“Did you hear that?” whispered Seïa excitedly. “The reliquary of St. Sabbas is missing and they think Sister Hyanthé might know where it is! Or might know who stole it! Can you imagine? Who would dare such a thing? From right under Sister Hyanthé’s nose. To steal from the convent is truly wicked!”
“We need to restore that reliquary to the convent!” Florina was determined to save the convent, one way or another. “If we can’t raise the alms the convent needs, then we can restore the reliquary—or at least find it, if it was only misplaced.” She looked at Seïa expectantly.
“How are you…?” began Seïa, but one glance at Florina’s face cut her off. “No, you can’t do that again. The imp is untrustworthy. A liar. A cheat. You cannot ask it to serve you again!”
“We just have to be more careful this time!” Florina grabbed Seïa elbows and bounced excitedly. “We tell him only to restore the missing reliquary. To not kill anyone. To not even punish, in any way, the person who took it. Or mislaid it. Whatever. Simply restore the reliquary to its place in the sacristy. There is no way the imp can misunderstand or twist that request, is there?” she pleaded.
Seïa considered the points Florina made. “It does sound much safer this time,” she agreed. “I don’t trust it, but I think it would be hard for the imp to twist your words this time. Now, we just need to think of what to give it.”
“Oh.” Florina had forgotten that part of dealing with the imp. She perked up. “Where do these stairs go?” she asked.
Seïa looked down into the dark. “This is one of the stairways to the wine cellar.”
“So, that’s what we give him!” Florina was thrilled to solve this quandary so easily. “We give him a barrel of wine!”
“Why not?” Seïa agreed. “It will be time for Sext soon. You wait here and I will go get a candle from the chapel. With any luck, we should be no more than a few minutes late to the Office.”
She stepped into the corridor, adjusting her veil.
“Hurry!” whispered Florina. “Oh, Seïa—this is so exciting!”
Seïa reappeared a few moments later, a burning candle stub hidden in her hands.
“I was almost caught by the novice mistress,” she whispered to Florina, “but I made it.” She lifted the candle above her and the flame quivered in a gust of air. Shadows danced along the stairway walls. The girls spilled down the circular steps, almost tripping over each other. Seïa had to pause twice to protect the flame from the drafts that threatened to extinguish it.
Finally they reached the wine cellar. It was a vast, open area under the convent, one of the many underground storage rooms for grain, vegetables, fruits, and other goods. Row after row of wine barrels stretched before them in the dark. The tiny candle flame created a rather small pool of light in the large cellar.
“All right, Florina.” Seïa turned to her friend. “Call the imp.”
Florina took a breath. Did she really dare to call the imp again? Would he answer the summons a second time? Would it be as simple to control him as they thought? Her intention wavered, but then she thought of Sister Hyanthé and the missing reliquary and the needs of the convent. She stamped her foot, spat over her left shoulder, and exclaimed, “Make it so! Staniž se!”
“What is your word, mistress?”
Florina gasped and Seïa almost dropped the candle. Even though Florina knew what to expect, she was still startled by the sudden appearance of the imp.
He looked different than she remembered. Bigger. Taller, and his shoulders seemed broader, his arms longer and his features more grotesque. Whereas he had reached midway between their knees and waists before, now he nearly reached their elbows. Tangled patches of hair sprouted from his knuckles now and peeped from his stocking cap. The awkward, pointed ears stood out even further from his head and his teeth—which Florina had not noticed before—glinted in the candlelight.
“My word….” began Florina. “My word this time is—”
“To not kill anyone!” interrupted Seïa.
The imp glanced at Seïa, then peered into Florina’s face, twisting his neck to bring his face closer to hers.
“Is mistress not pleased with servant’s obedience? Servant simply did as mistress instructed.” His raspy pleading for understanding echoed faintly among the wine barrels. “Servant only seeks to please mistress.” He wrung his hands together and leaned towards Florina.
