A Beast in Venice: (Literary Horror set in Venice) (32 page)

The kill of the man had been clean and quick. The woman, however, presented more of a…
housekeeping
challenge. When he had finished, he and the room were drenched in blood. The night and the mask would obscure some of it, but he would need to get back to the portal without drawing attention. He was in the eighteenth century, where they dealt with such things as killing people with extreme prejudice. He had two murders for which to account, all due to the need for a tiny scrap of human meat. He should perhaps reconsider his methods. And whether to ever again leave the modern age. Perhaps he would just come back here for a coffee or a spot of wine. It was an interesting era, and he liked the atmosphere, but no more killing here. He made his way back to the portal and returned to the present. 

XXVI

The days passed. Rose lost track of them but had a rough idea that it was on the order of a week. Or was it two? No matter. She had made progress with Giovanna to the extent that Rose was sure she would help her escape. She had developed a plan. She gave Giovanna bits of her breakfast—oranges, apples, butter, and jam—in exchange for information. Not that she had worked out such a deal expressly, but the gifts of food—a treat for a woman of Giovanna’s station—made her happy and loosened her tongue. The ultimate goal was to figure out how to get out of there back to the present.

In addition to the food, Rose would occasionally cut a pearl or semiprecious stone from an inconspicuous place on one of the fancy dresses she had been allotted and slip it to Giovanna just as she left. Giovanna would hold it in her hand, admiring its sheen for a moment, then tuck it away, bow slightly, and all but run through the door.

In the course of her days there, Rose explored the maze, learning her way to its center and back. One afternoon, Giovanna appeared carrying a satchel. She motioned for Rose to come to her and opened it. There lay a crossbow and arrows, or “bolts” as they are known, several inches long, made of stout wood and tipped with a heavy, imposing metal point.

“What’s this for?” Rose asked.

Giovanna did not answer. Instead, she set up a small wooden target on a hedge at the end of the row and nodded her head, indicating that Rose watch her. Giovanna took the bow and put her foot in a loop of metal at the end of it that looked like a stirrup. She pulled back the string, which latched in place. She placed a bolt in a groove in front of the string, notching it on the string, lifted it, and pointed it at the target. It had a metal bar for a trigger. Giovanna aimed and squeezed the trigger.

The bolt shot with great force into the target, penetrating the wood.

Giovanna handed Rose the bow. “Now you, signora.”

Rose took the bow from Giovanna. The string was stiff and extremely difficult to pull back. The little woman must be stronger than she looked. Rose pointed it at the target and squeezed the lever. The force of it surprised her and the bolt went wide.

“Again,” Giovanna said.

Rose cocked the bow, loaded the bolt, and pointed to the target. This time, when she released it, it pierced the wood mere inches wide of the red spot painted in the center.

“
Brava
, signora.” Giovanna said. “Again.”

Rose cocked and loaded the crossbow, pointed it at the target, and squeezed. The bolt struck the spot.

“
Bene
,” Giovanna said. “Good.”

Rose thought this must be just a way to pass the time, but Giovanna retrieved the target and the bolts, took the bow and the satchel, and turned to Rose. “Now you know. Don’t forget.”

“Now I know what?” Rose asked. But Giovanna had disappeared into the maze.

BRIGHAM RETURNED TO HIS STUDIO to find Gloria there, and Tiberio snoozing in one of the large chairs. He sat on the sofa and put his head back. Gloria wiped his forehead with a towel. “You’ve been busy tonight.”

“If only you knew. How’d you get in here?”

“We heard sirens and came back to find you. You should lock the door when you leave.”

Brigham frowned. “Good point. So, you thought the sirens were about me?”

“We thought there was a chance.”

Tiberio woke. “Brigham, you’re back.” 

“Yes,” Brigham said. “Back from the dead, so to speak.”

“I hope you can function. We have work to do tonight.”

Brigham covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Tonight? I’m pretty spent.”

