"From behind then." Alessandro mustered the artist's workplace.

"Did you listen to anything I've just said? The wound is in his stomach," said Giacinto.

Alessandro pursed his lips -- not because he was thinking about the Greek's point though. Should he? It is highly unprofessional. But making a point was making a point.

It happened too fast for Giacinto to get away. He had turned away again, examining the corpse.

Alessandro crossed the space between them in one large stride. One arm wrapped around Giacinto's shoulders, yanking him back. He pressed the tip of a dagger against his stomach with the other hand.

Giacinto didn't even flinch. He wasn't scared and if he was surprised, he hid it well. Not relaxed, but not scared, Alessandro could feel it against his chest.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" If anything, Giacinto sounded mildly inconvenienced.

"Proving his point," Laelia said from her spot on the artist's chair. "If the killer stabbed him like this the wound would have been in the front, but Iacobo wouldn't have seen him coming, hence no traces of a fight."

"Too bad the skin is tugged inwards at the wound. Or what's left of it anyways -- could you let go now, Steno? I'm all for hugs, but with people I like," Giacinto grumbled.

Alessandro dropped his arms, stepping back.

Giacinto shot him a sour glare before continuing. "If he had been stabbed with a knife like you ... kindly demonstrated, the skin would be turned outwards at the edges once it's pulled out. And it would have to have been pulled out. Or can you see a knife in him? No? Wonderful, I'm right."

"But all skin is burnt," Laelia leant over the body, squinting her eyes.

"Burnt, but not gone. You can still see it at the edges. So, arrow. From – " Giacinto turned around, scanning the surrounding walls, balconies and roofs. " – there."

Laelia and Alessandro looked up, following his finger point. A section of the building was higher, but apart from that as ordinary as the rest. Nothing special, the same clinker as the entire palace, the same terracotta tiles on the roof, the same flower boxes in front of the long windows, with the same pink and red asters. Ivy reached around a corner and climbed up the wall.

Laelia looked back at the corpse. "An arrow can go through a torso?" Her eyes widened.

"That I don't get either. From so far away ... it's hard enough to hit him without damaging the canvas in front of him. If not impossible. But to have it go through ... " Giacinto furrowed his eyebrows and chewed his lip.

It reminded Alessandro of a five year old stomping his foot when something didn't go according to plan. "Broad–head arrows can. Skin, muscles, even bone," Alessandro said slowly, stroking his chin.

"Broad–head arrows?" Laelia blinked up at Alessandro – such innocence surrounded by such horror.

Alessandro looked at Giacinto, waiting for the man to tell him why it obviously couldn't have been that, but found him staring back with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. Expectant, but unwilling to ask.

"They're stronger, sharper than normal arrowheads. Several blades come together to form the tip, usually four. Used to cause massive bleeding, harder to remove as well. They're mostly used for battle – but they're expensive. No normal assassin would use them." Someone very rich was after artists. Great.

"Massive bleeding ... but there's no blood on the grass. If he didn't remove it, the shaft could have sealed the wound. With the liver damaged, internal poisoning would've killed him slowly." The Greek seemed conflicted, starting to pace, snipping his fingers as if to call a servant with a solution.

"But he could've called for help! Or stab himself, if there was noone around, to avoid slowly dying, " Laelia kept nudging the toolbox on the ground with her foot.

"This is ridiculous," Alessandro sighed. "If the arrow wasn't removed, the head is here.Only the shaft would have burnt."

Alessandro slowly reached out. There was nothing human about the corpse when he touched it – a burnt tree would've felt the same. His muscles were tense, ready to jump away, but nothing happened. Alessandro wasn't sure what he had expected when he moved the body aside. It didn't crumble under his touch, it didn't mysteriously attack him, no murderer appeared out of the blue. A silver object shone in the water. Sharp edges glinted in the sun like a bared fang.

"It doesn't look very dangerous." Laelia took the object from Alessandro's hand, fingers brushing, and curiously inspected the way several blades connected to one thin tip.

