This Rough Magic

Mindaug wasn't too sure how he'd use that, yet. But treachery was, after all, the core value of his world. His researches into magical creatures had stretched a wide net away from the Polish-Lithuanian power base that was his master's realm. He'd looked far, far back. What he'd found was this old one. The shaman was not entirely human any more himself.

But then, in the Ionian islands was something far, far older; quiescent, but far from dead. Jagiellon knew it had been a powerful place once, but actually he knew very little that was verifiable about the island once referred to as Nausicaa, an island which was settled before Etruscans came to the Venetian lagoon. Mindaug wondered if this was, at long last, the moment that the Grand Duke had overreached himself.

 

Chapter 4

It was bitterly cold down here in the water chapel below St. Raphaella. Marco felt it, even through the thick coat and fur collar. Brother Mascoli still wore his simple light-colored habit. The fringe of gray hair about his ears was, if anything, thinner than it had been when Marco first met him. Old people were usually touched more by the cold than the young, but the priest's faith seemed to keep him warm.

Warmer than Marco, anyway. He shivered.

'You are afraid, Marco,' said the Hypatian Sibling gently. 'Don't be. God's will is God's will.'

'I know. But I still question the rightness of what I am doing. I do it for someone I love especially and dearly. This is not just a deed done out of love for my fellow man, or to serve a greater cause.' Marco shook his head. 'Kat and her grandfather must have been praying for the return of her father for years, and if it is God's will that he not return, so be it. All I want to do is find out where he is. If at least they knew what had happened to him, and where he is—or was—it might give them . . . not comfort, exactly, but . . .'

He groped after the concept that he wanted, but he might have known that a Sibling would know very well what he was getting at.

'I understand,' Brother Mascoli said, soothingly. 'Remember, Marco, there is nothing unChristian about asking creatures that are not human for their help, just as it is not unChristian to help them when they come to us for healing.' He smiled. 'Of course, no evil creature would ever approach us for help; their very natures would prevent them coming anywhere near here. And since you helped to heal one undine, all of the unhuman creatures are kindly inclined to you.'

Mascoli put a hand on Marco's shoulder. 'If a stranger had asked this of you, you would have tried?'

Marco nodded.

Mascoli smiled. 'It is not right to deny the same help to those one loves dearly. That, too, would be a sin. He who judges these things knows the intents of the innermost heart, and He is not fooled by the shallow and their pretences. In the presence of men it may sometimes be wise not to show favor to an especially loved one. In the presence of God . . . well, He knows already. And since He is Love incarnate, He will always look kindly upon a deed done out of unselfish love.'

It didn't seem quite so cold down here any more. Marco took a deep breath, and began to ask the blessing of the four great archangels.

The warded corners glowed. Heaven would forfend any attempt to venture evil here. Remembering Brother Mascoli's instructions, he intoned, 'In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, fiat pace.'

Standing now within the veil of light lying weightlessly on the chapel walls, Marco dipped the wine cup into the cold, murky canal water. Discipline and concentration were called for, here. Marco held the wine cup until the water was mirror-still.

He began scrying, building up an image in his mind, calling by their true names, the triton Androcles and his mate Althea.

The images and response came quickly. Wait. We come.

An image of winter waves curling and foam-lines danced across the wine cup . . .

* * *

And a brief moment of a circular suckerlike mouth full of long needle-sharp teeth. And a terrible roaring.

The wards flared to an incandescent brightness, briefly, and there was a sense that something had impacted against them. Hard.

The tall candles were now merely burning wicks in a dripping pool of wax.

Marco nearly dropped the wine cup. He turned to Brother Mascoli. 'What happened?' he asked, afraid and angry at the same time. 'What was that?'

The Hypatian Sibling was already kneeling, ignoring the fact that the stones were wet. 'Join me,' he said hastily. 'We need to strengthen the wards. Now.'

One thing Marco had learned: when a magician said 'now' in that tone of voice, it was no time to ask questions.

'What happened? Are Androcles and Althea all right?' Marco asked as soon as Brother Mascoli had finished leading the invocation. Marco's heart was in his mouth.

'Describe exactly what you saw,' the Sibling said, his usual calm considerably thinner.

Marco did.

Brother Mascoli nodded. 'Yes.' He let out a gusty sigh. 'In my opinion, your merfolk are probably all right. In fact, they're probably completely unaware that anything happened. They were not the target of what you encountered.'

He blinked. 'They weren't?'

Brother Mascoli shook his head, and looked very grave indeed. 'It is clear to me, Marco, that we need to