Arcanum (33 page)

“We’ve had …” said Felix, and he didn’t know how to finish. “Our problems.”

Allegretti intervened, “Mr Trommler, we cannot wait here while we discuss every last detail. Show us inside, and let us lock the doors. There are many things you need to tell us, and we have news of our own.”

“If my lord wishes,” said Trommler. He looked again at the crowd with narrowed eyes, and stood to one side as Felix finally walked his father back into the castle.

Reinhardt led the rest of the army – the victorious army, though it felt anything but – under the archway of the small gatehouse, and the tall wooden gates were closed firmly to the townspeople. A murmuring began. It became a cry, a howl, a wailing and a keening. A lamentation for a time past, its peace, its pleasures and its prince.

It broke the boy, in the privacy of his own castle, behind his own walls. He let the reins slip from his hands, and he knelt on the road. If he made himself small enough, he might be able to disappear.

Strong arms lifted him up and carried him. Barely aware of what was happening, he felt himself moved from downhill to uphill, from outside to in, from cool afternoon to dry heat.

Voices came and went, doors opened and closed. Something warm and soft enveloped him, and when he came back from wherever he was trying to hide, he was sitting in a chair and his stepmother was holding him to her.

“Felix.”

He called her “mother”, even though she wasn’t. It was the least he could do.

“Do you want to know how it happened?”

She stiffened, then forced herself to relax. “Not now. We need to talk about other things, though. When you’re ready.”

His face was buried in her hair. It smelt of soap and smoke. “Like what?”

“Your succession. In other lands, things can get …” she hesitated “…complicated. Fighting. Killing. We’ve never done that in Carinthia. Not for a long time.”

Felix disentangled himself.

“What?”

“Brothers fighting each other for the throne. Other royal houses might do that; I won’t have it in this one. You are the Prince of Carinthia. The earls will pledge allegiance to you, as will your brothers.”

“What?” repeated Felix.

“Oh, my boy. The stories you’ve heard of kings and princes all vying for a kingdom, of poison and daggers, traitors and turncoats. They’re not just stories. That really happens.” She wiped away the tear that was running down her cheek. “Your brothers and sisters are not your rivals. They are your family.”

“They’re just children.” He’d finally worked out what she was saying. She was asking him not to kill them, and her. “I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

“We’ll leave just as soon as we can. My brother had land in Ischl, and I have a claim on it.”

“You’re leaving?” he said, pushing himself up with the arms of the chair. “Don’t.”

“Not straight away. But yes, we have to go. Ulf is only six, but he’s now Earl von Ischl. And you are Prince Felix. It’s better we do this now, and you can fill your court without my interference, intended or otherwise.”

Felix gradually became aware of where he was: in his father’s private rooms. The shutters were closed, heavy curtains blocked out the remaining light. A low red fire in the fireplace and half a dozen candles provided the only illumination, tiny haloes that did little to hold back the dark.

“Who made Ulf an earl?”

“My brother rode out with your father, his prince. He didn’t return. And if we don’t go back to Ischl soon, the freemen will demand that we do, or find another to take his place. I have obligations, and so do you.” She said all this without rancour. She even stroked his cheek. “My children are too young to understand any of this: you, dear Felix, are not. I don’t want Ulf to be used as a pawn in someone else’s chess game. I want him gone from here so that he can grow up and become a man you can rely on, rather than a rival you’re forced to do away with.”

Princess Caroline got up from the floor and smoothed her dress out. Her gaze took in the room, and lingered on the bed.

“When will you go?”

“After the funeral. Perhaps even straight after.” She put her hand on his head. It was warm. Almost so hot, it burnt. “You have so much to do, and I’m so sorry I can’t help you with any of it.”

“The signore wants my father to lie in state for a week in the Roman style.”

“Signore Allegretti will have to contend with Trommler.” Her hand trembled, and she removed it. “If I can offer one piece of advice, not just as a loyal Carinthian, but as someone who’s tried to be some sort of mother to you?”

Felix nodded.

“Your duty is to the people of Carinthia. Let them be your first thought on waking and your last thought on sleeping. Those around you need to share that duty with you, until you can shoulder it yourself.”

She kissed the crown of his head, and left the room.

Felix was alone, for the first time ever.

