The Secret Key of Pythagorum

by Michele Angello

  Savaric sighed. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “No. Two bits.”

  “But…”

  “Two bits,” the scribe repeated curtly.

  Savaric frowned and reached into his cloak to pull out his leather money pouch to pay him. No other words were exchanged. He turned away and plunged further into the market. The sun shone brightly through the dust that lingered in the air from all the activity. A thick layer of dust covered the cloth awnings that extended out from some of the bigger, more permanent stores. Wondering what he would find, he impulsively ducked under the awning and stepped into one of the big stores. With no windows and just a few dim sconces on the walls, it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. Before that could happen, a voice from far back in the store said, “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to see what you have.”

  “And I asked you, what do you want?”

  Savaric squinted back into the dark recesses. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around quickly and saw some animals and birds frozen in place, large metal basins, casks and kegs strewn about, dried bunches of weeds, and plants hanging from racks suspended from the ceiling. Suddenly his brain registered the animals frozen in place. He turned back to them and stared, his mouth open. He crossed himself and backed toward the door slowly.

  The disembodied voice cackled, “It’s not magic, you scalawag. It’s just stuffed.”

  “Stuffed?” Savaric said as he continued to back away.

  “Yes, a real animal, dead, stuffed with rags and hay and bits.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” Savaric reached the door and turned and stepped outside again. As he walked away quickly, he could still hear that raspy voice laughing behind him. Shivering despite the sunny day, he plunged further into the vast market. He furtively reached his hand into one of the pockets to make sure he still had another piece of the map.

  When he was sure he had gotten far away from the first scribe, he slowed down and looked for another scribe. Soon he saw a man younger than the first, a monk with the top of his head shaved, sitting on the stoop of a large building. He had pens and papyrus on the ground beside him. Savaric watched him for a short time, but no one came requesting his services. Deciding that a monk would probably be trustworthy, he took a second piece to him. This piece had a lot of the foreign words on it.

  “Could you tell me what these words say, sir?”

  “Let me see,” the monk said, holding out his hand. He looked at the map piece and glanced up at Savaric. “Where did you get this?”

  “None of your business. Can you read it?”

  The monk stared at him hard for a moment, started to speak, and then stopped. “Yes, I can read it. Though what business a boy like you has with something written in Greek, I can scarcely imagine. You probably stole this, didn’t you?”

  Savaric stood stone-faced with his arms folded. “How much?”

  The monk stared back at him. “You doubtless know that it is against the laws of God to steal.”

  Savaric continued a silent, hard stare at the monk.

  The monk sighed. “Three bits.”

  Savaric nodded.

  “This is incomplete. The words say, in Greek, ‘The threading of the needle of Snowdonia and the sight of the Cave of Thor yield the keys to the kingdoms.’” The monk looked up at Savaric. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Didn’t. What is this dark spot here?”

  “That’s probably the Cave of Thor.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “To the east and south. It’s probably a two- or three-day walk.”

  “And Snowdonia?”

  “That’s a very tall mountain to the west.”

  Savaric nodded. “Anything else you understand?”

  “This symbol here.” The monk pointed to the cross with the loop at the top. “It’s an evil thing, an abomination of the cross our Lord and Savior died on. There can be no good that comes from going to these places, if that is what you are thinking of doing. It would be better for you to give this to me for your own protection.”

  Savaric snatched the map out of the monk’s hands. “Protection. That’s a funny way of putting a thing like stealing.” He threw three coins at the monk’s feet. He then turned and ran out of the market as fast as he could. The monk watched him as he fled, then reached down to the ground and picked up the coins, shaking his head.

  Savaric ran until he couldn’t run anymore. He stepped into the darkened doorway of a house to see if anyone had followed him and to catch his breath. After a few minutes, satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, he casually stepped into the street. He walked around aimlessly for a while before he recognized a street that wasn’t far from the sheriff’s house. His stomach rumbled as he crossed the threshold into the stable. It was time for supper.

  Not far away…

  The monk hurried down the street, walking farther and farther from the center of Deva. When he reached the shade of a giant oak tree, he walked under its boughs and up to the gate of a lodge. He immediately gained entrance into the lodge where a servant led him to a long hall with a fireplace that blazed heat into the frigid room.

  From across the room their low voices could be heard echoing through the hall.

  “…Yes, my lord it was a map. With Snowdonia and the Cave of Thor on it. Keys to the kingdoms, it said. And an evil cross, one that makes mockery of our Lord. I saw it and knew that you’d put a stop to such evil.”

  “You were right to come to me… and you are right, I will not let such a thing bring calamity to our land. Wimarc, pay him.”

  After accepting the coins, the monk bowed his head, backed away, and hurried from the freezing room.

  Savaric lay on his cot that night thinking about what the scribes had told him. Warin had gone to the mountains to retrieve the key. He must have gone to Snowdonia. Legends were told of Snowdonia, stories of water monsters, giants, and fairies, he thought, shuddering. I’m glad I don’t have to go there. Though Thor’s cave doesn’t sound much more promising.

