Escorted by the Troll King's servants, the Duchess and her party passed through chamber after chamber, then mounted another twisting stair. This palace, mused the Duchess, betrayed the workings of a convoluted mind. If not the mind of the present occupant, at least of the ancestor who built it.
"They are all in black, ," whispered Skogsrå, “all of the servants in black. It would appear, then, that the King has lost another bride."
"Pray enlighten me, lest I make some dreadful blunder," the Duchess whispered back, putting her hand on his arm. "Is it Skullgrimm's Queen who has died?"
"His Queen, yes, but not a woman of his own race, as I suppose you mean," replied Skogsrå. "It was the same sort of marriage you meant me to contract with Elsie Vorder . . . a blood marriage."
The Duchess tilted her chin disdainfully. "It was Skullgrimm, then, who is responsible for her death? Full mourning, under those circumstances, seems a bit excessive."
The Jarl glared at her, curling his lip as though greatly offended. "Undoubtedly, she died when the royal thirst became too imperative, when His Majesty's demands upon her became too fatally taxing . . . that is not to say that her death did not arise as an accident, or that Skullgrimm does not feel her loss. Indeed, she cannot be long dead," Skogsrå added, "or he would have replaced her by now."
At last they came into a lofty wooden hall, lit by a great fire on an immense central hearth. Massive pine logs snapped and exploded, filling the air with a resinous fragrance. King Skullgrimm XII and his courtiers had gathered for supper around a long table draped in black linen, set with vessels of pewter, silver, crystal, and gold. In the shadowy chamber, the effect was rich but somber.
The Duchess studied the assembly with unconcealed curiosity. Many appeared to be so-called half trolls like Skogsrå, victims of some minor deformity, a hoof or a twisted limb, but a number displayed disfigurements fully as extravagant as the pig's trotters and tufted tail of the warden at the gate.
The Duchess's glance passed from one troll to another, a little bewildered by their variety: a haughty nobleman, whose forked tongue flickered, serpent-like, between his lips as he spoke . . . a lugubrious grey-skinned scholar, sporting a nose at least twelve inches long, which a servant was obliged to hold aside for him, whenever he lifted his cup . . . a voluptuous auburn-haired female, oddly attractive, with a sharp, vixenish face and pricked ears to match, vivaciously addressing her dinner companion, an elderly troll, distinguished by a fine set of snowy whiskers and an equally impressive pair of ivory tusks.
Skullgrimm himself sat at the head of the table, in a high-backed throne chair. He also wore mourning, in the same antique fashion as the servants, deep sable velvet with a wide collar of immaculate point lace. His hair hung to his shoulders in dark golden lovelocks, each curl tied with a black satin ribbon. Handsome and dissipated, he bore a striking resemblance to his cousin the Jarl, until the Duchess chanced to notice a clumsy, bearlike paw resting on one arm of his chair, and a pair of short white horns that grew just above his ears.
"So . . . you arrive," said Skullgrimm, inclining his head as the Duchess and Skogsrå approached him. (Mr. von Eichstatt still hung back, attempting to efface himself behind the tiny figure of the Duchess.) This was not, perhaps, the most gracious of welcomes, but the King smiled as he spoke, a smile that revealed an excessive number of even, white teeth.
The Duchess sank to the floor in a deep curtsy and spoke a few graceful words, but Skullgrimm waved them aside, gesturing with his good hand. "You have come too late to join us, nor would you find our feast to your liking." Here, he directed a sly glance at the whey-faced, shrinking Mr. von Eichstatt. "A servant will show you to the rooms prepared for you, and a more suitable repast will be served to you there."
The Duchess had come a long way in order to do business with the King, but even she dared not gainsay the royal decree. So she resumed an upright posture, Skogsrå and the doctor each bowed—the Jarl gracefully, von Eichstatt stiffly—and they followed the indicated servant out of the hall.
The Duchess left the room seething, outraged by this apparent discourtesy, but she was somewhat mollified to discover that the bedchamber allotted to her was spacious and luxurious, with a white bearskin on the floor, woven hangings on the walls, a roaring fire on the hearth, and a blanket of silky white furs cast carelessly across the bed. The maid-servant assigned to wait on the Duchess during her stay appeared comely and decent, in black wool and spotless white linen. The girl looked human enough, but whenever she moved, a rustling and a rasping sound issued from the modest skirts of her gown.
