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San Miniato—right leg of San Miniato.
Robbed on July 10.
Sant’Elisabetta—holy bread.
Theft noticed: July 11. Relic last seen: July 10.
Santa Margherita—right arm of San Pancrazio.
Theft noticed: July 11.
The inquisitor shook his head and moaned as he read through all the additional thefts Ginevra had recorded. Then he paused, and picked up the book, turning quickly through the pages. “Is this...a pilgrim guidebook for the Divine Nine?”
Ginevra nodded slowly.
The inquisitor raked his fingers over his tonsured head.
“Even the finger of San Tommaso in its locked chapel has been taken?”
“Locks mean nothing to this thief. He knows how to turn iron to rust.”
The inquisitor drained his wine. “He is versed in alchemy. A man of education.”
“There is more—those who encountered him felt him. Became cold right down into their souls. Into their bones. Inquisitor, do you know what that means?”
He reached again for the bottle. Ginevra moved it away.
“My aunt spoke to a jettatore once,” he said. “Then a pile of bricks fell off a building and squished her. No wonder the plague rages so in our city. This jettatore draws it to us and then steals our holy guardians. Have you discovered, at least, what he looks like?”
“No, but I know what he smells like.”
“But jettatore do not have a smell. Otherwise no one would go near enough to be cursed.”
“This one does. They say he has a strong and peculiar odor that overwhelms the senses. They say he smells like a dead dog left in the gutter.”
“Ah. I know that smell. He is wearing a cilice. A hair shirt. Nasty things, woven from horsehairs, worn against the skin. They’re for lazy people that need pain to remind them to follow God. But, he wears it as he robs churches?”
“Perhaps it is in penance for his crimes?”
The inquisitor made a face at the suggestion. “Last night...last night was very dark, wasn’t it?”
“A new moon and a wicked storm.”
The inquisitor clapped himself in the head so hard his palm left a red mark. “I’ve been a fool, and so have you! It is the simplest pattern: when it is the blackest night of the month—a new moon—he goes about to do his wicked deeds unseen. He has robbed us every month since the start of spring, pulling as much as he can in an evening.”
Ginevra realized he was correct; it was possible the thefts coincided with the new moons of April, May, June, and now July.
“This jettatore!” continued Inquisitor Michele. “He has not been too clever for us. He has been too simple! Using a cheap pilgrim’s guide and waiting for dark nights. I’m surprised he had the brains to get San Miniato down the mountain!”
“He took just the leg.”
“What do you mean, just the leg?”
“I mean he broke the right leg off the relic, and left the rest of him in the tomb.”
The inquisitor snatched the wine bottle back and refilled his beaker. “Tell me slowly, Monna, name the parts he has taken.”
“If you stopped drinking you could remember them yourself.”
