As predicted, autumn blew in the next day, with chill winds, cold rain and lowering grey clouds. It was as if yesterday had never existed.
Yet my life had changed. For one thing, I was no longer plagued by the recurring visions of the boy, the woman and the bird. Part of me missed them, because I wanted to know what they signified, and they were already fading from my memory.
Weeks passed, cold and dank, and still I got no instruction in the arts of war. The promise to enlighten me was put off with muttered promises of soon and someday. I knew there were spies and informants everywhere, and that Petru had ways to coerce anyone, but I could be discreet. Why didn’t they trust me?
My mother had taken to spending a lot of time out of the house working with the various charities and schools that needed support, and often got home exhausted and filthy. It was more and more necessary these days, for Petru’s civic works and ambitious projects meant harsh taxation and even harsher punishment for those incapable of generating money. Father, of course, spent most of his daylight hours involved in business matters, and was constantly conferring with agents and sending packets and messages here and there.
I begrudged every day that passed, for it meant that spring would come and my father would leave, and I knew it was not on a trading trip. He was forging alliances for some plan of his and Mother’s. What if Petru suspected him? Interrogated him? If I ruled Askain, I wouldn’t trust a man like Jameel al-Kindi, or anyone in his family. And Petru would be a fool not to have spies in our midst.
I could find nothing about resura in any of the papers and scrolls I had access to, and had to finally resign myself to my parents’ inscrutable timetable. At least it was almost the end of Sigrun’s and my punishment. Another two days and I’d have the semblance of a friend again.
I thought I might ask Pada Josef about the strange creature we’d seen at the market. The little god. Such odd animals were seen or captured now and then, and were called lesser gods, but what were they? Did they have souls, like humans? Or were they just devilish animals? Were they immortal? I had almost worked up the nerve to ask him about resura, too. If he could see the pattern of a life unravel, as he could with Petru’s, surely he could see my pattern. I would dearly love to meet a resura in one of its earthly forms, but would I even know it if I did? They’d be the very epitome of stealth.
But when I got to the attic one look told me this was not a good time. Papa and Grandfather were talking in a very serious manner, their voices too low to understand. I could tell what their conference was about, though: gunpowder. I had watched and listened often enough to my Pada instructing his ever-patient and stoical assistant, Saskia Lubodová, and some of his older students, to be familiar with the bowls and vials and packets of special materials they used to make explosive devices. Saltpetre, willow charcoal, sulphur. A sieve stood ready, and vials of ox blood and urine to purify the saltpetre. My father was waving his hands, explaining something in a husky whisper as Pada squinted down at his array of ingredients, frowning hard. They were up to something.
Definitely not a good time. I turned and quickly scuttled down the stairs—to bump into Sigrun on the way up.
We stood teetering on the steps gawping at each other, without speaking. Sigrun, looking paler than usual, giggled nervously.
Then she hugged me close. “I’ve missed you so! What are you doing here?”
I wanted to ask her the same thing. “Nothing. My father is head-to-head with Pada, and mother’s off with Cook shopping for ingredients for Solstice cakes. We’ll be safe for a while. Come on!”
Defiantly we joined hands, stifled our pent-up chatter, and ran as lightly as we could to one of the storage rooms below the attic, a chilly little room where we could hide and talk to our hearts’ content. But something was wrong.
“Someone’s been using this room. It should be empty,” I said, looking in.
Though no one was in it now, it was obvious that our hideaway was not being used only for storage. For one thing, it had a bed placed against one wall. It hadn’t been there three days ago, when I’d been there retrieving a piece of chamois leather for my grandfather. Curious.
“Go listen, in case anyone’s close,” I told Sigrun.
She stood at the head of the stairs, head cocked. “Nothing,” she whispered. We began to snoop around.
At the foot of the bed was a small pallet of blankets, as if for a servant or slave. Right now a big orange cat, one I hadn’t seen before, occupied the spot. It opened its eyes and watched us, paws tucked under, with an attitude of disdain. A basket containing mending, yarn and knitting needles rested beside the bed. A table held a small lantern, tinderbox with flint and firesteel, water pitcher and so on. In a small chest were carefully folded clothes. Very odd clothes. Tiny, close-stitched, mostly made of leather and boiled wool, they looked foreign, the colours drab and the cut unusual. We refolded and replaced the items, and closed the chest.
“Who do you suppose lives here?” Sigrun’s voice held the focused excitement of a natural-born sleuth.
“I don’t know. A woman, because of the needlework and skirts. Everything is so strange.”
Strangest of all were the jars, wooden crates and baskets woven of reed and willow stacked along two walls. Odd smells emanated from them, dusty and thick.
“This isn’t my grandfather’s stuff,” I whispered. “I’ve never seen it before.” On tiptoe, I reached for a small crate at the very top, with what appeared to be a loose top. What could be inside? “Look, they have labels on them.” Tied to each crate, box, basket or jar was a small scrap of parchment covered with angular black shapes drawn in ink.
