Goblin Moon (42 page)

Caleb scratched his chin. “Guess we might gain some
satisfaction, anyways, from passing the knowledge on, from knowing
that the thing we knew might be of use to some great-grandchild of
my Jed or your Sera.”

“Indeed,” said Jerk, closing the book. He felt a
rising excitement, as though he drew nearer and nearer to some
hidden truth. A secret: greater than the spell which had enabled
them to create the homunculus, perhaps even greater than the stone
Seramarias. Was it possible that, in his failure to compound the
Stone, he was about to make a discovery of even more
profundity?

“But imagine,” he said, continuing to choose his
words carefully—for he always took great care in everything he said
to Caleb these days, never knowing what chance word or expression
would send the old river man off into a rage, or set him sulking
and glaring suspiciously—“imagine in your own place, or in mine, a
different sort of man . . . a man estranged from all his kin, a man
who knew nothing of natural ties of blood or affection. For a man
of that sort, even such cold satisfaction as you describe would be
denied him. Unless he could cheat death somehow, spend the next
century in a dreaming oblivion—remote from the flesh yet not
permanently sundered from it—neither dead nor alive.”

As Jenk spoke, a picture began to form in his mind.
He saw the sorcerer in his laboratory, making his preparations,
casting a mighty spell, falling down in a semblance of death. But
the body, though tenantless, remained uncorrupted. He saw the
magician’s assistants prepare the corpse, sew the eyelids shut,
give their master a proper laying out, so that no questions should
be asked later. Jenk imagined them, when the time came for burial,
placing the magician in a splendid casket along with his books, and
taking that coffin secretly down to the sea. He saw the coffin
launched into the water, there to ride for a hundred years or more,
while the little piece of narwhal ivory in the sorcerer’s hand
acted as a kind of talisman to bring the body to the proper place
at the proper time.

“It explains much which I have been unable to explain
in any other way,” Jenk mused out loud. “And if the tale of
Evanthum itself be not true, yet it is still possible that this
man, this magician as he appears to have been, nevertheless
believed it to be true, and cast such a spell as I have described
in order to be present at the next Emergence, and
‘Walk the Streets of Ivory and of Pearl, exactly as Men
did of Old, and marvel at the Wonders so miraculously
Preserved.’
Nor should we forget those secrets carved on
tablets of ivory in the temple, which I am persuaded would be of
the greatest interest to such a man as I have described.”

Caleb goggled at him in patent disbelief. “But to do
that—to do what you said he done—why, he’d have to know more of the
secrets of life and death than any man living.”

“Indeed,” said Jenk, just above a whisper. “Indeed he
would. A great adept. And I wonder, I cannot help but wonder, if it
might be possible to communicate with this man, in spirit at least.
We possess his body, which must form a vital link, also his books,
his medallion, all lending power to our invocation.”

Caleb took a deep breath. “That’s Necromancy you’re
thinking of. That’s a dangerous art, and one we never reckoned to
dabble in.”

“We never attempted it before, certainly, but
speaking for myself . . . I have thought of many things these last
few seasons, which I had never previously considered. And we have
the spells, Caleb, in Catalana’s
Book of
Silences,
which lies here in this very coffin.”

“Aye, but if’n we did conjure him up, what then?”
Caleb asked uneasily. “Who’s to say he’d want to help us? Who’s to
say he’d take kindly to us for disturbing his rest afore time?
Guess he wouldn’t tell us nothing!”

“Ah,” said Jenk, “but I believe that he would. I
think he would be prepared to do great things, reveal marvelous
secrets to the men who had his body in their keeping—who had the
power to destroy that body, and by doing so bring all his spells to
naught.”

Caleb began to catch a little of his excitement. “You
could be right, Gottfried. I’ll not deny, you could be right. But
it’s a risk, that’s certain. You sure you want to take it?”

“I have never been more certain of anything,” said
Jenk. “I am prepared to take any risk. But you,” he said, suddenly
remembering the coldness that still existed between them, on
Eirena’s account, “you must not think that I would ask you to do
anything against your will.”

But Caleb was well and truly caught, too intrigued by
the possibilities to back out now. “Guess I would be interested in
helping you out, at that. Reckon it’s not an opportunity I’d be
wise to pass by.”

