The Christening Quest

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  Carole scanned the swarthy faces. None of them was as well-to-do as the gypsies she had seen, certainly none as well-fed as Jack had been in his boyhood. As she watched them, their eyes slipped from hers. They did not trust her and did not like her presence. Gypsy honor or no, their cooperation in Timoteo’s scheme could cost them dearly.

  “We’ll need mud,” she told Timoteo. “And I’m afraid the mud of this city won’t do. It’s tainted and unsuitable. I suppose it’s not possible to get good Argonian soil already consecrated, but soil from the farmlands here would be close enough.”

  The thief spread his hands expansively. “But that is very easy. The flowers were carted in this morning from the country in their own dirt to keep them fresh. There are barrows of leftover dirt sitting nearby. The garland makers will be only too happy to have us remove it. Choomia, you go,” he said to one of the women. “Miri, help her. It’s honest work. Not fit for a man.”

  The women returned in a short time, the topmost of the several tattered skirts each wore bulging from the arms of its wearer with a load of rich brown dirt.

  “And water,” Carole said apologetically. “River water is best. The sea water is too polluted for our purposes by being dedicated, however mistakenly, to that crystallized frost giant in the bay, and the canal is as bad.”

  “Fortunately, lady, the highborns agree with you, though for different reasons. They import river water for washing and drinking,” the thief said. “This is work more to my taste.” And he swung gaily up the ladder, to return shortly bearing the water in a pitcher of silver set with cut gems. No one had said that he should be the only one in Gorequartz not to profit from a religious occasion.

  They poured the dirt into a pile that Carole then spread out on the top of a splintered piece of an old door. She blessed it, strewed it with cleansing herbs, and added to it the ashes from the small parchment rolls bearing the gifts of distant well-wishers, Rusty Killgilles and those early donors whose gifts Bronwyn had entrusted to Rupert earlier and which he had in turn entrusted to Carole shortly after she agreed to accompany him. All of these she had kept dry, rolling them in fish bladders. The bladders fit readily in her pouch for just such purposes. They also made excellent balloons should an occasion turn festive.

  One by one she burned the rune-covered bits of parchment, letting the ashes mingle freely with the dirt. The runes endowed clear-sightedness from her seeress Aunt Sybil, a good ear from her own father, Colin Songsmith, and a few other gifts that were more on the order of well wishes than magical bestowments. Wasimarkan was too far to send anything very potent. It was a good thing for this child that a few extra things had been added between home and here.

  Using the special priestess grip she had learned at the seminar in Little Darlingham, she smeared the baby totally with mud while getting practically none of it on herself. When the child resembled a mud pie, Carole held her aloft, saying, as Rupert had instructed her, “In the name of the Mother we who are gathered today name you Magda Xenobia Amberwine Ethel Ermintrude the—!”

  “Wait,” Timoteo said. “She cannot be called that. There are already people in her family with those names.”

  “That is the idea,” Carole said. “To honor those people—”

  “It is not a good idea. We cannot have two Xenobias. One is quite enough. You must give her her own name. A name suitable for a gypsy girl. Call her Romany also.”

  The interruption in the ceremony and last-minute addition of a name was highly irregular, of course, and Carole gave Timoteo a stern look to let him know she knew. On the other hand, the whole situation was highly irregular, and what difference could one name more or less possibly make? “Very well,” she said, “Magda Xenobia Amberwine Ethel Ermintrude Romany it is. So you are christened. So shall you be called—though not all of it all of the time, of course.”

  She used the remainder of the river water to wipe off the mud before handing the child back to Jushia.

  “Good,” Timoteo said. “Now we feast.”

  Carole was mildly surprised at that, but Timoteo drew forth a dagger and someone else pulled a loaf of bread from the belly of his tunic. There were even a few berries and a great deal of wine, which had been stored in the dusty crystal bottles.

  The gypsies were universally drunk by the time Carole decided that if she was going to give the child the remaining gifts, she had better do so while they were only seeing one child. Retrieving the baby from Jushia, she pressed the mermaids comb into the little fist. She explained to the gypsies and the nurse what the gifts were for, since they might need to help her use them. The comb she tied around the baby’s neck with a sandal lace. Jushia regarded it with frightened eyes but cocked her head at it attentively, as if its magic were speaking to her.

  The shield was used as a cradle, the child deposited in the middle of it while Jushia rocked it back and forth with her thumb. Then, one by one, the gypsies stepped forward to bestow their own gifts: a ring to give the child lightness of finger, a pair of ankle bracelets to bestow fleetness of foot for dancing and running, a colorful flowered scarf to wrap around her head and conceal her true thoughts from her enemies, an embroidered sash to tighten around her middle so her belly wouldn’t hurt when it was empty, a pair of earrings that would enable her always to hear what was to her advantage, the promise of a tambourine to fill with music and money. Timoteo presented her with the last gift: a twig, he said, from the travel log, which would always show her the surest and most interesting ways to wander.

  The gypsies toasted solemnly if not soberly, then Timoteo stepped forward and picked up shield, baby and all. “I will keep these things for her, priestess. Romany will live with us.”

