‘Don’t lecture me, Celeste, not everyone is as timid as you are when it comes to living life. As you have seen, many times, I can handle myself in any situation, with any man: be he Dark Prince or not.’ A pulse of dread passed through the Professor as he listened. He chewed at his lips before the plain nun gave out a deep sigh, shook her head, and wrinkled her brow:
‘With respect mistress - he’s not a man - and witches like us must watch our step.'
‘Ha!’ declared Lucia, ‘I’m no ordinary witch that’s out of her depth.'
‘But…’ said Celeste as she paused to look at an animated Arcangela who had written out a letter to deliver to Donna Ravolio. She then folded it after drying the ink with powder, sealing the edges with hot red wax, before stamping it with Lucia's insignia of a flying owl clutching a wand.
‘Done’ said Arcangela, dusting off her hands, ‘the work is done. I’m ready.'
Celeste drooped, looking at Arcangela, shaking her head as she spoke, ‘Lucia, my mistress, please heed me.' Celeste reached out to touch Lucia's arm, but the Abbess pulled herself away, 'please Lucia, even a sorceress as powerful as yourself has to answer to someone. Gifts such as yours don’t go unnoticed’ Celeste warned, but the Abbess ignored her. The Professor gripped the bedsheets as he listened to the witch’s conversations: at times amused, but more often concerned at the situation he found himself in and pondered how he could get himself out of it without his carry case. Lucia spoke again, blithe and free to address Celeste: ‘I gather then that you don’t wish to join us at the Sabbat tonight.’ Celeste shook her head, while Arcangela gave out a crackling hum of playful tune, paying no heed to Celeste’s concerns, and busied herself by tying a piece of red ribbon around the cream coloured letter she had written. When she finished, she dropped the letter into a large wicker basket filled with many others. ‘Suit yourself Celeste, but you disappoint me, I shall attend again with Arcangela - which reminds me' said Lucia, scanning the room, 'do we have enough unguent for the both of us to travel?’ Arcangela nodded in unison with Celeste, and hopped back over to the wooden chest with her usual clip clop, and dug out two glass jars that contained a buttery mixture flecked with herbs,
‘She made some more for us, just in case’ said the little nun flicking her head in Celeste’s direction.
‘Thank you, Celeste’ smiled Lucia, her white teeth illuminating her face, ‘but I’m still cross with you, however, before I dismiss you both be sure to deliver my letters to our patrons so that we may keep them in line.'
‘And our guest?’ added Celeste, keen to make amends, for she could not bear to be at odds with her mistress.
‘Please bring some lamb stew for the man: he’ll be hungry when he awakes.’ The two witches, disguised in their nun’s habits, attempted to make off, but Lucia raised a hand to pause the women and turned her ear to the far door. She paused, ‘the nuns have stopped their singing, so my Abbess will be here soon. I shall put her to rest. I dismiss you both.’
The witches nodded again, and bowed with respect, before Celeste took up the wicker basket filled with letters, and opened the door at the far end of the room. When the witches turned their backs, the Professor craned his neck to peep at them from under his covers when daylight flooded through the door. Suor Celeste and Suor Arcangela bowed once more when, as if in a trance, a woman walked in who looked like the perfect twin of the Abbess Lucia. The two witches hurried out with the black cloth of their habits lifted by the breeze, as Lucia ushered in her double.
The Professor’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the spectacle. He twitched his head, and he clutched his pillow as the Abbess Lucia closed the door, and put her hand on the other Abbess’ shoulder to turn her around. The Professor turned in bed once more. Lucia clicked her fingers three times across the glittering stare of the woman in front of her:
‘I am your maker, I gave you life, I gave you voice, and now I give you rest’ she said, as her twin’s eyes glazed over. She obeyed her mistress like a human robot and allowed herself to be lead to a chair where Lucia sat her down close to the Professor’s bed. The Professor did his best to remain motionless and tried to control his ragged breathing, resisting the urge to leap from his bed and sprint for the door. He watched Lucia use her fingers to close the glassy eyes of her double and lay her palms in her lap. ‘I know you’re awake’ said Lucia, the Professor flinched, ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen or heard: it’s better that way I feel’ she added, not turning to him, as she smoothed the fair hair of her double after taking off her wimple. ‘It’s better still that my companions think you asleep. You’ve heard some of our secrets, and, like for like, you shall reveal yours.’ Lucia dusted down the clothes of her double that seemed then to be devoid of life, sat like a waxwork in a chair: a perfect copy of Lucia herself.
