The Necromancer's Grimoire (21 page)

The young man flinched, squeezed his eyes shut and drew in his breath. Nadira said nothing to Montrose, who knew very well how to care for wounds. She repeated to William, “Did Plato tell you more?”

William spoke between clenched teeth. “He told me that everything I know is a lie, and that the minute I think I have learned something, I have lost everything.”

Montrose made a low sound in his throat, expressing his opinion.

Nadira leaned forward. “Does this trouble you?” she asked him.

“How can years of study mean nothing?” William whispered.

“If what you study is not truth. Plato means that direct experience, wordless and intense is the source of truth. All earthly representations of it are mere shadows. You can get glimpses of truth from looking at the shadows, but to confuse the shadows with the knowledge means you can progress no further, and thus lose everything.”

He was silent, thinking. She continued. “I can give you an example. You have read about battles without having experienced one. I remember hearing you relate the exploits of Roland and Arthur with great admiration and envy in your voice.” William closed his eyes. She continued, “But that day the tower burned you were in a battle, yourself. Tell me how true the stories were.”

“They were viciously false.” He twitched as Montrose continued to clean his wounds with wine. “I felt washed with terror and desperation, not courage and glory.”

“And do you suspect you are the only man to feel that way in the face of violent conflict?”

He shook his head slightly, then cried out, “Ah!” sucking his breath between his teeth. Nadira stayed Montrose's hand. “Perhaps he needs to drink some of that wine before you clean the deeper wounds.”

She brought William a cup and watched while he emptied it. “You will never read those stories the same way again, will you?”

“I will never read them again. I could not read the words without remembering the soldiers and their swords and my Master…” William's eyes filled with tears again, remembering Monsieur Conti and how he was murdered by the pope's soldiers in Andorra.

Nadira stroked his soft brown hair. “Do you understand what Plato was saying to you now? If you had never experienced the reality of battle, you would go to your grave imagining the words of a poet were truth, and thus never knowing it for yourself.”

“Are all truths so painful?” he whispered.

Montrose sat up straighter and put the bloody cloth on the tray. “Yes.” He said with finality.

William twisted to look up at him. “And you, who have not read a single word in your life, must be full of truth.”

“Ah,” Nadira interrupted. “Then you do not yet see, Will. My lord expects his experiences to be the same as any man's. If he believes they are truth, then he, too, knows nothing.”

“I am so confused.” William covered his eyes with his hand as Montrose began to spread a thin layer of honey over his back.

“Without hearing the stories of other men, my lord may take his experiences and believe they apply to all. This is an error as well. He may read the experiences of others, or hear their stories around the fire, but to be wise he would have to understand that everything is true and nothing is.”

“Nadira. How is it that you tasted the endpapers and came away with wisdom, while I feel my soul is coming apart?”

She answered him. “You remember what Monsieur Conti said? He said that if your mind was fettered with dogma, then there is no room inside your head for new ideas. When the knowledge flows in it breaks those fetters and this is what causes the pain and confusion. I had no firm beliefs to stem the flow of ideas when they came. They came in and filled me. There was no resistance. I could see the ideas clearly and they made themselves truths. I understood them.” She touched his cheek. “What you feel now is that horde of false beliefs galloping away.”

He closed his eyes. “They leave a collapsed city behind them.”

“Ready to be re-built fresh and clean, and this time designed by a master architect.” She understood a great many more things than could be explained to either men with words. She knew that Corbett desired to taste the
Hermetica
for himself, and that this latest experience with William probably would deter him. DiMarco had been urging Corbett to eat the endpapers. Her cheek twitched. DiMarco had tasted them himself, with very similar results. And those vials. What madness lay in those elixirs? DiMarco was a master alchemist. They could be anything. Do anything. He was afraid of his own creations, eager to test them on anyone but himself. She realized she had closed her ears to her friends, for now Montrose was shaking her shoulder. William had moved against the wall. Montrose had wrapped the bandages around his body.

“Nadira.”

“Ah. Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”

“We can see that. William says he has recovered. I say he needs to sleep. He says he fears his dreams would become nightmares. What do you say?”

“He needs to sleep,” she agreed.

At this William pulled his feet up under the blanket and hugged his knees to his chest. “I will not.”

“Now is the time for opium, my lord.”

“I will get some.” The door closed behind him.

“No.” William shook his head. “No. I can't bear any more.”

“William.” Nadira climbed onto the bed. “You will lie down, on your side. Do not disturb the bandages. Drink what I give you and then sleep. You will heal.”

“I wanted to help. You all were taking such risks and I was so useless. Now I will pay for this. I will go to hell. The visions will come again and take me. I will not
be able to help you ward off the necromancer.”

“You will sleep.”

He lowered his gaze, and his pale lashes were clumped with tears. “You cannot save me from them. You will be here and I will be alone and they will come for me.”

“Who will come?”

“The demons.” The young man began to shake and the tears rolled down his cheeks. The sound of his gasping breaths filled the room. She heard the familiar sound of his escalating anxiety.

Nadira frowned. Montrose entered with a cup. “Corbett was ready. He met me in the hall with this. He asks after William.”

“Tell him the
Hermetica
has taken another victim. Warn him to put it in his chest and lock it better.” Nadira was angry now. She felt all her patience had ebbed away. “I must lie with him. He is terrified.” She meant William.

“No. You will lie only with me.” Montrose set the cup down and his face was dark with an answering anger. “You may sit with him only.”

“He is frightened beyond your understanding. He possesses none of your courage, Robert. He is like a child afraid of a painted devil. I must hold him as a child.”

Montrose looked at William as if he might see the child inside the man. He could not. He turned back to Nadira, “You shall not. While I live you shall not lie with another man. Friar or no.”

