Pierre snorted. Diego laughed. "Ask a Viking berserk to be a nursemaid, Mascoli--you'd do better."
Lopez glared at him. His companion responded with an insouciant smile. "It's the truth, Eneko. You know it as well as I do." To Mascoli: "I will be glad to assist you with the boy's training. And, if all goes well, in a few months others of our brotherhood should be arriving in Venice. At least two of them--Francis, in particular--are superb with healing magic."
"Thank you," said Mascoli softly. "I have become very fond of Marco." He studied Eneko for a moment. "Does this--ah, Viking berserk--magic of yours extend to protective spells? Or is it simply a specialty in smiting the ungodly?"
Lopez's glare at Diego was in full flower now. "See what you've done?" he demanded. "My reputation was bad enough already."
Diego simply smiled. After a moment, sighing, the Basque looked at Mascoli.
"What do you desire, Father?"
Mascoli groped for words. "I would like--something--don't know what--to protect the brothers somehow. A shield of some sort, I suppose. Marco is swimming in those same deep waters, whether he knows it or not. And Benito--" He rolled his eyes; he couldn't help it. "Benito dives into every bottomless pool he can find. And dives to the bottom of everything else as well."
Pierre grinned at this assessment of the younger brother, but sobered as Eneko shook his head. "At this point, that would be more dangerous than anything. I don't think the enemy--not Chernobog, at least--has any sense yet of the potential danger to him which rests in those two boys. A shield of the sort you're suggesting would just draw his attention. Attention which, for the moment, I would much prefer centered on Dottore Marina."
He glanced at the crucifix on the wall. "But I think something else might be of use. The boys already have a guardian. Two of them, in fact, if my suspicion is correct. I can place a finding spell of sorts on them--not a geas, something much more delicate--which would . . ." It was his turn to grope for words. "Enable the guardians to find them very easily, and know where to bring them in case of trouble. Think of it as lubricating an axle, if you will, and perhaps giving the cart a push over the rough spots."
Diego winced at the crude analogy. Pierre, on the other hand, beamed from ear to ear. "We'll make you a good Savoyard yet!"
They heard the sound of the church door opening. "Wait here," said Father Mascoli. "I'll let you know when you can leave without being observed."
* * *
But he was back within a short time. Behind him came a woman whose face could not be seen because of the cowl over her head. But that she was a woman there could be little doubt, even under the heavy and utilitarian clothing.
"And now this," muttered Mascoli. "What have you gotten me into to, Lopez?"
The woman swept back the cowl. Francesca's smiling face appeared. Even without her usual elaborate coiffure and cosmetics, the woman's beauty seemed quite out of place in Father Mascoli's austere living quarters.
"Nice to see you again, Eneko," she said. "You've heard the news about Dottore Marina, I imagine?"
Lopez nodded. "I assume you have more tidbits to share," he added, with a wry smile.
"Does a chicken have feathers?" snorted Francesca. She glanced around the small room. "Is there anywhere a bit more commodious? I have quite a few 'tidbits,' in fact."
Sighing, Mascoli opened the water-door and led the way back into the water-chapel. "There's no place to sit, I'm afraid."
"No matter," responded Francesca cheerily. "We'll squat. I have very strong legs."
Once in the water-chapel, she spotted the undine immediately. "Oh, thank heaven! Another female."
The priests' faces grew stiff. "You have nothing to fear--" Pierre began to growl.
"Nonsense," snapped Francesca. "And why would I be afraid of a mortal sin in a Hypatian chapel, anyway? The peril lies elsewhere. Men don't know how to gossip properly."
The undine's mouth gaped wide. "Truth!" She swam to the side. "Did you hear--"
Chapter 58 ==========
It was dark, and it was dangerous, and Benito was so happy he could hardly stand himself. If it hadn't been too risky to chance any sound, he'd have been singing. Or humming, anyway.
