by Martin Ash
Lancor returned the stone to Atturio, who wrapped it and replaced it in his satchel.
‘There are others you could ask,’ Lancor said, sipping his tea then, finding it cold, setting the cup aside. ‘Though here in Volm I suspect you’ll not find anyone who can add to my assessment. In Dharsoul there’s Kemorlin, who’s more knowledgeable than I. Should you feel inclined to make the journey, you’ll probably find him in the souk. He has a home nearby. Mention my name. There’s also the university. And, as you know, there are interesting folk from far afield to be found in the capital. Perhaps you’ll have more luck there.’
Atturio next took the stone to the office of Volm’s most eminent banker, Gotif Adlem, who handled many of Atturio’s affairs. Adlem was a short, dumpy, pink-faced man with overflowing buttocks, who ushered Atturio into his private office with an air of being both pleased to see him and simultaneously wishing him away so that he might apply his talents to other, weightier matters.
‘I’m sorry to call like this without an appointment, Master Adlem,’ Atturio said as he seated himself before the banker’s wide desk. ‘It’s good of you to see me.’
‘Not at all. Always a pleasure. Now, how can I be of service?’
‘I merely wish…’ Atturio produced the stone, wrapped in its cloth, and displayed it to the banker’s eyes. ‘…to show you this and ask your opinion. I’m trying to ascertain its value.’
The banker’s eyes widened. He leaned forward, made to lift the stone then, with a frown, seemed to change his mind. He withdrew his pudgy fingers almost guardedly, without touching the object. ‘Where did you get this?’
Master Atturio repeated the story he had told Jerg Lancor. Adlem listened, a curled forefinger raised to his upper lip. He seemed slightly ill at ease, though being a busy man he was perhaps concerned that his time was being wasted.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I really am sorry that I’m unable to help. I’ve never seen its like, and could not even begin to estimate its value.’ He frowned at the stone again, then stood. He waved his fingers towards the object, still not touching it. ‘Perhaps you should take it away now.’
‘Of course.’ Atturio wrapped the stone and returned it to his satchel. He eyed the banker, whose gaze had never left the stone and who stared now at the satchel as if nonplussed. ‘Is something the matter, Master Adlem?’
Adlem started. ‘What? Ah, no. No. I’m a little stressed, I think. And perhaps slightly under the weather. The recent storms… I feel… You know, sometimes I feel oppressed by the hardships and sadness of this world. They lay a weight upon my heart.’
Atturio gaped at him in astonishment. Never in all their dealings had he known the banker to speak in such a manner – and they had been acquaintances for almost forty years. Adlem was an obsessively private man. He had no interests outside of his work. He did not socialize, other than out of professional necessity. When he and Atturio met they spoke exclusively of business and finance. This outburst of emotional candour was completely out of character.
Gotif Adlem recollected himself and grew embarrassed. He touched his forehead, shaking his head. ‘I mean… that is, well, simply that – ah, ha-ha! – simply that…’ At a loss, he moved quickly to the door and held it open. ‘I’m sorry, Master Atturio, I wish I could have been more helpful. Ahem! You must call in and take lunch with me soon.’
~
That evening Master Atturio sat alone in his study, gazing pensively at the red stone that rested before him on his desk. In the light of three wax candles its predominant colour was a deep blood red, varying to liver or murrey. It seemed to hold a barely discernible inner glow, remote and uncomforting, yet in an unsettling way, intimate. Far from being discouraged by his failures that afternoon, Master Atturio was becoming more and more intrigued by his find.
In Volm there were one or two other persons whose advice he would seek regarding his find. Realistically, he held little hope that they would have more to tell than Jerg Lancor or Gotif Adlem, but he would visit them on the morrow all the same. If they could add nothing to the precious little he had so far, then on the following day he would travel inland, to Dharsoul.
