The Necromancer's Grimoire (5 page)

Nadira laughed, “What did you do next?”

“The lass got off me and stomped out of the house. I got up, set the bench right, and ate me oats.”

“Did she come back?” Nadira was almost afraid to ask. She unraveled another braid.

“Oh, aye. After I ate me oats I got up and went to the neighbor and bought a sheep. I tied its legs together and hoisted it over my shoulders and marched back to the hearth.”

“You carried a live sheep into the house?”

“Aye. When I come back at sundown the wee ones were sitting around table gnawing on mutton bones, and a haggis was steaming in the pot,” he finished triumphantly.

“You have children, Alisdair?” Nadira stopped, her fingers stuck in a great tangle of orange hair. “Wait. What's a ‘haggis'? Is it some kind of Scottish animal?” Her English lessons continued.

Montrose gave a short laugh, then winced as he held his ribs.

Alisdair looked disgusted. “You'll not be mocking me favorite dinner.”

“Well?” Nadira insisted. She finished unraveling the braids.

Alisdair nodded. “Ye take the innards of a sheep chop them up and mix with oats, stuff in the sheep's stomach and boil it in the pot.”

Nadira put a hand over her own stomach. “Ugh.”

There was the sound of soft feet in the hall and William pushed open the door, “They are calling us to supper,” he said with a smile. “I'm famished!”

On the way to the table, Montrose took her elbow and murmured, “Do not speak of his children.”

She looked up at him. “Oh no…” The sound of his voice was more of a warning than his words.

He set his mouth as he pulled her along. “All dead, long ago. Do not pry.”

“How?” She slowed her feet so he would have time to tell her before they reached the public room.

“Plague. Brigit and three little ones. Please. No more questions. I am surprised he even told you that story.” Montrose dropped her arm to hold the door and his eyes were sad.

Nadira recovered her appetite when she was brought to table. Corbett had arranged a private room. The innkeeper kept great platters filled and re-filled with meat and bread and something she was told was called ‘macarone'. She was served aubergine in olive oil with salt and herbs.

All the men were in good humor and spoke English unless speaking to one of the servants. Nadira was halfway through her plate when the table was interrupted as an old man with a white beard approached, closely accompanied by Calvin, and took a seat next to Corbett. She had the good sense to freeze and remain silent as introductions were made.

Corbett stood and said in Latin, then in English. “May I introduce our companion, Senore Giovanni DiMarco. He will be accompanying us to Constantinople.”

The men greeted him in turn. Montrose sat up stiffly at the sound of the name. He had been hunting DiMarco a mere week ago in his search for her, though he had never found him. He stared hard at the little man, and then turned to her. His eyes were steely and cold. DiMarco had been indirectly responsible for Nadira's most recent abduction from Andorra and for the fresh scars on his arms. He did not betray what he knew. Nadira gave him a slight nod to acknowledge his silence. Montrose returned his attention to his plate, but his jaws worked harder at the food than necessary.

DiMarco nodded to each at the table in turn, but said nothing. Nadira knew he did not speak English. When his gaze landed on her, his cheek twitched and his smile lost its sincerity. His eyes then flashed to Montrose and back to her, alarmed.
He has deduced the identity of my companion
. She carefully controlled her own expression; all but her eyes remained impassive. The polite conversation continued in Latin as DiMarco's plate was filled. She turned her head and pretended what she did not feel. Nadira pushed the olive oil around her wooden trencher with a heel of bread and bit into it. She chewed very slowly to discourage anyone from asking her a direct question.

Not to be. William's eager eyes told her how hard it was to control himself. He leaned toward her and whispered in English. “You have met Senore DiMarco before, Nadira. Why do you not greet him?”

Montrose jaws stopped chewing. Nadira heard him inhale deeply through his nose. Alarmed, she took his hand under the table and pressed it against her knee. The look on his face was exactly what she remembered that horrible day in Monsieur's solar immediately before he throttled a priest. She squeezed his hand again and watched as he swallowed. He did not reach for the plate, but tucked his right hand into his belt where Nadira knew his dagger lay. Nadira shook him. “No,” she whispered. He growled, but his hand returned empty to the table.

