"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming"

The Call of Cthulhu by Howard Lovecraft

A spear-sharp prore of gondola was piercing the air above turquoise water. I leaned back against the leather cushions, watching the wharves and rich mansions drift by. The water glistened and I could hear the voices of the great city from everywhere: shrill rollcall of gondoliers, the booming voice of water-seller, soft lilting chant of the lute and laughter from the boat next to us. After two years of quiet and solitary conventual life, I was coming home to Venetta.

Here, on the Grand Canal the traffic was always busy, unlike narrow side canals that led you into back streets − so cramped that people from the opposite houses had to open the shutters one by one. However, Fabrizio was an experienced oarsman. No wonder, he had been our family's gondolier for years and knew these waters like the back of his hand. He was standing on the little curved bridge at the stern like a statue of a sea god. Instead of trident he was holding an oar which helped him maneuver among the other boats. His silk doublet and the embroidered Granacci arms on the velvet cap were gleaming brightly in the sun. Not just a common gondolier − a servant of a noble family and a great panache.

A snow-white bulk of the Silver Arch – or simply Argento, as the Venetians called it, rose in front of us. The one and only bridge connecting the wide banks of the Grand Canal. Its stone pillars rose steeply, a graceful arch reflected in the Persian-green water. No one believed the bridge would last for long. There was a legend that the architect sold his soul to the devil to make the construction strong enough. But even if that was true, the evil spirit didn't show itself afterwards neither claimed for its cut. Probably it was afraid of the stone griffins − vicious-looking creatures that spread their wings on each abutment. Under their protection the jewellers and clothiers in the shops along the bridge could run their trade in peace.

The darkness fell upon us as gondola went under the bridge. The water glinted on the green-clad stones, the hum of the crowd echoed below damp arches. Fabrizio carefully drove the boat forward. Suddenly I thought I heard a splash, and a long shadow passed directly under the boat. I narrowed my eyes and tensed. If it got here from the island... But no, it didn't. We saw a snarling mouth full of small sharp teeth flashed in the murky water, then came a limber spotted body.

And I just imagined ... Thank heavens – that wasn't it, − I thought when the shadow disappeared in the deep darkness.

"It's just morraines, nothing to be worried about, senhorita," Fabrizio said with a smile. " Sneaking creatures."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

That's true. The morraines are scavengers and they're easy to be scared off. I wouldn't dare to put my hand in the water, though. These monsters can strip a whole calf to the bone in minutes. However, after two years on Terra dei Miracolo I had learned that the morraines were not the most dangerous creatures in these waters.

We passed the bridge and now we could see the bright panorama of the city again. Massive carved chests of the rich houses lined along the shore – properly locked to keep family secrets in. Their light pink and green facades were dotted with scarlet geranium flowers, bright as blood. Light reflections in the river made the whole image wave, so that the houses seemed to be dancing in the spring air. It was like some sort of another world – mysteriously vague and blurring. And I got a weird feeling as if something bad was going to happen. If only I could enjoy my quiet monotonous days in the convent. I felt a tiny thread that stretched from the distant island straight to my heart. And then that thread broke.

Fabrizio steered our gondola towards the quay with a single deft stroke of his oar. A tall young man was waving to us – that black shoulder-length hair, lively gestures, a smart doublet with golden embroidery... I swallowed and carefully smoothed my dress over my knees just to stay calm. That man was Ricardo Granacci, my elder brother. He met my gaze with a dazzling smile that seemed to brighten up the grimy facade of the old house behind his back. I pretended to be interested in time-worn stone steps and the tangles of seaweed. Ricardo himself helped to moor the gondola by sticking a small iron hook on a rope into a crevice between the slabs. Then he stepped into the boat and helped me out.

"Here you are, Julia! Welcome to Venetta!"

"We haven't seen each other for two years," I reminded myself, but still couldn't catch my breath. "Come on, you can do this!"

It took a lot of effort just to look up. We stared at each other for a while.

"You are so puny," my brother said with his voice getting soft. "And pale. But don't worry! Now when you're here, everything'll be fine!"

He put his arm around my shoulders and led me to the stairs. I kept silent. I should have said something but Ricardo's crushing charm always made a numbing effect on me. He was probably the most handsome man in Venetta. Despite his height, he moved as gracefully as a dancer, and his shoulders were as broad as a gondolier's. Unlike other patricians, who could only sink in soft silk and savour wine, Rico could easily hold the boat from the Square of Three Griffins to Tarciscio farmsteads without breaking a sweat.

A grey shadow detached from the shade of the archway. I haven't noticed him first – a young man in a plain corduroy doublet of dull black and a cloak striped with streaks of light and shadow. As he stepped forward, I winced at the sight of an ugly scar across his face. His cold eyes, grey as a winter sea, the look he gave me – a blood-chilling look of a murderer! - made me shiver. I noticed that Rico didn't introduce that man to me, just nodded to him as we went past.

"He looks like an assassin!" I thought to myself. Who on earth was he? I couldn't imagine that Ricardo hired one of those brawny bravos as his guard. That would lead to no good. Many wealthy people in Venetta got into touch with them now and then – in the dead of night and for a handful or two of sequins, of course! But no one ever invited them into the house in the middle of the day. But Rico... Well, he hasn't changed a bit. Don't even bother telling him what's right or wrong. I guess, he could even hire Horror itself from the depths of the sea. That's who he was, my brother."