by Martin Ash
‘The torch!’ Gully cried. He leapt to the wall, examining it with eyes and hands. ‘A false wall!’ he yelled, wheeling. ‘Someone has closed this area off with rubble and sealed it with mortar, painted to resemble the natural rock!’
Master Atturio was at his side, his eyes bright. ‘Tear it away!’
The men set to. Within seconds a large aperture was opened, revealing a deep recess in the rock large enough for two men to step into standing abreast.
Before them now was solid rock, but in its centre something gleamed dully, reddish in the flame light – a strange crystal or stone, held in a cage sunk into the rock itself.
~
Less than half an hour after Edric left the grotto, Master Atturio and his men emerged and joined Sildemund at the wagons. Dusk was deepening. The evening was warm and the watery sun had almost set behind the distant hills.
‘Well, Sildemund, is supper ready?’ demanded Gully, rinsing his hands and face from a water barrel. ‘What have you prepared for us?’
‘It’s ready, yes. Bread and vegetable soup, with a little ale. Sadly, brave and skilled huntsmen though you are, we lack fresh rabbit meat to add flavour and substance to it. That big bunny showed uncommon ingenuity. It’s no shame on your part that you were outwitted by such a cunning beast.’
‘Enough lip, boy!’ Gully cuffed him playfully about the head. He leaned over the pot and proceeded to ladle soup into a battered tin dish.
Master Atturio settled himself beside his son. ‘Where’s Edric?’
With a tilt of his head Sildemund indicated a motionless form huddled under a blanket beneath one of the wagons. ‘He’s in a queer mood. Won’t eat or drink. Says he wants to be alone.’
‘You were right, it’s the fever,’ said Picadus. Two weeks earlier, in Thonce, Edric had been struck down with Yellow Estuary Fever. For several days he had been in a state of almost unrelenting delirium, exhibiting the common symptoms of the disease: prophetic babblings accompanied by vivid hallucinations, visitations and visions of doom, as well as the physical signs of severe weakness, incontinence, aching bones and high fever.
Atturio nodded to himself. ‘He was always the sensitive one.’
‘What happened, Father?’ asked Sildemund, tossing back his long, light brown hair from his face. ‘He was shaking when he came back up here. He worried me. What did you find down there?’
‘This.’ Atturio produced from his satchel a bulky package bound in rough cloth. He unwound it and displayed the oddly formed red stone held in its close shell of curved metallic bars.
Sildemund leaned close. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not ruby or garnet. Nor is it almandine, corundum or any other stone known to me.’
‘Is it valuable?’
‘If nothing else, its rarity must surely declare it so. But I can’t assay it here. At home I’ll try to free it from its container and turn it over to someone more expert in rare gems than me.’
Master Atturio wrapped the stone again and replaced it in his satchel.
‘Is that all you found?’ enquired Sildemund.
Gully chuckled. ‘That and a frantic buck rabbit!’
‘Then what is it that’s upset Edric so badly? I’ve never seen a face so white.’
Master Atturio cast a glance over his shoulder, at Edric curled in the shadow. ‘As Picadus says, it must be that he still suffers from the fever.’
They finished their meal. Picadus brought out his cittern and a song or two was sung. Then, with the night watch set, the men retired.
~
The party rose at daybreak. Sildemund made breakfast as the others packed the wagons and fed and watered the horses and harnessed them for travel. Master Atturio, with a slightly troubled look, approached Gully.
‘Where’s Edric this morning? I haven’t seen him.’
Gully glanced around the camp and shook his head. ‘His blanket’s still under the wagon, but I haven’t seen him either.’
Atturio summoned Dervad. ‘Yours was the last watch. Did you see anything of Edric?’
Dervad nodded. ‘He was up before dawn, pacing back and forth, very agitated. I asked him what was the matter. At first he ignored me. He made off as if to leave the camp, then seemed to change his mind. I tried again to find out what was troubling him. This time he replied, “I have to make my peace. I must make apologize for what you all have done”. But then he sat down by the fireside and seemed calmer. I went back to the watch and haven’t seen him since.’
