The tall, slim Venetian’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the two of them very carefully, obviously considering things. He must have decided that telling them was either innocuous . . . or might carry a message to the people who were involved that he was closing in on them. “Treason,” he said grimly, pointing to the workbench and an open mold. “He was a coiner.”
At this point, Brother Uriel stood up. “I am finished.”
The Venetian lord nodded. “His soul is at rest.” The way he said it sounded as if he regretted the fact.
Brother Uriel turned on him. “His soul is in torment! Can you not feel the pain? Something evil, evil beyond your comprehension devoured his very life.” The monk shuddered. “The last time I felt the uncontained taint of this much evil was when we clashed with the forces of Lithuania outside Grudziadz. There is great evil afoot in your city.”
“I will leave you to deal with matters of the spirit,” said the Venetian stiffly. “The Republic must deal with secular affairs. Please leave now.”
Lord Calenti looked now as if he regretted telling them anything about the victim, and motioned to the Schiopettieri to see them out.
The dawn was just blushing a translucent cloud-framed sky when they stepped out. Obviously the courtesy of a vessel was not going to be offered to them. In the distance a bell began sound.
Uriel sighed. “Another mess that the Servants of the Trinity are ill-able to deal with. I never though it possible . . . but I wish I was back in the marshes and forests, facing the evils of the Grand Duke of Lithuania’s minions—instead of being in this misbegotten and supposedly Christian city. At least there it was clear who our enemies were.”
Manfred looked speculatively at the stiff, upright monk. The man was plainly distressed by what he’d encountered. “Just what is going on here, Brother?” he asked. “Why are we even involved here in Venice?”
Brother Uriel shook his head. “You had better ask Father Sachs that,” he said heavily. “I am not privy to the inner councils of my order, or yours. I only know that the scryers, including Sister Ursula, have by means of their holy magics foreseen that we have some role to play here in Venice. I do not know why my own abbot sent me to join Abbot Sachs’s men. I only know that great evil is afoot in this city. The abbot may claim there is witchcraft everywhere in Venice. I only know what my eyes have seen and my spirit felt.”
Erik scowled. “I can understand the Servants of the Holy Trinity. But why the Knights? We are the militant order. Keeping us sitting here is a waste of military power, never mind the fact that we don’t really have a clear reason to be staying on at all.”
Uriel looked grim. “We have orders to stay until the evil is rooted out. As long as need be. Those orders are not for us to question.”
“Maybe not—but with people being killed like this the whole town is a powder keg. Likely to blow up beneath us. And we certainly don’t seem to have reduced the level of evil here.”
Brother Uriel took a deep breath of the morning air. “True. Look, there is a church over there. I have need of a few moments in prayer and silence. I will return later.” He walked off with long determined strides.
Manfred stretched. “Well. That just leaves you and me. How about we walk and take some air, and maybe a sop of new bread and a glass of wine. This day seems pretty old already.”
Erik nodded. “Why must they keep on ringing that bell? Every morning it rings for at least half an hour.”
“The Marangona,” said Manfred. “It’s supposed to get the workers to the Arsenal.”
“Why? Do they stop ringing it when they all get there?” asked Erik irritably. He was feeling a need to get back to his roots. To the clean open air of Iceland or Vinland. This city with all its great buildings seemed cramped and oppressive. “And what was all that excitement from that Venetian lord about?”