“Mistress is quite satisfied with servant’s obedience last time,” Florina quickly replied and stepped back from the leering imp. “But Seïa is correct. Do not kill anyone this time. Do not even punish anyone in any way.” Florina glared at Seïa, irritated that her friend didn’t trust her to properly instruct the imp when it had been her idea—hadn’t it?—to give the proper limits to the imp’s task.
“Servant does only as mistress requests.” The imp hung back a bit but wrung his hands again. “What does mistress instruct servant?” He curled one finger and laid it across his drooling mouth.
“Mistress instructs servant to find the missing reliquary of… oh, Seïa!—whose reliquary is it?” Florina was irritated with herself now and her inability to remember the proper saint.
“The reliquary of St. Sabbas,” Seïa reminded her.
“Yes. That’s it. Mistress instructs servant to find the reliquary of St. Sabbas and restore it to its proper place in the convent sacristy. Before the saint’s day,” she added quickly, realizing as she spoke that was one contingency they hadn’t discussed earlier. She glanced at Seïa and saw her approval.
“Servant will be happy to do as mistress instructs. Before the night is out, the missing reliquary will be returned to its proper place.” But then the imp lunged forward and drew one fingernail towards Florina’s nose. “But what token will mistress give servant this time for a task well done?” Before Florina could answer, he added, “But it should be a larger token than last time, mistress. Servant has proven his worth, has he not?” He drew back slightly and contorted his face into an inquisitive grin.
“Yes, larger than last time,” agreed Florina. “Mistress gives servant this barrel of wine.” She touched the cask closest to her.
Excitement rippled through the imp and he seemed to grow ever so slightly larger as she watched. He licked his lips with his long, thick tongue, which—yes, in the candlelight and now that he was larger, she could see plainly—was forked. He bowed low before Florina.
“Servant is so grateful to mistress for such a wonderful token,” he croaked. “Servant is grateful that mistress has summoned it yet a second time and has placed such trust in servant as to give it this cask of delicious, wonderful wine.” He licked his lips again.
“So, take it and be gone. Go about making the mistress’ word come true.” The words spilled from Seïa’s lips. She seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the imp’s presence.
The imp ignored Seïa outburst and reached for Florina’s hand. He touched his lips to her knuckles with a great wet, dripping kiss. Even as he did so, his other hand reached towards the barrel of wine.
Then he, and the wine barrel, were gone. The faint odor of smoke hung in the air.
“Quickly!” Seïa cried. “Let’s get out of here before the candle burns out!” She pulled Florina up the stairs behind her, and bursting into the fresh air at the top of the stairs, both girls burst into nervous giggles of relief. Florina was sure nothing could go wrong this time.
Sister Mahela was in the sacristy the next day, searching for the reliquary of St. Sabbas, a fifth-century abbot in Palestine. She had barely slept, worried that the missing reliquary augured bad times for the convent. She spent nearly all morning going through the sacristy, where the liturgical supplies and treasures of the convent were kept: the chalices and patens and thuribles as well as the vestments and relics and hand-copied books needed for the services. Everything seemed to be in its proper place; everything except the reliquary. Sister Mahela was becoming convinced that the reliquary had indeed been stolen and not simply misl
aid.
“Everything points to one of the nuns that was here with Sister Hyanthé the day before yesterday. Whoever it was, she must not have planned for anyone to notice it was missing until the feast of St. Sabbas, and by then, the reliquary could be anywhere,” Sister Mahela mused. “By discovering the loss so quickly, there is at least a chance that the reliquary is still in the convent and has not yet been sold.”
She turned to make one last survey of the sacristy before going to see Mother Abbess about the disturbing turn of events. Just as she was about to leave the sacristy, something glittered on a shelf that she had not noticed before. A thin blade of sunlight, as sharp and as precise as the blade of a new knife, cut through the room from a high, narrow window. It pointed her directly to the object on the shelf, which beckoned to her as if calling her name. She went to it, picked it up, and—gasping in shocked recognition—dropped it to the floor. It clattered at her feet.