‘He was at least half-awake most of the night,’ said Sildemund, standing at his father’s side. ‘I heard him muttering to himself.’
Master Atturio nodded. He glanced uneasily in the direction of the hidden cavern entrance. ‘Back to your tasks, lads,’ he said, strode towards his wagon. Climbing inside, he located his satchel and satisfied himself that the cloth bundle was still there. For further reassurance he took it out and unbound it. The red stone had not been taken.
He rejoined his son outside. ‘Bring a torch and come with me.’
He crossed to the edge of the clearing, to the boulders that concealed the opening. He stood for a moment, gazing down the rude stair into the musty dark. When Sildemund joined him he took the torch from him. ‘Wait here.’
Master Atturio descended, his free hand on the hilt of his short sabre.
Two minutes later he emerged, his face haggard, climbing the steps as if the effort cost him. ‘Go to the wagon,’ he ordered his son in a subdued voice. ‘Bring a large sheet of strong cloth, and something to bind it with. Then – but not until you’ve brought it to me – go discreetly to Gully. Have him come here with a stretcher. On no account alert the others. Do you understand?’
Sildemund nodded and was gone. Though he could barely contain his curiosity, he knew from his father’s face and manner that this was not the time for questions.
By the time Gully arrived in the cavern, stretcher over one shoulder and Sildemund at his back, Master Atturio had wrapped Edric’s corpse securely in the sheet Sildemund had brought. On his knees, he was binding it now with cord. He left the upper part loose so that he might reveal Edric’s face, at least, to his companions. It was the torso that he did not want anyone to see.
Gully stopped short in shock. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know.’ Master Atturio rose wearily. ‘I found him here. His chest… He must have stumbled and fallen heavily onto a sharp rock or something.’ He looked sorrowfully at his lieutenant. ‘This is a terrible day. I’ve known Edric a long time. He was a good man. Ah, Gully, you know this is not the first time a man has died in my employ. It sorely grieves me.’
Both Gully and Sildemund stood in stunned silence, hardly taking in what they were witnessing. Master Atturio looked towards the entrance of the cavern. ‘We must bury him, outside. In this heat we can’t hope to carry his body home with us before…’ He left the sentence unfinished.
The grave was dug in silence, close to the edge of the clearing, beneath a sprawling cedar well away from the cave. Master Atturio stood sombrely beside the body as the men worked. He seemed almost protective of it, as if afraid that, were he to move away, someone, out of curiosity, might decide to undo the cloth binding and take a look at the corpse.
Edric was lowered carefully into the earth. With a leaden heart Master Atturio recited a few appropriate and well-chosen words, and the grave was filled. Ten minutes later, each immersed in his own thoughts, they climbed aboard the wagons and mounted their horses.
Master Atturio rode beside his son, and as the wagon rumbled slowly over the rough ground towards the distant Volm road, his thought returned again and again to what he had seen in that cavern, the sight he had been at pains to keep his men from seeing.
No fall could have done that to Edric’s body. His chest had been smashed as if with terrific force. He would have needed to have dropped forty feet or more onto a single jagged rock to have caused such injuries. But the cave ceiling was low, and th
ere had been no jagged rock beneath him. And the wound itself did not seem appropriate to a fall.
Master Atturio close his eyes tightly, to dispel the image in his mind. The cavity, bloody and filled with soil and grit. And Edric’s heart…
Master Atturio made a choking sound. Sildemund glanced his way with concern. ‘Are you all right, Father?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He averted his face. It was not his son’s question that upset him. It was the body again, lying on the ground before him, the chest cavity agape. A chill ran through him, and he felt the sickness again, and the disbelief. Yet he had seen it. He had not been mistaken. He had made doubly sure, for he had doubted himself even then.