She had indeed told William about DiMarco's fine house and library in Rome, but not everything she knew about him. Now she regretted every word. William had no idea that DiMarco was involved in the destruction of the tower in Andorra or Monsieur Conti's murder. She bore DiMarco no personal ill will, for he had been kind to her and the destruction of the tower had been at the orders of his master, not by his hand. Without his help Lord Montrose would not have been able to find her again and rescue her from the French army.

But neither did she trust him. He had turned her over to the Church to save his fortune. He had obeyed the orders of the pope. His loyalty was to himself first.

The white knights had stopped talking and were staring at her with intense interest.
They do not know, either. As usual, my thoughts must be written on my face.
DiMarco was the only person at the table busy at his meal; content to pretend he had never seen her before.

Carefully, in English, Nadira said, “William. It is best that you keep silent in this matter.”

His face fell, chastened, until he glanced at Montrose, and then it drained of all color. Nadira guessed he was remembering the murder in the solar as well. The white knights followed his gaze to Montrose. It was time for an explanation. She said slowly in English, “My lords. Senore DiMarco is the pope's alchemist. It was on the pope's command that he became my most recent abductor. He is somewhat responsible for the baron's fresh scars.” Eyes shifted to Montrose. Corbett's face became serious.

“I see. Then our prisoner pretends ignorance.”

“It is so.”

“The baron shows considerable restraint. I thank him for that.” He touched his temple in salute.

Montrose grunted, then picked up a chunk of bread from the table. He did not eat it; he merely held it in his hand. Nadira squeezed his knee again.

Corbett turned to Di Marco, still busily stuffing himself with the innkeeper's best olives and fresh cheese. In Latin he said, “Senore. It has been revealed to me that you are no stranger to our reader and her guard.”

DiMarco looked up. He glanced at Nadira and Montrose before saying, “She looks familiar.”

The bread in Montrose's hand turned to crumbs in his grip, and he pushed the bench back with a loud scrape.

“No!” William leapt to his feet, pointing at Montrose. “No!”

Montrose looked at him in surprise. “What is it, Friar? I am finished with my meal and will now retire to my room.”

William's face became even more anxious and his outstretched hand wavered. He blinked. Everyone could hear his labored breaths. Nadira said helpfully, “My lord is tired from his journey.”

William closed his mouth and lowered his arm. “Of course. Yes. Certainly.” He sat down again, but Nadira could feel him trembling through his habit when she put her hand on his shoulder.

Montrose disappeared out through the door and down the long hallway. The table returned to an uneasy silence. William focused on his meal, his face flaming. The white knights eyed DiMarco with more interest. Nadira touched her napkin to her lips and said in Latin, “Senore DiMarco. Truly, I am surprised to see you here.”

The alchemist reluctantly put down his spoon. “As I you.”

Corbett said, “And yet it is not surprising that we both chase the same prey…”

“Yes,” Nadira interrupted, “The White Hart.” All eyes turned to her now. “A brave man once called it that. He said that Corbett should have it. Now he does. You have no claim on it, Senore. None at all. The
Hermetica
is not yours. It was stolen by the king of France two hundred years ago and has been returned to its rightful owners, the descendants of those who compiled it and used it.”

Nadira watched DiMarco wince. He nodded once and tapped the side of his nose. “It is not in my best interest to argue. I will agree that the book belongs to the order of the White Knights.” He glanced around the table, “If that is what they are calling themselves now. Yet you have abducted me for a reason. I would know it.”

At this Corbett and his men shifted uncomfortably. William's eyes were afraid. Corbett cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded odd. “I could not leave you there in the prince's villa. Not after the alarm had been raised and the prince lay insensible.”

DiMarco raised his eyebrows. “An agent of mercy, then? Am I free to go now that I am safely away from the Turk's guards?” He made like he might rise from the table.

Corbett used a fist to cover a delicate cough. “No.”

