complicated than you claim. The second is that the Knights of the Trinity are tied up in this. So probably is that Woden-casket. You've been here for more than a year, on what was originally supposed to have been a mere 'visit.' '
'And I cannot see the reason for it,' said Erik gloomily.
Francesca continued. 'The next point is that attack at the brothel was intended to get rid of you, Erik. Either dead, or maimed, or disgraced and sent home--or any combination thereof. This means someone already knows who Manfred is, and has known for a long time. I just thought I might point this out before you decide to kill me for it. I would guess they want Manfred dead at the hands of a Venetian. Venetian Case Vecchie, and with your uncle playing right into their hands looking for vengeance on Venice.'
Manfred chuckled. 'And after that? They just gave up?'
Francesca ruffled his hair. 'Either they decided that both of you would be better killed at once, or they found out that Erik's departure would cause the Emperor to act immediately. Or, even simpler, after getting a taste of Erik's mayhem they decided it was just too risky.'
Erik sighed. 'You're lucky Abbot Sachs isn't listening to you, Francesca. He'd have you burned for witchcraft. Speaking of which, we're supposed to be involved in a witch-hunt tonight--over at the Accademia.'
Chapter 75 ==========
The footsteps outside the door to his room were familiar ones, so Marco didn't start--or reach for his knife-- when a voice hailed him.
'Hey, Marco--'
Marco Valdosta stretched out his leg and pulled the closed door open with his foot.
'Rafael, I thought you were in class.' He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his tall, skinny roommate.
Suite-mate, actually, Lord and Saints. Still hard to believe that I'm actually in the Accademia, that I'm rooming with Rafael. Easier than believing I'm 'married' and that my wife has gone to stay at a family estate in Fruili, rather than spend time with me. And the worst of it is that it suits me. I've tried . . . But the more I see of Angelina . . . I must have been crazy.
Rafael shrugged his shoulders, barely rippling the gray-black material of his cotte, and put his parchments behind the bookcase beside him. 'The model got sick, so they threw us out.'
'Not surprising, if she had to look at you for too long.'
Rafael grimaced at him. 'Thanks a lot! I like you, too. You coming across to Zianetti's for a glass of wine and a bite?'
It was Marco's turn to grimace. 'No thanks. I . . . I don't like to go there much.'
Rafael shrugged again. 'I said to Luciano I'd try to bring you along. He's got some of those herbs from someone--Sophia?--for you.'
Marco got to his feet. 'I wish he'd picked some other tavern.'
'You'll get over her,' said Rafael awkwardly.
Marco sighed. 'I used to think that.'
Rafael patted him on the shoulder. 'You will. Just give it time. These things blur eventually.'
Marco shook his head, then pulled on his cloak. 'It's been months since I saw her last. Time just seems to bring Kat into closer focus.'
They walked in silence down the alley and across the campo to Zianetti's. They took up residence in one of the smaller back rooms and soon brought conversation around to happier topics, before they were joined by Luciano Marina. He looked tired and grim. 'We must meet in private in the future. Things are getting too risky. Even the Jesolo marshes are less dangerous these days.'
Marco's blank look made Luciano smile. 'Even for you, young lord. For us more ordinary Strega it is dangerous enough.'
Marco swallowed and looked at Rafael . . . Who nodded slightly. 'I didn't realize . . .'
'We'd like to keep it that way,' said Luciano. 'Persecution is stepping up. Why a trade blockade should be our fault, I do not know.'
