Arcanum

by Simon Morden

  He’d done a lot of walking that day, and there he was, walking some more. Under-librarian Thaler, pounding the alleys of the town, hot and bothered, rather than sitting neatly at his desk in the cool of the library: it was ridiculous, but there was too much to do, and only him to do it. It would have been churlish to blame Grozer for getting caught up in the frenzy that accompanied the lights going out, but Thomm? No excuses there at all.

  Only the candles in the windows of Jews’ Alley broke up the gloom. Despite the library having all the lanterns it needed, the Jews had still more. He worked his way down the street, excusing his way through the pre-Purim crowds until he got to the Morgensterns’ door.

  He was about to hammer his fist on it, when it opened and he was dragged unceremoniously inside. He was face to face with Aaron Morgenstern.

  “What,” he said, “did you do to my daughter?”

  Thaler kicked the door closed with his heel. “What did I do? Why don’t you ask her what she did to me? And the mayor?”

  “You’ve led her astray. She’s unclean. She needs to go to the mikveh rather than the Megillah, and it’s all your fault.” Morgenstern jabbed his bony finger into Thaler’s chest for emphasis.

  The librarian batted his hand away. “You old fool. She doesn’t need me to get her into trouble.”

  “Oy, listen to the meshugener. Goat Mountain, what were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t invite her. Quite the opposite. And,” said Thaler, “don’t pretend you didn’t know that Thomm was selling library books.”

  “Books? Why is this suddenly about Thomm? What about my daughter, my life, my joy, sullying herself with bones and magic?”

  “Oh, do shut up, Father,” said Sophia, coming down the stairs in a different dress to the one she’d muddied earlier. “I told you everything that happened and whose fault it was. Mine, I said. And what’s this about you buying stolen books?”

  Morgenstern squared up to Thaler. “You dare turn my own daughter against me?”

  Sophia took hold of her father’s shoulders and pulled him away. “I did what I did because I wanted to help us, the Jews. Mr Thaler is not to blame. You may as well go and find the mayor and shout at him, too.”

  “Who’s to say I won’t?” Morgenstern was genuinely angry, rather than his usual grumbling self. Even being accused of disposing of Thomm’s contraband hadn’t dampened his ardour. “You put her in danger.”

  “She put herself in danger,” Thaler protested. “If anything, we rescued her.”

  “That’s not actually true, Mr Thaler: I could have rescued myself, but I came to warn you instead.” Sophia found herself between Thaler and her father, looking from one to the other.

  “Despite our gratitude,” said Thaler, “it was unnecessary.”

  “Enough,” she said, and felt the need to repeat herself, and louder. “Enough! Father, shut up. You’ve had me explain what went on – twice. If you want to call me a liar, then go ahead, but you’re not to take it out on Mr Thaler.” Sophia turned her head. “Mr Thaler, why are you here?”

  “I came to thank your father for the lanterns,” said Thaler, weakly.

  “You’re welcome,” said Morgenstern, flicking his fingers at the door. “Now get out.”

  “And to plead with you.”

  He had Morgenstern’s attention, and his daughter’s, too.

  The bookseller edged closer. “If it’s about those books of Thomm’s, I had nothing to do with them.”

  Thaler brushed his excuses aside. “It’s not about that. It’s about your festival.”

  “What about it, Mr Thaler?” Sophia stood aside in the narrow hallway, to let her father by.

  “Prince Gerhard is dead. How is it going to look if you’re out on the square, celebrating and setting light to your bonfire?” It suddenly got very stuffy, and Thaler pulled at his collar.

  “We have been commemorating the Feast of Lots for almost two thousand years—” started Morgenstern.

  “Then miss one,” interrupted Thaler. “You do not want to draw attention to yourselves tonight, to make yourselves look like anything but loyal Carinthians.”

  “But—”

  “Your daughter’s right, Mr Morgenstern. Shut up. Did she tell you what the hexmaster said?”