  “Nonsense,” Carole said. “If we can get her out of this alive she will be returned to her parents.”

  “They do not deserve her. Besides, the Miragenians would be able to steal her from you again and send her back. How would you prevent that, eh? With us she will be disguised and safe. I want your word as a priestess you will tell no one and will not try to find the child.”

  “I can’t promise that. Rupert and the baby’s parents will be frantic about her. Don’t be unreasonable. There’s no longer any question of a “deal” since the Miragenians have negated it by sending her somewhere to be killed. They’re not entitled to her so-called services any longer, and we can make war on them if they try to take her now.”

  “Ah, a very sensible solution. Why do we simple gypsies never think with such admirable clarity? Nevertheless, the baby goes with us. Your word, priestess. You may let the relatives know she is safe. We will give you escort back to your land.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “There is nothing else.”

  “What of Prince Rupert? He saved your life as well as mine. Are we to leave him here?”

  “Why not? He is a god here. You can send the dragon back for him later, perhaps, but he may not wish to go.”

  “I fail to believe that. If the priests start demanding that he allow people to be sacrificed to him, I imagine he will place himself in danger in short order.”

  The gypsy shook his head sadly and placed his hand on Carole’s shoulder. “You are a nice lady, witch, but you don’t understand noblemen as I do. My own kinsman, once he became noble, conspired with your kinswoman to sacrifice this child before she was born. It is the way of noblemen to sacrifice people for their own safety, the way of the rich to sacrifice the poor, the way of the poor to sacrifice each other not to be poor any more. In this place they take it to extremes, it is true, but I think the adjustment will be less for your prince than you imagine. Come with us, or you may make all of our cleverness on your behalf come to nothing.”

  “That was clever? That your friend would have been slaughtered if I hadn’t happened to be captured and managed to free him?”

  “We knew you would show up at the dungeon eventually. Your guide was a plant, he was waiting for you. I know your true powers, and knew also that you would free him when
you freed yourself. We had, of course, an alternate plan if you did not.”

  “Which was?”

  “Once you had christened the child, trade you back for him. What else?” He grinned broadly at her. “But I knew you would save him. You’re a nice lady.”

  “Your confidence in me is touching,” she replied. “But if I’m to maintain your high opinion of me, not to mention mine, I simply must find a way to de-sanctify Prince Rupert so we can both be quit of this Mother-forsaken place. I’m very happy that you’ll be taking the child now. But can’t someone please stay here just a while longer to lead us to the rest of you? I know a secret passage. I should be able to bring him straight back, or perhaps meet you somewhere safer.”

  The gypsy shook his head again, this time fiercely, all trace of tolerance or humor purged from his face. “Too dangerous.”

  She glared at him, then spun on her heel and headed for the ladder. “Thank you for helping me escape. Good luck”

  The kindness was back in his face, along with a hint of reluctant shame as he said, “Murdo, Pietro, blindfold her and lead her to the alley near the shrines, where she can see the temple without attracting the priests’ guards. You know the way, so that she won’t find this place again.”

  She drew back and pursed her lips to whistle, but he leaned forward and clamped his hand over her mouth, his other hand against the back of her head while his companions did as they were bid. “You don’t understand, nice lady. You are not a gypsy able to find your way to us without giving us away. Anyone sent to meet you would be likely to end up making nasty little clouds for the priests to put in bottles and sell to the merchants. Probably along with the rest of us. Gypsies do many things better than other people, but being killed is not one of them. That is why we know so well how not to get caught. And why we trust no one but our own. And please do not worry if they manage to make you tell how you were brought here. You would never possibly find it again. But just in case you do, try to avoid getting recaptured as long as possible, eh?”

  He released her and she resisted a childish impulse to spit at him, and said instead, as she was being led away, “Noblemen aren’t the only ones who sacrifice other people to their own ends, are they?”

  “Stop right there.” He jerked the blindfold loose and stared her in the eye. “Priestess, witch lady, what are you doing? You trying to appeal to a gypsy’s chivalry? Because if you are, dear lady, I can tell you, we don’t have anything like that. We can’t afford it. I want it very clear in your mind that you are going out there, probably to die, because you are being stubborn about a fellow who is having a very nice time and probably even now does not care about you or me at all. I appreciate that he saved my skin when he thought I was a worthless merchant. And I am saving him the aggravation of doing what he set out to do and saving the child for him so he can continue to have a very nice time. You could come, too, but you won’t. So no more back talk, eh?”

  A very weak cough broke the tension between them. Jushia stepped timidly forward, her chin extended a little as if waiting for a blow. “Excuse me, but I must know: Rupert, the Prince, is he not truly the god?”

  “Having just seen me consecrate a child to the Mother of all creation, how do you suppose I’m going to answer that?” Carole snapped, as angry at the interruption as she was at the gypsy.

  “He is a minor nobleman with a fortunate face that will provide for him the rest of his life,” Timoteo answered more politely.

  “However long that is,” Carole added.

