The Stone Light

by Kai Meyer

  “He is dying,” said the Flowing Queen.

  “And so we should just look on while he does it?”

  “We cannot get to him.”

  Merle thought it over; then she made a decision. “Maybe yes.”

  She sprang back inside the ear, shook Vermithrax awake, and pulled the tired, ill-humored lion with her to the edge of the stone ear. The white man had now turned his face away again and was hanging over the lip of the head like a dead man.

  “Can we get over there?” The tone of her voice made it clear that she would not accept a no.

  “Hmm,” said Vermithrax gloomily.

  “What’s that supposed to mean … hmm?” Merle waved her arms and gesticulated wildly. “We can’t simply let him die over there. He needs our help, you can see that.”

  Vermithrax growled something unintelligible, and Merle waved her hands more and more furiously, appealed eloquently to his conscience, and finally even said, “Please.” At last he murmured, “He could be a danger.”

  “But he’s a human being!”

  “Or something that looks like one,” said the Queen with Merle’s voice.

  Merle was much too excited to reprimand her for this breach of their agreement. “In any case, we can’t just stay sitting here and watching.” She added emphatically, “We can’t, can we?”

  The Queen wrapped herself in silence, which in a certain way was also an answer, but Vermithrax replied, “No, probably not.”

  Merle let out her breath. “You intend to try it?”

  “Try what?” asked the Queen, but this time Merle just ignored her.

  Vermithrax looked calculatingly from the edge of the ear across the gulf to the second stone head. “The head isn’t flying exactly behind us, but at an angle. That makes it more difficult. But perhaps … hmm, if I pushed off hard enough and so got out far enough and then simply let myself fall back, I could maybe hook onto him again and—”

  “Simply! Did you just say ‘simply’?” asked the Queen through Merle’s mouth.

  Stop it! Merle thought.

  “But it is madness. We do not know who or what he is and why he is in such a condition.”

  “If we keep sitting around here, we’ll never find out either.”

  “Perhaps that would be better.” But the Queen’s tone revealed that she’d accepted her defeat. She was a fair loser—perhaps also an offended one—and once more she lapsed into silence.

  “It will be difficult,” said Vermithrax.

  “Yes.” As if Merle didn’t know that.

  “I can’t just stand there in the air until its face rams into me—that would kill me. I can only try again to jump up sideways, on the ear or on the hair somewhere. And then from there I have to climb around the head to reach the man.”

  Merle took a deep breath. “I can do that.”

  “You?”

  “Certainly.”

  “But you have no claws.”

  “No, but I’m lighter. And more agile. And I can hold on to the smallest unevenness.” She didn’t really believe that herself, of course, but somehow she thought it sounded plausible.

  “Not a good plan,” said Vermithrax, unimpressed.

  “Just get me over there, I’ll take care of the rest. I’ve had enough of sitting around on your back the whole time”—she smiled fleetingly—“I mean, nothing against your back, but I simply can’t be so … inactive. I never was particularly good at that.”

  The lion pulled up his lips, and it took Merle a moment to recognize that as a grin. “You’re quite a brave girl. And a completely crazy one.”

  She beamed at him. “Then we’ll do it?”

  Vermithrax ran the point of his tongue over his finger-length canine teeth. “Yes,” he said, after another long look over the gap, “I think we’ll simply give it a try.”

  “Simply,” said the Queen with a groan. “There it is again.”

  6 JUNIPA’S FATE

  “WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN,” DARIO ROARED, “you want to leave again right away?”

  Serafin held his glare easily. It had never particularly impressed him when someone yelled at him. Usually, loudness was just a sign of weakness. “It means exactly what I said. That I have to leave once more before the attack. And don’t worry, General Dario: I’m not planning to desert your army of heroes.”

