The Necromancer's Grimoire (32 page)

Calvin relaxed slowly. He turned his head to look at Montrose. The baron glanced at Nadira and then slowly took his hands from the Templar. Calvin held tightly to the bars with one hand as the other touched his chest.

“You must sit beside me,” he said to William.

“I will.”

“Close beside.”

“Yes.”

Calvin turned to Nadira. “And you will not touch me with those…things.”'

She shook her head. “You see that even now I have not. I promise, though I could ease your pain with them if you would let me.”

“No.”

“Very well. I promise.”

He nodded and moved his grip from the bars to the baron's shoulder. Montrose helped him to return to the center of the room and sat him down carefully. Nadira moved to the open door and sat there politely facing into the corridor while Montrose worked behind her.

“Can you tell us what happened?” She asked Calvin after several minutes. “How did you get into the Aya Sofya?” She paused, seeing him in her mind enter the mosque dressed as a Turk. “Or more importantly, how did you get out again?” She could play the event in her mind and see every detail, but she wanted Calvin distracted from his pain and for the others to hear. When there was no response she prompted again. “Tell us.”

She heard him groan softly as Montrose removed his clothing. “I dressed myself as you see, though I had a turban at the time.” He explained, “The turban was removed by the city watch when they found me and searched me.” There was a sharp intake of breath.

Nadira closed her eyes to see him. Montrose had removed his clothing and was gently wiping the blood from his skin. “Go on,” she said.

“I knelt to pray with the other men.”

“You know the custom? You speak Turkish? Arabic?” She put the heels of her hands to her eyes and saw his turban moving up and down on his knees in the orchestrated worship among the many faithful.

“I studied Arabic for this mission.”

“You are a remarkable man, Sir Calvin.” She saw a flash of his years of study and secret preparation for this moment. No wonder he struggled against their interference.

William agreed. “Had you been found out, they would have killed you.”

“Oh yes,” Calvin said, taking a slow breath between every sentence. “But I was in more danger of not finding the Mandylion. I had been told where to look, but it was difficult in that great space to see everything. After the sermon I pretended to pray privately in the place where it was hidden, looking for the markings I was told…” he stopped and Nadira heard him groan.

Montrose said, “Nadira.”

“No,” Calvin insisted in a tight voice. “Keep her away.”

He ignored him. “Nadira come here.”

She did. Calvin lay naked beneath a thin blanket, his bloody clothing and leather armor piled beside him. He stared up at the ceiling, his face gray with pain. William sat close beside his right arm holding a folded cloth reverently in his hands.

Montrose's eyes were serious. He lifted a corner of the blanket so she could see the wound in Calvin's thigh.

The knight raised his hand in her direction while the other covered his privates. “It will heal,” he said defensively, as though he thought she might pronounce his death when she saw it.

She took in a long breath, remembering how she had felt the penetrating blow in her own leg last night.

Montrose said, “It is all the way through.” He put his finger over the entry point behind Calvin's knee where the wound gaped wide then moved across the corded muscle to the outer thigh near his hip to indicate the smaller exit. “I don't see how this…” he paused, “there is no way to put wine or spirits deep inside. I can clean the outside only. The inside…” He shook his head. “You were stabbed with a sword?” He asked Calvin.

“It was a knife.”

“A long one,” Montrose murmured, measuring with his eyes.

“He had a big knife, yes. We struggled. I had him on his back. I straddled him, my hands on his neck. I had disarmed him…I thought. He pulled that from his boot and stabbed me.”

This must have happened after I left him.
Nadira felt a twinge of guilt for leaving too soon. She did not touch him, but flattened her palm over the wound to read it. Through muscle and sinew only. Nothing vital had been pierced, though the severed sinews would not connect perfectly together again. This was a crippling wound. A thread of heat and light would help heal it, but she had promised not to touch him with her mind.

“As I was making my way back to the
caravanserai
…” He took a breath. “I was accosted by… a group of janissaries.” He pushed the blanket down to cover his thigh, then stared up at the low ceiling of the cell. “It seems they overturned their cooking vats in the barracks.” He turned his head to look at William and reached out to touch the Mandylion. “There were six,” he murmured reverently. “Yet I live. My prayers were answered. I could not have been victorious against six without divine help.”

Nadira put her hand to her mouth.
Divine help, indeed
. She wished she could have prevented the wound in his thigh.

Montrose growled in admiration. “Six,” he said. “Impressive.”

“One lives. The one with an extra knife hidden in his boot.” Calvin's eyes glinted.

“The Mandylion saved you?” DiMarco had been silent until now. His eyes followed Calvin's hand as he stroked the cloth.

Nadira did not try to correct him. She understood how inexplicable events became divine intervention to those who did not know the truth.

“May I see it?” DiMarco asked.

William looked at the Templar for permission. Calvin nodded. William stood and gently shook out the cloth. It was two arms' lengths long and half as wide. In the center was a faint image of a bearded man's head. DiMarco crossed himself. Even Montrose touched his forehead before faltering and putting his hand down. Nadira leaned closer to see as William moved the cloth to pick up the shaft of light from the high opening in the wall.

The image was faint, and appeared as though the cloth itself were a darker color where the image showed. The eyes were arresting. She stared at them a long time until she felt Montrose's hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

“Nadira. William folded it and gave it back to Calvin a long time ago. Where have you been?”

She blinked. Calvin was asleep. His leg was bandaged. Both hands rested on the rectangle of folded cloth on his chest. DiMarco and William stared at her.

Montrose nodded. “They told me to rouse you. I was not worried. I have seen you do that before.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “
They
were worried, not me,” he insisted.

She inhaled deeply. The image had taken her far away. She shook off the strange feeling that trembled her hands and warmed her spine. “It is…” words failed her.

