‘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.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The shock of the icy water was stunning. The pressure roared in his ears. He could see the church’s craggy foundations through the swirling murk. He was too worried about getting poisoned or hypothermic to be angry that he was probably getting soaked for nothing.
All the stonework was crumbling. He’d once read that Venice was a sinking city, disappearing a few more inches into the sea every year. By the time he was an old man, many of its walkways and buildings would be under water forever. That was, if he ever got to become an old man…
The decaying foundations disappeared downwards out of sight in the gloom.
Kicking with his legs, he shone the torch and ran his free hand along the slippery stone.
He could see nothing that could give him access under the church. He’d been down for more than twenty seconds already. He was on the verge of giving up when, through the murk, he spotted a fissure in the stone. It was almost completely covered with algae. He kicked his legs and dived a little deeper to examine it.
Scraping away the slime, he found that it was big enough for a man to slip inside. Forty seconds under. He could still make it. He squeezed his body through the gap, shining the torch ahead of him. All he could see were the floating particles of dirt he’d dislodged as he forced his way in. He kicked out to press deeper into the fissure. It widened a little, and now he was a long way in. He kicked again.
But his foot wouldn’t move. It was trapped. He was stuck here, deep inside the crack in the church’s foundations. Horror lanced through him, and a stream of bubbles involuntarily burst from his mouth. He struggled to release himself, losing more precious air with the effort. He kicked with all his might, almost dropping the torch in the process — and suddenly he was free again.
But now he had only seconds before his lungs reached bursting point. He wasn’t sure whether he had enough air to get back to the surface. Thrashing wildly about in panic, he lost his bearings. He didn’t know which way was up and which was down any more. His fingers raked the slimy stone. His heart was pounding.
Then his head was bursting clear of the surface and a long gasp exploded from his lungs. But when he blinked the filthy water from his eyes and shone the torch beam around him, he saw that the surface he’d found wasn’t the
