Mercedes Lackey - Shadow of the Lion

Her spirits lifted a little. At least this brother--whoever he was--had a firm grasp not only on sacred matters, but on secular, and he wasn't afraid to give advice on both sides of life. "All right, Brother," she said, feeling as if she was making some kind of a bargain. "I'll make a point of being--more regular in my devotions."

"Go in peace, my child," came the standard response, signaling the end of a session.

* * *

Once the sound of the girl's footsteps on the marble had ended with the opening and closing of the door, the priest emerged, moving with a pronounced limp. Sister Evangelina followed, her lips compressed over the laugh that threatened to burst through them.

"I don't know that I've ever seen anyone put you so firmly in your place, Eneko," she finally said, eyes twinkling merrily.

"I'm overjoyed that you found it all so amusing, Gina," he said dryly. "If I have brought a little humor into your humdrum existence, my life has not been lived in vain."

He stared at the heavy doors through which the girl had left the church, his face tight with calculation. After a moment, the sister at his side cleared her throat.

"She spoke under the anonymity of counseling, Eneko." The woman's tone was half-admonitory, half . . . almost fearful.

The priest twitched his shoulders irritably. "I am well aware of that."

Apparently, the answer did not satisfy Evangelina. "You may not--"

He waved her silent with an abrupt motion. "Please! I have no intention of violating the sanctity of counseling. I just wish I knew who she was. If we could find out anything about what happened to Dottore Marina . . ."

For a moment, Evangelina seemed to shrink away from his intent gaze. The priest recognized the expression which lurked half-hidden in her face. He had seen that same expression many times now, in the years since he received what he thought of as his "calling." Respect for his well-known learning and piety, combined with uneasiness--almost fear--at the intensity of his convictions.

He suppressed a sigh. Then, managed a smile. Whatever else he was, Eneko Lopez de Onez y Guipuzcoa was also a superb politician. He needed to maintain good relations with the Petrine clergy in Venice, whatever his misgivings concerning the laxity of their faith.

"Please relax, Gina. I assure you--again--that I have no intention of violating the sanctity of counseling. I neither asked the girl's name nor did I make any attempt to see her face. I have no idea who she is--I wouldn't even recognize her on the street if she walked past me."

Evangelina's lips quirked. "You'd recognize her voice readily enough, if you heard it again. Don't deny it, Eneko!" A soft laugh emerged from her throat. "Your acuity is already a byword in Venice, even in the short time since the Grand Metropolitan sent you here."

Lopez returned her words with a rueful little smile of his own. "True enough," he admitted. "It's odd, really. As a young man, before that cannonball ruined my leg, I was rather notorious for being hard of hearing. But since I gave up a soldier's life--"

He broke off, twitching his shoulders with exasperation. "I'm hardly likely to encounter her again in casual conversation, Gina! So I think you may set your fears to rest. I am simply, as always, frustrated by the lack of clarity which seems to surround everything in this city. I can't tell you how much I wish the Grand Metropolitan had allowed me to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, instead of sending me here."

He stared at the door through which the girl--whoever she was--had left the church, his lips pursing. "And that young lady was quite right. The things her family transports may not in themselves be evil. Tomb-dust is not evil. But it can be put to evil use, and I do not share her naive belief that all Strega are simply harmless healers. It is good that she has her medallion, but--as you well know--magic can be shielded from detection by other magic."

He rubbed his crippled leg, in an old and absentminded manner. "I just wish it were all less . . . murk and shadows."

The sister laughed, a bit ruefully. "It is a foggy city, after all, as often as not."

Eneko shared in the laughter and then produced still more laughter by recounting several amusing anecdotes concerning the ways in which a rural Basque priest had often found the metropolis of Venice a most confusing place. By the end, whatever doubts Sister Evangelina might have had concerning his own intentions seemed dispelled.

* * *

She departed, thereafter, leaving Eneko alone. He drifted over to the wall where the frescoes depicted John Chrysostom, the Golden Preacher, and stared up at the panels. A few minutes later, he heard the footsteps of two other men coming into the church.

He did not turn around. Eneko Lopez knew those footsteps as well as he knew the arhythmic sound which his own limp produced.

He gestured with his chin toward the frescoes above him. "He was a false man, you know, in many ways. Intemperate, harsh, often arrogant, full of error and wrong-headedness. Still, they made him a saint. And do you know why?"

He swiveled his head to bring his companions under his gaze. Diego and Pierre said nothing. After a moment, Eneko looked away.

"They made him a saint," Eneko said harshly, "because whatever his faults the Golden Preacher understood one thing clearly. There is such a thing in this world as evil. Not simply--"

The next words came out almost like a curse: "--error and misunderstanding."

Brother Pierre spoke, in his heavy Savoyard accent. "True enough. And what is your point, Eneko?"

The Basque priest's lips twisted wryly. Then, he turned his head again and looked at the other priest.

"Brother Diego, I need you to begin an investigation. I have been led to believe that the Strega Grand Master was once the tutor for a girl in this city. Fourteen years old, she was, when he disappeared. Find out who that girl is. It should not be too difficult. Only a very wealthy and prominent family could have afforded his services as a private tutor--and would have dared employ him, for that matter."

Brother Diego nodded. "What was the source of your information? That might help me in my search."

"I have no doubt that it would. I also have no doubt that you don't wish to know."

Diego looked at the counseling booths. Sighed. "Can you offer me any other clues?"

"And how do we know she is not a witch herself?" asked Pierre.

Eneko smiled faintly. "Oh, I think not. Whatever that girl might be, I rather doubt you will find a witch."

"You never know," countered Diego. "We are surrounded by evil here."

The Basque nodded, his eyes returning to the frescoes. "No, you don't; and yes, we are. Still--"

The hawk eyes of John Chrysostom gazed down upon him. He did not seem to find the weight of them hard to bear. Not in the least. "Still, I doubt you will find a witch there."

* * *

Casa Montescue looked--from the outside--as if it belonged to one of the wealthiest families in all Venice. It was only once you got inside, thought Katerina bleakly, that you realized what a hollow front that was. She walked the long corridor moodily. It was a case of too much grandeur . . . and too little upkeep. Show was very important in Venice, but more than one Case Vecchie family had found that keeping up appearances could be ruinous. This place needed an army of servants just to keep it clean. Without them it deteriorated fast. There had been six upstairs maids when she was a child. Her father had once told her there'd been ten when he was young.

Her musing was cut by the sound of her grandfather's voice.

"--nothing to do with us! It was Fortunato Bespi who killed her. He was a Montagnard assassin. She must have fallen out with her masters."

Another voice, higher pitched. "Nonetheless you spent a great deal of money pursuing her sons, Milord Montescue. Money long outstanding with our house."