This Rough Magic

said it to her. 'I like these people, but I have to say that they must be the most obtuse lot I've ever seen. Nothing can be said or done directly, and they use occasions like this one to chatter around and around subjects they've already made their minds up about.'

The older brother heaved a sigh of relief. 'So I'm not the only one who thinks that!'

'I think I know where there will be a quiet room. Or quieter, anyway.' Erik caught a passing page by the elbow, and gave him instructions. 'Just follow me.'

One thing that his previous visits had done was to give him a good grasp of the geography of the Doge's palace, and what was more, let him know what rooms were likely to be closed off to the general invitees. The little chamber off to the side of the council chamber, for instance. It was too small to be useful in a great gathering, and there was no comfortable furniture for assignations.

Not that something like that would stop Manfred . . . But, fortunately, Manfred wasn't there.

'Oh . . .' Svanhild said, as he closed the door behind the three Vinlanders. She looked around at the rather somber room with no hints of gilding or the usual Venetian opulence anywhere, only cold stone and dark wood and grim portraits of former Doges. 'I thought all of the palace was red and gold.'

'Not everywhere.' Erik didn't tell her that this particular chamber was used for interviews with the spies—and sometimes, interrogations. At least they were interrogations that didn't require a trip to less salubrious quarters, the kind equipped with pincers and tongs and ropes and hot irons.

'Here.' He purloined Petro's comfortable chair from behind the formidable desk for Svanhild, and offered the other, uncompromising pieces to her brothers. He sat on the desk, just as the page returned with wine and more refreshments.

'So, tell me why you're here, and about your clan holding in Vinland!' he said with enthusiasm. 'It's been too long since I heard anyone speaking my own tongue.'

Svanhild simply lit up at that invitation. If he was any judge, she was desperately homesick, and, if she'd been able, would have flung herself on the first ship going west. The brothers were full of enthusiasm for their mission and what they expected to accomplish in Venice, but Svanhild wanted to talk about home. About little things—how she missed being able to hunt, how horribly crowded this place felt to her.

'Just like a gigantic ship!' she said, which actually was an excellent observation, seeing how hemmed about Venice was by water. He asked her, in between declamations by her brothers, if she had seen much of the city, and she said 'no' in a tone that suggested to him that she didn't want to. 'There are so many people,' she elaborated. 'Too many. As many just in the inn in which we live as there are in all of our holding!'

Eventually, her brothers announced that they had stayed away from the celebration too long. There was, after all, business to be tended to.

'And the Venetians feel the same, you know.' Erik escorted them out the door and back toward the party. 'They discuss business everywhere, in church, even at funerals! I thought I would never get used to them, or their ways, but I can tell you that underneath it all, they're people who are no different from anywhere else. You'll find you've got plenty in common with them after all.'

But Svanhild cast him a glance that told him that in this much, at least, she was in total disagreement with him.

* * *

Manfred sat down with thump next to Erik, who was sitting in an alcove staring at a wine goblet. 'I never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to come looking for you, instead of the other way around,' said Manfred cheerfully. 'Two hours it's taken me to find you—at least! To think of what I could have gotten up to a few years back, if you'd been like this then.'

Erik looked up, his eyes bleak. 'Manfred, I think I'm in love.'

The young prince grinned. 'Don't worry. I'll get Von Gherens to give you some advice on how to do it. I think you'd prefer it from him rather than from me or Francesca.'

Erik's voice was icy. 'Shut up or I'll break your head. It's not like that.'

Manfred was silent for a few moments. 'Who?' he asked, in a quiet, serious voice. This wasn't like Erik; this could be serious. Erik usually shied away like a nervous horse from women. Francesca and Manfred had been discussing a hypothetical future partner for his mentor not a week back. What had she said? When Erik falls he'll fall hard.

That wasn't a problem. Manfred's opinion of what constituted a suitable girl for Erik, on the other hand, was a problem. She'd have to pass the Manfred test of approval. And for Erik, Manfred set very high standards.

'Svanhild Thordardottar.' Erik sighed. 'Such a beautiful name. And she moves like a swan too.'

Manfred felt real alarm. He started looking around. He needed Francesca. 'Who?'

'You're right. She is like a Valkyrie,' said Erik, dreamily. 'A true shield-maiden. Not one of those girls who needs ten servants just to get dressed in the morning. And such a sweet nature, too—getting stared at and snubbed, and not a complaint out of her about it.'

Manfred stared at his friend, mentor and bodyguard. 'You mean the one with the big pair of—of— bodyguards? The blond one?'

Erik nodded at him, scowling a bit. 'You watch what you say about her.'

'I wouldn't dream of uttering a wrong word,' said Manfred, quite truthfully. Erik was ferocious enough on the training fields even when he wasn't mad about anything.

Erik sighed. 'Not that it really matters. I think I must have said the wrong thing. We were getting on so well. She wanted to know all about Mainz. Next thing they got up and left. Polite, but . . . closing me out.'

'Oh.' Manfred tried hard to keep the relief out of his voice, because of the hurt in Erik's. 'Well, I'm heading out of here. This affair is beginning to drag.'

Erik stood up with a sigh. 'Yes. I could use my bed, I suppose.'