When Pulcino heard about my decision, he thought I got mad.

“St. Marina's Church? Are you kidding? And you're going there alone after you almost got killed?! Very, very clever! Then order a requiem mass for yourself too because I won`t give a damn you`ll be back alive!”

“Don't worry, I'm going there alone”, I told him. ‘You'll circle around, make sure there's no danger. Maybe this is our last chance to find out the truth! I can't lose it!”

In the morning, though, a little contingency nearly ruined my plans. At first, everything was going just fine. The Count decided to take a break from his Senate affairs and went to the lagoon to hunt ducks. His personal guards followed him, of course. However, donna Arsago, who had had another “gull” dream, was not in her best mood, wandering around the house like a queen who got up on the wrong side of the bed.

The first thing she did was go through all the rooms and scold the maids when she found a terrible green spot of mold on the walls of her favorite living room. The weeping girls and swore that the mold must have grown during the night and complained that they could hear the horrible gurgling and wheezing from an empty tub in the kitchen all night. Someone even whispered that it was because of my return. Donna Arsago's face showed no sign of the significance she attached to the gossip. After letting off steam, she went back to her usual business, asking Bianca to write some letters and sending Ines for a lute. Quiet Ines, too, seemed as irritable as a wasp today, not like a happy bride whatsoever.

When Donna Arsago was handing out her tasks, I managed to hide behind the curtain with a well-practiced movement. Thanks to that trick I was left out of work. Now while Bianca was busy with her letters and the Countess herself was listening to Ines's pleasant voice, I had some little time to go to the church. St. Marina`s Church was in the sestiere of Dorsoduro, not too far from us so I wouldn't even have to take a boat to get there.

Very quietly, went down the hall like a mouse creeping along the wall. The mirrors in the gallery followed me with their mocking glances. A tear-stained girl in an apron rushed away as soon as she saw me. The high walls looked oppressive; I wanted to escape from the sick atmosphere of that house, steeped in fear, frightened servants and whispers behind me!

The courtyard and the alley behind the house were foggy too. The Venettians distinguish many varieties of fog: nebbia, nebbietta, foschia, caligo... Today the fog was thicker than ever. It was as if the yesterday`s clouds got too tired and decided to have a nap, lying with their grey heavy bellies on the city.

The neighboring houses were completely hidden behind a white curtain, and the street sounds were strangely distorted. The footsteps seemed dangerously quiet in the fog, then suddenly got loud.

Only when I was at a good distance from the house I realized what was wrong. The sea came to the city. That was a common thing in spring and winter, after a sequence of long cold rains. In spring and summer the sea was usually calm. There must have been some particularly unfavorable combination of tide, wind and weather to flood the city! Perhaps doctor Faletrus was right: the moon was particularly close that month.

I thought with annoyance that if I hadn`t been worrying so much in the last few days, I would be able to recognize the signs of the flood before it came to the city. After all, everyone was talking about it! And the roar of the waves breaking on the shore of Dito could be heard even from the Piazzetta. The sky was heavy and the canals were green with seawater... Anyway, it was too late to turn back, so I decided to move on. When would I have another opportunity like that?

The air smelled of salt, rotting seaweed, damp plastering and fish guts from the market. Fat gulls were sitting on stilts, chilled and ruffled up. The drains gurgled as if it was early spring; the water gushed from the hatches, showed through the cobbles, so that I had to go with caution because the pavement itself seemed to run away from under my feet. There was a clatter all along the street as the carpenters were building small bridges to allow people to pass through the flooded campiello.

The dome of the Church loomed through the fog, the bell rang loudly and anxiously. "Shall we go back?” Pulcino asked anxiously. I shook my head. I was afraid I wouldn't have the courage for the second time. A patterned carpet of foam splashed under my feet. I looked back and saw the water pouring over my footprints. It seemed I`d have to hire a boatman or find another way back home.

The narrow street suddenly led me to a dead end. I hesitated. The church was just in front of me, but you could hardly get anywhere directly here, in Venetta. The old quarter was lined with narrow streets, dark alleys, and passageways. I had to turn off my way several times as the way was blocked by the sea water. I was whirling through a maze of alleys, hanging galleries and bridges that ran from one house to another. And the bell had already struck two o'clock! I had to humble my pride and ask Pulcino for help.

