FSF, May-June 2010 Read online

  And it is true that I never saw him take a shadow by stealth except in the process of a training exercise. His thieving days were behind him. Yet they left a long trail of legend that was vital to his legitimate enterprises.

  Most tedious of all were the mathematics and the treatises of theory. I am no lover of brain-toys and to spend a long rainy day poring over Teteles's Primeval Shadow Theory or Carnicus's Liber Umbrae Antiquitae is not my pattern of entertainment. I hated geometry too, though I could see the sense of it. If you plan to cut away a shadow where it is splayed across a wall nook with three or four irregular corners, you will be glad to know of angles and arcs and degrees. But if you find any use at all in the worm-gnawed pages of the anonymous Speculum Mundus Umbrae, you are a scholar far superior to Falco.

  * * * *

  The training seemed never to leave off; it was continual, and part of the discipline lay in his deceiving me as to what was an actual theft and what was only an exercise.

  Consider the current matter, for example. Here we stood at the side entrance of a gloomy harbor warehouse. Astolfo gave the weathered, strap-hinged door a coded knock, two one two, and we were admitted by as bulky a pair of dusky ruffians as you would ever care to accost in a greasy alley. One of them led the way through the mazy corridors to a small door with no window. The other followed us. At the moment Astolfo rapped upon this door, I felt the unmistakable prick of a sword point between my shoulder blades.

  In such circumstances, the apprehensive body allows no rational thought. I dropped to the floor while snatching my dagger from my small-boot, curled around the feet of the large fellow like an ingratiating cat, and clipped in two his heel tendon. He howled in a tone surprisingly high-pitched for one so hirsute about the chops, dropped his cutlass, and staggered against the wall. I sprang to my feet and swept out my sword, ready to defend myself and Astolfo. I assumed that we had been led into a trap. Astolfo's wealth was fabled and attempts upon it—and upon his life—were not infrequent.

  With a gesture he calmed me. “Hist'ou!” he said. “What are you doing?"

  "The fellow threatened my life,” I said. “His point was in my back."

  The door opened and a wizened, yellow-faced old man peered out and took in the scene with a single glance. “What, Astolfo? Have you brought some assassin upon me?” His voice was that of an elderly man accustomed to the use of authority.

  "Look to your man there, Pecunio. He attacked Falco from behind. He is fortunate to escape with a complete gizzard. Why does he draw steel upon an invited guest?"

  The old man gave Astolfo a searching look before nodding assent. He signaled to his other lummox of a servant who helped his companion to stand and supported him as he limped away into the dimness. I watched them go, thinking it would be some space of time before the one who had so rudely poked me would be leading the dancing floor in a quadrille.

  "These are perilous days, Astolfo,” Pecunio said. “I have made it a practice to hold strangers at blade point when they enter my little counting room."

  "Anyone with me is no stranger, you already have my surety upon that."

  Pecunio nodded. “My man Dolo is large, but he is not a giant of the intellect. Let the matter rest and come in."

  When we entered I saw by the light of a dozen candles that our host was smaller than I had thought and that he sported a hunchback. He was dressed in black, tunic and trousers and footwear, with white laceless linen at throat and wrists. He took his own good time looking me over and his expression gave nothing away. Then he turned to a tall cabinet, brought forth a decanter and three small gilt-rimmed glasses, and poured a measure for each of us.

  I followed Astolfo's lead, raising my glass in salute and draining it in one swallow. It was fiery, cloyingly sweet, and expensive.

  "It is good to see you again, Pecunio,” Astolfo said. “I hope to be able to do you better service than chopping off the feet of your servants, as my hasty ‘prentice is so eager to do."

  "We will come to terms about that when you name a price,” Pecunio said, “for the service I have in mind is but a modest one. I only desire your opinion about a certain piece of property."

  "An appraisal?"

  "Call it that. I have come into possession of a shadow. It has been represented to me as a curious and valuable object. And so it might be, if it is genuine."

  "What is its provenance? Can you not trace down the owner?"