‘What is it?’ said the Professor who had begun to shake. The Abbess turned to look at him,
‘I think you know what it is, don’t you recognise a Golem when you see one?’ Recognition then bolted to his mind before he answered,
‘Yes, I’ve read about them, but I never thought... in my life, that I would ever see a real one.’ The Professor then clung to his pillow like a boy after nightmares and hoped the Abbess could not detect his shaking. Lucia's eyes shone - a complete authority in her power.
‘What is your name?’ said the Abbess. The Professor recalled that he had not said so,
‘I’m Professor Winston Jeremy Sloane, Lucia’ he said, forcing his words out.
‘Sounds Protestant’ she cooed, ‘but I didn’t say that you could use my true name, Winston’ she added, satisfied that her body double looked immaculate, ‘but given the circumstances, I’ll allow it.’ The Abbess’ voice took on a creamy tone, ‘tell me - Winston - how did you get here?’
‘You know how I got here’ he said as he sat up in bed, and itched at his bandage that fell open. He noticed with shock that the scab on his slashed arm had already begun to crumble away to leave the skin as if it had been unharmed. The Abbess smiled and moved closer to where the Professor sat:
‘The balm is good isn’t it’ she said, the Professor nodded, ‘I can teach you how to make it. Now tell me how you got here.’ The Professor stretched himself and yawned.
‘Well, before I walked up here I arrived in Florence two days ago, and I came via Pisa and Turin before that…’ Lucia seemed unsatisfied.
‘You say the name of those cities in an English way, and you’re also missing my point’ the Abbess interrupted, her tone changing,
‘how did you get here in this time? My dreams, my visions, my cards told me of your coming, for your needs of my knowledge, which made me scribe for you in the first place, but all said you’d not be of this time: how is that possible?’
‘Does it matter?’ he said,
‘Of course it matters’ the Abbess raised her voice, ‘you didn’t come here looking for Easter eggs. Where are you from, and how did you get here?’ The Professor palmed the stubble on his chin.
‘I don’t think I can tell you that’ he said, looking sideways, but Lucia hissed like a viper before she snatched his neck in a vice-like grip without touching him: her outstretched hand enough.
The Professor writhed like an eel as he struggled for breath, thinking he would pass out, as Lucia with a sweeping gesture lifted him into the air, by his neck, till his hair brushed the high arched ceiling of the room. ‘Do you want to die?’ she spat as the Professor clawed at his throat. He managed, just, to shake his head, before she hurled him down from the ceiling, and onto the bed that gave out a loud crack as his body slammed into the covers. The Professor lay gasping for air. ‘Don't trifle with me’ Lucia said, in a low voice as the Professor sprawled over the bed and spluttered: his breath coming in gulps and heaves as he tried to recover. Her voice chilled the air as she spoke, ‘this is your last chance; how did you get here?’
The Professor had no choice when he, at last, spoke, realising that, for all her power, she could not know
everything.
‘You’re a violent woman’ he spluttered, between coughs and wheezes, checking himself for sprains and breaks. ‘I… I used a Hermeporta to get here’ he said, trying to recover. The Professor sat back and rubbed at his neck that looked red and swollen.
Lucia’s eyes widened in stark contrast to her static Golem, which had not twitched during the commotion. The Abbess paused to squint: ‘a Hermeporta?' she mused, 'does that mean Hermes’ Gate?’ she said, turning her head. The Professor nodded, ‘what is it?’ The Professor coughed up some spittle but swallowed it again to soothe his throat. He coughed as he patted at his tender neck. His breathing and heartbeat were out of kilter.
