The Lost Diary of Venice by Margaux DeRoux

Author:Margaux DeRoux [DeRoux, Margaux]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2020-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

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The air stayed warm well after sundown the evening of the final festivities, and revelers choked the streets. Sounds of celebration ricocheted off the walls of Gio’s chamber as he dressed, fastening a black velvet cape at his neck and securing the mask he’d bought from Jacopo over his face. Earlier in the week, Aurelio had invited him to join his party in the Piazza San Marco, but Gio had declined—the combination of a crowd, darkness, and his eyesight only promised disaster. Instead, he’d scouted his own location: the second floor of the partially completed San Geminiano church. Though far from finished, the structure was stable enough, and its position guaranteed an unadulterated view of the square. Now, all he needed was to get there.

He stepped into the street. At once, the thick snake of bodies winding their way toward the center square swept him up in its current. Pangs of warning fluttered in his chest. The light was already dimming and torches had been lit, sending shadows skittering across his field of view. On all sides, masked faces surged forward. Hidden behind his own blue disguise, Gio scanned the crowd anxiously. From every angle, low-cut gowns exposed breasts of all sorts—bare nipples, goose-pricked flesh—while closer inspection of the more modestly attired women proved them to be men masquerading. A beggar he recognized from the taverns passed by, dressed in a nobleman’s costume. Someone’s version of a jest. Laughter and chatter from the crowd tangled with the melodies of street performers, until he felt hemmed in on all sides by a buzzing wall of sound.

Gio kept close to the rails as the rabble crossed over bridges, peering down at the splendid, fantastical boats sailing past in the canals—strung with garlands and banners, the vessels left a disarray of flowers and ribbons floating in their wake. At their helms, common servants posed, heads encircled with crowns. The night throbbed with a primal pulse. Gio slid his mask up onto his forehead to wipe the sweat from his eyes, squinting to keep focus amid the confusion of flesh and costume, torches and crashing drums.

He let the momentum of others carry him forward. As the throng spilled out into the piazza, he traced his way along the edges of buildings until he could slip off into the narrow passageway by the church. Days earlier, he’d scouted a gap in the wall here, hidden behind a wooden plank. The plank was lighter than he thought it’d be—he shifted it to one side easily, then stepped into the church, pulling the board back again to disguise his entry.

Immediately, the sounds of the crowd were muted by degrees. Through the round, glass-less second-story window, torchlight poured in from the street—garish yellow against the starlit sky, so clear and cold and far away. A fresco covered the back wall of the great chamber. The face of Mary Magdalene peered out at him from the gloom, with heavy-lidded eyes and a gilded halo. A piece by Vivarini; Gio would recognize his work anywhere.

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