Enzo dashed off a letter to Tomasso, sent via m-gram, requesting that they accompany him when he met with the Duke. Tomasso’s reply was swift:

Have you taken leave of your senses? Why would you want to meet the Duke? Don’t answer. Meet me at the docks at noon.

The next morning they departed Skyborn. Gusty winds hastened the Mint's journey across the Jewel Sea. Leo and Enzo stood together silently at the taffrail, watching the rising sun. Gianna, oddly enough, was playing Citadels with Ragnar. The two had discovered they shared a passion for the board game.

“Are the rumors true?” Cosimo’s voice cut the air like a whip.

“What rumors?” Leo and Enzo turned to face Cosimo.

“About Ferdinand. They say he’s a madman. They say he’s over 150 years old, kept alive by an alchemical cocktail that has robbed him of his wits. I hear he has a penchant for abducting citizens at random and having them broken on the wheel.”

“You haven’t heard the half of it,” said Leo. “Duke Ferdinand II has a volatile temperament. Each day is a coin toss, and if you catch him on one of his bad days…” Leo shook his head.

“You’ve met him, I take it?”

“Once. He called me Rollo — the name of his deceased son. Then he tried to shake hands with a tree, thinking it was the King of Russo. Ferdinand can be both kind and cruel, magnanimous and miserly.”

“I will settle for honest and accommodating. I want answers.”

“Will you be joining us?” Enzo asked.

“Of course not. Why should I? I pay you to take these risks.”

***

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 right hand.

Leo seized the wine bottle, staring at it in disbelief. “Is this — it is! Yuzi! Bael 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 Osgothi 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 Corinth 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 presence was not sorely missed in Corinth.

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. Enzo 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,” said Tomasso, 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 Enzo, 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 Enzo, 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 anything to do with Ilhen or his Seventh. I think we intercepted a communique.”

“Inside the Library, 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?”

Enzo nodded. “Absent a better alternative… yes.”

Tomasso sighed. “The Duke has summoned me to discuss our debt, not riddles. This may aggravate him. And you know how… mercurial… he can be.”

Enzo shrugged. “It's your call. We can stay back, but one way or other, today or tomorrow or next week, 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,” said Leo. “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, Enzo could see that Duke Ferdinand had tamed nature around it in much the same way his forebear had tamed nature of the Boboli Gardens in Corinth.

The land had been assiduously leveled into tiers, with the Ducal Palace occupying the uppermost tier. 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 Enzo's brow.

Enzo wondered if the Duke himself came up this way; it hardly seemed fit 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.

He scanned the letter, his lips moving, brow furrowing.

“Are you Tomasso?”

Tomasso nodded.

“Then who are you?” The guard glanced at Leo and Enzo.

“Leo Sforza, and this is Enzo d’Verona. We are associates of Tomasso.”

“d’Verona? A bastard?”

Enzo’s lip curled. He nodded.

“Well, bastard or associate, your names are not on the writ.”

“We have our own business with the Duke. He is a personal friend of ours.”

“I don't care if he carried you in 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.

“Well, that was quite rude,” Leo said, and he reached for the hilt of Ice. As he did so, both guards tensed, and it might have gone to blows if another voice hadn't spoken then.

“Leonardo Sforza. I recognized your perfume. It trails you like a noxious cloud.”

Leo turned. Vincenzo, the Duke's majordomo, was climbing up the hairpin trail.

“Cologne,” said Leo. “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 plan, yes. My irresistible good charm was powerless on your boys.”

The majordomo smiled, gesturing them to follow. “Come.”

“Their names not on the writ,” the guard protested.

“The Duke will make an allowance. The Pathfinders Guild are 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 Enzo and Tomasso, and took the wine bottle from Tomasso's hands. “Is this a gift for the Duke?”

“Lemontillado wine,” said Tomasso, beaming. “104 years old.”

“That's very generous of you. But I fear it's wasted on Ferdinand.”

“Err… I thought he was fond of Lemontillado?”

“He was, yes. But he's since acquired new tastes. His alchemists and sommeliers have conceived a new vintage, one that tickles his fancy. But he’ll still appreciate your gift. I think.”

“Is he…” Tomasso’s voice faltered. “How is he today?”

“I don’t know. I’m just returning from a day’s absence. Shall we find out together?”