Silently and under the moon the women work, nimble fingers sorting through cloth and examining what is - and what is not. They are not alone; a gondolier watches, strong arms folded over a broad chest, the grey streaking his hair not taking away the alertness in his eyes. It is late. They all are tired. But their work is compelling...

Each time something is found a sleek female head lifts, looking to the gondolier and to the others. Each time, the women pause in their movements, the gondolier approaches, and six sets of alert eyes turn like so many crows over carrion to pick apart the spell, turn it inside out, declare its nature - fit, or unfit? And each time, the man's expression grows the grimmer, and the women grow the more silent, until the air is thick with it, heavy with anger unspoken.

The moon has set. The women have finished. The gondolier turns to the woman who stands where the others sit. Proud Cosimina, how terrible will you be in your wrath?

"Then it is discovered," Cosimina says with care, hands folded loosely together just below her waist, looking to the gondolier. "We now know. The Guardian of Venice has been used, his spirit usurped by the pretender. Here is what we have found." She turns away, footsteps gliding over stones in the remote courtyard. There is noone here to see this gathering - a gathering of witches, with visiting emissary, visiting witness."You know what we have found, Alessio. However, I state it so that you may take word to your others."

She turns again, the darkness of her mood reflected in her eyes, in the spiralling loops of her almond-scented hair. The silk she wears glimmers pale and silver in the light of the stars and the slow gathering of dawn. "Nothing, on the boy's clothing - nothing at all. Not a charm against drowning, There is no indication that she has even thought of her son in all of this, for good or for ill. Damiano is ... uncompromised..."

Alessio nods, watching the Mistress of Fate. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes have deepened in a glower which is aimed not at Cosimina but at the Truth. He has seen it. He has borne witness. Whatever his like or dislike, trust or distrust of the Fate Witch, this is not of her doing, and he will attest. Go on, the nod says. Get on with it. Let me get to my duties. My wife and children, they will not see me tonight or tomorrow for all of this...

"The clothing of the Guardian bespeaks a different story. We have found no fewer than four charms worked into his garments - his trousers, his shirt, the lining of his shoes - not even his underclothes were spared. Three of the four continue to function, waiting for him to clothe himself again." Cosimina looks to the other four women - three witches of Fate, one herb witch, all who remain silent; a coterie of dark women, silent in respect, silent in anger. Their nimble fingers have uncovered much truth tonight.

"One of the four has failed. Dittany of Crete was used to draw nightmares, the spirits of the dead to plague his dreams, render his sleep distressed - I cannot state her intent in doing this, only hypothesize. I believe that she has done this in an attempt to persuade him that it was my doing, and so bring him to foreswear me and our children." Cosimina begins to pace, walking along the stones. She is angry; her anger makes her voice vibrate, so tightly is it contained. "Signora Morelli, you are kind to have come out this night. I thank you for guiding us with your expertise. We are not inducted into all the mysteries of that which grows."

"The lesser of the remaining three was a spell to turn away his sight from her actions. Wolf's bane, mingled with ash." Signora Morelli speaks quietly, competence in her shoulders, the tired look in her eyes written in there by anger and unhappiness. That such a noble craft would be used for such ends! "His thoughts would have been sometimes heavy, as lethargic as the slow pull of an ox on an overloaded cart. Sometimes too fast, unable to focus - but always, always the girl would be thought to be his, and any suspicion guided away, onto some other suspect. Easily angered, easily suspicious. She covered herself well. I recognize her touch in this, the folded cloth, the needlework."

Alessio clears his throat, voice gruff as he gives voice to his thoughts. "Paolo is lucky to be rid of her with so little harm. But there is more. Speak, signoras; let us finish your recounting, and give me your words. The night grows to a close."

Cosimina nods to Alessio, granting her assent, hands steepling and lifting together to her throat. "There are two more evil spells that we must describe for you, gondolier. We will not tarry, but we must be thorough. For not only Paolo's benefit, for not only the benefit of justice, but for the benefit of Venezia herself. Signora?" Her anger is stilled, held beneath the placid surface. That flawless exterior does not deny her wrath, but ... holds it in check ... for now.