“A holy relic,” DiMarco finished for her. “The Templars will use it to protect us. Thank God.” He crossed himself again. “It has proven its worth.”

She would not argue with him. She knew what she had seen on the shores of the peninsula. The war would come despite their relic. Instead she stretched out her legs and allowed Montrose to help her to her feet. “Corbett?” she asked him softly.

He nodded. “How long will you keep him asleep?” he asked.

“As long as I can before we must wake him to feed him. Calvin?”

He frowned. “The wound will heal if it does not fester, but he will limp hereafter.”

“They have worked so hard,” she said looking at the Templars lying side by side in the straw. “I hesitate to load them onto a ship and take them out to sea when their mission has not been completed.”

“It is not? They have both the Mandylion and the
Grimoire
.” Montrose looked at the knights. “It is time for us to complete ours.” He turned to her. “You know where Massey is? It is time to tell me.”

Nadira stepped away into the corridor so he could not see her eyes. “I am to read the
Grimoire
for Corbett.”

“You can do that anywhere, anytime,” he argued. “Best to be out of Istanbul. Unless Massey is here. Is he?” His voice became darker.

“No,” she said quickly. “He is not.”

“Then I say we leave. Your captain sent a man to inquire when we would be ready. I told him to come back on the morrow. You were not answering any questions at the time. I took it upon myself to make that decision, though it means Corbett will not meet with Lionel at the harbor as agreed.” He stared at her hard. “Will you tell me now? Where is Massey? Nadira, tell me.”

Nadira rubbed her cheek. “No. Now is not the time.”

He sucked in his breath loudly.

She would not look at him. “We leave tomorrow,” she confirmed. She did not know how to use the
Grimoire
properly against the necromancer. The book had told her to go to Eleusis for the lessons. So be it. Perhaps she would also learn to turn a man's mind from vengeance.

Kemal Reis did not accompany them on the ship. Instead he sent his nephew, Piri.

Piri looked very like his uncle, but without the scattered flecks of gray in his beard. They shared the same dark eyes and bright intelligence. Piri had been made
reis
when his uncle became the sultan's fleet captain and this ship was his first command.

Piri would not look at her directly, but she caught him glancing her way every time she turned. She stood at the rail, away from the busy sailors. Montrose and William were at the bow, the farthest point from shore, eagerly facing the bright sea that opened before them as they passed through the straits. DiMarco sat against the bulkhead, the
Hermetica
and his chest of elixirs on his lap. He would not let them be packed away but preferred to keep them on his person at all times. The Templars recovered from their wounds in hammocks below. The knights did not have the
Grimoire
. She had shown Corbett that the image on the third page was not a knight in a helm, but a woman with a dagger. He had smiled at her and let her keep it. It was not his decision to make. The
Grimoire
had chosen her. William carried it in his tunic. He was now her apprentice.

She let the fresh sea air blow away the troubles of Istanbul. She found that if she turned her thoughts to the future she could sense possibilities and avenues of success. If she looked behind her, she saw only misery. The necromancer had lost a battle, but remained firmly in power. She must grow her abilities quickly to equal or surpass his. The vizier and the
agha
remained enthralled to him. Perhaps the sultan as well. And his cord bound the
reis
in a way made worse by her intrusion. What did the necromancer want? He had the riches and freedom to do as he pleased. Does he want power over all the world? Does he want revenge for an injury? Does he want to pleasure himself into a stupor?

She shook her head.
I cannot keep looking back.

But you must go back when you are ready and finish what you started. You must right the wrongs you have done.

She startled. This voice was from the priestess. She reached for her,
Where are you? How do I find you?

You are headed in the right direction.

Nadira looked ahead at the bow of the ship and took in a great breath of the sea air. She let it cleanse her thoughts. She looked around the deck again, keeping track of everything on the caravel. There would be no attack at sea this time. None dared threaten a ship that flew Kemal Reis's flag. She looked up at the red pennant flapping over the full sails, protecting her in his absence. She caught Piri's eyes again as she brought her gaze back to the deck. This time he did not shy away but let her see him looking at her.

She gave him a polite smile. He did not return it.

I can only imagine the conversation he had with his uncle concerning Nadira Sultana and her frenki companions.
She turned back to the sea and leaned harder on the rail, feeling the great power of the caravel as it rose and fell on the waves. Her dark hair and her veils flapped like Kemal's flag in the stiff breeze. She could not stop thinking about the red cord in his chest and how she needed to remove it and free him. And the cords in all the men whose lives were no longer their own, but belonged to the necromancer. She took another breath.

“
Sultana
.”

She jumped. Ahmed Muhiddin Piri Reis stood at her side. She had not heard him approach.

“Forgive me for startling you,” he said.

“I am not at ease,” she admitted. “My thoughts were far away.”

He leaned on the rail as she did and his eyes took in the wind and waves and the far point on the horizon beyond the bow. The end of his white turban flapped in the wind over his ear. She looked up at him, then down at his hands on the rail. Strong hands. Long fingers. Beautifully manicured nails. He was a sailor and a scholar. Many hours in rooms filled with scrolls and books and maps. Many hours at sea. Fighting hand to hand and back to back with his uncle. A swordsman and a gunner. She saw him loading cannon and firing. She saw him leaping through the rigging and slitting a man's throat with a knife. She stopped herself.
I do not want to look inside any more men.
She felt a stab of grief for Kemal, and found that feeling echoed in Piri's heart.
I will look forward, at the waves only.

“Sultana
,” his voice was low and he said the word as though it hurt his throat.

She turned her head to him, but politely kept her eyes on the water.

“My uncle spoke of you to me.”

She nodded.
I am sure of it.

He paused so long she had to look up and meet his eyes. He looked down at her and she saw his confusion.