Whispering Bones (8 page)

“Looks like it might rain. Shall we move to the cabin?” Alejandro asked.

She followed him to the covered sitting area behind the driver. Several motor boats passed them, as well as
vaporetti
filled with tourists on their way to the outlying islands. A short while later they passed a rusted-out freighter. After that, water traffic dwindled to nothing.

Fifteen minutes or so into the trip, Anna spotted a large land mass on the horizon through the cabin window. “Is that it?” she asked.

“No, that’s the Lido,” replied Alejandro. “We should be approaching the island anytime now. It’s close by.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Alejandro pointed at something out the window next to him and Anna leaned forward to look. Not far from them, she could see the dark outline of an island covered with trees. Poking up from the tree line was what appeared to be the silhouette of a tower.

“There’s an existing structure on the island?”

“Yes,” Alejandro replied, “a defunct hospital, according to Falcone.”

For some reason, maybe because the darkening sky had turned the water gunmetal grey, the island appeared dismal to Anna, depressing almost.

At that moment, a blaring boat horn sounded behind them, making Anna jump. Their boat slowed, and she turned to see a police vessel pulling up beside the water taxi. Their driver got up and reached out to pull the vessels together, assisted by one of the
carabinieri
on the other boat. The taxi driver reached one hand into his trouser pocket and extracted a piece of paper, which he showed to the officer nearest him on the other boat. After looking the paper over carefully, the officer returned the document and waved them on. “
Avanti
.”

Anna stared at the proceedings in surprise. When they were underway again, she asked the driver, “What was that all about?”

At first she thought he was not going to answer. Then he said in a curt voice, “The
carabinieri
patrol the island during the day. To keep the tourists out.”

Anna turned to Alejandro.”Falcone seems to be going out of his way to keep people off the island. Must be costing him a fortune for police services.”

“I doubt Falcone hired them,” replied Alejandro. “I don’t think the
carabinieri
provide services to the private sector. There must be another reason they’re patroling the water. Perhaps the driver’s mistaken.”

As they approached the island, Anna fell silent. The depressing feeling she had experienced a moment ago returned. Crowned by the darkening sky and surrounded by the slate-gray water, the island looked positively ominous. All was silent, save for the din of the motor.

She caught the sound of a quick beep coming from her purse, followed immediately by another nearby. She and Alejandro both pulled out their cellphones. “My phone’s gone out of service,” she said.

“
Hnh
.
Mine too,” replied Alejandro. “I guess we’re out of range here.”

The driver pulled the boat into a narrow inlet, and Anna noticed a set of stone stairs leading up to the island, presumably where they would dock. The taxi coasted parallel to the stone wall next to the staircase and the driver tied off. Anna and Alejandro disembarked, carrying their equipment bags with them. The churlish driver didn’t bother to kill the motor. Obviously, he was in a hurry to return to the mainland.

Once Anna and Alejandro climbed the stone stairs to the top of the landing, the driver called out to them as he untied the ropes from the cleats. “I will return at six-thirty to take you back—be here on time, otherwise I leave, okay?” Without waiting for their answer, the man pulled the boat away and Anna watched as the vessel roared out into the open water.

She looked at Alejandro, who shook his head at the man’s rudeness.

“Let’s hope our watches don’t stop,” he said, “otherwise we’ll be forced to spend the night.”

Anna caught the mischievous glint in Alejandro’s eyes and laughed. It struck her again that she liked this man and would enjoy working with him.

He motioned to the stone path in front of them. “After you.”

The path ran alongside a two-story stone building, fronted by the bell tower she’d spied earlier from the boat. Thick, sinewy vines climbed up the cracked walls to the second story, and tangled weeds spilled out from the cracks in the flagstone pathway. The place had obviously been abandoned long ago. The old building’s many windows were leaded, the reinforced glass still intact. “So, this must be the old hospital,” she said.

“I assume so,” replied Alejandro.”Looks like it’s been shut down for some time.”

As they followed the path past the hospital, they encountered another smaller building, with only one large window.

