The Necromancer's Grimoire (6 page)

Corbett made a fist on the table, and set his jaw hard. “Take him to his room and stay with him.” Calvin lifted an unresisting DiMarco and dragged him by his upper arm out of the room. No one said a word. It was Corbett's place to speak first. After a long moment he did.

“As much as it does not please me, I fear our guest is right. He will not leave this place with his treasure, but neither have we gained it. I will not test each vial on an unsuspecting servant or beggar as I have heard is often done by the alchemists of Damascus. I had hoped to come to terms with DiMarco for an even exchange. What use is a treasure one cannot use? What can one do with a man who has no price? ”

There was a long silence as each man digested this information. Nadira cleared her throat. “He has a price,” she said softly. “And I know what it is.”

Nadira needed some fortification if she were to continue. Corbett pushed a cup of Chianti toward her and gestured for Lionel and Derrick to stand by the door to the corridor. He stared hard at Alisdair and Garreth and William.

Nadira said, “If you please. I would speak with Sir Corbett privately.”

The men exchanged glances. Nadira gave them a weak smile. “Please,” she repeated. Garreth and William stood and waited for Alisdair who was more reluctant to go.

“Aye, then,” the Scot answered, but his face was dark with displeasure. Lionel opened the door for them.

Nadira drained the cup of wine and felt its effects spreading from her middle to reach the ends of her toes and her chilly fingers. When the door closed Corbett nodded to her to begin.

“I have been inside his heart,” she said softly. ‘Senore DiMarco lost his wife and beloved daughter and infant grandchild in a terrible house fire,” she told him. “This was some years ago. His entire family died in one evening while he was gone from the city on a journey to find one of the rare ingredients to an elixir. You can imagine the shock of this news upon his return. I see him standing in his traveling cloak, a wood box under one arm, his hat askew, its feathers droop as he stands in the street staring at the blackened building. I can see him…” Nadira paused as the scene unfolded in her mind again.

This was a chapter from DiMarco's heart that she had pulled from him on their first encounter in his house. As she had withdrawn the fine shimmering line from his chest, the flashes of his family's faces, the smiling infant and the proud grandfather all had flashed before her. His forays into alchemy had changed on that horrible day. She blinked and tapped her cup for a re-fill.

“He seeks to speak to the dead, Sir Corbett. He wishes to see his wife; he fears his sins will not permit him to join her in heaven. He would beg her forgiveness.” The wine's gentle touch soothed her nerves. She did not know how to tell Corbett the rest. That DiMarco envisioned the demons of hell tearing him apart in payment for the sins of greed and curiosity and something to do with the Senora. He had committed the same sin that brought down Eve and all of humanity. DiMarco had tasted the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He had failed to find the fruit from the Tree of Life, and therefore was terrified of death. He hoped his wife would forgive him and intercede with his god. He dare not approach a saint.

Corbett rubbed his face. “I am ashamed, Nadira.”

“What?” Nadira took another drink of her wine. “Ashamed?”

The older man smiled sadly and took a drink as well. “You cannot know it, but when someone looks at you they see a woman, fresh in her youth with bright eyes and a ready smile. They see a lovely servant girl. But looks are deceiving. Even I can forget who you are.”

Nadira gave him one of her ready smiles.

He continued, “I planned to take you to the great city and use you there like I would use a servant girl. I would bring you a book and you would read it to me. I would tell you to do such a thing as take a potion and tell me what you heard and saw, and you would do that thing.” He shook his head. “How foolish of me. I must tell you everything if we are to succeed. You cannot be my servant, you must become a partner.”

“We are all guilty of foolishness at times,” she answered kindly. “Tell me what troubles you.”

“You are aware of what is happening in Rome right now?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “Once I was freed from DiMarco's house I cared not.”

“It is like this. The pope has angered the French, and as you know, the king of France plans to march through these lands and punish all who defy him. The king is angry also with the Turks and plans to start a new crusade against them. The Sultan's brother was the man, Djem, in the villa. Did you know that?”

“No. I did not know who he was when I saw him.”