  “Yes—”

  “He wants sacrifices, you idiot Jew, to bring back the magic.” Thaler really was too hot. He couldn’t breathe and his heart was racing. “Do I have to spell it out to you, or can you work it out for yourself?”

  Sophia whispered in her father’s ear: “Eckhardt means us. Even we want the magic because of the water, and the trade and everything else we pretend we don’t use, but most of all we want it because it keeps us safe and our neighbours happy. We are not safe and our neighbours are not happy.”

  Morgenstern glowered, but even as he rumbled in his throat, he said, “We are already loyal Carinthians, but go on.”

  “How long is it going to be for Eckhardt’s offer to leak out into the town? How long after that before some hothead decides that it’s worth the price? How long before you have a mob scouring the streets, looking for people to feed to that man’s furnace?” Thaler had to lean against the wall. Short beer on an empty stomach; no wonder he felt unwell. “How long before they pick on you?”

  “That’s never happened here before.”

  “But it has happened. The Jews brought the plague to Wien. The Jews caused a drought in Gallia. The Jews conjured an earthquake in Attica. Who cares if it’s true? You’re different, with your one god and your frankly bizarre religious rules.”

  “They are not bizarre,” objected Morgenstern, with enough vehemence to make Sophia interpose herself again. “We are a holy people, a chosen people.”

  “And every time something happens that the local sorcerers can’t control, the mob chooses you to take out their anger on.”

  “Mr Thaler, are you all right?” Sophia looked at his sweating face and his luminous eyes. “I think you should sit down.”

  “No time for that. The reason it’s never happened here is because our hexmasters are – were – so incredibly powerful that nothing untoward ever befell us. That’s why there are so many Jews in Carinthia. Not that no one can hurt you, but that no one ever had reason to hurt you.” Perhaps he should sit down. Ask for some water – except everyone was running out of water, running out of beer. He’d be no good talking to the prince like this.

  “It’s almost dusk, Mr Thaler,” said Sophia. “I don’t think we can change anything now.”

  “I don’t think you can afford not to. But I have a compromise. I want you to tell your synagogue about it, and I want them to accept. It won’t make you untouchable, but it will give us some time to come up with something else. And remember, I’m telling you this as a friend.” All the turmoil of the day seemed finally to have caught up with him. He slid backwards until he was propped up by the angle of the wall and door. “Have the festival. Don’t set the fire. Instead, give all the wood you’ve collected to Gerhard’s funeral pyre. It’s a generous gesture, and it’ll be appreciated by those who can protect you.”

  Morgenstern seemed to be having a crisis of his own. He balled his fists and shook with impotent rage. “Why is it always us who have to change? Why not you pagans, just for once?”

  “Because there are so many more of us than there are of you.” Thaler levered himself upright for one final push. “Gods damn it, man. I’m not asking you to like it: I’m begging you to do it before we all find ourselves neck-deep in shit.”

  “Father. Stop arguing and go and do what Mr Thaler suggests.” She shooed him towards the door, and had to drag Thaler aside to allow it to open. “Go and do it now, before it’s too late.”

  “What about you?”

  “Our bizarre religious rules have declared me unclean. I’ll go to the mikveh later, you go to the synagogue now.” She pushed him out into the street and closed his own front door on him. She gasped with relief and pressed her forehead to the c
ool wood. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

  “It’s worth trying. Thank you, Miss Morgenstern.” He closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, in which she slipped her arm through his.

  “I think you should come into the kitchen,” she said. “And I think you should call me Sophia.”

  She led him unresisting to the table, and sat him down. Despite everything, there was water, and wine, and meat and little dumplings and three-cornered pastries, a feast, a Purim feast. She poured him water, which he gulped down, and bread, which he wolfed.

  “I shouldn’t be eating any of this, er, Sophia,” he said, between mouthfuls. “I’m not Jewish, and have no intention of becoming a Jew.”

  “Are you poor?” she asked.

  “Poor? I suppose, by any fair interpretation of the word, yes. But my needs are few, and the library supplies most of those. A few coins to buy beer and bread is all I ask.”