  Suddenly he heard a shout in the street. At first he didn’t pay much attention, as there were usually shouts in the streets. But the shouting kept going on, and he could hear people running down the street outside the stable. The door to the courtyard crashed open, and the sheriff burst in. He looked over to where Savaric lay and said, “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you smell the fire?” Savaric leaped up from his cot and followed the sheriff to the large street door. As he ran behind him, other house servants joined them.

  The sheriff pulled open the door to the street with both hands. The wind from the open door tumbled into the stable, bringing with it the scent of wood and hay burning. The sheriff stood framed in the doorway without his coat, wearing only his white shirt and breeches. His black hair floated in the draft of air pushed from the flames across the street. Their faces glowed in the orange light, and sparks flew down the street.

  “Buckets. One for everyone. Quickly!” the sheriff shouted.

  Henry darted to the wall of the stable, took down a stack of buckets from a shelf and began passing them out. The servants rushed to the well in the courtyard and filled their buckets and then ran with them to throw the water on the house across the street. Neighbors and shopkeepers from all around were doing the same, ash already staining their faces.

  Savaric made trip after trip, the heavy bucket sloshing water all over his breeches and dripping on the ground. It was exhausting work. He finally had to rest for a few moments and went to sit on the steps leading to the kitchen. As he caught his breath, he laid his head on his crossed arms. Screams and crackling sounds wafted from the street. Someone shouted “Here, here, bring the water here!” Behind him, the house—which usually resonated with voices, chopping in the kitchen, and the sheriff shouting at someone—was silent. Savaric thought for a few minutes, then watched until no one was left in the courtyard and slipped into the house.

  CHAPTER 12


  This time, there was no need or time for silence or skulking about. Savaric ran through the house and down the stone stairs to the lockup. He grabbed a torch from the wall and trotted to the end of the hall and placed it into the sconce. Luckily, the keys still hung on a ring on the wall. Hopping a little to reach them, he knocked them with his hand until they fell on the floor with a loud clang.

  Fumbling, he tried a key in the lock of Elias’s cell. It didn’t work. He tried another key. It slipped into the lock and the door popped open. Savaric pushed the door open wider. Elias cowered in the corner of the stinking cell, filthy, his eyes huge as he looked to see who came through the door. His eyes got even bigger when he saw who it was. Savaric strode across the room and put his hand over Elias’s mouth, just in time to prevent his name from escaping his lips. “SSSa” was all that hissed through.

  “No questions now. All right? Later,” Savaric said quickly.

  Elias nodded.

  “Just follow me and keep quiet.”

  Elias nodded again.

  Savaric turned and ran out of the cell. Elias followed him. When they had made it halfway down the hall, Elias shouted, “Stop! We can’t go.”

  Savaric turned around and looked at Elias incredulously. “Shhh! What are you talking about? We have to go now!”

  “The man in the other cell, we have to get him out too.”

  “You have lost all sense. There is no time. Someone could be looking for me already,” Savaric hissed.

  “He’s old, but he’s been nice to me,” Elias pleaded.

  Savaric looked at the younger boy’s expression and knew there was no way he was ever going to win this argument. He ran back to the cell door, pulled the keys out of the lock, and crossed the hall to the other cell. In seconds, the door swung open. Elias went into the cell and pulled on the arm of the shocked man.

  “It’s me, Elias. We’re getting you out of here.”

  “Come on. We have to go now,” Savaric said.

  The three ran as fast as the legs of the old man would allow them. When they got up the stairs, Savaric checked the hall to see if anyone had come through. It was all clear. They ran through the hall and opened the great wooden door. No one walked down the street—all the attention was on the flames consuming the neighboring house.

  Savaric pushed them into the street and said, “Go!”

  It was Elias’s turn to look incredulous. “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “You just keep walking out of town. Go back to where we camped together on the last day before we reached town. Wait for me there.”

  Savaric turned to the old man. “And you can go wherever you’d like.”

  The old man bowed. “Much obliged, young man.” He strode off as casually as a man taking a stroll on a Sunday afternoon. Savaric watched him and laughed. “See that, Elias? Walk the way he does.”

  “But why aren’t you coming?”

  “Because, louse, I don’t want the sheriff to know that I broke you out. If you’ll excuse me, I have a fire to help put out.” He turned away and closed the creaking door as quietly as possible, then ran back through the house to retrieve his bucket from the kitchen.

  The next morning, as Savaric wearily ate his breakfast after a night of fighting the housefire, the house boy came crashing into the kitchen. “They’re gone,” he gasped.

  “What is gone, whelp?” the cook replied.

  “The prisoners are gone! The doors are open.”

  The cook waddled out of the kitchen into the hall, raising the alarm as she went. “Escaped, sire. They have escaped!” she shouted.

  Savaric did his best to look surprised and dismayed, but secretly a self-satisfied smirk spread across his face.