Anna had the strangest feeling as she made her way along the passageway. Something about the island struck her as odd, although she could not put her finger on what, exactly. As they approached the next building, it occurred to her. Even though heavily treed and overrun with tangled vines and bushes, she detected no sounds of nature—no birds singing in the nearby trees, no crickets chirping in the tall grass. Nothing. The absolute silence of the place seemed eerie. She was about to mention this to Alejandro when they arrived at a third building connected to the other two by the path along which they were making their way. The heavy wooden doors of the windowless stone structure hung ajar and a small smokestack rose from the roof. Anna stopped and peeked into the dim interior. Curious, she stepped inside, followed by Alejandro. The large room was empty, save for two brick constructions, each about five feet in height, and each with an arched metal grate fronting the bottom and a round, hinged steel door near the top.

“Wonder what these were used for,” she said.

Alejandro did not answer, and she turned to see him frowning. He walked up to one of the constructions, opened the round door and bent over to peer inside. From behind him, Anna spied a metal cylinder with a grate resting on the open bottom. Alejandro straightened up quickly and took her arm. “Let’s go,” he said, leading her outside.

“What were those things, do you know?” Anna asked.

“I think I do.”

“What?”

“I suspect,” he replied slowly, “that they are—were—incinerators.”

“Incinerators? Like for refuse disposal?”

“No.” He paused. “Like for disposing of human remains.”

Anna stopped in her tracks. “That’s creepy.”

“Maybe not. From a practical point of view at least,” replied Alejandro. “People die in hospitals. I suppose transporting the bodies of the dead to the mainland for burial would have been cumbersome. Much easier to have the deceased’s loved ones come to collect an urn bearing the ashes.”

“I suppose.” Alejandro’s explanation seemed logical, but the fact they’d just stumbled upon a crematorium left her feeling more than a little unsettled.

“Look.” Alejandro pointed past the next, and last, building in the complex. “There’s the trailer Falcone set up for us, beside the field.”

As they made their way past the last of the stone buildings, Anna noticed that this one, too, was covered in vines like the hospital, but it had a slightly different look, less institutional. The tall, narrow windows flanking both lengths of the building appeared gracious, and without reinforcements built into the glass. She stopped in front of a window and rubbed some of the yellow film from the dirty pane with her hand. Inside, she spied a dusty old desk and bookcases, still lined with books and other knick-knacks.

Alejandro had moved ahead of her and she hurried to catch up with him without investigating further. When they arrived at the construction trailer, which stood on the edge of a large field roughly marking the island’s center, Alejandro opened the door and the two of them stepped inside.

“Well, this is cozy,” he said.

“Yes, great,” Anna replied, looking around.

Indeed, Falcone had gone to great lengths to ensure they could work in comfort. A large desk and drafting table had been set up at the front end of the trailer, and the shelves were stocked with office supplies. A comfortable leather couch and a refrigerator, fully stocked with cold drinks, snacks and fruit took up the other half.

Alejandro opened the cupboard above the small fridge. “I see Falcone’s hospitality extends to liquor.” He held up a small bottle of cognac.

“That’s strange. You’d think he wouldn’t want us drinking on the job. But then, maybe it’s just the Italian way of doing things.”

Anna removed a pair of jeans, t-shirt and the sturdy boots she’d brought along from her bag. “I’m going to get started taking some photos for reference.” She grabbed her digital camera from her bag. “That’s probably all I’ll have time for before we have to leave today.”

“All right,” Alejandro said. “I’ll get set up for a preliminary survey. We’ll have more time tomorrow. Falcone’s arranged a boat for us at nine tomorrow morning, and for the next day as well.”

With only a few hours left before their return to the mainland, Anna was anxious to get going. They took turns using the trailer to change into their work clothes. Before they parted ways, she said, “If I don’t see you back here, I’ll meet you at the dock just before six-thirty.” She paused. “Be there on time—otherwise I leave, okay?” she said, in her best Romanian accent, mimicking the grumpy taxi driver.

Alejandro gave a hearty laugh. “Glad to see you’ve a sense of humor, Anna.”

