The Necromancer's Grimoire (9 page)

“Stop calling me ‘Princess'! I am angry that even after death the horrors of life continue to haunt you.”

Richard put his arms around her and held her to his chest. There was no sound of a heartbeat. “The horror of my death does not haunt me. I bear no ill will toward Massey. I do not long for his death, for as you see, death and life are not the end and the beginning.”

“Then why entreat me to send your brother into such danger? I have been trying to gentle him into forgiveness.”

“You cannot tame him. He is not malleable to forgiveness. Surely you know this already,” he added tenderly. “He will destroy himself from the inside if he is not permitted to confront Massey and fight him.”

“And die?”

Richard laughed mirthlessly. “It is not about death! Stop thinking so! Only when he has Massey face to face will my brother be at peace. Do you see? He is killing himself right now. He does not need an enemy to do that.” Richard's eyes became somber. “I can see you do not understand. I will try to explain. Robin is healthy, alive. His heart beats, his arms and legs are strong and solid. But inside he is slowly dying. His soul is cracked, Princess, and when his body eventually dies he will not find me here. He will go somewhere dark and cold and alone. You will not be able to find him with an elixir. He will be lost. Do you see now?”

“I know he suffers…all can see it.” Nadira tightened her lips, remembering her lord's face at table. The strong drink only deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes.

Richard continued, “He must face Massey. Until he does he will feel he has failed, and that failure is destroying him. One day you will wake up beside him and not recognize the man you love. Only a shell will remain.”

She looked into his eyes, hoping to see deception. With her mind she sent a tendril of herself into his chest, probing for falsehood. Nothing. He was true. In return she felt him enter her heart with his own spirit. He felt comfortable inside her; the way one feels when one enters a warm house after being out in a cold storm.

She said, “How can murder be justified? Another man will be dead. Probably more than one. He will have to cut through all of Massey's crew, perhaps innocent sailors who were not involved. How can their deaths ease his hurt? How can such violent murder salve his failure?”

“Princess. Are you telling me that you are going to use your vast abilities to try to defeat Death himself? You will prevent Death from raking in his harvest? You believe you can stop Death from taking even a single person whose time has come? Perhaps Robin acts as the hand of God. How would you know? You may be a princess, but you are not God.”

Nadira opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it. For the first time a great realization overtook her: a great vision of the proper place for all people and the way the world fit everything into place. It was not the act of murder that would save her lord. It was the idea of justice. She pushed herself away from him and staggered to her feet.
Yet Robert is not the judge.

She shook those thoughts from her mind and brought herself back to task. “I nearly forgot my purpose, Richard. I have come here to find someone who also is in the land of the dead.”

He rose from the ground and brushed the leaves from his legs. “I have seen no other but my teacher. I have been very lonely.”

“Lonely? Is there not a multitude of the dead to populate heaven?”

“It is not that way. We are each of us alone until we have learned…I don't know...something. I haven't learned it yet. But we have no company but our gentle teachers until that time.” His face was sad for a moment, and then brightened. “But there are more books to read here than you can imagine. I am still working my way through heaven's library, Princess, and it is vast. Tell Robin about Massey. Tell him.”

“Never. I will heal his hurts with love, not deepen them with thoughts of vengeance.”

Richard shook his head and repeated, “It does not work that way. I cannot make you understand. You are not truly here; you have not died yet. You bring here beliefs about reality from your physical existence there. How can I explain eternity to one who still sleeps and wakes in rhythm with the sun and moon? You are here because I called for you.”

She looked at him with despair. “How can encouraging him to violence be the correct path? I have learned that brutality shuts the mind against all progress. It swerves the soul away from this path.”

Richard stared at her. “Now they are calling you from below.”

“Tell me if I may find one who has died and bring her back with me,” she asked him urgently as she began to feel the familiar tug at the back of her neck that signaled she would soon be back in her body.

