Michael did a splendid job of looking blank but alert. “Unfortunately, Lord Llanfrechfa, I cannot help you because I do not know how the work was done,” the man said apologeticaily.

“Is there someone-”

Again he was anticipated. “I regret not. You see, no one really knows. This man came to us and said he could help with the problem of pollution. Of course, we thought he was just a, em, a time-waster. We have paid magicians for many years to deal with it, and the pollution simply returns time and time again. So we took no notice of him.”

“And then?”

“The following day, this was only last Wednesday, the man brought us a tray of bottles that he claimed were samples of water from the lagoon, the Grand Canal, and half a dozen tributaries. At first we ignored him, but then we had them tested. We were astounded by the results, so we sent our own people to conduct some tests. They confirmed that the pollution levels had fallen by an average of sixty-two percent. By Friday, the pollution levels were down to ten per cent of what they had been only three days before. The Doge’s magicians confirmed that there was intense elemental activity throughout the canal system of our city. A small group of our magicians attempted to conduct a ritual to investigate the exact nature of this activity and its source.” The man paused.

“And?”

“They are expected to be in the hospital for some time.”

“Good heavens!”

“We are astounded,” the man said simply. “Our fellow did not even give a name.”

“You must have a picture of him, surely?” Geraint insisted, as gently as he was able.

“Incredibly not. Of course, when we came here he was filmed by the security cameras.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Unfortunately, the films did not, ah, turn out correctly.”

He decked into their system and deleted everything, Michael thought. Obviously, this man doesn’t want to tell us that. It’s tantamount to saying that the Doge’s Matrix system was taken to bits. Not something a city functionary will want to admit.

“But you saw him,” Geraint said. “What did he look like?”

“That is the extraordinary thing. Everyone’s description is subtly different. It is as if, somehow, everyone saw a different refraction of light from one facet of a prism. Everyone saw something slightly different.”

The metaphor struck Michael at once. How apt, he thought: an optical metaphor for our Leonardo-freak.

“There is a general picture that emerges, though. He is tall, with long gray hair, balding at the front, and he is fairly lean. It is very strange, though, that no one can agree on his age. Some think he was old, others that he seemed fairly young.

“And he was seen with someone else in his company and the witnesses do at least agree on that… with a young man, with long fair hair tied in a pony-tail. This is not an unusual fashion in certain Italian states,” he said with faint disapproval.

Blondie, Michael thought. It sounds like the man who saved Serrin back in Florence.

“And the man is still here?”

“Friday was the last day anyone saw him.”

“He was not tracked or traced?”

“I can assure you, Your Lordship, we had him followed. Unfortunately,” the man coughed with embarrassment-“it was somehow not possible to track him for any distance. Observers seem to have become confused and disoriented. And after the unfortunate business with the magicians, ritual magic was not deemed a wise approach.”

“I can certainly appreciate that.” Geraint smiled sympathetically. “Well, I hardly think you are at fault. This extraordinary fellow sounds as if he would have eluded the best efforts of His Majesty’s finest.

The reassurance seemed to make the man a little less unhappy, if not exactly cheerful.

“Well, I must thank you for your time, signor,” Geraint said. “I very much appreciate your frankness. You have saved me and my govermnent much time. Should this man ever return, I would be delighted to be informed. I hope that you will allow me to send you a small token of my esteem and gratitude when I return to London. I really do appreciate your openness and honesty.”

He meant it. The man had revealed a state of affairs that might, indeed, have become obvious sooner or later. But with so little time left to them, it had to be sooner and his honesty might just save them enough time to find their quarry before the world’s computer systems crashed.

They shook hands and departed, wandering slowly back through ever more crowded streets to where they were staying.

“This is extraordinary. That they couldn’t film him and that everyone saw someone different. And they couldn’t track him… What kind of man is this?” Michael was shaking his head in wonder.

Someone bloody extraordinary,” Geraint said. “But now we know for sure Blondie is with him.”

“I just don’t see how he could have done it,” Michael said. They must have had the police out after him. They probably still do.”

“Of course they did and he gave them the slip,” Getaint grinned.

By now, they were back in the piazza, and saw Serrin and Kristen just leaving the campanile. The marangona bell was tolling already, announcing the public holiday for those still not apprised of the Doge’s blessing, and crowds were beginning to build in the square. A few people already wore the black eye masks and dark cloaks of day attire for the celebrations, and tables were being brought into the square, though no more than a few from any of the cafes. The city ordinances were relaxed, but guardsmen were quietly checking that the square was not unduly cluttered. By midnight a huge crowd would be expected here and obstructions were going to be kept down to a minimum.

“Enjoy your sightseeing?” Michael asked Kristen.

“It’s amazing, you can see all over the city. Serrin says you can see Padova on a really clear day.” Kristen was beaming.

“Possibly a slight exaggeration,” Michael teased. “But it’s a great place to view from, that tower. If you can climb all those steps, that is.”

“Tell me about it,” Serrin croaked.

“At least I’ve got the excuse of a bad back,” Michael chuckled. “You’re getting old.” He poked the elf playfully in the ribs.

“And I have the excuse of a leg shot to hell,” Serrin reminded him.

“Sorry,” Michael apologized. “I’d forgotten that.”

“Wish I could.”

Streak waved cheerfully to them across the piazza. He sat, narrow-eyed, scanning the square, his jacket perhaps a little bulky for the morning’s warmth.

He’s keeping watch, Michael realized, and he’s got his usual armory inside that jacket. But it doesn’t seem like he’s going to need it today. Our man is, or at least was, here. We were right to come. But why was he doing what he did? How did he do it? And most of all, what does he want to do now and how do we find him? He remembered what Kristen had said. What would you do if you were Leonardo? The problem with that is tie simply didn’t know. The genius had every interest imaginable and picking which one might apply might now seemed impossible.

He wandered over to the painting of the Last Supper that Serrin had mentioned to him. It didn’t disturb him as much as it did the elf, but there was no doubt something was drastically wrong with the scene. The accusing nature of the disciples on the left was obvious. The seemingly disembodied dagger-wielding hand was obviously wrong; it belonged to no body portrayed.

How on earth did no one see this? Michael thought. How did he get away with this with the Inquisition around, with vicious and venal churchmen all around, all too ready to accuse a talent of whom they had the petty envy of the professionally self-righteous? Whatever this is all leading to, it isn’t small beer. And, somehow, I think I can see how the collapse of the Matrix is, like Merlin said to Serrin, actually not the most important thing.