July 1704
Venice“It's time,” Dario shouted to me.
He was my father's dock manager, a burly man who managed the ships that arrived in clockwork fashion. Dario was standing in his usual position on the harbor, perched upon the last planks of the wooden dock that jutted out into the canal. His left foot was raised and placed upon a bale of textiles tied together in a knot; his right foot was anchored on the dock itself. He waved his arm at me as if to point out the arrival of another ship, one of the Trapensi fleet of supply vessels bringing prized goods to our home port in Venice.
I raised my chin and looked toward Dario's arm pointing outward toward the broad sea beyond our port. In the distance I could make out the faint silhouette of sails above a dark wooden hulk gliding across the wa
