PIERO ALLOWED ME TO TAKE THE TILLER FOR THE FIRST night watch. “Aim for that cloud,” he said.
“But clouds move.”
“That’s been sitting there all evening,” Piero replied.
“How much longer?” I asked.
Piero pushed out his lower lip. “Ask the wind,” he said. “Tonight and half a day?”
I whooped. “At last!” I shouted.
After a while, Piero pointed at something on the dark coast. “See that?” he said. “Follow my finger.”
At once I leaned hard into the tiller.
Piero yelped and wrenched it back again. “Sei pazzo?” he barked. “With your eyes! Not with the tiller!”
I made out the contour of a little building with candles shining in its four windows.
“Church,” said Piero. “Little castle church.”
“Candles?” I said. “Why candles at this time of night?”
“Not,” said Piero.
“There are!” I exclaimed. “Look!”
“I’ve seen it before,” Piero replied. “Not candles.”
“What do you mean?”
The steersman shrugged. “Magia!” he said.
The tiller throbbed under my right hand, and I stared into the dark. The church windows were flashing and flickering as if they were lit by hundreds of will-o’-the-wykes, or by specters.
“Leopard in there,” said Piero.
“Where?”
“He jumps out of the window and kills crusaders. Three times.” Piero pressed the tip of his right forefinger against his forehead. “Leopard fighting in Holy War,” he said.