  Dario was boiling with rage, and he looked now as if he were sorry he had no more than two fists he could clench. “That’s not the way it works here,” he said sharply, less loudly but no less angrily. “You can’t just leave for a few hours while we’re getting ready to go to the Doge’s—”

  Serafin interrupted him. “Perhaps you have to get yourselves ready. I don’t have to. You asked me”—he emphasized the word with special relish—“to help you because you know that I’m the only one who has a ghost of a chance to get into the palace. You know, Dario, the rules are very simple: I’ll try to get into the palace, and whoever follows me will do exactly what I say. If not, he either stays here or is probably a dead man within the first few minutes.” He chose such dramatic words intentionally, because he had the feeling Dario could best be managed that way. Besides, he’d really had enough of this discussion even before it began.

  “With all due respect to your instincts,” said Dario, controlling himself with difficulty, “but—”

  “Excuse me: My instincts are all you have.” Serafin pointed to the small group of rebels who’d gathered in the dining room of the enclave: a dozen boys his age, some even younger, most of them from the street. They were practiced in fending for themselves, stealing, and outwitting the City Guard. Some of them were still wearing the ragged clothing in which they’d grown up, and others who’d clothed themselves anew from the inventory in the sphinx’s house looked dandified in their colorful shirts and trousers. Most of those things looked as if someone had collected them for a masquerade ball; it was only after a while that Serafin realized the clothes must actually have come from various previous centuries and been preserved over time in the sphinx’s boxes and trunks. Once again he wondered how long Lalapeya had been living here in Venice. She’d given him no answer to that.

  Dario had had the wit to choose his new trousers and shirt in velvety purple, dark enough to melt into the night. The others who’d been less careful in their choice of clothes would stay here. They didn’t know it yet, but Serafin would make sure of it. He couldn’t burden himself with breaking-in companions who weren’t engaged with their whole mind.

  “You haven’t got your mind on this,” Dario said, as if he’d read Serafin’s thoughts in order to use his own arguments against him. “How can we rely on you if your mind is on something else all the time?”

  “And that’s exactly the reason why I intend to leave again now.” Serafin paid no attention to the silent faces listening attentively to every word exchanged between him and Dario. “To clear my head for what we have ahead of us, I have to take care of a certain matter. I can’t allow it to distract me.”

  “And what matter of world-shaking importance would that be?”

  Serafin hesitated. What was it that Dario was after? Not, as he’d originally thought, to make a fool of him in front of all present. Also, not to question his leadership qualities (and Serafin would have been the first to agree with him there: He’d never been a good leader, always a loner). No, Dario was curious. Perhaps he even guessed what Serafin had in mind. And was ashamed.

  Lalapeya, thought Serafin. She told him. And now he’s trying to make me look bad in front of the others because he feels bad himself. Really, he’s not abusing me but himself.

  “I’m going to the Canal of the Expelled,” he said, observing every movement of Dario’s face, every trace of emotion that went beyond anger. In an instant, Dario’s features were a singular admission of guilt.

  “What could you want there?” Dario asked softly. His tone was very different from a few moments before. A murmur went through the line of rebels.

  “I inte
nd to go to Arcimboldo’s magic mirror workshop,” Serafin said. “I have to check on him, and on Eft. And above all, on Junipa.” He lowered his voice so much that only Dario could understand him. “I have to get her away from there. Someplace where she’s safe. Otherwise she won’t survive the coming days. And probably not Arcimboldo, either.”

  Dario stared at him, eyes narrowed, as if he could look through him to his inmost being. “Someone wants to kill Arcimboldo?”

  Serafin nodded. “I’m afraid that’s what it’s going to boil down to. I can’t imagine that he’ll actually surrender Junipa. And if he refuses, they’ll kill him.”

  “Surrender? Who to? The Egyptians?”

  Serafin grabbed Dario by the upper arm and led him away from the others, through a door into the next room where they could talk undisturbed. “Not the Egyptians,” he said.

  “Who else?”

  Serafin looked thoughtfully out the window. It was dark outside. They were going to invade the palace later this very night. Their spies had reported that the Pharaoh had installed himself there a few hours ago. Before then, Serafin had to take care of Junipa, Arcimboldo, and Eft. Next to that, everything else, even the fight against the Egyptians, paled to meaninglessness.