Alessandro wiped his hands on a handkerchief looking too fragile for his large hands. "Most things dangerous don't."

"A Turk?" Giacinto had wandered off. He wasn't looking at the two others, eyes so intently fixed on the painting his gaze seemed to be nailed onto the canvas' frame.

"Turk? That is my grandfather!" Laelia sounded slightly insulted.

"Iacobo hated your grandfather then. That's definitely a Turk sitting in your garden."

Laelia stepped next to him. "That ... wasn't there last time I saw it?"

Alessandro stepped behind them. The painting showed a dark-skinned man with a thick, black beard, sharp eyebrows and a brilliantly white grin. There was nothing Italian about it. A sickle-shaped sword at his side, a blood red turban on his head and turquoise rings on folded fingers.

The way it was painted was even stranger. The background and the flowers surrounding him were painted with the highest skill and care, even little veins on almost transparently thin petals appearing.

But the Turk was practically smeared onto the canvas – quick, broad strokes, colors smudged together where the paint hadn't been allowed to dry, a spot where someone had clearly corrected a mistake by painting over it hurriedly.

"That is not your grandfather, I assume?" Alessandro stood behind them, staring at the grinning Turk as if the painting was personally insulting his sense of reality. Even more so than that annoying Greek.

"That was the most stupid question I've heard from you so far and you've not voiced an intelligent one yet," said Giacinto.

Laelia played with the arrowhead in her hands. "I swear, I saw this painting just a few days ago – that was my grandfather."

"So, you're saying the paintermessed up a masterpiece and then set himself on fire," Alessandro muttered dryly. "Did he know Alvino?"

"I don't think so. But everyone has heard of his accident... that wasn't an accident, right?"

"No." Giacinto was now emptying the artist's tool box.

"He knew of his death ... maybe they did know each other. Maybe he knew he would be killed as well – Alvino left clues, Iacobo tried with his painting." Alessandro followed the invisible thread through the chaos and questions.

"That's why it looks so hurried!" Laelia caught on, "And why he set himself on fire! Fire and Turks – " 

"He used turpentine," Giacinto stated from the table, an empty bottle in his hand. "It can't be extinguished by water, that's why he's so burnt even when he got into the fountain. And painter's use it to mix colors, so he had it around."

"Turks, water, fire," Laelia murmured slowly. Then she suddenly jumped up, clapping her hands. "War! He means war! Burning ships! Didn't the Captain-General recently burn that Ottoman fleet? The Ottomans are threatening Venice for so long now!"

"Carlo did mention that..." Giacinto said slowly. "He says there's more and more Ottoman ships sailing on the Mediterranian."

Both men looked at each other, then at Laelia.

The girl jumped up and down excitedly.

Alessandro furrowed his eyebrows. Giacinto looked impressed, nodding.

"That is very ... far-fetched, " Alessandro said.

"It does fit with Alvino hinting at Genoa. I thought he was trying to tell us where his murderer was from, but Genoa lost its last war to Venice in a battle at sea. Both the Ottoman Empire and Genoa want parts of Venice's territory – alone they have not succeeded, together they most certainly will. That's nor far-fetched, Commissario, that's damn smart." A slow grin had appeared on his lips, a hound tasting blood.

Laelia smiled, arms crossed. "I told you I could be useful. We'll be a great team."

"Team?" Alessandro raised his eyebrows – he did that a lot lately. He needed a break.

"We'll hunt them down – " The girl's grin matched Giacinto's.

"Oh no, no. We are done here. That's dangerous, whoever is responsible for this is an outstanding assassin. And we have no hard proof."

"Hate to say it, Signore Steno is right," Giacinto said. " And I'm not forming a team with him."

"Giacinto! What a surprise! I haven't seen you in ages!" A loud voice interrupted them as a man appeared on one of the winding paths. Arms stretched out in amiable joy, a young blond stepped towards them.

"Zo! What are you doing here?" Giacinto rolled his eyes.

The other grinned. "Heard of that painter's death – thought I'd see how Laelia is doing. Can't expect my little brother to check on his own fiancée, can I?"

