p&c.brimstone-第58节

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and。　
　〃Acmodations　to　your　satisfaction；　Vincent？〃　
　〃A　bit　cramped；　lousy　view　of　some　old　bridge；　but　I'll　get　used　to　it。〃　
　Pendergast　settled　on　the　sofa　and　handed　D'Agosta　the　sheaf　of　papers。　〃You　will　find　here　apermesso　di　soggiorno　；　a　firearm　permit；　an　investigative　authorization　from　the　Questura；　yourcodice　fiscale　；　and　a　few　other　odds　and　ends　to　be　signed…all　through　the　count's　good　offices。〃　
　D'Agosta　took　the　papers。　〃Fosco？〃　
　Pendergast　nodded。　〃Italian　bureaucracy　moves　slowly；　and　the　good　count　gave　it　a　swift　kick　forward　on　our　behalf。〃　
　〃Is　he　here？〃　D'Agosta　asked　with　little　enthusiasm。　
　〃No。　He　may　e　later。〃　Pendergast　rose　and　strolled　to　the　window。　〃There　is　his　family's　palazzo；　across　the　river；　next　to　the　Corsini　Palace。〃　
　D'Agosta　glanced　out　at　a　medieval　building　with　a　crenellated　parapet。　〃Nice　pile。〃　
　〃Indeed。　It's　been　in　the　family　since　the　late　thirteenth　century。〃　
　Another　knock　came　at　the　door。　
　〃Trasite'；〃D'Agosta　called；　proud　to　be　able　to　use　his　Italian　in　front　of　Pendergast。　
　The　valet　came　in　again；　carrying　a　basket　of　fruit。　〃Signori？〃　
　〃Faciteme　stù　piacère'　lassatele　'ngoppa'　o'　tavule。〃　
　The　valet　made　no　move　toward　the　table；　saying　instead；　〃Where　shall　I　put　it？〃　in　English。　D'Agosta　glanced　at　Pendergast　and　saw　a　twinkle　of　amusement　in　his　eye。　
　〃O'　tavule；〃he　answered　more　brusquely。　
　The　man　stood　there　with　the　fruit　in　his　hand；　looking　from　the　table　to　the　desk；　finally　placing　it　on　the　desk。　D'Agosta　felt　a　surge　of　irritation　at　his　willful　inprehension…hadn't　he　given　the　man　a　big　enough　tip？　Words　he　had　so　often　heard　from　his　father　flowed　unbidden　off　his　lips。〃Allòra　qual'è　ò　problema'；　sì　surdo？　Nun　mi　capisc'i？　Ma　che　è　parl'　ò　francèse'？　Mannaggi'　'a　miseria'。〃　
　The　man　backed　out　of　the　room　in　confusion。　D'Agosta　turned　to　Pendergast；　to　find　the　agent　making　a　rare　and　unsuccessful　attempt　to　suppress　an　effervescence　of　mirth。　
　〃What's　so　funny？〃　D'Agosta　said。　
　Pendergast　managed　to　pose　his　features。　〃Vincent；　I　didn't　know　you　had　such　a　flair　for　languages。〃　
　〃Italian　was　my　first　language。〃　
　〃Italian？　Do　you　speak　Italian；　too？〃　
　〃What　do　you　mean；too　？　What　the　hell　do　you　think　I　was　speaking？〃　
　〃It　sounded　remarkably　to　me　like　Neapolitan；　which　is　often　called　a　dialect　of　Italian　but　is　actually　a　separate　language。　A　fascinating　language；　too；　but；　of　course；　inprehensible　to　a　Florentine。〃　
　D'Agosta　froze。　Neapolitandialect　？　The　thought　had　never　occurred　to　him。　Sure；　there　were　families　that　spoke　the　Sicilian　dialect　where　he　grew　up　in　New　York；　but　he'd　just　assumed　his　own　language　was　real　Italian。　Neapolitan？　No　way。　He　spokeItalian　。　
　Pendergast；　noticing　the　look　on　D'Agosta's　face；　continued。　〃When　Italy　was　united　in　1871；　there　were　six　hundred　dialects。　A　debate　began　to　rage　as　to　what　language　the　new　country　should　speak。　The　Romans　thought　their　dialect　was　the　best；　because；　after　all；　they　wereRome　。　The　Perugians　thought　theirs　was　the　purest；　because　that's　where　the　oldest　university　in　Europe　was。　The　Florentines　felt　theirs　was　correct；　because　theirs　was　the　language　of　Dante。〃　He　smiled　again。　〃Dante　won。〃　
