The Mosaic

Chapter 4

The Palazzo Contarini della Porta di Ferro was, despite its impressive name, unimposing. A high building of pale clinker and marble with an arched iron gate, two weathered statues standing guard beside it. It all seemed very proper, very neat, very withdrawn. No one could have guessed what horrors awaited Alessandro inside.

Looks can be deceiving. He of all people should know.

The inspector walked down the Salizada Santa Giustina, a narrow street between high villas. Here, shadows resided even at noon and his steps echoed hollowly from the walls around him. He wasn't in a hurry – he was too late anyways. A young police man had burst into his office, tripping over his own feet and when he finally managed to croak 'murder', his face had been the color of fresh vomit.

Alessandro's cloak pressed down on his shoulders with the weight of a dozen uneasy glances. The people whispered when he strode past. The times when he hunted petty criminals was long over. The people of Venice knew: when Alessandro Steno walked the streets, evil had awoken. In a way, his crimson uniform and the stoic marble face had the same effect as the large, crooked beaks of the plague doctors' masks. They both walked between the dead and the living.

A servant awaited him at the door. He wore a bright uniform – the unmistakable yellow and blue stripes of the Contarini family.  Terrible combination. A tiny blue hat with a yellow feather sat on blond curls. What was he, a canary?

Alessandro felt as if he knew him, but his family and the Contarinis were close. If there's something like close between noble families.

Passing the gate, he entered a different world. He had been here before, visiting with his father, but the abrupt change always hit him like a brick wall. Solemn paintings with intricately carved gold frames plastered the walls, leaving only small specks of the tapestry to shine through. The tapestry was a work of art itself. Dark, rich colors like berry, blood red or almost black emerald green were littered with gold or silver swirls. Heavy ornaments in honey colored gold and exotic vases sat on dark, gleaming wood drawers and tables. How unnecessarily excessive. The air was cool, and still like a grave. They didn't pass a single soul on their way through salons and corridors and halls and even more salons.

Alessandro's strides grew longer and longer with each ancestor glancing down at him from a painting. Something cold had nested in his chest, urging him forward. The servant soon was several steps behind him. The inspector no longer needed a guide as a pungent smell started to penetrate each room stronger than the one before. It wafted up his nose, encircling him -- like fog, creeping up unnoticed until it had enveloped the man in its ghostly embrace. But where fog was clammy and billowing, this stench was hot and clawed its way forward until Alessandro expected his nose to bleed and eyes to shed bitter tears.

Someone had burnt heavily scented herbs in bowls, but that only resulted in the atmosphere of a morgue. Alessandro could feel the stench clinging to him, seeping through his clothes and skin.