He was upside-down, hanging by his knees from one of the dozens of timbers supporting Casa Dandelo's leaky, half-rotten roof--the kind of position he'd held so many times in the past that he was almost as comfortable upside-down as he was on his feet. Hidden by the darkness, three stories beneath him the canal-water lapped quietly against the foundations of Casa Dandelo, but there was not much else in the way of sound. There wasn't even so much as a breeze to make the timbers of the building sway and creak, which made it all the more imperative that he keep silent.
He was sawing most of the way through the bolts that held the metal grilles and bars protecting the slave-quarters' upper-story windows. Most of the way, not all; just enough so that someone who was determined on a breakout had only to give a good hard pull to break the grilles free--but from inside or outside, to everything but a close inspection, all was secure. To really hurt the slavers you had to hit them where it counted most--the pocket. That meant slave breakouts . . . for which Benito was now cheerfully preparing the way.
He grinned to himself, working the cable saw carefully, slowly, back and forth on the bolt currently under his fingers. Valentina had threatened his life if he lost that very expensive saw--but had been quite willing to lend Benito the tiny thief's tool when she heard whose place it was going to be used on. Little more than a bit of wire with two handles, it would cut through damn near any metal, and was making short work of Casa Dandelo's soft iron bolts.
It was as black as the inside of a cat tonight, no moon, nary a star showing through the clouds of a warm, overcast spring night. No matter. Benito hadn't ever needed to see, to know what he was about. Valentina and Claudia had taught him to work blind. It was best working blind in some ways: the darkest nights were a thief's best friends.
One: case the place till you know it like the inside of your mouth. Two: take it slow. Three: go by feel and know by feel.
Those were Claudia's rules for nightwork. She might have added the one Benito was abiding by tonight.
Four: have you a lookout.
And Lord and Saints--what a lookout!
Down there somewhere on the canal below him, hidden in the darkest shadows and straining eyes and ears against the thick blackness, was no less a personage than Maria Garavelli--and a more unlikely banditry pairing than himself and Maria was hard to imagine.
* * *
The greater wonder was that Maria had come to him to ask for his help.
Runners had lunch after the rest of Venice; not the least because runners were often sent to fetch lunches and drink for their employers. It made for a long morning and a rumbling stomach, but Benito had gotten used to it. Besides, it meant that the rest of the afternoon until knock-off time was that much shorter.
And you could pick up some nice stuff at half-price from vendors anxious to unload what was left, now that the noontime crowd was fed. So this afternoon Benito had been pleasing his palate with several slabs of castagnaccio that were only slightly old. He was pleasing his hide with warm spring sunshine, and his mind was at ease with the fact that his behind was firmly planted on the upper steps of the Casa Ventuccio. He had a good view of the canal from there, and no one hassled a kid in Ventuccio-livery there--so long as he kept his butt near enough to the edge of the steps that he didn't impede traffic.
He had been dangling his feet over the edge, and had both arms draped over the lower bar of the guard rail, watching the traffic pass in the half-light below him. He was rather pleased that he knew a good many of those passing by name--even if those good folk would hardly appreciate the "honor." He watched, feeling his back and shoulders ache in sympathy, as Gianni and Tomaso labored against the current, poling what looked to be a nice little cargo of barrels of some kind up the canal. He noted one of the younger Baldasini boys go by, ri
ding in one of the family boats, and old man Mario in a hire-boat going in the opposite direction. And he saw a double handful of canalers he recognized besides Gianni, and rather wished he had his brother's incredible memory. There might be valuable information there if he only could remember who he saw going where. The one real pity about having his lunch break late, was that he and Marco couldn't sit together.
