MORTALS—I bring ye quite the treat on this auspicious Monday. Summersbane & I recently completed the record of another of his terror-tastic adventures! We share with ye now, the first book of five. Read on for true gothic horror, from the sodden waterways of Venice! Buon appetito…

Summersbane Saga
Ghost of Venice

Libro I: Raising The Dead

The raucous of the Rialto reverberated in the distance, & off the walls of the small Venetian canal. A rotting gondola glided down the dark narrow channel, soundless, without even the occasional lap of water against hull or stone. Preternatural silence, on a gondola with no gondolier, & a single cloaked passenger.  

A keen observer would have noticed the duck carcasses draped over the blood-caked sides—maybe they would have noticed the shaking of the cloaked figure, or his intricate ancient signet ring, in stark contrast to his glinting Apple Watch. Maybe they would have noticed the man’s enameled carnevàl wolf mask. Maybe they would have even seen the gondola slip into the household dock of its own accord—however, there were no observers. 

The cloaked figure stepped softly onto the house’s dock, tiptoeing up toward the door. A single light flickered to life in a brass lantern; the cloaked figure approached, clutching a heavy briefcase. 

“State your business,” lilted a raspy voice from within. 

“I am Luca DiLago, Assessore of the Regional Council of Veneto. I seek the Council of Ten.”

The raspy voice giggled. “The Council of Ten is dead.” 

The cloaked figure took a long pause, as if remembering something, “Yes. And yet, I seek them.”

“I understand. They shall receive you.”

The internal mechanisms of the door rattled & popped. Dust fell off the ancient knob as it turned, & the oaken door creaked open. Frescoes of men & women of a bygone aeon lined the wall, their features shadowed by the candles dancing in sconces along the polished mahogany staircase.  Salt crunched under Luca’s foot as he crossed the threshold, & pulled back his hood. 

The top half of a door opened directly to his right, revealing a grey-faced man in dusty, ill-tailored clothes. “I will take your cloak,” rasped the figure.

Despite the man’s ancient appearance, the interior of the coat-check was well lit by an LED array in the ceiling. Fresh wallpaper lined the room, new coats & hats hung neatly in the closet, an iron steamed gently in the back. The ancient porter smiled, revealing a single row of begreened teeth.  He presented an outstretched hand for Luca’s cloak.  

He obliged, revealing a sharp gray designer suit, polished brown wing-tips, & a broach denoting his status as Venetian Councilman.  He adjusted his lupine mask, & began his ascent. The staircase opened into an ornate room, with a long table & ten chairs dominating one side. Before it, a single high-backed wooden throne. Purple velvet drapes covered the windows, the walls adorned by animal-skin maps. He gazed nervously at the ancient trade routes on the maps, briefly aware of the insignificance of his life, before taking his seat. He sank uncomfortably into the throne, feeling more petitioner than prince. The Assessore waited quietly, each moment punctuated by a large grandfather clock in the corner. Its pendula & hands chunked, & clicked, & chunked, & clicked. Was it growing louder?

A chime rang out—! “Madonna,” Luca sputtered, startled & embarrassed.

He heard a voice behind him—“We have a quorum”—& the words crept over him like smoke.

Luca tore his eyes from the clock, & turned back to the table. Six figures now sat, with four seats empty.  Each of the Tenmen present wore a mask.  A Fox, Baboon, Lion, Mouse, Dragon, & Eagle, stared hollow-eyed at the little Wolf before them. 

The Fox cleared their throat. “I hope you will forgive our other Four their absence. I assure you we Six act with the full authority of the Council of Ten.”

The Wolf, a little offended, sat up straight. “I see. Well, thank you for your assurances. I am Luca Di—”

“We know who you are,” spat the Eagle. “Why have you evoked the Council of Ten?”

The Eagle’s black gown flowed around her body like a suggestion, even as she sat still, & the Wolf began to feel out of his depth.

“I—we—Venice has a problem that we believe your talents can solve.”

“We know what you want to ask,” yawned the Lion. “Just speak it, & have the ritual done with.”

“Ritual?”

The Six-of-Ten sighed as One.  The Baboon leaned over the table & gestured to his fellows. “This, Luca DiLago! You summoned us. We gave you an enchanted gondola, the whole mystery-show at the door—you get to enjoy the pomp & circumstance of ‘Summoning the Ten’ as your forebears once did to save the city. In return for helping you, & for our commitment to showmanship, we in turn are permitted to continue practicing our dark & despicable arts. It’s all outlined clearly—”

A skin-bound book unfolded into existence in front of Luca, about 10 inches above the table. The Baboon slapped it down onto the surface; the cover read, in Old Venetian: “Lèje de Mistièro et il Consìlio de Dièse.” 