“It has to do with Rose. I think I know where she is.”

Brigham looked up, suddenly alert. “I’m listening.”

Gloria placed a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand. “We have to go to San Michele.” 

“The cemetery island?”

“Yes,” Tiberio said. “I have information that leads me to believe she is there, or that we will find some evidence as to where she is.”

“
Let’s go,” Brigham said.

SNOW SWIRLED AROUND THEM as they rode in a small motor boat toward the cemetery island of San Michele. The choppy waves tossed them around violently. Brigham, prone to seasickness, had to lie down, using the satchel Tiberio had given him as a pillow.

“I thought you were a seagoing man,” Gloria said to Brigham.

“I was. That’s how I know I get seasick.”

The boat rode the waves over the lagoon toward the cemetery. Through the snow they could see the lights of Murano to the north and of Venice to the south, glowing like stars through fog.

Toward them from the east came a single bright light.

“What’s that?” Gloria asked.

Brigham squinted. “I don’t know.”

“Just another boat,” Tiberio said.

“It’s coming right at us,” Gloria said.

“Don’t worry, they’ll see our lights,” said Tiberio. “We have the right-of-way.”

The light continued directly toward them, increasing speed. Tiberio steered out of the way. The light turned toward them. They turned again, and again the boat followed them.

“They’re chasing us,” Gloria shouted.

“Why would they do that?” Brigham asked.

“I did liberate you from Charles’s dungeon,” Tiberio said. “Maybe he followed us.”

They tried again to avoid the boat bearing down on them, but it made a corresponding change in course.

Tiberio shouted the warning used in Venice as a horn. “Oy! Oy!”

The craft continued to speed toward them.

“Load the crossbow,” Tiberio said. “It’s in the satchel. Do you know how?” He steered directly toward the cemetery island, the engine at full throttle.

Brigham struggled with the bag as the boat took air and slapped on the water, but he managed to get the satchel open. “Yes, I’ve done it before.”

The force of hitting the waves knocked Brigham down, but he regained his balance. He put his foot in the stirrup of the bow, pulled back the string, and put a bolt in the groove.

The light streaked toward them. Just before contact, Tiberio steered sharply to the right, avoiding a collision. The wake from the speedboat nearly swamped them. It zoomed past, spraying them with water. Brigham was unable to get off a shot.

“That was close!” Brigham exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Gloria said. “I think he’s trying to kill us.” She turned in the direction of the speedboat.

“Yes,” Brigham said, “and I saw the driver. It’s Charles.”

“I suspected as much,” Tiberio said.

Charles turned and headed for them again.

“Looks like you’ll get another chance,” Tiberio said.

Tiberio brought them to a near stop. They bobbed in the water, watching as the boat raced toward them. Brigham began to feel sick.

“Why the bow and arrow?” Brigham asked. “Why not a nice big shotgun?”

Tiberio had his hand on the throttle of the small outboard motor and looked off toward the light speeding toward them. “The arrows will kill him, but the shotgun might not.”

“It’s the old stake through the heart,” Gloria said.

“Something like that,” Tiberio said.

Tiberio steered them into the path of the oncoming boat and waited. As Charles’s boat sped toward them, Brigham fired the bow, and Tiberio gunned the motor. The arrow glanced off the windshield, and Charles’s boat narrowly missed them.

“Next time,” Tiberio said, “wait until he passes and try to hit him in the back.”

Again, the light zoomed toward them. They managed to get out of the boat’s path, but barely, as the other vessel grazed their motor, knocking them about the boat. Brigham got to his knees and launched the arrow at Charles’s back. It missed to the right of Charles and stuck in the dashboard.

“One more time,” Brigham said. “I have this figured out.” He cocked the bow and loaded a bolt.