  Jushia looked as if she might cry. She reached across Timoteo to stroke the baby’s red curls and stood staring at the child rather than at either of them as she said, “If he is not a god, then he is a very good man who has willingly endangered himself on behalf of my little one. Your Choomia has milk enough for two, she says, Master Timoteo, and I feel sure you will get my Princess away if anyone can. So blindfold me, too. I know things that may help this lady save her kinsman.”

  Timoteo signaled and the nurse was blindfolded along with Carole. The two of them were led away.

  When they were gone he turned abruptly from the ladder and bounced the baby so fiercely she started crying. “Women,” he spat.

  When at last their guides deserted them, Carole and Jushia tugged off their blindfolds and gratefully leaned against the nearest building. The streets were noisy and teaming with shouting, screaming people and the crash of things breaking, the scent of flowers and dung. The gypsies had not led them through the throngs, but along the byways. Nevertheless, the agitation and the smell of fear was as tangible as the rain that drizzled steadily down all day. The atmosphere felt shrill and jumpy. The gypsies had whispered agitatedly between themselves and stopped and backtracked along another route two or three times, and on several occasions someone had bolted past them running in the opposite direction.

  As promised, their guides had left the women within a quick sprint of the mist at the temple’s base. The guards’ sandals smacking the wooden dock on the far side of the temple reassured them that they still had time to locate the secret passage. Jushia groped for the passage for a time, unable to locate it. Carole softly hummed the ribald ballad, and the door wall slid away two handspans down from her. Both women stole quickly inside, leaning upon the wall until it closed. Carole found to her surprise that the inside was not so dark in the daytime as she had imagined it would be. Where the crystal dome met the inner wall, a thin strip of light brightened the passage.

  Jushia led her directly to the central staircase, and proceeded to climb. Carole followed her up two twisting flights, to the level of the audience chamber and the rooms where she and Rupert had been kept.

  Carole hesitated, but Jushia touched her arm and gestured upward. Down one of the narrow passages, Carole thought she heard Rupert’s familiar rumbling voice, but Jushia was already three steps ahead of her so she followed. They reached the top of the stairs only to face a blank wall.

  “Now what?” Carole asked, but Jushia was already fumbling with the wall. When she had fumbled for several moments, Carole grew impatient and hummed the song that had opened the lower door. Nothing happened.

  “Why are we here?” she asked.

  “The pendant,” Jushia said. “The pendant of the Midnight Rainbow, the one that empowers the priests to collect spirits in bottles. It is kept here. If we take that, if we can destroy it, the priests will be unable to make a profit from the sacrifices, to give lives to the god only to rob him again.”

  “Good thinking,” Carole said, and began humming what she could recall of the chant from the ceremony. The door swung open almost at once.

  Jushia made no move to enter, but looked at Carole expectantly. “Do you think you can conjure the guardian of the pendant as you did the door?” she asked.

  “What guardian? You didn’t mention a guardian.”

  “There. See, beneath the altar. That must be it. I’ve heard tales.” As Jushia spoke the molding beneath the altar, which was the only furnishing of the small, crystal-domed room, raised all seven of its heads and hissed at them. Carole hummed to it softly and skirted the altar to one side. The heads followed her movement. Jushia, her face white and her hands trembling, circled around to the other side and snatched the treasure from its pedestal. A brief flash in the sunlight and it disappeared in Jushia’s mouth while the snake swayed to Carole’s tune.

  The nurse backed out into the passage again. Carole followed, still humming. Once through she tugged at the door with all her might to close it behind her.

  The two of them fled back down the stairs to the level Carole had wanted to stop at originally. Carole panted for a moment, looking back up behind her. “That was very easy,” she said. “You’d think they’d have more of a guard.”

  “That serpent would be a deadly guard to anyone else,” Jushia remarked, when she had spit the pendant into the palm of her hand. “The priests are unused to anyone else possessing magic here, and have guarded only against their own sort of p
owers. I suppose they protect against the regular kind of heroes, warriors, you know. No doubt the snake has the power to grow three heads for every one cleaved from it.”

  “How about that? Good for me,” Carole said. “And if we have that pendant the priests can’t perform the ceremony?”

  “Not the ceremony of the Midnight Rainbow, which empowers them to collect the spirits after the sacrifice. But I’m afraid they have already performed it this time. They will be able to take ours. But perhaps with this we can bargain. Otherwise, I intend to take it to my death, if need be.”

  “Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.”

  Another rumbling query from Rupert lured them down the side passage. The tone of his voice was aggrieved. The women rushed as quickly and quietly as they could. They were not so quiet, however, that they failed to mask the swish and thump of a seven-headed body negotiating the staircase above them.

  * * *

  Two crystal goblets stood on a quartz table between Rupert and the High Priest. The table was a huge slab of stone, rough rock on the outside, clear crystal with hints of purple in the center. His Brilliance held a crystal decanter, from which he poured each of them another draught of honey-colored fluid. Lifting a goblet by its stem, he proposed a toast. “To the growth of your faith in you.”

  Rupert smiled, both to be courteous and because he was in a pleasantly mellow frame of mind. “As you say. But what is this drink? It’s excellent.”