Don Arsago's servants were waiting for us outside, with striped blue and yellow coats of arms on their liveries. I wanted to know what had happened to the Doge, but he was immediately surrounded by a crowd of senators in scarlet togas, and to the sound of their excited voices donna Arsago dragged me out of the conference room. In the courtyard and under the arch of the gate there was a big crowd of people. They all were talking, coming into groups. No one paid any attention to us. The air buzzed with incredible rumors. The gossip grew like rabbits pullulated in spring. The space of the Golden Palace, enclosed on four sides by openwork facades, now resembled a cauldron in which the political future of Venetta was smelted. The alliances were made and the votes were bought and sold here. I had no doubt that the rumour of the Doge's sudden weakness had reached Piazzetta and was now flying towards Rivoalto, Dorsoduro and the rest of the sestiers. In less than an hour, the whole town would be up to date.

Accompanied by two guards, donna Arsago and I had scarcely reached the wharf when a sharp peal of bells rang. Everyone looked at each other in confusion, and one of the guards even crossed himself. The Countess's pale, thin face suddenly tightened and hardened.

"My lady! Mistress! " someone shouted.

That was Matteo, completely out of breath. He caught up with us as he made his way through the crowd.

"Don Soranzo is dead!" he blurted, his round eyes blazing. "The funeral will be held the day after tomorrow. They`ve already appointed six senators, who will be in charge until the election. Don Arsago asked me to give you a letter…”

With her hands trembling, the Countess quickly unfolded the note, ran her eyes over it, and an uncertain smile touched the corners of her lips.

"Enrique is coming back," she said, looking at me. "Don Arsago ordered him to return at once. You will be married tomorrow. My husband asked me to notify the priest and arrange everything. Come, Julia, we have much to do.”

I had to say something, but I wasn`t able to speak. How good it had been while Enrique was stuck in Patava and our wedding was postponed! Who knew the situation would change so dramatically…

The long gondola bobbed on the muddy greenish waves, softly splashing on the wooden piles. The sharp prow of the boat was like a blade, glistening in the wet drizzle. There was an undercurrent of anxiety in the air, in the haze that swirled between the houses. You could smell the salt on the wharf posts and whitewashed walls, and there were salty, silvery traces. A seagull flew by with a sharp cry like a stone. The water seemed too dark and viscous. Once the oar caught a clump of tangled seaweed.

Don Arsago's house jutted out of the water like a coral reef. As soon as we disembarked, the servant, bowing respectfully to the Countess, opened the openwork lattice separating the wharf from the house. Then it slammed shut behind us like a cage door.

It was unbearable to be here. The cold marble vestibule, filled with a watery greenish light, was chilling. Stone octopus statues grinned mockingly at me. Donna Arsago, surrounded by servants, was busy ordering the next day's state dinner.

“You will send the butcher to me. Better Bertuccio! You get out and clean the silver. We need to hire two more cooks. I have a long list of guests... Clarice! Take the keys and get the spice box. Where's Giacomo? Let him run to the baker's for some pies…”

The silent house now was filled with voices and doors. Then Countess turned to me and took my hand.

"I have to talk to you, Julia.”

Her hand was cold, her face pale and flat in the sickly light of the hall, like a crumpled sheet of paper. She smelled of dried flowers, some must and old sadness. I gently pulled my hand away.

“ I want to see Ricardo! When will he be back?"

"Oh, my dear, the men have their own worries now!” the Countess laughed as she led me up the stairs.

My room greeted us with its usual comfort and quietness. In my absence someone made the bed and gathered up the scattered clothes. I stole a glance at the chest where I had hidden my letter of confession this morning. If everything had gone according to plan, Ricardo would have read this letter in the evening, and I would have been far away. What a pity don Soranzo should have to die at such a bad time!

"Let's choose a dress for tomorrow`s ceremony," Donna Arsago said as she opened the heavy chests. “After all, a wedding is the brightest event for a girl. It is a pity that your mother is not here now, and no one can replace her. But tomorrow you will be my daughter, and we…”

I clenched my fists, leaving red nail marks on my palms. How dared she speak of Beatrice, after her husband had viciously murdered the poor woman! How gladly would I have taken Donna Granacci's letter and flung it in her face!

However, I wasn`t sure I would manage to leave the room alive after that. Donna Arsago was always an obedient wife. You had to be careful with her…

Meanwhile, the Countess was pulling out colored dresses of velvet and silk and laying them out on the bed. She brightened, her pale paper face flushed. Remembering that there were man's clothes hidden at the bottom of the trunk, I caught her hand.

“Forgive me. All this is so unexpected... I'd like to be alone, if you please.”

Donna Arsago stopped. It was obvious that she was offended by my neglect.

"Please let me know when Ricardo returns," I added firmly.

"Well ... if you wish it.”

She straightened her narrow shoulders and stalked to the door. Probably, she imagines herself being a wife of a new Doge already! I thought. On the threshold she turned to me again.