"Antonio is surely very busy." The girl smiled at 'Zo', wringing her hands.

Only now Alessandro noticed the fine band around her ring finger. A golden promise of love – or in families such as theirs, a promise of wealth and powerful family ties.

"Antonio is drowning in his books, shutting daylight out and hissing at people." The man rolled his eyes and the three of them laughed.

"Ah, Zo – that's Commissario Steno, he's investigating the suicide of Iacobo." Giacinto waved his hand towards the silent Alessandro. "Commissario, Lorenzo Morosini, the brother of Laelia's fiancé Antonio."

Lorenzo smiled and extended his hand. His grip was pleasantly strong.

Morosini – one of Venice's most powerful families, rich, old, influential, noble blood.

Lorenzo did look the deal. He was tall and slender, muslces more for aesthetics than use, wore his shoulder-lenght, blond curls in the right mix between orderly and roguishly wind-swept, had intelligent, quick eyes, a charming grin and doubtlessly more ladies' hearts than golden rings on his fingers.

Lorenzo shot Alessandro a dashing smile. "Thank you for your help, Commissario, it's good to know there's nothing unexplained haunting these gardens."

"It's my duty, Signore."

"Well, we'll leave you two, tell Antonio I'll burn his books if he doesn't visit Laelia often enough!" Giacinto winked, shooting Alessandro a prompting glance.

Laelia reddened and hid her face in Lorenzo's shoulder – biting his lower lip, the man was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Good afternoon, Signora, Signore." Alessandro bowed his head slightly.

They left, the flowers next to them dancing in a fresh breeze, the birds chirping in the little trees, white clouds dotting the sky. It was unnaturally good weather for spring in Venice. It didn't really fit the dread coming over them when they passed the body in the fountain.

"He didn't grow at all since I saw him last time." The wind carried Lorenzo's voice over to them.

"I heard that!" Giacinto yelled back over his shoulder.

A laugh answered. "You were supposed to!"

"He is a very nice man." Alessandro mused, watching the paintings pass on their way out. The horrible stench ceased slowly and both men found themselves taking deep breaths.

"You call him insulting me nice?"

"No."

Giacinto turned his head, eyebrow raised.

"I call that accurate." The commissar grinned. Passing a mirror, he felt a sharp pang in his stomach. Now he actually looked his age, just a young man teasing another. Not an expressionless inspector who only worked the most horrible cases.

Giacinto scoffed. "Cut it, bloodhound."

"Alessandro is fine."

Again, Giacinto turned, surprised. The blond had stopped walking and held out a hand.

The Greek mustered it suspiciously.

"What? You were the one calling this a 'we' a week ago." Alessandro shrugged.

"Well, Signo– Alessandro, you were the one to repeat it not ten minutes later." Giacinto took the offered hand. "Anyways, I'm not part of that investigation any more."

Seeing the commissar's questioning look, he added: "I wanted to know what Alvino knew about my father. Since that didn't work out, I have no reason to stay. Today was for Laelia, she liked that Iacobo guy. I'm out now."

"You don't care for the fate of --"

"This city? Not really."

Alessandro said nothing.

The servant from before opened the gate for them, his yellow and blue uniform bright in the sunlight. They stepped outside, strolling down the sunny street. It was pleasantly warm. Alessandro considered ridding himself off the fur lined cloak.

"I could swear, I've seen that guy before. But not here," Giacinto muttered, more to himself than to Alessandro. He was talking about the servant.

"He seemed familiar..." The officer stopped dead in his tracks. "You have – he has let me in at General Zeno's – " 

They both turned back.

The servant still stood at the gate, watching them.

They looked at each other. At the servant. Back at each other.

Both the servant and the two men bolted simultaneously.

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Run, boy, run ...

What are your theories so far?

Do you think Alessandro and Giacinto can work together? Or is this last we've seen of Giacinto? What about Laelia?

New characters - Lorenzo and his brother Antonio (who is realatable af with his 'staying inside and reading').

Thank you for reading,

Avis