It was not a prospect he particularly relished just now. Dharsoul lay more than sixty miles away, on the banks of the Tigrant. Travel upriver was slow. Unpredictable currents, landslips and shifting mudbanks made ferries unpredictable. The road was a more practical proposition but the thought of several more days on horseback or wagon held no appeal. Atturio was weary and sore. He had planned, upon his return to Volm, to rest a little. There was plenty to keep him occupied here, and he had the luxury of his own comfortable bed at night, and the company of family and friends.
But this stone…
He would take Jerg Lancor’s advice and look up Kemorlin, and perhaps seek out a professor at the university and any other learned folk in the city who might throw light on the mystery. He might engage in some additional business there. And if he did not drag his feet he could be back home well within a week.
As he mulled these things over there came a soft knock at the door. Meglan entered. She moved up quietly beside him and put her arms around his shoulders and kissed his grey head.
‘Supper’s ready.’
‘I’ll be right there.’ Master Atturio took one of her hands in his and held it tenderly. He turned to look into her face. As often happened, he was struck by Meglan’s likeness to her mother. Dear Ilse. She should have lived. If things had only been different. She had been just forty, and her disease was not a killer if treated in good time. But doctors could not attend to her before their male patients. Added to the problem was virulent outbreak of brownscale in the city. The hospital was quarantined. No doctors were able to free themselves for several days. By then it was too late. Ilse had died a week later.
Atturio tried not to dwell on it. It did no good; this was simply the way of things. Now, seeing Meglan’s face before him, feeling the tenderness of her kiss and the warm pressure of her arm, he was transported back twenty years and more, to his courting of Ilse and their early years together.
Meglan saw the look. ‘You think of her.’
‘I see her.’
She smiled sadly and pressed her cheek to his grey beard, holding him. Presently she straightened, pushed back her long hair from one side of her face and tucked it behind one ear. ‘Come on now. It’s time to stop working. Sil’s closing the shop. We’re ready to eat. What are you doing, anyway?’ Meglan’s eyes fell on the red stone. ‘What’s this?’
‘Something I brought back from Tulmua.’
Meglan leaned forward to inspect it more closely. ‘It’s a strange thing.’
‘Do you like it?’
She was moving around the desk, her fingertips touching the wood surface, circling the stone. Her eyes were intent, her brow knitted. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I do.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’ enquired her father with a twinge of disappointment, and even unease.
‘There’s something about it – the way those darker bands filter into the red. And the yellowy strands on its surface… Is it valuable?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘It’s like a heart,’ said Meglan, her gaze absorbed in the stone.
At these words Master Atturio felt a chill.
‘A heart?’ His voice stuck in his throat. In his mind’s eye he was back in the cavern, staring down at a butchered corpse.
Meglan bent low that she might better inspect the object. ‘Yes. Its form, its colour. I see a bloody heart. A heart turned to stone.’
To hide his agitation Atturio heaved himself erect and began clearing things from his desk. He made to extinguish the first of the candles.
‘It’s unappealing,’ Meglan said. He tone had changed, was filled emotion. ‘And cold. I don’t like it.’
She straightened slowly and her fingertips went to her lips. In a small voice she said, ‘Oh.’
Master Atturio turned to look at her. To his surpr
ise her eyes had filled with tears. They glistened like liquid diamonds in the candlelight, and tumbled down her cheeks.
‘Meglan, my darling, what’s the matter?’ He stepped around the desk to her.
For some moments she couldn’t speak. When she did it was to say, in a near-whisper, ‘I don’t know. I felt suddenly so sad. It must be because I was thinking of mother.’
She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief Atturio gave her. Glancing at the red stone she disengaged herself from her father’s embrace and moved towards the door of the study. ‘Father, hurry now. Join us downstairs so that we can eat.’
Master Atturio gazed at the stone with troubled thoughts, then wrapped it quickly in its cloth, placed it in a cabinet and followed her out.
III
The following morning Master Atturio’s plans were thrown into disarray by an incident in the town centre.
He had just come out of the shop of a local goldsmith, the last among those persons in Volm whose advice he sought in regard to the stone. Prior to the goldsmith he had shown the stone to the merchant-captain of the south-seas carrack moored in the harbour, then to the president of the Merchants’ Guild in Volm. None of these men were able to provide him with fresh information, and he was therefore resigned to a trip to Dharsoul.
