His voice was troubled. "They do God's work, Katerina Montescue."
"That one young blond knight did God's work. Had it not been for him, that abbot . . ." She shuddered. "Anyway, forget it. I'm grateful. So is Montescue. So take this for those two children you also saved."
He took the warm ducat. "I'll buy a candle."
Kat shook her head. "Food. They'd only play with the candle!"
It was the ragged little girl's turn to shake her head. So fiercely that it looked as if it would come off her skinny shoulders. "Never play with no candles no more." She looked earnestly up at the priest. "Promise!"
A smile lit Father Ugo's countenance. He patted the children's heads gently. "Do you both promise?"
They both nodded, eyes still wide with fright.
"Good! When the rain is over I will go and check that the Servants have really left. Now, I think we will go to the altar and I will lead you all in some prayers. Tomorrow I will go to speak with Monsignor about this. Be easy, Katerina. He is Venetian, you know."
* * *
As the party of knights and monks trudged through the rain, Erik and Manfred bringing up the rear, Von Gherens paused to allow them to catch up with him. Then, walking alongside, spoke softly.
"I am forever in your debt, Hakkonsen." His square, solemn face was creased with worry. "I fear I have allowed myself . . ." The next words were almost hissed. "Damn the Servants and their witch-hunts, anyway! They're twisting my mind. Sachs sees a witch under every cobblestone in Venice."
Manfred snorted. "Witch-hunts! What witches? So far all we've 'uncovered' are a few quacks selling charms as magical as a brick."
Von Gherens nodded. "Who then took the holy test of faith before Venice's Metropolitan without fear." He sighed heavily. "I miss Father Maggiore. He was often a bit obnoxious, true, but--far better than Sachs. And he was familiar with Venice. He had knowledge of the city, spies who knew something instead of Sachs's absurd gaggle of informers. Since his horrible death, the Servants have blundered about like hogs in a salon."
Erik's words were clipped. "We're doing nothing more than spreading fear and mayhem, Ritter--and for no purpose. If Sachs were trying to, he couldn't damage the reputation of the Knights worse than he has. This is the most gossipy and intrigue-filled place I've ever seen. Everything we do is spread all over the city within a day."
For the first time since they'd entered the church, Von Gherens smiled. "True. But I daresay what you did tonight will spread just as fast--and go a long way to repairing the damage."
"What we did," insisted Erik quietly.
Von Gherens shook his head. Then, placed a thick hand on Erik's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "No, Erik. What you did. Had it not been for you, the rest of us would have allowed Sachs to drag us further into the pit. I will not forget it."
The knight raised his eyes and glared at the dim figure of Sachs in the rain ahead. "I will not forget," he repeated. "Von Gherens is a proud name. Respected by all. Feared by none save demon-ridden pagans. My family is in your debt as much as I am."
He said nothing further and, a short time later, quickened his steps in order to resume his rightful place beside the abbot.
Manfred watched him go. "Odd, really. He's also Prussian--yet so unlike Von Stublau."
Erik said nothing. Manfred sighed. "And me too, Erik. I will not forget either."
Finally, a touch of humor came to Erik's face. "Really? No more carousing? No more--"
"Not that!" choked Manfred. "I meant the other stuff." His great hands groped in the fog and the rain, trying to shape the distinction--and failing quite miserably.
* * *
It was only later, sculling home, playing over the events of the night that it occurred to Kat that whoever her mysterious customer was . . . she wasn't Strega. Her knife had been steel and silver--both metals the Strega would avoid like the plague.