“My husband has always been patient with your whims, but now is not the time for them! Now that the Doge is dead, Arsago and Granacci must unite! Or do you want that stupid Pietro Soranzo to drag Venetta into the abyss, selling off pieces of our land?! Think of your brother! Do you want his case to go to waste? Think about it, my girl!”

She went out and carefully closed the door behind her. I could hear the key in the keyhole. She locked me. When I was alone, I took a deep breath, trying to swallow my anger, annoyance, and resentment. I had to pull myself together. The moon, invisible in the gray sky, lurked behind the dull tin light of the sun, but I could feel its yellow eye watching me. "Call them," she urged.

No! There must be another way! I'll wait for Ricardo. He would return some day. I'll give him his mother's letter. Maybe the two of us will be able to break that stubborn rock named Lorenzo Arsago. There would be no wedding!

Now I need to get Pulcino out of here and tell him to stop looking for that crypt, I thought.

It took a long time to call. My temples were damp and I had to sit down weakly before a faint answering cry came from far away.

"Pulcino! What happened?”

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"I haven't heard from you for a long time, sister. The good news: I found the crypt. And bad news for balance: it seems I can't get out of there".

I jumped up.

"What did you say?! Where are you? I'm coming to you!”

Silence. The answer was a soft, impenetrable silence. He cut our connection on purpose! I guessed. He didn`t say anything so that I won`t look for him. He did that to keep me out of danger!

Poor Pulcino! Would any of the gulls do that for me?! I took it for granted that some of Pulcino's traits and habits had taken root in me. But I'd forgotten that magic worked both ways. In the same way my friend borrowed my own thoughts and principles…

I pressed my hands to my burning forehead and forced myself to calm down. Panic won't help to save him. How did they catch him? By our agreement Pulcino was on duty near the glass dome. Probably that was where he got caught. A seagull hovering all day near the house could arouse someone's suspicions. So, I must start looking from there!

I pushed the door, but it was still locked, of course. What's more, as I put my ear to the keyhole, I heard someone sniffling and coughing. I was not only locked up, the Countess also put on guard to watch me. Well, let's live and see! The new obstacle only made me more excited. Once in the door was not allowed, I`d go out the window ...

I opened the shutters. Evening was falling over the canal. The house next door stood slumbering, its blind shuttered eyes closed. Far below, the silken surface of the water was dark. Oh, I wish I were a seagull, flying free into the open sky!

Alas, the sky was not yet available. But the stone wall, with all its cracks and potholes, was right in front of me. I pulled off my wide skirts and hastily changed into a man's dress: shirt, sleeveless doublet, short pants and stockings. The new clothes were unusually tight but gave more freedom of movement. I swung my leg over the window and looked out. There must be a guard down there somewhere, but he wouldn't be interested in what was happening on the roof. His job is to watch the channels ... Great! They wanted to put me in a cage?! Ha! Let them try!

When I was a child, I often had to climb down the ivy from the tower window. My palms were always bruised and green with grass juice. It shouldn't have been much more difficult to climb up... there was a hand-wide ledge under the window, and a gutter jutted out near the edge of the wall. There was no ivy in Venetta, so I brought along a decorative curtain cord. Making a loop at one end, I managed to wrap it around the neck of the stone gargoyle that crowned the corner of the balcony. Taking tiny steps across the ledge, I chose a convenient spot and began to climb, clinging to each ledge and feeling carefully for where to put my foot. The main thing was not to make noise. And not to look down, of course. The servants were busy with donna Arsago`s errands. Some of them had escaped to the square to get the latest news. No one would notice me. All I had to do was to go up just one floor and then climb over the parapet of the terrace –not a big deal at all!

***

The city, which had been built on the sea, remained its integral part. And now both felt terrible. The frowning stone houses quivered like ships about to break their moorings. The domes of the churches swayed in the salt-laden air. The voices of the bells sounded especially dreary and anxious today. The Doge's Palace looked like a sunken barge, its keel upturned. The clouds floated sullenly above it like huge sea waves.

The vague alarm of the streets was involuntarily communicated to the inhabitants, even though most were wholly concerned about the Doge's death and the upcoming elections. At the crossroads, in front of the statues of the Virgin Mary in the house niches there were golden sparks of the candles lit up in gratitude for the salvation of those who went to the sea.

Since ancient times, the sea`d frightened the citizens with its power. Everything was born out of water and would dissolve in it after death. The flood was an old familiar foe who had played hide-and-seek with Venetta for centuries. It crept up imperceptibly - and suddenly attacked the city, clutching houses with icy wet hands, turned squares into lakes, poisoned the air with salt dampness.

On the Piazzetta the water greedily licked the stones of the embankment. Then it splashed higher, leaving dark tracks and lifting the moored gondolas. No one noticed that, though. Everyone was too thrilled by the news.

