“It might be too late?”

Justine nods, her expression uncharacteristically somber. “This is a problem.”

“It’s not a problem, it’s a fucking crisis. But the even bigger issue is that it didn’t reach Naples on its own. We’re going to face the same risk of the plague securing a rat reservoir in every city it hits. Just like what happened in the Middle Ages. We have to cut off the source.”

“Agreed. Just remind me again how we’re going to do that when we still don’t know how or why it’s spreading?”

Alana doesn’t have an answer.

Justine hops up from the bed. “Speaking of cows, Byron and I have another meeting with that minister of health soon. Want to join?”

“No. I have to see someone else first.”

Justine raises an eyebrow as if about to make another dating reference but seems to change her mind. “We are making some progress, Alana,” she reassures her.

“I know.” Alana musters a smile. “Just not sure it’s enough.”

As soon as Justine leaves, Alana throws on an outfit, runs a brush through her resistant hair, and heads downstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, a taxi driver drops her off at the entrance to the Seminario Arcivescovile. Don Arturo isn’t in the seminary’s library or the dining room. As Alana heads for the staircase, she hears someone calling to her. She turns to see Brother Samuel, the tall cleric with the widow’s peak, approaching. “You have come to see Don Arturo again, Dr. Vaughn?”

“Yes.”

Brother Samuel bows his head apologetically. “Father Abbot does not come down for breakfast until after eight o’clock.”

Alana folds her arms across her chest. “It’s urgent.”

Samuel doesn’t budge. “It has not been easy for him, you understand?”

“What hasn’t?”

“Losing San Giovanni. The move.” Samuel clasps his hands together. “He is older than he appears. And less healthy. Though you would never know either. There are few men with stronger spirits.”

“Did you live at San Giovanni, too, Brother Samuel?”

“I did.”

“Do you know about its history? The rats below the monastery?”

Samuel wrinkles his nose. “Rats? We did not have a problem with rats.”

“What about the chute—the scivolo?”

“What does the scivolo have to do with rats?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“I really need to speak to Don Arturo.”

Samuel eyes her for a moment and then nods. “I will take you.”

He leads her up to the second floor. Arturo answers the door dressed in the same black tunic as before, with his gray hair as meticulously combed. Samuel speaks to Arturo for a few moments, before the abbot cuts him off with a raised hand. “It is fine. Please, Dr. Vaughn, come in.”

“I am sorry to call so early,” Alana says as she follows Arturo into his small but tastefully furnished living room. The smell of espresso wafts as strongly as inside a café. Numerous books line the shelves, but the room’s tidiness stands in stark contrast to Brother Silvio’s overrun apartment. He insists on brewing her a fresh cup and disappears into the kitchen.