The Fortune Teller(47)

“Exquisite.” Besozzo gave him an assessing look.

The duke seemed thrilled. “Ingenious! Think of the trick games we can play.” He turned to Besozzo. “I must have one like it!”

Besozzo bowed meekly. “Of course.”

The duke held out a card and squinted. “See how he’s painted my coat of arms and mottos.… He’s even made the coins in my currency.” He looked back at Rinalto. “Well done,” he praised. “Well done!”

With those two words, said not once but twice, Rinalto was granted a seat at Milan’s table. Before the end of the night, he received a dozen commissions for identical decks.

Throughout the evening he caught Viviana staring at him. As the ball neared its end, he steeled his nerves and finally approached. He bowed low with a flourish.

“Your playing cards have made quite an impression,” she said.

The praise and the ever-flowing wine made him bold. “I painted them to win your notice,” he confessed with bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

Viviana looked astonished, then gave a tinkling laugh.

“As an acceptable suitor, of course…,” he bumbled. He realized that he was saying too much with little aplomb. He tried to throw back the sleeve of his cape and failed miserably. Viviana giggled again.

“And now I must I leave before I make a bigger fool of myself,” he said and turned to escape.

“Wait!” She placed her hand on his arm. “Is it true her gown has red sleeves and there’s a white dog?”

In response Rinalto plucked a rare striped rose of scarlet and gold from a nearby vase. “She also has your hair.” He handed her the flower and hurried away.

Viviana held the flower to her lips and watched Rinalto head to the door, where he was waylaid by the crowd.

Tonight Rinalto was a shining star. Although he did not know it, he had completely endeared himself to the one person he had hoped to impress.

*

Viviana and Rinalto married with her parents’ blessing within the year. On their wedding night Rinalto gave Viviana an exquisite handmade wooden card box made of rosewood, which was crafted with inlaid floral designs. Inside lay Hayl’s original deck, along with a set of Mamluk cards he had painted to match. But Viviana never played the Tarocchi card games that were popular in the salons. She kept her treasured cards in Rinalto’s engraved wooden box instead.

This new type of deck, with its seventy-eight cards, made its way from Milan to Ferrara, Venice to Bologna and Florence, and then throughout Europe. No one ever questioned the cards’ origins. So they stayed hidden, like most symbols do, in plain sight, until one man in France recognized them for what they were.





Justice

Semele’s mouth dropped open in a silent “Oh.”

She had been translating for the past two hours on the train to New Haven when she recognized the name Filippo Maria Visconti. He had been the duke of Milan and had commissioned the Visconti Tarot Decks, the oldest-known tarot decks in existence. They were even named after him. Semele knew this because the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library housed one of the decks—her father, Joseph Cavnow, had been a curator there. On several occasions she had seen the library’s Visconti Tarot Deck, also called the Cary-Yale Tarot Deck after the collector who donated them. Were Ionna’s cards tarot cards?

Here she was heading right toward the Visconti Deck, and she was beginning to sense that it wasn’t an accident.

When the train arrived, she decided not to tell her mother she was in town just yet. First she needed to stop by the library to see the duke’s cards.

*

The Beinecke Library’s unusual architecture gave the illusion that it hovered in the air. Strategically placed pyramid columns raised the building off the ground, and instead of windows, opaque marble shielded the sunlight, changing colors throughout the day. The effect always made the library seem alive. Growing up, Semele had called it “the magic square.”

When she walked inside, the marble was glowing like citrine clouds. The towering walls of books rose six stories like a benevolent giant, greeting her like an old friend.

A rush of emotions hit her and tears prickled her eyes. She hadn’t been in this building for years, and still it felt like home. Of all the libraries she visited through the years—and she had been to many—Beinecke remained the most special. Her childhood was wrapped around this building. One of her first memories was of playing with her mother in the courtyard while they waited for her father to be done for the day.

She couldn’t help noticing the parallels between her life and Ionna’s. They were both daughters of librarians, men deeply read in history, literature, and philosophy, who oversaw the largest ancient manuscript libraries in the world. Librarians had served as guardians of the written word throughout the ages, and Semele grew up witnessing her father’s devotion. To her, he was as noble as a knight. Like Ionna’s, her childhood was filled with countless hours in the library, where she would look at the exhibits while her father worked. She had gotten her undergraduate degree in Classics at Yale and she had spent many an hour researching papers in the Beinecke’s reading room. Ionna and her story had brought her back.

Semele approached the information desk, hoping Thomas was in today. She needed a favor. Thomas was the head conservator and the only staff member she could ask. He had worked with her father for years and been a pallbearer at his funeral.