Distressing as it was, it was not what he had seen that had most disturbed him. It was what he had not seen. That which had not been there. There was no explanation, yet he was forced to accept it.
It had gone.
The heart.
Where was Edric’s heart?
II
The following days, after returning to Volm, Master Atturio’s time was largely taken up with matters of business and related affairs. Edric had left a widow and two young sons who now lacked ready means of support. Atturio, deeply affected by Edric’s death, took pains to ensure they were not left wanting.
He had acquired a modest degree of wealth over his lifetime, but Master Atturio Frano was not given to extravagance. He employed a minimum of household staff and kept his basic retinue small. Stubborn at times, possessed of an acute eye for business and the ability to drive a difficult bargain, he was also a man who inspired loyalty among his employees. He was unusual if not unique in that he supplemented the basic wages of those who accompanied him on his business travels with a small percentage of his overall profits. By this means he had gathered a faithful cadre of workers who would defend his reputation and honour to the last. If there was a need for extra hands he would hire on a wage set in accordance with local Guild regulations, but this he would almost invariably supplement with unofficial gratuities for work well done. It assured him an ever-ready pool of workers, if at times generating tensions with his business rivals. That he went to some considerable personal cost to take care of Edric’s family surprised no one. Had any remarked on it in his presence he would have dismissed it as simply a duty.
The day after his return home a heavily freighted carrack from the south seas hauled into port. Master Atturio went immediately to the quayside to haggle over goods. He had storage facilities there, and commercial premises, M’Frano, in the town centre close by, which occupied the ground floor of the home where he lived with his family.
His son, Sildemund, was sixteen, a strapping lad, tall with fair-brown hair, a little heavy around the waist but strong and broad-shouldered. Sildemund had demonstrated intelligence and decisiveness, and to Atturio’s gratification had shown himself many times to be trustworthy, responsible and eager to aid his father. Adventurous within limits, wily when the need arose, yet of a cheerful and engaging disposition, he also displayed a good head for commerce. One day, Master Atturio hoped, Sildemund would take over the business, continuing in his father’s family name. To that end, Atturio had instructed him in all aspects of his affairs.
Atturio, only four years off sixty now, entertained no illusions as to his capacity to continue for many more years at his current pace. The lengthy, often arduous journeys to Tulmua, Thonce and elsewhere had long ago lost their glamour. They tried his strength and will these days, and with each trip his desire for the next diminished. He anticipated the day when he might hand over that side of the business to a trusted and capable captain, leaving himself free to remain at home and concentrate on the shop and imports.
In a year, Master Atturio thought, perhaps two, he would give Sildemund his first opportunity to lead a trip into Tulmua. If all went well he would think seriously about enrolling his son as a full partner.
Ilse, Atturio’s wife of two decades, had died three years earlier. It had been a bitter blow. Ilse was a good and kind, if sharp-tongued woman, hard-working, devoted to their family. Atturio missed her dreadfully, even now. Their daughter Meglan, Sildemund’s twin, did what she could to take her mother’s place. She worked diligently in the house and shop and took much of the book-keeping off her father’s hands. But Meglan was an unconventional child, not best suited to the role she had cast for herself, no matter her willingness and effort. Her father had come to accept that Meglan’s heart and future lay elsewhere.
Precisely where was less easily determined. Meglan was maturing into an auburn-haired beauty, not unlike her mother, slight of build but long-limbed and well-proportioned. In the last couple of years she had attracted a stream of Volm’s young notables, eager to escort her to fêtes, balls and functions. But she held herself somewhat aloof, showing little enthusiasm for the life they offered, and consorted with none on a regular basis. Her temper, when aroused, could be fiery. On more than one occasion Master Atturio had witnessed some sorry young hopeful exiting the house in full rout with his tail between his legs.
