Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

Benito wrinkled his nose. "You've just got to switch your senses off, sort of. Make it just a job to be gotten through. It's no worse than a lot of other things I've done, and better than no few."

Maria shook her head at him. "Just when I think I know how your mind works, Benito, you go and surprise me again. I never thought you'd be any good with children."

Benito looked like mischief incarnate. "It's because they trust me. Nobody else does."

Maria snorted. "And that's no surprise!"

"Now Maria," said Umberto gently. "He's made me laugh. I'll say I feel better for it."

Maria gave Benito a reluctant smile. "Oh, he's not all bad. Just half bad. Now, I'm going to feed Alessia. Excuse me."

Benito gave her a little bow. "I'll take my leave, too, Umberto, Maria. I'll take a look in down at the Little Arsenal, Umberto. I want to see those boats."

"Come back and tell me what you think."

Maria walked him to the door. Bit her lip, looking at him. "Thanks," she said quietly.

He shrugged. "It's nothing. I'll come again, if you like. Umberto kind of surprised me. He's got interesting ideas about those fireboats."

That had surprised her too. "He looks better for the visit. But next time let me show you how to fold a napkin." It was a tacit admission that she wouldn't object to a next time, she thought, as she patted Alessia's derriere. "This is a mess."

"So was what I found there, believe me. I'll see you."

He probably wouldn't, she thought. He'd be off on his next madcap stunt, which would be far more interesting than looking after a sick man and a baby.

"And where have you been, young feller-me-lad?" asked Manfred, with a buffet that would have made Benito's ears ring for a good while if he hadn't ducked. "Enjoying the adulation of the admiring young women of the Citadel? Francesca tells me you're a very sought-after young bachelor."

Benito grinned. "It's hard being popular. If only you weren't seven sizes too big you could try it." He ducked again. "Listen, seriously, do you know about the project they've been busy with at the Little Arsenal? The fireboats?

Manfred shook his head. "No. And whose project is this?"

"That's just it: The Arsenalotti have been at odds with the captain-general. So they've been doing it on their own. They've got nearly thirty of these things built. They reckon they've materials for twice that. They're smallish boats-long and slim and designed for speed. Umberto-Maria Verrier's husband-designed the things. I've just been down to have a look. The guy is good, Manfred. Those things, with a good following wind, will be like arrows."

"And just how are we supposed to launch these arrows?" asked Falkenberg, curiously. "Hold the beach while they're carried outside?"

"They've been built to be lowered over the wall into the water. He got the idea from Erik and me and our coracle stunt. Except they're making davits and winches. One of the men down at the Little Arsenal was showing me.

"And you say they've kept this in the dark?"

"Not deliberately. They were just looking for an opportunity to bring it up."

"With Tomaselli in charge, that won't happen," said Falkenberg. "Not that it isn't a good idea. Might be, at least. Take me down for a look in sometime, Benito."

Count Mindaug was scowling fiercely. Given the slight distortion always present in the summoned image above the blood-bowl, the expression made him look even uglier than ever.

"I hadn't thought he'd be this cautious, Elizabeth," Mindaug admitted. "By now, I'd expected Jagiellon to have intervened directly."

The countess decided that her silvery laugh would irritate Mindaug too much, at the moment. So she kept her expression simply serene. "Keep in mind, Kazimierz, that Chernobog is ancient, even if the shell he inhabits-that thing that used to be the prince Jagiellon-is still a relatively young man. For demons, 'ancient' and 'prudent' are almost synonyms. Even for a demon with a savage temper like his."

"True enough. Still-"

"Give it time. Which we have, by the way. Months yet, probably. The attempted treason failed, and my agent in the fortress informs me that any further attempts will take considerable time to organize. Unfortunately-or perhaps fortunately, given Chernobog's hesitancy-the woman who is running the Citadel's counterespionage work is extremely astute."

Mindaug's eyebrows rose. "A woman? Since when do Venetians-"

"She's not Venetian. She's one of the Imperials. Prince Manfred's leman, to boot, so she has plenty of influence. Her name is Francesca de Chevreuse. The name she goes by, I should say, since I doubt very much it's her real one."

Now, the Count was shaking his head. For a moment, the tips of his sharp-filed teeth showed. "What is the world coming to? In the old days-yourself excepted, of course-women handled the gossip, not the statecraft."

Since Mindaug's mood seemed to be improving, Elizabeth issued her silvery laugh. "Don't be silly. Even in Lithuania, that's not true. Or have you already forgotten Grand Duchess Imenilda?"

"That was almost a century ago. Besides, she was Ruthenian. The Ruthenians have always been a peculiar lot. Meaning no offense." Elizabeth Bartholdy had quite a bit of Ruthenian blood in her own ancestry.

"None taken, I assure you. To get back to the point, Kazimierz, I really think you're worrying too much."

Count Mindaug studied her for a moment. Then said abruptly: "That may be, Elizabeth. But the fact remains that I now need to consider, seriously, the consequences of failure. If this trap of yours doesn't work-even if only because Jagiellon avoids it-I will be the one to face the immediate repercussions. Not you." He raised his hand and eyed it. "Granted, it's not the finest skin in the world, but it's the only one I've got. I'd just as soon avoid having it served up for one of the monster's meals."

He lowered the hand and brought his eyes back to hers. "I'll need to run, Elizabeth-which means I'll need a place to run to."

The countess ran a delicate fingertip across her lower lip, thinking. She was not surprised, of course, that the issue had finally come up. She'd already given it quite a bit of thought herself, in fact.

"You understand that I do not share your interest in territorial and material matters?"

Mindaug's pointed teeth showed again. "You're not that indifferent to them, Elizabeth. Or do you really think you'd be able to pursue your own interests-if you were a peasant woman?"

She laughed. "Point taken. Nevertheless-"

He was shaking his head. "I'm well aware that your ambitions and mine are different. All the more reason, it seems to me, that there needn't be any clash between us. Even if… how to say it? Even if-"

"Even if you were residing in the Carpathians instead of Vilna-and trying to subvert my great-great-nephew and assume the throne of Hungary, instead of Jagiellon's."

"That's putting it bluntly. But… yes."

He waited, his face impassive.

Elizabeth thought a moment further, then shrugged. "I can't say I have any particular attachment to Emeric. He's easier to manipulate than you would be, but on the other hand…"

Mindaug finished the thought for her. "I'm smarter than he is. Which means I'd cause fewer messes for you to have to manipulate me out of." He left unspoken the obvious final clause: assuming you could.

But Elizabeth was not worried about that. And the more she thought about it, the more she could see a number of advantages to having Mindaug-if necessary, which she still didn't think it would be-taking asylum and refuge with her.

"Done, then. That assumes, of course, that our plans fail."

"Needless to say. I assure you, Elizabeth, that I'd much prefer to remain in Vilna, if at all possible. If nothing else, I'm too old to take any pleasure at the thought of a frantic race to get out of Lithuania ahead of Jagiellon's wrath."