The Traitor (The Carnivia Trilogy)
“After several hours, Holly abandoned the attempt and got back in her car. In the pre-dawn darkness the Ponte della Libertà was deserted. The lights of Venice glowed through a faint sea-mist, a haze like tracing paper, through which she could just make out the skyline of Cannaregio.
She left the car at Tronchetto for the ten-minute walk to Calle Barbo. Venice at this hour was like an Escher labyrinth, eerily deserted: more than once she found her way blocked by a canal that had somehow turned a corner in front of her.
She pulled on the brass bell handle next to the lion’s-head postbox. To her surprise the door opened almost immediately. Daniele was wearing his normal daytime garb: T-shirt, sneakers, jeans. In his hand was a fork.
“What do you want?” he said. “I was just having lunch.”
“Daniele, it’s four o’clock in the morning.”
“Not in São Paulo,” he said reasonably.
“What does São Paulo have to do with it?”
“Nothing. I’m just illustrating that time is a man-made construct.
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