Firetale (13 page)

Zinno
’s story seemed plausible to Lazarus,
but apparently he was expecting to hear something more shocking.
The old man asked Zaches what had happened to Greg’s clothes. Zinno
replied that Greg had drunk too much and gone too far with some
fire trick that he was performing in a local bar, and some
compassionate member of the audience had lent him some clothes.
After withstanding the old man’s interrogation, Zinno went to the
archivist Pietro’s tent.

Most of the residents of the
circus appreciated the benefits of civilization, and if conditions
allowed,
they
moved into their own trailers. But not Pietro. The archivist’s tent
was the second largest after the big top. No one trailer could
contain all of Pietro’s archives, which included the records of his
predecessors, grimoires, and directories, and it was the sacred
duty of any archivist to maintain their archives, keep order, and
help protect the denizens of the circus.

Zinno rang the bell
that hung at the
entrance of the tent, and the archivist pushed aside the heavy
curtain of thick fabric that served as a door. Judging by Pietro’s
astonished look, he was not expecting a guest, but he invited Zinno
to enter, maintaining his usual joyful and benevolent appearance.
Zaches went inside, and for a moment he felt as if he had fallen
somewhere under the ground. The sun shone on the street, but not
one beam penetrated through the thick layers of tent fabric into
Pietro’s shelter and storage area. It was so dim in the archivist’s
tent that for a moment Zinno was almost blinded by the darkness.
The air was dry and cool. Entries had to be protected from light
and heat, and the archivist had fanatically created all the
necessary conditions for this. He didn’t use lamps or lanterns or
anything that could cause a fire. He used special crystals that
radiated light. He left them for a day in the sun or, on cloudy
days, gave them to Greg, who imbued them with the light of his
magical fire.

When Zinno
’s eyes grew accustomed to the
gloom, he began to distinguish these crystals, which were spread
out here and there on tables, offering unblinking white and yellow
light. The inside of the tent was more like a medieval library such
as Zinno had seen in low-budget fantasy films when he lived on his
own. Rows of shelves bulged from the weight of books resting on
them, and maps and anatomical charts of impossible creatures were
lying on the tables.

“
What brings you here, Zinno?”
Pietro asked. There was no impatience in voice, only kindness. The
archivist always astonished Zinno. He never got annoyed and was
always ready to help with advice, though only his books and
manuscripts held meaning for him. Even now, talking to Zaches,
Pietro scurried from rack to rack, looking through various records,
sometimes jotting something down. This short but extremely obese
person was kind of floating in the space of his habitation. His
battered gold-embroidered robe dragged behind him across the floor
with a slight rustling sound. “I need a favor,” murmured
Zaches.

“
Of course, you do! You clearly
did not come to talk about the weather.” Pietro wasn’t looking at
Zaches. The dwarf always worried a bit about the archivist trying
to avoid looking at Zinno in the eye. Pietro was the only human in
the circus, and to him Zinnober looked like a handsome man. But
now, talking to the archivist, he could stop thinking that he could
see his real image. But Pietro did not look at him, and this
unnerved Zinno.

“
I need a talisman,” Zaches said,
his voice almost hoarse with emotion.

Pietro looked at Zinno. The
archivist
’s
gaze was fixed, but he did not express any suspicion. He
thoughtfully readjusted his small round glasses on his small round
nose. “For summoning?”

“
Yes, for summoning.”

“
As you know, I don’t craft such
things for no reason. Only for Bernardius. I will have to report
your request.”

“
No need, Pietro. I want to call
the person to whom you report everything.”

“
Even so, Zinno, if something has
happened, I need to put it in the archives. I need to know why you
need it. And I have to tell Lazarus.”

“
I suppose,
he
decides who should know.” The
sharpness in his own voice surprised Zaches. But with the goal so
close, he could not control his emotions. “I’m sorry. I hope this
will help you cope with the need for silence.” From behind his
shirt, Zaches took a handful of photos and set them on the table.
The photographs were of women Zinnober had known before agreeing to
a painful exile in the circus. They had allowed him to photograph
them as he requested, and they boldly showed all that a woman can
show. He had lusted after them, and it spurred their
desire.

