FSF, October 2007 Read online

  "You use an odd term, ‘will-call.’ What doth it signify? I am unfamiliar with it."

  Chrobius smiled in the manner of an indulgent schoolmaster. “It would occur but rarely in your kind of business, I think. It is a philosophic term, meaning something like ‘fortitude’ or ‘martial spirit.’ Perhaps ‘manliness’ comes closest to its meaning."

  "Would anyone design the countess bodily harm? Would anyone be bold to take her life?"

  He rubbed the point of his beard with thumb and forefinger as if feeling the texture of cloth. “I do not know. I should think it not likely. Her last husband, the third, that count of some vague area he called Ondormo, was a dark and bitter man who never showed real love for her. But he has been banished by the countess and lives in exile."

  "So she is not thrice widowed."

  "She accounts him as dead."

  "Where might he inhabit?"

  "Again, I do not know. Some have said the rugged coast of Clamorgra is pierced with caves and he coils within one of them like an adder in its hole. There are other rumors also."

  "What were the points of contention?"

  "There are rumors only, something about the division of a property. But I credit none of it. He was headstrong, willful, arrogant; she is, as you see, sometimes distracted and of sudden waywardness. There may have been little other than a conflict of wills."

  Astolfo took up the diamond and held it against the lamplight, turning it carefully. “I regret that she will not allow close inspection with a jeweler's glass,” he murmured.

  Chrobius smiled slowly. “As to that—” he said, and produced from a sleeve pocket a silver loupe, intricately enchased. “I can see no harm in your looking at it and cannot say why she objects. Probably it is no more than one of her personal superstitions. In these bad days, she lacks all proper and confident will-call.” He handed the loupe to Astolfo.

  I took for granted that the shadow master was expert in the knowledge of precious stones, as he is in so many other matters. But as he studied the object, bringing it closer to the lamp and withdrawing it, revolving it over and over, his expression troubled into perplexity and he began to hum to himself singsong, a sign that he had struck upon a puzzle.

  Finally he laid it back, almost reverently, upon the casket plush. “It would be shameful if such a prize should be an instrument of harm,” he said.

  "Do you think that it is?” I asked.

  Instead of answering my query, he transferred it to Chrobius. “You, sir, do you believe that it is?"

  The old gentleman gave his beard a short tug. “Today all my replies are but professions of ignorance,” he said. “I do not know."

  "Falco and I must consult our sources,” Astolfo said. “In the library shelves at my house there may be some helpful folios. If you will guide us, Chrobius, back to the corridor of whispering shadows, we can find our way from there."

  "No need for that nuisance,” he replied. “There is another way, speedier and more pleasant, to the entrance."

  "Thank you for your kindness,” Astolfo said. “Yet even so, we should like to retrace our steps. Those shadows seem to have secrets they desire to share."

  "I think you can gain but little from them, but I shall be glad to accompany you the way you came.” He set off slowly, then paced lightly through the salon. The countess was absent and her tall, throne-like chair had been set against the wall. A few gabbling late-stayers stood about and seemed to take no notice of our passage. At the door to the corridor Chrobius made a final bow and bade us farewell.

  * * * *

  My mount at this period was a dapple gray cob of complaisant temper. My overly large colleague, Mutano, had chosen this horse—Torta, she was called—from Astolfo's stable and handed the mare to me with that fleering sardonic smile that meant he had picked out an easy mount because he considered it best suited to my abilities. As to that, he was mistaken, but I accepted the reins in good grace and resolved to take excellent care of the animal. I could see that Torta had her points: not fleet but powerful and of steady courage. She would not flee a set-to.

  Astolfo had turned off on the way back to his mansion with a salute signifying he would return in a short time. I could see he was headed into Tardocco, but what his errand might be I could not know. It was late afternoon and the sun was just at the roof edges of this busy port city, now settling out of its workaday bustle, readying for the pleasures of twilight and early evening.

