Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

The rock wall was wet with the rain, feeling greasy underfoot. Manfred, along with several knights who were on guard on the outer wall, lowered Benito down first. From their daytime scouting Benito knew there was a little sill down there, just before the water. He felt for it on the rain-slick rock with his feet. Once he was down, Benito whistled up, and freed the rope. The ledge was less than a cubit wide. It sloped toward the sea and it was rounded. Benito was used to the pan-tiles of Venice, but this was even slipperier; it was like being on icy roof-tiles.

Erik nearly landed in the water as a result. His feet scrabbled for a purchase, and Benito put a steadying hand on his arm. "You're supposed to be looking after me," he hissed, as Erik cursed softly. "Anyway the rain should make it easy enough to paddle out of here."

The coracle came down next and it nearly had both of them off the ledge. And of course it was farther to the water than they'd realized from above. You couldn't just jump into a hide-and-wicker boat, either. Still, with care and patience they managed to board; each of them took a paddle, and they set off onto the dark water.

Maria stood back in the shadows, rain dripping from an eave above her. She didn't really know why she'd slipped out so late at night. She couldn't absolutely guarantee that Alessia would stay asleep-although she'd timed her feeds very carefully for this. Umberto wouldn't wake for anything short of the last trump. She'd wanted to say "good-bye, good luck, and don't be an idiot" to Benito, but there wasn't an opportunity. All she could do was watch him and the dark shape that was Erik go over the wall.

He hadn't even known she was there. She turned and walked back into the dark, feeling a little frightened, and very depressed. This might be the last time she ever saw him, and she hadn't really seen him at all. She wanted to let him know-

– what?

Maybe it was better this way. She had Umberto, who was good for her, and good to her, and she hoped she was being good to him. Benito could never be other than what he was, and it would do no good for him to know what she still felt.

She must have gotten a bit lost in the streets as she was lost in her own thoughts, for when she looked up she realized that she was not where she thought she was.

She took her bearings by the bulk of nearby buildings. There was St. Agatha, the Hypatian chapel, and she knew then that she had gone a little too far. Just as she was about to turn back, she caught sight of a flicker of light.

Someone was coming.

She leaned back against the wall, feeling a shock of apprehension, the kind of thing she used to feel back in Venice when she prowled the canals at night, waiting to be caught in her smuggling by the Schioppies.

But it was only two women talking quietly in Greek. Maria's Greek was still limited. The only word she could catch sounded like "Goddess." It was an odd time to be out, and an odd coincidence to see people. Well, less of a coincidence than all that. If anyone was going to go down to the houses inside the outer curtain wall this was the only road they could follow. Perhaps these were the wives of Arsenal workers or militia, or even guards, back from bringing them something to eat. After the women had gone by Maria proceeded back on her way, crept into the house, and bolted the door quietly. She slipped out of her wet things, rubbed her hair dry and left the wet clothes in the kitchen. Then, crept quietly up the stairs. She stopped and checked on Alessia, and slid into bed next to Umberto.

But sleep was a long time coming.

Out on the sea in the darkness, Benito was getting a first-hand lesson in the difference between paying a gondolier to transport you, or telling sailors where you wanted to go, and rowing yourself.

The first pointed difference was that you actually had to paddle. He was a lot less experienced than Erik, and the coracle was round, which meant they were spending a lot of time spinning slowly. The second difference was that in his previous experience Benito had simply told those in control of the boat his destination, and made finding it their problem. Now it was his and Erik's problem.

The rain obscured them from enemy watchers, which was a good thing. The trouble was it obscured everything, including possible landmarks.

At this rate, thought Benito, we might just end up in Albania after all.

And they hadn't guessed about the wind or the current or even the chop on the water either. They might just end up swimming to Albania… if they didn't end up swimming round and round in circles.

"I think we're going south," whispered Erik.

"I thought we planning on going north?"

Erik grunted. "In this thing we just go where the sea takes us. Bail for a bit."

So Benito bailed; it made more sense than having him try to paddle. It seemed the sea outside the coracle was keen to get into it as fast as possible. It came aboard in enthusiastic splashes that soon had Benito wet to the skin. Here he was, cheek-by-jowl in a giant bowl with Erik Hakkonsen, and he might as well have been alone on the water. Erik was as silent as a dead man, he couldn't see anything, and Benito was so cold he couldn't feel anything either.

The whisper came out of the dark again, at his ear, and he jumped. "There's a headland, I think. Help me paddle."

Gradually the headland loomed up out of the rain. Benito's feet were now ankle-deep in the water in the bottom of the coracle.

It proved to be an islet. They hauled up on it anyway. But they could vaguely make out a white building off across the water. "I think this must be Mouse Islet," said Benito quietly. "We could see it from the wall. There are some buildings on it."

"Dawn can't be that far off, Benito. Is that building we can see over there another island?"

"No. It's a monastery, I think. Just off the mainland jutting into the sea. We could go there, but there's a big inlet ahead. If we go ashore here, we'll be forced to go virtually back into Kerkira."

Erik sighed. "We'll be forced back into this bedamned tub instead, then. Come on. Let's get on with it."

They did. But it became rapidly obvious that the coracle had suffered during the landing on Mouse Islet. The water was calm here, but Benito had to keep bailing. By the time they got within sight of the further shore, it was a race between water coming in and the bailing and paddling. Of course, the more water there was in the vessel the heavier it was to row, and the slower they went, too. Benito started preparing himself to swim.

It proved unnecessary. Just.

Mind you, Benito thought, my clothes are so wet by now that I can't really get any wetter. Despite the exercise, Benito was shivering almost uncontrollably. At least the rain had stopped, but there was still a cold wind blowing.

"I don't think it is worth hiding that… bathtub," said Erik. "We won't be using it to get back, so we might as well just get away from here."

The darkness was still thick as they blundered off into it. Even Benito, used to "seeing" his way around by feel in the darkness of Venice's nighttime rooftops, found the going difficult. Man-made structures had the decency to be at predictable angles! Then his nose picked up something. A hint of wood-smoke.

"There's a fire ahead," whispered Benito.

Erik snorted. "I know. I've been trying to stalk it, with something stumbling along just behind me that makes more noise than a pair of bull-seals having a territory fight in the middle of a Venetian glass-shop. If it's local peasants, we need to ask them some directions. And if it's Hungarian soldiers, we need to avoid them if we can."

Benito shivered. "Right now I'd be happy to go and ask them if I could borrow their fire for a bit."