  He returned to his duties for the next two days, doing his best to stay out of the way of the sheriff, who did a lot more shouting and kicking of things and people than usual. Everyone on the staff stood before him one by one for questioning. The questioning went nowhere since everyone had fought the fire and corroborated each other’s whereabouts. The sheriff began taking Fiona out every day for hours and hours. Fiona always came back trembling and caked in sweat. Savaric assumed that he was out looking for the escapees, but he never spoke to the sheriff beyond what was absolutely necessary.

  On the third day, Savaric went to Henry and said, “Sir, could I get the rest of my wages today?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But why? You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  “Well, yes, sir.”

  Henry stopped polishing a saddle and turned to look at him. “By god’s body, you can’t be serious. You just started working here.”

  “I…”

  “What am I supposed to do—all this work by myself again? Where are you going?”

  “Well, sir, I was in the market, and a man was telling a story about the ocean. I decided to go to the coast so I can see it.”

  Henry looked hard at Savaric. “You are leaving good work and a roof over your head so you can look at water,” he stated flatly.

  Savaric looked down at the ground and kicked at the dirt and hay that covered the stable floor.

  Henry sighed. “I’ll talk to the master and get the rest of your wages. Get back to work. You’ll do double today so that I can get ahead.”

  The next morning, arms sore, with coins jingling in his pocket, Savaric walked out of the stable in the direction of the ocean. He stopped in the market and bought as much food as he could comfortably carry. He walked to the edge of town and then circled back around in the opposite direction. After a long walk down the main road, he reached the campsite shortly after midday.

  As he stepped into the clearing, he saw Elias huddled on the ground next to what might have been a fire, but really looked more like a pathetic jumble of sticks. Elias looked up as he walked over but didn’t rise from his position on the ground. “I thought you would never come. I thought you had forgotten me,” he said quietly.

  “Of course not…all I have done for weeks is worry about you.”

  “Then maybe you could’ve thought of me sitting out here for three days with no food and no coat and nothing to make a fire with!” Elias roared.

  Savaric leaned back, shocked by the intensity of his anger. “How about a thank you for springing you out of the lockup? Did that ever occur to you?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you for springing me out of the lockup—when it was your fault I was in there!”

  Chastised, Savaric flopped on the ground.

  “Do you have any idea what it was like in there? I’ve been dipping myself in the brook every day to try to get the stench off me. I thought I’d never see the sun again. And the last three days? I’m starving. At least I had food twice a day in there.”

  Savaric opened his pack and pulled out the bread, meat, and cheese he had bought in the market. Elias tore into the food like a hungry lion.

  Elias continued the tirade, crumbs spewing from his mouth as he talked. “The sheriff is the most terrifying man I’ve ever met. He beat me for days, insisting that I was you.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I didn’t tell him that I had met you. I just kept saying who I really was. Since my story didn’t change, he eventually got bored and stopped beating me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Elias. I never thought anyone was looking for me. I don’t know how—”

  “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. You owe me. I went to lockup for you! I took beatings that you should have taken.”

  “I know it doesn’t cover it, but I am still sorry. I could have just moved on and left you there. At least I got you out!” Savaric shouted back.

  Elias slowed down his tirade. “Yes, there is that. It was pretty brilliant. How did you do it?”

  “I’ve been the stable boy there for a while. I realized you were down there when I took food down to the lockup once. I tried for ages to figure out how to get you out, but when the fire happened across from the stable, I knew it was the best chance I would have. So I just made a d
ash down there.”

  The two talked about the details for a while, laughing and eating until they were full. They lay down in the tall grass and looked up at the clouds, drowsy from all the food.

  “So what did the sheriff want with you?” Elias said casually.

  Savaric squirmed a bit and didn’t answer.

  Elias continued to gaze at the sky, then began to hum.

  “I’ve got all the time in the world, you know. And I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  Savaric sat up and looked across the meadow.

  “I was beaten for you. I was locked up for you. The least you can do is tell me why,” Elias said quietly.

  Savaric took a deep breath and grabbed a piece of grass and stuck it in his mouth to chew on.

  “Well…the only thing I can figure out is that I stole something in my village, and someone figured out I did it.”

  “That’s it? You stole something? It had to be pretty important if they followed you all the way here.”

  “It could be. I don’t know.”

  “What is it?” Elias said intently, shaking his arm.

  “If I tell you, you have to swear on god’s body that you will never tell another soul.”

  “All right. What is it?”

  “Ever?”

  “EVER! ON GOD’S BODY! Now out with it!” Elias said, shaking Savaric’s shoulders.

  “Stop it. It’s a map.”

  “A map! A map of what?” Elias stopped shaking him.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. I went to Deva so I could talk to the scribes there and ask them what it was a map of.”

  “You showed it to people? You are so ridiculously stupid! What if they went to what the map shows first?”

  “I’m not stupid—I only showed them parts of the map.”

  “Oh. Can I see?”

  Savaric sighed. “Yes, I suppose you can. I told you this much already.”

  Savaric put his hand deep into the folds of the cloak and pulled out the three map pieces. He explained to Elias what the two scribes had said.

  “So where are we going first?”