This Rough Magic

The small Sibling started. 'Here? Here on little Corfu? Oh, no, Father Eneko! Nothing ever happens here. The locals talk about magical Corfu, but it is small magics, if there are any at all. Superstitions and mutterings about the Goddess, but never have I seen a sign of great pagan power. There are a few Jews who may be involved. A Strega charm-seller or two. Virtually every hamlet has its so-called wise-woman, who might dabble in birthing spells . . . but that is it.'

She shook her head emphatically. 'Unless it is something the Hungarian invaders have brought with them, not something from here.'

'Hmm. Might we try a scrying?' As an afterthought, Eneko added: 'And also a contact spell. If there is any chance of contacting him, Brother Mascoli of St. Raphaella in Venice could pass word to the Venetians about the siege, and perhaps get it relieved.'

'Of course, the chapel is yours, Father! I wish I could help you, but I fear that I myself am very unskilled in such matters.' The Sibling smiled, but wistfully. 'You know that the Order welcomes those with many skills—and there never seemed to be a need for a magician here, so they sent me. I'm better with small children and gardens than I am with great magic. A little magic to make my herbs grow, a soothing spell for a colicky child, that sort of thing. I do not believe these will be of service to you now.'

'On the other hand, I could not soothe a child,' Lopez felt impelled to tell her. 'In fact, I rather think I would give it nightmares. The Lord welcomes all who serve, Sibling.'

But a few minutes later, when concentrating on Brother Mascoli's image, Eneko Lopez discovered that now the greater magics were beyond him, too. It was a shock—like reaching for something you knew was there, only it wasn't. Or waking up to find that someone had amputated a hand.

'Look at the archangel Uriel,' whispered Pierre, round-eyed.

Eneko turned, slowly, to look. What he was looking at . . . just wasn't there. The golden glow, haloing the statue, summoned by the invocation, was gone. There was no Ward of the North.

'We enacted the veil ritual without any difficulty.'

'A power great enough to attack an archangel . . .' He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. 'No wonder our scrying didn't work!'

Pierre shook his head. 'It's not so much 'attack,' as 'nullify.' It just isn't there.'

Eneko Lopez stared at the statue of Uriel. 'It can't be the creature of Chernobog; we sent that scuttling. And the archangels were potent enough against him, anyway. Why the keeper of the creatures of the Earth?'

* * *

Maria watched sidelong to see how Benito took Alessia, waiting to be amused at his awkwardness. To her surprise, there was none. He didn't, as Kat had, hold Alessia as if she was made of fragile porcelain. He didn't, as Umberto did, seem to have a problem knowing what to hold. He took and held her as if it was the most natural of things. He supported her head . . . without being told. And he looked oddly pleased. Not something most men looked when handed a baby.

Maria went into the kitchen, drew a jug of wine, and . . . sighed. At times like this, Benito—

She shook her head firmly, snatched up three wine cups and returned to the outer room.

Benito was rocking Alessia with a peculiar smile on his face. After Maria put down the wine and cups, Benito handed Alessia back to her mother.

'You know, that's the first time I've ever held a baby. They're heavier than they look.' He sat down and took the cup of wine that Umberto poured out. 'Thank you.'

Maria smiled wryly. 'And noisier, too. You know, Benito, there is something you could do for me. I've been trying to think how to get a message to him since I saw him this morning. Do you know Erik Hakkonsen? Prince Manfred of Brittany's companion? Sort of a bodyguard?'

Benito grinned wryly. 'You might say so. He's beaten me, drilled me till I fell over, and made my life a misery for the last ten days or so.'

'Oh,' she said, sounding disappointed, but with a twinkle in her eye. 'Well, then you're probably not the right person to tell him that a Vinlander girl called Svanhild, who was on the ship with us, has waited on Corfu to see him. Her and her two brothers. A whole crew of them, in fact.'

Benito jumped to his feet, almost spilling the wine, grinning. 'I'll go and find him right away. He's been like a bear with a sore tooth because of this woman—if it is the right woman. Svanhild, you say she's called? I'll go and ask. Where is she?'

Maria lost the twinkle, and sobered. 'That's the bad part. She's outside the walls, somewhere on the island. I forget the name of the count whose villa they were staying in. Oh, wait—yes, Dentico, I think it is.'

He stared at her in shock. 'Out there? But why aren't they inside? I mean, I thought all the people would have been called into . . .'

Umberto shook his head. 'Nobody was called in. See, some of the townspeople and Venetians who got wind of it just happened to be here. The call has to go out from the captain-general. The commander readied the citadel, but when he asked Tomaselli if the cavalry should go out and escort the people in, the captain-general refused permission.'

Benito swallowed. 'So they're out there—with the enemy burning, raping and looting. And you want me to tell Erik?'

She nodded.

Benito took a deep breath. 'Well. I thought he was bad before. But I have a feeling that this is going to be worse. She definitely wanted to see Erik?'

The corners of her mouth went further down. 'They waited here on Corfu, getting off the Atlantic convoy, just so that she could see him. She was on the breakwater-head waiting when the Outremer fleet came in because she thought he'd be on it.'

'She was in tears because he wasn't on it,' added Umberto.