In the circus, money
meant nothing, but
other items had value. These photographs had value for Pietro, and
Zinno paid the archivist for small favors with them. Zaches had
already spent almost two-thirds of the photos. Spending the rest
meant remaining without the pleasure of Pietro’s bliss-inducing
concoctions, but it was surely worth it, he assured
himself.

“
Well, Zinno, I won’t say
anything to Lazarus. But if he asks, I will not be
silent.”

“
Let it be so. I need a
talisman.”

“
Good. I’ll make you a crowned
talisman.”

“
What does that mean?”

“
It means you don’t have to
prepare the ritual of summoning. Nothing to do but activate the
talisman and report to a demon whatever you want. Only one thing is
needed.” The archivist’s plump hand flicked out and pulled a knife
from somewhere under his robe. “Do not worry, I will not hurt you.”
Pietro’s chubby cheeks quivered as he laughed. “You’ll do it
yourself.” The archivist’s smile grew wider.

“
What? Why?”

“
If you want to summon a demon
voluntarily, you have to make a sacrifice with your own
hand.”

“
We need some special
knife?”

“
No, any will do.”

“
Then I’ll do it with mine.”
Zaches pulled a knife from behind his shirt. Its blade glistened
even in the dim light of the archivist’s tent.

“
I thought Lazarus forbade you to
carry a weapon,” said Pietro.

“
And Lazarus forbids you to
provide any services,” retorted Zaches, and the archivist just
shrugged.

“
Blood should be collected here.”
Pietro handed the dwarf a roughly processed small crock with signs
and symbols carved on it.

“
What is it?”

“
A small copy of Solomon’s jar, a
dolium for summoning.”

“
And these signs—that’s
Latin?”

The archivist sighed and shook his head.
“No. It is an ancient language, or higher language, as we call it.
A language spoken by people before the construction of the Tower of
Babel. It is used in goetia. Only a few hundred people in the world
know it. Now, if we’re done with your education, it’s time to
start.”

Zaches cut his palm with a
knife. His blood was
as red as the artificial blood used in movies. The dwarf
put the jar under his palm, and to his surprise, the blood did not
spread over the entire palm but gathered in a trickle and began to
flow into the jar’s mouth. It seemed to be sucking Zinno’s blood.
Enchanted with the view, Zinnober removed his hand from the dolium,
and the trickle of blood hung in the air horizontally, flowing from
his hand and into the neck of the jug. The sight absorbed Zaches,
until the world had shrunk to his palm, the jug, and the blood
between them. All his senses, except one, left him. Zaches felt as
if his whole being flowed into the dolium, not only his blood, but
also his soul.

Pietro shouted
something in a
strange language, the trickle of blood trailed off, and
consciousness returned to Zaches. For a moment it seemed to him as
if he had returned to his body from somewhere far away, and while
he was gone, his body had shrunk so that now he could barely fit in
it. He felt as if his elbows, knees, and nose couldn’t squeeze into
his physical form, that his back was bent even more as it tried to
get back to its original place. Pietro’s voice spoke to him,
returning him to reality.

“
Solomon’s jar is a dangerous
thing. Watching him, some fall into a trance. And many of these
unlucky fellows can’t return. I’m sorry, I forgot to warn you.” The
archivist’s voice was full of sincere repentance. While Zaches
rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms and legs, as if trying
to get used to his body again, Pietro made a strange manipulation
with the jar. He threw into it some rotten, sallow threads and
poured in some powder, every action accompanied by a throaty
murmur. The archivist’s voice surprised Zaches. He was accustomed
to the soft, melodic intonations of this fat bookworm, but now his
voice was low and rough, more like barking or croaking. When he was
finished, Pietro corked the jug with a visible effort. Sweat beaded
on his flushed forehead.

“
Here you go. Do not break it,
and do not give it to anyone.”