As Charles approached them the next time, Brigham could see flashes of light. Charles was shooting at them. Bullets snapped overhead, and a few struck the boat, sending splinters into the air. Something warm splattered Brigham’s face. Gloria had taken a bullet through the neck and sat clutching her throat, blood gushing from between her fingers, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

“Gloria’s been shot!” Brigham shouted. He reached for her just as her eyes went blank and she fell over the side.

“The motor’s been hit, too,” Tiberio cried.

B
righam aimed the bow just as Charles crashed into them, splintering their boat and sending them into the lagoon. In the darkness Brigham gulped mouthfuls of icy saltwater but had managed to keep hold of the bow. He kept his face above water long enough to get off a shot, which struck Charles in the thigh. The lights of Charles’s boat receded rapidly toward Murano. 

XXVII

Giovanna never told Rose the purpose of practicing with the crossbow, but she did tell her not to tell anyone, particularly not Charles. It became something of a pastime for her, and she always made sure that no one was around when she used it.

During their time shooting together they discussed many things, such as Giovanna’s mother, who was Irish, and her father, who was Venetian (although they never got to how this union came about), and how as her parents were of humble origins, she was destined to be a domestic servant. She felt lucky to be where she was; Charles was a good master, and the surroundings were pleasant enough.

One thing she refused to discuss was how a person got from one era to another. She alluded to Charles’s coming and going, and the occasional strange occurrence, but that was all. She gave no details and claimed to be ignorant of the workings of time travel.

That is, until one night she knocked quietly but rapidly on Rose’s door. When Rose opened it, Giovanna rushed in, glanced about to be sure no one was there, closed the door, and locked it behind her.

“Signora,” she said in a hushed but excited voice, “get dressed. Put on the Venetian outfit with the shawl and mask.”

“What’s going on?”

Giovanna scurried about collecting the skirt, shawl, three-cornered hat, and moretta mask: a small round black affair that was held in place by the teeth. The other mask of choice, the bauta, was white and more easily seen at night. “Please, there’s not time to explain. Hurry. Put these on. I’ll explain it on the boat.”

Rose did as instructed. Giovanna cracked the door, peeked out, then motioned for Rose to follow. Rose caught her reflection in a mirror in the hallway. She looked like something from a painting by Francesco Guardi, her face blacked out by the odd little mask. As she thought of Guardi, she realized he was still alive, if this were indeed 1756.

Giovanna spirited her out the back door. They moved through the shadows toward the front of the house, which faced the Brenta Canal. There, a small fishing boat, known in Venice as a
sandola
, stood manned with a single oarsman. He helped them into the boat, and they sat on a plank in the center.

“Quickly,” Giovanna said to the oarsman. “To Venice.”

THE BOAT SLID DOWN THE BRENTA toward the lagoon, the only sound being the quiet splashing of the oars. The water before them shone like a black mirror.

The oarsman held an oar in each hand, with the oars crossed in front of him. He stood while rowing, pushing both oars at the same time. They were nearly invisible in the moonless night in a black boat, dressed in black. Only the stars and faint light from the few houses along the canal provided light.

Rose took off the mask because speaking with her teeth clamped on its bit was difficult. “Now what’s this all about?”

“You are a nice person,” Giovanna said. “A good person. I don’t want them to kill you.”

“Kill me? They kept me around for all this time, in palatial surroundings, just to kill me?”

Even sitting two feet from Giovanna, in that darkness her face was only a dim form. Rose could just make out that she was nodding. “Yes. I didn’t know it at first, but I overheard them talking this evening.”

“Them? Who did you hear?”

“Charles and another man I don’t know.”

“Charles is here?”

“Sì.”

“I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“He stays in another part of the house when he is here. I don’t know why he keeps himself hidden from you.”

Something splashed in the water next to the boat.

Rose started.

The oarsman laughed. “
Pesci
,” he said. Fish.

“Be quiet and row,” Giovanna said.

“When were they planning to kill me?”

Giovanna shook her head in the darkness. “I’m not sure, but soon.”