The Necromancer's Grimoire (20 page)

She sat on the floor and braced her feet against the wall. Garreth pried William's fingers up one by one, only then was she was able to free the book from the friar's grasp. Montrose lifted her,
Hermetica
and all, into the air then set her feet on the floor beside him. William screamed again once, then lay silent, his eyes wide and staring, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Corbett was at her side in an instant and snatched the
Hermetica
from her arms. He tilted it against Calvin's light and inspected the pages.

“It is undamaged.” His relief was profound. They all took in the broken and torn books scattered across the room. The
Hermetica
was the only one intact. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “I am taking this back to my quarters right now.” He glared at everyone. “I will have to explain all this.” He nodded toward the door. “No doubt our host has been awakened.”

Calvin opened the door and handed the lamp to Alisdair. He pushed the onlookers aside for Corbett and disappeared behind him. Garreth closed the door. Nadira knelt at William's side again, and put a hand gingerly on his forehead.

“What happened?” Alisdair frowned.

“My guess is that he sampled the endpapers.” Montrose said and splayed his hand over his side. Nadira knew he was remembering his own encounter with Brother Henry. The old monk had raised his hands and smashed Montrose against a wall, crushing his ribs.

Garreth blew out a great breath. He, too, had witnessed what the
Hermetica
had done to Henry.

“How did he get it?” Nadira wondered. The book had been guarded like a king's ransom for weeks.

Montrose knelt beside her. “Corbett trusted him. I am certain he regrets it now. He has been feeding the friar books since they first met.” He touched William's face, blotched red and white with emotion and exertion. “Corbett never dreamed William would take it because he knew Will was afraid of it.”

“Is that why they thought I had it?”

“Yes.”

William began to move, making mewling sounds and flailing his limbs. Nadira looked at Montrose. “Give him to me,” she said softly.

Montrose put his hands under William and lifted him into a sitting position then held him upright as Nadira moved to comfort him.

“Oh no,” she whispered. With a shaking hand she pointed to sticky smears on the stone floor. All eyes followed as she moved her hand to indicate the friar's back. William's cassock was soaked red with blood from his shoulders to his knees.

“He is injured?” Montrose was incredulous.

“How could that happen?” Nadira breathed. “Was there someone else here?” She tugged at the hem of the bloody cassock and Garreth helped her pull it up and over his head. William was naked beneath it, his skin white except from his shoulders to his buttocks where he was red and black and blue. Fresh strips of flesh hung crisscrossed along his shoulder blades alongside healing scabbed stripes and fully healed white streaks of scars. Her stomach churned and she looked away. Even the men paled at the sight.

She breathed slowly to settle her stomach and asked. “What caused these wounds?”

“I ken what they are.” Alisdair raised the lamp and peered around the room, looking for something. He found it. He bent to the floor, kicked aside a flurry of loose paper and picked up what looked like a stick with many leather strings tied to one end. He brought it to Nadira who recoiled. The end of each leather thong contained a tiny metal spur. The leather was bloody and short bits of golden brown hair adhered to the leather handle.

She swallowed. “I can see it is a weapon. Who hit him with it?”

“He hit himself, lass. This is a flail.”

“What?”

The men looked to Montrose who shook his head, adjusting William in his arms. The friar's head lolled against his chest, his whole body now limp. “You tell her,” he said. “I have not the heart.”

Alisdair came down to the floor and his eyes were kind. “'Tis a flail. The priests use it to punish themselves.”

“Punish?” Nadira was still unclear.

Montrose sighed. “She has no concept of sin, Alisdair. She will never understand.”

Alisdair's voice was patient. “When the wee lad sins, he uses this,” Alisdair waved the bloody weapon, “to beat the sin outta his body.”

Nadira narrowed her eyes. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

Alisdair laid the flail on the floor. “By the looks of that, the lad had many sinful thoughts lately.” He gestured toward the friar's shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Nadira frowned. “Thoughts about the book?”

The men exchanged dark looks then turned to stare pointedly at her. Nadira returned their stares, willing their meaning to come to her. It did. “Oh, no.” She cringed, looking at William. “You can't mean me?”

“Aye, lass. It can't be helped. The lad wants you. But, alas, yon big laird,” he nodded toward Montrose, “and his God stand between you.”

“Oh no.” She remembered putting her arms over William's shoulders, and how he had winced. She remembered how he shuddered when she took his hand in friendship and affection. She tightened her face in anger at herself for being so blind, but could not sustain it. Pity overwhelmed her instead.

“Ach, so now the lass will cry. I hate when she does that.” Alisdair turned away and went to the door. “I'll be keepin' the other folks out,” he said. Garreth sniffed loudly in the corner.

Montrose looked at her kindly. “Just like Richard, little one. All who know you, love you.”

“Love should not hurt. It should not be so difficult.”

He gave a short laugh. “Love always hurts.”

She deflected, “He needs this treated so it will not fester. Some of the older wounds are an angry red. I can get the unguents and honey and wine and linen from Thedra. I want him out of this room.” She rubbed her eyes.

“I can carry him to yours, but what about this?” He meant the carnage of books.

“Can we lock the room until we can clean it up?” she glanced at the door latch.

“Not from the outside. Garreth?” The big man nodded. “Garreth will collect the papers and bring them to us later.” Montrose shifted William in preparation for standing. “I have to ask,” he said grimly.

“What?”

“When he awakens, will he be like Henry? Will his mind be gone?”

Nadira tightened her mouth. “I cannot say. The
Hermetica
did not take my mind, but enhanced it.”