Mr. von Eichstatt bestowed only a cursory glance at his own bedchamber before hastening to wait on the Gracious Lady.
"Well, Doctor," said the Duchess. "Do you now regret the impulse of scientific curiosity that brought you so far?"
"By no means," he replied, with another clumsy bow (he was not usually so awkward, but fear had stiffened his limbs). "If my manner seems odd to you, it is merely . . . excitement. I believe that I may do much good here."
"You may certainly benefit me, if Skullgrimm agrees to an exchange of favors," said the Duchess, as the serving-maid divested her of the heavy crimson mantle and used a little silver brush to remove the dirt of travel from the matching velvet gown. "But your motives, I collect, are rather more lofty."
A pair of trolls arrived shortly thereafter, bearing trays of food, which they arranged on a trestle table near the fire. "You will join me, of course, Doctor. And you, too, my dear Skogsrå," she added, as the Jarl appeared in the doorway and limped into the room.
In chairs hastily provided by the servants, the three sat down to dine. The main course proved to be a spiced stew of unknown origin, presented in a silvery tureen. Von Eichstatt declined a portion, and even the Duchess hesitated.
"You need not fear to taste it," smirked the Jarl. "The delicacy you are thinking of is rather hard to come by in this part of the world, and Skullgrimm would not waste it on unappreciative palates. The odds are, you will find this contains nothing more exotic than reindeer meat. The servants virtually live on it . . . though seldom so carefully prepared."
Nevertheless, the Duchess and the doctor chose to dine on bread and cheese that evening, and to wash down their meal with the bitter troll ale.
***
In the morning, Skullgrimm summoned the Duchess to wait on him in his library. "You had best begin by stating what brings you here," said the King, indicating a chair for her to sit upon. "Your letter, announcing your imminent arrival, was . . . somewhat obscure."
The Duchess sank into the chair with a rustle of satin gown and silken petticoats. She had chosen, this morning, to appear in pearl-grey taffeta and cobweb lace, the nearest thing to full mourning that she could contrive on short notice.
She looked very dainty and even deceptively frail, in that high dark room. Heavy draperies covered the windows; towering bookshelves rose all the way up to a lofty ceiling. A ladder equipped with blunt brass hooks and a brass railing ran all around the upper portion of the room, and a servant was in the process of bringing down one of the higher volumes. The only light came from a narrow slit between the curtains and a small, aromatic fire burning on an iron tripod beside Skullgrimm's chair.
"Your Majesty will perhaps recall a conversation we had, some three or four years past, when I had the privilege to meet you in Katrinsberg. You told me then," said the Duchess, folding her hands in her lap, "that the physical traits afflicting so many of your people weigh heavily on your mind, imposing as they do such a fearful obstacle to your 'wholesome intercourse' with the other races."
Those, indeed, had been Skullgrimm's words—though speaking privately afterwards, the Jarl had assured her that His Majesty's motives were not nearly so elevated. "We have, as I must tell you, a marked aversion to our own deformities—particularly Skullgrimm, who is amazingly vain and selfish, even for a troll. Were many of us born the same, I believe we should long since have accepted our peculiarities, even learned
to regard them as marks of distinction. But since our misfortunes are so many and so varied, this does not occur. Nor are we a race known for tolerance and compassion. As a result, we find ourselves, almost without exception, the most repulsive beings on the face of the earth.
"Do not ask me how (this being so) we contrive to mate and bring forth new generations," Skogsrå had added distastefully, "for it is not a subject that we care to discuss. Suffice to say that Skullgrimm wishes to cut a dashing and desirable figure . . . and cannot do so, even in the eyes of his own people, flatter him how they will."
Now the King leaned a bit forward in his chair, an expression of deep interest written on his face. "Am I to understand that you have found a way to cure my people of their disfigurements?"
