by Chad Brecher
“This is strange. I’ve tried Bernardo’s number and nobody is answering. He knew that we were coming in at this time. This is very unlike Bernardo not to be here for a grand welcome. He would always greet my family with a big basket of wine, cheese, and salami. When I was a child, he would bring me a tin of that black licorice with colored fillings. And, I know he is dying to see the wooden box.” Ellie gripped the receiver against her chest in thought. Alex watched as she bit her lip with frustration. In the little time he had spent with Ellie, he had quickly become acquainted with her quirky mannerism — the slight curl of her lips when she was embarrassed, the squint of her eyes when she was getting mad but had not yet exploded, and of course, the nibbling of her lip when she was bothered.
“Maybe he forgot when we were coming in or something important came up. I’m sure he’ll call,” Alex offered and slumped down into a plush chair. He nonchalantly flipped through a magazine highlighting the museums of Venice. He stopped at an advertisement for the Museo Archeologico.
“Yeah maybe…it’s just not like him to forget.” Ellie rummaged through her bag and withdrew her cellphone. She turned it on and began to navigate through the commands until she was able to bring up her email account.
“There’s an email from Bernardo,” Ellie said with a touch of relief. A look of confusion prompted Alex to rise from the chair and kneel beside Ellie. The email message lacked a reference line. The message was a jumbled mess of letters:
VSMHMCBUYMSBLAVSMYJPRHANDM
“Well, that’s not much help,” Alex snorted. “It looks like the message got corrupted or something.”
“It was sent last night,” Ellie added. She stared at the screen, her chin scrunched up against the ball of her hand. “I guess we’ll meet up with him tomorrow at the library.” She shook her head as if to refocus her thoughts. “What do you think about getting out of here and grabbing some food?”
“I could be dragged,” Alex responded. He had not been in Venice since a backpacking trip in college across Europe and was eager to explore the city again.
Ellie squeezed the cell phone into her pocket and watched as Alex grabbed a coat and made for the door. She lingered momentarily on the edge of the bed, trying to suppress her anxiety.
Something is wrong.
16
The Piazza San Marco was abuzz with tourists as Alex and Ellie emerged early the next morning from Calle Cavalietto and entered the large expanse. A flock of pigeons suddenly sprung skyward as a small child wildly charged at them with a squeal. The flap of the wings echoed across the open space, temporarily drowning out dueling pianists performing at the edges of the outdoor dining sections of the Caffé Florian and Gran Caffé Quadri.
Although it was not the geographic center of the city, the Piazza San Marco was truly the core of Venetian life. It had existed in some form since the ninth century and as the city’s prestige increased through trade, the architecture grew more elaborate and eclectic.
“It’s just so refreshing to be free of cars and trucks. It feels like New York is a million miles away,” Ellie said with a smile.
The ban on motorized travel within the city-limits was truly liberating to Alex as well. He slowly spun around to marvel at the Procuraties, the three interconnecting buildings that served as the north, south, and west perimeters of the square. To his left, the Procuratie Vecchie stretched towards the grounds of the Basilica di San Marco. An elaborate building composed of archways, the Procuratie Vecchie had been transformed into a commercial arcade selling everything from watches to coffee. The Procuratie Nuove was located directly across the square from the Procuratie Vecchie and was constructed in a more classical style with graying columns and black-framed windows. Alex turned back to see the Napoleonic Wing of the Procuraties bridge the two buildings along the western perimeter. The two-story wing displayed a large red banner advertising the Museo Correr that was housed within it.
Ellie squeezed Alex’s arm and motioned to the Basilica ahead. “The Basilica always takes my breath away. I spent days sketching that building when I was a teenager.”
The Basilica di San Marco sat at the eastern side of the piazza. This seemed only appropriate to Alex. Unlike many of the cathedrals that were constructed on the European continent during the Middle Ages, the Basilica combined both gothic and Byzantine elements. It was a testament to the duality of Venice, a western city-state with close Eastern ties.
