The Necromancer's Grimoire (33 page)

“He told me that you can look into the heart of a man and expose his mind and open his soul. Like the
jinn
.” He looked away from her quickly, as if that could prevent her from doing that to him. It couldn't.

She raised an eyebrow. “He said that?”

“Are you a
jiniri
?” Piri continued to scan the horizon.

Nadira closed her mouth and set her lips, for she would not insult such a man with a laugh. She looked up at him seriously and said, “No. I am not a
jiniri
. I am a woman.”

“How is it that you have my uncle in your power? No woman has ever done so. You must be a
jiniri
.”

“Ah,” she said, and looked back to the waves. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

“He will talk of nothing else but your beauty and wisdom.” The tone of Piri's voice told her he thought she had his uncle spellbound. She wondered. She glanced up at him to find him now staring directly at her, demanding an explanation.

“I came to Istanbul to steal a book. I have done so.”

“Steal a book.” He frowned. “You are a thief?”

“Yes. I am.” She caressed the rail. “I have stolen more than a book.”

“He told me…” his eyes suggested he might not want to tell her what Kemal had said. He shifted the phrase. “He asked me to ask you if you plan to return when your business in Greece is finished.”

“Oh yes.” She touched her throat. “He worries about that cord.”

“What?”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “Tell him I will free him, and his sultan.”

“
Sultana
,” Piri tilted his head. “He says you were the servant girl who brought him cakes and fruit in a merchant's house in Barcelona three years ago this summer.” His eyes challenged her to deny it. The astonishment on her face confirmed his suspicions. “Then he is correct. Tell me, how is it a Berber princess serves cake to a Turkish sea captain in a Jew's house?”

Nadira felt weak in her knees. She clutched the rail and sent her mind back to
those days long ago. There had been many sea captains, and many cakes.

Piri prompted her. “We were there to carry away the Jews. He had gone to Cadiz and had filled his ships with the refugees, courtesy of the great Bayezid's mercy. He stopped in Barcelona to fill his hold.”

Oh yes
. She saw him now. No turban. He dressed in the style of the Andalusian noblemen so as not to alarm the people of Barcelona. The recent wars were fresh in their memories; a man wearing a turban would not be welcome in the streets. She remembered him now, so handsome with thick wavy hair that touched his shoulders a short black beard, finely-sculpted nose and shining dark eyes. He did not like the cinnamon the cook had put in all the stewed meats. She had watched as he held it to his nose and put it down. He had not eaten it, but was too polite to ask for something else. His meal was the bread and the olives only. She had noticed this as she filled the cups at the table. She brought a tray of fruit and almonds and cake to his room later after the meal had ended.

She smiled with the memory. He had been surprised by her thoughtfulness. He had opened his door to her and then took her tray from her hands and would not allow her to enter his room to set it down. “So that was the great Kemaleddin Reis,” she said softly to his nephew, “Savior of over a thousand souls from the prisons and fires of the Inquisition.” She sighed. “He is remembered with great honor there by my master. I had not been told his name at the time, only that he was a great captain and that I must hold him in the highest honor.” She looked at Piri. “And you were there, too. Do you not remember the cinnamon and honey drink I brought you?”

Piri's eye twitched, remembering. “That was you,” he murmured. He stared down at her, “Tell me how the granddaughter of a sultan serves food and drink to a sea captain,” he insisted again.

“Tell me how it is that he remembers a shy little servant girl. One of many who served him that night.”

Piri winced. He turned his face back to the sea in an unsuccessful attempt to make it appear that the wind was responsible for the pained expression. “My uncle told me…he told me he saw you when you…when you…he remembered you when you…something told him when you…” Piri could not finish. He blinked into the wind and muttered, “You are a
jiniri
.”

Nadira nodded. When she had opened Kemal's heart he must have seen her reflected in his memory. She suspected that the strands worked two ways. What she felt at their tips channeled her images and feelings to the other, just as she had created a path for the necromancer to enter Kemal through her. She rubbed her cheek and wondered what else Kemal had seen inside her.

The
reis
had seemed familiar to her when he had taken her ship, and now that feeling made sense. DiMarco had said that only the one who placed a thread could remove it. Since she had placed the thread in Kemal, was it possible she might be the one to take it away? Had the necromancer usurped her cord, or planted his own in Kemal? She did not know.

They stood together looking out to sea until a shadow blocked the wind from her face and she looked up. Montrose glared over her head at Piri. The two men did not share a language, but what needed to be said was in their eyes. Piri nodded to him and turned to leave the rail without a word. Montrose put his hand on her shoulder.

“What did he say to you?”

“He thinks I am a
jiniri
and I have bewitched his uncle.”

“Are you and have you?”

“Yes.”

“I will concede he is a very astute man.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Then the grief I see in your face is not from his words.”

She put her hand over his. “My guilt cannot be eased with a flail or a prayer.” She looked up at him and the wind blew her hair from her eyes. “I must learn in a very short time what it took the necromancer years to study. I must know what he knows and more in order to free the world from his control and right the wrongs I have done. I cannot rest my mind.”

“You are clever; you will learn whatever it is. You will smash him like an egg.”

His confidence only made her heart sink. “And if not?”

“After I kill Massey, I will take you back to England and you will help me build a mill in the bend of the river where there is a deep pool.”

She made a sad smile. “Aye.” But she knew there would be no mill if she failed. She looked the other way. She caught Piri turning his head quickly so she would not see him staring at her across the deck. “You are not afraid that I am a
jiniri
?”

“We don't have a word for that in English. Tell me what that is in Spanish.”

