A Shadow All of Light (34 page)

“When wax is molten, it can receive as much umbra as we desire,” Mutano said.

“And would this hold true of tallow also?”

“It would.… Ah, you have struck upon a corner of the truth.”

“The baron is much troubled with frightening fancies. We hear that he dreams of being eaten alive by rats. He imagines that his head is aflame.”

“His shadow has been taken and admixed with candle tallow,” Mutano said. “It is easy to add shadow to things in liquid state.”

“And the tallow divided into a number of candles.”

“And those candles tumbled in with the ordinary ones to be used daily and nightly as required.”

“And left about careless where they might be taken up and lit for any household purpose,” I said.

“Or left about to be nibbled by rats,” he said. “That is another unsettling thought, that a man's shadow may be the prey of rats. They would tear off a bit and then run in alarm away at a silly noise and return at uncertain intervals to gnaw again.”

“Not one candle and one rat, but a dozen candles and numerous rats. Nibble-nibble now, nibble-nibble in an hour or half an hour.”

“It would seem a fit defense,” said Mutano, “to set an experienced and crafty cat as candle guardian.”

“There is one called Sunbolt,” I said, “who is clever enough to patrol the whole of a château, even if it be otherwise deserted.”

“This Sunbolt hath many gifts. There is a principal one I should like to regain from him.” Mutano's meowing had grown more irritated and irritating. I longed for him to purr.

“Be patient but a little longer. Meantime, how close were our surmises about Veuglio and Sibylla?”

“Each day discovers a new ignorance in me,” Mutano said. “I had not imagined that in the company of the beggars there would be one acquainted with the feline language. Yet several there are who speak cattish and one who is master of three of the dialects. The beggars depend upon knowledge of the ways of the streets and alleys and nooks of Tardocco and none knows 'em better than the cats. 'Tis a familiar custom, their cat-talk.”

“And what did your cat-tongued friends tell us?”

“Somewhat of Veuglio and Sibylla.”

“And of Astolfo also?”

He was surprised. “Of Astolfo? No. How should he come into it?”

“Does he not seem to be everywhere? But then—was there any mention of a personage called Nomio or Mumio or something like?”

“Yes. Of Nomio a little was spoken, but since you name him, you must know already what was said.”

“Not the whole of it. Let us confer now and decide how best to present our surmises and our designs for the future. A goodly table has been set for five and the best silver laid out.”

“Veuglio and the girl are to be present?” Mutano asked.

“We shall make them welcome, but let us first trace out the thread of our tale. Tell me what you learned. Omit nothing.”

We were long in conference. The first stars appeared singly and were soon gathered about by flocks of lights. Swallows flew to rest, taking their dainty scythe-shapes to dark corners. Bats began to tumble above the treetops. At last we went in to dress for the mealtime.

*   *   *

All were present, quietly chatting by candlelight.

As soon as we were seated I rose and raised my glass. “The custom,” I said, “is to propose a toast to guests. And so I do. Live long and prosper smilingly.”

We drank.

Then I said, “It is not customary to offer a toast to the ill health of anyone present or absent, yet I shall take opportunity to do so. My friends, I give you Baron Tyl Rendig, and may he lie gibbering while the rats of his phantasy chew his flesh and bone and spirit. May he sweat drenching gallons while he feels his head burning on his shoulders like a pitchy flambeau at a festival. May these two agonies light on him alternately and together by intervals as long as ever he shall endure and may their pains increase hourly. Is there anyone present who will refuse to join this salute?”

Sibylla looked at me, her haunted, haunting expression more sorrowful than ever. I thought I could remark, however, a glimmer of lightened mood upon Veuglio's features. Astolfo remained expressionless but slowly raised his glass and bowed his head in agreement. Mutano drained his glass in one swallow and Veuglio followed suit. The girl allowed herself a tidy sip.

I proposed another toast. “Although Mutano and I count ourselves members of this household, we sometimes take pleasure in regarding Maestro Astolfo as our host. And so let us toast his health and best welfare.”

