Sarah ducked down into her cabin, crammed her feet in her boots, packed her few things in her hatbox, slipped her money into her placket, tied her grandmother’s red leather purse of tokens around her neck, and went up on deck. Captain Shore, busy with the mooring of his ship, waved her to wait.

“You can’t go yet, they have to check you for disease.” He nodded at the Venetian officials, dressed in the livery of the Doge, mounting the gangplank. “You have to have your papers before you can disembark.”

Sarah stepped back as the two men came on board and took the ship’s manifest and the crew list from Captain Shore.

“This passenger?” the first man demanded in perfect English.

“Mrs. Bathsheba Jolly,” Sarah said, repeating the name of one of her workmates that she had told Captain Shore. “Of Kensington village, near London.”

“In good health?” The official’s hard gaze scanned her, looking for a feverish flush in her cheeks, or any trembling. “No swellings or sores?”

She shook her head.

“Have you kept company with the sick?”

“No,” Sarah said. “There’s no plague in London, thank God.”

“You’d have been sent to the lazaretto if there was any chance of plague,” he said grimly. “With the whole ship’s crew. Left there for forty days’ quarantine, however pretty.”

“I don’t have it,” she assured him. “I don’t know anyone who has had it. Really.”

“Purpose of visit?”

“To collect some furniture belonging to my mistress from her store.”

“Address?”

“Palazzo Russo,” Sarah replied. “Ca’ Garzoni.”

“Occupation?”

“I am a milliner, serving Nobildonna da Ricci.”

“The safety of the Republic of Venice is the responsibility of every citizen and visitor,” the official told her sternly. “If you learn anything that would damage the Republic then you must report it at once. If you do not report it, you are regarded as party to the crime. Equally, if anyone believes that you are working against the Republic then you will be reported and taken up for questioning. Do you understand?”

Sarah swallowed down her unease, nodding obediently.

“The questioning is done inside the Palace of the Doge,” the man said. “Everyone always answers. Punishment for wrongdoing is swift and very onerous.”

“I understand,” Sarah whispered. “But I assure you, I promise that I want no trouble with anyone. I’m a milliner!” She offered her occupation as if to claim that she was as unimportant as a wisp of silk on a bonnet. “Just a milliner! Running an errand.”

“Even so, you are required to maintain the safety of the Republic,” he repeated. “You are the eyes and ears of the Doge while you are his guest.”

Sarah nodded again.

“You tell her how to make a report,” the official ordered Captain Shore. “Then she can go ashore.”

He produced a paper with a red seal in the corner, scribbled his signature, gave it to Sarah, and turned to start his inspection of the crew and goods.

Sarah showed the paper to Captain Shore. “I have to make a report?” she asked.

“That’s your landing papers,” he said. “It’s called a permesso. They’ll ask for your permesso. You show it to any official that asks for it. You have to carry it with you all the time. They know exactly who’s here, in the city. This is your passport, you hand it back to them when you come on board to go home, you have to show it for them to let you leave. Keep it safe, you can’t leave without it.”

“What does he mean that I have to report?”

“If you see or hear anything that you think is a danger to the Republic, you write the name of the person on a slip of paper, and what they said or did, and you feed it to the lion.”

“What?”

He smiled grimly at her increasing alarm. “See that lion’s head on the dockside? Set into the wall?”

Sarah turned and saw, like a wall fountain, a lion’s head carved in marble, its mouth gaping wide. “Yes?”

“It’s a postbox. Shaped like a lion, or a wild man, or any kind of thing. You’ll see them all over. You put your denunciation into the mouth of the lion—the Bocca di Leone—and one of the officials collects it, they collect every day, and they read everything, everything anyone says, and they arrest those they think might be guilty and take them away.”

“But anyone could say anything!” Sarah protested.

“Oh, yes, they do.”

“But they must arrest hundreds of people!”

Captain Shore smiled grimly. “That’s the idea.”

“Where do they take the prisoners?” Sarah asked nervously.

He pointed back down the Grand Canal.

“To the Doge’s Palace. You saw that great palace that we came by?”

Sarah nodded.

“He lives there like a king; but he’s not a king. He’s one of the great men of Venice, but he prides himself on being a servant of the people. He works with the Council of Ten. Together, they rule the Republic, the greatest power in Europe. Hundreds of men, thousands of men work for him, like a court; but not a court. They don’t dance or sing or play or hunt like our court. They’re not a court of fools. They work, all day, all night, in absolute secret. They make trade treaties and agreements with every country under the sun, they spy on every country in the world, they sell to every country in the world, and they watch their own people, night and day, and pick them up at the least sign of trouble. The people of Venice have the wealthiest, safest city in the world because they’re watched, night and day, by themselves.”

“A city of spies?”

“Exactly. You didn’t mention meeting your husband to the officer?”

“He asked me what was the purpose of my visit—so I told him about my work.”

“As you wish. But if he asks me, I’m not going to lie for you.”

“No,” she said. “It’s not a secret. I just didn’t mention it.”

He laughed shortly. “No such thing in this city.” He took up a rope and lashed the gangplank tighter to the stanchion on deck. “There, you’ve got your papers, you’re certified clean, I’ve told you how to report, you can go. Into a city of spies.” He looked at the young woman. “That steward—he’ll bring your choice of goods to the quay here? And do the paperwork like last time? He has to declare it at the Custom House. If he says it’s private furniture, it’s his own word on it, not mine.”

Sarah nodded. “Can you tell me how to find him?” she asked humbly. “I have his address, I thought it would be easy to find—but I didn’t expect it to be all water…”

He laughed shortly. “You have the address of his house?”

“I thought I’d walk down a road!”

He pointed to one of the idling children. “Get one of them to lead you,” he said.

“Are they safe?” Sarah asked doubtfully, looking at the crowd of begging children.

“This is Venice,” he said again. “Nobody commits a crime unless they are unseen in complete darkness and probably working for the state. Nobody dares. Pay the lad a farthing. And pay the boatman what he asks. They don’t cheat either.”