“He was the Padishah's brother, held under the pope's protection in exchange for an unseemly amount of ransom. He…” Here Corbett paused and seemed to collect his thoughts. “…had in his employ some years back a man who could do what you do, Nadira. He had read the 
Hermetica
 or one like it and brewed many potions. He worked at court for those who could pay him and Djem paid him the most. Fourteen years ago the sultan's father was marching upon Rome, and was certain to capture it. Had he been successful our world would be very different today. We might still be at war for our souls, or be the subjects of the Turks.”

“How is it that the sultan did not reach Rome?” She asked him, redirecting him from the topic of religion.

“He died.”

“I see.”

“Rumor has it that Djem used his magus to brew a poison to kill his father that he may take the throne and the glory of Rome all at once. His father did die, but Djem did not become sultan, Rome was not taken. His brother Bayezid succeeded their father and then banished him.”

“And the magus?”

“Now in Bayezid's employ.” Corbett took another sip of his wine. “Charles planned to take Djem with him on his crusade to Constantinople to encourage revolt, but Djem is now dead these three days.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes. There. Yes. He was quite dead. She opened them. “DiMarco?”

“Yes. We caught him as he was leaving the prince's chamber, his box of elixirs and the book under his arm. No doubt administering a similar poison. Coming out of the villa, though, we met with the prince's guards. Calvin took the senore and the 
Hermetica
 to the horses while we fought our way out. Your baron saved us all. He cleared an entire passageway when we found ourselves trapped. I am grateful for his help.”

Nadira closed her eyes to see this scene. She opened them. “I see now where that blood came from,” she said with a sad smile. “It was not his.” She asked Corbett, “Was DiMarco under orders from the pope?”

“Unlikely. Djem was a source of income for the Vatican. More likely…” He shook his head before continuing, “More likely the sultan himself gave the order to avoid allowing the Vatican to use his brother against him. Perhaps even to stop the payments. I do not know.” He looked at her across the table.

Nadira brought to mind the image of Di Marco in front of his blackened house. He did have a wooden box under his arm. The alchemist linked his journeys with the destruction of his family. Retribution from an angry god. Service to god's man on earth, the pope, seemed his only salvation, yet somehow he knew even the pope could not save him. DiMarco now turned to another for help. She rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Yes. The same. I am understanding more, now.”

Corbett nodded and waved his hand. “Here is my trouble, Nadira. The sultan's magus has more than elixirs. He can do something amazing. He uses his potions and a spell book to raise the spirits of the dead. He has become very powerful. When you told me that DiMarco wants to speak to his dead wife…” He pressed his head between his hands. “Then he must have been on his way to Anatolia when we took him. At first I thought he killed the prince for money. Now I suspect he killed Prince Djem in payment for a meeting with the sultan's necromancer. He returns to the source of his damnation to achieve salvation.”

Nadira sat back on her stool. “Then we cannot bargain with him. Can you raise the dead?”

“No.” Corbett looked sadly at the empty pitcher. “But I want you to raise the dead.”

“Me?” She narrowed her eyes. “Whatever for?”

Corbett's eyes lost their sadness and became steely again. “To find a lost treasure. There is a dead man who knows where it is. Raise him for me and ask him.”

She glared at him. “I cannot raise the dead. Besides, even if I could I would not. It is unspeakable.”

“When we get to Constantinople I will get you the necromancer's book. I will give you his
Grimoire
 and you can use its spells to harrow hell and bring me Jacques de Molay. That book once belonged to our Order, stolen and sold two hundred years ago.”

“Yes. You told me. I agree the book is yours. You will have both the elixirs and your spell book. You are a Temple Knight. You raise him.”

Corbett lowered his eyes and they were both silent. He had been her liberator. She allowed her gratitude to swell around her for a moment out of courtesy, then quelled it. Who had not wanted to use her? A twinge of resentment threatened to overcome her. She quelled that too. This was a time for thought, not emotion. Bootsteps outside the door told her that Montrose had arrived. She heard his low voice as he greeted Lionel and Derrick.

Must I always do another's bidding?
 It was so. In this world there is only the give and take of trade. For food, for warmth, for security. She sighed. And for love.