  "I dare not come anywhere near him, if the provenance is genuine,” Pecunio said. “Perhaps you too, even the adroit Astolfo, would think twice upon the matter."

  "Perhaps. Just what is this marvelous shade supposed to be?"

  "Let us have a look.” Pecunio crossed the room to a huge oaken closet with a heavy door that reached to the beamed ceiling. With a small silver key he clicked an easy lock and then another and finally swung open the silent door. He gestured to Astolfo.

  The plumpish shadow master slid his arm carefully into the recess and brought out one of the most opulent umbrae I have ever seen. Midnight its color was, the midnight of a deep forest, with the wind brushing the leafy boughs overhead so that starlight arrowed through in bright streaks. There were colors in its deep blackness, a quick threading of silver here, of scarlet there, and now and again a dull mauve glow hard to distinguish pulsed in the general texture. If ‘twere cloth, it would be heavy velvet, but it was shadow and had no weight—mass, of course, but no weight. I will forbear to cite at length the Testamentae gloriae umbrae and all the other beetle-nibbled volumes on this point. Anyone who has seen shadows bought and sold knows all that is necessary.

  Astolfo's touch with the stuff was so light, he might not be holding it at all but only allowing it to drape about his half-opened hands. That is the proper way to handle shadows, but skillful experience alone makes it possible.

  He gestured slowly, turning his hands over as if warming them by a brazier. “This is excellent material,” he said. He put his face near and inhaled gently. “A complex aroma, but with pronounced salt. This is the shade of a quondam seaman, perhaps of someone who no longer follows the sail.” He closed his eyes and considered. “If he be such, he has fought many a battle and sent many a poor tar to swirl in the deepest currents.” He put his tongue out briefly, tasting the air like a serpent. “I should not like to have the owner of this shadow as my enemy."

  "You believe that the caster of this shadow is still alive?” Pecunio asked.

  "I know men in the flesh less lively than this shade. Whoever stole it from its caster had best beware."

  Pecunio replied quickly, his tone apprehensive. “I did not take it and I do not know who the thief might be. I only bought it for its fine qualities. How it came to the seller I do not care to know."

  "Very well,” Astolfo said. “But in that case, I fail to see how I might be of service."

  "It was represented to me as the shadow of Morbruzzo,” Pecunio said.

  "The pirate?” Astolfo asked. There was an unaccustomed hint of surprise in his voice. “The sea raider infamous in broadside and ballad? The villain who razed the port of Lamia and ravished the queen of the Dimiani clan? If this be his, it is a rare treasure, but its price may be higher than you are willing to pay."

  "I have already parted with a smallish treasury for it."

  "I do not speak of gold."

  "My life, you mean?"

  "He is no squeamish breed of pirate, by all account."

  "What if it is not Morbruzzo but only some other felon?"

  "Then the value of the thing decreases, yet you are still in danger."

  "Can you determine for me the lay of the situation?"

  "Let us be clear,” Astolfo said. “You would have me first affirm whether this shadow really is that of the man-slaughtering Morbruzzo; then I am to find out if he has sent or is sending agents against you; and then I am to advise you whether you may guard yourself or if you should get rid of the property as soon as may be."

  Pecunio hesitated, then nodded
.

  "If I undertook this commission, I should put myself in mortal danger."

  "To which you are no newcomer."

  "In fact, you have already exposed me to such by inviting me here."

  "There are already those with designs upon your life continually."

  "If I accepted this little chore, my fee would be a tall one."

  "Your fees are always exorbitant."

  "You shall have answer two days hence. I know that Falco and I will be followed when we leave here today, but I shall take pains to insure we will not be followed when we return. Now if you will bid a servant guide us out of this labyrinthine storehouse, I promise that rash Falco here will refrain from puncturing him."

  Pecunio smiled. “Of course."

  Astolfo placed the shadow back in the great dark closet and Pecunio turned home the locks upon it. Then he crossed to the table and raised the decanter in invitation. “Shall we seal our compact with another sip?"

  "I have not yet agreed,” said Astolfo. “But when our business is concluded, a glass would be welcome."