It was the precious reliquary. But it was empty.
The Roman priest, a secretary and representative of one of the Roman cardinals, had come to Prague on official business and had been given an exquisite, though small, reliquary of St. Sabbas to take back to Rome. The gift, from one of the new emperor’s minor officials, was meant to calm the tempers of the Roman crowds who were still angry that the emperor Charles IV had left Rome hastily following his imperial coronation last year. The official had not said how he had obtained the relic, but had pressed it into the priest’s hands, promising, “The emperor has not forgotten his subjects in Florence, Milan, and Venice, and he especially remembers the good people of Rome. Tell them of the emperor’s good wishes and that he intends to do more for them soon.”
Now, as the priest had planned to say his morning prayers before the sacred relic, he was flabbergasted. The reliquary, which he had safely stowed with his other devotional things, primarily books and small images, was gone. The relic itself, a small shard of bone, was still there with his prayer book and icon of the Mother of God. But the glittering, bejeweled reliquary was gone.
Sister Mahela told Mother Deborah that the reliquary had been found but the relic was missing. She perhaps also told someone else, though she thought she had been careful to keep that information to herself. In any case, by Vespers, the news had spread throughout the convent, though no one spoke openly of it. Whispers and brief, hushed reposts were passed from nun to nun, nun to novice, novice to novice, nun to servant, servant to servant, servant to nun.
Florina and her friend Seïa were furious, both at the imp and at themselves.
“We were so careful!” Florina complained to Seïa. “We said exactly what he was to do! How dare he?”
“We were too careful, Florina.” Seïa drew the only possible conclusion. “We told him to harm no one, to punish no one, and to return the reliquary to its place. Still he found a way to twist our words. No matter how much he insists that he only wants to serve ‘mistress,’ he finds a way to make your words come true—but only in a false way!” She sighed and kicked a pebble. “Too bad we didn’t think to say anything about the relic!” She pulled the veil across her face and giggled.
Florina stared at her friend and then couldn’t help but giggle as well. “True,” she agreed at last. “At least no one was hurt.”
“Correct. No one was hurt.” Seïa made a face of mock indignation and shock. “Can you imagine the face of whoever took the reliquary but discovered this morning that only the relic remained?” She laughed again.
Florina laughed at the thought too.
The priest found the royal official two days later.
“What strange witchcraft have you have visited upon me?” the Roman demanded.
“What are you talking about, Father? I gave you the relic of St. Sabbas, who shares the same name as St. Sabbas the Younger, who is one of the patrons of your Roman monastery of St. Caesarius. There was no witchcraft in that!”
“No? Then tell me how is it that the next morning, I go to find the relic with my things but the reliquary missing? Tell me that! Explain to me, please, how else the reliquary could vanish in the night if not by witchcraft?” The foreign priest felt his face flame as he told the official the tale. “Is that how the emperor intends to impress the people of Rome with his good will? By sending them a naked relic with no reliquary, not even a humble wooden box to carry it in? Does he take me for a fool? Does he take the people of Rome for dupes? If the intent of the emperor is to calm the Romans, he will fail—I promise you that! This will only infuriate them more!”
The official turned pale. “Indeed, Father? The reliquary vanished? Perhaps a thief stole into your rooms by night and took the reliquary for its jewels but left the precious relic out of fear of God and his saints. Could that not also explain the disappearing reliquary?”
“I should have heard such a thief moving about my room, do you not agree? I am sure I would have heard the reliquary being opened, as well as the door. The hinges on both would have awakened me. But even so, does not the presence of such a thief here disturb you? Surely you cannot be suggesting that one of my travelling companions could have been so wicked as to steal the holy reliquary? The audacity of the thieves of Prague both amazes and disgusts me!” The priest was intent to make the official admit that it was Czech, not Roman, trickery that had made the reliquary vanish.