  I stabled Torta and looked well to her, then went for a stroll about the grounds. Early summer gladdened the grasses and trees and some of the rare flowering shrubs Astolfo was partial to. It occurred to me that he might have gone to consult one of his friends, an astute jeweler probably, in the town, and I thought I might gain a little credit with him by some quick study. I went into the mansion, into the great library, and strolled to the area where the volumes on stones were kept. By this time, I had achieved some familiarity with this extensive collection of books and manuscripts, though I knew Astolfo would not agree. He held me as being only a little more learned than a runt beagle.

  It had been a long three seasons since I broke into this house, hoping to be apprehended as a thief and then taken in as the shadow master's apprentice. My wish had come true—and had brought more burthen than I had bargained for. Yet I knew enough about the subject of stones to begin by looking into a late edition of the Grand Albertus and to follow its hints into Rhodius's Gemmae luminosae et lucidae, thence to Cassurio's Lux opali et carbunculi.

  It was in these latter pages that I came upon the story of the lady Erminia. This antique baroness always wore a dazzling opal in her hair. The resplendently milky stone closely matched the character of its mysterious owner, sparkling brightly when her mood was lightest, spitting out red gleams when she angered, clouding like a wheel-parted lane puddle when she wept. When in her later years her heart was broken by a perfidious lover, the opal cracked into five pieces, spilling its various, shattered colors upon the air and extorting from the miserable lady her dying breath. When her spirit passed from her, the five fragments of the stone crumbled to a dull gray powder, as did the shrunken form of Erminia herself.

  I wondered if the story of this opal might suggest fruitful application to the case of our countess and when I mentioned the possibility to Astolfo he did not instantly reject it. He professed surprise at finding me searching in the library when he arrived from the city but warned me that the study of precious stones was a complicated and uncertain matter. “Superstition collects about expensive gems as thick as rumors around a beautiful woman,” he said. “And, as with the woman, the more pure and powerful the virtues, the darker are the conjectures that swarm. The brightest and clearest diamond will be accounted the most perilous to its owner."

  "How does that come about?” I asked.

  "Partly because of envy,” he said. “If you have not the means nor the good luck to possess the fine sapphire that I possess, thou'lt impute every sort of dire quality to it and find ready belief among your rabble friends."

  "But is none of the hearsay true? Ominous tales about jewels are as thick as the winter fur of an Aurora wolf."

  "Some knowledge is certain. I for one would not wear a black pearl,” Astolfo said. “And I would not allow a mumbling priest with his ill-smelling censer and his murky sprinklings to come within half a league of any topaz I might have in store. But ‘ware you of anyone who says that a sard has been tainted by the poison of a dragon who guarded it in his hoard."

  "Are there any so gullible as to believe?"

  "There is many a merchant sharp-eyed in accounting, in the surveying of lands, in the lading of ships, in the interest rates of lending who will lose all compass when he come to the subject of gems. Those little bits of gleam seem to have been created to drive men's wits astray. This is another quality they share with women."

  "Is not the countess right to be concerned? Her diamond seems of no steadfast state. It is changing from its former being, is it not?" />
  "'Twould seem so. But what have you observed about the lady? We had but short time in her company, yet I found her a striking figure."

  "She is a conundrum,” I said. “I could not even judge her age."

  "Tell me of her shadow."

  "The flicker of torches and candles made observation difficult, but I thought she possessed a double shadow."

  "Two primaries, you mean—apart from all the penumbrae caused by multiple light."

  "Two shadows that she would possess in any place."

  "How would you describe them?"

  "Both were small,” I said. “One was a playful, gray shade, lively in motion, with flirting, fluttering outlines. The other was of a cast much darker, its shape somewhat crooked, its edges crabbed and ragged. It was bent in upon itself, reclusive, whereas the first shadow was an outgoing thing, ready to engage with any surface or any slant of light."

  "Which of the two would you say matched the countess herself in body and in spirit?"