Pulchino muttered something about empty-headed people unable to find their asses without assistance and moved to my shoulder. With the help of my winged pilot I finally managed to get to the church. It rose high in the mist, like a mast, and it seemed that its walls were rocking on the waved of the fog like a moored ship.

By that time, I was completely out of breath. Pulchino left me as soon as I approached the porch. "No one around," he reported, flying conscientiously around the roof, and then added with a hint of annoyance. "I suppose you're going to be killed inside the church, like don Arsago was ten years ago. Still want to go?”

“Don`t worry, they couldn`t kill him,” I said bravely while climbing the steps. But just in case I fumbled for the hilt of her dagger under my cloak. There was no one in the porch, and no one in the vestibule. The church greeted me with its cool silence. The long empty rows of benches faded into the gloom, and the smell of incense still lingered in the air. I was late!

I went outside and leaned against a pillar, staring at the modestly decorated facade. The plastering was peeling here and there, and under the eaves, under the windows, and in the niches, there were figures of strange monsters. According to the legend, they were supposed to scare away all evil spirits from the church. Eerie stone faces squinted at me from the wall. I winked at the saddest of them and felt two icy touches between my blade bones.

Behind me, between two columns, there was Scarpa with his typical sickening grin.

“So that was you?”

I was felt terrible anger mixed with disappointment. I'd puzzled my head over these mysterious invitations, hoping to meet a secret friend of chiamati's, or at least an enemy, and it was just a stupid joke of our jester!

“It was you who was sending me all these invitations, right? But why?”

“Do you really think I have nothing else to do?” the jester spat. “I just wondered where you were going when all clever people just sit at home and do their embroidery!”

“Did don Arsago tell you to follow me?”

“No, he didn`t!” he bristled. I`m my own man, you know!”

“Well, I'm flattered you were so worried about my safety,” I joked.

Suddenly he got furious:

“Your safety? I just can't stand ugly witches like you! You disturb our sea just for your own pleasure, spoil the water and cause mayhem everywhere ... Safety! I'd love to rip your heart out and feed it to the morays!”

I squinted.

“Your sea?”

Realizing that he had blurted out, the dwarf fell silent, but I `d already managed to see his true face. Why hadn`t I noticed before? That croaking voice, the watery coldness in his eyes, his spiteful antics and his obvious dislike of everyone... the jester shivered, trying to shield himself from my gaze. Too late, my dear.

"Get out of my head, you damned witch! Stop it!" he yelled. It seemed that he was ready to rush at me, but at the same time he could not move a bit.

"So you're a pesquator!" A werefish!”

"Now you`ve finally figured it out, you stupid witch!" he snapped.

“Do you serve don Arsago?”

“I serve no one!” Scarpa snarled fiercely.

‘Oh, well, then you must be wearing that ugly stupid hat of your own free will. What an exquisite taste you have!”

The jester screamed again, but I ignored him. Let him say whatever he wanted. The angrier he got, the more he revealed himself. I was quite angry at my ignorance. Scarpa was so repulsive to me that I never tried to look at him closely. How did he get into Arsago's house? He must have been hiding in Venetta, maybe, having made a big mess of those-who-live-under-the-waves. The sea devils extremely naughty creatures. So he had been hiding in the city, and then he had fallen into don Arsago's trap, probably with the help of that mysterious fisherman who was not even afraid of morays…

“So it was you who scared the maids, hung around in the mirrors and put mold on the walls?" I asked sternly.

"So what?!” Scarpa snapped. "I hate maids! They are vicious creatures with their sharp pins and vile jokes.”

“If we're all so annoying, why don't you go back to sea?" I wondered.

He glared at me, and behind the anger I could see something else... Despair. Pain.

"How stupid you are! You think I'd be stuck here if I could leave?! It was the Count who burned my skin and spoke special words! Now I'm trapped in this ugly body!”

Well, let's say, in his fish form pesquator didn`t look handsome either – a kind of chest with a tail, though there was no dispute about tastes. Suddenly I had an idea.

“You know that all the stories about burnt skin are superstitions. You just forgot what it's like to be a fish. If you want, I'll help you awaken your true self, and you can tell me about the crypt in return. Who else goes there except for the Count?”

Scarpa threw back his head and laughed bitterly.