“I do my best.” She grabbed an apple from the little refrigerator and headed out the door with her camera.

Venice, Italy

1576

Isabella tried to open her eyes, but the effort it entailed seemed too great. She had a vague awareness that time had passed, but how many hours or days had gone by since she’d closed the door on her parents’ death chamber, she did not know. There was only the terrible agony that now wracked her body, and darkness. Her bones felt broken, the tiniest movement bringing with it excruciating pain. The open sores covering the inside of her parched throat made it difficult to swallow and each time she broke into a fit of coughing, she felt near to death.

She forced herself to open her swollen eyes and stare around her dark bedroom. The stench was terrible. She had soiled the bed several times, but there was nothing she could do about that. The mere thought of trying to get to her feet caused her eyes to close again. Slowly, her hand traveled to her groin, to check the lump which she’d noticed had begun to form on the inside of her thigh. Her fingers recoiled at the burning pain that resulted when she lightly brushed the boil, which she was alarmed to discover had grown to the size of an egg. The sickening odor that assailed her immediately afterward told her the boil had broken, a fact confirmed by the hot liquid running down her leg. She shivered uncontrollably with fever. Vomit rose suddenly to her throat and spewed from her chapped lips onto the already-encrusted bedding around her. Isabella floated on her bed of pain, certain she would not have to wait much longer for death to arrive.

More time passed. Minutes. Hours, maybe. No light entered the house through the bricked-up windows to help her gauge whether it was day or night. A sudden, loud noise caused her to snap awake. Pain shot through her sensitive eyes as she squinted in the bright light that unexpectedly flooded the room. As if from far away, she heard the sound of tinkling bells, and for a moment she wondered if she’d died and entered the afterlife, but the relentless pain still consuming her told her otherwise.

She heard loud footsteps and the voices of men. The sound of tinkling bells grew louder, accompanied by the heavy footfall of whoever had entered her home. When a tall, dark figure arrived next to her bed and gloved hands reached for her, fear such as she had never known pushed its way past the pain into her consciousness.

Rough hands yanked her from the bed. Through swollen eyes she glimpsed the white mask with the eyes cut out, the hooked nose hovering over her face like the beak of some deadly bird. The
pizzicamorti
, her worst nightmare, had arrived.

The room spun madly as the man transported her shivering, fevered body out of the house. Isabella called out, but with the painful sores inside her throat, she only managed to croak, the sound drowned out by the strident voices of the men. She closed her eyes against the vertigo and nausea rolling through her each time the monster bearing her took a step. Then, a rush of cool air hit her burning skin—sweet, fresh air that she breathed in greedily. A second later, she was airborne. She landed on something soft but, even so, the impact sent stunning pain crashing through her, so immense it took her breath away.

Her head lolled to one side. She opened her eyes to stare into the disfigured, dead face of her mother, and beyond that, something that defied all comprehension, something that sent a wave of shock coursing through her—a sea of disjointed limbs, open and unseeing eyes, putrid and decomposing faces of the dead. As the cart began to lumber forward, understanding entered her feeble consciousness. She was lying on a bed of rotting corpses, being transported to...where? She opened her mouth and cried out, louder this time, but the cart did not stop. The rumbling of the wheels sounded like thunder.

Her mind formed a single thought before she passed out:
Let me die
.

* * * *

A blue and cloudless sky above. The familiar rise-and-fall sensation of being on the water, like when Papa took her out on the boat. The smell of the sea.

Fresh agony rolled through her as the dreadful masked figure at the bow of the vessel bore down on the long pole, propelling them forward. The thought flitted across her mind that they must be travelling to the
Lazaretto
, where those found alive in the pest houses were taken. Her fevered lips formed the barest hint of a smile as she thought of Roberto. Dear Roberto, who might yet be alive. Perhaps she would see him soon. The thought sent a spark of hope coursing through her, and Isabella’s lips moved in silent prayer. She prayed for forgiveness from God for having doubted him. God, in his mercy, had chosen to save her after all.