The Necromancer's Grimoire Read online

  “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.

  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 f
rom 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.