Sustenance

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Thank you, master.” He studied the page open before him. “Marseilles, perhaps Nice, inland to Milano, down to Pisa, then Roma, Napoli, Brindisi, unless it looks as if it would be prudent to visit Massina before going on to Brindisi. I will arrive in Venezia the third week in February, if all goes well.”

  “Keep me apprised of any changes, especially if you go to Sicilia.”

  “Certainly.” Rogers handed over a typed itinerary that covered three pages. “This is what I am planning to do. I have most of the reservations I need for the first half of my tour. I’ll purchase the rest as I go along, depending on circumstances and the weather, and will wire you in Paris about any changes I may need to make.” He closed his notebook and stood up.

  “Do you ever wonder,” Szent-Germain asked, a touch of surprise in his voice, “why we make such a ritual of travel review?”

  “We’ve done it for centuries,” said Rogers as if this were explanation enough. Then he stood very still, saying, “Perhaps because those times when we didn’t, things didn’t go so well. Think of Tunis, or Leosan Fortress.”

  “No doubt you’re right. Very good; I believe you may have hit upon it,” said Szent-Germain, and got to his feet. “So to continue our ritual: I’ll plan to be in Venezia the second week in February. Eclipse Press should be ready to get back to business by then. I’ll know where we stand with the press, and you should know whether or not Eclipse Trading is doing well.”

  Rogers cleared his throat. “I’ve gone over the household particulars with Willemyn; she has written instructions describing her duties. I’ll see if she has anything she wants to know more about. I’m planning to do that as soon as I may.”

  “Considering you are leaving shortly, I should think so,” said Szent-Germain wryly, then added more seriously, “I thank you for undertaking this tour. We need our work coordinated; though I realize that winter is not the best time for such a journey, it provides you the element of surprise which you might not have in spring. Also, more Eclipse Trading ships should be at winter anchorage and you will have the opportunity to inspect them. There is much to prepare for.”

  “You still believe there has been smuggling and other unfortunate acts continuing since the war,” said Rogers.

  “Well, it has happened before. Think of Alexandria. It is an easy life to fall into: you don’t mean to continue to smuggle or steal or carry unpapered passengers now that the war’s over, but somehow, you have grown used to doing it. You can always use the money it brings, and it is useful for maintaining contacts with criminals who will not make you a target of their crimes if you are willing to be useful to them.” Szent-Germain shook his head. “I’d rather I find out about such shenanigans and correct the problems with as little fuss as possible than have the local authorities arrest my employees as malefactors in the full glare of the press and the law.” He held out his hand to Rogers. “There are ways to handle refugees and displaced persons that put neither they nor you and I outside the law, but it takes careful arrangements. You know how best to handle any miscreants you find: you’ve done so before.”

  Rogers shook Szent-Germain’s hand. “I’ll do my best to resolve any problems privately. I’ll inform you if I can’t.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “I talked to Jourdain earlier today; he knows what he is to do while I’m away. He’s a good steward. You may rely on him to look afer your Paris properties.” He opened the door. “Do you remember the time we returned to Danzig and found the staff gone, and all the furniture—every stick of it—and all the supplies stolen or sold?” He shook his head. “The officials all claimed to know nothing, and the only servant we could ever find was the laundress, and she was adamant that she hadn’t been part of it.”

  “It could happen again; we lost everything when Timur-i came to Delhi.”

  “That was war,” Rogers pointed out.

  “Danzig was greed,” Szent-Germain said quietly. “You’re right; there is a difference. And on this trip, you will have to deal with them both.”

  Rogers suddenly said, “Do you miss America, the United States? No detritus of war to deal with, no ruined cities.”

  For the greater part of a minute, Szent-Germain contemplated something in the distance, then mused aloud, “Not as such, no. Certainly not as it is now, filled with suspicions and dread under a veneer of progress.” He pressed his lips together, then added, “There’s too much of it to contain it all in a word like miss. There are people and places I would like to see again, but for all its spectacular variations, it is not my native earth. No doubt we’ll travel there again, North and South. Why do you want to know?”

