by David Drake
He turned in apparent surprise and said, “What—”
Hedia embraced him as closely as her silk dress allowed and kissed him firmly.
Melino’s arms came up as expected, and he pushed her away in horror. That was so far down the list of what she had expected that she could honestly say that it hadn’t crossed her mind.
“What are you doing?” he cried.
“Embarrassing myself, apparently,” Hedia replied coolly as she stepped back. “Well, making a fool out of myself. It takes more than that to embarrass me.”
Her first thought was that Melino was one of the men who liked men, or boys, anyway. Her first husband, Calpurnius Latus, had been of that sort. But when rubbing her body against Melino’s in garments so mutually thin, she had been quite sure that he found her attractive. So had Latus, if it came to that.
“Why did you invite me here?” she said. “Since it wasn’t—”
Her hand twirled the air briefly.
“—what I assumed. What I think any reasonably attractive woman would assume.”
“I…,” Melino said. He reached up as if to wipe his lips, then licked them instead. His eyes had the lambent glow she had seen before. “Your Ladyship—”
“‘Hedia,’” she said, smiling at him. “As I was Hedia before, remember.”
She had decided to be amused by the business, the way she had been amused by contretemps with other men. Though this was unique in her experience.
“Hedia…,” Melino said. He seemed to come to a sudden decision and went on, “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you something. I wasn’t going to … well, it doesn’t matter. Come with me.”
The upper-level rooms to front and back of the house had doors, not the more common curtains in the doorways of rooms within a private house. Melino turned and opened the door to the rear of the house instead of the front room toward which he had originally been headed. Hedia followed him inside.
When she was in a normal house—one of her own family or that of an acquaintance—she didn’t notice the inevitable noise that the servants made. Here in a house with no servants, the silence was disturbing.
The room was divided by a sliding screen, a series of panels. It now reached from the middle to the back of the house overlooking the garden, but it could be telescoped against the internal wall. There was a dry odor that Hedia had smelled before but which she couldn’t identify.
“I was going to show you this by another way,” Melino said. “This may be better. You have to learn at some time if, if we’re to succeed.”
He pulled the cover off an upright object near the screen; it was a tall mirror. The support pillars were of black wood carved in the form of intertwined monkeys on the right side and crocodiles on the left.
The mirror itself was a sheet of orichalc.
Hedia wasn’t precisely vain, but she was conscious of her appearance because she knew others would be conscious of her. She stepped in front of the mirror. Melino hopped aside as though she were a bar of glowing iron.
She saw nothing but the metal’s sheen. The difference between gold and orichalc was the difference between a white topaz and a diamond. Diamonds and orichalc had an internal fire that the lesser materials lacked.
“I don’t see anything,” Hedia said, turning to Melino. “I don’t even see a reflection.”
“Watch,” the magician said, holding out his left fist so that the ruby ring almost touched the metal. He said, “Blazing with fire and blood they gain the land!”
Hedia expected to see the brown girls dancing around the glowing egg as she had in the smaller mirror; instead she looked up an enormous sand slope. She knew without being able to look around that the sea was behind her.
Light spread across the sky. Sunlight was scattering from something beyond the dune; then the dune itself vanished into the maw of a crystalline hugeness, a great worm. It proceeded toward her, engulfing the earth itself instead of simply plowing across it. It was on top of her and—
The image vanished. She had not been looking into the mirror; rather, she had been a part of the vision itself.
She found that her knuckles were hard against her teeth. She lowered her arms deliberately and said, “Was that real? What I just saw?”
Melino had been smiling slightly, probably in pride at his success. His expression sobered under the impact of Hedia’s cold anger. He said, “It will be real very shortly now, if Lucinus has his way.”
He rubbed his face with the back of his right hand; sweat had beaded on his brow. What he had just shown her had cost him effort.
“This mirror,” he said, looking at her. Pride swelled in his voice with every syllable. “It too is made of orichalc, which only the Atlanteans knew how to make. An artifact so large—”
He gestured with his right hand.
“—is only possible because I am such a great magician!”
Rather than discuss how much she knew about Atlantis, Hedia said, “The ancient Atlanteans? Why, that’s amazing. I don’t know how you men are able to keep such things in your head!”
She had learned early that you couldn’t overdo dim-witted innocence when dealing with a certain type of man. Indeed, dealing with almost any man who was trying to impress you.
“It allows me to do great things that would be possible with no other material,” Melino said. “This was my master’s mirror. Now that he is dead, it is mine.”
He paused, apparently considering his next words. “Are you familiar with the term ‘Refulgence’?” he said.
“Reflection,” Hedia said. “From a mirror or the sea or even the polished marble side of a building.”
“That’s one meaning,” Melino said, smirking again. “In the Art it is used where another would use ‘Nigromancy’: searching to find the truth through black magic. But I prefer—”
He gestured to the mirror.
“—to say ‘Refulgence.’”
Melino had gone pale from the vision of the Worm, but his color had returned to normal. “Now I will show you another thing,” he said.
