Mazzare sighed. He didn’t doubt that Gus’ conversation with Francisco had gone considerably beyond the possibility of getting curates while they were away. Nasi seemed to be altogether too well prepared for this meeting for Mazzare’s liking.
Nothing for it, then, but to bull ahead. “All right, Gus, who did you sound out for the job?”
“Father Kircher.” Again, not a muscle in Heinzerling’s face betrayed him. “He is willing, and kind enough to find his own assistant priest if asked to undertake the parochial work here at St. Mary’s in addition to his duties at the school.”
Mazzare tried not to laugh at his own defeat. Kircher, no less!
Athanasius Kircher, SJ. Scientist, scholar, and all round genius, was willing to cover his parochial work? The Jesuits must be very keen to see Mazzare get on. Kircher had made the first serious attempt on Egyptian hieroglyphics, some of the first experiments in rocketry, was a known man in the fields of physics and chemistry. The only reason he hadn’t been remembered as a great astronomer was because Galileo and Kepler were his contemporaries and were more dedicated to it than he was.
And this—this genuine polymath—was willing to add ten masses, confession, novena and benedictions to his working week? So that Father Lawrence Mazzare could junket to Venice?
“It’s a done deal, isn’t it?” he said to Mike.
“You can always say no.”
“How? With everyone, including at least one leading light among the Jesuits, greasing the rails, all this effort to get me to agree, how can I refuse?” There, that put it in terms his conscience could handle.
Mike had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Look, Father, I’m sorry and all, but I wouldn’t be pressing so hard if it wasn’t so important.”
A sudden wild whim overtook Mazzare. He turned to Jones, who had been watching the conversation in silence, his head following the action like a tennis spectator. “Simon, how about it?”
Jones swallowed, hard, before replying. “Larry, I can’t decide for you, you know that. It sounds like there’s nothing to get in your way, though, and I think you’d be good with a bit of training. Seriously.”
“No, not that. I mean, do you want to come to Venice with me? Call it ‘assistant ambassador,’ or whatever the appropriate diplomatic title is. Show ’em we’re not just Catholics here, and that religion is completely separate from politics?”
“He’s starting already,” Mike said.
Jones went a little pale. “Me? Why?”
“I’m going to need help.”
“You should, Simon, if there’s a place for you,” said Mary Ellen, over her knitting but not actually looking up. “I can fill in for you while you’re gone. And you can bring me back some of that nice Venetian glassware I’ve always wanted.”
Jones, in that moment, looked like Mazzare felt.