  "I understand.” He reached to a shelf above, took down a hand-sized copper bell, and rang it. Almost immediately the door opened and a serving man stood there, a slender, yellow-haired fellow who wore incongruous high boots. His feet, to judge by the boots, must be outsized, even larger than my own.

  "Be so good, Flornoy,” Pecunio said, “as to show our guests the way out."

  As we followed this figure through the corridors, I was surprised by the aggressive way he stepped along, but Astolfo seemed to take no notice, peering in one direction and another along the clammy walls.

  * * * *

  When the warehouse door eased to behind us and we were alone in the malodorous alley, I started to ask one of the hundred questions that bubbled in my head.

  "Not yet,” Astolfo said. “We shall be followed and we must discover by whom. At the corner next, we shall part. I cross the cobbles to the tavern across. You turn to the right toward the wharf, then cut back through the little passage there and come round behind our pursuer. Find out everything you can and we shall rejoin at the manse."

  * * * *

  When I got back Astolfo had not yet arrived. Mutano, his dumb but not at all deaf manservant, allowed me the largess of the pantry, including a hunk of buttery cheese, a handful of black bread, and a tankard of ale to obliterate the taste of Pecunio's sickly-sweet wine. While I was making good use of these eatables, he signaled to me that Astolfo had returned and now awaited me in his library, the small one with the fire grate, not the great glum one with all the musty books and their eye-murdering tiny print.

  Seated in his leather armchair, he motioned me to the splint-bottom across. “Who was't dogged us, think you?"

  "I saw no one,” I said.

  He thought. “That means there were not two hounds on our trace. You would have spotted two. You might well have spotted one who was inept. So either there is none or there is one who is sharp in his craft. We shall of course proceed on the latter assumption."

  "Proceed to what end?"

  "Why, to preserve our skins and to plate them with gold; that is, to stay alive and make a profit. Here lies the shape of things as I surmise. Pecunio did not come by this shadow in the way of ordinary trade. It was offered to him by someone close enough to Morbuzzo, or whoever the shadow's owner is, to be in the confidence of the robbery victim so that he could betray him. This would be someone well skilled with an expensive price on his head. His first thought might have been to sell the shadow back to its caster for a goodly sum and then to renege on the bargain and afterward sell it to Pecunio. In this way, he could make two profits at once. But there may be other motives involved."

  "Who is this overly sly one?"

  "It has to be an artful shadow-thief. Three well-known adepts have lately dropped from sight. The red-haired Ruggiero with the scarred right hand has not been seen in a fortnight. Perhaps he visits his sullen uncle Pedrono from whom he hopes an inheritance. The canny, silvery woman, Fleuraye, and her carefree lover Belarmo have made off with many a prominent shadow over the last few years. Their latest theft, of the Countess Tessania's shade, has made them conspicuous. Rumor hath it that they now lie low in the neighborhood of the western marshes. Those are three possibles for Pecunio's seller. And there are others, but there has been some delay. For some reason, Pecunio has kept the shadow too long by him. He feels dangers mounting."

  "How so?"

  "Pecunio must have had in hand a second buyer with a heavy purse or he would not have undertaken so perilous a prospect in the first place. He was to turn it over as soon as he got hold of it; the price would be paid; his buyer would have departed for his distant home place, leaving no track. Those who came sniffing around Pecunio would find nothing. But once he had it in his store he was loath to let it go. He kept putting off his buyer. Now this buyer became fearful and wisely lit out. The longer the shadow stays in one place, the easier it is to find."

  "Whatever could Pecunio want with the thing, if not to reap profit as the middleman?"

  "Let us consider,” Astolfo said. “What are your thoughts?"

  "Well, he is no footpad to use the shadow to lurk for prey at night. He is no diplomat to veil with it the intentions of his words. Nor is he sculptor, painter, or composer to use it to tinct his compositions, adding nuance and subtlety. He is no—"

  "We shall both molder in our tombs before you list all the things he is not,” Astolfo declared. “What was his own shadow like when you saw it in his place?"

