This Rough Magic

'Very well. But please don't go out of sight of the house. These wild places are dangerous. Rossi has been telling of bears and boar . . .' He trailed off, looking miserably at the house.

Personally, Maria thought Rossi's tales improbable even for the wilds of the fabled east. The half-Slovene was having fun seeing how many stories he could get his new boss to swallow, most likely. But she nodded, since she wouldn't contradict him in front of Rossi. Bad thing, for a boss to be shown up in front of his underlings by a girl-wife, before he'd even met most of those underlings.

Umberto wasn't quite finished. 'Just remember, you're, um . . .' He flushed. 'In a delicate condition.'

Maria nodded again. Poor Umberto. She'd been brutally frank before accepting his proposal: She'd told him straight out that she was pregnant. He'd gone puce, but he'd also managed to say that it wouldn't matter to him. That was quite something from anyone.

Still, Umberto struggled to talk about the pregnancy. It had begun to dawn on Maria that it wasn't the mysterious father so much as the fact that, so far as Umberto was concerned, this was an area men didn't refer to. Ever. Babies just happened, and he would much prefer that things stayed that way, thank you.

Maria walked out past the house, looking about her with wonder. She had never in her life seen trees so tall or so—untamed. Beneath her feet, the springy turf felt very different from dockside boards and stone quays, and the cool air was dry. Wondrously dry. In Venice, the air was thick enough to wring out like a dishrag. The loneliness out here was compelling, and pulled her farther under the trees. In short order, she'd very rapidly broken the injunction about going out of sight of the houses. Rossi's stories and Umberto's concern aside, the hills seemed as unthreatening as a kitten.

And she was in a phase of pregnancy where she just seemed to have too much energy. She was over most of the morning sickness now, and although she'd been told she would become heavy and uncomfortable soon, she still felt strong, not needing to be pampered and cosseted.

Still . . . there was maybe less room in her lungs than there used to be. She sat herself down on a pile of leaves with a neat rock backrest just short of the ridge. The rock was sun-warmed, and she'd walked a long way. A canaler's strength, she realized after a moment, really didn't lie in the legs. She'd just rest a while. Just a little in the sun, the warm sun . . .

* * *

She woke with a start—though, out of habit, not moving, not even to open her eyes. Voices, strange voices; near, but not near enough to see her, obviously. She recognized the one: Rossi, the forester who had brought the caretta to collect them.

'—see any problems. The old man they've sent up doesn't look like he'll understand what is going on, Torfini.' Rossi chuckled. 'I reckon after the wolf, bear and boar stories I told the man and that young woman of his, the two of them will stay barricaded in the house for the next two years, never mind the next two months.'

'Even so. I'm sure it was Rudolpho and Marco who somehow got word to the admirals at the Arsenal. I don't want those two to hook onto the fact that we still have timber to move out. Oak that well curved is much in demand.'

'So who is buying ship ribs now? Constantinople?'

The other man snorted. 'For heaven's sake! I don't care. It's all money.'

'Good money, and I want mine, Torfini.' There was a threat in that voice that made Maria press herself into the rock.

'You'll get it, all right. Just keep everyone away from the Mello ridges for a couple of weeks.'

'I'll find you if I don't get it.'

'You'll get yours.'

Maria waited a good long while after they'd left; the last thing she wanted was for either of those two pizza de merde to guess she'd overheard them. In fact her descent was more alarming than she'd anticipated, for darkness had come on much quicker than she'd expected. It was twilight when she got down to the cottages, which were already twinkling with firelight.

Umberto was standing outside their house, with the door wide open, beside himself. 'Where have you been? I have been so worried! I've got the men out looking for you. There are saw pits . . .'

She patted his cheek, and tried to make him really look at her. 'I'm fine. I just walked farther than I meant to. Then I stopped for a rest, and fell asleep. But Umberto, never mind all that now! I found out something very important.'

He wasn't listening. 'You must be more careful, Maria! This isn't the canals of Venice. It is dangerous out here. You hear me? Dangerous! Rossi told me that before the Old Chief Forester left—'

She tried mightily to keep from snapping at him. She wasn't a child! This wasn't about a new flower or a wild hare she'd seen!

'Umberto, Rossi is a liar. He was trying to keep us indoors. And if the old Chief Forester's name was Torfini, then he hasn't gone far. He was up on that ridge over there talking to Rossi. I heard them.'

He wasn't even listening. He led her indoors, patting her. 'You're in a . . . a delicate condition, Maria. You must rest. I'll get someone to look after you.'

Suddenly she was too tired to fight for him anymore. Maybe if a man told him what was going on, he might actually listen to it. 'Very well. I'll rest. If you go out and get two of your men in here, Rudolpho and Marco.'

'You really must be more careful Maria . . .'

In this, at least, she would be firm. 'Rudolpho and Marco, Umberto. Now. And then I'll rest and be good.'

 

Chapter 3

Grand Duke Jagiellon looked at his new shaman with a strange glow in his inhuman eyes. Count Mindaug