The Mystic Marriage (24 page)

Margerit looked over the diagrams that described the rituals. She could see a resemblance, slight though it might be, to the drawings she used to describe her visions during mysteries. “But I don’t understand why it’s necessary to go through all this,” she said, gesturing at the array of equipment. “Can’t you start with natural stones and—what was it you said—exalt them?” She could tell it was a good question from the glint in Antuniet’s eyes as she took over the explanation.

“The properties inherent in the stones have long been known and cataloged and a great deal of work has been done attempting to enhance those properties. DeBoodt’s genius was to perform the enhancement—the exaltation, we call it—on the
primae materiae
…the raw materials, if you will. Then the physical transformation and the exaltation operate in harmony. Like all the alchemists of his time, he kept his methods closely secret. His public writings concerned only the description of the properties. All that remained of the other after his death were rumors and a handful of gems added to the crown of Saint Wenceslas that slowly lost their potency over the years. And the book, of course, though it was lost by then. But it isn’t only the exaltation of the
materiae
that matters; the purity and perfection of the gems amplify the effect. It’s always been known that a perfect stone is stronger than a flawed one. In theory, by using DeBoodt’s processes, it should be possible to create much purer stones.”

“In theory? If creating jewels were easy, surely every goldsmith would do so.”

“They try,” Anna broke in. “It’s not really worth the trouble for ordinary stones. The gem merchants hold to their monopoly, so you can only make them for your own use. That’s why my father allowed me to come learn from Maisetra Chazillen. But alchemy takes long study and discipline and the results aren’t always dependable. Most attempts only produce a very pretty sand. And the untrained can’t manage even that.” Her pride was clear in the glance she gave her teacher.

Antuniet led the way to where the results of the firing were displayed. “Here’s what she’s talking about—and most of what we’ve been producing so far. Almost anyone who’s studied the masters can produce this.” She stirred the contents of a dish with a fingertip. “Too small even to set as pavé and their properties have no strength at all even with the enhancement. It takes forever to pick them out of the matrix. They can be used as a starting point for further work, though, especially for the formulas I was working out in the autumn. The firing is the key to making larger ones—the time, the heat, above all the position of the furnace and the hour you begin. I have endless notes on which combinations work best, but there’s a great deal more to learn. Every time I move my workshop, it seems as if everything I’ve learned becomes useless.” She took out a pocket watch and consulted it briefly. “Anna, continue, the alignment is approaching.”

Margerit stared in fascination as they clamped the lid on the waiting crucible and sealed it with clay and symbols. Antuniet was right: the actions and words had the feel of a mystery ritual. There’d been no stirring of her visions when reviewing the static work, but now wisps of sound and light played about the edges of the vessel. “What happens if you don’t mark the seal?”

Anna looked surprised at the question. “It won’t work. This isn’t gold or silver to fuse by the heat of the furnace alone. The salamander must be bound both by the crucible and by the signs before it will loose its fire.”

“Do you see something?” Antuniet asked. “I sometimes think…No, later.” She took up the crucible with long iron tongs and waited for Anna to open the furnace door.

As the work was slipped inside and turned to align the symbols with the door, Margerit thought she saw something like a
fluctus
moving within the waves of heat. Then Antuniet pushed the crucible farther in and it winked out. “Why is your furnace set aslant from the room?” she asked curiously. “Is that—”

“DeBoodt gives the requirements,” Anna answered promptly as she adjusted the drop-weights for the clockwork bellows. “It needs to be aligned to the stars for the particular stone and purpose. He has endless calendars giving the proper time to start every type of conjunction throughout the year. We have to reposition it for each firing. DeBoodt had a great iron wheel under his to turn it.”

“I remember that from the drawings,” Margerit said. “It would certainly make the movement easier.” So that explained the odd location, and the long beams at the side of the room for moving the massive athanor. But something niggled at the edge of her mind. She gestured at the tongs. “Do you mind if I try something? Would it ruin the work to open the furnace again?”

Antuniet tilted her head curiously and shrugged. “They’re all just experiments at the moment. As long as we record what was done…” She nodded to Anna, who retrieved her thick gloves and unlatched the door.

The tongs were heavy and awkward and Margerit had only a faint idea of what she wanted to try, but she teased the crucible around, turning it in place only a degree or two at a time. The heat of the coals made her eyes water but through it she saw again that faint twist of
fluctus
. More carefully now, a hairbreadth, then another. As brilliantly as a lightning flash, the currents swirled to encompass the crucible and encase it in a ball of iridescent light. She heard Antuniet gasp behind her and signaled Anna to close the furnace again. “So you saw it?” Margerit asked.

