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“Um, yes?” said Ginevra.

“What were their names, then?”

“We did not ask,” she said.

The apothecary stared at her hard. Ginevra became uncomfortable under his gaze... Had he seen through her lie? She wished she spent more time preparing a story. She had been so eager to brew her remedy, she’d had no time to formulate a plan. Why did she always assume she could make something up as she went along?

But eventually the apothecary just shrugged. “The first thing I must do is consult the heavens, to see what is appropriate for your own individual situations.”

“Yes! Yes, please—do my friend first,” she said, nudging a reluctant Lucia forward. She felt badly, but she needed the apothecary to be distracted so she could scrutinize the dirty shelves to look for onion-shaped bottles, for any plants or pigments that might tint a potion purple or green.

“Whatever pleases,” said the crusty old man. “Come over to my counter, signora, and place your hands upon it.”

Lucia resignedly picked her way around the broken ceramics and oily rags that littered the floor. He laid down a parchment that was already covered in writing, then flipped it over. He picked up a piece of charcoal from a cold brazier, and began to draw with it, a spiral from the center outward to the edges of the parchment. He closed his eyes and leaned back his head.

“But don’t you need to know my birthday, at least, or...” Lucia began.

“Hush! The stars are speaking to me, don’t interrupt them.”

This man is a charlatan of the highest order, thought Ginevra, as she walked, in what she hoped was a casual manner, around the shop.

The apothecary leaned his head back even farther, and began droning as if he had swallowed a beehive. As his volume increased, so did the speed with which he drew his charcoal spirals, until he was almost yelling and the whole page filled in. Ginevra stopped her snooping, worried he might actually be having a seizure. But just as she stepped toward him, his head snapped forward and he said to Lucia, “Ah! Signora, it is clear. I would recommend some San Sebastiano con carne for you.”

“Con carne?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes, meaning, of course, with some of the holy flesh still attached to the holy bone. It is much more effective that way. And the stars tell me, you require something potent.”

“Oh...um...” stuttered Lucia.

“Of course, if you’re on a budget, I can ask the stars again to recommend some second-or third-class relics that will also be helpful in their own way.”

“Ah. No, it’s just how did you—how did you settle on San Sebastiano from that bunch of circles?”

“Mystic circles, signora. I would not question your knowledge of Genoa, since your friend says you are from there. And in that way, you should not question my secret knowledge of the planets and stars.”

Ginevra intervened. She had come to get information about the thief, not to force Lucia to make up facts about Genoa. “Pardon me, Ser Apothecary, are you sure there isn’t something more...local, that would be more powerful since we are in Florence? Is it possible to get a relic of, for example, your San Zenobio?”

“Zenobio, eh? That’s not a request I have heard before. The body of San Zenobio was found miraculously intact and unblemished within the foundations of Santa Reparata. Such a man has been kept whole, as much as possible, only his head was separated for veneration and the rest still safely buried in his crypt. You might have gone and visited the head at its church, that is, until recently. You must have heard?”

Ginevra continued her play at ignorance. “Heard what? We only just arrived.”

“It is the biggest news besides the pestilence. The blessed head of Zenobio has been missing for some weeks now. And then two women show up from far away, asking for a bit of him, thinking I, an honest apothecary, serving my city in a time of great need, might have it.”

“No, of course, we would never suggest—” sputtered Ginevra.

“And who is your master that sent you here??” continued the apothecary, sending flecks of white spittle toward their faces. “You with your fake Genoese accent. I noticed it was false the minute you came in. Your friend might be from the north, but not you!”

“What? No, you’ve—my accent isn’t fake,” said Ginevra. Shit. Lucia looked back at her, panic-stricken, afraid to speak and be discovered as not actually from Genoa.

“Look, Ser Apothecary, I’m sorry I asked about Zenobio, I’m an ignorant woman from a far country... It’s so very lucky for us that you have a relic of Sebastiano. We will buy it, of course.”

“We will?” said Lucia to Ginevra.

“Yes, we will,” she said pointedly.

The apothecary smiled and opened his hands, indicating their quarrel was of secondary importance to commerce. “It is a gift, signora. Free with your payment for your star reading.”

“How blessed we truly are, by your generosity,” said Ginevra.