A Shadow All of Light (6 page)

He answered lightly. “Oh, I am often surprised by the various usages people find out for them. Generally they are employed only to lend coolness or the impression of coolness to an interior atmosphere. They promote intimacy of discourse and soften the edges of social interchange. Harpists and lutenists may be hired to play softly at a gathering, furnishing a pleasant background; shadows can serve the same purpose. And there are a myriad other uses. Perhaps you have heard that winemakers often steep wines in certain tints of shadow to add subtlety and depth to vintages that lack sufficient character. To darken silks and linens ever so slightly, to support the mood of a love letter or ballade … Do not you yourself employ a coterie of umbrae in the hallway that leads to this salon? I assume you placed them there to unsettle visitors of unknown purpose, testing those who come to visit here.”

“I do not desire them. They have flocked to my walls unbidden. Unless”—she looked about at the company with bitter eyes and continued—“unless some one of my betrayers has brought them in to do me evil. Since my mother died, I can no longer say who is my loyal friend and who my secret enemy.”

“I am unhappy to hear of your loss,” said Astolfo. “When did this happen?”

“It might have been yesterday. Or perhaps some years ago.” Her eyes blinked wide; her expression was a startled stare. “It might have been tomorrow.”

“It is a sorrowful loss at any time.”

She waved a tiny, heavily bejeweled hand at me. “Why does your young friend stay silent? I am suspicious of those who watch and watch and say naught.”

“Falco is newly from the ox-furrow,” Astolfo said. “He is uneasy in polished society and fears to show himself a dunce. But as an aide to me, he does well enough.”

“In your business with those shadows.”

He nodded.

“Well, it is about filthy shadows that I bade you come.”

“I am honored by your kind invitation.”

“Why must you continually abrade? I say I bade you come at my deliberate insistence. Did I not dispatch my carriage to Tardocco to transport you? And did so much against the advisement of my councilor Chrobius. I do not know you well enough to invite you. Few there are these days whom I invite. I can trust almost no one.”

“You have no one to confide in?”

She clapped her hands, making a surprisingly sharp report. At once the murmuring of the company desisted. They fell all silent as an elderly man rose from a curve-armed bench against the wall, stepped slowly to a large table with a white runner-cloth, and lifted from it a small casket of embossed leather bound with iron straps. As he was bearing it to the countess, she waved him aside toward Astolfo.

“Please examine the jewel that Chrobius carries,” she said. “I would know your thoughts upon it.”

Astolfo took the casket from the old gentleman and opened it to disclose, lying on plush purple velvet, a diamond that looked to be as large as a crab apple. Though I stood a good seven paces away, I could see how brilliant was the light it gave off, gleaming in the candlelight. It seemed to capture those mellow flames and make them one within itself and then to disperse that glow in a thousand warm points throughout this broad salon.

Astolfo looked at it for long moments and then said to the countess, “Have I permission to take it up?”

She nodded.

Between thumb and forefinger he held it before his eyes, peering closely. Then he wheeled slowly on his heel, bringing the stone around in a complete circle and turning it over and over to expose every surface. Polished but uncut, it throbbed as the torchlight and candlelight pierced its cool center. Then he laid it carefully back in place and bowed to the old courtier, who returned it to the long table.

“Well,” said the countess, “what do you see there?”

“I am not certain,” Astolfo answered. “At first I thought I saw a flaw of the mineral, but then it seemed more a smudge. Nothing mars the outer surface. If only I had brought hither my enlarging glass to examine it more closely.”

“No,” she said, “no magical glasses. I do not trust 'em. What is to be seen must be seen by the unaided eye. You shall say if you see what I see.”

“I see a shadow.”

“So!” She clapped her hands again, startling me and all the company. “I too saw the shadow, a horrid, dark, oozy, smoky thing wriggling in the very core of my stone. It was never there before. My diamond was formerly all clear, as bright and sharp in its glitter as starlight. Now it has gone yellowish; it has goldered. I do not like that. Each hour it loses value, does it not?”