  "The room was dim,” I said, “but meseemeth his own was but paltry, thin, and malformed and palsied when the candles flickered. Just such a shadow as I'd expect to find in company with a miserly merchant."

  "Do you think he would describe his shadow in these terms?"

  "You have told me that people rarely form true pictures of their own shadows, but he must have some notion that his is not the handsomest."

  "His temptation, then?"

  I thought for a while. “To try it on."

  "To cloak himself in the shadow of one who has faced a hundred dangers in the heaving waters, who has peered laughing into the cannon's mouth, who has crossed sabers with six opponents at once, who has abducted princesses and caused them to adore him—would not that be a seductive temptation?"

  "For a daydreaming schoolboy. But Pecunio is elderly."

  "Old, and with little opportunity remaining for a life not bound to the counting house, the tax summons, and the accompt ledger. With the shadow folded about him, he feels the vibrancy of that other life; the sounds and smells of mortal conflict thrill his sluggish blood; the swathe of the shadow around his thighs is like the caress of a woman."

  "So he shall keep it as a plaything?"

  "It is too lively. The emanations will give it—and him—away. But his one foolhardy prospective buyer has deserted. Pecunio now believes he has but a single choice left."

  "He is holding it for ransom? Is not that the most foolish of choices?"

  "It is. But he can try to misdirect those who would corpsify him and retrieve the shadow."

  I dreaded to ask. “How shall he misdirect his pursuers?"

  "By employing us. We shall have been seen visiting Pecunio. His goings and comings are watched every hour. Those who have seen us will take us for middlemen arranging a sale on his behalf. We shall be watched even more closely than he. They expect that sooner or later we must transport this shadow to the buyer with whom we have arranged. At that point, they will attack. They will slash our throats, thrust pikes into our tender guts, and chatter like jovial monkeys as they bear away the prize."

  "We are but decoys in the old man's plan,” I said. “Let us go now to his rat-ridden warehouse and remove his liver and spleen and feed them to the alley curs. I do not like being made a dupe."

  "What then?"

  "We shall be revenged on his insolence."

  "Revenge will not make weightier our purses."
/>   "We shall have the shadow."

  "And along with it those who will kill us for it. Are you satisfied that it truly is the shade of Morbruzzo the infamous pirate?"

  "You described it as the companion of a daring privateer."

  "Yet I think if it belongs to Morbruzzo we would see lying at the mouth of the bay two of his three-masters and his sloop of war cruising the harbor. He would not scruple to torch this city of Tardocco if he thought he would regain his shade by doing so."

  "If it is not Morbruzzo's, then—"

  "Then we must think upon the matter dispassionately. We must meanwhile guard ourselves closely. Mutano and you and I had better stand four-hour watches until we more clearly comprehend the situation. I will stand first; Mutano will wake you for the third."

  * * * *

  In the bare little room of the manse Astolfo had allotted me, I sat for a while staring at the wall. I glared at the rhymes he had ordered me to carve into the thick headboard of my bed—Bumpkin lad, Protect thy shade; As in this life I come and go, The hardest task myself to know—but they were too familiar to have force upon my mind.

  Was I really so bloodthirsty as I boasted? Would I kill an old man in cool revenge? I had never killed anyone, though I had broken pates and cracked bones in rough combat and left a few handsome scars on the hides of the unmannerly. But I had never felt an urge to draw blood for the sake of it, even to revenge myself.

  Then I realized why my temper had grown so short. I was unsure whether this affair of the pirate's shadow was an actual piece of business or only another training exercise. Astolfo had set me upon several ventures before, escapades involving intrigues, espials, petty thievery, forgery of sale documents, and so forth. Then when things were just coming to full boil, he stopped me off, saying, “You have done none so ill. But when the actual business is afoot, you must not talk too freely or so loudly, you must not be so hasty to unsheathe, you must listen to the words and even more carefully to the music of the words.” And so forth. I had felt duped as a child is duped and if this affair with Pecunio was but another lesson in the trade, it seemed a vain waste indeed.