Benito yawned again. "Why? Are we out of cannonballs?" He grinned and raised a hand pacifyingly to his brother. "Seriously, Marco. I have a problem here. Everyone expects me to lead like a Case Vecchie born. Giving orders, seeing that things are done. And I don't know how. I might be a direct blood relation of men who are great leaders of men, but I grew up among the canal people as a thief. The only way I know to lead is by example. So: I want these ships built. I don't shout at people. I challenge them to keep up with me. And when the carpenters say: 'That's caulker's work,' and sit back and say 'we can do nothing until they've done,' I pick up another balk of timber and ask, "Do you think this is Casa Vecchie work?' "
Marco grinned at him. "And the result is that you need new shirts. You've put an inch on your shoulders since you started here."
Benito pulled a rueful face and felt the tight seams on the shirt. "Yeah. I'm getting a bit heavy and bulky for the old upper-story work, Marco. Not so good for squirming in tight little holes. So, tell me, what's the news from the outside world? Any news from Mainz?"
Marco shook his head. "This kind of heart condition is not something that changes from day to day, Benito. Apparently the Emperor's physicians say he seems to be recovering a little. Of course he is struggling to breathe and his chest gives him a great deal of pain. But this may ease, and if there are no further recurrences . . . he may yet leave his bed again one day. But commonly, I'm afraid, when these problems start, they do recur. We can only pray for him."
Benito knew there were millions of people throughout the Empire doing just that. And there were very few indeed who would be privy to the detail Marco had just given him. Most of the citizens of the Empire would only have heard rumors that the Emperor was not well. But the Holy Roman Empire felt the tremors of an uncertain future run through it—as did all of Europe and much of the world beyond.
Benito scowled. "And on other fronts? How are your attempts to contact Eneko Lopez coming?"
Marco sighed. "Not so well. We can't raise him, for reasons that aren't clear at all. Anyway, what I came to talk to you about was what you'd said to me about the undines and the tritons."
"Get anywhere?"
It was Marco's turn to shrug. "They're not like humans, Benito. They . . . well, they only live partly in the same world as us and they don't see things the same way. But Juliette wants to meet you. That's a step."
Benito smiled. "Sure. I'll sweep her off her tail with my charm. When do we do this thing?"
"Well, full tide is a good time," said Marco. "That's in about an hour."
"Sure. Where? At San Raphaella?"
Marco nodded. "We can take a walk up together. Or take a gondola."
Benito shook his head. "I'm supposed to be confined to this place."
"Only by your own decision."
"Yeah. But I'll pretend to abide by it," said Benito, suddenly looking an impish five years younger. "The roofs of Venice miss me. And I might as well enjoy them while I still can."
* * *
Benito found the undine's gaze quite disconcerting. He'd been forewarned about the bare breasts, and if he ignored the color, they were quite attractive. One might say, pert. And besides, he'd seen a few more than Marco, anyway. But her unblinking stare he found . . . scary. Those golden eyes actually seemed to be looking inside him, at something just below the skin.
Eventually she spoke. "Mage Marco, you are sure this one is your brother? His flames, and the fire in this one are strange. Powerful. There is an echo of you about him . . . but you are water. Cool, healing waters. This one frightens me."
Benito snorted. "Well, if it's all the same to you, green-hair, you make me nervous, too, just by the way you look at me."
Marco smiled and put an arm around Benito's shoulders. "Yes, Juliette. He is my brother. My half-brother, anyway. But he's been as close to me as a twin. And though at times he's as wild as fire, you can trust him to the ends of the earth."
Juliette didn't look entirely convinced. "Spill a drop of your blood on the water then," she said to Benito.
Benito shrugged, took out the Shetland dagger and tried to prick his thumb. Hard work had calloused it, and besides, sticking a knife into yourself was never that easy.
"Do it for me, Marco."
Marco did, with all of a chirurgeon's practiced ease.
Benito squeezed the thumb. A red drop formed and splashed into the greenish chapel water. Juliette scooped some of it up in a long-fingered hand. Sniffed it. Tasted it. Looked penetratingly at him again.
Her next question startled Benito. "Do you know the child Alessia?"
Benito nodded. "She's on Corfu with her mother. It's where we wanted help to get back to."
Juliette regarded him keenly. "Corfu! You mean Corcyra? Aieee!" The golden eyes narrowed, still unblinking. "Do you care for this child? Do you love her?"
Benito blinked. "I . . . I don't really know her. I do care very deeply about her mother."
The look was now stern. "I ask you again. Do you love this child? Will you guard her and care for her, if she needs it?"
Benito had found the gaze of the Republic's chief Justice less disconcerting, less searching. Alessia was a baby, for heaven's sake. He'd hardly even touched one before her.
He remembered, suddenly and vividly, the warmth of her, the smell of her. She was Maria's kid. Of course he would love her. "Yes," he said, calmly.
Juliette continued to stare at him, but that flat golden stare seemed wary now. Benito noticed she'd edged away a little. "The flame burns steady," she said at last. "But it burns very, very hot. You must see to the child's welfare. I charge you with this. It is your responsibility."
"And will you help us?" asked Benito, a little tired of the orders, the inquisition, the mysterious questions and references.
She nodded. "I must. I will speak with the tritons."
And then she slipped away into the water with scarcely a ripple.
* * *
"Well," said Francesca, with a small, satisfied smile. "I have finally found the link between several of the trouble spots. It's so simple that I am disgusted with myself that I didn't think of it earlier. It's the local black market. The factions all buy extra supplies out of the Venetian storehouses from two men. A nice little link of bribery and blackmail for spies."
Manfred almost fell off the chair he'd been endangering by rocking on. "What? How much of this is going on?"
"I'm really not sure of the extent of it, Manfred," said Francesca. "But from what I can work out most of the Corfiote Libri d'Oro families are involved."
Von Gherens looked grim. "Hang the lot of them. It's treason."
Francesca blinked at the knight. "It's buying food on the black market. Hardly a capital crime."
Falkenberg rubbed the scars above his eye. "What you don't seem to grasp, Francesca"—he'd finally gotten to calling her Francesca—"is that it undermines the military capability of the Citadel to resist. You see it as a chain of blackmail that spies and traitors can use. We see it far more directly as shortening the period a fortress can withstand siege."