"I bring with me," said the Duchess, "the brilliant young doctor, Theophilus von Eichstatt. He caused a great stir in Wäldermark, this past year, at the Prince's College of Chirurgeons, by removing the natural spurs from the legs of one rooster and successfully grafting them to the comb of another. I was among those privileged to see the results, and I beg leave to assure you that no trickery was involved."
By now, the Troll King leaned well forward in his chair.
"Mr. von Eichstatt," continued the Duchess, "is confident that he can perform a similar operation on your behalf, substituting a perfectly formed human hand for your own . . . somewhat eccentric . . . appendage. It would only be a matter, I suppose, of diverting a portion of meat from Your Majesty's table?
She gave a regretful shake of her head. "I very much fear that nothing at all can be done about your horns, unless you would like them sawn off near the skull? Your hair would cover the—"
"I do not care so much about the horns," Skullgrimm interrupted her, making an impatient gesture with his hairy paw. "I wear a hat when I go out among Men. And here at court, I have been told they would be accounted exceedingly handsome on a gnome."
He leaned back in his chair, appeared to be weighing the matter very carefully in his mind. "It is all very well, this talk of spurs and roosters," he said at last. "To graft tissue from one creature to another of the same species is one thing . . . but to mingle the flesh of the different races remains quite another matter."
The Duchess smoothed out her ruffles of cobweb lace, gifted the troll with her most enchanting smile. Even Skullgrimm felt the influence of that fairy glamour; a small, reluctant smile appeared on his handsome face.
"Am I not living proof that the flesh of different races may . . . mingle, as you put it?" And equally proof of the folly of any such feat, she added silently, though her dazzling smile in no way diminished. "They say, too, that of all the races, Man and troll are most nearly related. But indeed, even among totally different species the thing may be accomplished. And with Your Majesty's permission, we shall arrange a demonstration, one that must satisfy all your doubts."
The King made a steeple of his hands, the narrow-fingered perfect one and the grotesque paw. "I am interested, of course. But I do not believe that the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen comes all this way for the sole purpose of obliging me. Tell me, then, what you expect in return for the services of your chirurgeon."
The Duchess made a tiny, fluttering gesture. "It is a small matter, really. I am told that Your Majesty, being an adept in the Dark Arts, has the power to create a simulacrum, an animate double to any sentient creature that walks the earth. Or was I misinformed?"
"You were not misinformed," said Skullgrimm, a frown creasing his brow. "Was it Haakon Skogsrå who told you this? I did not know he took so deep an interest in matters of sorcery."
"No, no," the Duchess hastened to assure him, remembering what the Jarl had said earlier: that Skullgrimm had a habit of devouring his more ambitious kinsmen. "It was Vodni, of course. Quite a clever fellow, young Vodni. His death was a sad loss. Skogsrå does not serve me nearly so well. His is not . . . not the very brightest of intellects, you know."
"You confirm my own opinion," said the King, his frown giving way to a smile of lazy amusement. "A handsome fellow, of course, and always a great favorite with the women. So very vain he is, that even here, among his own kind, he does not remove his boots."
Then the King turned his thoughts to the matter of the simulacrum. "And so," he said, with a measuring gaze, "I have an idea you would like one of these doubles for your own use?"
"That is so," said the Duchess, striving to return his gaze with one that was wide-eyed and ingenuous. "I am a student of sorcery myself, but scarcely more than a dabbler. Indeed, I dabble in so many things! To create the simulacrum is quite beyond my poor art, yet I desire such a double for use in a small scheme of my own. I will not bore you with the details. I should like you to create a creature of that sort for me, in return for Mr. von Eichstatt's services."
The Troll King laughed softly to himself. "Indeed, it were mere child's play for a sorcerer of my talents. Very well, arrange your demonstration. If I am satisfied with the results, perhaps I shall be disposed to grant your request."
CHAPTER SIX
Wherein Mr. von Eichstatt tests his Resolve, and many Strange things are Accomplished.
Mr. von Eichstatt was a true Philosopher. Indeed, so great was his philosophy, it had brought him north to this present pass and enabled him to treat with trolls. He knew little, and concerned himself less, with the motives of his patroness, the Duchess. For the doctor, it was all scientific curiosity, and this unprecedented opportunity to conduct experiments that were strictly forbidden in his native land.
