Inferno: (Robert Langdon Book 4)

good a guess as any. Zobrist, after all, by altering Botticelli’s Mappa dell’Inferno , had already revealed his proclivity for collaborating with the masters and modifying great works of art to suit his needs.
    “The rest of the text is very strange,” Langdon said, again rotating themask and reading inward. “It talks about … severing the heads from horses … plucking up the bones of the blind.” He skimmed ahead to the final line, which was written in a tight circle at the very center of the mask. He drew a startled breath. “It also mentions ‘bloodred waters.’ ”
    Sienna’s eyebrows arched. “Just like your visions of the silver-haired woman?”
    Langdon nodded, puzzling over the text. The bloodred waters … of the lagoon that reflects no stars?
    “Look,” she whispered, reading over his shoulder and pointing to a single word partway through the spiral. “A specific location.”
    Langdon’s eyes found the word, which he had skimmed over on his first pass. It was the name of one of the most spectacular and unique cities in the world. Langdon felt a chill, knowing it also happened to be the city in which Dante Alighieri famously became infected with the deadly disease that killed him.
    Venice.
    Langdon and Sienna studied the cryptic verses in silence for several moments. The poem was disturbing and macabre, and hard to decipher. Use of the words doge and lagoon confirmed for Langdon beyond any doubt that the poem was indeed referencing Venice—a unique Italian water-world city made up of hundreds of interconnected lagoons and ruled for centuries by a Venetian head of state known as a doge.
    At a glance, Langdon could not discern exactly where in Venice this poem was pointing, but it definitely seemed to be urging the reader to follow its directions.
    Place thine ear to the ground, listening for the sounds of trickling water.
    “It’s pointing underground,” Sienna said, reading along with him.
    Langdon gave an uneasy nod as he read the next line.
    Follow deep into the sunken palace … for here, in the darkness, the chthonic monster waits.
    “Robert?” Sienna asked uneasily. “What kind of monster?”
    “Chthonic,” Langdon replied. “The c-h is silent. It means ‘dwelling beneath the earth.’ ”
    Before Langdon could continue, the loud clunk of a dead bolt echoed across the baptistry. The tourist entrance had apparently just been unlocked from outside.

    “Grazie mille,” said the man with the rash on his face. A thousand thanks.
    The baptistry docent nodded nervously as he pocketed the five hundreddollars cash and glanced around to make sure nobody was watching.
    “Cinque minuti,” the docent reminded, discreetly swinging open the unbolted door just wide enough for the man with the rash to slip inside. The docent closed the door, sealing the man inside and blocking out all sound from outside. Five minutes.
    Initially the docent had refused to take pity on the man who claimed to have come all the way from America to pray at the Baptistry of San Giovanni in hopes of curing his terrible skin disease. Eventually, though, he had been inspired to become sympathetic, aided no doubt by an offer of five hundred dollars for five minutes alone in the baptistry … combined with the growing fear that this contagious-looking person would stand there beside him for the next three hours until the building opened.
    Now, as he moved stealthily into the octagonal sanctuary, the man felt his eyes drawn reflexively upward. Holy shit. The ceiling was like nothing he’d ever seen. A three-headed demon stared down directly at him, and he quickly lowered his gaze to the floor.
    The space appeared to be deserted.
    Where the hell are they?
    As the man scanned the room, his eyes fell on the main altar. It was a massive rectangular block of marble, set back in a niche, behind a barrier of stanchions and swags to keep spectators away.
    The altar appeared to be the only hiding place in the entire room. Moreover, one of the swags was swinging slightly … as if it had just been disturbed.

    Behind the altar, Langdon and Sienna crouched in silence. They had barely had time to collect the dirty towels and straighten the font cover before diving out of sight behind the main altar, with the death mask carefully in tow. The plan was to hide here until the room filled up with tourists, and then discreetly exit among the crowd.
    The baptistry’s north door had definitely just been opened—at least for a