To an experienced eye the signs of Meglan’s dissatisfaction with her lot were plain. Since Ilse’s death she had tried hard to conceal it, feeling bound by family duty and the love of her father and brother. Among her female friends she seemed to have no intimates or confidantes – indeed, she saw them infrequently and professed herself uninterested in the submissiveness and petty frivolities of their lives. Atturio worried, for there was at times a fire in Meglan’s eyes and a wilful, headstrong side to her nature, a quiet rebelliousness, so far contained. Such traits did not enhance the prospects of a woman in Darch society.
~
At the first opportunity Master Atturio set about seeking expert opinions on the strange red stone. He had discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that the bars that contained the stone could be bent aside without great effort. In the grotto they had been inflexible. Gully, levering with his pick, had failed to budge them. But now, in his study, attempting to analyse the metal of the bars, Atturio discovered a hitherto unnoticed flaw in one. Prising with the shaft of a hammer he was able to part two of the bars. He thus removed the stone and left the cage in his room.
Atturio went first discreetly to a friend, a lapidary named Jerg Lancor who had premises on Volm’s market square. Lancor traded in fossils, stones, crystals, gems and precious metals. He had links with the Alq’fut, the master gem-cutters of the Endless Desert, whose expertise in crafting the most magnificent jewels and gems was legendary. Lancor was perhaps Volm’s major authority on precious gems.
Lancor made sweet tea, then seated himself at his desk and unwrapped Master Atturio’s stone.
He spent several minutes examining it, with eyeglass then fixed lens. He turned it over in his hands, muttering to himself and tugging at his short grey beard. He directed light onto it through a prism to gauge its reflective and refractive properties. As Master Atturio patiently sipped his tea Lancor took books from shelves and studied their pages intently. He stared long and hard at the stone, as if by this means he might elicit information that by all other methods was eluding him. At last he shook his head with a sigh.
‘I’m sorry, Atturio. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I can tell you practically nothing about this item, other than that it’s like nothing I’ve ever come across.’
‘But you can at least identify the type of stone, surely?’ Master Atturio said.
Jerg Lancor raised his hands in a gesture of submission. ‘I cannot. It’s plutonic, I would venture, but unusually dense. Its smoothness I would normally attribute to the hand of nature – I suspect it has passed long ages beneath the ocean. Except…’ He frowned, cocking his head with a puzzled expression, then went on. ‘The whitish veins here on the surface are almost certainly a form of calcite, but the stone itself…’ He took a small crystal from a tray on his desk and held it up between finger and thumb so that it sparkled in the light. ‘This is a diamond. Now watch.’
Master Atturio bent forward and peered
as Lancor put the edge of the diamond against the red stone and drew it across as if to score a line upon its surface.
‘You see, no mark.’
‘That is rare, is it not?’ enquired Atturio.
‘Rare? It’s extraordinary! I can’t say positively without further examination but this stone appears to be harder than diamond itself. As hard, perhaps, as fabled adamant!’
‘Then is it valuable?’
‘I didn’t say that. The fact is, I can’t put a value on it. You might say it’s worth whatever anyone is willing to pay for it. Where did you get it?’
‘From a travelling merchant on the Thonce road. I was struck by its unusualness.’
‘Did you pay a high price?’
Atturio shook his head. ‘He was willing to trade it for virtual sundries.’
Lancor studied Atturio’s face for a moment, then turned back to the mysterious stone. ‘Note these dark shadow effects across the red. They are extraordinary also. I can trace no distinction in make-up between the dark and the red, though they can’t be identical in all respects. The dark bands give an odd illusion of being unfixed, though plainly they are wholly bonded. It’s queer to gaze at them. I could almost swear that they shift very slowly. It’s a very disconcerting trick of the eye.’
He blinked, tugging at his beard again. ‘I would have said that it was ancient beyond telling, but…’
‘But what?’
‘I’m simply confounded by it.’ He held it up in his two hands. ‘It’s unusually heavy. And cold. So cold. Despite its appearance I feel there’s something not quite natural about it. I’m sorry, Atturio, I can tell you nothing more.’