  “Europe is marked with the scars of battle; I thought, perhaps, you’d prefer a place with fewer reminders of what has happened.” Rogers saw Szent-Germain’s blue-black eyes become veiled.

  “For now, my responsibilities are here,” the Grof said remotely. “But I thank you for your concern.”

  Rogers studied Szent-Germain’s unrevealing countenance, aware that he would get no further information from the Grof for now. “I’ll leave for the station shortly.”

  “I wish you a swift, pleasant journey, old friend.”

  Rogers ducked his head. “And you as well, master. Paris is nearer than most of my destinations, but you still have to get there.” He glanced at the old photograph of Laisha and then back at him, sympathy in his faded-blue eyes. “If you can manage it, I ask that you don’t fall to brooding again. This detachment of yours is hard enough.”

  Szent-Germain’s slight shake of his head was hardly enough to see, but Rogers knew what was bothering him. “I won’t.”

  “Nor any of the others: not Csimenae, not Estasia, not Acana Tupac,” Rogers warned. “This is not a good time to take unhappy risks.”

  “It never is.”

  “Then for all … all your forgotten gods, stop pretending you don’t grieve for her, and all the others.” Rogers’ faded-blue eyes revealed his concern far more than his choice of words.

  “You’re wrong to put Laisha with the others, you know,” Szent-Germain corrected gently. “Laisha wasn’t like them—she was my child, not my lover, and I failed to protect her.” This was a remarkable admission for Szent-Germain to make, and though neither he nor Rogers mentioned it, there was a subtle change in the office.

  “Still,” said Rogers.

  “Yes; you’re right. It is never a good time to take unhappy risks,” Szent-Germain reiterated. “Do not fear: I have too many matters to attend to; I cannot permit myself to give in to grief. It would not honor Laisha’s memory if I did.”

  Rogers nodded, but continued to harbor concerns as he stepped out of the Grof’s office. After a few seconds’ reflection, he closed the door; it was never a good sign when Szent-Germain dwelled on his losses. He squared his shoulders and went along to the rear of the house, where he found Willemyn Cooznetz in the pantry, checking her inventory against what was on the shelves. “Willemyn,” he said directly to avoid startling her.

  She turned around, her face rosy with heat from the newly installed Swedish stove where two chickens were boiling with celery, vinegar, and chopped carrots to make broth. “Heer Rogers,” she said; a widow of thirty-nine, she was accustoming herself to her advancement in the household. “You’re leaving, then?”

  “In about twenty minutes. I’ll have Arnestus drive me to the station. He’s in the garage, I suppose?” He had found it difficult to call the old coach-house the garage, but in time he knew it would be as natural to call it that as coach-house had been. “Thank you,” he added in his overly formal Dutch.

  “Yes. He’s entranced by the XK120,” said Willemyn, adjusting the hang of her kitchen smock. “You’d think it was a girl and not an English auto.”

  “How am I to say as much to him?” Rogers made a sound that might have been a stifled laugh, then said, “You have your instructions to the bank and the Grof’s authorization to draw on household accounts, and you have the list of provisions
you will need to stock and at what time. If you have questions, you may call me, or the Grof, who will be in Paris for a time; the number will be provided to you. The same for Venezia. You already have my current schedule; I will inform you of any changes. You have the address of Szent-Germain’s attorneys in Den Hague and Lisboa; do not be afraid to use them if you deem it necessary. Szent-Germain would expect it of you, and if you worry for your post, failure to act will be seen as more disturbing than making the contact. I am sure you will do well. Have you any questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied. “It is all very clear.”

  “Good,” he said, and went along past the mud-room to the narrow, cobbled courtyard at the back of the house that gave onto the alley that led to the canal-side street.

  The coach-house entrance was at right angles to the alley, and just now, it was standing open, the maroon Jaguar XK120 sitting just inside. Arnestus was lying under the Jaguar, his oily work-trousers and new boots marking his presence.