“
Hada
,” she said, “but with teeth that bite.”

“Ah, we do have a word. He thinks you are a
fairy
,” he put his arm around her and pressed her to his side. “With teeth,” he added with a smile.

She tried to smile back.

He took a deep breath and she could feel his relief that the bluffs of Istanbul were long out of sight. He continued after a pause, “Tell me what is ahead of us now.”

“I have the book; I do not know how to use it properly. The priestess will show me. When I am able to meet the necromancer and keep myself together, I will confront him.”

“And kill him?”

She felt one corner of her mouth twitch. “Robert, death is not always the answer.”

He made a low growl in his throat in disagreement.

She looked up at his face, his dark hair blew around his brow and his eyes were thoughtful. She explained, “He is called
necromancer
for a reason. Death is his forte. He deals in it, transacts it like a banker. I would be foolish to confront him on his own ground and play to his strengths.”

“I admit I do not understand.”

“No,” she agreed and tried to think of a way to explain it to him. “When you kill a man, he stays dead,” she began.

“Yes, he does.” The hand he had on the rail opened and closed on the smooth wood.

“When we…” she paused, shocked that she had so easily used the plural. She was silent so long he had to prompt her with a nudge. “When we kill someone…he does not stay dead. His body may lie rotting in the earth, but no one dies, my lord. Not really.” She gave him a glance. He had an eyebrow raised in disbelief. She sighed. “Your own religion teaches you that your soul survives the death of the body.”

“Yes, little one, and I have often demonstrated how very pious I am.”

She gave him a short laugh. “Indeed. Very well. Let me try again. When we kill someone, we have the ability to…influence the soul that emerges.” She watched his face to see if this made more sense. He was thoughtful and a little disturbed. She continued, “We can take that soul and…twist it. It is a frightening power. It can be used for good or evil. A man dies many times.”

“All souls are subject to the sorcerers of the world?”

“No,” she breathed in relief. “Only the ones that are full of fear and doubt.”

“That is everyone.”

“Not everyone. But yes. A goodly number. Many. Most,” she finally conceded. “So killing the necromancer only makes him stronger. I must actually be careful not to kill him.” It was the first time she had thought this far ahead. How would she stop him without killing him?
The priestess will tell me.
A doubt nagged at her. Why hasn't the priestess stopped him?

Montrose squeezed her. “What are you thinking? I do not like to see your face like that. Smile at me.”

She shook her head. “The time for smiles will come later. I fear the necromancer will send some twisted soul after me.” She glanced at him. “Or you. Your blade will not defend you against such dark magic. I must become your blade.” She squinted against the salty sea breeze. “And I do not know how.”

He bent down and kissed her, and then he said, “You will learn. If I were the necromancer I would keep my distance from such a
jiniri
.” Behind them she heard the sailors hiss.

“My lord, you scandalize the ship,” she said, but she gave him the smile he asked for. “It is bad enough you touch me in public.”

He turned and glowered at the sailors who quickly found other tasks farther from the
frenki
and his
jiniri
. “I tire of worrying about following custom.”

Nadira turned and leaned her back against the rail, searching for Piri to see if he had seen the kiss. The captain was not on deck. No doubt he would soon be told about the
frenki's
complete lack of decency. “We follow custom out of courtesy for the feelings of others.”

“And you know how much I attend to the feelings of others.” He bent to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his chest.

“The time for that is later as well. One squall and these sailors will toss us all overboard for bringing bad luck to their ship.”

“I do not swim,” he said. He drew back from her and turned to put both hands on the rail and look out to sea. “But I would go overboard rather than see you separated from me. Again.”

“Peace,” she said, for she could see the squall beginning to form behind his eyes. “We will go to Attica. I will find the priestess. She will show me how to read the book, and I will force the necromancer to release those he has in thrall.”

He frowned at the waves. “If you don't kill him, what keeps him from grabbing what he wants when your back is turned? You cannot use your life to be his jailor.”

“She will tell me.” But his words reminded her of another mystery. She put her hand over her belly.
The necromancer wants something from me
.

They were interrupted by DiMarco who must have been watching their conversation from his place across the deck. He nodded a greeting to them both.

“I could see you are plotting. I would know the future.”

“We discussed landfall in Greece, and the necromancer,” she answered.

“The sultan's sorcerer will be the topic for some time to come. Have you told the baron about the Templars' mission?”

Montrose barely turned his head. “I don't want to hear it.”

DiMarco ignored him. “We must have a plan. I insist on being included.”

“I have a plan.” Nadira heard her own words fall flat.

DiMarco was not deceived. “You need more practice traveling to the necromancer's realms. So far you have not strayed far from this world. His world is vast and requires a different focus. In your travels you could think of your body and return safe to its warmth. In his world you will have many bodies. There is a danger you will not return to this one.” He pointed his chin at her. “It will die if you are gone too long.”

This brought a violent reaction from Montrose. DiMarco found himself in the big man's grip, his tunic and vest twisted in his hand and the alchemist was lifted to his toes. He held tightly to the
Hermetica
and his elixirs.

“Do not speak of her death, old man.”

DiMarco's hat fell to the deck behind him. He was not cowed by the Englishman's fury, but his breath was cut off and his words were forced. “I must teach her to defend herself against this evil. You cannot. The friar cannot. The Templars are injured. This priestess may never materialize. The necromancer is there. He is real. He waits. She must learn quickly or be lost.”

Nadira put her hand on Montrose's arm. “Put him down.”

He did. He said, “I have wondered, Senore, why you have not made this journey yourself. You, who possess these wondrous elixirs.”