Of course. Sometimes, old Chiano had said, you have to wait until you're ready. . . .
Exactly. Now--concentrate, little brother. We cannot remain much longer.
He closed his eyes again and focused his attention, until the flow of what he now knew was pure, simple power began to ebb; from a rush, to a stream, from a stream, to a rivulet, from a rivulet, to a trickle, and then it was gone.
He opened his eyes, and pulled back his hands.
The only light came, once again, from the torch in the sconce overhead. The water-chapel was utterly unchanged. But in the water, a miracle opened her eyes in wonder.
The wound was gone, exactly as he had imagined it, leaving not so much as a scar.
The newly healed undine clapped her hands with joy, and to Marco's intense embarrassment, leapt out of the water to plant wet and strangely hard lips on his cheek, as her sister who had sat at his side did the same on his other cheek.
'Well done, Marco,' said Brother Mascoli heartily--but with overtones of weariness. A moment later, Marco had to put out a hand on the step to steady himself, for when he tried to stand, he was nearly bowled over by the same weariness.
The undines made a move in the direction of the water-entrance, and Brother Mascoli called out to them while Marco was still trying to get to his feet. 'A moment, little sisters--who did this to you?'
The one who had been wounded turned back, although her three companions shook their heads in warning.
'It's all right--I haven't dispelled the circle,' Mascoli assured them. 'It's safe enough to use a True Name.'
'We do not know the True Name, Elder Brother,' the wounded one said solemnly. 'Only that it is a thing of water or land or fire as it chooses to be, that it is a thing that is a stranger here, and that--' she hesitated. 'We think that it was once a god.'
Marco looked up at Brother Mascoli to see his reaction, and a shiver of fear came over him. Brother Mascoli was as white as foam.
But within a moment he had gotten hold of himself, and made a gesture of cutting in the air. With a rapid flurry of thanks, the undines plunged under the surface, and disappeared, presumably out into the canal, and from there, into cleaner water elsewhere.
'Now,' Brother Mascoli said, putting a hand under Marco's elbow to help him up, 'You, my young mage, are not going elsewhere until you learn the right way to do what we just cobbled together.'
'Yes sir,' Marco said. He knew the look on the priest's face. He might just as well try to argue with the Lion of Saint Mark. Brother Mascoli drew him in through the water-door and sat him down at a little work table, then pulled out a dismayingly heavy book. 'First of all, you always cast a circle of protection. The only reason we got away with not doing so this time is because the church is within a permanent circle that only needs to be invoked, and . . .'
It was going to be a long evening. But at least he wouldn't be thinking about Angelina for a while.
* * *
Or so he thought, until he finally returned home the next day.
It was a shock to see her. Especially this close, and here of all places. Marco didn't know what to say when he almost bumped into Angelina Dorma. . . . Here in Caesare's apartment--coming out of Caesare's bedroom. Not wearing an awful lot of clothing. Also, by the slight sway, anything but sober. Marco had stammered something incoherent, and bolted for the room he and Benito shared, her somewhat guilty laughter ringing in his ears.
In the security of the room he tried to work through the confusion of his feelings. She wasn't his. Never had been, the truth be told. He had no reason to feel torn up like this. After all, Angelina was just another daydream. She'd been nothing like his dream girl. Her face lacked the character, humor and . . . a certain something of the girl he'd seen on the Grand Canal the day he'd been brought back from the Jesolo marshes. But he had still kept Angelina on something of a pedestal . . . which she'd climbed off and into Caesare's bed. He needed to be alone to think this lot over.
Then he realized he wasn't even alone now. Benito was sitting on the far side of the bed, looking at him with a quizzical, slightly worried expression on his round face. For all that Benito was younger than he was, sometimes he looked older. And . . . at least there was no need to explain. 'How long?'
'Quite a while now.' Benito answered, sotto voce. 'Started up seeing her while you were still in bed with that knock on the head. Seems like he took the opening you had made once he realized she was interested. They don't meet here hardly at all, though, so I was hoping you'd never find out.'
