This Rough Magic

He provided no details, and Bianca decided not to ask. She wasn't afraid of Fianelli, but she was cautious around him. A man like that . . . it didn't pay to press questions. Bianca didn't know what had happened to the woman he'd once been keeping as a bedmate. But she did know that the woman had disappeared a few weeks after she got bold enough to start nagging at Fianelli.

'Nagging,' at least, as Fianelli would consider it. The criminal chief's definition had a pretty low entry bar.

So, best not to ask any questions not directly relevant to the work at hand. Bianca leaned forward in her chair a bit.

'I think I've got the man you want. And the way to trap him.'

Fianelli cocked an eyebrow. 'Can't be just some common soldier you're playing with.'

Bianca suppressed a spike of anger. I don't copulate with common soldiers, you—!

But she suppressed the reaction. First, because while she didn't sleep with common soldiers—not lately, at least—she was in no position to be finicky about her bed partners. Second, because the moment was too delicate for anger to be muddling her. Third, because a part of her was enjoying the vengeful twist in the game. Querini really was an oaf.

'He's a cavalry captain. Querini's his name. Alfredo Querini.'

One of the three men who were also lounging around the huge table grunted. Bianca thought his name was Zanari. 'I know him. A bit, not well.'

'What's the hook?' asked Fianelli.

'He likes to gamble. And he's not good at it, even in the best of times. Give it a few months—' Bianca let the rest of the sentence trail off. She'd been in a siege once herself, but saw no reason to let Fianelli know.

'Sieges get boring, true enough,' mused Fianelli. 'And since before too long everybody's on rations, there's always a lot of loose money around. Idle hands and idle money, so there always starts to be a lot of gambling.'

He squinted a little, looking at Bianca. The expression was not exactly suspicious, but . . . close. 'I don't run the kind of gambling establishments that a cavalry captain would frequent.'

'No, but you can make contact with someone who does. Count Dentico and his sons.'

Fianelli's suspicions rose closer to the surface. 'Why not you? You're closer to those Libri d'Oro circles than I am.'

This was the tricky moment. Fianelli was right, of course. In the year she'd been on Corfu, Casarini had made it a point to cultivate good relations with a number of the Greek aristocrats on the island. The 'Libri d'Oro,' they were called, after the 'golden book' in which the Venetian masters of Corfu had recorded the names of those Corfiote families who were given preferential treatment.

The truth was that Bianca could easily introduce Querini to the Denticos. She knew all of them, after all. But Bianca was determined to keep herself at least one step removed from the treasonous links she was creating. Fianelli, like almost all criminals she'd ever known, tended to look at the world solely through his own eyes. He thought of what he would do, giving little more than cursory attention to what the authorities would do other than the obvious. Understandable enough, given the generally crude and sloppy methods of police work followed in most Italian or Greek cities.

Sloppy and crude when it came to simple criminal activity, that is. When it came to treason, those same authorities—given the history of Italy and the Greek territories—were far more energetic and astute. Bianca was pretty sure that Fianelli's activities in the past had steered clear of politics, though, so he wouldn't really understand the difference.

But she did. Sooner or later, there was a good chance the Venetian rulers of Corfu would detect treachery at work. They were almost bound to, even with a captain-general as incompetent as Nico Tomaselli. First, because anyone with any experience knew that treason was the single most acute danger to a fortress under siege, so they'd be looking for it. Second, because in this instance Bianca would also be undermining the traitors as well as the authorities. Her mistress Elizabeth Bartholdy wanted Corfu to fall to Emeric, true; but not quickly.

Fortunately, Bianca had prepared for the moment. She squirmed a bit in her chair, doing her best to let a trace of an embarrassed flush enter her skin. 'I can't,' she murmured. 'Count Dentico—his son Flavio too, well . . . Let's just say we're not on good terms, any longer.'

Fianelli smiled thinly. One of his thugs smiled broadly. Papeti, his name was. He had the annoying habit of openly ogling Bianca, she'd noticed. She was sure that her veiled suggestion that she'd had sexual relations with both the Count and his oldest son would make the man even more aggressive toward her in the future. Probably to the point of becoming a real problem, in fact.

But the future could take of itself. Bianca Casarini was not worried about her ability to handle a common thug. Countess Bartholdy was still withholding many secrets from her, but she'd given Bianca a great deal of other training.

Her ploy did the trick. Fianelli leaned back in his chair, visibly more relaxed. She was not surprised. Another characteristic of criminals was their ready willingness to believe the worst of people. 'The worst,' as they saw it— and they had a very limited imagination.

In point of fact, while Bianca knew the Denticos, she'd been careful to keep a distance from the family once she'd assessed them fully. Early on, she'd decided they would be the easiest among the Libri d'Oro to lure into treason, when the time came. For one thing, they were fairly open about their pro-Byzantine inclinations; for another, they were almost blatantly corrupt. But that had become apparent so quickly that she'd seen no reason to develop intimate relations with either the Count or his sons. She never lacked for bed partners, after all, and she wanted no obvious links between herself and those whom she was fairly sure would eventually be executed.

'All right,' Fianelli said. He cocked his head a little, glancing to the man who seemed to be the chief of his little squad of enforcers. That was the Florentine, Saluzzo.

'See to it, Paulo. Since Zanari already knows Querini, he can start that side of it. Put on your best Italian manners and start cultivating the Denticos.'

Saluzzo nodded. He murmured something in addition, but Bianca didn't catch the words. The kitchen was rattling again.