“What ‘secret’?” demanded Pierre. “Dell’este sent word to Casa Dorma. From there, it is spreading like fire.”
“Not quite that,” demurred Diego. “But it is spreading. I fear Petro Dorma has spies in his household.”
Mascoli looked even more unhappy than ever. “The boy is—has the potential, I should say—to be a powerful user of magic in his own right, Father Lopez. Especially healing magic. I will not be able to train him properly much longer. I am reaching the limits of my own talent and knowledge.”
Eneko nodded. “Consider the bargain made, Father Mascoli. But . . .” He hesitated. The Basque priest seemed to be experiencing one of his few moment of uncertainty. “In truth, I am not well versed in the healing arts myself.” After another pause, grudgingly: “Nor, I confess, is that a branch of magic in which my own talents are particularly, ah—”
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.