“Can you read these?” I asked Sigrun.
She peered at a couple. “No. Can’t you?”
“Some marks look sort of like Latin… I see a few Arabic numerals.” I could speak and understand more languages than I could read. “Help me lift this crate down.”
I gave it a tug. Sigrun, not much use at all, stood beside me in a posture of anticipation, her hands out tentatively as if to catch it. The crate began to wobble, the whole stack shifted, and I jumped back. “Look out!”
Sigrun dodged as the crate crashed to the floor and burst open, sending crockery containers spinning and shattering. We both shrieked and clung to each other. The cat jumped up, hissed and backed into a corner. A horrible stink filled the air, and thin, putrid liquid began to ooze across the floor. There were things within the liquid. Nasty, twisted things…
Gagging, we backed quickly away. The cat sneezed.
“What under God’s nose is go on here?” a shrill voice rang out.
Again we screamed, whirling away from the mess in the storage room towards what appeared to be a young boy.
“We didn’t do it!”
“Oh yes you did! You dare enter to my quarters, for why?” Said in fairly good Latin, but with a vulgar accent that betrayed this person as a foreigner.
Sigrun and I tried to shove past the tiny, angry presence, but it was remarkably strong. On closer examination, it appeared to be a woman. A small, furious, sharp-featured woman with her hands clenched into fists. She had two deep parallel scars on one cheek, looking as if a lion or bear had clawed her.
I tore my eyes from her scars and gathered my dignity. “I am Vara, daughter of Jameel bin Hayyan al-Kindi and Ragna Uricka Svobodová. This is… my, uh, friend.” I didn’t want to get Sigrun implicated by providing her name. “We have the right to enter whatever room we wish.”
The small woman snorted. “I doubt! You are but childs, and you are pick through my things like apes!” She raised her small, pointed nose into the air.
At that I bridled. How dare she call us apes? “Who are you?” I demanded, looking down on her but feeling a creeping sense of guilt.
She narrowed her eyes. They were grey as the winter sea, surrounded by a network of tiny wrinkles. “I? I am Miss Carolina Anne Marsh, lately of the Shire of Oxford in the Kingdom of Wessex. I once be lecturer in biologic at the University of Cambridge. A where-be I sure you never have know.”
She was right, though I deduced that she might be referring to somewhere in Britannia. I knew of Britannia, but understood it to be a cold, dreary island full of painted savages, speaking a terribly degraded version of vulgar Latin, and who consorted with pigs.
I was about to point this out when Miss Carolina Anne Marsh shoved past us, huffing like a steam-driven pump, and began plucking up the grey, bloated little items scattered among dirty liquid and shards of pottery. Some seemed to have legs, or fins. And eyes. Grasping her half-empty water pitcher, she popped the things into it as fast as she could gather them. She glared at us. “You will to help me!”
“We will not!”
Sigrun, hanging over my shoulder to watch, made retching noises in my ear. “What are those… things?”
“Specimens. It take long to collect, preserve, transport specimens. For shame on meddlesome girls! Thank Mithras it summer-not.”
I narrowed my eyes. I had heard of Mithras and his worshippers. A cult that had at one time rivalled those of Saraf and of Mohammad. Perhaps her scars were part of this barbaric religion.
She saw my look. “Oh forsaken Gods, it just a saying! Really, I thought you civilization here in south.” She scrambled to her feet. “You,” she said, looking at me with her piercing eyes, “are daughter’s daughter of Josef, Count von Svobodá. You will fetch him to me. Tell to bring someone clean-up for mess. And quantity of spirits of alcohol.”
Wisps of pale hair were coming loose from the stiff brown bonnet she was wearing, and her cheeks were pink. Her thin lips were made thinner by her obvious anger. Bolstered by Sigrun’s presence at my back, I stood my ground. “Why should I do your bidding?”
She stamped her foot. “Insufferable child! You think specimens smell bad now? Wait until an hour in air. Go! Go now!”
Eyeing the little harpy, I whispered to Sigrun, “You had better leave. If we’re caught together, it will be even worse for us.” All the crashing and shouting was bound to bring someone.
“No! I’m staying with you,” she stated loyally.
“Go! I can talk my way out of this.”
After a brief glare at me, while Miss Marsh stamped her feet once more, Sigrun gave up and scurried away. The cat strolled back to its blanket and lay like a sphinx, his eyes following Miss Marsh, presumably his owner.
I said, “I will call a servant to request that my grandfather join us here. I assume he has some knowledge of your presence, Miss Marsh?” My diction had improved in response to her broken speech. My smile was sweet, my eyes as cold as I could make them. I turned to glide away regally, only to bump directly into Pada Josef. Close behind him was my father.
Papa steadied my grandfather, and took me firmly by the arm. Vainly I tried to wiggle away. Had he seen Sigrun fleeing the scene of the crime?