He mulled over this as he crossed the busy market square to take refreshment in the cool of a nearby tavern. He would leave in two days. That would give him the time today and tomorrow to conclude one or two pressing matters at home.
Entering the tavern, Master Atturio became aware of a fracas inside. Voices were raised but Atturio, entering from bright sunlight, could make out little as he stepped into the shade of the interior.
Someone came out hurriedly, barging into him in the doorway. Atturio was knocked backwards. He collided hard with the doorjamb, stumbled on a step, and fell. His knee twisted as he careened awkwardly backwards onto the dusty ground. Writhing in pain he caught a glimpse of a figure in a dark burnous, peering down at him for a moment then hastily walking away.
Seconds later he was surrounded by people trying to help him to his feet. Among them was Dervad, whose hand was cut and bleeding, though Master Atturio was in too much pain just then to notice. Unable to walk, Atturio was carried through the narrow streets to his home, while someone ran off to alert his physician, Doctor Sibota.
Master Atturio lay on his bed, knee throbbing and swollen. Meglan fussed over him, applying a cold compress to the knee and gently bathing his hands which he had badly grazed trying to prevent his fall. Sildemund was out, but Dervad had accompanied Atturio home and waited beside him, his own hand bandaged by Meglan.
‘What was the argument about, Dervad?’ Atturio asked. ‘And what happened to your hand?’
Dervad shook his head. ‘It happened so quickly. This man was asking questions in the tavern – about you, I think?’
‘About me?’
‘He wanted to know of merchants who’d returned to Volm in the last few days. I asked him his business and he said he wanted to interview a merchant who’d come across the wildlands – to avoid border controls, so he thought. I was wary at this, and didn’t venture anything. But I asked him what his interest was. He said he’d only discuss it with the merchant in question. Then he produced some coins, said he’d pay for the name of the man he sought.’
‘Did you get his name?’
‘Didn’t get that far. I didn’t even get a good look at him. He kept his hood up and the dust-scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face.’
‘Working for customs, d’you think? I wonder how they knew.’
‘I don’t know. But he was a sneaking type, and his manner left much to be desired. A few of us got annoyed when he showed his money. Figured he was customs, yes. Undercover. Except he wasn’t exactly subtle in his approach. One or two of the lads crowded him a bit, just to make it plain he wasn’t welcome. That’s when he fixed me with a stare. It went right through me. I’ve never seen a look like that. “You work for him, don’t you?” he said. I told him nothing. He said, “Tell your employer there’s a matter of great urgency to discuss. Tell him it’s this urgent!” I felt a terrible pain in my hand. The bastard had stabbed me! I didn’t even see it. And before I could respond, he’d gone.’
Meglan looked anxiously at her father. ‘Who is this man, Father? Do you know?’
‘I can honestly say I don’t. Nor do have any idea what he wants. Maybe it isn’t me he’s looking for. Certainly, he didn’t stop to introduce himself on his way out.’
‘But did you leave the road and travel across the wildlands?’
‘We did.’
‘Then it must be you.’
‘Others may have taken a similar route. There are unusual restrictions at the border just now.’
‘But he knew Dervad to be your man.’
‘It might have been a guess. Or somebody may have pointed Dervad out. You’re sure you mentioned nothing of it yourself, Dervad?’
‘I didn’t say a thing.’ Dervad looked pensive. ‘Master Atturio, it did occur to me – ‘
His thought remained unexpressed, for at that moment Doctor Sibota arrived. He was a tall, stiff fellow with oiled black hair that he wore in twin plaits at the nape of his neck. He cast his eyes proprietorially over Atturio, and said in a tone of rank censure, ‘Well, Atturio, what have you been up to this time? You’re too old to be cavorting the way you do.’
‘Me? I was simply trying to sit down to enjoy a quiet drink!’
