This Rough Magic

A little later, after this was done, the shaman returned, determined to follow and if possible arrange an attack on the two vessels heading for Corfu. The adversary was in one of them.

* * *

Father Francis frowned, bracing himself against the bulkhead while the vessel lurched. 'Much of this plan relies on the enemy not being forewarned. But, Eneko, if we are being followed by some magical creature, and it was able to direct those fleets to attack, will it not warn the besiegers?'

Eneko nodded; he was tired, and he had rather not do this now—but there was certainly no time to wait. 'So we shall have to try to drive it away.'

Diego stretched. 'Bah. So we have to deal with that thing again! You know, Eneko, I think I can still taste the slime. Well, soonest done, quickest mended. When will we try it?'

'Before the ships turn to make the tack back toward Corfu. It may conclude that we plan to make landfall. That is well and good. If it is in contact with the land-troops, let them patrol there while we attempt to reach the Citadel.' He stood. 'Brothers, let us cast the circle and call the wards. I believe that we will have much the same aid this time as the last. Perhaps, forewarned, we will make better use of it.'

Perhaps, he thought, This time the surprise will be on our side.

* * *

Two hours later the shaman had retreated with desperate haste to deep water, and was begging the master to open up a passage. Jagiellon answered, with the same twisting passage through the spirit- world, but it seemed an eternity to the shaman. He fled up it, and was spewed out onto the stone floor in a heap, gracelessly.

* * *

The hagfish transformed into its human form, and the shaman started screaming. His wrinkled skin was blistered, with long, raised lash-marks. Even transposition could not heal them.

Jagiellon allowed him to scream for some few moments, before commanding: 'Be still.'

The shaman had little choice but to obey despite wanting to scream, and scream, and never stop screaming. It had not been a sword nor a lance that met him this time, but a great fiery form that had dragged him into some neutral part of the spirit-realm, and lashed him with a many-tailed whip while he frantically tried to crawl away. He had not gotten in a single blow of his own. He'd barely managed to escape.

'Eat skin,' commanded Jagiellon. 'Come. I go to eat some myself.'

The shaman picked up his quodba drum with blistered fingers. He could not help noticing that the skin of his one-time foe, now the drumhead, was singing. Vibrating just faintly all by itself.

* * *

Benito, a Corfiote seaman, Capitano Douro and Erik stood in the captain's cabin, peering at a chart of the island. 'If they have patrols out, it will be here, milord,' said the seaman, pointing. 'Between Kavos and the mainland. It is only, oh, maybe three leagues across the strait there.'

'They'll have lookouts on both sides, I presume?' asked Erik, studying the chart.

The seaman shook his head fiercely. 'Not on the mainland! The Lord of the Mountains would never allow that.'

'The Lord of the Mountains?'

'Iskander Beg. He is chief of the Illyrians over there. He is a very bad man.' The Corfiote shuddered.

'So there will be a watch on the Corfiote shore,' mused Erik. 'But probably just a ship at anchor well off the other shore.'

'Do ships sail this strait at night?' asked Benito.

The sailor managed to look shifty, evasive and shocked, all at the same time. 'Oh, no! It is dangerous. It is not allowed. The podesta has ordered—strictly—that there is to be no shipping in the straits at night.'

'But you just happen to know how to sail it,' said Benito, dryly.

The sailor shrugged. 'Fishermen do it. There are some fish best caught at night.'

'Ah. Fish which would pay taxes if they were landed by daylight? You needn't worry my friend,' chuckled Benito. 'I'm not a tax collector. In fact a good friend, a very, very good friend of mine, used to be involved in smuggling stuff into Venice. Someone all of us here know, in fact, except maybe the capitano, and I wouldn't be too certain about that.'

The sailor looked hastily at the Venetian captain, and said nothing.

Benito looked at the captain too. 'Capitano Douro. Unless I'm a lot stupider than I think I am . . . you've got some goods you weren't planning to pay taxes on when the ship reached Ascalon?'

The captain looked startled. 'Well . . .'

'I'm not planning on telling anyone,' said Benito. 'And this ship won't be getting to Ascalon. I just wish to reassure our guide.'

The captain nodded. 'A matter of some amber . . . just a few small, choice pieces.'

The seaman looked at Benito, shook his head and chuckled. 'You're too sharp for one so young, milord. Yes. We'd bring cargo in and land it right on the wharf in Kerkira. I've been up the strait in the dark more times than I can count. There are a few places you need to avoid. This time of year the current runs strong. The worst piece will be the last bit. We need to approach close to the mole. Farther east, we'll rip her guts out. But as I said to the skipper: I can get us in.'

The captain grunted. 'Not as well as you could if we had a load of taxable cargo on board,' he countered, but