***

When I finally reached the main balcony, I pulled myself up on shaky arms and heaved myself over the parapet. Then I sat for a few minutes behind a tub of jasmine to catch my breath. There seemed to be no one on the balcony. I was lucky. My palms were raw and my ankle hurt, but the first phase of my adventure had been a success. Stealthily, I reached the glass dome and peered inside. Nothing to see.

The dusk had fallen. The setting sun painted the houses with warm ochre hues on one side of the canal, while the other side was covered with darkness. The thick water was leaden-black. Slow heavy longboats and nimble gondolas glided on its silky surface. From time to time I could hear the cries of the gondoliers. I carefully drew my dagger. After several fruitless attempts, when I was already sweating with fear that I would be caught red handed − literally, − I managed to hook the blade of the latch that locked one of the doors of the dome from the inside. The window creaked open. For a puny girl like me it was easy to get in. The curtain cord was too short to go down, but there was a coil of good rope nearby. I secured one end at the top (God forbid to break!) and I started going down, wincing at the pain in my blistered hands. I should have brought gloves, but of course I forgot about them. At least I had the sense to take the lantern from and fasten it to my belt.

The first thing I did when I dropped to the floor was to cut off the end of the rope as far as I could reach with my knife and tie it around my waist. You never know if you need it or not. No sound penetrated the room from outside. I felt like I was at the bottom of a lake filled with viscous silence. I lit the lantern and it made a yellow circle around me, beyond which the darkness grew deeper and more impenetrable. Mirrors glittered mysteriously, and for obvious reasons I tried not to look at them. I suspected Scarpa was lurking in one of them. Let him wait, I had more important things to do. The distorted masked faces protruded from the walls like bright spots. The yellow shadows of the lantern made them even more eerie. It was better not to look back at them either, or the fear would sweep all the sane thoughts out of my mind.

I had no idea how to find the secret passage to the crypt, but Pulcino was in danger and that made me think quickly. I looked around. On the one side of the room the floor was more heavily trampled, and there was a sharp white smear in the whitish dust. The feather of a gull! My heart began to pound. I looked wildly around for any other tracks. Nothing! Pulling the lantern closer, I examined the floorboards more closely. And I managed to notice the wide, worn semicircles on the floor in front of one of the bookshelves. The others had none. Such traces could have remained, if someone rotated a bookshelf several times around its axis. I`d heard of such secret passages. Usually they were opened by a lever…

This task was even more difficult than donna Assunta's chest! I felt every inch of the cabinet, every single inch of its surface, feeling the minutes slip away, grain by grain. Our last conversation with Pulcino took place more than an hour ago. Anything could have happened to him in that time!

I kicked the smooth wooden side in frustration, but that didn't help either – the closet was in no hurry to reveal its secrets. Beside it there was a mirror, which distracted from my search with its luring black depths. The light of the lantern shattered in the glass, breaking into chains of yellow lights. Suddenly, two scarlet predatory dots lit up among the warm lights. I turned away hastily. Scarpa! He felt my presence and came at once!

The magic mirror was like a welcoming door into my mind for a pesquator. I would have covered it with a jacket, but I was extremely interested in its frame. It could well be that the lever that unlocked the secret door was hidden here, among the bronze curls. I examined them carefully. It didn`t seem that someone touched them. I had to check everything. A couple of red lights in the mirror still waters was approaching. A foreboding crept into my chest, and I thought I heard a familiar crackling laugh…

Crack!

One of the bronze twigs turned under my fingers. Thank you, Madonna! The cabinet jerked, moved slowly and stood across the wall, revealing a dark passage.

I breathed a sigh of relief, pulled out a shawl from a nearby closet (and dumped a few trinkets on the floor, ha!), and hastily threw it over the mirror. Let all the pecquators in the world chatter their teeth, I needed to save Pulcino first! Behind the wardrobe I saw a narrow stone chimney with a narrow spiral staircase inside that descended into the darkness. There was a musty, cold, and silent menace about it, as if from an open grave. Judging by the distinct smell of decay, the grave has long been inhabited. But most of all I was struck by the mosaic picture hidden on the back of the cabinet. Though I was in a hurry, I couldn't resist the temptation to get a better look at it.

It was a miracle the dampness hadn't damaged it. That was a canonical picture of Saint Viadora, as she was usually painted on the walls of churches. A statuesque figure in an azure dress, a slightly bowed head, large expressive eyes under smooth arches of eyebrows, a thin longish nose... the cap and trim on the dress glistened softly (our artists loved to decorate pictures with gold pollen). The Saint's stern face bore a look of restrained sadness and a kind of a warning. Are you sure, my dear, that you really want to go down there? I could read in her face.

“Do I have a choice?" I sked bitterly. The mural didn`t answer, of course.

There was no time to think. I pulled a heavy book off the shelf, jammed the door so it wouldn't slam behind me, and took a firm step downstairs.