  “Arnestus?” Rogers asked. “When you said you’d be working on an auto, I thought you meant the Peugeot, not this.”

  “Oh.” The shaggy-haired young man wriggled out from under the handsome vehicle, pausing to wipe his fingerprints off the lustrous maroon paint before he got to his feet. “Is it time already?”

  “Coming up to it,” said Rogers. “If you’ll load my bags into the boot, and raise the top, you will have time for a bite to eat before we leave.” He took a step back, then asked, “Why were you under the XK120?”

  “I thought there was an odd sound in the brakes, but it’s probably some loose cobblestones that made the noise as I drove over them when I went to get petrol.”

  “A good thing to be certain of, brakes,” said Rogers, and went back into the house as the first spatters of rain began to fall.

  Rogers’ departure was not quite half an hour later, unobserved by anyone in the household but Arnestus, who sat in the driver’s seat, grinning. “Do not drive rapidly, the streets are narrow and crowded,” Rogers said as he ducked under the drooping canvas top, removing his dove-grey hat as he slid into the seat.

  “It is a shame not to drive an auto like this one as fast as it will go,” the young man said petulantly as he started the engine and then the windshield wipers.

  “It may be, but if you damage it, you will have to bear the cost of repairs,” said Rogers, and closed the door.

  Arnestus glared, but put the Jaguar in motion at a sober pace as he started off toward the train station. He hummed as he drove, dodging bicycles and pedestrians with balletic ease. Only when they were within sight of the station and the work going on around it did he speak to Rogers again. “Do I have the Grof’s permission to drive this during his absence?”

  “No, you do not,” said Rogers. “You may drive the Lea-Francis, or the Peugeot, if you like, but while the Grof is away, put the cover over the XK120 and park it in the last stall on the left. You may start it once a week, and back it up and repark it, for the tires, but otherwise, leave it alone.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Arnestus slowed as he pulled up to the station. “All right. He’s the boss.”

  “The Lea-Francis isn’t a shabby vehicle,” Rogers pointed out as he opened the door, swung his legs around so his feet were on the pavement, stood up, and donned his hat. He signaled for a porter and set about unloading his trunk and suitcases, fully aware that Arnestus wanted to argue with him about the XK120. “The Grof will explain it to you, if you insist,” Rogers added as he lowered the lid of the boot now that all his things were on the porter’s hand-trolley.

  “Be damned to him,” muttered Arnestus, preparing to drive away from the station. “He’s going to be away, and I’ll be here.”

  “If you want to remain in the Grof’s employ, I suggest you change your manner,” Rogers said as Arnestus leaned over and rolled up the window.

  The Jaguar’s tires stirred up a slurry of mud and small pebbles which sprayed over Rogers and his luggage as it pulled out into traffic, Arnestus hunched over the steering wheel with a wolfish smile on his young face.

  Rogers watched him go and tried to make up his mind if he should mention this behavior to Szent-Germain or send Arnestus a letter explaining what could happen to him if he continued in his present manner. He did not want to do either, but he realized that this could lead to greater problems as time went on. Perhaps, he thought, Szent-Germain could take the XK120 to Paris, or have it delivered there.

  “What train, sir?” the porter asked as he shoved his hand-trolley through the crowd toward the platform and piers and the trains.

  “Oh. Bremen.” He looked at the line of ticket booths. “Which one?”

  “Third from the end,” said the porter, and waited while Rogers went to purchase his first-class ticket.

