The Plague Doctor's Daughter

1. Giovanna

Although the island's name unwittingly invoked the man miraculously brought back to life in the Gospel of John, everything about Lazzaretto Vecchio was reminiscent of death.

The air reeked of rot so strong that not even the quicklime used to bury the corpses could fully cover the stench. It mixed with the sweet aroma of sage and rosemary smoldering in clay pots scattered throughout the courtyards, the smoke creating a low haze where the spirits of the newly departed could wander undetected. Highly unusual for a region built on maritime activities, there was also just a single dock, and even this was placed outside a protective wall. Formed by a maze of red-brick buildings lining most of the perimeter, the design was just as much to detain the sick inside, as it was to keep the well out.

But of all the morbidity imbued into the old lazaret, the near silence was the most ominous. Not even sea gulls—so prevalent elsewhere in the Veneto—flew over the island of disease. Their hungry cries were off in the distance, far enough away to avoid the Lazzaretto altogether. The only sounds here were the quiet lapping of the tides against the reinforced shore where small boats tethered, the reticent shuffling of footsteps of new arrivals heading to the infirmary, and the repetitive creaking of cart wheels taking their eventually deceased bodies to their final resting places.

While the birds instinctively chose to avoid the wretched isle, the presence of human visitors was regulated by law. Those who showed any signs of illness were naturally condemned to stay either until recovery or—more likely—death. Oarsmen who ferried these latest victims of the plague here like ethereal gondoliers delivering them to Pluto underwent strictly prescribed steps to purge themselves of the miasma before returning to the main island. Casual callers meanwhile were outright banned for fear of spreading the pestilence across the lagoon.

But Giovanna Visconti was a rare exception.

Staying on the worn path leading away from where her rowboat waited, the young woman kept her head down and quickened her stride. With one hand, she held her long cloak tightly around her body, more as an act of personal reassurance—she came out of necessity rather than desire—and less to keep out the February chill. With her other hand, Giovanna pressed a thick scarf against her shapely mouth and dainty nose. It was of little use. In spite of the spices sprinkled onto the fabric, every staggered breath she took was still filled with the smell of pain and suffering.

It was an odor she had gotten to know well—much too well—over the last two seasons, yet no amount of familiarity could ever bring her to truly get used to it. Taking the last one hundred meters at a sprint, Giovanna skidded to a stop in the hospital's open doorway. From above, a carved stone relief of three, toga-wearing men topped with St. Mark's ubiquitous lion stared down. Between the figures, the number 1423 was etched.

1423. That was the year—after the first major plague wave swept across Venice, but before the historical second instance—that this facility for the gravely sick opened. Two hundred and seven years later, tens of thousands were once again dying at an alarming rate for the third time. Incredibly, because of the Great Council's forethought and the existence of places like the Lazzaretto, those numbers were kept from climbing even higher.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about this island. It was one of hundreds of almost identical, tiny outcroppings along the shoreline dotting the lagoon, formed by silt deposits within the Adriatic marshlands. Its greatest feature was its location to its neighboring landmasses: close enough for observation, yet far enough for quarantine, the quaranta giorni or forty-days, which was the required duration of isolation for disease prevention. There was little need here for a semblance of opulence or guise of comfort that could be easily found in Venice proper just a two kilometer boat ride away. Because all of the unfortunate souls brought to the convalescence facilities on Lazzaretto Vecchio were dying. And most would never leave.