‘It’s a portal - a portal to other times and dimensions.’ The Professor resigned himself to his fate - accepting the defeat of full disclosure, ‘I first discovered a Hermeporta in Turkey: what you would call Anatolia’
‘Yes’ the Abbess nodded, her face a picture of intrigue, ‘I like the East. I know some Ottoman merchants there’ said Lucia, ‘they sell me rare herbs I cannot grow here, and saffron via the Venetians I know in the Republic. Decent men: but they prefer not to deal with women directly in trade.’ The Professor gave a listless nod before continuing,
‘It seems you’re a woman of enterprise’ he said, allowing himself to look around the large room in more detail. He could see from his bed through to the side room with its covered crystal ball, many instruments a chemist would recognise for making distillations and manipulating compounds. A lot of glass jars of various sizes, brimmed with an assortment of contents, lined the walls from the floor almost to the ceiling. A wooden railed ladder allowed access to the shelves at the top. He thought he recognised things, but the details escaped him. There was much in the place that represented early versions of some of the equipment he had used in his own lab. ‘It seems you have quite a business on going here.'
‘I have help’ she said,
‘From the other two?’ the Professor said with a limp gesture to the far door. She nodded,
‘Yes, but it's only the three of us.'
‘I guess no one knows, huh?’ The Professor tried to laugh but coughed instead, his neck burned and his back strained.
‘I doubt many know of your Hermeporta’ said Lucia. The Professor shook his head, ‘such a thing is beyond value. Imagine what one could do with such a thing. That is a great, great power’ she said, lifting her shoulders upward and taking in a deep breath of air as if savouring a treasured victory. ‘One could manipulate the very workings of time: history itself.’ Lucia raised her arms in the air to announce her thoughts; the Professor flinched, ‘how does it work?’ she declared.
The Professor closed his eyes, and pulled his hand down his face, grinding his teeth. Lying would be pointless. She could kill him. The Abbess looked on and waited to suckle every word that would fall from his lips - he gave out a deep sigh: ‘the Hermeporta uses human sacrifice - that's how it works, how it gains its power.’
‘What?’ said Lucia, before she peered at him with one eye closed and thrust her ear toward him,
‘That’s how it transports people. It needs a human soul.’
Lucia gasped and clutched a hand to her breast before she sat in the lap of her Golem to steady herself. The Professor pondered the bizarre scene of the Golem sat as if carved from wood, eyes closed, while its identical twin fidgeted with life in her lap. Lucia’s eyes seemed to flash with light.
‘You’ve come at even greater cost than I thought to be here: far higher than I suspected. You’ve taken human life; you’ve used the souls of the living to get here. You say I’m violent, but you…You’re a murderer.’
The Professor grimaced with the comment that cut him to the quick. 'It's not murder – it’s… it's research.' Lucia scoffed. The notion had not once occurred to him as murder; the Hermeporta took the life, not he.
‘Why?' Asked Lucia, 'why do you do such things to be here? Oh!’ she gasped again, almost covering her mouth with shock, ‘that means that your daughter is a murderer too, for I suspect she came on her own.’ Another blow: not once in his life did he feel he needed to defend Illawara, convinced she could look after herself. At that moment, he saw himself wringing Lucia’s slender neck to try killing with his own bare hands for once. But he dared not risk another beating: he would not survive another attack from Lucia. The Professor swallowed again, puckered his lips, and gritted his teeth till the sinews of his jaw protruded.
‘It’s the Hermeporta that takes the life; one doesn’t have to do much’ he said, ‘all one need do is lead or throw the victim to the snakes.’
‘The snakes’ she exclaimed, the Abbess looked from corner to corner as if vipers were let loose in the room, ‘I think you're worse than the Devil’ she added with nervous excitement.
‘Yes, the snakes…' added the Professor, as if he were telling a campfire story, 'the marble snakes that writhe and come to life when it’s time feed on a human soul. The finest living sculpture that your eyes will ever see’ he said, beginning to relish the effect of his words on the powerful sorceress - impressing her. Lucia could not sit still as she listened, rapt, to his story unable to tear her mind away. The Professor started to perform: ‘the snakes surround a huge marble dish of Quicksilver, I’m sure you know what that is’ she acknowledged the comment, ‘it reflects reality like a mirror, but it’s a doorway to the beyond. The victim rises in the air hypnotised or still fighting depending on the viper's mood before they attack to break the bones and wring the body dry of life until it’s a withered husk.’ Lucia attempted to cover her ears, but the Professor raised his voice to be sure she heard every word, ‘most scream as they die, a dreadful howl until their hair and eyes turn white, and their soul is devoured. The Vipers then toss the consumed body aside, a wafer of crust - just like a digested rat coughed up by an owl.’