Veuglio and his ward joined.

“He is the most ingenious fellow to be imagined,” I said, “for although the baron is a client in our present enterprise and Astolfo is bound by the courtesy of our trade not to betray his interests or to harm his person without dishonoring our house, yet he has found ways to make damage upon him without dishonor. I do not know all the steps and stops he followed to accomplish his ends, but I believe he has given you full satisfaction, friend Veuglio. Am I mistaken?”

The old man tasted his glass. “I can never grasp full satisfaction,” he said, “but Astolfo has given me a very large measure.”

“Were you in Veuglio's employ from the beginning?” Mutano asked Astolfo. “Or did you accept Tyl Rendig's commission and then lend your services to Veuglio?”

“My practice is scrupulous,” Astolfo declared in the driest of tones. “The baron paid me to secure his château against thieves who might carry off what he deemed most precious in his estates. You and Falco laid those traps and pitfalls to thwart any who might come against the place. Did you not do your utmost to make the château secure?”

“We did our best,” I said. “Our best was not sufficient.”

“Was it not prudent of me to put your arrangements to the test?” Astolfo asked. “Should I not look to our client's interests and request Veuglio to inspect your efforts?”

“Yes,” I said. “But the baron was no stranger to you nor to the other beggars and thieves and draymen and porters with whom you lived and caroused in your guise as the beggar Nomio. You were learning the ways of the under-life of the province in those days and you mingled with folk of every rank of society. I conjecture that you do so still in order to judge the currents of thought and heats of feeling of our citizenry. You would have learned all about the baron's brutal practices with women and about his peculiar viciousness toward young girls. You waited for opportunity to strike a blow against him.”

“I am a man of affairs,” Astolfo said. “I do not go about like the armored errants in the old children's tales dealing justice to those who need chastisement. My purpose is to amass gold and to mete it out for my amusement.”

“But you do not flee unlooked-for occasion. When the baron applied to you, there appeared the chance to repay him somewhat for his savage iniquities.”

“He never wronged me. I had no interest in his doings of whatever stripe. And I have fulfilled my commission to him. The château is safe from robbers, since none will possess Veuglio's exceptional skills. The house is so safe that the baron now intends to live there alone. He is convinced that no one can get at him through the maze you and Mutano installed. I have guided him through it, showing him a clear and easy path. I have drawn him a plan of the maze as you left it, just as he requested. He was pleased and offered to remunerate above the commission fee, but I refused. No other client of mine has been so justly served as the baron will be.”

“As Nomio, you were friend to many a poor man,” I said. “Veuglio was one of them. You knew, as did all that company, about the vile cruelties and the final murder that Tyl Rendig committed upon Sibylla, the daughter of Veuglio. When the baron approached you about the purchase of some shadow-stuff, you discovered your opportunity. For this project, you reclaimed one of your youthful skills. You found a way to steal the baron's shadow, or a part of it, and you stored it away for a later purpose.”

“That is not true. How can it be? Here sits Sibylla at our table. She is not injured or mutilated. Much less is she murdered.”

“That is not Sibylla. That is Dorminia, the daughter of the sad lace merchant. She fell victim to the sleeping sickness that afflicted so many young girls. When Veuglio began to restore her to herself, you attached Sibylla's shadow to her. Sibylla was murdered most cruelly in the upper room of an inn called The Dismal Fathom. She had been abducted by Rendig's men and delivered to the baron in that place. Her cries and screams were heard throughout the quarter, but the baron's men blockaded the lanes. Someone went to fetch Veuglio and the civil guard. Too late. When they led the blind physician up the stairs to the bloody room, it must have required every bit of courage—”

“Blind?” cried Veuglio. “I was not blind. My eyesight was blasted in my skull when I saw my Sibylla—”

I pray that I shall never again hear the sound of a voice so twisted with pain and piteous with grief. My flesh shrank and my neck hairs prickled.

Astolfo spoke. “Say no more. This is not proper matter to discuss at table.”