　〃I　never　knew　that。〃　
　〃But　people　continued　to　speak　their　dialects。　Even　when　your　parents　emigrated；　only　a　small　portion　of　the　citizenry　spoke　official　Italian。　It　wasn't　until　the　arrival　of　television　that　Italians　began　abandoning　their　dialects　and　speaking　the　same　language。　What　you　consider　'Italian'　is　actually　the　dialect　of　Naples；　a　rich　but　sadly　dying　language；　with　hints　of　Spanish　and　French。〃　
　D'Agosta　was　stunned。　
　〃Who　knows？　Perhaps　our　researches　will　take　us　south；　where　you　can　shine。　But　for　now；　seeing　as　how　it　is　getting　on　toward　dinnertime；　shall　we　head　out　for　a　bite　to　eat？　I　know　a　wonderful　littleosteria　in　Piazza　Santo　Spirito；　where　there　is　also　a　curious　fountain　I　believe　might　be　of　interest　to　our　investigation。〃　
　Five　minutes　later　they　were　walking　through　the　crooked　medieval　streets　of　Florence；　which　led　them　to　a　broad；　spacious　piazza；　shaded　by　horse　chestnut　trees　and　shut　in　on　three　sides　by　lovely　Renaissance　buildings　stuccoed　in　hues　of　ivory；　yellow；　and　ocher。　Dominating　the　end　closest　to　the　river　was　the　plain　facade　of　the　Chiesa　di　Santo　Spirito；　severe　in　its　simplicity。　An　old　marble　fountain　splashed　merrily　in　the　center　of　the　piazza。　Students　with　backpacks　clustered　around　it；　smoking　cigarettes　and　chatting。　
　Pendergast　casually　removed　Beckmann's　photograph　from　his　pocket；　held　it　up　toward　the　fountain；　and　then　slowly　circled　the　piazza　until　the　background　matched。　He　stared　for　a　long　moment。　Then　he　put　the　photo　away。　
　〃That's　where　the　four　of　them　stood；　Vincent；〃　he　said；　pointing。　〃And　there；　behind；　is　the　Palazzo　Guadagni；　now　managed　as　a　studentpensione　。　We　shall　inquire　there　tomorrow　to　see　if　they　remember　any　of　our　friends；　although　I　do　not　hold　out　much　hope。　But　let　us　dine。　I　find　myself　in　the　mood　for　linguini　with　white　truffles。〃　
　〃I　could　really　do　with　a　cheeseburger　and　fries。〃　
　Pendergast　turned　to　him；　a　stricken　look　on　his　face。　D'Agosta　smiled　back　crookedly。　〃Just　kidding。〃　
　They　strolled　across　the　piazza　toward　a　small　restaurant；　the　Osteria　Santo　Spirito。　Tables　had　been　set　up　outside；　and　people　were　eating　and　drinking　wine；　their　lively　conversation　floating　into　the　piazza。　
　Pendergast　waited　until　they　were　shown　to　a　table；　then　gestured　for　D'Agosta　to　sit。　〃I　must　say；　Vincent；　you　are　looking　fitter　these　days。〃　
　〃Been　working　out。　And　after　that　jaunt　in　Riverside　Park；　I've　also　been　brushing　up　at　the　shooting　range。〃　
　〃Your　firearm　skills　are　the　stuff　of　legend。　That　just　might　e　in　handy　for　the　little　adventure　we'll　be　having　tomorrow　night。〃　
　〃Adventure？〃　D'Agosta　was　tired；　but　jet　lag　only　seemed　to　energize　Pendergast。　
