The Plague Doctor's Daughter

18. Giovanna

Giovanna immediately turned to go look for her friend there, but the servant yelled after her. "You're not the only one asking today, you know. Signore Grimani was here not long ago inquiring about the signora's whereabouts."

Giovanna halted. The man who would soon take Ottavia's hand in marriage was already in pursuit of the girl. There was little chance Giovanna would manage to find her first, as she was likely already in the company of her betrothed. And she couldn't speak candidly with Ottavia in front of Nicco, that much was for certain.

"Thank you. Have a good day," she despondently said to the servant over her shoulder.

No Matteo for advice, no Ottavia for coin, and no way to move her father, Giovanna was quickly running out of options. Her remaining recourse was one that she had up until now ignored. Dread overcame her even as she thought of visiting Stefano in jail, but it was wholly necessary in order to keep up pretenses. Otherwise, he'd be even more cruel to her once he was released.

Returning to San Marco and continuing past the palace, Giovanna turned left along the quay. Only a few gondolas and several smaller sailboats moored in the gentle waters off the central square, the usual congestion diminished by the plague. For this sparseness, Giovanna was glad. At least there would be fewer curios eyes to see her enter the arched doorway of the New Prison.

With a high portico facing the waterfront, the structure was built from familiar Istrian limestone within just the last fifty years, having mostly replaced the infamous jails within the adjacent Palazzo. As opposed to the upper-class inmates, violent offenders, or those still awaiting trial kept locked in the notoriously hard to escape cells in the doge's palace, here petty thieves, debtors, and other common criminals served their sentences.

"State your business, signora," a guard addressed Giovanna, putting his pike in her way before she could even approach the clerk just past the entryway.

"I . . . My husband has been detained, and I wish to see him," she stammered, suddenly losing the little courage she had previously.

The guard peered over his shoulder at the old man behind the desk, bent over an open ledger. Giovanna held her breath until the clerk gave a small nod and waved her over.

"Name," he said without looking up.

"Giovanna Visconti," she whispered, wringing her hands.

The clerk cleared his throat and raised his gaze. "The prisoner's name." He emphasized the second word in clarification.

"Oh," she muttered, feeling her face redden. "Stefano. Stefano Visconti. He is an arquebusier in the Republic's—"

"Irrelevant," the clerk cut her off even as he dragged his ink-stained forefinger down a row of names on the page in front of him. Stopping abruptly, he tapped the parchment. "There. Arrived last night."

Emboldened by the confirmation, Giovanna placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "How long will he be kept here?"

The clerk pulled a large key ring from a drawer as he shook his head. "Now, now. Signore Visconti hasn't even been charged yet. It is up to the magistrate to decide what his punishment will be. If you'd like a few moments—"

"Yes, of course!" Giovanna exclaimed as she jumped back, afraid she would compromise her chance at getting a quick word with her husband through her continued naïveté.

Although he looked less than pleased, the clerk nodded and dangled the keys to another guard standing in the corridor. "Captain, if you can show Signora Visconti to holding cell two-eleven. She may have five minutes, nothing more."