  I hesitated. “Neither of them. Perhaps both together in some way I cannot explain. Yet not the both of them at once connect well to her."

  "And the diamond?"

  "I could not well see it from where I stood. Its size is its salience. ‘Twould be shameful if it is damaged, for a jewel of that size, if it be perfect, might bring a small kingdom as its price."

  "And the velvet?"

  "Velvet?"

  "It was perched upon the casket's purple cushion. What did you see there?"

  Long I thought. “There was a little space where the nap was depressed, just next the diamond."

  "Good.” Astolfo nodded. “Perhaps this estimable gem had a companion in the casket."

  "Do you think the diamond might possess some spiritual bond with the countess?” I asked. “For I have read how a certain lady Erminia was so closely soul-yoked with an opal that—"

  "Enough of that old tale,” Astolfo said. “It is as moldy as a cave for cheeses."

  "Is it not true?"

  "Even a truth, if too often cited, may lose some of its savor. And that instance carries us too far from our present one. We must keep close our attentions upon the countess. What kind of person will cast two primary shadows?"

  This was a question familiar to apprentices. “One whose twin died at birth. Or one who has been loved, adored beyond all reason, by someone who lies in the grave. Or someone whose mind is distracted, split into two minds, so that the man or woman is split into two. Or a mother or father who early lost two dear children. Or—"

  "Good enough,” he said and gave me a square look. “You are not the blockhead you once were. Now tell me, what manner of person will cast three shadows?"

  "I am not certain. I have heard it said that priests who serve three gods or a triple god in one may drop three umbrae, but I have no real knowledge of this."

  "Sometimes there are born,” said Astolfo, “certain persons who embody the spirits of three others, being themselves but vessels. They will be shadowed triply, but none of the shades belongs to them personally and are but evidences of these entities that inhabit them. Among women, however, there occur figures who are themselves three in one and embody the three great powers of womanhood: the capricious candor of the child, the copious beauty of the adult, and the age-wise, humorous, secret lore of the crone. These triple figures are rare in the world and much revered by members of the female gender when recognized. I believe the Countess Trinia to be such a person. As such, she will be a remarkable, strong leader of her people, if she is not attacked in some fashion."

  "She is a beautiful woman,” I said, “and it is easy to find in her much of the child, the spoiled brat. But I saw no trace of the crone about her. And I saw only two shadows."

  "She complains of being distracted in her mind, of not being at one with herself as formerly she was."

  "If she lost one of her shadows, that might mean that one-third of her self was missing."

  "Lost? Stolen?"

  "I cannot say."

  "I will suspect theft,” Astolfo declared. “Chrobius has warned us that there is something not right about the little ‘universe,’ as he called it, of her great hall. We need to pursue further. I am particularly interested in that diamond that was shown us. We must examine it at leisure, with our library of jewel lore and history at hand."

  "How is that possible?"

  "You will have to steal it,” Astolfo said. “But only as a temporary condition. Being honest gentles, we would never plan to keep it."

  "Steal it? I? I could never—"

  "Are you eager to learn the art of shadows or not? This is but a simple early step."

  "Very well,” I said, but my heart lurched within me like a young horse balking at a leap.

  * * * *

  I had made no long-drawn objections to Astolfo's statement that I was to purloin the diamond from the countess. He and his manservant Mutano, who was my constant and ever vigilant drillmaster, would surely spend some weeks educating and training me for this nocturnal exercise.

  So I thought, but once again I had failed to apprehend the design.

  The theft was to take place on the second night from today—or rather, in the second morning, for I was to enter the grounds of the countess's petite palace two hours before daybreak and to make my departure just as the earliest dawn-light brushed the rambling brick walls surrounding the edifice.