“Why then,” said Jenk, closing the lid of the coffin,
“I believe that we shall attempt the conjuration at the dark of the
moon, five nights hence.

Chapter
36

Containing further Stratagems of the Duchess.

The season of Gathering was advancing, and down in
the little wood below the Wichtelberg the leaves on the oaks and
the beeches were turning gold. Though the days grew shorter, the
weather continued sultry, and the Duchess and her guests had taken
up boating, rowing out on the lake in tiny gilded skiffs shaped
like walnut shells, or exploring the mysterious waterways of the
grotto.

On the twenty-third day of the season, a
baggage-laden coach came rattling up the drive and deposited a man
and two women below the house. The Duchess, who was just returning
from an outing on the lake, was there to greet them on the lower
terrace.

“My dear Lady Ursula . . . and you Lady Vizbeck . . .
how very pleased I am that you were able to come,” said the
Duchess, in her high sweet voice. “Lord Vizbeck, a pleasure. And I
understand that congratulations are in order.”

“Indeed,” replied Lady Ursula, removing her hat and
her gloves. “We are to marry as soon as the bridegroom comes of
age. And I—can you believe it? but I assure you that it is true—I
have promised to practice habits of economy.”

“I confess that I find it difficult.” The Duchess’s
smile lost none of its sweetness. She turned toward Lord Vizbeck.
“What a very sanguine young man you must be!”

The Jarl and Elsie, also present, sensed a certain
hostility between Lady Ursula and the Duchess. Elsie was too well
bred to mention this circumstance, but not so Skogsrå, who broached
the subject that same evening, as he escorted the Duchess to her
bedchamber after supper.

“Why is she here, this woman whom you so obviously
loathe? Why do you invite her? And you suspect her, too, of
stealing your so valuable magic parchment.”

“I invited her—along with her callow bridegroom-to-be
and his rather more amusing mother—in order to get at the truth,”
said the Duchess. “How am I to learn whether she has taken my
parchment when she is in Marstadtt and I in Zar-Wildungen?”

The Jarl raised a single painted eyebrow. “The truth.
It seems that we are all here that you may learn the truth. But
what have you learned? Miss Sera Vorder—“

“Remains silent about her grandfather’s activities.
She has been up to visit the Duke a half a dozen times, and always
in Vodni’s company, but of Jenk’s homunculus or His Grace’s
supposed patronage, not a single word does she say.” The Duchess
shook her head disapprovingly. “I cannot believe that she is really
so ignorant, and so I redouble my efforts to gain her confidence.
Meanwhile, she makes herself exceedingly tiresome—she and Mr.
Budge, with all of their snooping and asking questions. I must
admit,” she added reflectively, “that I am sadly disappointed in
Hermes Budge.”

The Jarl made an impatient gesture. “Then send him
away.”

“And direct Sera’s suspicions toward myself?” asked
the Duchess. “Now, that would be extremely foolish. For now, she is
willing to believe that you are imposing on my good nature. If she
ever learns otherwise . . .” The Duchess tilted her head, and a
tiny sigh escaped her. “She will cease to be of potential use to
me, and then I shall have to take steps I had rather avoid.”

“It always comes to this,” said Skogsrå. “All gives
way before the Gracious Lady’s consuming interest in Jenk the
alchemist and his experiments. And this, I suppose, is the reason
you have sent Lord Vodni into Thornburg?”

“That is so,” said the Duchess, “but as Jenk himself
did not send for him, I have no way of knowing what sort of welcome
Vodni will receive there.”

Vodni returned two days later. The Duchess received
him in an elegant salon on the second floor, which was known as the
Clock Room, for it housed a large and varied collection of curious
old timepieces. There were mantelpiece clocks and long-case
grandfather clocks; clocks driven by falling weights, pendulums,
and springs; clocks made of wood, metal, crystal . . . indeed, of
every conceivable material. In addition, a glassed-in cabinet at
one end of the room housed a number of china figurines, each
concealing an internal timepiece. The dainty little Duchess, seated
on a gilded sofa, looked rather like a part of the collection
herself.

She rose from her seat and greeted the Baron with a
glad little cry. “Did Jenk admit you—did you see the child? Pray
tell me everything at once!”