“It is an immensely valuable stone, milady.”

“No, I tell you it is forfeiting its worth even as we speak. Why will you always quarrel with me?”

“If it is not so bright as formerly, it may be damaged. But I do not know the cause. May I ask where it was found and how it came into your possession?”

“You may not. I am weary of debating every point with you. Chrobius will give you such history as you may need to know. My head hurts insufferably and my mind slips like a donkey on greasy cobbles. I am done with our audience. When you find out the problem with my best diamond, when you have discovered a remedy for its illness, you must return and inform me and I shall reward you generously. I do hope that you will not quarrel with me about this commission I have laid upon you. I am sick of your controversies.”

“Milady.”

The old man came to us, bowed, and padded away to a door at the farther end of the salon, and we followed at a befitting distance.

This small room off the main salon lay quiet. A single bowl-shaded lamp on the table between four chairs in the center gave off a genial glow and Chrobius set the jewel casket beneath it. He wore a thin, silvery beard that came to a point below the V of his soft collar. His voice was gentle, weary, and he displayed the slender, ivory fingers such as might grace an accomplished harpist. He seated us and offered refreshment, which Astolfo declined. I followed his example. Then Chrobius sat in the chair between us and told us that almost nothing was known of the provenance of this diamond that so concerned the countess.

“How now?” said Astolfo. “So handsome a jewel must have a voluminous history.”

“It will be a history of which we are ignorant.” Chrobius's voice was extraordinarily calm, almost hypnotic with its measured cadences. “It was discovered among the effects of the countess's second husband, Tyrin Blanzo. The Blanzi were a family of merchants quite powerful in former days but latterly fallen upon scanty luck. Like many another trading company, they had ventured ships into the perilous seas northward, seeking for trade among the woodland tribes of Justerland and with the fisher folk of the Aurora Isles. But tempest and piracy dealt severe and at last mortal blows to the Blanzi enterprises, and then their finances rested upon the rents of their estates. It has been supposed by some that this stone was derived from the profits of trade, but no record of its provenance has survived.”

“How long after the death of Blanzo came its discovery?” Astolfo asked.

“A good two years,” Chrobius replied. “The countess had remarried by that time and considered that for purposes of economy she ought to make an inventory of her late husband's possessions. In going through his sea chests, she found the casket with the jewel.”

“Was it then in the same condition as now?”

“I know little of the lore of precious stones, but meseemeth it has changed since that time. Perhaps it has dulled somewhat. The countess says it has
goldered,
and that is as apt a term as may be.”

“And the countess herself? Has she changed since the advent of this diamond?”

He hesitated. “I should not like to say overmuch. She speaks of certain misapprehensions to which she is prey; you heard her speak of these. Whether this jewel has connection to her condition, I cannot affirm. It appears very unlike, but 'twas at that time she began to complain. Some who have long known her claim to have noticed a change, but she was always somdel bewildered in the world.”

“Are there those who wish her harm?”

“You see our little orbit here, so much like a court of rural royalty. There is hardly anyone who is not wished some degree of harm by another. The countess is subject to arbitrary humors and peremptory demands, some say. Injured feelings follow in her train.”

“Have you ever felt the brunt of her impulsiveness?” Astolfo asked.

“Not I, no. But it is well known that all women are prey to changeable moods. Her position is precarious and demands perhaps more will-call than she may possess.”

“You use an odd term:
will-call
. What doth it signify? I am unfamiliar with it.”

Chrobius smiled in the manner of an indulgent schoolmaster. “It would rarely occur in your mode of business, I would think. It is a philosophic term, meaning something like ‘fortitude' or ‘bravery of spirit.' ‘Manliness' may come closest to its purport.”

“Would anyone design the countess bodily harm? Would anyone be bold to take her life?”

