This Rough Magic

Benito gave her a little bow. 'I'll take my leave, too, Umberto, Maria. I'll take a look in down at the Little Arsenal, Umberto. I want to see those boats.'

'Come back and tell me what you think.'

Maria walked him to the door. Bit her lip, looking at him. 'Thanks,' she said quietly.

He shrugged. 'It's nothing. I'll come again, if you like. Umberto kind of surprised me. He's got interesting ideas about those fireboats.'

That had surprised her too. 'He looks better for the visit. But next time let me show you how to fold a napkin.' It was a tacit admission that she wouldn't object to a next time, she thought, as she patted Alessia's derriere. 'This is a mess.'

'So was what I found there, believe me. I'll see you.'

He probably wouldn't, she thought. He'd be off on his next madcap stunt, which would be far more interesting than looking after a sick man and a baby.

* * *

'And where have you been, young feller-me-lad?' asked Manfred, with a buffet that would have made Benito's ears ring for a good while if he hadn't ducked. 'Enjoying the adulation of the admiring young women of the Citadel? Francesca tells me you're a very sought-after young bachelor.'

Benito grinned. 'It's hard being popular. If only you weren't seven sizes too big you could try it.' He ducked again. 'Listen, seriously, do you know about the project they've been busy with at the Little Arsenal? The fireboats?

Manfred shook his head. 'No. And whose project is this?'

'That's just it: The Arsenalotti have been at odds with the captain-general. So they've been doing it on their own. They've got nearly thirty of these things built. They reckon they've materials for twice that. They're smallish boats—long and slim and designed for speed. Umberto—Maria Verrier's husband—designed the things. I've just been down to have a look. The guy is good, Manfred. Those things, with a good following wind, will be like arrows.'

'And just how are we supposed to launch these arrows?' asked Falkenberg, curiously. 'Hold the beach while they're carried outside?'

'They've been built to be lowered over the wall into the water. He got the idea from Erik and me and our coracle stunt. Except they're making davits and winches. One of the men down at the Little Arsenal was showing me.

'And you say they've kept this in the dark?'

'Not deliberately. They were just looking for an opportunity to bring it up.'

'With Tomaselli in charge, that won't happen,' said Falkenberg. 'Not that it isn't a good idea. Might be, at least. Take me down for a look in sometime, Benito.'

* * *

Count Mindaug was scowling fiercely. Given the slight distortion always present in the summoned image above the blood-bowl, the expression made him look even uglier than ever.

'I hadn't thought he'd be this cautious, Elizabeth,' Mindaug admitted. 'By now, I'd expected Jagiellon to have intervened directly.'

The countess decided that her silvery laugh would irritate Mindaug too much, at the moment. So she kept her expression simply serene. 'Keep in mind, Kazimierz, that Chernobog is ancient, even if the shell he inhabits—that thing that used to be the prince Jagiellon—is still a relatively young man. For demons, 'ancient' and 'prudent' are almost synonyms. Even for a demon with a savage temper like his.'

'True enough. Still—'

'Give it time. Which we have, by the way. Months yet, probably. The attempted treason failed, and my agent in the fortress informs me that any further attempts will take considerable time to organize. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, given Chernobog's hesitancy—the woman who is running the Citadel's counterespionage work is extremely astute.'

Mindaug's eyebrows rose. 'A woman? Since when do Venetians—'

'She's not Venetian. She's one of the Imperials. Prince Manfred's leman, to boot, so she has plenty of influence. Her name is Francesca de Chevreuse. The name she goes by, I should say, since I doubt very much it's her real one.'

Now, the Count was shaking his head. For a moment, the tips of his sharp-filed teeth showed. 'What is the world coming to? In the old days—yourself excepted, of course—women handled the gossip, not the statecraft.'

Since Mindaug's mood seemed to be improving, Elizabeth issued her silvery laugh. 'Don't be silly. Even in Lithuania, that's not true. Or have you already forgotten Grand Duchess Imenilda?'

'That was almost a century ago. Besides, she was Ruthenian. The Ruthenians have always been a peculiar lot. Meaning no offense.' Elizabeth Bartholdy had quite a bit of Ruthenian blood in her own ancestry.

'None taken, I assure you. To get back to the point, Kazimierz, I really think you're worrying too much.'

Count Mindaug studied her for a moment. Then said abruptly: 'That may be, Elizabeth. But the fact remains that I now need to consider, seriously, the consequences of failure. If this trap of yours doesn't work—even if only because Jagiellon avoids it—I will be the one to face the immediate repercussions. Not you.' He raised his hand and eyed it. 'Granted, it's not the finest skin in the world, but it's the only one I've got. I'd just as soon avoid having it served up for one of the monster's meals.'

He lowered the hand and brought his eyes back to hers. 'I'll need to run, Elizabeth—which means I'll need a place to run to.'

The countess ran a delicate fingertip across her lower lip, thinking. She was not surprised, of course, that