Alex nodded his head. “I couldn’t agree more. Now when I look at it I can’t help but think how ‘Venice’ the building is. It reminds me that Venice was the perfect city for an individual like Marco Polo to come of age. I can see a fifteen-year-old Marco Polo waiting for the return of a father who left for the East before he was born. I can see him staring at the boats returning from the East filled with wondrous spices and crafts and imagining what these exotic lands were like.” They walked in silence, taking in the square.
“Not to harp on the whole cross thing again, but the floor plan of the Basilica is based on the Greek cross,” Alex added as they strolled across the piazza. Ellie watched as he traced out the design across the palm of his hand with his finger. “Each of the arms of the cross has a dome associated with it. The fifth dome is at the point in which the arms meet. It has a similar design to the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul and the Church of the Holy Apostles that was constructed by Constantine, the first Roman Emperor who embraced Christianity. The Church of the Holy Apostles apparently held many relics of the early Christian apostles, like the skull of Saint Andrew. It was unfortunately destroyed and looted during the Fourth Crusade. Some of the relics ended up in Venice and in the Basilica.”
Ellie couldn’t help but be impressed by Alex’s knowledge, especially for a graduate student.
“Isn’t Saint Mark’s body in the Basilica?” Ellie asked as they instinctively ducked to avoid being captured in a tourist’s photo of Saint Mark’s Campanile, the bell-tower that loomed over the piazza.
“It’s an interesting story and makes you wonder even more what Marco Polo could have brought back from his trip. The legend goes that Venetian merchants stole relics related to Saint Mark from Alexandria, Egypt — some say the actual remains of the saint. In order to get them out of Muslim territory, the relics were hidden in a barrel of pork. Needless to say, it got past inspection as no Muslim guard was willing to come in contact with the pork fat. When the merchants returned to Venice, the relics were installed in the church for safe-keeping. Venice’s patron saint was changed from Saint Theodore to Mark. There’s a mosaic in the Basilica that depicts the whole sequence of events.”
They walked past the bell-tower and turned into a smaller courtyard in front of the Palazzo Ducale, the Doge’s Palace. The palace had a faintly pink and white color and was constructed of archways on the ground floor. A series of columns composed the façade of the second level, capped by a series of Greek crosses. Once the seat of power for the Venetian republic and the home of the doges, the palace was now a well-maintained museum.
Across from the Doge’s Palace, there was a considerable amount of activity in front of the Biblioteca Marciana. A group of carabinieri mingled around in front of a wooden ramp leading into the library. A barrier had been erected in front of the entrance. Alex could hear a police officer explaining to a woman clutching a camera in broken English that the library was closed and he did not know when it would open.
“What’s going on?” Ellie asked rhetorically and pushed her way up against the barrier. Alex tried to stay close.
“Scusi,” Ellie interrupted as she popped her head up in front of the officers. “The library is closed?” The officer nodded and tried to push her away from the barrier. Ellie glanced back at Alex with confusion. She tapped the officer on the shoulder who looked at her with growing anger. “We are here to see Dr. Gozzi…Bernardo Gozzi…the director of the library. He is expecting us. It is very important.” The officer’s demeanor seemed to change all of a sudden and he looked at Ellie and then Alex with a
sober expression. “Please, wait here.”
“This is strange,” Alex muttered under his breath as he watched the officer retreat into the building. After waiting five minutes, a man wearing a dark suite walked down the ramp and approached them. His hair was oiled back and his skin was pockmarked from acne as a child. As he neared Ellie, she could smell a sour scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. He silently nodded to both Alex and Ellie and appeared to be sizing them up.
“You say you are here to see Dr. Gozzi?” the man asked with a squint.
“Yes. What’s all this?” Ellie asked, motioning around her.
“I’m Inspector Calvino. Would you please come with me? I would like to ask you some questions in a more discreet setting.” He pushed aside the wooden barrier slightly with his hip, allowing Ellie and Alex to pass by.
As they followed the Inspector up the ramp, Ellie asked, “Is everything alright with Bernardo?” The Inspector looked back over his shoulder, appeared to begin to speak, and decided against it while outside.