Lucia sat with her hand clasped over her mouth, at times aghast at the list of the grizzled details. The Professor suppressed a smirk when he read the reactions of the Abbess, before adding: ‘I doubt Illawara is a murderer by the way. She has a noble spirit - that I know. Only ritual sacrifice is needed between feedings. I suspect no one lost their life when she came here.’ But the Professor did not seem convinced by his hypothesis.
'I think you underestimate your daughter' said Lucia, sensing his unease and reckoned that Illawara might have done otherwise. The Professor wrestled with the concept in his mind before speaking.
‘But that didn’t stop you putting her in danger, did it? I heard your lecture to Celeste about protecting women, about defending them, but you’ve put Illawara in harm’s way. Why did you do that?’ Lucia paused, a flash of conscience on her face for a moment, before her face became unreadable again.
‘You wouldn’t understand’ growled Lucia, ‘besides, if you care so much why were you not with her to guide and protect her? You’re not without guilt.’ The Professor glared at Lucia for some time. He swallowed, before raising his chin:
‘You wouldn’t understand’ he said.
A consensus of silence fell between them. She turned away from him. The Professor then sat back on his bed after divulging his secrets and watched the effect his story had on Lucia through half closed eyes. The sorceress turned this way and that in her habit - her mind a nest of ants. She let the Professor keep his secret as she had kept hers. She got up, she sat down and got up again to pace about the room. Her mind fidgeted with other matters - the Hermeporta. Lucia had heard of such Hermetic devices as myth and legend: old Rabbis and elders had hinted at things, as she travelled through the world. The oldest of witches she knew had made veiled comments, her book of Hekate suggested yet more, but never could she have guessed that such a thing existed. Lucia’s mind reeled at the possibilities, and her heart set aflame with a desire to see and use the Hermeporta for her own bidding.
The door at the far end of the room opened. The Abbess had stopped her pacing to turn to the door. The Professor didn’t bother to look to see who would co
me in, and just listened to the clip-clop of a built-up shoe, and the shuffle of another pair of feet behind. The Abbess made a gesture and a nod to the two witches that paused to do something before they advanced. Arcangela then approached, slow and measured, with a tray laden with an earthenware bowl filled to the brim with steaming lamb stew with white beans. On a wooden plate sat warm bread with salted butter to the side. The Professor’s mouth watered. He had not eaten a hot meal since the Medici banquet.
Lucia and Celeste looked on as Arcangela went to the side of the ragged Professor: ‘a healthy man like you must have an appetite’ said Arcangela with a gentle voice, as she looked up into the Professor’s young face. She flinched when she saw his neck. Arcangela gave the faintest shake of her head. Celeste’s eyes flicked from Arcangela to Lucia, but the Abbess seemed distracted. The Professor gave a feeble smile as the delicious smell of the hot food wafted up to him: ‘eat this’ said Arcangela, as she put the tray in the Professor’s lap, ‘it will restore you, and complete your healing.’
Winston glanced at the bowl with suspicion but eased when he looked into the wrinkled face of the little witch and saw the contrite look of her wan-faced companion. The Professor assumed the two, in their silence, felt solidarity with him, imagining that they understood his predicament. Celeste took the opportunity to step forward, and to place clean folded clothes next to him on the bed.
‘Eat’ said Lucia, ‘you'll need your strength. We’ll also bring you hot water to bathe in before you change into those clothes.’ The Professor obeyed her command. The lamb stew comforted him with its depth and flavour - tasting just like his mother’s cooking. He saw his mother again, telling a joke at her kitchen table, as he ate, hearing her voice, and wondered what she would make of his situation. To the witches, he devoured his meal with obvious hunger. He used his last crust of bread to wipe the bowl clean, as the witches looked on. When he finished eating Arcangela took the tray back. Lucia turned to Celeste and spoke: ‘has the water steeped?’ the woman nodded, ‘fetch it please, it’s time he bathed.’ Celeste gave a bow and hurried back to the door to open it and bring in a wheelbarrow that contained a large vessel of steaming soapy water scattered with herbs.
The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes Page 20