He turned to the mirror. Before he could speak, Hedia laid the fingertips of her left hand across his mouth. “Don’t show me the Worm again,” she said. “I’ve seen it once; that was enough.”
She lowered her hand. “Not the Worms,” Melino said. “Another thing. An island.”
He held his ring toward the mirror again and murmured, “The calm seas are silent, and a bristling forest hangs over the shore.”
At first the metal showed nothing but its own preternatural sheen. Then Hedia was again in a distant scene: a jungle of unfamiliar trees whose green bark was covered with hairs. The ground was thick with soft knee-high vegetation, though she could neither feel nor hear in the present vision.
She was looking at something that stood so still that for a moment she thought it was a brown rock in shadow, or perhaps tree roots growing from a gnarled stump. Then she realized that the glittering points were in a pattern, two large gleams on the edges and six smaller spots above and between them. They were the eyes of a spider, a spider the size of an ox.
All thought froze, since Hedia was bodiless in this vision. She had no more than the usual distaste for serpents, but she hated to have crawling insects touch her—and she was terrified of spiders.
I want this to stop now, she thought. She had no voice, and if she had, her dry throat would not have passed the words.
The vision ended with a silent pop. Hedia wobbled and gripped the hard, black wood of the mirror’s support.
“That is Zabulon’s Isle,” Melino said. He didn’t seem to have noticed how much the sight had disturbed her. “That is where we must go.”
“I don’t want to go there,” Hedia said. She expected her voice to quaver and was pleased that it did not.
“Oh, but we must!” the magician said. “You see—”
He paused, looking toward the ceiling while his lips danced through alternate explanations. Meeting her eyes again, he said
, “My master was a great magician, the greatest since Zabulon himself. He journeyed to the island where Zabulon was buried and brought back Zabulon’s Book from the tomb, passing through the wards which Zabulon had set up to protect his wisdom.”
“The spider?” Hedia said evenly.
“No, no,” Melino said, flicking his hand as if to dispose of trash. “The spiders, the other insects—a magician can protect himself against them. But guarding the tomb itself is a dog who is a thing of magic and proof against magic, against most magic. My master forced that ward too, as no other could have done; but there is another way.”
Hedia lifted her chin in a tiny acknowledgment; she even smiled, though one would have had to watch her very closely to be sure of that. She wasn’t afraid of dogs.
Melino wasn’t paying any attention to her, except as an audience. “When my master felt age on him,” he said, “he returned the Book to the place from which he had taken it. The traitor Lucinus wants to get the Book for himself to loose the Worms. I must get it first, and you must help me.”
“I’m not a magician,” Hedia said. Memory of the crouching spider sharpened her tone. “And I don’t care to go to that island.”
“You don’t think I can use the mirror as a passage,” Melino said in resignation. “I understand. Well, you had better see this.”
He reached for the catch of the sliding screen. Hedia remained coldly aloof. She hadn’t the faintest idea of what Melino was talking about, but she had generally found silence to be the best response when someone began blurting secrets to her.
Melino walked the screen back with a series of clatters, opening the other half of the room. On a heavy wooden bed frame, fettered by coils of rippling reddish light, was another of the lizardfolk like the four Veturius had brought back from Africa.
This one was female. She hissed softly when she looked at Melino.
“You see?” the magician said. “With her to anchor us in the Waking World, we can pass through the mirror to Zabulon’s Isle and then return.”
He laughed in triumph. The sound came out as close to a cackle; Hedia wondered whether the strain was telling on him.
“I suppose you think she’s a demon?” Melino said.
“Is she a demon?” Hedia said instead of answering his question, though he probably thought she had.
“Not exactly,” Melino said. “She is the Princess of the Singiri, and she is a magician of great power. If she were free, she’d be a danger. Controlled like this, she is merely a tool and our guarantee of safety.”
The lizardwoman looked at Hedia. Translucent membranes winked sideways across the serpent eyes.
Hedia met her gaze regally. She is a princess. I wonder what she’s thinking.
“So you see, we can pass through the mirror and return safely,” Melino said. “But we must act quickly to forestall Lucinus. Are you ready to come with me now?”
“I haven’t told you that I’m willing to go at all!” Hedia said. Her normal response to a man pressing her to the edge of courtesy would be to ease back from him. Now, smiling, she reached out and stroked Melino’s cheek, causing him to shy away instead.
“But you—,” Melino said urgently. He stopped before he finished the sentence with, “—must!” or words to that effect … which was not going to help his case.
Instead he shook his head and said, “If you do not, the Worms will be loosed and will destroy the Earth, Hedia. What I showed you with the eyes of your mind will in weeks or even days engulf your body and the whole world with you.”
His voice was soft, pleading. He held himself erect, and he met her eyes. Many men had tried to convince Hedia to do this thing or that thing over the years; she was confident of her ability to read the truth beneath any words.
Melino wasn’t lying.
“The Princess…,” Hedia said. She was giving the magician information—and also giving herself time to decide how she would answer his request. “I saw four more of them. Lizardmen like her. At the port the day before yesterday.”