Sibota grunted, set down his case and examined his patient at some length. Eventually he pronounced the knee badly sprained with the possibility of a fractured or dislocated patella, or even a fracture of the joint itself. ‘I won’t be sure until the swelling has reduced and I can examine you more closely. Until then you must keep this leg completely still.’ He turned to Meglan. ‘Maintain the cold compresses, and be sure not to let him leave his bed.’
‘For how long?’ Atturio demanded.
‘I’ll examine you again tomorrow, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt that you will not walk for at least ten days, and if there’s a fracture it will be longer than that. Weeks, months, possibly.’
‘Impossible!’
Sibota ignored him. ‘You may be able to get about with the aid of sticks after a couple of weeks, though I forbid you to leave the house.’
‘Out of the question!’ Atturio fulminated, and again was ignored.
‘I shall return directly with binding, splints and some embrocation. In the meantime, do not move that leg!’
‘Doctor, would you attend to Dervad before you go?’ Meglan asked. ‘He was stabbed in the hand.’
‘Stabbed?’ Sibota frowned and shook his head. ‘Let me see.’
He took Dervad’s hand and unbound the dressing. He looked closely at the wound. ‘This is nasty. What were you stabbed with?’
‘A knife, I think. I didn’t see it.’
‘The blade was foul.’ Sibota spoke to Neena, the elderly housekeeper, who stood by the door, clutching her hands. ‘Bring clean hot water, please.’
This was done and the doctor carefully cleaned Dervad’s wound, then applied an astringent from a jar in his case, which caused Dervad’s eyes to water.
‘You must come with me to my surgery,’ said Sibota then, bandaging the wound again. ‘This requires stronger anti-infectants than I carry with me.’
~
The next morning, confined in his bed, his leg in a splint, Master Atturio breakfasted with Meglan and Sildemund. As they ate he told his son of the decision he had, with difficulty, arrived at during the night.
‘I’m entrusting the red stone into your care, Sil. I want you to take it to Dharsoul. Seek out Kemorlin and, if necessary, others whose names and titles I’ll provide you with. Ask their advice. I need to know what this article is, and whether it has value. I curse the fact that I can’t go in person, but I rely on you to act wisely and judiciously in my stead.’
Sildemund was vis
ibly excited by the prospect, swelling with pride at the trust his father was placing in him. ‘Have no fear, Father. I’ll do as you bid, to the letter, and will guard the stone and your interests with my life.’
Master Atturio reached out and laid his bandaged hand upon his son’s. ‘Sil, your life and wellbeing are of infinitely greater importance to me than those things. Consider them, not the stone, your priority and let everything else follow in its natural course.’
Sildemund grinned. ‘Done.’
‘Gully and Picadus will accompany you,’ Atturio said. ‘They know the road and the land, and are more experienced than you in the ways of the big city. Heed their advice, lad, and trust them. They’re good and reliable men.’
‘I know it well, Father. I’ll be pleased and reassured to have them at my side.’
Meglan spoke. ‘Father, can I not go too? It’s a long time since I’ve seen Dharsoul, and the experience will benefit me too.’
‘You, Meg? My darling, who then will look after your poor invalid of a father?’
‘You have Neena, and the other staff. You don’t need me.’
Old Neena, the housekeeper, had been with the family since before the children were born. Indeed, she had become virtually one of the family. But Master Atturio was not to be swayed. ‘No, Meg. I’m sorry but I do need you here. Until I can shift my carcass again I’m virtually helpless. Someone has to run the day-to-day affairs of the business.’
‘Then let Sil stay, and I’ll go in his place. I’m as competent as him. I can perform any task that he can.’
‘Yes, that may possibly be so. Yet two things stand in your way, neither of which lie within my sphere of influence. Firstly, you are a woman. And a very young and – for all your competence – inexperienced woman at that. If I know anything of the kind of people we are to be dealing with in Dharsoul – and as a man I believe I know much – you will not be taken seriously. You may even find yourself endangered. Yes, yes! I understand your protests! I don’t disagree. But like it or not, you have to accept that what I say is true. I’m simply stating the facts, and they are what they are, immutably.’