“I see.” DiMarco leaned back on the bench and looked at Nadira. “The tables are turned, now, Nadira the Reader. You see that I am now the prisoner, and you the captor.”

“These men do not do my bidding, Senore. They have you on their own terms. Not mine.”

“And those terms?”

Now the faces turned to Corbett. He nodded for the servants to clear the table. “Bring the Chianti,” he said to them. When they were alone with their cups of wine, he answered DiMarco. “Your treasures, Senore. You possess a chest of elixirs. Glass vials of various medicines and potions.”

DiMarco's face hardened. “You would be a thief, sir?”

Corbett bristled. “Never. But a man will pay a price for his freedom. That is yours.”

“Like the
Hermetica
, these treasures are useless, even dangerous to one who knows not how to use them.”

“Can you be persuaded to instruct us?”

DiMarco's face twisted in disbelief. He exclaimed, “Surely you jest! These elixirs are the result of years,
years
of work! Monsieur, I will never reveal their mysteries. Their secrets are between heaven and earth, and the men who have the courage and wits to be ambassadors to truth. Never will I reveal what I know!” DiMarco's face had become quite flushed. Nadira had followed his rapid Latin with difficulty. She suspected Alisdair and Garreth had been left far behind.

She cleared her throat. “I will,” she said in English. “I will be the ambassador of truth.”

Calvin said, “We will not permit you to endanger yourself with these poisons.”

Corbett shook his head in agreement. “No. You already have shown the way for us by holding a candle to the map of truth. Your service is needed in Constantinople.”

Nadira nodded. “So be it. The baron will be gratified to hear this.” Alisdair snorted.

Corbett gave a short laugh. “No one wishes to antagonize Montrose more than necessary.” In Latin, he addressed the alchemist. “We will take the vials in return for your freedom and some traveling money and consider it a fair trade.”

“No!” The little man stood. “I will not relinquish them to you! Are you prepared to murder me for them?”

“Murder you?” Corbett waved his hand and Calvin moved behind DiMarco. The knight pressed him back into the bench with two hands on the man's shoulders. Corbett continued, “I suppose we could. I am sure your offenses over the years might warrant an execution. I had hoped for a business transaction. It is why you are still alive.”

Nadira could see that was not what DiMarco had expected to hear. Corbett said, “When we found you with the
Hermetica
we became very interested. When we found the treasure box on your person and Prince Djem near death, of course we were not going to let you go. When we found out who you are, we were even more intrigued. Now I must say that we are positively fascinated. I might even suggest that God, Himself, placed you in our path to further our quest.”

“These are my vials. My elixirs.”

“Yet you were at the beck and call of the Borgia pope. He rewarded you quite handsomely.” Corbett tipped his head at Di Marco's fine silks and velvets.

“His Holiness is generous.”

“Tell me. What did His Holiness seek within those vials? Was he trying to converse with God?” Corbett leaned forward for the answer.

“Why should I answer?”

“We can just take the box from you and set you down on the road back to Rome.”

DiMarco scowled, “The vials are worthless without me. One of them is a deadly poison, as the late prince now knows. Which one? Who is willing to take the chance? Only I know which ones are for what purpose. Some give life, some take it away, and as Nadira the Reader knows, some will send you to the place where color and sound have their very genesis. You will not just take this box and leave me on the street. Those vials are the soul of an alchemist. If you kill me, they will kill you.”

Corbett glanced at Nadira before responding. “How can you be persuaded, then?”

DiMarco scoffed. “Do you have the wealth of the Vatican? There is nothing you have that I want. His Holiness has the deepest purse in Christendom. There is nothing you can offer me, poor knight of Christ.”

The white knights sat up straighter and exchanged dark looks at the mention of their forbidden order. Calvin squeezed DiMarco's shoulders until the old man winced. DiMarco spoke through gritted teeth, “And how could you trust me? I may say, ‘take this one' and you will find yourself in hell. Yes. One of the vials sends a man directly to Satan. I may say, ‘try this one' and my wrinkled face will be the last thing you ever see. You cannot win. These vials are a part of me.”