“What is going on here?” His words echoed Miss Marsh’s, and were accompanied by a wave of his hands before his nose, and watering of his eyes. “What’s that stink?”
Miss Carolina Marsh stepped up and began to shout. “This girl—”
“I didn’t—”
“Two of them, in room! Ruining specimens!”
“But we—I mean, I…”
I realized my mistake and closed my mouth. Caught in lies already. I considered bursting into tears but realized that no one would find them convincing.
Papa was steaming, and appeared ready to shake me hard, but Grandfather gazed into my eyes, his expression full of concern, not anger. This made it worse. Despite knowing that my eyes were shifting from side to side like a felon’s, I tried to own up. “I… I was curious. I didn’t know anyone was living here.” Although it had been quite obvious. Another lie, but it seemed small now.
“Curious, eh?” Pada Josef seemed to consider the word, find it pleasing, and recalculate what to do next. He glanced at my father, in whose eyes I saw a gleam of humour. I bit hard on my lip to keep my expression contrite.
Papa let me go and stepped back. He crossed his arms and looked on like a judge. Impartial? I hoped not. As his only child, I should take precedence over some underfed foreigner.
Mildly, my grandfather looked down his thin, cold-reddened nose into the furious grey eyes of Miss Marsh. “The girl was curious. Surely you can understand that tendency, my dear friend.”
I managed to raise my eyes to hers, trying to achieve a steady, repentant, yet dignified demeanour Something must have worked, for as I watched, her face went through a series of expressions, starting at righteous indignation, sliding into resentful outrage, thence to resignation and on to acceptance. And then to something unexpected.
She burst out laughing.
In a moment my grandfather had joined her, as if infected. I looked from one to the other. Was I now a laughingstock? What was wrong with them? I heard Papa snort, and my cheeks grew hot.
“Oh,” gasped Miss Marsh, “I look so ridiculous, on knees my little treasures to pick up! Ha, ha!” She had a mouthful of large, crooked teeth, and looked younger now, whether from smiling or blushing I didn’t know. I started to feel a little better.
“I… I’m very sorry,” I tried, but they weren’t listening.
Pada Josef wiped his eyes and said, “My dear Carolina, you must show me your ‘little treasures’ as you call them—and tell me of your adventures in Africa. It’s been much too long since I last saw you.”
She’d been to Africa! She was an adventuress. She didn’t look at all like what I thought an adventuress should be. Except for the scars… How had she got them?
She bowed low to him, flourishing one hand as if she were a courtier. “I like to do that, thank you. Also might some space I get, with large table and, and… magnify lens?” She clasped her hands and gazed at him beseechingly. Was he her patron? He obviously knew her, but from where?
There was more to my grandfather than his skinny old body and dazed manner would lead one to believe. They seemed to have forgotten about me and the mess I’d caused. No mention of Sigrun’s complicity in all this. Perhaps we’d both gotten away with it. I began to edge away.
My father shot out an arm and captured my wrist. “Wait just a moment, if you please, daughter.”
Miss Marsh crossed her arms and rocked back and forth on her booted feet. She wore a calculating expression. Inwardly I groaned.
Father stared down at me. “What shall be your punishment? Since you were here all by yourself, with no one to share the blame…” He gave me the opportunity to betray my friend, but I didn’t take it.
“Hmm. Well then, I suggest that you offer to assist Miss Marsh in her work.”
I curled my lip. I’d already apologized, now I must help this barbarian interloper sort her nasty, smelly plunder? Didn’t I have enough work and studying to do already?
As I opened my mouth to object, I felt my father’s hand tighten on my wrist. He gave me a stern, admonitory look, and I felt myself wither. What choice did I have? I shuddered and turned to Miss Marsh, who now was beginning to look happy. And perhaps a little eager…
I remembered her laugh, loud, merry and uninhibited. She was so small and strange-looking. Perhaps it would be interesting to see what else was in those crates and baskets… “Miss Marsh, please forgive my intrusion and my clumsiness. I hope you will allow me to assist you in whatever you may wish.” I bowed my head. Papa’s hand loosened and he smiled thinly. Grandfather grinned like a fool but said nothing.
Miss Carolina Marsh had no such restraint. She leapt forward and flung her arms around me. “Oh! We such fun we have! Not all so smelly things, I swear.” She let me go and backed off, rubbing her hands together like a miser.
“Well,” said my father, “I suppose I had better officially inform the household that you are here. Obviously the secret of your friend’s presence is out, isn’t it, my dear and esteemed father-in-law? She will be staying for a while, I presume? The winter, at least?”
“Er, yes. Um,” said my Pada, scratching his nose. “That was the plan.”
“You are much kindly.” Miss Marsh fluttered her eyelashes.
My jaw was aching from clenching my teeth, but it seemed I was off the hook. I could hardly wait to find Sigrun and tell her everything.
The orange cat closed his eyes and began to purr.