“Mr Thaler, where have you been?”

The sky was almost dark, and the streets looked as if they were going to be deserted for a second night.

“Yes, yes. I know, Mr Ullmann.” Thaler put the Great Seal back on the desk in the foyer, and dropped the ledger next to it. “Gods.”

Ullmann dragged his fingers through his greasy black hair. “I sent to the mayor for you, because that’s where you said you’d be.” He was almost hopping with nerves.

“And I was.” Thaler leant on his knuckles, his whole body sagging. “We went to see the Order of the White Robe.”

Despite his agitation, Ullmann stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You did? What did they say?”

“Gods,” said Thaler again. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.” Suddenly, he had Ullmann by the edges of his robe and was dragging him down, face to face. “It’s madness. Utter madness.”

Then he realised what he was doing, and released the usher with an apology.

“Everyone’s shaken by the news, sir,” said Ullmann, adjusting his clothing. “A terrible sight to see, the young prince leading the old prince to the castle.”

“Yes. It must have been.” Not that he’d seen it himself, but that’s what everyone had said. Gerhard’s death turned an already near-impossible problem into one that was insurmountable. Felix needed to know of Eckhardt’s offer, but the boy had just lost his father, and he was a boy! Almost everything that Thaler and Messinger and Sophia had talked about on the way back down from the White Tower – with Thaler insisting that Sophia put forward her view – was now rendered entirely redundant.

“Mr Trommler sent a message for the Book of Carinthia to be sent to the fortress.”

Thaler screwed up his face. “Of course, yes. Was it found?”

Ullmann looked into the library beyond the doors, the dark punctuated by the commas of moving lanterns. “Yes, sir. A librarian has taken it already. And…”

“Thank the gods something’s gone right.” The under-librarian started breathing again. “But go on: there was something else?”

“In order, sir.” He listed the items breathlessly. “Under-librarian Grozer is sadly no longer with us. Mr Braun has returned with the young prince. Under-librarian Thomm has reappeared, and he offers his resignation.”

“This is getting a bit much, Mr Ullmann, for one man to deal with.” Thaler pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help. “So, Under-librarian Thomm’s resignation is refused. Did he give any explanation as to where he’s been?”

“He got married and had a family, sir.” Ullmann edged back, so that Thaler couldn’t assault him again.

Thaler’s jaw dropped. “What? In two days?”

“No, Mr Thaler. He was already married and had a child. The librarian you asked to find him finally tracked him down to a little house on Free Alley.”

“Married? How could he support her? And a child, you say?”

Ullmann bit at his lip and said nothing, and Thaler choked back the outrage.

“He’s been stealing books! Have him arrested, and have his rooms – and those of his so-called wife – searched. The greatest catastrophe Carinthia has suffered for a thousand years, the prince dead, the Order gone, and Thomm does this? I’ll strangle him with my own hands. Gods, what next?”

“Mr Thaler, you’ve gone very red.”

“As I have every right to be. Tell me that he at least kept a record of the books he pilfered.”

“I don’t know, sir.” Ullmann took another step back.

“Does that mean there’s more bad news?” growled Thaler through his teeth. “Out with it. Out with it all.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to take this, sir. Mr Braun managed to deliver his message, but it sparked an argument between Master Büber and the young prince. Büber’s accused of treason, and banished, as was the witch who travelled north with them. He even stole Mr Braun’s horse.”

Thaler went from red to white in an instant. He staggered back against the desk and clutched at it for support. “Peter. No.”

“No one knows where they’ve gone. Some say that the witch even tried to kill the prince, but the boy’s tutor forced her and Büber to flee.” Ullmann risked coming closer again. “Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“Please: water.”

“Water’s still off, sir. I’ve some bottles of short beer hidden away.” He disappeared into the library, and came back some moments later with two stone bottles. Thaler moved himself to the chair behind the table and slumped into it as Ullmann unstoppered both bottles and pressed one on the librarian.

The usher drank deep, and held his beer up to the dying light.

“Don’t know how long these are going to last, Mr Thaler. Without water, the brew-houses are going to run out soon enough.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” Thaler considered his own bottle. “There was nothing in that letter that could have led to a disagreement of such a magnitude. I accused the Order of hiding the problem, and perhaps of working on a fix in secret – we know the hideous truth of that now – nothing else. Where is Mr Braun? I’ll have to question him myself.”