The trolls prepared an operating theatre for him, in a chamber behind the kitchens, which had all the appearance of an abattoir. And there, two days following his arrival at the troll court, von Eichstatt performed an exceedingly delicate procedure, grafting a pair of human testicles that had been brought to him on ice, attaching them to the intestines of a live calf.
(Never mind, the doctor told himself, how the organs were obtained. Does the stonemason ask whence comes the stone, or the baker, his flour? Think only of what this will mean for the natural sciences.)
Then a fortnight passed, during which the doctor, the Duchess, and the King of Trolls awaited the outcome. Needless to state, those two weeks passed in great unease for the young doctor, who displayed a queasy distrust of every bit of meat offered to him at mealtimes. Nor could he repress a shudder when one of Skullgrimm's hairless black pets skulked into the room and rolled a sulphurous eye in his direction.
Even the Duchess, though possessed of a more sanguine temperament, felt a trifle uneasy. It seemed to her that Skullgrimm's courtiers often gazed at her with a speculative eye. She thought, perhaps, that some had a fancy to sample a dish of three-quarter fairy—though they must surely know that her flesh, which contained six parts fire and air to every measure of earth and water, would hardly agree with them. The troll baroness with the foxy red ears was the worst of the lot; the creature had an intolerable habit of running her tongue over her teeth and smiling suggestively whenever the Duchess walked by.
At last the day arrived when Mr. von Eichstatt reopened the calf's abdomen to discover that the grafted testicles had, indeed, melded with the sturdy bovine tissue. Bloody and triumphant, the doctor looked up from the slaughtered calf to meet the Troll King's enigmatic gaze.
"Most impressive," said Skullgrimm.
But later, when the doctor had washed the blood and bodily fluids from his hands, slipped into his coat, and accompanied the Duchess from the abattoir to an audience chamber, His Majesty expressed some remaining reservations.
"There is a peculiarity of my people, which perhaps you do not know. We possess a certain regenerative ability, which is more a curse than a blessing. When one limb is cut off, it often happens that two identical limbs grow back in its place."
"But of course we knew this," the Duchess replied airily. "And Mr. von Eichstatt has devised a method to combat that tendency."
The doctor cleared his throat nervously, took out a handkerchief, and mopped the moisture fro
m his brow. "It is merely a matter of cutting off the extra limbs as they appear, and cauterizing the wound so they do not grow back again."
"Nevertheless," replied Skullgrimm, "you will give me a new hand, and we shall await the results, before I even consider granting the Duchess her request."
And so, the next day, yet another operation took place, during which von Eichstatt amputated the Troll King's hideous paw and grafted another hand, strong but beautiful, successfully in its place.
(Do not ask where it comes from, the doctor reminded himself, stitching the hand to the stump. Does the stonemason ask whence comes his stone . . . the baker, his flour . . . the goldsmith, his gold . . . ?)
A week later, His Majesty, well on his way to recovery, sent for the Duchess and Jarl Skogsrå. They found him in the library, standing by one of the windows, gazing pensively out across the frosty courtyard to the iron gates. He had exchanged his deep mourning for an antiquated suit of emerald velvet, fringed and laced and adorned with primrose-colored ribbons, and his new hand was bandaged in black silk. Except for the horns, he made quite a proper man.
"You know, of course, that to do as you request, I require a little blood from the creature you would have me duplicate."
"Of course," said the Duchess. "And I have come prepared." She reached into her reticule and produced a tiny bottle. "Here is a vial of Elsie Vorder's blood."
"The Gracious Lady is a miracle of resource," exclaimed the astonished Skogsrå. "How did she come by this?"
"Two years ago, when Elsie was bled for some trifling disorder, I instructed her physician—who was, as you may suppose, of my choosing and in my pay—to provide me with a small amount of Elsie's blood. Having no immediate use for the blood, yet refusing to discount the possibility that a use might someday present itself, I prudently kept this vial against some future need. It is hermetically sealed, as you can see, but I fear the blood has thickened over the course of time, despite all the spells I have worked to keep it liquid."
Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2 Page 4