　〃We　are　going　to　Signa　to　visit　Bullard's　secret　laboratory。　While　you　were　unwinding　in　your　hotel　room　this　afternoon；　I　was　speaking　with　various　Florentine　officials；　trying　to　procure　the　files　on　Bullard　and　BAI's　doings　here。　But　even　Fosco's　influence　got　me　nowhere。　It　seems　Bullard　is　well　connected　with　the　right　people…or　at　least　knows　where　to　spend　his　money。　All　I　was　able　to　procure　was　a　long…outdated　map　of　his　plant　site。　In　any　case；　it's　clear　we're　not　going　to　get　anywhere　through　regular　channels。〃　
　〃I　take　it　he　doesn't　know　we're　ing。〃　
　〃Our　visit　will　be　in　the　manner　of　an　insertion。　We　can　get　the　gear　we　need　tomorrow　morning。〃　
　D'Agosta　nodded　slowly。　〃Could　be　exciting。〃　
　〃Let　us　hope　nottoo　exciting。　As　I　get　older；　Vincent；　I　have　e　to　prefer　a　quiet　evening　at　home　to　a　bracing　exchange　of　gunfire　in　the　dark。〃　
　　　
　51　
　
　Bryce　Harriman　walked　north　along　Fifth　Avenue；　threading　hisway　through　the　crowds　with　practiced　ease；　his　mind　on　the　devil　killings。　Ritts　was　right：　the　Von　Menck　piece　had　really　touched　a　nerve　in　the　city。　He'd　been　flooded　with　calls。　Mostly　from　cranks；　of　course…this　was　thePost　；　after　all…but　still　he　couldn't　recall　a　bigger　reaction　to　a　story。　The　whole　business　of　the　golden　ratio　and　the　way　everything　fitted　so　neatly　with　the　historic　dates；　the　aura　of　mathematics…for　an　ignorant　person；　it　had　all　the　ring　of　hard　scientific　fact。　And；　Harriman　had　to　admit；　itwas　a　bit　uncanny　how　the　dates　just　happened　to　fall　in　line　like　that。　
　He　passed　the　Metropolitan　Club；　glimpsing　the　marvels　of　old　New　York　money　within。　That　washis　world　in　there；　or　rather；　the　world　of　his　grandparents。　Although　he　was　approaching　the　age　where　he　could　start　expecting　the　first　of　several　prestigious　club　invitations　（arranged　by　his　father）；　he　worried　that　his　current　position　at　thePost　would　be　an　impediment。　He　needed　to　get　back　to　theTimes　；　and　fast。　
　This　was　the　story　that　could　do　it。　
　Ritts　loved　him…at　least　as　much　as　that　reptile　could　love　anyone。　But　a　good　story　was　like　a　fire。　It　needed　to　be　fed。　And　this　one　was　already　guttering。　He　sensed　Ritts's　good　favor　could　fade　as　quickly　as　it　came；　leaving　him　and　his　big　new　raise　unfortably　exposed。　He　needed　a　development；　even　if　it　was　manufactured。　That　was　what　he　hoped　this　return　visit　to　Cutforth's　building　might　provide。　His　earlier　pieces　had　already　swelled　the　ranks　of　the　Bible…thumpers；　devil　worshipers；　Goths；　freaks；　satanists；　and　New　Agers　who　now　gathered　daily　along　the　fringes　of　Central　Park　opposite　the　building。　There　had　already　been　a　couple　of　fistfights；　some　name…calling；　a　few　visits　by　New　York's　finest　to　break　things　up。　But　it　was　all　disorganized。　All　reactions　needed　a　catalyst　and　this　was　no　exception。　
　He　was　nearing　68th　Street。　He　could　already　see　the　gatherings　of　freaks　on　the　park　side　of　Fifth　Avenue；　each　in　its　own　little　clump。　He　sidled　up　to　the　milling　groups；　elbowing　his　way　through　the　ring　of　rubberneckers。　Nothing　much　had　changed　from　the　last　time　he　was　there；　except　the　crowd　had　swelled。　A　satanist　in　black　leather；　clutching　a　Bud；　was　hurling　curses　at　a　New　Ager　in　hemp　robes。　There　was　the　smell　of　beer　a