“Is that what you want in Arsago's house? You`re just like all of them. You only want more power! You, chiamat-ti!” he spat contemptuously. “You know nothing about the sea!" You're just a stupid piece of decoy, pretending that you can call the sea! A decoy, on whose smells any monster can come out from the sea!”

He was staring at me now, unblinking. Unsightly images of what sea monsters could do to a human body floated before his eyes. Obviously, he wanted to distract me and intimidate me. But I had good practice with Karita, so the pesquator was just wasting his time.

I waited until he was out of breath, then easily broke the spell.

“Well. I realized you didn't know anything. Luckily for you, I'm in a good mood today, so I'm willing to help you just like that.”

Scarpa tossed, licked his lips, and looked out over the water. His eyes were thirsty, like those of a man lost in the desert.

“But I can`t swim there! The freshwater will kill me!”

Holy Mother of God, please, send me patience! I thought.

“Look around!" Can't you smell the salt?! There is the sea around the church!”

He was shaking all over. Anger struggled in him with an agonizing desire to gain freedom. When what you are craving for is at arm's length, but you can only get it with the help of your worst enemy, it's terrible, I know. Scarpa would gladly have killed me in the porch, but he was afraid of don Arsago. I would have had no qualms about leaving him here – to be honest, I had very little sympathy for the jester and all his problems – but I had a duty to Karita.

Pesquator was a scoundrel, of course, but we'd helped him become one in many ways. I thought that the sea and the people are equally ruthless to each other.

"Look at me."

The fourth rule of chiamaties: when you meet the gaze of another creature, don`t look away. Eye contact is the shortest path to someone else's consciousness. The main thing is not to lose yourself, constantly remember who you are. Sister Agatha seriously advised us to train on cats. There weren't many cats on the island, so Umilta and I tried to look at each other. Scarpa would never do what we did! Even if he wanted to, now he wasn`t able to escape.

Howling and screaming, the werefish scraped his fingers across his face. His clothes were swollen and hung in rags, and his face and hands were peeling in shreds. With a whimper, Scarpa crumpled to his knees, covering his stomach with his hands. I staggered as pain squeezed my temples and circled my forehead. It wasn't much fun to see a man being turned inside out in front of you, but you couldn't look away. I swallowed a lump in my throat and there were colored circles in front of my eyes.

Finally, after blinking and swallowing my nausea, I saw that the grotesque little man had disappeared, and on the flagstones there was a fat fish with a short, powerful tail instead. A real chest, indeed. After lying for a while, the fish suddenly turned swiftly in my direction, opening its mouth with two rows of long, slightly curved teeth. I ducked behind a pillar and ducked out the door. Something heavy hit it from the outside. It seemed, the pesquator now was using his regained tail.

Fortunately for me, the pesquator couldn't cross the holy threshold of the church, so I decided to wait inside. Groping for the nearest bench, I sank down on it, burying my burning forehead in my knees, wishing I had a flask of wine or at least some water to soothe my stomach from the sight of pesquator's entrails. The door was still shaking from the blows. Apparently, having shown me his guts, the werefish was now determined to look at mine.

“How long are you going to sit there, witch?” pesquator asked sarcastically in my head.

“What's the hurry?” I replied with the same sarcasm. “I will wait until the sea recedes and you suffocate in the river water, you ugly fool!”

There was a roar of disappointment outside and the slap of a mighty tail. Outraged by my treachery, pesquator howled, spat a few curses, made one more attempt to break the door, and then disappeared.

I stood there listening for a while, my hand on the doorknob. There was no sound of him anymore. The life on the canal near the church went on in its usual bustling manner, with danger except for a couple of morays, maybe. The pesquator dragged his belly into the lagoon, cherishing his malice and petty vindictiveness as before. What an ungrateful creature!

Let it be. I did it for Karita.

I wouldn`t do it for him, I told myself as I stepped outside. I did it in remembrance of her.

I stumbled and almost fell on the threshold when the answer came somewhere far away from the lagoon. It was as if someone slightly taunted me on the nose. Karita?! I froze, too afraid to frighten away the vague, elusive sense of her presence. We didn't find the body of paurozo at all, I remembered Alessandro`s words.

Was she still alive?! I couldn`t believe it. I stopped and started listening to the singing of water, its slow flowing, connecting the web of the city canals with the green lagoon and beyond – with the sea, to the horizon. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hear anything. Only the seagulls screamed in the sky above the lagoon.