Uprising

Chapter Sixty-One

After the morning’s sunshine, the afternoon was turning quickly chilly as a thick mist rolled in like smoke from the water. Alex’s hair was beginning to drip with moisture as they eventually found the baroque facade of the red and cream building that was the Grand School of San Rocco.

Inside, the place was virtually deserted. As they walked from room to room and gallery to gallery, gazing around them at the displays of Venetian art, Joel leafed carefully through the guide leaflet he’d grabbed from a tourist information stand in the foyer.

‘Hey!’ he said as Alex plucked it from his fingers and started skimming through it at high speed.

‘Got it,’ she said. ‘We need to go this way.’ She pointed towards a broad upward flight of white marble steps, and tugged his arm.

‘What’s that way?’

‘This,’ she said, and pointed at the enormous painting that adorned the wall to the right of the staircase. The gleaming mural depicted in intricate detail a crowd of miserable-looking people in various poses, pointing upwards with looks of reverent astonishment as a heavenly apparition descended on a cloud to meet them.

‘I’m not exactly an art expert,’ Joel said, walking up to it.

‘You think I am?’ Alex waved the leaflet at him. ‘Check it out. The Virgin Appears to the Plague Victims, by Antonio Zanchi, born 1631.’

‘You and your speed reading.’

‘And he painted it when he was thirty-five years of age,’ she added meaningfully.

Joel frowned. ‘And that’s relevant because—’

‘Because it means you can forget Damien and the Antichrist. 666 was just a date, with the number one chewed away.’

‘1666,’ he muttered. ‘Damn.’

Alex climbed two more steps so that she could get a closer look at the divine host that the artist had depicted floating down from the sky, surrounded by a retinue of angels.

‘Here’s our Virgin Mary,’ she said, pointing. ‘Appearing from heaven to offer solace to the miserable plague victims.’

Joel peered at the canvas, looking for the salvation that was supposed to lie at the Virgin’s feet. ‘I don’t see anything there. Certainly not a cross.’

‘Nor do I.’ Alex paused a few moments, then let out a sigh. ‘I don’t think it’s here, Joel. I was hoping for more. Shit.’

Joel looked at her. ‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Quite sure. There are just so many gaps in your grandfather’s notes. We obviously missed something important.’

‘Wonderful. We’re in the wrong place.’

‘Yeah,’ she replied thoughtfully, gazing down the broad expanse of marble staircase into the middle distance. Then a smile spread over her face.

‘You’re taking it awfully well, considering that was our only real clue and we’re now going to have to scour the city with nothing more to go on.’

She turned to him. ‘San Rocco. A saint. Must have been a fairly important guy, no? Lots of people wanting to celebrate his name?’

‘I’d imagine so. What are you trying to say?’

She zipped through the leaflet again and stopped almost instantly at a page.

‘There. Just as I thought. San Rocco didn’t only give his name to the school,’ she said.

‘Where do you go looking for a Virgin in Venice? A church.’

‘So?’

‘So how about the Church of San Rocco, right next door?’

They ran back outside. The mist was thickening as dusk approached, and droplets of moisture hovered on the golden light from the doorway of the nearby church. A sign on the entrance told them they had only a few minutes before the place closed for the evening.

‘We’d better be quick,’ Joel said as he glanced hurriedly around at the beautiful displays of frescoes on the domed ceiling, the intricate gilding and gleaming marble, the paintings hung around the walls.

‘We won’t be long,’ Alex said in a low voice.

From the instant she’d stepped inside the building, she knew. The sensation in her head, in every cell of her body, was one she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t pain. It was something more profound, and far more terrible.

‘The foot of the Virgin,’ Joel said, pointing at a magnificent onyx statue of Mary near the altar.

‘No.’ Alex was staring at another statue, one tucked away inside an alcove in the wall. She could easily have missed it if the strange feeling hadn’t guided her there. It was small and plain, simple alabaster, pitted with age. She took a step towards it, and a sudden surge of intense discomfort made her draw a breath and move quickly back.

The weight of her backpack suddenly felt enormous, driving her into the floor.

‘It’s this one,’ she gasped.

Joel was too intent on the statue to notice her reaction. ‘How can you be so sure? Like you said, there must be thousands of statues of the Virgin Mary in this city.’

‘Trust me, I’m sure.’

He frowned and peered at her. ‘You don’t look so good all of a sudden. What’s wrong?’

‘I feel a little queasy, that’s all.’

‘You want some water or something?’ he asked tenderly, moving close to her and running his hand down her shoulder and arm.

‘It’ll pass,’ she said, clutching her head as she gazed down at the ornate stone floor. ‘What’s more important is what’s under there.’

‘Under us? Sewers? Catacombs?’

‘There are no tunnel systems under Venice. The city is built at sea level. No, the cross is under us, but we’re going to have to dive for it.’

‘You’re not being serious, are you? How can you know this?’

‘Joel,’ she said earnestly. ‘You came to me, remember? You said you wanted my help.’ She had to make an effort to speak clearly. The terrible sensation inside her felt like it could rip her apart. In fact, she knew exactly what it was capable of doing to her, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Joel didn’t argue. Outside, dark canal water slapping at the church foundations gave off a faint smell of human waste, and he remembered what she’d said about the city’s lack of a sewerage system. He didn’t want to think about what he might be swallowing if he took a swim in there.

Alex looked pale and weak. She didn’t step near the water’s edge, but shrugged off her backpack and laid it on the ground while she backed away to steady herself against a stone pillar.

‘I’m staying up here,’ she said. ‘I’m not feeling so great.’

‘We need to get you to a doctor or something,’ he protested. ‘You’re obviously not well. We can come back here tomorrow.’

‘Please, Joel. Let’s get it done.’ She took a torch from her backpack and tossed it over to him.

He sighed, stepped to the edge and looked down at the brackish water slurping against the algae-streaked brickwork three feet below him. He kicked off his shoes, filled his lungs, and jumped.