“Only a necromancer may harrow hell and reap a soul back to the land of the living. The gates of hell must be propped open by one who dwells there. You need a special book to call for a demon if you would force a soul to return to be visible to the living. She would appear as a flimsy shade and then return.” He looked around the vast library that formed around him. “That kind of book is not here.”

“Hell? What if I seek someone in heaven?”

“There is no heaven but the ones we make. Most who die find themselves in hell at first. They must find their own way out and create a heaven for themselves. Once there they will not leave. Only those in hell can be persuaded to leave it.”

“And you?”

“I never believed in hell.” He shrugged. “I felt little guilt. I pity every soul who does. I grieve for those who must punish themselves to atone for their sins. Their sojourn in hell can last forever.” He looked at her with his brother's eyes.

He and his library faded and was replaced by Corbett's face peering down at her. He smiled when she opened hers. “Good. I see you have been far away. Have you been successful?”

“Yes and no,” she answered truthfully. He helped her to sit up. She put a hand to her head. “My head aches. This is not how I usually feel after a journey.”

Corbett's eyes grew concerned. He turned to look at the riverbank and back to her. “The others will be joining us soon. Can you tell me if we will be able to raise Madam DiMarco?”

“I have been to the land of the dead. It is a vast landscape and there is no map,” she answered. “And I have been told that I cannot raise Madam and bring her to the land of the living without a book to call for her.” She blinked at him. “A necromancer's book.”

Corbett nodded slowly. “As I thought.” He took her hand. “But there is a map. The
Grimoire
is the map. I had hoped you might be able to circumvent that requirement, but you have confirmed what I have learned over my many years of study. The land of the dead is not like the hills and valleys we travel in our bodies. Here, the sea and the mountains remain firmly in place. Men can climb the mountains and sail the seas and then carefully draw maps so that other men can follow them. But in the land of the dead the landscape changes with every thought. Souls travel a landscape of the mind that cannot be navigated without a grimoire. Once there, the demons who reside in that place will not want you to leave. If you cannot do it without the book, no one can.” He sighed. “How do we convince DiMarco that we are a better source than the sultan's necromancer? The magus has the book. We do not.”

Nadira squeezed his hand. “But you say you will get it. I will read it.” She frowned at him. “How do you plan to obtain it? I imagine the price to be…exorbitant. I have doubts the necromancer would sell it.”

Corbett's cheek twitched. “No. This book cannot be bought and sold. It must be earned.” He touched her chin with his gloved finger. “I want the elixirs. They provide the door. The book provides the map. You provide the transport. I must have all three together to bring de Molay to me.” He stared hard at her. “The fee I pay is in the form of favors and protection and
acquisitions
…and it is willingly paid. You must understand me. I will pay for the book in other ways than gold.”

“I do.” She glanced at DiMarco and Calvin sitting some distance away. “You could just take the elixirs. I will find a spirit to tell us what they are. He cannot be trusted.”

“I am no thief.” Corbett set his jaw. “If I steal them, I will not be pure of heart and therefore de Molay will not tell me his secrets. All true knowledge is gained honestly, Nadira. Power that is borrowed or stolen is never really yours to use. I have learned that much.”

“You are certain de Molay is in hell, and not among the dead in their land?”

“I am not certain of anything anymore, but those in the past who have made this attempt before me have returned unsuccessful from the land of the dead. De Molay can only be in hell or they would have found him before now.”

“Then what shall we do?”

Corbett tapped his knee. “As you say, I now have the
Hermetica
. It is mine by right, for the Knights of the Temple compiled it and bound it. I could return to my house and brew my own elixirs.” He made a wry face. “But as DiMarco said, it would take years to collect the plants, brew the potions, then test them. I am old. I may die before I am successful. Calvin is strong and passionate but does not know herb craft. He cannot do it. You would be gone. Your baron would take you away in the meantime. You would swell with his child and no longer care to travel to the land of the dead when you hold new life in your arms.”

