The Plague Doctor's Daughter

15. Giovanna

Content/trigger warning: sexual assault/r*pe

"Signora! Signora, where are you?"

The plea sounded distant, but from Giovanna's vantage point sprawled on the ground and barely conscious, it very well could have been nearby. She tried to answer, but no sound left her lips. Touching her aching temple, she found a sticky, warm liquid trickling over her brow.

"Ow," she winced, the unexpected find enough to spur opening her eyes. The act took nearly all of her willpower, but it was just in time to see a man running toward her.

"Signora Rienzo, thank the Lord you are unhurt," the oarsman said as he kneeled next to her, erroneously calling her by her maiden name.

It was a forgivable offense; her nuptials had been both hasty and undisclosed. And although she felt nowhere near unhurt, Giovanna didn't correct him on either count. She was too happy to be assisted up, but even then, she wavered as the ground seemed to move beneath her.

"We must set off at once if we are to make it back to Venice before dark," said the man, picking up her discarded basket. It was now only halfway full, its contents strewn about at her feet.

"My herbs—" she objected, but he was already bending down.

"I will collect what I can."

She watched as he picked up the discarded berries, leaves, and mushrooms from among the brown detritus. The urgency in his actions wasn't for the fear of avoiding nightfall since men like him were expert navigators within the lagoon in any weather, day or night, but rather from the impending curfew that went with it. And as he gently handled the yellow caps of the galletti, Giovanna not only remembered the odd scene she encountered as she had originally picked them that led her there, but also why she didn't want to be caught in the dark.

The fox, the girl, and—most importantly—the scars on the child's arms were all odd, even while thinking about them after the fact. The strange feeling they all had given her in that moment was worse, and Giovanna was glad to have had escaped them. But who or what had interrupted, leading to her panicked retreat? She may never know. And it was probably better that way.

"That should do it," the oarsman said, holding the replenished basket in one hand and stretching out the other to Giovanna.

After taking one last look at the now empty clearing, they returned to the boat and travelled back to the islands. Thanks to the unique nature of rowing within the canals—Venetian oarsmen stood and faced forward to be able to better navigate the narrow passageways—Giovanna didn't have to look at her companion and had her thoughts to herself. She disembarked with a renewed sense of calm behind the church of San Polo and made it home just as the sun was setting below the horizon. As she scaled the steps to the top floor, she searched her pocket for the key to the loft, but after rounding the last corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"You?!" she exclaimed at the sight of Matteo Barozzi standing in front of the entry.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he cocked his head to the side and gave her a sly smile. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"I . . . I wasn't expecting anyone at all." She stammered, both angry at the boy for showing up, as well as at herself for not quite regretting it. But needing to keep him to his word of avoiding her even if he wasn't quite ready to do it himself, she pushed past him and stuck the key in the lock.

"You're bleeding," he observed, grabbing her arm gently and pivoting her to face him before she had a chance to turn the key.

She shook off his grip. "I am sure it looks worse than it is. Please, just let me—"