27 dicembre 1777 Venezia Pale pink daylight floods the lagoon, and a thin graveyard mist hangs over the eerily quiet water.
The high priest walks the curte, collecting remains from the sacrificial fire.
He's at peace with the world. He's served his master well. Now he is keen to avoid any post-sacrifice slip-ups. Once he's finished his grisly task, he'll make sure his followers know how to behave. Firstly, they have a common cover story. If pushed by families about their prolonged absence, they'll claim to have been at a dinner together, a party of sorts. If suspicions arise, then one by one they'll admit to affairs. Each of them already has an alibi. Each is prepared to suffer minor personal consequences rather than risk being thrown into the cold cells of the Palazzo Ducale.
The Satanist is dressed in the poor garments of a boatman. His blood-soaked vestments stand in a tub of water and will be thoroughly washed and dried by his own hands. Meticulously, he collects all the dead man's bones in a potato sack. He counts off the parts as he deposits them – tibia, fibula, patella – he knows every bone, every muscle and nerve.
In a separate sack he collects fire-blackened wood coated in the waxy fat of the victim's melted skin. Both bags go to the back of his boat. Later he'll have the ground dug over. Shovelled until all sacrificial traces are gone.
The sun is still only half risen when the boat that brought Amun Badawi to his death takes him to his watery grave.
It's too early for fishing boats or other craft to be making their way into the nexus of canals that spread south of the city, but the high priest isn't complacent: he keeps a vigilant watch across the water.
Through the mist, he spots La Giudecca to the west and Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore to the east. It is his cue to stop. He thinks for a moment about the island – the refuge for Cosimo de' Medici when he fled Florence and the burial place for Doge Pietro Ziani. So many famous bodies – dead and alive – have passed along the same stretch of water.
The Satanist places a heavy stone in each of the sacks and secures the tops with pre-cut lengths of rope. The boat wobbles as an unexpectedly large wave slaps the side. He quickly sits. Waits for calm to return.
As the ripples subside, he stands and heaves the first sack over the side.
A satisfying plosh!
He crouches and watches the bubbles in the murky water. The boat rocks again. The stern is knocked round by a choppy wave. Again the high priest sits it out. He waits patiently, then drops the second sack in the lagoon. It is comforting to watch it sink. A circle of ripples fattens, thins and fades.
'Buongiorno!'
The voice shocks him. He glances right and left.
Nothing.
Now he sees something. Dead ahead.
A red-faced young monk. Rowing a tiny boat. Slowing his strokes as he approaches. 'A bad mist this morning. Are you in trouble?' The brother looks pointedly into the water, as though he's seen something go over the side. 'Do you need any help?'
The Satanist can't hide his shock. He picks up his oars. 'No. No grazie.' Silently he curses to himself. He was sure there was no one around.
The monk has stopped rowing and is letting his boat drift closer.
Suspicion hangs in the air as densely as the mist.
The high priest tries to smile. 'Are you from the monastery at San Giorgio?'
The monk nods. 'Si.' Their boats touch sides. 'I do this every morning. After first prayers and before breakfast.' He glances into the water. 'Did you drop something? I thought I heard a splash in the water. I feared someone may have fallen in.'
'No, as you can see, I am fine. Fine and dry. You must have been mistaken.' The Satanist touches his own oar. 'Probably the sound of the paddle on the water.' He glances into the mist and checks the angle of the rising sun. Maybe the monk didn't see much. He smiles. 'I must be going. Arrivederci.'
The young brother takes up his oars and sweeps one across the water to turn his boat. 'Arrivederci.' Within two strokes he's vanished into the mist.
All the way back to the monastery, he wonders what was in the two large sacks he saw being dropped into the lagoon and why the stranger lied to him.