Read This Rough Magic for Free Online

so it must have been built by the man Umberto was replacing. "How did he afford such a place?"
    Umberto looked sour. "The admirals at the Arsenal discovered three weeks back that he, and five of the foresters, were in a very convenient arrangement with the Lazzari , the timber buyers from Trieste. That is why the post was vacant—and probably why I got it. They didn't want anyone who might still have a hand in the arrangement to come in and start it up all over again, which meant delving deep into the guild to find a replacement. As deep as the caulkers, even."
    He sighed. "The nice part is that the house comes with the post. But I will have a mountain of paperwork to do and I doubt if the oxcart with our clothes and furnishings will be here until dusk. I'm sorry, Maria. I'll have to get stuck in straight away. Even when the oxcart gets here, the house will have to wait until I have time to arrange things. We have bedding at least, Rossi assures me, but the house is otherwise bare inside."
    It was a crisp, and for a miracle, dry autumn day. The hills with their leaf-bare stands of oak and larch called to her. The thought of getting off of this carriage and onto her feet called even more. She'd walk up to the ridge where the dark pines stood like the raised hackles of some huge cat.
    "I'll explore around," she said, not caring a pin whether or not there was a chair to sit on or plates to eat off. Hadn't she done without those things before? Well, she could again. "I need to walk. To get some air."
    "Very well. But please don't go out of sight of the house. These wild places are dangerous. Rossi has been telling of bears and boar . . ." He trailed off, looking miserably at the house.
    Personally, Maria thought Rossi's tales improbable even for the wilds of the fabled east. The half-Slovene was having fun seeing how many stories he could get his new boss to swallow, most likely. But she nodded, since she wouldn't contradict him in front of Rossi. Bad thing, for a boss to be shown up in front of his underlings by a girl-wife, before he'd even met most of those underlings.
    Umberto wasn't quite finished. "Just remember, you're, um . . ." He flushed. "In a delicate condition."
    Maria nodded again. Poor Umberto. She'd been brutally frank before accepting his proposal: She'd told him straight out that she was pregnant. He'd gone puce, but he'd also managed to say that it wouldn't matter to him. That was quite something from anyone.
    Still, Umberto struggled to talk about the pregnancy. It had begun to dawn on Maria that it wasn't the mysterious father so much as the fact that, so far as Umberto was concerned, this was an area men didn't refer to. Ever. Babies just happened, and he would much prefer that things stayed that way, thank you.
    Maria walked out past the house, looking about her with wonder. She had never in her life seen trees so tall or so—untamed. Beneath her feet, the springy turf felt very different from dockside boards and stone quays, and the cool air was dry. Wondrously dry. In Venice, the air was thick enough to wring out like a dishrag. The loneliness out here was compelling, and pulled her farther under the trees. In short order, she'd very rapidly broken the injunction about going out of sight of the houses. Rossi's stories and Umberto's concern aside, the hills seemed as unthreatening as a kitten.
    And she was in a phase of pregnancy where she just seemed to have too much energy. She was over most of the morning sickness now, and although she'd been told she would become heavy and uncomfortable soon, she still felt strong, not needing to be pampered and cosseted.
    Still . . . there was maybe less room in her lungs than there used to be. She sat herself down on a pile of leaves with a neat rock backrest just short of the ridge. The rock was sun-warmed, and she'd walked a long way. A canaler's strength, she realized after a moment, really didn't lie in the legs. She'd just rest a while. Just a little