  Serafin gave himself a shake and looked Dario in the face. He knew with certainty: He had no more time to explain the circumstances to Dario.

  “Just come with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Serafin nodded. “You can handle a saber well. Much better than I can.”

  Dario’s distaste for allying himself with his old archenemy still burned in his eyes. But there was also something else: a trace of relief and, yes, of gratitude. For Serafin had made it easy for him, enabling him to go along without having to ask. That was what surprised Serafin the most. Dario wanted to go with him and had from the very beginning. Only he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say it, not to Serafin.

  “And the others?” asked Dario.

  “Will have to wait.”

  “Lalapeya?”

  “She too.”

  Dario nodded. “Then let’s get going right now.”

  Back in the dining room, Dario gave the surprised Tiziano the order to take over command until they were back. Tiziano and Boro exchanged irritated looks, then grinned, and Tiziano nodded proudly. The other boys wanted to know what Dario and Serafin were going to do, but when Boro promised them all a second portion of supper, their interest flagged, and they turned to the steaming dishes. Serafin smiled when he saw that. All their lives, they would be street children at heart and hungry for any meal.

  After carefully surveying the street, Serafin and Dario left the enclave through the main entrance. The sphinx’s palazzo was in the Castello district, in the middle of Venice, but tonight there wasn’t a single inhabitant on the street.

  The mummy soldiers’ random attacks had now turned into organized patrols—Venice had fallen into the enemy’s hands without a battle, without any intervention from the City Guard. The traitorous city councillors had seen to it that the city would capitulate as soon as the Queen was gone and the enemy troops had moved closer. In the past few nights, the mummy troops’ attacks on civilians had gone a step further to crush the citizens’ fighting spirit. Most had simply given up: the city and themselves. Now it was only a question of time until the first would be dragged from their houses and carried off to the boats.

  The two boys kept close to the façade of the palazzo as they set out. In a whisper, Serafin asked about the walled-up windows of the ground floor, but Dario didn’t know what was hidden behind them. No one ever entered the lower floor, that was law. There weren’t even doors.

  It wasn’t far to the Canal of the Expelled, barely fifteen minutes at a run. Yet they had to detour several times when they heard the clink of steel or the sound of rhythmic steps, but never voices, coming from around a bend. Once, they were only a few steps away from one of the mummy patrols, as they pressed themselves into a niche, hoping the Pharaoh’s slaves wouldn’t sense them. A cloud of dust rose to Serafin’s nose as the bony figures marched past them.

  After some minutes they reached a small intersection. Here the Canal of the Expelled branched off from a broader waterway. Serafin’s heart gave a leap when he saw the deserted bridge and the empty sidewalks. At this very spot, not too long ago, at the lantern festival, everything had begun for him and Merle. The thought filled him with sorrow and fear. Where was Merle now?

  Nothing had changed on the Canal of the Expelled. Almost all the houses on the cul de sac had been empty for a long time, doors and windowpanes destroyed. Only the two workshops, their gray façades staring at each other across the water like the faces of old men, had been occupied, until recently. But now Umberto’s weavers had left their house, and the windows of the magic mirror workshop were also dark.

  “Are you sure they’re still here?” asked Dario, as they approached Arcimboldo’s workshop. They checked again and again to be sure no one was following them. Serafin kept an eye on the sky for flying lions, although in the darkness he could see almost nothing. If there were something dark and massive sweeping across the stars, it was too fast for his tired eyes.

  “You must know Arcimboldo better than I do,” he said. “I didn’t have the impression he’s a man who’d abandon his house and crawl into a hole somewhere.”

  Dario returned his look with a spark of anger, but then he realized Serafin’s words were not an attack. He nodded slowly. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have left him and Eft behind.” He hadn’t forgotten what he owed to Arcimboldo.

  Serafin laid a hand on his shoulder. “He knew that you’d go. He said so to me. And I believe he even wanted that a little.”

  “He spoke to you about it?” Dario looked at him. “When?”