“He’s sleeping his journey off, so I’m given to understand.” Ullmann nodded with satisfaction at the beer, and finished his, wiping his sleeve against his mouth at the end. “I don’t expect you’ll get any sense out of him until morning.”

Thaler gripped his bottle tightly in both hands. “What Peter’s been up to isn’t the most immediate of my problems. Neither is what that scoundrel Thomm’s been up to either. And neither is arranging a funeral for poor Mr Grozer. Nor trying to elect two successors. Gods, the jobs do stack up, don’t they?”

“You’ve got yourself a pretty pile, and no mistaking, Mr Thaler.”

“I have to go with the mayor and see the prince.” Thaler looked up at the sky. “How long until sunset?”

“Give it half an hour, sir. It’ll be proper dark by then.”

“Not quite the Jews’ new day.” The under-librarian scrubbed at his stubble, and thought so hard it hurt. He took another pull of beer, and saw that he’d spilt some on the table, where it had formed a dark ring on the wood. He dabbed his finger on it, and drew a line away from the circumference. Beer flowed minutely into the damp mark he’d made. “Mr Ullmann, it appears to me that actions have consequences.”

“Always have done, sir,” agreed the usher.

“But if you do the right actions, in the right order, you can affect the outcome to your benefit, no matter that the situation began as a series of accidents.”

“Looks like you’ve still got beer on the desk, sir.” Ullmann leant forward and presented his sleeve for more wiping duties.

Thaler caught the man’s arm. “No. The one thing we can’t do is erase the past. But we can mould the present to change the future.”

“What about the Norns, sir? Surely they’ll spin a man’s fate any way they wish.”

“Things have changed, Mr Ullmann. If they have changed so dramatically here in Midgard, perhaps there’s been an equally profound change in the other realms. Our only hope may lie in the idea that we are now masters of our own destinies.” Thaler emptied the bottle, banged it back down on the desk, and stood, letting go of Ullmann. “If the mayor arrives before I come back, ask him to wait.”

Leaving a bemused Ullmann in his wake, he shook out his robe and hurried down the steps of the portico, hurrying in the direction of Jews’ Alley. The last remaining stragglers on the streets were heading for home. Juvavum had always been a lively place after dark, its lights extending the day’s activities well into the night. This had always made the town appear rich, not just be rich. Now, it looked mean and cold, a provincial backwater full of nothing but faded glory.

He’d done a lot of walking that day, and there he was, walking some more. Under-librarian Thaler, pounding the alleys of the town, hot and bothered, rather than sitting neatly at his desk in the cool of the library: it was ridiculous, but there was too much to do, and only him to do it. It would have been churlish to blame Grozer for getting caught up in the frenzy that accompanied the lights going out, but Thomm? No excuses there at all.

Only the candles in the windows of Jews’ Alley broke up the gloom. Despite the library having all the lanterns it needed, the Jews had still more. He worked his way down the street, excusing his way through the pre-Purim crowds until he got to the Morgensterns’ door.

He was about to hammer his fist on it, when it opened and he was dragged unceremoniously inside. He was face to face with Aaron Morgenstern.

“What,” he said, “did you do to my daughter?”

Thaler kicked the door closed with his heel. “What did I do? Why don’t you ask her what she did to me? And the mayor?”

“You’ve led her astray. She’s unclean. She needs to go to the mikveh rather than the Megillah, and it’s all your fault.” Morgenstern jabbed his bony finger into Thaler’s chest for emphasis.

The librarian batted his hand away. “You old fool. She doesn’t need me to get her into trouble.”

“Oy, listen to the meshugener. Goat Mountain, what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t invite her. Quite the opposite. And,” said Thaler, “don’t pretend you didn’t know that Thomm was selling library books.”

“Books? Why is this suddenly about Thomm? What about my daughter, my life, my joy, sullying herself with bones and magic?”

“Oh, do shut up, Father,” said Sophia, coming down the stairs in a different dress to the one she’d muddied earlier. “I told you everything that happened and whose fault it was. Mine, I said. And what’s this about you buying stolen books?”