“I will be circumspect. There are passages I cannot yet thread. Whoever was supposed to guard Sibylla failed in his duty. Or was bribed. Maestro Astolfo may know better than I. But what Veuglio saw there has given him cause to pursue the direst revenge he can devise. You are leagued with him in that design. I do not comprehend how—”

“Many things you do not comprehend,” Astolfo said, “and never shall. Our cook Iratus is not patient of temperament. If we do not begin the repast, our breast of veal may be given to the hounds. Can you comprehend?”

“We would be foolish,” I said, “to cross a person who has so many knives at hand.” And so we passed to common gossip and speculations upon the nature of astronomy and the late lack of success of the fishing fleet because of some mysterious turmoil of the waters of the harbor bay and so the evening fluttered along until midnight fetched its terminus.

Our guests bade us good night and also farewell. Veuglio explained that they must be on their way well before daybreak. He had been summoned in his capacity as physician to attend the daughter of Count Ryzikus in the north of Tlemia. She was another of the unaccountable examples of morose temperament falling into even blacker moods and now she had quit speech altogether and would sit for hours looking into a space before her as if into a different world.

“I have wondered,” Veuglio said, “if the anxieties and incessant troubles of our time do not burden the more sensitive spirits of the young. Were they not formerly gay and carefree and passionate for music and dance? That is how I recall them in my youth.”

“Our youths often look brighter than they were in truth,” Astolfo said.

“If a general dull pall has fallen upon them, would it affect their shadows? But of course I know nothing of shadow-nature and the fancy is idle.”

“I have not studied the matter,” Astolfo said, “but your conjecture intrigues me. Perhaps I may assign the study to Falco here. It would give him business of his own to mind.”

And so, with this sour little reprimand, off to bed.

*   *   *

But not to sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, the anguished voice of Veuglio sounded in my head. The sight he looked upon had been so horrific that it obliterated his power of seeing. From that moment he was blind. I recalled how Mutano's voice had been taken from him when he shrieked—and the sight he looked upon had been only a waxen effigy. What Veuglio had seen, I tried not to imagine.

But if that had been his daughter Sibylla in the inn, how could Dorminia have taken her place? Veuglio had sufficient skills to rid her of her sleeping sickness, but why would her parents consent to her companioning the old man? She must have been an orphan, I thought, in the care of some priestly sisterhood. Astolfo would have known of her circumstances and persuaded a friendly sister to permit her to undertake the duty. Such as arrangement was not uncommon and this one indicated the measure of respect Astolfo held among certain of the clergy.

Even so …

I felt I was near to teasing an answer from this knotted mangle of questions. Then, just as I thought I saw a glimmer of revelation, sleep darkened my mind like a heavy shutter thrown closed upon a window casement.

*   *   *

So now I had come to the cattery again and was engaged in bargaining the fee, a minor task I had not expected. Already my nose began to drip.

“Four silver eagles,” Maronda said. “I will not sell for less.”

“That is dear,” I said.

“I will not haggle. You agreed to pay the price I set.”

“Within the bounds of reason, you will recall.”

“For this cat and perhaps for none other, four eagles is a reasonable sum.”

“Let me look upon this marvel,” I said. “I shall count it a happiness merely to glimpse a cat rated at that price.”

“Come round to the courtyard.” She closed the clumsy door of the cattery and led me a few steps down the lane to an iron-barred gate. Through it I could see a fire-pit over which hung a large iron pot used, no doubt, for boiling down essences and creating other noisome exhalations. A mere whiff of the air here increased the pulsing of my brain and the blearing of my eyes.

There was a shady plane tree in the far corner and under it sat a long, low bench, and upon the bench reposed a cat. I could make out only a little from this distance, but its color was different from that of any feline I had ever before encountered. It was of the silver-blonde hue to be seen in the hair of fair women and nowhere else, a human color.

Maronda produced a key from the pocket of her gray smock and opened the gate. The cat was looking away from us and did not turn as we approached. When we were within ten paces, Maronda spoke the name
Asilia
and the animal slowly squared its head to gaze at us.