In the Garden of Iden (27 page)

“Thou hast dreamt of Spain.”

“I did. I was there again. I was where they—they—”

He was not looking at me but at the shadows on the wall. “They killed thy mother.”

“She wasn’t!” I cried in panic.

“Ssh! ’Tis well, ’tis well. See, love, that was long ago. Thou art safe—” and he halted, because he couldn’t really tell me that truly, could he? Not in this England. He got up to put on his breeches and shoes. I only watched him, too exhausted and confused to move. He went to the door, and I protested and stretched out a hand.

“Wait, love. I will fetch thee a posset,” he promised.

Joseph, deep in his trance, became aware that someone was outside his door. His exterior consciousness began to return. Circled by the blaze of light from five waxen tapers, he turned around as the door opened.

I sat bolt upright. I hadn’t screamed, I wasn’t having a nightmare. But somebody was.

There was a horrendous crashing. The door flew open, and a figure hurled itself at me. That was too much for my nerves. I winked out.

I was across the room watching Nicholas fall on the bed. He got up slowly, staring at me, shocked forever. There was no color in his face at all. His eyes were like glass. He came at me. Again, I winked out.

I was on the other side of the room. He spun around and caught at me again.

I was standing on the bed. He came after me.

I was perched on the windowsill. He leaped.

I was on the ceiling, wedged into the angle of the beam where no human woman could ever have held on.

The chase ended there. He regarded me, panting. I regarded him, neither breathing nor moving. He took a step backward and collapsed. “Nicholas,” I said in a tiny voice.

He sat up at once, fixing his gaze on me. Dragging himself backward until he reached the chest at the foot of his bed, he threw it open and fumbled inside. He pulled out a sword. So his books hadn’t been his only possessions.

Gasping, he set his back against the wall and took the sword out of its sheath. He held it in both hands, the pommel resting on his drawn-up knees, the point directed at me. Neither of us moved for some few minutes, while the sound of his breathing grew quieter. How the wind roared and threatened to get into the room with us.

“What art thou?” he said at last.

To answer such a question, in such a position.

“Come, tell me, for I must know.” His voice grew stronger.

I drew a deep breath. “I am not mortal.”

“So much I’d guessed.” He actually laughed, a low cold laugh. While I was fleeing him, his face had been like an animal’s, almost unrecognizable. I thought he had gone mad. But he hadn’t: his eyes were clear now and very, very hard. I moved an arm, and the sword point jerked up at me. “Nay, do not come down,” he said sternly.

“Whilst thou art up there, I cannot be persuaded this is a dream. Nor would I kill thee. Can I kill thee?”

“No,” I informed him.

“No, not with a sword, if thou art a spirit.” Looking at me steadily, he reversed the sword so that the cross-shaped hilt was toward me. When I did not flinch, he spun it back. “Ha! That’s a fable. Thou hast worn crucifixes and read Scripture with me. So much for the devil in the old play. But I charge thee, Spirit, to tell what thou art.”

“A spirit whose heart breaks,” I said faintly. “A spirit who can bleed.”

He glanced at the door, nervous. “True enough. Thy flesh is palpable, I know that well. Oh, God help me, that I suspected what thou wert and still loved thee. Thou wouldst scarce eat of our mortal bread. Thou hadst never seen snow nor frost. A hundred things betrayed what thou wert, and still I loved thee.”

“I am still what I was,” I pleaded.

“But the
world
has changed. What I have learned in this one hour—” His eyes widened. “To think I sought to save thy soul! And thou wert ever seeking after mine. Lord God, why hast thou shown me this fearful thing?”

“Nicholas, let me come down.”

But he did not answer me, staring slack-jawed as revelation came to him. “Once,” he said, “I betrayed the faith for the sake of my sinful flesh. The way to atonement has lain before me all this while, but I did not take it, for love of thee. I would have run away with thee and saved myself again. My flesh hath ever been mine enemy. And how sweet, how reasonable were thine arguments that led me to damnation! Nor could I have ever seen the trap, unless God made it plain. Which He hath done!”

He struggled to his feet, looking up at me. His face was shining, shining with fire.

“My love—for truly I may call thee so, since thy failure hath been my salvation—my love, thou hast lost. Return whence thou earnest, and tempt me no more.”

I think he expected me to vanish then, but I was in danger of falling on him, so racked with gripping were my arms and legs. “I can’t go like that,” I wept. “I have to climb down.”

