of them, landing heavily. His head rolled away into the aisle.
“Is he dead?” Teo asked herself, and the book. “Or he was already dead?”
Then the bat-creature swooped up and dragged something fragile and leathery from the opened tomb, something that was definitely not a skeleton. It flew straight out of the church door with its prize flapping from its jaw. Outside, a flock of gulls saluted its appearance with a cacophony of shrieks.
As the creature passed over Teo she felt a violent rush of freezing air that knocked her flat in its wake. She glimpsed its face, briefly—it was almost human, with a large nose, eyes and mouth like a man’s but not quite settled in their shapes. A black spot floated near the nose. The features seemed carved out of a milky jelly that had not set. The eyes were lividly rimmed with red, but smooth and blank as pure white marbles.
Teo lay trembling on the stone flags. The bat-creature did not come back. The headless man stirred, rose to his knees and crawled with unerring instinct towards his head. Soon he was busy greedily gathering the remains of the gargoyles and pushing pieces of stone into the mouth of the head he had tucked again under one arm.
Teo had never wanted her parents so badly.
midmorning, June 3, 1899
Teo could have wept with relief when she finally glimpsed the marble curve of the Rialto Bridge. The hotel was close by, and her parents, and a warm bath and food and safety, and normal life.
She half staggered, half ran the last hundred yards down the narrow alley that led to the hotel, and pounded up the steps to Reception.
The manager did not look up as Teo approached his desk. Instead, he hunched over his newspaper and hugged himself, as if he had suddenly felt a chilly draught. Teo caught sight of her own picture on the front page. With her habitual skill at reading upside-down, she made out a headline: NO SIGN OF MISSING GIRL.
“Oh yes there is!” Teo sang out cheerfully. “Are my parents in?”
The manager ignored her, and pulled a jacket over his shoulders.
“Are my parents not here?” Teo asked, and, “Aren’t you exceedingly warm, signor?”
The man acted as if she wasn’t there at all.
“I suppose not everyone likes children,” Teo said pointedly, “but it is polite to answer questions. Even from children.”
The manager pulled the newspaper rudely up in front of his face so he could not see Teo anymore. June 3 was written at the top.
“That means,” thought Teo, “that I’ve lost a whole day. Where was I?”
Teo ran up the stairs and knocked on the door of her parents’ room. Her heart thrashed painfully when she heard her mother sobbing inside. Her father spoke low, comforting words.
They did not seem to hear her knock, so Teo let herself in.
“Don’t worry, I’m back!” she trilled joyfully. “Everything’s fine!”
Her parents gave not the slightest sign of having heard or seen her. Teo shuddered to see that a Brustolon had appeared in their room. It glowered in a corner next to her parents’ travel trunk, giving off a strong smell of varnish.
“Do close the door, Alberto,” implored her mother. “It must have blown open in that cold draft. Where did that come from, in this heat?” She dabbed her face with a handkerchief.
Teo ran over to her mother and sank to her knees in front of her. She put her head in her mother’s lap and wrapped her arms around her mother’s knees. She rested her cheek on the warm silk of her mother’s skirt. It smelt of soap, and perfume, a trace of laboratory formaldehyde and, well—home.
“It’s all right!” Teo cried out, her voice choked up with emotion. “You can stop crying now.”
But her mother stared blankly over Teo’s head, and a new tear trickled down her face.
Teo jumped up and tugged at her father’s waistcoat. “But I’m here!”
His voice was stony. “I’ve said it before—we should never have come. There is something not right at all about this city, and
“Is he dead?” Teo asked herself, and the book. “Or he was already dead?”
Then the bat-creature swooped up and dragged something fragile and leathery from the opened tomb, something that was definitely not a skeleton. It flew straight out of the church door with its prize flapping from its jaw. Outside, a flock of gulls saluted its appearance with a cacophony of shrieks.
As the creature passed over Teo she felt a violent rush of freezing air that knocked her flat in its wake. She glimpsed its face, briefly—it was almost human, with a large nose, eyes and mouth like a man’s but not quite settled in their shapes. A black spot floated near the nose. The features seemed carved out of a milky jelly that had not set. The eyes were lividly rimmed with red, but smooth and blank as pure white marbles.
Teo lay trembling on the stone flags. The bat-creature did not come back. The headless man stirred, rose to his knees and crawled with unerring instinct towards his head. Soon he was busy greedily gathering the remains of the gargoyles and pushing pieces of stone into the mouth of the head he had tucked again under one arm.
Teo had never wanted her parents so badly.
midmorning, June 3, 1899
Teo could have wept with relief when she finally glimpsed the marble curve of the Rialto Bridge. The hotel was close by, and her parents, and a warm bath and food and safety, and normal life.
She half staggered, half ran the last hundred yards down the narrow alley that led to the hotel, and pounded up the steps to Reception.
The manager did not look up as Teo approached his desk. Instead, he hunched over his newspaper and hugged himself, as if he had suddenly felt a chilly draught. Teo caught sight of her own picture on the front page. With her habitual skill at reading upside-down, she made out a headline: NO SIGN OF MISSING GIRL.
“Oh yes there is!” Teo sang out cheerfully. “Are my parents in?”
The manager ignored her, and pulled a jacket over his shoulders.
“Are my parents not here?” Teo asked, and, “Aren’t you exceedingly warm, signor?”
The man acted as if she wasn’t there at all.
“I suppose not everyone likes children,” Teo said pointedly, “but it is polite to answer questions. Even from children.”
The manager pulled the newspaper rudely up in front of his face so he could not see Teo anymore. June 3 was written at the top.
“That means,” thought Teo, “that I’ve lost a whole day. Where was I?”
Teo ran up the stairs and knocked on the door of her parents’ room. Her heart thrashed painfully when she heard her mother sobbing inside. Her father spoke low, comforting words.
They did not seem to hear her knock, so Teo let herself in.
“Don’t worry, I’m back!” she trilled joyfully. “Everything’s fine!”
Her parents gave not the slightest sign of having heard or seen her. Teo shuddered to see that a Brustolon had appeared in their room. It glowered in a corner next to her parents’ travel trunk, giving off a strong smell of varnish.
“Do close the door, Alberto,” implored her mother. “It must have blown open in that cold draft. Where did that come from, in this heat?” She dabbed her face with a handkerchief.
Teo ran over to her mother and sank to her knees in front of her. She put her head in her mother’s lap and wrapped her arms around her mother’s knees. She rested her cheek on the warm silk of her mother’s skirt. It smelt of soap, and perfume, a trace of laboratory formaldehyde and, well—home.
“It’s all right!” Teo cried out, her voice choked up with emotion. “You can stop crying now.”
But her mother stared blankly over Teo’s head, and a new tear trickled down her face.
Teo jumped up and tugged at her father’s waistcoat. “But I’m here!”
His voice was stony. “I’ve said it before—we should never have come. There is something not right at all about this city, and
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