  “Purim is a time of sharing, especially with the poor. Although,” and she looked at the inroads Thaler had already made into the dishes, “we normally wait until after the Megillah.”

  “I have sullied your board with my presence. And by now, the mayor must be waiting for me. I’ll make sure that your report regarding the bodies behind the novices’ house is given in full, to whoever we meet at the fortress.” Thaler wiped his mouth to dislodge the crumbs. He felt not just better, but ready. “If it wasn’t for your festival, you could come yourself. There will be detail in your first-hand account that I won’t be able to do justice to.”

  “I’m not allowed to be a witness,” she said. She started rearranging the food on the plates in order to make Thaler’s ravages look less obvious.

  “What? Yes, I suppose, but isn’t that only in front of religious courts? What if the young prince commands you to appear before him?” Thaler glanced at the dark beyond the windows. He was late, and he pushed his chair back.

  “All our courts are religious courts because all our lives are religious lives.” She shrugged. “Though if the prince is prepared to take my testimony, despite my being a woman, then I would be prepared to give it.”

  “He’ll hear you, I’m sure.” Thaler frowned. “You can’t go to this … reading, can you?”

  “The Megillah, no.” She looked at him, and he at her.

  “All the Jews will be in the synagogue by now.” Thaler glanced at the door. “Jews’ Alley’ll be empty.”

  “I’ll bring a cloak,” she said, and swept from the kitchen. Her footsteps sounded unconscionably loud on the stairs.

  Thaler took one last pastry and popped it in his pocket, then went into the hallway to wait. Sophia appeared a moment later, wrapped in a woollen cloak that both skimmed the ground and covered her head.

  “Are you quite sure you want to do this? Your father will have my head on a spike when he finds out.”

  “Quite sure.” She looked pointedly at the front door. “I thought we were late already.”

  “Yes, I suppose we are.” Thaler opened the door and peered outside. It was perfectly still and, but for the candles, perfectly dark. “Quickly and quietly, then.”

  31

  It felt exciting, hurrying through the dark streets – the Germans hadn’t yet worked out that putting candles in their windows would help their neighbours – and away from the synagogue, where almost everyone she knew would be crammed inside, hot and stuffy, with barely enough room to swing their graggers at the mention of Haman’s name. Sophia doubted whether anyone would miss her in such a large crowd; everyone would assume she was in a different part of the building, and she thought it highly unlikely that her father would admit that she’d managed to exclude herself through being unclean.

  If she was back home by the time the Megillah had finished, and the spiel was over, and the masquerade had processed … she might even get away without anyone knowing she’d never been there at all.

  It was pitch black between the buildings, and only the slit of dark-blue sky indicated where they were heading. With her hood up, she was as invisible as Thaler in his black gown. So invisible, that she had to hang on to his arm, or else lose him, and him her.

  She could hear his laboured breathing, and his tripping gait. She could hear her own panting and her boots on the cobblestones. And something else that might have been an echo between the high houses either side, or a dragging noise that kept pace behind them.

  She looked, and could see nothing, and was almost jerked off her feet by Thaler pressing on up what she thought should be Sigmund’s Alley.

  “Mr Thaler. Stop a moment.” She pulled back.

  “What is it?”

  “Hush.” She lifted an entirely redundant finger to her lips, and listened. Nothing, nothing at all. “It doesn’t matter. I thought…”

  “We’re late, Miss Morgenstern.” Thaler tutted in the dark. “We’ve kept the mayor waiting quite long enough.”

  She trailed behind him the rest of the way, not entirely unable to convince herself that something nameless wasn’t following them. But then there were lights ahead, and although the shadows twisted and flickered, there was no sign of anything behind.

  The mayor’s party carried lanterns on poles that they lifted above them to make little circles of illumination below, each with a dark centre that matched the solid base of the covered lights.

  “The mayor is very fond of his guard, Mr Thaler,” said Sophia. “He doesn’t go anywhere without them.”

  “Until this morning, I would have agreed with you that it’s a harmless affectation.” Thaler lowered his voice. “Now it looks like prudence.”