“Then I shall leave thee.” He backed toward the door. “If I can. If I can get out of this house alive, I shall. And then the way lies clear and straight. Farewell, Spirit!”

He turned and bolted. I heard him thundering down the stairs, and then the screaming began: deep, full-throated screams of alarm in purest Castilian Spanish. I fell at last and scrambled to the doorway.

There was Nef down on the landing, immovable as rock in front of Joseph’s door. She was in her shift, and her hair was down around her shoulders. She brandished a lighted candelabra at Nicholas, who was edging warily past her, holding out his sword.

“Murderer!” she howled. “Seducer! Lucifer incarnate!”

And I realized that doors were opening and people were running from all parts of the house to stare. Nicholas realized it too. He made a break and got past her, and, running to the edge of the great staircase, vaulted into space from the top step. Like a star he dropped out of the light, and I was sure the fall would kill him.

“Nicholas!” I ran shrieking.

He hit the floor below with a crash that shook the house. I sped after him, but Nef reached out and took my wrist in a grip of iron.

“Stop,” she said quietly. And even as I sagged to the floor crying, I heard him get to his feet and run on, and there was a boom as the doors of the great hall were flung open. The wind was let into the house at last. Rejoicing, it swept up through that dusty place, bringing in the smell of a cold spring morning.

T
HE STORY TOLD
itself. Everyone had seen it happen. The duenna, steadfast and formidable; the wretched daughter in tears; the father pale as his sheet, a terrible wound in his shoulder, begging—for the honor of his family name—that no more should be said about this lamentable occurrence.

Several of the household offered to ride out and find Nicholas, that he might be hanged; though there were others who shrugged and spat, and whispered to one another that something terrible had been bound to happen sooner or later, with Spaniards in the house. Sir Walter told me I was an evil daughter and ought to be beaten soundly. He would gladly beat me himself if Doctor Ruy so wished. Doctor Ruy thanked him graciously but declined.

My own plan was to lie in the corridor where I had fallen and cry until the world ended. I was prevented from doing this by Nef, who dragged me into her room and shut the door after us. She then directed a shrill volley of Castilian abuse at me, which greatly edified the listeners outside. Joseph explained, and explained, and ex-began to grow light outside, everyone gave it up o bed.

“It was just the worst luck in the world,” Nef told me. “And I’ve seen some bad luck in my day. But, honey, the relationship couldn’t have gone on anyway. We were leaving soon. He was about to be fired. This way there was a hell of a scandal, but at least our cover wasn’t blown.”

I listened without comment. Failing my plan to lie on the floor, I was perfectly content to lie in bed and cry until the world ended.

“Now, I know nothing I say helps,” Nef went on. “You may not believe this now, but you’re not the only person this has ever happened to, you know.”

Great.

“And it could have been worse. What if I hadn’t come out? What if he’d gone back in there and attacked Joseph? We’d have had to kill him then, and what a mess that would have been to cover up. Even if he talks about what he saw, wherever he is now, who’s going to believe him? Half the servants are convinced they saw the whole thing just the way Joseph says it happened. So we’re safe. Your reputation’s a little soiled, but what the heck. You’ll be out of here in another month.”

I couldn’t live that long.

“Hey, baby, what can I say?” Joseph shrugged, not easy with his arm in a sling. “I should have locked the door. My one mistake. Well, okay, I shouldn’t have been doing self-repair in the field. But have you ever had a shoulder separation? You try living with a thing like that for a whole week. Really painful. Nothing like the pain I’d feel if I ever, ever thought you had some crazy idea about ditching the Company and running off with a mortal. Not that you
could
, of course; they built all sorts of subprograms into you to make you betray yourself if you ever tried dereliction of duty after all the money they spent on you. But you’re a good little operative, I know you’d never do a thing like that. Say, did the guy happen to mention why he felt it was necessary to run back down with his sword to try and kill me?”

I didn’t respond.

“I guess he thought I was kind of, like, the Devil or something, huh?”

I closed my eyes.

Joan entered the room as silently as a mortal can, and I lay with closed eyes pretending to be asleep. Do Not Disturb. But I didn’t hear her pulling out dirty linen or pouring wash water, so after a moment I squinted through my lashes to see what she was doing.

