.”
Lucetta opened her case and began checking bundles.
Bertran said, “Something we do not yet know is important.”
No one answered that.
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
Outside, Cervia continued its evening business.
Carts rattled over boards. Men shouted measures.
Somewhere nearby, salt was being weighed under lamps while clerks wrote numbers that would outlive the laborers who carried it.
The customs house stood less than two hundred paces away, locked, witnessed, lawful, and perhaps already serving a thief.
Lucetta spread the papers across the bed.
“Then we decide now,” she said, “what among those chests someone might believe we cannot afford to lose.”