Nadira did not tell him it was unlikely she would swell with child. Instead she prompted, “We must encourage DiMarco to join us, then. Transfer his intent from the sultan to us.”

They both turned to eye DiMarco again. “We may have ruined that avenue,” Corbett murmured. “How can he see himself as anything but a hostage? Look at him. He is bound hand and foot.”

Nadira gave him a sly smile. “Unbind him. Hold the elixirs hostage instead. He will follow willingly.”

“Can we afford to take that risk? If he travels to Constantinople without us, he will gain admittance to the sultan's magus and turn him against us. I do not wish to spend my energies in defense against so powerful an enemy.”

“You have laid out the options yourself.”

Corbett sighed. “Very well.” He stood and pulled her to her feet with him. “Let us release our prisoner and tell him he is free to go…or stay.”

DiMarco rubbed his wrists and ankles with exaggerated motions before standing and straightening his velvet hat. “I wish you had seen the folly of your actions before today,” he grumbled.

“I have apologized,” Corbett answered calmly. “My reader has assured me that you will come willingly if I hold your treasures myself.”

The alchemist checked the buttons on his doublet one by one. “I know her abilities.” He straightened his belt. “But she lacks experience. I do not think she will be able to go to the dead and return with what I desire. The necromancer has been there many times.”

Corbett opened his hands. “He has been to hell, perhaps, but Senore, is not what you desire in heaven?”

DiMarco stopped. He raised his eyes slowly to the Templar's. Nadira saw the struggle there.
Heaven? Hell? Are they two places or one place with many rooms?

Corbett pressed him, “The necromancer may not gain entrance to the heavenly spheres. His soul is corrupted, polluted with the greed and lust of the living. He has not been saved by the blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ.”

DiMarco snapped his eyes at them, “Neither has
she
, a godless Barbary--”

“Stop!” Corbett took her hand in his. “Look at her, DiMarco.”

DiMarco refused. He was breathing hard with emotion, his face red and puffed with conflicting thoughts and warring decisions.

The knight continued, “You have been inside her mind. Tell me she is corrupt.”

DiMarco's doublet rose and fell with his turmoil. He covered his eyes with one hand, then squeezed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger in frustration.

Corbett met her eyes and nodded toward the alchemist. Nadira obediently extended a silver tendril from her heart to DiMarco's. The old man inhaled deeply and held his breath as her shining thread entered his body. Slowly he let his breath out and a blissful expression made its way across his face, relaxing his features. “She is beautiful,” he whispered. “She shines with a blue light…like the Madonna.”

“How can Our Lord turn her away from the gates of heaven?” Corbett asked him. “Will the sultan's magus enter as easily? Will God forgive you for seeking the service of the infidel sorcerer?”

DiMarco opened his eyes slowly and stared at Nadira. “You will find my Maria?” his voice was so soft she had to see his lips move to know the words.

“I will find her,” she promised with conviction.

The old man's eyes reddened and grew glossy. All his anger and prideful posturing seemed to ebb away. “It is important,” he whispered to her.

“I know it is,” she told him, feeling a wave of compassion for the old man. “I will find her and bring her to you.”

The sound of laughter turned all their heads toward the river where the men emerged from the riverbank with long sticks of fish hanging from their gills. Calvin gestured for DiMarco to follow him to the fire where William bent over the low flames. Corbett put his hand in the small of her back. “The baron does not need to know about the sultan's magus,” he warned.

She nodded.

“Nor should he know the lands to which you will travel.” He was grim. “If he suspected I plan to send you to hell…”

She shook her head in agreement.

“And Nadira,” he added, “Our gentle friar also need not know the destination.”

She turned to him, looking up at the gray eyes. “How can I keep it from them? It seems everything I think is written on my face.”

Corbett laughed softly. “The baron cannot read, and your friar is blind. You are safe if you do not speak. I will send you for more information tonight.”