She had an amulet of some kind and was waving it over our things: the baggage, the credenza, even the dirty linen. Her lips were moving in some kind of chant. She turned to look at me, and I saw her extend her hand in the old, old sign against evil, fingers pointed like a devil’s horns. Then she crept out.

Well, I knew now conclusively: I could never have walked away and left Nicholas anywhere. It would have killed me. It was killing me now.

I slept and dreamed he had come back. It had all been a misunderstanding: everything was all right now. Somehow he had accepted the truth about me and didn’t mind. We kept packing our belongings to go to Europe, but when I’d get to the door, he wouldn’t be with me, and I’d have to go back and look for him.

I couldn’t get warm. Nothing would warm the bed. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my arms and legs while I slept, either.

“Hi there,” said Joseph pleasantly, backing into the room. His arms were full of cut green twigs. “Beat it, goat.” The unicorn skittered away from him and then came bleating back, looking for a handout.

“Whew. Now that the weather’s warming up, maybe we can persuade Nef to keep Fluffy here outside.” He dropped the twigs on my credenza. “So. You’re probably wondering what I’m doing with all this shrubby stuff. Well, I knew you weren’t feeling like doing any work or anything, but the garden’s just greening away and I thought: Say, I’ll bet I could take some of those specimens myself. All it involves is cutting off leaves and branches, right? Something like that. And what a good idea to speed things up when it’s getting more dangerous to stay in this country every day. Not that I want to put any pressure on Mendoza, I told myself. So I just found a pair of clippers and hacked off a bunch of stuff I thought looked interesting.”

I looked at what he had brought. Hacked was too mild a word. I shuddered to think what the plant must look like now.

“Yeah, I grabbed up a little of everything. Of course, I’m not a botanist, so I can’t really tell what’s important and what isn’t, but I figured if I just kept slashing away, I’d get something we need. Now, let’s see. How do you turn this thing on?”

He twisted a few knobs, and the console lit up with a warning beep.

“Gee, this must not be right. It’s asking me if I want to override. Well, let’s let it warm up a few minutes. I can just take the time to look through what I bagged and see if I got anything useful. Here’s some of that ilex stuff, for instance.”

What a ruin he’d made of the stem. Had he used his teeth, for God’s sake?

“Yes, sir, this is pretty interesting. Really funky leaves and, uh, I guess this is a flower or something—”

“Let me see that.” I put out my hand. He brought the twig. Florets like pale green wax, arranged alternately at the bases of the leaves. “Were they all like this?” I demanded.

“Could have been. I didn’t notice; I’m not a botanist, you know that.”

I swore softly.

“Is it important? Is it, like, the final all-important step in the growth cycle you’ve been holding us up here so you could get? Boy, wouldn’t that be swell? But don’t worry. Don’t bother to get up. I’ll process it for you, if I can get the credenza working.”

I got out of bed.

The official word to the residents of Iden Hall was that I was doing penance for my wicked behavior. I must travel all through the garden on my kneels, saying rosaries every hour on the hour, with my grim-visaged duenna by my side. The weather was not sufficiently damp and cold to satisfy those who felt I should be flayed alive, but they had to live with their disappointment.

As for me, I was out in the garden before it was light, working until my breath smoked in the evening gloom. Nef, who would much rather have been in her warm room listening to the radio, was grim-visaged indeed. She had to play her part, though, as I had to play mine.

Work shut my heart in another room and locked the door, so I was free of the wailing thing all day. Only at night was it able to get at me. Nights were hell.

I cleaned out Joseph’s entire stash of Theobromos. He sighed and endured, because I was doing a month’s work in a matter of days.
Ilex tormentosum
was caught in its full cycle, absolutely optimum for the Company banks, forever and forever a benefit to humankind. Little herbs of the field, sweet grasses fell to my knife to rise eternal in electronic alchemy. Some nights, the best nights, I never went to bed at all; the blue light of the ultravey kept me safely out of that horrible terrain while Nef lay grumbling, holding up a pillow to block the light.

I had always thought we were made perfect: but if they could make us sleepless, and heartless, what a lot of good work we could get done.

Bright weather and steadily warmer. The smell of the land changed: that dead black coldness was blowing away. The north wind blows, and you look upward, at chimney pots and leafless branches, but the south wind blows, and you look down, where all wakeful things stretch green in the light of the young sun.