"They are both very powerful, masterfully worked. The hand was Rosalie's," Signora Morelli pronounces with a sigh that ends with eyes closed. To see such things - it must be believed, but it is not to be wished. "His energy was sapped - what he ate, what he drank, it was all drained from him, leaving him only enough to continue. Had he not received sustenance elsewhere, he would gradually have withered away - in spirit if not in body, but once the spirit is gone, so goes the flesh. The power that was thus drained was drawn not into the City but into the worker of the charm. This was the charm worked into his shirt. The other was worked into the lining of his shoes; where he stood, where he walked would lead him astray. Gold would flee from him, and the dearest hopes of his heart would remain forever frustrated. It has a strong tie to gold; I do not know why. I would have thought that she would have wished to continue taking his money, with all this..."

Gold. Cosimina's eyes widen in sudden Knowing. "Alessio. You have your telling. Now I must ask on our behalf that you Act."

Alessio nods slowly, brawny arms still folded. "You are the Mistress of Fate, and the remaining wife of the Guardian. What is it that you ask?"

The other women are silent, Signora Morelli falling quiet as well. All eyes turn to Cosimina - Cosimina, the beautiful; Cosimina, the heartless, the silver star at the heart of this courtyard constellation. She is lovely, even when white with anger and the finger of Fate upon her scales...

"Take what and who you need and find the whore and her lover. Take them into custody - silently, quietly. Bring them to a place of strength and secure them, binding their tongues and bodies so that they cannot speak, cannot plead their innocence, cannot fill ears and eyes with their lies nor ply their way free with magic. And call all the witches, all the warlocks, every magus who has interest in this matter to a council of Venizia." Cosimina lowers her hands to her sides, fingers gentle against the cool silk. "If there are any who will speak on her behalf, so be it. Signora Morelli, I apologize for inconveniencing you, but I will require you repeat what you have found, how you have found it - let there be no dispute as to her guilt."

Cosimina pauses, waiting for words or reactions; when none are forthcoming, she nods, satisfied. "The daughter - take her to a place of safety. To her mother's family for now - tell them if they do not know, all that has transpired. They may wish to speak on her behalf, or they may wish to repudiate her to save their own honour. And all of us who are here, present, now, shall attend. When Paolo wakes, let him tend to his day's work - let him be upon the water, let him work upon the water. When he has finished calming the troubled seas, tell him what he must know... and then we will hold our council. And then may judgment be passed upon her. Signora, I ask that you go to the house that has been abandoned and collect such evidence as you may further find in the wreckage; sisters of Fate, go and spread word. Take these clothes and the charms upon them to Albizzina; she may hold them until the trial. Go now. As you have said, the night is over, and our work has in earnest begun."

The single man and five women take their leave, filing out and away to spread word, to collect evidence, to flock, to sweep, to work, to whirl.

And Cosimina? Cosimina turns her face up to the paling sky, eyes dark and mercurial. "So, Rosalie," she murmurs. "Did you and your lover seek to find the Doge's Gold before Paolo, before Albizzina? Did you hope to leave Venice in such luxury, with such riches, abandoning your son, your husband? Had I known that you held him in such contempt of spirit, I would have torn your threads asunder. To marry a man you do not love - well, this is a thing that is done. I can accept that. But to make him believe that you love him when you love him not? Even that, perhaps, I could forgive. But to make a whore of yourself by having another man's child, to claim your husband is the father and sap him further while speaking against me - to hurt your child, your husband's children? To turn your son into your drudge, and to curse your husband's very dreams and ambition...."

"Perhaps Paolo can find it in his heart to forgive you for what you have done to him. But where his son is concerned, I do not think that he will be forgiving. And in truth, neither shall I. They are coming for you, little herb witch. And when they have found you, you shall find that while you may have done with Venice, Venice has not yet done with you."

Cosimina the witch turns her face from the lightening sky, looking around the courtyard, empty of all evidence of any human passing. Lightly her footsteps move, quietly she makes her way back to her home where sleep a man and two children. There are mouths to feed, for all that it promises to be a beautiful day.

Posted by Maire at January 25, 2005 05:05 PM