  While Rogers stood in line at the ticket-booth, Szent-Germain was upstairs in his laboratory, removing a tray of jewels from his athanor. He placed the tray on a small shelf in a protected corner of his large trestle-table, and made sure that no breeze through the room could reach it, for air, cooler or warmer than the newly made stones, could cause fine cracks in them that sometimes reduced them to powder. He walked the length of the room and looked out over the canal, now freckled with rain. His gaze was preoccupied, and he asked himself if Rogers had not hit upon something when he had asked Szent-Germain if he missed America. It was Charis Treat and the prospect of dealing with other academics from the United States that had brought back memories of his short, hectic stay in that country that began fifteen years ago. He had kept his property in San Francisco as well as his partnership in the Geyserville winery, and received regular reports on both, as well as from Eclipse Trading. He found that his businesses were subject to unusual scrutiny just now, which somewhat blighted his view of the United States; the countryside was quite lovely, but it all still seemed to be far away from him now, and from those Americans taking refuge in Europe. He sighed. That had always been the way of the world: those with intelligence pressed into service by those serving the priests and generals unless the priests and generals were suspicious, at which time, those with well-trained intelligence had to flee for safety. Over the centuries he found himself in accord with the intellectuals, the teachers, and the innovators, and never more so than now.

  There was a tap on the door and Trinka, the maid, called out, “The afternoon post has come. There is a large packet of papers for you, Grof.”

  “Put it in the ’tiring room, on the chest-of-drawers. I’ll come to get it shortly.”

  “Yes, Grof,” said Trinka, and left him to his contemplation.

  Szent-Germain scowled out at the weepy day. There was not much demanding his attention just now, and that left him prone to frustration and irritation. The packet of papers was waiting for him, but he was not ready to examine them. He went to a large chest standing in the corner and worked the combination on the lock that held it closed. Once the lid was open, he took out a small scale and a set of weights, set them down, and next removed a little measuring-spoon and a heavily stoppered jar, which he opened with care. “Might as well do something useful,” he said in his native tongue, and busied himself combining the ingredients for treating irritations of the intestines, allowing himself a brief, ironic smile, aware that he had none of his own since his execution, over forty centuries ago.

  TEXT OF A LETTER FROM EISLEY BUTTERTHORN & HAWSMEDE IN LONDON TO RAGOCZY FERENZ, GROF SZENT-GERMAIN, IN PARIS; SENT BY COURIER AND DELIVERED IN TWO DAYS.

  Eisley Butterthorn & Hawsmede

  #4-7 Upper Beresford Walk

  Greenwich, Britain

  11 November, 1949

  Ragoczy Ferenz, Grof Szent-Germain

  President & Owner, Eclipse Trading Company

  49, Rue des Freres Gries

  Paris, France

  My dear Grof,

  Having spent two meetings with your secretary, C. Rogers, I follow his advice and write to you.

  First let me assure yo
u that we are not planning to remain in Greenwich, but will establish our chambers in offices that are even now being built not far from Pall Mall; it is not the traditional home of solicitors and barristers, but as our practice is almost wholly devoted to international contracts and the enforcement of same, we believe we need not position ourselves in proximity to the Courts of Law, but to the seat of shipping. Our previous location was damaged during the Blitz, and returning to it would add another three or four years to our displacement here which we would prefer to avoid.

  International law is complex, as I am sure you know. We have made it a goal for our firm to strive for clarity and concision in all we do, so that no client need fear being drawn into dealings that are obfuscatory or are represented deceptively. We will always seek to combine accuracy with lucidity; I assure you that you may rely on us to make all terms and conditions clear to you before entering into any contractual agreements.

  Mister Rogers has told us of the widespread nature of your trading company, and we agree that with so many offices in such a far-flung business, careful attention to your various ventures would prove beneficial as well as making it possible for you to maintain your dealings on sound legal grounds. We have the list of your various legal representatives in several countries, and I am pleased to inform you that we have dealt with Oscar King in San Francisco most gratifyingly on two occasions: assuming the other firms listed are as competent and ethical as King, we should be able to provide satisfactory representation for you.

  There are a great many changes taking place in international trade, as you must know; I believe that the range of legal services we can offer will surely prove worthwhile to you and all your undertaking. We also have translators available for contractual negotiations as well as all such correspondence as may be needed in your trading. I am taking advantage of this initial communication to include some examples of our work—all names and particulars deleted, of course—for your perusal. If you find our work to your standard, I will await your visit for the purpose of finalizing our representation of Eclipse Trading, and Eclipse Publishing.