He rubbed the point of his beard with thumb and forefinger, as if feeling the texture of cloth. “I do not know. I should think it not likely. Her last husband, the third, that count of some vague area he called Ondormo, was a dark and bitter man who never showed real love for her. But he has been banished by the countess and lives in exile.”

“So she is not thrice-widowed.”

“She accounts him as dead.”

“Where might he now inhabit?”

“Again, I do not know. Some have said that the rugged coast of Clamorgra is pierced with caves and that he coils within one of them like an adder in its hole. There are other rumors also.”

“What were the points of contention?”

“There are whispers only, something about a division of property. But I credit none of that. He was headstrong, willful, arrogant, and she is, as you see, sometimes distracted and of sudden waywardness. There may have been little other than a conflict of personalities.”

Astolfo took up the diamond and held it against the lamplight, turning it slowly. “I regret that she will not allow close inspection with a jeweler's glass,” he murmured.

Chrobius smiled. “As to that…” he said, and produced from his sleeve pocket a silver loupe, intricately enchased, “I can see no harm in your looking at it and cannot say why she objects. It may be only one of her personal superstitions. In these days, she lacks all proper and confident will-call.” He handed the loupe to Astolfo.

I took for granted that the shadow master was expert in the knowledge of precious stones, as he is in so many other matters. He converses easily with savants and tradesmen in regard to objects of every sort. But as he studied this stone, bringing it closer to the light and then withdrawing it, revolving it over and over, his expression troubled into perplexity and he began to hum to himself singsong. This was a sign that he had struck upon an intriguing puzzle.

Finally he laid it back, almost reverently, upon the casket plush. “It would be shameful if such a prize should be an instrument of harm,” he said.

“Do you think that it is?” I asked.

He turned to Chrobius. “You, sir, do you believe that it could be harmful?”

The old gentleman gave his beard a short tug. “Today all my replies are but professions of ignorance,” he said. “I do not know. I cannot say how it might be.”

“Falco and I must consult our sources,” Astolfo said. “In the shelves of my libraries at the manse there may be helpful folios. If you will guide us, sir, back to the corridor of whispering shadows, we can find our way from there.”

“No need for that nuisance,” he replied. “There is another way, speedier and more pleasant, to the entrance.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Astolfo said. “Yet we should like to retrace our steps. Those shadows appear to have secrets they desire to share.”

“I think you can gain little from them, but I shall be glad to accompany you the way you came.” He set off slowly, then paced lightly through the salon. The countess was absent and her tall, thronelike chair had been set against the wall. A few murmuring late-stayers stood about and seemed to take no notice of our passage. At the door to the corridor Chrobius made a final bow and bade us farewell.

*   *   *

My mount at this time was a dapple-gray cob of complaisant temper. My heavy-handed colleague, Mutano, had chosen this horse called Torta from Astolfo's stable and handed her to me with that fleering, sardonic smile that signified he had picked out an easy mount because he considered her suitable to my abilities. As to that, he was mistaken, but I accepted the reins with good grace and resolved to take excellent care of the animal. I could see that this Torta had her points: not swift but powerful and of steady courage. She would not shy during a set-to.

Astolfo had turned off on the way back to the town villa with a salute signaling that he would return in a short time. I could see that he was headed into Tardocco, but what his errand might be I could not know. It was late afternoon and the sun was just at the roof edges of this busy city, now settling out of its workaday bustle, readying for the pleasures of twilight and early evening.

I stabled Torta and looked to her welfare and then went for a stroll about the grounds. Early summer gladdened the grasses and trees and some of the rare flowering shrubs Astolfo was partial to. It occurred to me that he might have gone to consult in the town with one of his friends, perhaps an astute jeweler, and I thought I might gain a little credit in his eyes by some quick study. I went into the house, into the great, quiet library, and strolled to the area where the volumes on valuable trinkets were shelved. By this time, I had achieved some familiarity with his extensive collection of books and maps and manuscripts, though I knew the maestro would not agree. He held me as being only a little more learned than a runt beagle.