Corbett looked up. “Yes. I hear your resignation,” he said. “I told you I cannot force you. If we are partners you must agree. This means I must find your price that we might engage in trade. I have not the skill to use the 
Grimoire
. Do you see?”

“I do.” The sounds outside the door implied that Montrose was not pleased to be denied entry.

Corbett glanced at the door. “Not much time.” He turned back to her, his eyes fierce. “This is a private negotiation.” He tipped his head toward the sounds in the corridor. “Do you understand?”

“That door is going to come down,” she smiled grimly. “Be quick.”

“My offer is behind that door. You spoke of healing his hurts. Perhaps he would speak to his brother and beg forgiveness for his guilt. Once you have learned to raise the dead, you may speak to whomever you please. Raise my man, then raise his.” His gray eyes were intense as he tempted her with one more argument. “You will learn the secrets of the ancient Persians and the Egyptians, who had knowledge of life and death.”

The door shook on its frame. Bits of dust and some plaster sifted to the floor. They heard Derrick's voice raised. Nadira stood, pushing the bench from the table. “Tell them to open the door.”

“Answer me first. Swear. I offer you knowledge of heaven and hell. You have tasted the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. Eat now from the Tree of Life.”

“I will.” The idea was intoxicating. If she could bring Richard to Montrose he may give up his need to find Massey and kill him. He would find peace instead. She thought about such knowledge. It was irresistible. She winced as another blow threatened to alarm the entire inn. “But I will not swear. You must take my word, or no.”

Corbett raised his voice, “Come!”

The door burst open with a sharp bang against the wall. Montrose strode to the table before Corbett could even rise from his bench. She looked up at his fury; his bloodshot eyes and wild hair told her something terrible had happened.

“I am here, my lord,” she murmured. He answered not at all, but tried to steer her toward the door with a hand on her arm. “No. Stop.” He stopped. She heard all he would not say in the sound of his heavy breathing. “I will accompany you, my lord,” she said slowly. His hand loosened, then dropped to his side. She nodded.

Corbett stood and bowed with a courteous flourish of his hands. “After you, dear lady.”

She tipped her head with grace and moved past the men in the doorway and through the corridor, her lord at her side, glaring. When they had progressed from earshot she said, “You must learn to trust that I will always return to you.”

“I no longer trust those knights.”

“Why not? They saved us. They have no reason to harm us.”

“Because I have just learned from William that they seek another book. One that is more dangerous than the 
Hermetica
. I believed we were hunting plants. That is what I was told.”

She stopped him. “My lord. Tell me true. Have you not, for these last long ten years, been seeking ‘another book'? Have you not been a book hunter? Is it not what you do?”

He let his breath out in a long sigh. “Richard was the book hunter. They have brought me nothing but grief. No more books.”

“Yet you agreed to come to Constantinople.”

“Istanbul, Nadira. The Turks renamed the city.”

“Istanbul, then. You said you would come. You said you did not want to go home to England.”

He did not answer, though she saw the war of words on his face.

She urged him to continue along the corridor. “Did you frighten William when he told you?”

He set his mouth in a line that suggested he regretted something.

“My lord…Robert,” she shook her head. “It is a book, yes. It contains information, like any book. I am Nadira the Reader. It is what I do. Do you not see?”

She looked up to see if he did. He pushed their door open. “I do.”

“And?”

“You will go nowhere without me. I will not surrender you to the White Knights.”

“Is that what you thought was happening? That I would abandon you? I am not their property,” she told him, “but neither am I yours.” She said it gently, but there was no way to blunt the barb.

He flinched. “I would keep you safe. I would have you as wife.”

“Yes. But you cannot have me as wife. It is a fact. I am not your wife, and I can never be. Your people and your religion forbid it. I can only be your demimondaine,” she smiled mischievously, “and even then I am not...yet.”

He nodded absently in agreement and did not smile at her attempt at humor. She watched his eyes. He tried to hide them from her by turning away and bolting the door.

“You have released me as your servant,” she reminded him. He nodded again, but began to grind his teeth.

“Something else is bothering you,” she prodded gently. “This is not about me or my status.” She smiled gently at him. “Tell me what troubles you.”