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“It can be any water, but do you see anything else around?”

“But how will I get him to drink it?”

The apothecary returned. “Signoras, you are still here? It seems clear our business is concluded.”

Ginevra stalled as Lucia stood frozen, clutching her flask. “Please, if you won’t take money, we have traveled with—” Ginevra cast her mind about to the contents of Lucia’s home “—some beautiful cloth.”

“The end is truly upon us! A Genoese offering textile to a Florentine! Suspicious women! Hussies! Get out of my shop. OUT!” He picked up a jar of beans and rattled it at them as if they were a pack of stray dogs.

“Get it on him,” Ginevra mouthed to Lucia.

Lucia, not knowing what else to do, held the flask up to her nose, then did a gigantic fake sneeze and sprayed her holy water all over the face of the stunned apothecary.

His face quivered with rage. The anchovy in his beard also quivered with rage.

Shit, shit, shit, thought Ginevra. Her elixir was not working. Agnesa had died under her fingertips. And now this selenite did nothing. She had lost her touch with gems.

The apothecary went over to poor Lucia and grabbed the front of her dress.

“YOU—DID YOU—ah—did you want to see my book again?”

“What? Yes! Yes.”

“Actually,” interjected Ginevra, pulling her friend away from his grip, “we were hoping to buy it.”

“Buy? Oh, no! I couldn’t take money from such lovely creatures, please, take it. I insist. As I said, it is my very last copy, but I suppose I can make do.”

“Um, thank you, we will.”

“How else may I serve you, gentle ladies?”

“Well,” said Ginevra quickly (she wasn’t sure how long the selenite would last), “actually, we had a few questions—namely, do you know where Zenobio and the stolen relics are?”

“Signoras, look around you at my establishment. Does it look like I’m involved in anything that would be so lucrative?”

“But, do you know where they are?”

“Surely you must realize this line of inquiry is insulting. Perhaps there is another question I could answer instead?”

Ginevra changed her tactics. The selenite was not a truth serum.

“Very well, who else has visited your shop? You said this is your last copy? Who else have you sold it to?”

“Why, a number of pilgrims over the years. They know to come to me for it. It is very rare.”

“Did any of them smell badly?” asked Ginevra.

“Of course,” said the apothecary. “All pilgrims smell badly.”

Lucia nodded in agreement.

“Do you remember what any of them looked like?”

“My sight is not so good for earthly matters. Anything farther away than a book is a complete blur. But my customers prefer it that way. Now, are you quite through taking up my time?”

The selenite was wearing off.

“We’re through, thank you! Come on, Lucia.”