Once inside the library they were directed into a small coatroom. The inspector closed the door and asked them to sit behind a cheap folding table. He slowly withdrew a Mont Blanc pen and a notepad from his pocket, placed it on the table, and sat down across from them.
“Who are you?” asked the inspector.
Ellie and Alex looked at each other with uncertainty. “I’m Eleanor Griffin and this is Alexander Stone. We are visiting from the United States. Bernardo Gozzi is a close family friend. We just recently arrived.”
The Inspector wrote on his pad in silence and slowly raised his head and looked at Ellie without emotion. “I’m afraid that Dr. Gozzi is dead.”
“What?!” Ellie blurted out. A look of dread spread across her face. “Dead. There must be some mistake.” Alex instinctively reached out and gripped her shoulder. Ellie’s eyes began to fill with tears.
“I’m sorry, but he is very much dead. He was found wrapped in a rug and beaten to death.”
“Who would do this?” Alex asked
The inspector crossed his arms, pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “It’s hard to say. We have a bit of a crime wave in the city. This is the third homicide in the past two weeks. It’s not good for tourism, not good for the city. Did he say anything to you recently that may have seemed unusual? Did he indicate any concerns for his safety?” inquired the inspector.
“No, he was very excited to see us. He was elated about the discovery of the chest with the artifacts of Marco Polo,” Ellie responded.
The inspector peered up from his notepad. “A chest?”
“Yes. He was studying items recovered from a chest. We were going to show him…”
Alex interrupted Ellie. “…what we thought.” Alex nudged Ellie’s knee under the table. She gave him a suspicious look.
“We have not found a chest. This is interesting,” replied the inspector. “What was in this chest?”
“We don’t know. We never saw the chest. He thought it contained artifacts related to Marco Polo’s trip,” Ellie answered.
Inspector Calvino looked down at his notepad and began to write in it. He held the pad at an angle that prevented Alex and Ellie from seeing what he was jotting down. After some time, he glanced up.
“Marco Polo, you say? The explorer?” muttered the Inspector.
Ellie nodded her head impatiently. She gave Alex a sideways glance filled with uncertainty and despair.
The corners of the Inspector’s mouth curled up into an unnerving smile. “Interesting.”
The Inspector pulled out a business card from his wallet and slid it across the table. Ellie was taken aback by the suddenness in which the interview had ended.
“Thank you for taking the time to speak to me. Here is my card. Please do not hesitate to call me if you think of anything that may aid in this investigation. We will be in touch if we have any more questions. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Who did this?” Ellie asked mournfully.
Inspector Calvino flipped his wallet shut and slipped it into his suit pocket. His fingers continued to explore the contents of the pocket until he came away with a cigarette. He held it in his hand like a pencil and tapped it against the tabletop.
“Who can say?” he shrugged. “Let us worry about it.”
17
“I’m cursed. Everybody I love seems to die. It’s all pretty Shakespearean, really. You may not want to stand so close to me. A meteor might stream out of the sky and hit us,” Ellie muttered and gave a pained chuckle.
Alex stood stiffly behind her, uncertain of what to say. He watched silently as Ellie crouched beside two stone pillars on the quay of the piazzetta staring blankly across the water at the Isola di San Giogio Margiore. Alex positioned himself next to her and peered down at the rippling water of the basin. An iridescent film of oil clung to the surface.
“Why didn’t you let me tell the inspector about why we are actually here, about the wooden box?” Ellie asked.
“I don’t know. It just didn’t seem right. I got this vibe that the inspector wasn’t being up front with us, especially about the chest that Dr. Gozzi was studying. Whoever killed Dr. Gozzi probably stole the chest and the items within it. In fact, maybe Dr. Gozzi was killed for the chest. If so, maybe we shouldn’t be broadcasting about the existence of a compendium piece. We could be next.”
“What if telling them about the wooden box might aid them in their investigation and help them catch whoever did this to Bernardo?” Ellie asked. She picked up a small stone and tossed it into the basin.