  "We must be brisk about this business,” Astolfo said, “for I believe that the countess stands in danger to herself and to the little realm that is loyal to her. The task is not so difficult as it may seem. This is no iron fortress high-perched upon some vulturous peak but only a small habitation of many doors and corridors, many adits and exits. Formerly it was a religious institution with the great salon as its principal place of worship and the outlying rooms and buildings serving as quarters for the clerics and devotees. ‘Twas never constructed to keep out intruders, expert or clumsy. Mutano will attempt to subtract some of your natural clumsiness, but it is unnecessary for you to gain the handiness of an experienced burglar. The place is not well guarded. The wealth of the countess is comparatively small—though I would not say meager—and her palace holds no strategic military position."

  "What if I am apprehended?"

  "'Twould be a sour business,” he replied, “for you will be recognized and the surmise shall be that you have come for the diamond."

  "As will be the case."

  "And so they will attempt to discover if you have entered there at my order and whether I am involved in some intrigue against the countess."

  "What is to be my answer?"

  "Why, that you came to thieve out of your own cupidity and that you have betrayed my trust in you and that I will be in a fury against you when I find out."

  "Will they be satisfied?"

  "After some hours of torture, you would undoubtedly reveal all."

  "I do not savor this experiment."

  "Mutano will supply you with a delightful drug. The first moment you are threatened with torture, you have only to swallow this bolus to die a swift and rapturous death."

  His gray-eyed gaze never clouded its mild steadiness. When I looked at Mutano, he gave me a broad smile and held up a little sphericle, as carmine in color as the seed of the pomegranate.

  "Very well,” I said.

  * * * *

  Since the enclosing walls were of brick and attained to a height of no more than half again my own, my scaling apparatus consisted of a light horsehair rope equipped with a small, three-pronged hook of iron. Only the claw-ends were naked; the rest of the hook was sheathed in soft leather to deaden its sound against the brick. My weapons were to be a short sword with a blade three hands in length, a poniard to tuck into the breast of my chamois doublet, and a short-steeled dirk hidden in my left boot.

  "This is feeble armory,” I complained. “If I am caught, there will be more than one to come against me."

  "If you bear more weaponry, you shall go clacking abo
ut like a pelican,” Astolfo said. “Your only real advantage is a stealth that more blades would but diminish. Graceful stealth, that is your only method. And for that, you shall have the concealment of a shadow."

  "Truly?” I was enheartened by the prospect. Astolfo had not yet trusted me to wear a shadow. I was too fumble-footed, he said, too cocky-jerky in my movements. The sturdiest shadow he drew about me would soon disintegrate to tatters and giblets, lose all its dark luster, and befoul with my sweats and farts.

  But now I was to don one and I began to think that this was a real engagement, after all, and not a mere exercise drill to sharpen my skills and broaden my education. Of course, that would mean that the scarlet suicide dosage was a real and earnest poison and that the prospect of torture was not a figment of fancy. I began to have a creeping uneasiness of mind, but there was no turning back. I had given my Yea and could never live down changing to Nay or shill-I-shall-I.

  One sandglass before daybreak was my time to enter the palace compound. “Late-reveling courtiers do not rise at cockcrow,” Astolfo explained, “and so there will be early light, fore-dawning and then dawn. A black shadow would be as noticeable as a camelopard and a gray one as visible as mist. So we must resort to the colors, Mutano. What tints should we drape about our daybreak thief?"

  Mutano replied with a swift twittering of his fingers. I had puzzled out much of the sign language in which master and mute manservant conversed and had learned that they communicated in at least three different gestural dialects. What they were signaling now I could not fathom.

  Astolfo smiled humorously and told me that Mutano thought I should have choice of colors since I was to be the wearer. “What then do you choose?"

  The study of shadow color is long and intricate and I had but barely touched upon it in my reading. Since whatever tints I named would be declared mistaken, I made the obvious choices. “If the day is to be fair and bright, the early light will be purple changing to yellow and silver,” I said. “Perhaps a dun color might pass without note."

  As I expected, my colleagues grinned at my blunder.