straight and too fine; and his eye color was a sure giveaway.
Francesca shook her head. 'I think this is a lost cause. Maybe we could curl his hair . . .'
'I could break his nose for him,' offered Von Gherens, feeling his own skew organ set in his burn-scarred face. 'Always makes a man look different, that.'
'Thank you,' said Erik, putting his hand protectively over his threatened nose. 'You are well suited to bodyguarding Manfred.'
'I think you should just wear this woolen hat,' said Francesca decisively. 'And keep away from people if you can. Claim a passing sailor got you on your mother. That could account for the looks.'
Erik smiled. Now that he was actually going to look for Svanhild, he seemed imperturbable; strangely at peace and at ease. 'Why, thank you, too, Francesca.'
* * *
Manfred grunted. 'It's barely a cockleshell, Erik. If the wind comes up you'll be swamped in moments.'
Benito agreed with Manfred, but they'd had some trouble finding a boat, quietly.
Erik didn't seem perturbed, however. At the moment nothing seemed to perturb Erik. The Corfiote seaman had refused, even for a considerable bribe, to guide them out. His first experience of being under fire, and the new troops arriving in the carracks, had frightened the bravado out of him. When he'd refused, Erik had just shrugged, asked a few questions, and proceeded as planned. The arrival of several more ships from the south at sundown hadn't worried him. Even the skin and withy coracle, normally used to hold a caulker working around a larger vessel, was fine by him.
'It's light enough to lower down the wall, Manfred. And the sea out there is not the Atlantic.'
'Still looks like a cockleshell. And I wish you had your armor on.'
Erik chuckled. 'Von Gherens, this is what you'll have to deal with. One minute, I'm going to capsize. The next I should wear armor so I can drown when I do capsize. Stop worrying, Manfred. Next thing you'll want me to take a horse in the cockleshell, and wood for the signal fires.'
'He's just jealous because he doesn't want to sit inside a fortress under siege while you're out there,' said the older
'You're not savvy enough to be let out on your own,' grumbled Manfred.
Erik smiled, a flash of teeth in the darkness. 'I'm not dealing with the political infighting in Mainz, or tavern or brothel brawls, Manfred. I'll be fine out there. There's a lot of wild country; I cut my teeth in wilderness like this. You worry about Benito. He doesn't know how to move in it. Now let us go. I want to get moving while we still have a chance to get out without detection.'
* * *
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