Vodni took her hand by the fingertips and raised it
to his lips. “I have seen the homunculus and she is truly amazing:
physically perfect, although of course very small, and possessing a
certain unusual cast of coloring, which some might even find
attractive. Her appearance is that of a tiny woman, and her only
real defect, so far as I could discover, is her continued inability
to speak.”

The Duchess resumed her seat, fussing and arranging
the folds of her skirt in an agitated manner, though her face and
her voice remained calm. “She cannot speak; I am scarcely
surprised. It is not so very great a failing in one so young. So
long—so long, my dear Vodni—as she appears otherwise
intelligent?”

Vodni replied by enumerating Eirena’s many
accomplishments. “But Jenk himself is inclined to regard her
failure to speak as a serious defect. It is for that reason (he
tells me) that he was reluctant to receive me. And I understood,”
he concluded earnestly, “that the Gracious Lady requires a child
that is perfect in every respect.”

The Duchess smiled brightly, determined to make light
of this supposed shortcoming. “Perfect. Yes, the child must be
without any defect. I have suffered so much through the children in
the past. But after all, this Eirena of Jenk’s, she is virtually an
infant!”

Vodni began to move restlessly around the room. “But
of course, you are correct. From the moment of her conception it is
not above thirteen weeks. It is only because she appears physically
mature and behaves so, too, that one expects so much of her.”

“But the formula,” said the Duchess, growing
impatient once more. “Were you able to obtain the formula’?”

Vodni paused beside a large and elaborate timepiece
with three different faces, marking the hours, the seasons of the
year, and the movements of the planets. The clock-case was
constructed entirely of glass revealing a multitude of springs and
wheels and whirling gears inside. “Alas,” said the Baron, “he
denied me the formula, declaring that he will deliver it into the
hands of the Duke himself, or not at all. His manner was odd, and
(I thought) full of suspicion.”

“How very inconvenient,” said the Duchess. “How very
tiresome. But it is rather too late for me to confide in the Duke.
I suppose we shall be forced to resort to less direct means, that I
will have to arrange for the theft of the formula on my return to
Thornburg.

“
Not
that I am not entitled
to the information, and perfectly justified in using any means to
obtain it,” she added, with a self-righteous toss of her head. “I
have already paid a handsome price.”

The Dowager Lady Vizbeck was an energetic woman, with
a penchant for long walks whenever she visited the country.
Accordingly, she soon attached herself to Sera and Elsie, and
insisted on accompanying them on their morning rambles. Sera was
glad of her presence, for Jarl Skogsrå, in spite of his bad leg,
had become a regular feature on these walks, and the sight of Elsie
leaning so confidingly on Skogsrå’s arm was a sight that was
increasingly difficult for her to bear. It was becoming more and
more difficult, too, for Sera to address Lord Skogsrå with even the
appearance of civility, so she welcomed the opportunity to walk on
ahead with the Dowager, while Elsie and the Jarl trailed
behind.

“Miss Vorder, I am delighted to find your cousin in
such excellent health,” Lady Vizbeck exclaimed, one morning as they
strolled through the wood in the direction of the ruined chapel.
“So rosy, so blooming, so full of vigor as she appears to be. I vow
that her recovery has been truly amazing.”

“Yes,” said Sera, who could not help being pleased by
Elsie’s recovery—whatever she might think of Jarl Skogsrå and his
methods. “Elsie is nearly as strong now as I am myself. And if it
were not for her occasional
spells,
I
would have nothing more to wish for.”

The chapel in the wood was wanting a roof, and the
stained-glass windows had long since been removed. But the
stonework was still very fine, though considerably weathered, and
late-flowering vines wreathed the statues of the Seasons behind the
altar.

“I think it exceedingly romantic,” said Elsie, and an
intimate glance passed between her and the Jarl. “I am so glad that
the Duke refused to tear it down.”

“Yes indeed,” said the Dowager, “it is a very pretty
spot. It reminds me, just a little, of the Chapel of the Seasons at
the cathedral—after it burned down and before they rebuilt it. I
daresay you don’t remember the original chapel, for it was
destroyed—Let me see, it must have been the same year you were
born. It
can’t
have been earlier, for you
were named in the original chapel. I remember the occasion very
well.”