I was doing the very last work on the roses. They weren’t as important as the ilex;
Rosa pellucida
would produce no miracle cures, but in a hundred years its distinctive flowers would open in no mortal garden. It would be rediscovered in the twenty-first century, in the abandoned garden of an old house in Oregon. What long chain of engineered circumstance would stretch back to me, here in the sunlight of a spring day in 1555?

“My favorite broadcast is on in six minutes,” Nef informed me in a martyred tone. I looked up, startled.

“Oh?”

“It’s on Red Shropshires,” she explained. God only knew what Red Shropshires were, but I decided to be accommodating.

“Nobody’s likely to bother me here. I’ve got my rosary handy. Why don’t you go tune in?”

“Thanks.” She was away like a shot. For such a big woman, she could move pretty quickly when she needed to. But, then, we all could, couldn’t we? I went on clipping and scanning, because I had work to do.

I sensed a mortal coming into the garden. Who?… Straining, I perceived Master Ffrawney. In a panic I pulled out my rosary.

There I knelt, the image of pious repentance, but he came nowhere near me. I tracked his approach to a spot about three meters away, blocked from me by a dense hedge. There he stopped and settled, and I heard him sigh. What on earth was he doing? But perhaps even crawling sycophants liked to take in a little sunshine now and then. I tucked my rosary away.

No sooner had I resumed work than another of the little monsters arrived. This time I scanned to follow his or her progress. His, definitely. Male, about thirty-five, five feet six inches tall, weight one-forty, chemical profile … Master Darrell.

He was advancing steadily along the main avenue to the house, and would miss me completely. I relaxed. As he approached the intersection of his path and the one Master Ffrawney was seated in, I heard Master Ffrawney rise.

“Good day to you, Master Darrell.”

“Ah.” The other altered his course and proceeded at right angles. “Good day to you, sir. Most rare weather for March, is it not?”

“Even as the true faith bloometh, so doth England,” responded Master Ffrawney. “Er … have you come a-purpose to see Sir Walter?”

“Aye, forsooth.”

“Alack, sir, he is indisposed.” A wave of embarrassment from Master Ffrawney, and some covert sexual excitement too. Sir Walter must be with the laundress again.

“Oh.” A creak as Master Darrell sat down. “Well, well … perhaps
you
would know. I have been studying the household account books and would have some speech thereupon with some responsible person. Having heard of Master Harpole’s disgrace—and I trust no evil came to Sir Walter thereby?—I say, having heard of it, I wondered who hath been appointed to keep accounts now?”

“I have that task, sir, until a new secretary be found. And may I say, sir, that Sir Walter haply had resolved to rid himself of that vile heretic already—”

“Good. Good. So you keep accounts now? Tell me, have you been long in this household?”

“Twelve years, sir.”

“And you know well, then, how much money hath been spent to maintain the garden?”

“Why … yea, yea, I do. Better, I may say, than that foul heretic who, when he was not lusting after wenches, was polluting his heart with Lutheran books.”

“Aye, forsooth, but let him alone for now. You shall remain in the household, shall you, when it is given over?”

“No, sir, I am Sir Walter’s man.” Pride swelled in him like a pimple. “He desires me to go to Court with him. You see I wear new livery, special for the purpose.”

“A great honor.” Masked annoyance in Master Darrell’s congratulation. “Yet I could wish—I will be frank with you, Master Ffrawney, and do you the office of a friend. I could wish you less honored and more fortunate.”

“I do not understand your meaning, sir.”

“Master Ffrawney, I am often in London. Sir Walter hath not been there this many a year. He doth not know how the ground lies outside of Kent. It is not so easy to make one’s fortune at Court as at a wool mercer’s. I have seen many a noble knight unable to pay his tailor. Need I say that where the master goes hungry, his man starveth? You face no safe or comfortable prospect, Master Ffrawney.”

“Oh, sir.” Master Ffrawney sounded thoroughly alarmed. “Surely Sir Walter is so liberal and excellent in his person, and so faithful a son of the Church, that he must win wealthy friends in London. Yet an he doth not, what remedy for me?”

“Fear not, Master Ffrawney, for here I stand like a loving cousin to counsel you. Whatever wage Sir Walter promised you, I’ll double it. You shall be my secretary here, supplying the place of that Harpole who is gone, and shall remain safe in this noble hall. And (to tell you in your ear) you shall fare better thereby than Sir Walter, ere long.”