Montrose pointed his chin around the room. “Does not look enhanced to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Nadira felt exasperation tinged with guilt and fear. The anger in her voice surprised her. “I don't know.”

“Aye, then.” He struggled to his feet with William in his arms, steadied by Garreth. “I will take
your
friar to
your
room and lay him in
your
bed,” he said.

Nadira nodded, acknowledging the biting irony. “I will follow you.”

The halls were full of curious and sleepy men peeking out from doorways. Nadira and Montrose marched passed them, refusing to make eye contact, though the sight of an Englishman carrying a man across his arms like an infant, naked and bloody, through the halls would surely be the topic of conversation in the morning. Nadira
set her mouth in a firm line.
It can't be helped
, she repeated to herself.

William did not take kindly to being carried and made feeble attempts to free himself. Montrose had no trouble holding him despite the occasional kicks and grasping hands that pulled at his hair. When they neared her room, Nadira trotted ahead and held her door wide.

Montrose lay William gently on her bed. He looked up at Nadira. “Get your friend and the things you need. I will stay with him.” He kicked one of the low stools toward the bed and sat on it beside the friar.

Thedra was awake, standing at her door when Nadira arrived. Her face was lively with interest.

“They say the big Englishman has murdered a priest in a fit of jealousy over finding the priest in bed with his wife,” she grinned.

“Oh bother!” Nadira's eyes went wide. “
Already
?”

“Nothing travels faster than gossip. But I know it is not true, because I know you would not be the friar's lover and I know your Englishman would not kill him, even if he caught you pinned under the friar.” She giggled.

Nadira blushed at the images Thedra had thrust into her mind. “Stop, Thedra. This is not a time for joking. I must have some things to treat his wounds, though.”

“So he is wounded? So he was attacked by the dark
frenki
?”

“No. Not attacked.” Nadira refused to explain further. “But he is hurt. He needs wine and honey and cloth for bandages. Can you get them for me?”

“Of course. I will have a servant bring them to your room.”

She took Thedra's hands in hers. “Thank you.”

In her room neither man had moved. Montrose looked up at her with relief when she entered.

“Nadira, I cannot say what is wrong. He is talking nonsense.” His face told her he believed William was lost.

She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to see William's eyes. Montrose put a folded cloth under the friar's chin, for he had begun to drool. “Will?”

William's eyes were large and unfocused, his mouth moved and sounds came out, but as Montrose had said, they did not even form real words.

“Look at his eyes,” she whispered. “There is no color. Just the black, so large and shining.”

“It is the poison.”

“What do you mean?” Nadira moved the other stool and sat knee to knee with Montrose beside the bed. She pulled the thin blanket up to cover William's buttocks, careful not to bring the edges of the cloth near the broken flesh. “You think he has been poisoned?”

“The endpapers…”

“Oh. Not poison. They are not poison.”

“What is it, then? I have seen eyes like this on the battlefield.” He shook his head, puzzled. “Men with terrible wounds…” his own eyes shared the memory.

Nadira shook her head. “The endpapers contain something only the alchemists know, but it causes visions and sounds to appear in one's eyes and ears.”

“Opium will do this.” He pointed to William's eyes.

“No. It is not opium. That puts you to sleep.”

“What can we do?”

She took William's hand, limp and cold. “He is frightened out of his mind. That is what this is.”

“You are certain?”

She nodded. “I know what he saw.” She met his eyes. “We shall tend the wounds on his body…”

“…and his wounded mind?”

She sighed. “I have not the skill for that.”

Montrose frowned. “Of course you do. Who better?”

Nadira thought for a moment. “I will try,” she amended.

“How many times I have heard you say those very words? And in each case you have triumphed. Do not pretend you are a mere servant girl, skilled in sewing and cooking. It makes me grind my teeth to hear it.” His eyes flashed at her.

She gave him a weak smile. “You are correct, my lord. It is a habit I have neglected to overcome. Calm yourself, I will do it.”

“Good. Then we will hear no more protestations.”

Nadira squeezed William's hand, trying to get his attention. He remained limp and unresponsive. “William.” She touched his cheek. “Will.”

“He is deaf.” Montrose rested his hand gently on the friar's head.

“Hardly. He is listening to the voices in his head.”

“God. What kind of book is this? Madness.” Montrose set his teeth. “I hear footsteps. I don't want servants in here.” He stood abruptly and went out the door.

“Will.” Nadira slid to the floor, kneeling to bring her face on a level with William's.
“Look at me, Will.”

William blinked. His eyes slowly moved to meet hers. He blinked again in recognition, then they filled with tears that pooled and spilled over his nose. “There is no God.” He rasped. “The world is unbound and spins with abandon. Did you know this? Did you know this and not tell me?”

Nadira stroked his cheek. “That is not exactly true. What else did you see?” she asked softly.

“Plato came to me.”

“He did?” She smiled at him. “What did he tell you?”

“He said, ‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.'”

Nadira's smile twisted. “Do not fret yourself for love. There can be love without possession. You see that, do you not?”

He blinked. “I can never have you.”

“Never,” she agreed, “and yet you have me forever.” His hand moved, searching for her. She took it and kissed his palm. “Be calm. Tell me what else you saw. I will help you understand.”

Montrose entered with a tray of bowls and folded cloths. Nadira observed him out of the corner of her eye. He quietly moved furniture and stools until he was seated beside her, the tray at hand. Without speaking, he soaked a cloth in the bowl of wine and tenderly touched it to the largest of William's wounds.