The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,126

them. Some were tiny, nothing more than a few rocks, while others held villages with churches and monasteries. He’d heard that the Venetians sent their sick and their lunatics to the islands, as well as seamen and travelers suspected of having contracted the plague. Other islands served as walls of defense, and others again were used to grow crops or pasture livestock. On one of the largest islands, the Venetians manufactured their world-famous glass. They guarded their secret painstakingly, and there were harsh penalties in store for any treason.

Torcello was a rather plain, swampy island whose shoreline was overgrown with impenetrable reeds. The only spot to moor was at a weathered pier, and beside it, an old canal that had almost completely filled up with silt led inland.

The fisherman had talked about Torcello during the entire crossing. From the little Johann understood, he gathered that the island was indeed the oldest settlement in the lagoon, much older than Venice. Thousands of people used to live here, but then something terrible happened. Johann wasn’t sure if he’d understood correctly, but apparently Torcello had been punished by God. The people had left the island, and now only a few peasants with their sheep and cows lived there. The old fisherman had shaken his head and repeated one word several times.

Maledetta.

Johann gathered that he meant the island was cursed.

What in God’s name might Archibaldus want to show him here? Maybe the old boozer had truly had too much to drink.

Johann climbed out of the wobbly boat onto the pier. The fisherman made the sign of the cross, turned his sail into the wind, and took off. Johann had asked him to return at sundown. He only hoped the superstitious old man would keep his promise—otherwise he’d be stuck there.

A towpath led along the muddy, algae-covered canal inland. Hundreds of mosquitoes buzzed around Johann and turned every step into torture. They rose in huge swarms from the salty marshes that stretched on both banks of the canal. Every now and then a solitary cow stared at Johann as he passed by, but he saw no other living soul. Ruins covered in thorny brambles showed how many people used to live on the island. Why had they all left Torcello? Had God sent a flood to punish them for their sins? And what sins could they be?

After a while he came to a low stone bridge that led across the canal. He assumed it was the Ponte del Diavolo, the devil’s bridge. The old fisherman hadn’t been able to tell him why it was called that—or perhaps Johann hadn’t understood.

Johann could see, rising up between the trees not far from the bridge, a bell tower and the roofs of a smaller church and a taller, three-aisled basilica. Johann still hadn’t seen another person. He passed by some derelict houses and finally reached the two churches that were connected by an arcade walkway. They were situated at the edge of a square that probably used to be the center of town. A few ruinous buildings surrounded the square, and the bell tower stood behind them. The square itself was overgrown with bushes, and in the middle of it stood a large chair made of stone, like a throne used in ancient heathen ceremonies. This must have been a bustling place once, with markets and court trials. Now the only sound came from the buzzing of the mosquitoes.

A sudden noise made Johann spin around. An old man was getting to his feet amid the ruins with the help of a cane. He must have been resting among the rocks.

“Buongiorno!” called Johann. But the man didn’t reply. He just stood there and stared at Johann.

“Sto cercando un uomo,” Johann tried again. “Si chiama Magister Archibaldus. Lo conoscete?”

Still the man said nothing. A flock of pigeons rose up from the ruins behind him, and then the silence returned.

Johann gave up. He entered the smaller church, whose bare stone walls inside looked naked. There was no sign of anyone. He took the walkway toward the basilica, his solitary footsteps echoing loudly.

The basilica’s double doors were closed, and when Johann opened one, a heavy red curtain blocked his view. It smelled musty, as if it had been hanging there for centuries. Johann pushed it aside and gazed into the large space in front of him. Tall, narrow windows allowed some light to fall upon golden mosaics so magnificent that Johann shuddered. They showed the Virgin Mary with her child and the