This Rough Magic

* * *

The next day, Bianca began both projects. At midday, by wearing a rather provocative gown when she went to meet Paulo Saluzzo in order to pass on further information to his boss Fianelli. Bianca was normally careful to wear nothing but modest attire whenever she met Fianelli or any of his goons.

Saluzzo noticed—immediately—but was suave enough to do nothing more than give her a fairly subtle ogle, and a leer that could charitably be called a friendly smile.

Bianca did not return the smile. Moving too quickly would make Saluzzo suspicious. He was Florentine, after all. This needed some finesse. In any event, Bianca was in no hurry.

'And make sure you stress to Fianelli that we need to start setting up a sacrificial lamb,' she said sternly. 'That whore of the prince's—the one who calls herself 'de Chevreuse'—she's a canny one. My informants tell me she's already more or less running the Citadel's countertreason work. There's no way she won't spot something, sooner or later. When that time comes, we need to have made sure that someone else's head goes on the block.'

Saluzzo grunted. The sound was mildly sarcastic. 'Don't teach double-dealing to double-dealers, Signorina Casarini. Fianelli's already got the man picked out, and Zanari's starting to work on him. Nachelli's his name. He's a small-time loan shark and rent collector. Too greedy for his own good. We'll cut him in on just enough to make him visible, without letting him know enough to lead anyone to us.'

Bianca had her doubts. How could you 'cut someone in' without the man knowing your own identity? But . . .

Fianelli was direct, after all, and not squeamish in the least. Presumably, when the time came, he would see to it that the Venetian authorities would be trying to interrogate a corpse.

She'd leave that to Fianelli and his thugs. Bianca had her own plans for getting rid of them, when the time came. They'd be her sacrificial lambs, just as this Nachelli would be theirs.

She left the hidden alley where her meetings with Saluzzo took place. They couldn't afford to be spotted, so the meetings were always very brief. On her way past him, she felt Saluzzo's fingers brushing her hip. But it was a tentative thing, more in the way of an automatic reflex to the gown and what it suggested than anything serious. Saluzzo was not actually stupid, and he would understand as well as she did that there was no safe place for them to pursue any affair. They might be able to find a place hidden from public eyes, to be sure. But they'd also have to keep it hidden from Fianelli—and that would be a lot more difficult.

The knowledge would frustrate Saluzzo, and for weeks to come. Good. After she arranged the killing of her 'relatives,' Saluzzo would be that much more eager to pursue Bianca, now that she had a house of her own in which to meet him.

* * *

When she'd arrived on Corfu, the year before, Bianca had brought several large pieces of luggage with her. There were secret compartments in two of those valises, where she kept her grimoires hidden along with her magical tools and ingredients. After pleading a headache to her 'aunt' and 'uncle,' she spent the afternoon in her room studying the texts. By nightfall, she'd decided on the method she would use.

It required the blood of innocents, of course—and no mere animal blood. Not for that ritual.

Bianca rose and put away the grimoires. Then, moved to the window in her room. Looking down, she could see the narrow street of the Citadel which her room overlooked. As always, these days—even in this relatively prosperous area of the fortress, set aside for Venetians—the street swarmed with people. Children, many of them, and most of those beggars.

A little boy, perhaps five years old, looked up at her window and gave her a big smile. It was a beggar's smile, seeking aid from the fine lady.

Not all that innocent, to be sure, not with that trace of calculation which had no business on the face of a five-year-old. But . . .

He'd do. Bianca smiled back, very sweetly. Tomorrow, she'd start giving him food. Quite a bit, in fact. That ritual required fat as well as blood.

 

Chapter 52

First things first, Benito decided, when he arrived in Reggio di Calabria. He still had two silver pennies—he'd told that rogue of an oil trader he only had one to avoid trouble. He'd need money, but right now, immediately if not sooner, he needed food.

He found a very respectable-looking taverna next to the quay, plainly not a seaman's place, but aimed at the clerks and minor merchants who worked down there. It was a bit above his present guise, but . . . the bouquet drifting out of the doorway was pure temptation.

Benito had never been very good at resisting that kind of temptation. Or most any other, for that matter. He went in, looked around the crowded room for a seat, and finally took his place at the end of one of the benches. The clerkly type next to him gave him an opaque glance, but at least he didn't pull in the skirts of his coat.

The waiter looked rather doubtfully at Benito. 'You have money?' he asked. The tone was carefully neutral. As likely as not, given the proximity to the quay, occasional sailors fresh off a ship and with their pockets full came this way.

Benito nodded. The waiter took a quick glance toward the kitchens, and then whispered to Benito: 'I shouldn't say this, but my brother's a seafaring man. The prices here are sky-high. The food's good, so long as you don't touch the pork. But there is a cheaper place down the quay. The food is lousy but it's cheap.'

Benito grinned at the fellow, and winked. 'Well, this time I'll go with the good food with sky-high prices. Will two silver cover it and a jug of wine?' It was foolishness to spend down to the reserves, but Benito felt in need of a bit of foolishness. Finding a fence in a strange seaport was going to be a challenge.

The waiter nodded. 'Si. I'll see you get the best,' and he was scurrying off to the kitchen.

Benito had timed his arrival well. He hadn't been sitting for more than a few minutes when the locals came