“I will get to the bottom of this entire affair, Father,” the official promised the priest. “You will have a new reliquary—or that same one that vanished—before you depart to return for Rome. You may rest assured that the emperor takes neither you nor the people of Rome for dupes, mon seigneur, and that the holy relic shall be suitably protected on its journey to the Eternal City.”
The official, wishing to avoid attention, was not able to speak with his contact at the convent until the middle of the next week.
“Yes, I understand that the reliquary somehow was returned to the sacristy,” the nun informed him.
“I can assure you, sister, that I did not pay the sum I did—the rather large sum, I might remind you—for a reliquary that will not stay where it is put! It must be returned immediately! Or at least as soon as may be without arousing suspicion.” The official was furious but realistic: the emperor had not authorized this plan for making peace with the Romans and the convent had not authorized the sale of the reliquary, so both he and the nun had to tread carefully. If their plans worked, both would be commended for their foresight. If their plans were discovered prematurely, it would mean shame and disgrace. Or worse.
“You shall have your reliquary, vyslanec,” the nun promised him. “It will stay with the relic on its way to Rome.”
It was mid-December and Prague was dusted with snow as if it were a pastry dusted with sugar. One of the scullery girls from the convent kitchen approached Florina, who had been given the “obedience” of helping prepare the Christmas cakes, which would steep in mead until the feast. The girl crossed the kitchen from the fireplace, attempting to brush the soot from her face and rub her hands clean on her apron. Florina was struggling to stir the heavy batter that would become a holiday cake.
“Pardon me, but you are the novice Florina, yes?”
Florina stopped stirring and wiped the sweat from her brow. She looked at the girl, who seemed to be about her age, tall and thin. Very polite. Probably from a merchant’s family.
“Yes. I am the novice Florina.” She smiled.
“I was hoping that I was correct.” She smiled bashfully in return and leaned closer to Florina, whispering, “My cousin asked me to tell you that Damek has run away from your parents’ estate and is on his way to see you.”
Florina’s heart leaped. “Damek? On his way here? To see me?”
“Yes. My cousin has friends who also serve on your family’s estate and Damek asked them to pass along the message that he hopes to be in Prague soon and will attempt to meet with you as soon as he arrives.” The hushed tones of conspiracy only added to the thrill of Damek’s coming. “I believe he was
told to find me when he arrives in Prague and I will give you his message.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Florina wanted to hug the scullery maid but knew that would attract the sort of attention they both hoped to avoid. They nodded to each other and returned to their tasks, the maid to tend the convent kitchen fires while Florina returned to stirring the stiff batter with renewed gusto.
Sister Hyanthé was perplexed. She had never had any reason to doubt Sister Elisheba, who managed the resources of the convent. When she had reported to the abbess and the assembled deans of the convent in September that the harvests had been poor, Hyanthé had accepted her word. When Elisheba approached her privately later and asked her to help convince the other deans of the necessity to make adequate provision for the convent’s survival, she had been happy to serve her sisters’ best interests. It was self-evident that Mother Deborah, the abbess, needed the guidance of the deans to make this difficult, awkward move to secure the welfare of the nuns.
But Hyanthé, who heard more from the world outside the convent’s walls than many of the other sisters, had heard reports that the harvest this season had been one of the most plentiful that folk could remember.
“Could it really be that the harvests overflow all the farms but those belonging to the convent?” she wondered in her cell. “Can the convent farms be so poorly managed? The only reasonable explanation could be… the evil eye? Some devilry? Who would be jealous of the convent’s well-being and wish to harm us?” She turned the puzzle around in her mind. The only other explanation seemed so unreasonable. So preposterous. It was madness to even consider. She needed to pray for illumination. Surely there was another explanation she had not considered yet.
But still…
Seïa told Florina that she was unsure that Damek’s coming to Prague was a good thing. When Florina had first excitedly told her about his imminent arrival, Seïa had been happy for her friend. But a day later, she seemed convinced it was a dangerous prospect.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 69
