"So I was thinking," said Marco, "maybe I could try to contact Benito."
Sister Evangelina shook her head. "Even our most powerful mages cannot contact Eneko Lopez. Corfu seems to have become an island in a magical sense also. Besides, Eneko Lopez advised you not to try scrying out of the confines of the Venetian lagoon, did he not?"
Brother Mascoli smiled gently. "According to my researches, Corfu has always been a magical island."
Marco looked stubborn. "Look. The danger with my scrying was that the focus of my vision was too wide, that evil can enter and attack me. I can defend myself now. I've been practicing, as you know. With Kat, whom I know and love, I can narrow that down. Eneko didn't say 'never,' he said only in a case of dire need. I think there is now need."
Mascoli nodded. "And blood connections are always stronger. There is a magical resonance between them. But still, Marco, even if you could narrow your search and only reach Benito, and protect yourself, Corfu cannot be reached."
"I grant there is need," said Evangelina, "but is it dire?"
"I believe so," said Marco quietly. "I believe Benito needs me."
"Is there anything that can be done for him?"
"God willing, yes." Eneko Lopez scowled. "Although here on Corfu . . . But we will do our best."
Manfred let one of his meaty hands rest on Erik's forehead—a surprisingly gentle gesture for so big and powerful a man. "I owe you a debt I can't ever repay, Benito. May God forgive me for letting him go. Or I should have gone with him."
He shook his head. "What a mess, Benito. I always thought . . . other people died in combat. Since this siege started, I'm beginning to realize that 'other people' can be your closest friends."
"If Eneko succeeds then he's going to need close friends, Manfred. She's dead. Caesare's men, or at least their horses, killed her. I didn't know Erik like you did. But . . . before this happened he was very much in love. He—they—were about as happy as a couple can be. When he got there, she was dying already. He went berserker. He killed half the Hungarians himself. Then Caesare nearly killed him with this magical blow."
"And what happened to Caesare Aldanto? I swear this world isn't big enough for both of us to live in." It was said with a calm assurance that was no less terrifying for its calmness. All the more so, coming from a prince of the Holy Roman Empire.
"I shot him. I think he's dead. Some monstrous eel thing took him down into the water."
"Chernobog's minion!" exclaimed Brother Francis. "The hagfish."
Manfred put a big arm around Benito. "You shot him? Well done! Are you sure you hit him?"
"Certain. I wasn't more than three yards off. I shot him in the gut. Liver and spine would have been hit too."
"How did you get so close? Melee?"
"I did what he taught me. Distracted him. Convinced him I was going to fence with him. And then I shot him when he thought I was dead meat."
"Well done!" repeated Manfred. "He never taught you anything better in his life. Now, you look exhausted." He managed a grin. "These jack-in-the-box visits to the Citadel are all very well, but they're not good for you. Go and rest. I'll sit with Erik."
"I'll just go to see Maria . . . 'bout Caesare."
"You're swaying on your feet. She'll have the news by now or I know nothing about women. And I'll send Von Gherens down to tell her you're fine, but that you're in bed. Your own, alone, asleep."
Benito chuckled. "Not that she cares. But I suppose it will keep."
Benito slept a full twenty hours. He hadn't realized just how exhausted he was. Now up, washed—in salt water, as fresh water in the Citadel was under severe rationing—and dressed, he carefully checked, unloaded and reloaded Maria's wheel-lock pistol. Then he set off to see her.
"It's the bad penny again, Umberto," said Maria.
"And it is good to see him. If we had ten bad pennies like this youngster, Emeric wouldn't have a siege!" Umberto waved to a chair. "Have you come to see my daughter again?" he asked, with an attempt at a stern look. "I tell you I want a respectable scuolo husband for her, Benito, not someone everyone calls 'the madman.' "
"Where is she?"
"Mrs. Grisini and her maid have taken her out for a walk. The old lady is a little crazy too. I've sat with her a few times when Anastasia has been sick. She . . . sees things. But she's harmless. And she adores 'Lessi. I don't normally let her alone with her, but Anastasia is very good with both of them."
"And where's the goat?"
There was an awkward pause. "We sold her. We just couldn't find enough food for her any more. I couldn't bear to kill her myself. She was a black-hearted menace, but she was twice the guard that a dog would have been. Have you heard that Sophia Tomaselli escaped? The guards claim it was witchcraft."
Maria sighed. "I suspect it was simply money. They've searched all over. Even searched the captain-general's apartments, at his invitation. Anyway, let's talk about something else. Is it just as dry out there?"
"Just about. You can still find water underground or in the bigger rivers. But even the olives are suffering." Benito took out the wheel-lock pistol. "Here. I'm returning it with thanks. It did exactly what it was supposed to do. I think he's dead, and if that woman is around she might get vindictive. You might need it. Careful. It's loaded and primed."
She took the pistol. "You killed Caesare?"
"Yes. I think so, anyway."
Maria nodded. Seeing her husband's frown, she shook her head. "Good riddance, I say! I'm sorry, Umberto, I'm just being honest. Caesare Aldanto was an evil man. He did terrible harm to me and Benito and Marco, and lots of other good Venetians. Best that he is dead. He'd only go on doing it to other people."