  There were some eight men with Messinger, who looked as happy at being out at night as the squad who’d accompanied them up Goat Mountain had been. Half of them carried lanterns, the other half had spears at the ready.

  Another lantern-carrier detached himself from the library portico, and Thaler seemed to know the man well.

  “Ah, Mr Ullmann: well met, sir.”

  “’Evening, Mr Thaler. I told the mayor you’d be back in a minute. I think he almost believed me.” The usher held up his lantern to see who Thaler was with. “A young lady, Mr Thaler? She’s very welcome, of course. I’ll just fetch another lantern.”

  Ullmann passed his lit lantern to Thaler and went back up the library steps. Messinger stamped over.

  “Gods, man. What took you so long?” He eyed Sophia with patently mixed emotions. “Is she a permanent fixture now?”

  “The opportunity presented itself that Miss Morgenstern could give her testimony in person. Having too much information is a rare luxury at the best of times, Master Messinger, and these are not the best of times.” Thaler looked around the almost deserted square and scowled. He presented the chain of his lantern to Sophia. “Take this. Mr Ullmann will supply me with another.”

  “Where did you get so many lanterns from, and so quickly?” asked Messinger.

  “The Jews gave them to the library, Master Messinger.” Sophia took the proffered chain and inspected the lantern. The Hebrew letters scratched on the cage marked ownership. “Mr Thaler sent some librarians to my father, and he collected everything we had spare.”

  “Very impressive,” said the mayor grudgingly. Ullmann brought another lantern, already lit, and gave it to Thaler.

  “If that’s all, Mr Thaler, I’ll lock up,” he said.

  “Tell me,” said Thaler, “does Mr Glockner have a deputy?”

  “I don’t think he’s appointed anyone officially, sir,” said Ullmann. There was a certain eagerness in his voice.

  Thaler pursed his lips. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that, Mr Ullmann. Carry on.”

  “Very good, Mr Thaler.” He gave a separate bow to Thaler, the mayor, and, embarrassingly, Sophia, before attending to his duties. “Sir. Miss.”

  “Who’s the boy, Thaler?” asked Messinger.

  “Ullmann. Come out of the shadows in more ways than one.” The sounds of long bolts being shut rang out. “Shall we go? The ch
amberlain’s expecting us, I believe?”

  “Quite what we’re going to say to him – and the prince…”

  “The truth, Master Messinger. What else but the truth?” Thaler looked up towards the fortress.

  The mayor organised his men, front and back of the line, which he and Thaler were in the middle of. Sophia fell in behind them, and they worked their way up through the town to Fortress Alley and the Wagon Gate.

  She didn’t, despite the spears, feel any safer than she had earlier. She kept on looking at the slit of sky and the bright stars that glimmered there, as if something was going to descend on her from above and snatch her away. At least the noise the soldiers made drowned out any possibility of hearing odd sounds from elsewhere.

  Thaler was deep in conversation with Messinger, discussing the water supply: nothing she could usefully contribute to, and they were still going strong when the Wagon Gate opened and they were within the castle walls.

  Sophia had never been inside before, not even in the lower field where she was now. The white walls of the fortress glowed like ghosts above her in the reflected light, and she wondered if that had been the unseen presence she’d felt earlier.

  Life behind the walls seemed little busier than in the town, whereas she’d always imagined intense activity: all the important people she knew lived lives of constant interruption. There were one or two sparks on the tower above her, and some of the windows glimmered, but otherwise they were unwatched, left to walk up to the next gate on their own cognisance.

  “Mr Thaler, where is everyone?” she eventually asked while they waited for the Chastity Gate to creak aside.

  Thaler blinked in the lantern-light. “My dear, they’re all dead.”

  “Oh.” The soldiers who’d marched out to cheering and waving were being plucked clean by the crows. No wonder the place appeared empty: it was.

  From there, they walked between two high walls, across a bridge, along another narrow passage and through a tunnel. Only then did the sky open out and the keeps and towers that had seemed so far away throughout her life suddenly come within touching distance.