Startled, Manfred looked over and saw that Erik had his heavy-bladed Shetland dagger in hand. He moved to block the way between the Icelander and the courtesan.
“You can’t, Erik. You can’t.”
“I may have to,” said Erik quietly.
“Not without killing me first.”
Francesca stepped past Manfred. “I’m not a fool, Erik. I needed to do this to establish trust. If I intended to betray Manfred and sell this information . . . I would have kept quiet.”
Erik digested this for a few seconds. Then he put the knife into the sheath in his boot. “I’ll have to pass on who you are, and what you look like, to Charles Fredrik. And to my kin. You realize that . . . if harm comes to Manfred through this, nowhere on earth will be safe for you. Not even the court of the Grand Duke of Lithuania. You might still get away from the Emperor’s assassins. But the Hohenstaffen Godar are ours. Linn gu linn. We avenge them. We always do.”
Francesca patted him on the arm. “Nowhere is safe anyway. Be practical, Erik. If I sold Manfred’s secret, I’d be well paid. But I’d also probably be killed before nightfall. Those who would use it, don’t want to advertise who they are, and the answer could be obtained from me by torture. Now, instead of giving me half the information and forcing me to guess the rest . . . why don’t you tell me as much as you can?”
She smiled sweetly at Manfred. “It’ll cost you another emerald, my dear, but I’m sure I can put together a few more pieces. Once we know just who is moving with what intent you can tell your uncle how to counter it.”
They sat and replayed incidents and pieces of the Venetian puzzle. When they came to the coiner incident, Francesca—who had simply listened up to this point—stopped them.
“A mold for forging coins? Coins are stamped, not molded. The blanks are molded, presumably without holes. They are then stamped with iron dies. Those dies are heavily guarded. Counted daily. Your lord Calenti spotted that, not the molds.”
“Well, I presume the coiner was one of the conspirators—with access to the Venetian mint. So we can assume whatever is murdering these men magically is opposed to this conspiracy.”
Francesca shrugged. “Conspirators fall out. Particularly about money. And different conspiracies fight one another too.”
Erik groaned. “I wish I was back in Iceland! The clan feuds were murderous, true, but at least they weren’t subtle. ‘Your great-grandfather raped my great-grandmother.’ Chop. ‘Your third cousin twice removed stole a pig from my aunt’s husband’s father’s second wife’s—’ ”
Francesca patted him sympathetically. “I conclude several things. And the first is that Iceland is more complicated than you claim. The second is that the Knights of the Trinity are tied up in this. So probably is that Woden-casket. You’ve been here for more than a year, on what was originally supposed to have been a mere ‘visit.’ ”
“And I cannot see the reason for it,” said Erik gloomily.
Francesca continued. “The next point is that attack at the brothel was intended to get rid of you, Erik. Either dead, or maimed, or disgraced and sent home—or any combination thereof. This means someone already knows who Manfred is, and has known for a long time. I just thought I might point this out before you decide to kill me for it. I would guess they want Manfred dead at the hands of a Venetian. Venetian Case Vecchie, and with your uncle playing right into their hands looking for vengeance on Venice.”
Manfred chuckled. “And after that? They just gave up?”
Francesca ruffled his hair. “Either they decided that both of you would be better killed at once, or they found out that Erik’s departure would cause the Emperor to act immediately. Or, even simpler, after getting a taste of Erik’s mayhem they decided it was just too risky.”
Erik sighed. “You’re lucky Abbot Sachs isn’t listening to you, Francesca. He’d have you burned for witchcraft. Speaking of which, we’re supposed to be involved in a witch-hunt tonight—over at the Accademia.”