  “Not long ago. I was with him outside in the lagoon, after you loaded the mirrors into the boat.”

  “The last delivery …” Dario’s voice sounded thoughtful suddenly, as his eyes strayed to the entrance of the mirror workshop. “He never told us where he took all the mirrors. Or who he sold them to.” He started and stared at Serafin. “Do these happen to be the people we’re supposed to protect him from? Are we here on account of them?”

  Serafin was about to tell him the whole story right then and there: how he’d watched Arcimboldo hand his magic mirrors over to Talamar, the courier from Hell, and how Talamar had demanded the girl Junipa for his master, Lord Light. The girl with the mirror eyes.

  But then he kept silent and just nodded briefly.

  “What kind of people are they?” Dario asked.

  Serafin sighed. “If we’re unlucky, we’ll meet one of them tonight.” He was about to move on, but Dario held him back.

  “Come on, spit it out.”

  Serafin looked from Dario to the dark workshop, then back to Dario again. It wasn’t easy for him to tell the truth. Dario wouldn’t believe him.

  “Hell,” he said finally. “Arcimboldo was selling his mirrors to Lord Light for years. To one of his couriers.”

  “Lord Light?” Dario’s voice was quiet, as if this news didn’t really surprise him. Then he nodded slowly. “The Devil, that is.”

  “That remains to be proven,” said Serafin. “No one has ever seen Lord Light.” But he was only trying to make it sound better, he knew that.

  “And Arcimboldo obeyed him?” Dario asked.

  A lone gust of wind brushed Serafin’s face and made him shiver. Again he looked up at the night sky. “He didn’t only make the mirrors for him. He also took Merle and Junipa into his house on Lord Light’s orders.”

  “But … ,” Dario began, then shook his head. He’d never liked the two girls, but he didn’t go so far as to blame them. “Tell the rest,” he begged.

  “There isn’t more to tell. Junipa was blind, you know that, and Arcimboldo implanted the mirror eyes at Lord Light’s request.”

  “Those damned eyes,” whispered Dario. “They’re creepy. Like ice. As if a col
d wind were blowing out of them.” He stopped, and then after a moment he added, “Why? What do Hell or Lord Light get out of it if Junipa can see again?”

  “No idea.” Serafin noted the doubt on Dario’s face. But for some reason he didn’t want to try to explain about the power the mirror eyes gave Junipa. “Arcimboldo only did what they commissioned him to do. To save the workshop and also you apprentices. He was afraid he’d have to send you back to the orphanage if he refused Lord Light’s commissions. He was only concerned about you.” Serafin hesitated a moment, then he said, “And he was glad to be able to help Junipa. He said she was so happy to finally be able to see.”

  “And why are we here now?”

  “Talamar, Lord Light’s errand boy, has demanded that Arcimboldo surrender Junipa to him. But I think he knew Arcimboldo would refuse to do it. He gave him a deadline. And therefore we have to get your master, Junipa, and Eft to safety before—”

  “Before this Talamar comes for the girl,” Dario ended the sentence. “And punishes Arcimboldo for his disobedience.”

  “Then you’re still with me?” Serafin hadn’t forgotten what happened when Dario went after him with a knife that time in the mirror workshop. Then, Dario had used Junipa as a shield. On the other hand, Serafin felt that he was dealing with a different Dario today, one who was straighter with other people—and with himself.

  “Sure.” Dario drew his saber, a decisive but also a slightly useless gesture. “No matter who we have to deal with. And if the Pharaoh and Lord Light are inside there toasting each other, we’ll just show them both where to go.”

  Serafin grinned and started moving. Together they covered the last few yards to the workshop. The sign over the door, ARCIMBOLDO’S GLASS FOR THE GODS, appeared even more unreal than ever. On this night the gods were farther away from Venice than ever before.

  A soft thumping sounded as the mirror maker’s empty boat struck the canal wall behind them, making Serafin and Dario jump. Something had disturbed the calm water. Perhaps only the wind.

  Still no lions in the sky.