“You could be right. We can always contact the inspector. He left us his card. I just wonder if Dr. Gozzi was trying to tell us something with the email you got — if he was attempting to convey a message to us. What if he was hurt when he wrote the email and didn’t have the faculties to type it properly?” Alex wondered aloud.
Ellie pulled out the cell phone from her pocket and turned it on. She brought up Dr. Gozzi’s final email. Ellie stared at the jumbled series of letters, trying to make sense of it. They appeared to be arranged with no rhyme or reason.
Alex leaned over her shoulder. “Does any of it make sense? It’s like a different language.”
Different language, Ellie thought. Could it be? She turned to Alex with a look of urgency.
“Alex, could you grab a pen and paper from my bag. Quickly, please! See if there is a book for me to lean on.”
Alex rummaged through her bag pushing aside the wooden box. He finally located a booklet containing train schedules, a pen from the hotel, and a small pad of paper. He passed them to Ellie who snatched them up and sat Indian-style on the stone surface. She began to feverishly write letters vertically along the left side of the paper. Alex could see that the letters that stretched across the paper like Chinese characters were simply in alphabetical order. Ellie began to create another column of letters beside the first column. Unlike the first column, the letters were not in alphabetical order but did contained twenty-six characters.
AP
BY
CR
DA
EM
FI
GD
HS
IB
JF
KH
LJ
MK
NL
ON
PO
QQ
RT
SU
TV
UW
VX
WZ
XE
YC
ZG
Ellie paused and looked back at Alex.
“When you said it was like a different language, it got me thinking. When I was a little girl, my family used to visit Bernardo every summer. He was the best — he was like an oversized kid. You have to understand; I was one of those precocious kids that desperately wanted to be sophisticated. I was mad about James Bond at the time. In fact, I wanted more than anything to be a spy traveling the world, engaging in espionage, an
d decoding secret messages. Bernardo entertained this and had the idea of creating a language that only we could understand. I thought it was the most brilliant idea in the history of ideas. I haven’t thought of it for a long time, but I think I remember it.”
“It’s actually a very basic cipher. In fact, he based it on a substitution or shift cipher that was made famous by Julius Caesar during his campaign in Gaul. All Caesar did was create a cipher that shifted the alphabet a predetermined number of letters. For example, in a four-shift substitution cipher, the letter ‘a’ would be replaced with ‘e’ and ‘b’ would be substituted with ‘f,’ and so on until each of the twenty-six letters had a corresponding replacement letter.”
“Now our cipher was a bit more complex than Caesar’s. We used a keyword, actually two keywords, that only we knew. These keywords served to shift the alphabet.” Ellie pointed to the second list. The keywords are composed of non-repeating letters and are located at either end of the list. The first keyword we used was in tribute to my father: ‘pyramids.’ The second keyword was my initials: ‘ECG.”
“If we use the ciphered alphabet as the template…
VSMHMCBUYMSBLAVSMYJPRHANDM
Becomes….”
Ellie hummed softly as she substituted each letter with a corresponding letter from the ciphered alphabet.
THEKEYISBEHINDTHEBLACKDOGE.”
Ellie drew slashes across the message.
THE/KEY/IS/BEHIND/THE/BLACK/DOGE
“The key is behind the black doge,” Alex read off the paper. He glanced back at the beautiful loggia of the Doge’s Palace. His eyes drifted up to the balcony of the Waterfront façade that overlooked the quay and back down to the stone statue of a fallen Eve, holding aloft the forbidden fruit in her right hand.
“What does it mean?” Ellie asked, her eyes suddenly wide with wonder.
Alex extended his hand and helped Ellie up. She brushed pebbles off her pants and grabbed her bag.
“You probably already know this, but the doges were the ceremonial leaders of the Venetian republic entrusted to provide fatherly wisdom to the governing body and to entertain visiting dignitaries. The first doge, or dux, as he was known in the Venetian dialect was installed in the seventh century and the last doge ruled through to the late eighteenth century. During this time span, there were a ton of doges — some more influential than others. We’re only steps from the most important building in the doges’ lives.”