“What?” said Melino. “You’re sure of that? That they were Singiri?”
“What would I have confused them with?” Hedia snapped. “I was as close to them as I am to this one!”
“Yes, of course,” Melino said. He rubbed his mouth as he thought, the way another man might have stroked his beard. She had felt no hint of whiskers when she touched his cheek. She wondered how old he really was.
“They were in a cage,” she said when the magician continued to stand in silence.
“That won’t matter!” he said. He looked at the Princess, then at Hedia again.
“They can’t enter this house,” he said. “My wards will keep them out. But they could hire human dupes; I’ll be sure that my own guards are alert. I’ll hire more if I need to. But time is critical.”
He turned his palms upward, his eyes locked with hers. “Please, Lady Hedia,” he said. “We must get Zabulon’s Book before it’s too late.”
“I will need time to consider the matter,” Hedia said, knowing that it wasn’t really true. It was generally a good idea not to appear too willing, though, even when she really was willing.
She walked to the door back to the hallway, avoiding the pitiless eyes of the reptile princess. Melino followed, wringing his hands in silent desperation.
“I’ll return tomorrow if I decide to accompany you,” Hedia said, starting down the stairs.
She wished there were people with whom she could discuss the business, but there really weren’t, not unless she wanted to say more than she thought was advisable even to her friends.
Especially to her friends.
The door opened untouched as she approached it. Besides, I’ve always kept my own counsel.
* * *
“THAT’S THE HOUSE UP THERE, Your Ladyship,” the coachman called, pointing up the hillside with his whip when Alphena stuck her head out of the window. “D’ye want we should get all the way up to it?”
“No,” said Alphena. “Master Pandareus and I will go to the door ourselves and bring Paris back.”
She wasn’t going to insult the driver by telling him he couldn’t get the heavy carriage up a track so steep, but that was what she thought. It was almost certainly what the driver thought also, though she was sure that he’d have made a try.
She looked at her companion. “Ah, if that’s all right with you, master?” she said.
Pandareus had reached for the door on his side to open it. The footmen whipped it open before his hand touched the lever. He smiled and said, “The road isn’t as steep as the steps to the Capitol, which I climb most clear nights to view the stars. It will feel good to stretch my legs.”
Servants formed around her and the scholar with the usual amount of shouting and argument. The coachman wanted them out of the way so that he could turn, which was going to be tricky even without leaving the main road. It curved around the middle of the hillside and, though the pavement was fairly level, the slope to either side—up to the right and Paris’ farmhouse, down to the left and a small stream—was another matter.
She and Pandareus started up the track. A man and a woman—middle-aged, wearing worn tunics and looking worn themselves—watched over the courtyard wall, but they were obviously servants. There was no sign of Paris.
“Surely he must have heard us?” Alphena said. “Maybe Collina’s messenger didn’t reach him and he’s not here.”
“I suspect Master Paris is making a point,” Pandareus said. He smiled again, very slightly. “I’m interested in seeing how he lives, so this may be fortunate.”
Pandareus was having an easier time with the track than Alphena was. She realized that, just as he had said, he regularly tramped through the backstreets and defiles of Carce at night.
She was used to people saying politely that this or that wasn’t a problem when of course it was. She smiled: Pandareus probably didn’t do that. He was very unworldly.
Alphena had been considering how to rous
e Paris if he continued to ignore his visitors when they reached the house. The Illyrian kinsmen Drago and Rago solved the problem by jerking the door open without orders.
“Hey, Your Ladyship!” one of them called. “Want we should haul him out?”
“We’re coming up, Rago,” Alphena said, hoping she’d named the right cousin. “We’ll talk with Master Paris in his reception room.”
To Pandareus she added in an undertone, “It’ll take some time to turn the coach. I think we’re better off up here where we can be sure it won’t topple onto us.”
A third servant was watching them from the olive orchard on the slope beyond the house. The building had three small rooms parallel to the road and a slightly larger one as the lower bar of its L shape. Even if Paris and the three visible servants were everyone living on the farm, quarters must be crowded.
The stone-walled courtyard closed the rectangle. There was a lean-to shed against it and an olive press under a thatched roof taking up most of the rest of the space.
Pandareus, apparently thinking the same thing, said, “This is the sort of cottage which a small olive grove—on rocky soil—would just about support. Given what the wealthy folk of Carce would pay to a soothsayer with the presence of Master Paris, it gives me to believe that he’s honest. Although he’s not—”
Pandareus smiled at Alphena. He was a remarkably good-humored man. That was despite being a foreigner in a society that didn’t pay a great deal of money to real scholars, according to comments Varus and Corylus had made.
“—a man to whom I’ve warmed in our brief acquaintance.”
They reached the door just as Paris came to it. The Illyrian cousins waited hopefully for Alphena to tell them how to react.
“This is what passes for courtesy when the self-styled master race comes calling, I suppose,” Paris said.
“We’ll go inside,” Alphena said, “since we’re here already.”
She stepped forward. Paris hopped back out of the way so briskly that he must have understood at least some of what the Illyrians were thinking.