He hadn't had a decent talk with Marco since Maria's return from captivity. Marco had gotten back from looking for Luciano Marina even later than Caesare had returned from his visit to Casa Capuletti. Marco, at least, had been sober. Benito sighed. Marco was walking around with that moonstruck look on his face again. Doubtless yet another girl. Benito couldn't understand it. Girls were . . . interesting. But not this walk-into-walls-and-die-for-you stuff. And what did he mean by that "One person's trouble is another person's delight"? Benito sighed again. More trouble for Benito and the rest of them no doubt. But right now the sun was warm and the chestnut-flour castagnaccio was superb.
He was halfway through his lunch when he saw Maria tie up down below. So far as he knew she had no business with Casa Ventuccio today, so he wasn't much surprised when she strolled up the steps and planted herself beside him; feet dangling, like his, over the edge, the rest of her hugging the bottom railing.
"Bite?" he said, offering her a piece of castagnaccio to be sociable. It didn't pay to be less than polite to Maria at any time--but most especially Benito walked softly these days. What with her being short-fused and in a muddle over Caesare Aldanto, and them being short of cash, and Benito's brother more than half the cause of both--and now this Dandelo thing--
"No," she said shortly. "I ate."
He shrugged. She'd say her say when she was ready; he wasn't about to push her.
He kept watch on her out the corner of his eye all the same. After living these months with Caesare Aldanto, Benito knew Maria Garavelli about as well as he knew anybody--and the storm warnings were definitely out. The sleeves of her dark blue dress were pushed up over her elbows, which only happened when she was nervy; her battered hat was pulled down low on her forehead, like she was trying to keep her eyes from being read. But Benito was close enough for a good view, and he could see that her square jaw was tensed, her dark eyes gone darker with brooding, her broad shoulders hunched, her fists clenching and unclenching--storm-warnings for sure.
Well, she and Caesare had "celebrated" her return from captivity in the Casa Dandelo two days ago with an almighty fight. Things definitely hadn't been right between the two of them lately. He should talk it through with Marco, but he'd barely seen Marco since the night Maria had gotten back.
"You've got the sneak thief's ways, Benito Valdosta," she said at last, softly, so softly her voice hardly carried to Benito.
Benito tensed up himself; in all of Venice only Alberto Ventuccio, Maria Garavelli, and Caesare Aldanto knew his real name, his and Marco's. Only they knew that Marco Felluci and Benito Oro were real brothers; were Marco and Benito of the Case Vecchie, the last of the longi family Valdosta. Only those three knew that the boys had fled from assassins who had killed their mother, and were still very probably under death sentence from Duke Visconti for the things their dead mother Lorendana might have told them and the names and faces they knew. Even the Ventuccio cousins didn't know.
For Maria Garavelli to be using his real name--this was serious.
"I ain't no sneak thief," he said shortly. "'Less Caesare wants a job done. It don't pay, 'cept to buy a piece of rope at nubbing cheat. Unless you're real good." He thought of Valentina, of Claudia, their skills and bravado, with raw envy. "I'm good; I ain't that good."
"What if I wanted you to turn sneak thief for a bit . . . for me?" came the unexpected question.
"Huh? For you?" he responded, turning to stare at her, his jaw slack with surprise.
She moved her head slowly to meet his astonished gaze. "Casa Dandelo," she said tersely.
He nodded, understanding her then. Somebody--Montagnards, likely--had kidnapped the redoubtable Maria Garavelli; had kidnapped her, and truly, truly, frightened her, something Benito had never thought possible. She said that nothing else had happened. Benito believed her, but most of the canalers didn't. They assumed Maria had been molested, maybe raped, and was lying about it out of shame.
That assumption was fueling the seething anger which was steadily building among the canalers and the Arsenalotti. Most of Venice's working poor had no love for the Dandelos at the best of times. Now that the Dandelos had crossed the line by messing with a well-known citizen of the Republic . . . a poor one, true, but a canaler, not a vagrant . . .