Zaches wanted to say that the
warnings were unnecessary, but
he stopped when he saw how serious Pietro was.
Zinnober took the jar from the archivist’s hands and was surprised
at how heavy it was. The jar had a little blood inside, and
whatever Pietro had put in it wasn’t that heavy, yet it was
difficult for Zinno to hold the dolium in his crooked
hands.

“
How should I use
this?”

“
Just open it in a convenient
location at a convenient time and add your fresh blood. A few drops
is enough, you don’t have to cut your hand open again”

“
That’s all?”

“
Yes. I would advise you to do it
rather far from the circus. Summoning a demon is a very, you know,
noisy process, and I don’t think you want to attract any
attention.”

“
And if something goes wrong? How
can I protect myself from a demon?”

“
From
that
one?” Pietro seemed perplexed. “You can’t.
You have to trust him. But believe me, he’s not some petty demon
who escaped from the underworld to kill nuns and poison the water
with gucks. If you’re polite, you’ll save your life.”

Zinnober left the archivist
excited and scared. If all went according to his plan, he would be
able to get rid of
his ugliness. And Greg. And then Martha would be his. Zinno
held the jar with both hands, and sometimes it seemed that the
dolium pulsated. The dwarf even felt a wave coming from his hands
to his shoulders. Whenever Zaches looked at the jar, he saw only
its clay surface, speckled with marks. But when he tried to discern
them, the strange symbols suddenly turned into insults, filthy and
humiliating. These words told him he was wretched and
narrow-souled, called him to Hell, and promised eternal
punishment.

Zaches preferred not to look at
the jar. Tonight, he would summon Astaroth and tell
him about Greg’s
murder. And then … then the demon would reward him.

“
But I’m a creep, I’m a
weirdo.”

Radiohead
, “Creep”

When Zaches appeared
in the arena in a
circle of light, each spectator saw his or her ideal man. Tall or
of medium height, with long hair or short, a firm chin or soft
lips, elegant or strong. His voice was sonorous and melodic, his
intonations affable or seductive. Every word seemed true. Everyone
saw him as their ideal. Women saw him as a perfect lover, men as
their best friend, children as a hero from fairy tales. After the
show, people discussed him, and although they might disagree about
his hair color or whether he was clean-shaven or bearded, all
agreed that he was incredibly handsome. The fact that everyone had
seen something different was assumed to have been just another
trick of this circus of freaks.

But the truth was that Zaches, also named
Zinnober, was not good-looking. His head was too big for his body.
One shoulder was higher than the other, as if invisible forces had
torn the dwarf’s body in half, one force pulling him up to Heaven,
the other trying to drag him under the ground, to worms and damp
graves. One of his eyes was almost completely covered by a heavy
eyelid wart, and his other eye, as if to compensate for the
ugliness of the first, was large, with long beautiful
eyelashes.

People saw in Little Zaches only
beauty, but he knew
the truth. Mirrors reflected a beautiful face, but in
stagnant water Zinnober saw his true face. And every time he saw
his own ugliness, he suffered. In his trailer, the dwarf had
collected various mirrors, large and small, some in huge twisted
bronze frames, others no bigger than a matchbox. When Zinno entered
his trailer after a show, hundreds of beautiful faces, full of
generosity and joy, smiled pleasantly at him from the walls. He
touched the reflections, dreaming that someday, instead of hundreds
of different individuals, the mirrors would show him only one face,
and it wouldn’t be the ugly face reflected in water.

When
ever Zaches thought about his true
form, fury would consume him. Overcome by anguish and anger, he
would smash some of the mirrors, littering the trailer with broken
shards. When the rage passed and his strength had left him, he
would collapse in exhaustion on the floor and fall asleep on top of
the shards. In the morning, Zinno would come to his senses and
begin the tedious process of pulling himself together. He removed
the shards and fragments from under his legs and arms, debrided his
wounds, and bandaged his cuts. Sometimes this could drag on for
hours. He hated himself for it. He knew that after each seizure,
the wounds he received made him even uglier, but he could not help
himself. Besides, for others he remained as attractive as before.
And in each new town he bought a new mirror to replace the old one,
and then broke it. This went on again and again. And
again.