Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

Von Gherens didn't reply. Perhaps he realized that Manfred didn't really want an answer. Presently Francesca came up to the battlement, and took him by the elbow as he stared off into the hills. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. "It's time to come down, Manfred. Perhaps tomorrow night…"

"Look. Look, Manfred!" Von Gherens pointed. Manfred whirled and followed the direction of his finger.

On the far hills a bonfire had blossomed, a tiny pinpoint of yellow and red. Now another. Then a third.

"You're hurting me, Manfred," said Francesca quietly.

Hastily, Manfred let go of her shoulder. "Sorry, dear." He took a deep breath, then let out a long sigh of relief. He should have known; and he should have trusted that those damned Vinlanders were as hard to kill as his Icelander. "And he's even found the girl! Come on, Francesca. Now, I really will sleep. Not even Emeric's damned guns will keep me awake."

"About time, too," grumbled Von Gherens. "Keep him under lock and key, Francesca. I'm going across to the hospital to see how Falkenberg does."

Manfred smiled. "I'm too tired and, to be honest, too relieved to gallivant tonight, Fritz. How is Falkenberg, by the way?"

"He had some fever and infection. But Father Francis, one of Eneko Lopez's companions, has been treating him. It looks like he might mend, Manfred. He swore at me this morning, at least. That was a relief after all the 'I-am-about-to-die' piety when I visited him the time before. He must think he has more time to make his peace with the Lord."

"Well, we can use another knight-proctor. I must go over and see him tomorrow morning, and get him used to the idea."

"Oh, no." Von Gherens shook his head. "When he's up, he's coming to run alternate bodyguard shifts with me. Erik ordered it. And now that we know the mad Icelander is alive out there, do you really think any of us are going to take a chance on him coming back and finding out we didn't do exactly what he said?"

Taki looked at the boy. Looked at the silver on the battered table. Looked back at the boy.

He could easily be one of Taki's usual crew. Curly black hair, olive skin, old clothes, bare feet. Short, but broad of shoulder. Taki looked at the silver again. There was quite a lot of it, but Taki could count a table-full of coins with a single glance.

Finally, deciding, he nodded and reached for it.

The youngster put his hand over the coins. "Not so fast, Captain. One quarter when I get to your boat. One quarter when I get over there. And one half when you give Erik a note I write for you when I'm safe."

Taki eyed the man called Erik. A scary one, that. Nothing would get past him-and nothing would stop him if he felt the need to do something. Except maybe death, and Taki wouldn't bet on that. "How do I know he will give me the money?"

Spiro chuckled. "Taki, take it from me, the Case Vecchie isn't trying to cheat you. He just doesn't trust your ugly face."

Taki did his best to look affronted. "Me? You can trust me. Ask anyone!" he bellowed, gesturing theatrically.

"Except about the freshness of his fish," said one of men in the tavern with a gap-toothed grin.

The tavern's occupants laughed.

Taki scowled and waved a fist vaguely. "You want to lose some more teeth, Adoni?"

Spiro shook his head. "He's all right, Benito. One of the best skippers on the island. Even if his fish…" He ducked.

Benito grinned. "I'm not that fond of fish anyway."

"Ah, but do you like cheap wine?" grinned the gap-toothed one.

"I only know one person who is fonder of it," snorted Erik. He shook his head, dubiously, studying Taki and his crew. "I think I should ration all of you. Between the lot of you, you'll end up sailing off to Vinland instead of across the Strait of Otranto."

"I sail best when I'm drunk!" insisted Taki, belligerently.

"At least he thinks he does," said Kosti.

"Has he ever tried it any other way?" asked Benito. This fishingboat's crew were beginning to give him a pleasant feeling of nostalgia for his days as a rooftop thief. They were as crazy as Valentina and Claudia had been in the early days.

Kosti shook his head. "Not so as anyone has ever noticed. But to be fair, he hasn't sunk us yet."

"Let's hope he can keep that up." Benito put the silver back in his pouch. "When and where do I see you, Captain?"

"Tomorrow night. We'll have to go and fetch the old boat, and get her round here. But there's a cove a couple of miles beyond Paleokastritsa we can lie up in. If you don't know the coast, it doesn't look like it's there at all. We should be there sometime before tomorrow, and we'll sail on the windrise after dark. Spiro can get one of the local kids to guide you over there. We've got a fishing boat to get off an island."

"And we've got to get over to the islet," said Kosti, suddenly glum. "Yani's boat is still underwater, I suppose."

The captain grinned evilly and slapped him on the back. "And guess who is going to be swimming out there."

Trudging up the hill carrying Alessia, Maria felt ill at ease about her destination. In the background she could hear Emeric of Hungary's cannon pounding away at the outer wall, reminding her that things weren't normal. But that wasn't what was making her nervous. She was going to the governor's palace in the Castel a mar. The Castel a mar was not nearly as grandiose as the Doge's palace in Venice, but it was somehow more intimidating. As imposing as it was, the Doge's palace in Venice had been the property of the people of Venice by sheer familiarity.

The guards at the gates also thought she didn't belong here.

They barred her way with their pikes. "You can't go in here, woman. His Excellency only has public audiences on Wednesdays. Come back then." The guard who spoke looked at her without much interest, his tone of voice more bored than anything else.

"I don't want to see his Excellency. I want to speak to Prince Manfred. He will see me."

The guard snorted. "And no doubt you've brought his baby with you! Go on with you, get lost."

"Maybe she's a Teutonic knight in disguise," said the other, chuckling at his own wit.

She reined in her temper, and remained polite. "Can't you send a message to him? Tell him Maria Verrier would like to see him. Please?" She hated her own voice, so subservient-but angering them wouldn't get her anywhere.

"Hark at her!" One of the guards jerked a disdainful thumb at Maria. " 'Please!' Listen, dearie. We don't run a messenger service for Scuolo women to have chats with princes. He'll send for you if he wants you."

Maria flushed with anger, and was just considering whether it would be worth the consequences of pushing her dagger through his ear when the guards suddenly jerked themselves out of the slouch and came to attention. The frail, white-haired podesta's wife was coming down.

For all the attention that Contessa Renate De Belmondo paid the guards they might as well have been statues, except one does not nod to statues. She did, however, greet Maria with every sign of pleasure.

"Maria Verrier, is it not? Have you come for our little chat? I am so sorry! I have to go across to the garrison in the Castel a terra right now. Would you mind coming in and waiting for me?"

Maria realized that Marco's efforts on her behalf had borne fruit after all. She did her best to curtsey, which, as she'd never been taught and she had a baby in her arms, was not a success. But Lady Renate was real quality, certainly as far as Maria was concerned, and ignored the awkwardness. Such things were only important to Case Vecchie curti, new money that still had to try to establish how important they were. For the Lady Renates of the world, it wasn't important how you looked-money could buy looks-it was what you were.