There was going to be an explosion soon, Benito thought. And a lot bigger one than the initial rash of attacks on Dandelo retainers who had been unlucky enough to be caught in the open when the news of Maria's escape--and the identity of her captors--had raced through the city. Four Dandelo hangers-on, one of them a distant relation of the family, had been stabbed or beaten to death in two separate incidents within hours. After that, all the Dandelos and their retainers had hastily retreated to their fortresslike building to wait out the storm.
The canalers and Arsenalotti were now waiting to see what measures, if any, the authorities would take against the Dandelos for their flagrant transgression of the unspoken "rules." So far, however, all the signs were that the Signori di Notte intended to remain carefully blind to what the Dandelos had been up to. In which case . . . all hell was going to break loose, soon enough.
Maria herself, it seemed, had already waited long enough. She intended to start her own vendetta--now!--and she'd come to Benito first. He felt a strange, great thrill at that fact.
"Si!" Benito replied. He owed them too. Maria gave him hell sometimes, but he was fond of her. Kind of like a sister, except sometimes she made him think unsisterly things. Ever since he'd seen her in those Case Vecchie clothes . . . he'd realized she was beautiful. Not that she was interested in anyone but Caesare, of course. "Si, Maria, you got me. You say, how and when."
The hunched shoulders relaxed a bit; she favored him with a ghost of a smile. "Knew you wasn't all bad," she said, grabbing the railing and pulling herself to her feet.
* * *
Benito wasn't all fool, either; he knew where his primary loyalty lay--with the man he'd privately chosen as his model and mentor, Caesare Aldanto. When Benito had arrived at Caesare's Castello apartment--which they all called "home" now--that afternoon, he'd first checked to make sure that Marco and Maria weren't home. Caesare was sitting reading. Benito felt no qualms about disturbing him with a terse report of Maria's attempt to recruit him.
The warm, comfortable sitting room seemed to turn cold as Aldanto's expression chilled. Aldanto's hands tightened a little on the sheaf of papers he was holding; his blue eyes went cloudy. Benito knew him now, too--knew by those slight signs that Aldanto was not happy with this little piece of news.
Benito clasped his hands in front of him and tried to look older than his fifteen years--older, and capable; capable enough to run with Maria. Maybe even to ride herd a little on Maria.
"Caesare--" he offered, then before Aldanto could speak to forbid him to help, "you know I'm not bad at roof-walking. You've seen me; you've set me jobs yourself. You know if I tell her 'no' she's just going to go it alone. Let me help, huh? Happens I can keep her out of real bad trouble. Happens if she's got me along, she maybe won't go looking for bad trouble so damn hard, figuring she's got to keep me out of it."
A good hit, that last; Maria was likely to feel at least a little bit responsible for Benito, if only because she was maybe two years older than him. That was the line Valentina had taken when he was along on one of her jobs, and she was one of the least responsible people Benito knew. Aldanto tilted his head to the side and looked thoughtful when Benito had finished, then put the papers down on the couch to one side of him, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his lips with one long, aristocratic finger. "How about if I tell you
to keep her out of trouble?" he asked finally.
Benito winced. That was nothing less than an impossibility, as Aldanto should very well know. "Ask me to fly. I've got a better chance."
Aldanto managed a quirk of the right corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid you're probably right. I should know better than to ask you to do something no one else can." He stared at Benito, then stared though him; thinking, and thinking hard. "All right; go ahead and give her a hand. See if you can't keep her from being totally suicidal."
Benito grinned and shrugged; so far as he could see, both he and Maria had won. He'd told Caesare--and he hadn't been forbidden to help or ordered to hinder. What little conscience he had was clear, and he was free to indulge in the kind of hell-raising he adored with Aldanto's tacit approval--
He prepared to turn and scoot down the hall to vanish into the downstairs bedroom he shared with Marco, when Aldanto stopped him with a lifted finger.
"But--" he said, with the tone that told Benito that disobedience would cost more than Benito would ever want to pay, "I expect you to keep me informed. Completely informed. Chapter and verse on what she's doing, and when, and how. And I want it in advance; and well in advance."
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