Umberto nodded. "I agree with you on this one, my dear. You told me how he deceived our Garavelli cousins. But he was supposed to be a great swordsman and a fighter. How did you . . . ?" He smiled apologetically at Maria. "It'll be a story to tell the other scuolo masters. Young Benito here is one of the favorite sources of stories. I must tell you, Benito, it has done my prestige and popularity no end of good with all the wild journeymen and apprentices, that I am Valdosta's friend."
Maria snorted. "That lot are as bad as he was."
Umberto smiled. "They are the ones who really believe in my fireboats. The masters mostly say the authorities will never use them. That they will say we wasted the materials." He sighed. "They would work. It is my dream to see that they get the chance to work. Well, tell us about this Caesare."
"I had Maria's pistol in my hand inside my shirt. I pretended the hand was injured. I boasted a lot about fencing. About the sword. And then when were close . . . he lunged."
Benito lunged himself, demonstrating.
The glass in the small window shattered. A black crossbow bolt sailed through the space Benito had just vacated and hit Umberto squarely in the chest.
Maria still had the pistol in her hand. She turned and, as you might point a finger, fired.
By the time the guards arrived, Umberto was dead in his wife's arms. His hand was still holding Benito's.
There was a blood trail outside, from next to the low wall where the killer had hidden.
"They found him," said Benito quietly. "He was hiding down in the ruined houses near the Kérkira side of the outer wall. Your shot shattered his right hand and hit him in the gut. He'll die. It's amazing he got that far. They've been questioning him, hard, as they reckon his time is short."
Maria held Alessia and rocked her. "Who was he? Why did he kill my husband?" Her voice was hard, bitter.
"His name is Zanari. A mercenary from Apulia who's been working for Fianelli."
Benito looked down, and bit his lip. "He shot Umberto by accident. His orders were to shoot me. Only I moved, imitating Caesare. That bolt was meant for me. I'm sorry, Maria. I'm really sorry. All I ever seem to bring you is sadness."
Her eyes were luminous with tears. "No, Benito. I still believe this is that woman's hatred. I'm learning that here on Corfu, magic goes further than the chants and words and symbols that Eneko believes in." She closed her eyes briefly. "I'm scared for Alessia, 'Nito."
Benito patted her awkwardly. "We'll do what we can, Maria. Francesca is hunting. She always finds, eventually." He cleared his throat. "We, um, I've been down to the Little Arsenal, talking to the scuolo and the workers. They want to arrange the funeral. Your husband was a much-respected man, Maria."
Maria stood there, tears now pouring from her eyes. Slowly, as if her head was too heavy to move, she nodded. "He wasn't . . . like you. Bravura. Just solid. Good. Not clever, but wise; he used every little bit of intelligence he had, and used it like—like the artisan he was. And he was kind, so kind; you would never believe how kind. I wish . . . he could have seen his fireboats used. He put so much into that project."
Benito squeezed her shoulder. "He was a damn fine man. I started out intending to hate his guts. Only . . . well, I couldn't."
Maria nodded again. "His fussing used to drive me mad at first. I wasn't used to being a 'good little scuolo wife.' " She gave out a half-sob. "I guess I'm not any more."
"Well, there is a pension. And I know you won't take money from me, but for Alessia . . ."
She shook her head firmly. "No, Benito. Anyway, right now what we need is food—and all the money in Christendom can't buy much in the Citadel right now. Thanks to old Grisini, Alessia and I have a place to stay. It was a kindness that has repaid itself already, I suppose."
Alessia squirmed and grumbled in Maria's arms.
"Is something wrong?" asked Benito anxiously.
Maria shook her head. "According to Stella—who should know—she's starting with teething pains."
Alessia gave a niggly bellow. Maria rocked her to try and soothe.
"Can I hel—"
Both Benito and Alessia cut off their vocal output on the instant. And both of them seemed to be staring right through Maria.
Then Benito shook himself, like a wet dog. "Weh! What an experience!" He took a deep breath. "Marco and Kat send their love and their condolences, Maria."
"What?!"
"I've just had a magical communication with my brother," he said, absently. He looked—not dazed, exactly, but certainly deeply preoccupied. Obsessed, even; there was, of a sudden, a strange look in his eyes, a fire that was nothing like that crazy look he used to get whenever he was about to go off on some wild excursion.
A magical communication from his brother?
"But—" she began. "Benito, how—"
He shook his head violently. "Look Maria, I must go. I need to see Manfred and Eneko straight away. I'll be back later to see if there is anything you need. I'll come and baby-sit for a while, maybe, if you need to go out."
There was a furious knock at the door. It was a panting Alberto. "Maria. Come down to the workshops quickly! There's a fight between the Illyrians and the Corfiotes again."
"Me?"
"They listen to you, Maria. They're used to it. Oh, Jesu, Maria, if you don't come someone is going to get knifed!"
She swore a sailor's oath, halfway between anger and weeping. "Oh God's Teeth—I'll come! Go on, Benito."
Benito went. But he was privately certain that Maria would be spending a fair amount of her time at the Little Arsenal, even if Umberto was dead. And that would be no bad thing. She would need something to keep her mind off her grief for a while.
And maybe that would keep her from blaming him for Umberto's murder.