“For pity's sake. I mean to comfort him, not break his vows. When he sleeps peacefully I shall come to you.”

They stared, challenging each other until William whispered, “I will sleep alone.”

Montrose spoke. “We shall both sit until he sleeps”

Nadira nodded once, sharply. “Give it to him, then.” She pointed to the cup.

Montrose reached for the cup and transferred it to William's outstretched hand without taking his eyes from hers. “Done. Have a seat.”

Nadira sat on the bed.

“On the stool.”

She did not move.

William finished the drugged wine. He swallowed and said, “Please, Nadira. Do as he says.”

“He does not frighten me.” Nadira glared at Montrose.

Montrose raised an eyebrow. “Then I shall try harder.”

Nadira stood, arms akimbo. “Try away. Nothing frightens me anymore.”

Montrose tried to keep a straight face. He lost the battle and tried to hide his smile from her by rubbing his face with both hands. “Sleep with him, then. Hold him close to your body and stroke him gently. You will find he is no child. Part of him will awaken while the other parts sleep. You will find that you do not comfort him with your body, but torture him.” He stared hard at her. “I am going to the baths and then to a tavern.”

“There are no
‘
taverns
'
in Constantinople,” she spat.

“I know where they are. I've been here before.” He disappeared through the door without another word and Nadira listened with increasing anger as his boot steps faded as he made his way down the corridor. She heard his voice echo back to her, “
Istanbul
.”

“I am sorry,” William said. “I started the evening with what I thought would be the start of a new pathway to knowledge. Now I am…” He looked around him and realized where he was. “Ah,” he breathed, incredulous. “I am in your bed with permission from your lord to sleep with you.”

“But you do not have permission from
your
Lord,” Nadira answered bitterly. “William. How can you beat yourself? How is it that your Lord enjoys your pain?” She sat down again beside him.

“No.” He shook his head and lay down slowly on his side as the opium began to work on him. “It is not like that.”

“I do not care to know what ‘it is like'”. Go to sleep. I will guard you against all demons, real and imagined. You will sleep senseless and awake rested.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps I will sit here with you and that will be enough.”

“Yes,” he answered meekly. “I do not wish to anger the baron.” He drowsed for a moment. “Nadira?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Thank you for saving me.”

“You are welcome.” Nadira thought about the barmaids and servant girls in what might pass for a public house in the European quarter of Istanbul. She thought about the dancers with their cymbals on their fingers and the bells on their ankles. She thought about the female masseuses available for more than a rub down at the baths.

“And for the opium.”

“Thank Corbett for that in the morning.” Some of the dancers were exquisitely lovely with their many-colored veils and flowing black hair. Their eyes were lined with kohl and their hands tattooed with henna. Gardenias in their hair spread a heavenly scent as they spun, their skirts lifted gracefully with the movement of their slender ankles.

“I will sleep now,” William murmured.

Garreth had brought a dancer back to his room one night last week to the envy of the other men. She had danced for them all after the evening meal before disappearing with him into his chambers.

Nadira narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Go to sleep, Will.” Thedra had laughed at Nadira's wide eyes as she watched the woman dance. The flowing veils floated on the breeze she made with her swaying hips. “I could teach you to dance like that,” Thedra had whispered to her, and that night Nadira had wished to possess so much beauty and grace.

William nodded obediently, his breathing slowed to the rhythm of slumber so different from the rhythm of dance pounding in Nadira's head.

“Hmm, Nadira,” he breathed softly. His hand moved from beneath the blanket and reached for hers.

“What is it, Will?” Nadira tried to chase the jealous thoughts away, aware now that Robert had cleverly won this battle. He had succeeded in frightening her.

“Nadira, I ...” He touched her hand with one finger, then stroked her wrist and began to slide his hand along her arm to her elbow.

She turned to him, dismayed, but his hand dropped suddenly to the bed. He was asleep, low snores replaced his deep breathing. “Ah, Will,” she sighed.

Two days later Nadira unwrapped his bandages to apply more honey to the cuts. She ran a finger over old ones that had healed, feeling the raised ridges. There were weeks of scourges on his body.

“My lord's back carries scars as well,” she said softly to him. “But he did not place them there.”

“You cannot understand, Nadira,” William sighed, “and I will not try to explain.”

“No. It is enough that you have put aside the flail forever.” She touched the honey gently into the rawest wounds. “Let me re-bandage these few that seep, then we shall dress you in a tunic and leggings.” She glanced at the clothing on the bed beside her.

“I feel like I am stepping from the firm ground into a leaky boat,” he said.

She smiled, though he could not see her. “I can help to patch those leaks. Let me send you somewhere beautiful. The blue vial is for that.” She finished with the wounds and began to wind the soft cloth around his pale chest, leaning to and fro and lifting his arms one by one. He turned his head to the side and she caught a glance of one golden eye. He smiled shyly back at her as she tied the ends.

“I would like that. Can you come with me?”

“I honestly don't know. Perhaps.” She paused with his new tunic in her hands as she considered this. “I think I would have to put you somewhere first, then ask you to stay put while I find you there.” She slipped the tunic over his head and helped pull his arms through the sleeves.

He winced. “I will spend weeks sleeping propped against a wall,” he said.

“Soon this will be healed and you can sleep soundly again,” she soothed. “There will be no more fresh wounds.” She made the last sentence sound like an order.

He pulled the laces at his throat. She handed him the trousers. “How long has it been since you've been in leggings?”

His eyes looked up as he counted, “Nine years.”

She teased, “Do you need me to demonstrate how they work?”

He laughed as he stuck one leg into them, the golden eyes twinkled with a happiness she had not seen since Andorra, “There may be some fumbling at the privy at first, but I will adapt. Riding will be easier.”