This Rough Magic

you think that Kerkira's taverns are too low-class for you. Rent a house.'

'We have been trying to, ja.'

Maria recognized Svanhild's distinctive voice and accent. She sounded tired.

'Everything decent they want a year's lease on. We should only be here for days,' rumbled a deeper, similarly accented voice.

That must be one of Svanhild's brothers, thought Maria.

'Usually they hire for either the summer or winter, to fit in with the convoys,' explained the sharp voice. Definitely a Venetian, probably the captain-general himself, thought Maria. Oh, dear. Umberto would have to work under him and he did not sound like an easy man. 'You should be able to negotiate a six month lease.'

'But we only want it for a few days until the eastbound convoy comes!' said the Svanhild voice, unhappily.

Maria peered into the room. It was Svanhild indeed, and both of her large brothers. And a comparatively small, dark man at a large untidy desk. The room was generously proportioned but it looked overfull of irritated Vinlanders.

The man at the desk sighed, snatched a piece of parchment from his desk, and scrawled something on it. 'Here. Count Dentico has an estate outside of the town. He has a second villa some miles away. Perhaps he would be prepared to lease it to you for such a period. Perhaps there will be rooms enough for your escort. I do not know. Now please, I have business to attend to.' He pointed to the door. 'You can hire horses and a local guide at the taverna just across the Spianada. Good-bye.'

Svanhild and her brothers emerged. The statuesque blonde blinked to see Maria and Umberto. 'What are you doing here?' she asked, though her surprised tone made it very clear that she was not being rude.

'We have come to see the captain-general,' said Maria. 'My husband will be working here.'

Svanhild sniffed and rubbed her hot forehead, leaving a little smudge. 'He is not a very helpful man,' she said unhappily, and walked off, following her brothers.

The military commander of Corfu stood up and limped across to the doorway. He looked at Umberto and Maria, and glared magnificently. 'This is not an inn. Or an employment office.'

Umberto looked more than a little terrified. 'My name is Verrier. I have been sent from Venice. I am to be a foreman . . .'

The glaring eyes cleared. 'Ah. You must the man they've sent to deal with the Little Arsenal. We've had some problems with the local labor and the guilds.' The captain-general bowed to Maria. 'This beautiful lady must be your wife. I am Captain-General Nico Tomaselli. For my sins the Council has stationed me here.

'Come in,' he added, in a more pleasant tone of voice, as he walked back to his desk. 'You must tell me how I can serve you. My people were supposed to see you in to your home and invite you to come up to see me. The Little Arsenal is the heart of this outpost of the empire.'

Maria scowled at him, behind his back, then quickly smoothed her expression into something more pleasant. She was always wary with people who handed out the flattery too liberally, especially when she'd seen the same person ready to backhand those he disliked or looked down upon. But at least he was not letting his anger with Svanhild wash onto Umberto. Though poor Svanhild could hardly know that the conditions she had found in Venice would not hold in Corfu.

Umberto bowed. 'Umberto Verrier. I am a master-craftsman in the Guild of Caulkers. I had heard there were problems, I mean, I had been told that there were some difficulties that needed smoothing out. Could you tell me more?'

The captain-general shrugged. 'It's quite simple, really. The local men, whom we employ as laborers in the repair-yard, are an undisciplined bunch. They'll do any job. The journeymen complain they're encroaching. The locals say that as they can't be apprenticed, why should they obey 'prentice rules? They all drink too much and get into fights about it.'

Umberto, who was a slight man, looked alarmed. 'In the shipyard? But guild rules . . .'

The captain-general blew out through his teeth. 'We're a long way from the guild halls of Venice, signor. If you throw one of these guildsmen out, it may be six months before you can replace him. The Greek labor should be easy, but the honest truth is they don't much like working here. The Venetians say they're lazy. But the truth is that they're an independent lot, Greeks. Live on past glories and expect to be treated as if they were all sons of Ulysses. Or Odysseus, as they'll insist he should be called.'

Tomaselli's practiced glare was back, this time aimed at the open window and the town beyond. 'I can guarantee you won't be there for more than a week before you have at least one of the Greeks calling you an uncivilized Italian upstart. There's always trouble. We've got a fair number of Illyrians from the mainland as a result. And they fight with the Greeks, too.' He shrugged. 'As I said: There's always trouble. You'll need a firm hand. Part of the problem is that they work frantically for about six weeks a year. The rest of the time there really isn't enough work for half of them. But to keep a skilled force we've got to employ them all year round.'

Umberto had the look of man who, in the attempt to avoid a dog turd, had stepped into a scorpion pit instead.

* * *

The town fanned out from the Citadel, on the main body of the island. Maria crossed the causeway and walked south, toward the quay-side. She had asked for directions to the market areas and got several vague pointers in this direction. It made sense: This was where the ships came in; this was where the traders would congregate. As she got closer she realized she could have just followed her nose.

The stalls along the pavements were full of things that were both familiar and fascinatingly different. Barrows piled high with crocks of olives, bunches of dried fish, boxes of filberts, trays of fried cuttlefish, mounds of cheeses . . . jostled with racks of embroidered jackets and starched white fichus. Next was what was plainly a baker, with the enticing smells of fresh bread and a display of strange, sticky-looking confectionary. Maria went into the narrow little shop and up to the counter, where a little dark-eyed woman studied her with undisguised curiosity. In a smallish town like this, the shopkeepers probably knew most of their customers.

The little women bobbed. 'And how may I help you, Kyria?'