This Rough Magic

'Prince Manfred. Erik. What do you think I should do with the boy?'

'Give him to me,' growled Erik. 'I'll take him away from Venice and sort him out. And right now I need someone to beat, besides Manfred.'

Petro Dorma blinked, gave them both a penetrating look, and smiled broadly. 'You know, I think I might just take you up on that. I was going to send him out to Corfu as my factor for a year or two, anyway. You two can take him along with you. If you don't mind that is, Prince Manfred?'

Manfred nodded. 'Of course not.' With a wry smile he asked. 'How much trouble can one boy be?'

Petro snorted. 'In the case of this one, plenty. I will arrange this with the chief Justice. He keeps a straight face better than I do. I, of course, am far too angry to even see him. He has damaged the reputation of our fair city and the Casa Dorma. And his brother. And he's quite spoiled the dignity of his brother's wedding.'

'But hasn't he?' asked Erik, seeming rather puzzled by Dorma's good humor.

Dorma smiled. 'Please, Erik! This is a port city. It's not quite as decadent as Aquitaine, but we are not Icelandic puritans here. The Venetians are shocked, yes, of course. Venetians love being shocked. It is a wonderful story and will grow into the most improbable legend. And Benito will acquire a reputation twice as large as it is already. I must send Benito out of town before he is forced, by a desire to live up to the legend, to do something even more crazy.'

Erik shook his head. 'You Venetians are all crazy.'

Petro laughed, and shook his head. 'There is something in what you say. Now tell me, Manfred, Benito's um, partner in crime. Do I have to get her out of prison too?'

'Who? Lolita? No, she took off like a scalded cat, Petro. Laughing like a mad thing.' Manfred remembered that quite clearly. Her little bare rear was just as luscious as the front.

Petro raised an eyebrow, but said only: 'Good. I would hate to think Benito had gotten someone other than himself into trouble.'

Manfred snorted. 'In this case your worry is wasted effort.'

'Nevertheless,' said the Doge, with an attempt at seriousness. 'I feel I should investigate these dancers. It sounds like a lively spot.'

'That young hellion would find a lively spot in a Shetland town,' grumbled Erik. 'And if he couldn't find one, he'd make one.'

* * *

Benito was in trouble, and knew it. More trouble than he'd ever been in before.

He'd never been in this room before; this was where they took people who had done things that were just short of murder or robbery, a darkly somber room that left no doubt in the prisoner's mind that he had trespassed on at least five of the Ten Commandments. There was pretty little doubt that everybody was still nearly incandescently angry with him. The chief Justice had not so much as cracked a smile when the affair with the bear had been related to him by the bear's former owner. By the time it had got to the challenge on the Rialto bridge . . .

Well, he sounded like God Himself, thundering out the Law.

'The Rialto bridge is one of the most important landmarks of our fair city! Your drunken and licentious behavior has brought shame onto us. I gather only your drunkenness has saved you from the more serious charge of public fornication.'

The chief Justice had eyes that could pierce a fellow like a pair of stilettos. 'That you should do this on the occasion of your brother's matrimony!—and as a ward of our Doge!—simply makes your lewd behavior and other offences more heinous still.'

The Justice paused. He seemed to be waiting for Benito to say something.

'Yes, milord,' he said, faintly.

The floodgates opened again. 'This is not the first time you have been in trouble in this court. I see the record indicates you have been fined for brawling here before. I therefore sentence you to a fine of one hundred ducats, and the owner of the bear is to be recompensed for the loss of his animal. And you, Benito Valdosta, are hereby given a choice. Remain imprisoned here for a year. Or be exiled from the City of Venice for a period of five years.'

Benito swallowed; this was serious. Really serious, this time. One hundred ducats! That was a year's earnings for a gentleman-at-arms. More money than he had. Dorma had paid him an allowance, but he had a feeling that would not be available any more.

All right; he'd pawn everything he had. Somehow he'd take care of the fine. But he was damned if he'd turn tail and run away into exile; he'd messed up, he'd take it like a man. 'I'll take the impri—'

But he was interrupted.

'Pardon, Milord Justice! If I might be permitted to speak?'

It was the one and only member of the public who hadn't just come to gawk at Venice's latest scandal: Marco. Benito wished like hell he hadn't come.

The chief Justice nodded approvingly. 'Permission is granted, Milord Marco Valdosta.'

'No!' protested Benito. Damn it, Marco, you can't get me out of this one!

The Justice looked sternly at him. 'Silence. Or I will have you silenced, Benito Valdosta.'

Marco cleared his throat. 'Your Honor. As Benito, my brother, is the ward of the Doge, no special consideration can be shown to him.'

The Justice nodded gravely. 'Well said. Indeed, I have a message here from Petro Dorma, instructing me that Benito Valdosta is to be treated in the same way that any other citizen of Venice would be treated.'