“The Law of the Art & the Council of Ten,” muttered Luca.

 “Ah, bene,” sneered the Mouse. “He can read.”

Luca, sensing their patience was wearing thin, stood up & declared before the Six-of-Ten: “We, the City of Venice, request our Masters of the Art, to exorcise a ghost at the Ponte dei Sospiri.”

The Six said nothing. Sweating, the Assessore continued.

“There, ah, there have been complaints of a wailing woman, every night at midnight. We posted guards, asked for priests, even tried locking down the building! B-but nothing has worked.”

After another dramatic pause, the masqued panel heaved a collective sigh of relief. The Eagle stood, her dress swirling like the night.

“It’s been a while since we have had to cleanse the Bridge of Sighs. Not since you emptied its dungeons! Consider it done, little Wolf. Summersbane, it’s your turn, si? Council, d’accordo?”

“Si,” resounded throughout the room.

The Eagle turned, swishing her umber-gown. She turned, & turned, dissolved into shadow, then to nothing at all.  

The Baboon placed his mask down on the table & slumped over, evidently dead. 

The Mouse’s cloak began to distort & undulate as the man underneath became a rat-king that scurried down the stairs. A scratchy “Very well, sir,” drifted up from the coat check as the rats scurried past. The mass paused for a second, & swarmed the countertop, depositing a small coin. “I will see it pressed for your next visit, sir.”

The Lion opened its mouth in another great yawn, showing an array of teeth that looked more lion’s than man’s. It then began to cough, & hacked up a housecat. The Lion then fell limp into a rug, & the cat began to clean itself in a puddle of lion-spit. 

The Dragon stood, slithered down the stairs, exchanged pleasantries with the coat-check, deposited his cloak, & proceeded to walk down into the Venetian channel, disappearing into its gentle waves.

The Fox plucked off its mask, & discarded it onto the table, revealing Summersbane’s grim-grinning face. 

“Ciao, Assessore. I am the dread necromancer Summersbane. I am the agent of the Ten who will be handling your case. Sorry for all the spectacle—we have some rather old bylaws, sai?”

Luca had gone completely stiff, his pupils wide with astonishment. This man—being?—before him reeked of Death, his eyes blackened with kohl, his fingernails blackened with time. Something evil seemed to lurk in his every word, & Luca could swear something crawled beneath Summersbane’s skin. The Assessore gripped the arms of the chair with all his might; it reminded Summersbane of prey seeing a wolf for the first time.

“More Deer than Wolf tonight, hmm?,” Summersbane said, laughing. Luca remained too terrified to respond.

“Boh…perhaps, you are scared because I am a terrifying necromancer, whose flesh & mind are of the grave? You smell the stink of unlife, perceive the evil in my souls, & fear I will eat you—or worse?”

Luca nodded, with great effort. The necromancer nodded, tapped his foot for a moment, then noticed the mortified man’s signet ring. 

“Ah! You are Loredani.” Summersbane smiled. “You know, I was a child when Leonardo made the Pope pay 500,000 ducats, during the War of the Cambrai.  You should have seen when that was announced! In a single night, Leonardo became the richest man in Venice, & de-fanged its greatest enemy.”

Luca stared blankly forward, seeing nothing, smelling Death, & wishing to go home. Summersbane pulled up a chair next to him, sat, & placed a necrotic hand on Luca’s ring.

“Your family was able to lead the city of Venice through great peril. That Pope would later fight beside the Loredani against their common foe. Perhaps it is time you take a page from your forefather, & seek unusual allies? It has served your family in the past, Luca DiLago.”

After a dreadfully long beat, Summersbane added, “And, I will not eat you.”

Luca made eye contact with Summersbane for the first time, relaxing into the throne. He nodded again, more easily this time.

“Bravo. Now, open your briefcase, & tell me all you know about this ghost.”

THUS ENDETH LIBRO I

THE SCINTILLATING STORY CONTINUES HERE!

Chilling, no? I hope ye enjoyed this first course—we shall send the rest, every Monday, for the next three weeks. & I shall write ye again come this Wednesday, with news of this Friday’s episode!

Thank ye to all who read our missives, to all who share these with others, & of course thank ye to those kindly folk who can & do send $5 monthly to support our works. Be safe, be well, & be not afraid of we Ten—unless ye forget thy mask…

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Wizard, Editor, Owl