Dan Brown

Through the dolent city, I flee.
Through the eternal woe, I take flight.
Along the banks of the river Arno, I scramble, breathless ... turning left onto Via dei Castellani, making
my way northward, huddling in the shadows of the Uffizi.
And still they pursue me.
Their footsteps grow louder now as they hunt with relentless determination.
For years they have pursued me. Their persistence has kept me underground ... forced me to live in
purgatory ... laboring beneath the earth like a chthonic monster.
I am the Shade.
Here aboveground, I raise my eyes to the north, but I am unable to find a direct path to salvation ... for
the Apennine Mountains are blotting out the first light of dawn.
I pass behind the palazzo with its crenellated tower and one-handed clock ... snaking through the early-
morning vendors in Piazza di San Firenze with their hoarse voices smelling of lampredotto and roasted
olives. Crossing before the Bargello, I cut west toward the spire of the Badia and come up hard against
the iron gate at the base of the stairs.











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