For the next few days I took every opportunity to go up to the altana and listen to the sea again but I couldn`t feel Carita`s presence anymore. Given what she'd been through in Venetta, that wasn't surprising. If I were her, I'd try to get away from the city as soon as possible.

I reassured myself that I hadn't imagined anything that day and Carita was alive. It was the only glimmer of hope in the series of sorrows that visited us. The next day after my walk to St. Marina's church donna Assunta died.

I hardly remembered the long solemn dirge as a walk through the flooded city made me come down with a cold. In the morning the black gondola-hearse moored to the embankment near our house. The three men carefully carried the coffin covered with snow-white flowers. During the service I felt so dizzy that the pale faces of the people under their dark berets and mourning veils blurred before my eyes. Ricardo, seeing my condition, did not recommend me to go to the cemetery, but I insisted on going with him. That was the only thing I still could do for Assunta.

After the funeral we went to the island called La Casa Spirit, which meant the house of spirits in the old language. Most Venettian families had their family tombs there. The funeral gondola glided noiselessly through the water, scattering opalescent spangles around it. Four gondoliers in black scarves and sashes were rowing in deep silence, and the fifth stood over the coffin with a staff in his hand. The scent of the flowers made my hand swim, and my eyes hurt by the iridescent sheen of the water. La Casa Spirit was the last resort for many citizens. It was a quiet, silent realm of sorrow, separated from the bustling city by an invisible veil. Even the water on its banks seemed a bit darker and impenetrable, the small waves sobbing softly on the chest of the coastal rocks.

The black flame of cypresses burned brightly above the white blocks of crypts and obelisks. Beyond the trees one could see rust-red roofs of an old monastery. Our procession passed the church of San Michele in Isola, passed the stonemason's shop, where the crosses and tombstones for sale formed one more cemetery. Then we finally descended into the crypt.

As Ricardo and I were standing over the new sarcophagus, I prayed to Madonna to give Assunta's soul peace, and Assunta herself to forgive me if she could. I hoped that now she could see that I meant no harm to the Granacci family.

Ricardo didn`t say a word. Two lamps were burning dimly at the head of the sarcophagus, giving my brother`s face a tired and angry expression. He was the only one who had organized the overall ceremony, but all the way to the cemetery he was silent, completely lost in his thoughts.

The quiet, contemplative atmosphere of the island encouraged deep reflection. On the way back to the wharf, I went over the details of my "investigation" one more time. To be honest, I had nothing to be proud of. I still didn't know who had killed donna Granacci. Moreover, I could not prove that her death was not of natural causes. Who had put the poison in the wine jugs in don Arsago's house? I didn`t know either. Where was Luigi Mariola? How come that neither the Count's guards, nor servants of the Duke still couldn't find him? Was he still alive at all or had his body flown down the Orfano channel into the open sea long ago? Our canals could make a great tomb as well.

"I'm surprised they haven't found that Manriolo yet,” I said. “Even the state bank secret won`t last a day in Venetta! Yet no one has seen him since that dinner. I wonder if he`s still alive…”

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"So do I," Ricardo said, though his voice seemed completely indifferent. “I don`t have time to worry about someone else`s business. And I wouldn't worry about this guy if I were you. Even if he were between the devil and the deep blue sea, a person like him would grow gills and fins to survive.”

His words made me stumble. Well, that was exactly what I thought. Grow gills and fins – just as that fishy jester did. But how would Ricardo know about that?

We didn`t say a word afterwards. Somewhere beyond the soft feathers of the clouds an invisible moon was gradually filling with light. Even with my eyes closed I could feel her strength growing.

***

I thought don Arsago would never notice that his jester had mysteriously disappeared. But he did.

“Even the jester betrayed us and ran away!” don Sacketti said at the dinner and you could hear a badly-hidden satisfaction in his voice. The candlelight enlivened his unhealthy face, giving it the noble pallor as in the old portraits.

"He might have been killed as well," signor di Goro frowned. Don Arsago slapped the table.

"So deal with it!" he shouted, giving his guard a furious look. “I hope your men are clever enough to find a fool, are they not? Don`t tell me that Scarpa will disappear into thin air just as that person did. What`s his name… Manriolo?”

Alessandro met his overlord's gaze with calm dignity, but his blue eyes turned a bit icy.

"We'll find him," he promised.

I bit my lip nervously. It wouldn't be easy to find Scarpa in the lagoon now, not to mention bringing him back at the Count`s service. Did my impulsive act cause more trouble for Alessandro? I didn't mean that. What should to do?

I was distracted by Bianca, whispering softly into my ear:

"By the way, Scarpa used to escape to the city time and again. And he did the day before yesterday, too”

The three of us were sitting at the window and embroidering the silk tablecloth for my dowry, carefully pretending that the men`s conversation did not concern us at all. Yet nothing could escape Bianca's sharp look and acute ears. I wondered if she`d already known of my absence, my search of the crypt or our conversations with Pulcino…

"I wonder where he went when all the streets were flooded," Bianca continued. "Ines, didn`t you meet him at the church?"

"No," came the short reply.

"Well, of course you didn`t. You weren't in the church, were you?" Bianca said, untangling the long thread, “although Joanna has been talking about your piety for hours and hours."

I looked up. Bianca's face was completely indifferent while she was saying those dangerous words. I guessed she could accuse a man of murder while choosing the most suitable silk was for her embroidery.

But Ines got all tense, her fingers nervously crumpling the fabric and her face became pale and flushed in turns as she tried to think of the right words. Bianca leaned forward and whispered softly:

“Just say it: you were with Alessandro, right? You don`t need to be so shy. We're friends, after all.”

Ines looked around. Don Arsago and his men had already left the salon, leaving us alone.

“Yes, I did! So what?" she cried, her big blue eyes flashed with annoyance. “We just took a stroll… If you think it`s indecent, then go and tell my mother! But signor di Goro is a noble man. To spend an hour or so alone with him won`t damage my reputation!”

She stood up, threw her little scissors on the floor and ran away. We could hear the door slam in the distance. I felt relived as Ines's face was so desperate that I was really afraid she would stick those scissors in Bianca's eyes.

Bianca went on embroidering as if nothing had happened. An understanding smile curved her lips. I didn't say a word either, though I knew Alessandro couldn't have enjoyed a pleasant walk in the canals that night. In the morning he accompanied the Count to the hunt, and then he and Ricardo went to the port. It wasn't that I was keeping an eye on him, but somehow I always knew where he was and what he was doing.

So Ines was obviously lying. I really wanted to discuss it with Bianca, but I was afraid she would ask me some undesired questions in return.

I wondered if there was at least one person without a secret in this house …