Antuniet was shaking her head, not in denial but in wonder. “The peacock’s tail. I told you once before, I can see enough to know
when
something happens but not why or how. That was the sign that the conjunction has begun.” She turned to her apprentice. “Anna, did you notice anything odd there at the end?”

With a bewildered look, she answered, “No, nothing.”

“Ah, well, there’s no shame in that. Not one in a hundred are
vidators
and the work can be learned without it. But how could DeBoodt have been so mistaken? The book is most specific about the positioning of the furnace and the alignment of the seals.”

“Maisetra?” Anna asked hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Is it possible…it seems to me…what if the position of the stars only matters to align the furnace precisely?”

“Of course,” Antuniet said with a trace of impatience. “But that still means the alignments are wrong.”

“Or different,” Anna said. “The calendars use the position of the zodiac, but he doesn’t usually say much about the influence of the stars other than for timing. The theoretical discussions all focus on the planets and the sun and moon. The alignments to the planets and the moon are checked directly by sightings, but what if the sun itself is the key alignment for the conjunction?”

“It could be…”

Margerit could tell that Antuniet had followed the thought but couldn’t see it herself yet.

Antuniet’s eyes took a faraway look, as if she were calculating in her head. “DeBoodt was working over two hundred years ago. The precession shift could put all his tables off by a couple of degrees, but that shouldn’t make so great a difference. Sunrise would only differ by a few minutes. But it might explain why only the jaspers and carnelians proved true; they’re more forgiving of the precise alignment.”

Anna had caught her enthusiasm. “But there’s the difference in geography as well. You were working at much the same latitude in Heidelberg, but we’re farther west and more south here. The angle…”

“Perhaps. It’s worth a try.” Her voice took on the crisp tones of a university
dozzur
. “Calculate a new calendar of alignments, corrected for the shift and, since you think it important, for latitude. No, calculate three tables. One for each effect and one combined.”

Anna looked daunted but said only, “Yes, Maisetra.” The triple calculations seemed excessive, but Margerit suspected they were meant for practice.

“If we had years to work and a skilled
vidator
always at hand, we could simply draw up the tables by experiment, but that would be impractical. Once we have the new calculations, Margerit, perhaps you could find the time to verify the alignments the first few times?”

“Of course,” Margerit said. It was the same simmering excitement they had known back in the days of the guild. She ventured, “So am I forgiven for intruding into your work?”

For a moment she wasn’t sure Antuniet recognized it for a joke, then she burst out in the first genuine laugh Margerit had heard from her since her return. “Forgiven! Though I should hold out for one of DeBoodt’s iron wheels as a penance.”

They’d been too focused to note the knock on the door until Jeanne came through into the workroom. Looking up, Margerit caught the barest glimpse of an odd look—envy?—before it vanished to be replaced by a smile.

“Have I missed the festivities? Here I thought you were always hard at work.”

Antuniet welcomed her into the room, saying, “Margerit has stumbled onto a flaw in our calculations. I could almost scream for all the time I’ve wasted, but—”

“—but you wouldn’t have listened to me before,” Margerit pointed out. “Everything comes in its own time.”

“And clearly I’ve come in mine,” Jeanne finished. “Margerit, since you’re here, you simply must help me convince Antuniet to come to Mesnera Chaluk’s concert next week. She refused me for the skating party and she refused the Nantozes’ little soirée, but I’m determined to prevail this time.”

“I wasn’t invited to any of them,” Antuniet pointed out with the air of a continuing argument.

“I had leave to bring any guest I chose.”

“And how much longer would you continue to be given that leave if you brought me? The name Chazillen is still an embarrassment in most homes in Rotenek. I won’t enter anyplace I haven’t been invited by name.”

It wasn’t only a matter of invitations, Margerit knew. Antuniet had been close to the Nantozes in happier times and now they didn’t speak at all. “There’s one invitation I can guarantee,” Margerit offered. “Jeanne, I’ve been meaning to ask your help. I want to sponsor another lecture.”

“Is your mad English botanist back in town?”

“No, this time it will be Akezze Mainus—Antuniet, you remember her, the poor-scholar who could tie all the men in knots of logic—and I need to get the right people there to hear her.”

“And who might the right people be?” Jeanne asked. “Fashion or influence?”

“Neither. People who would pay to have her as an instructor. I’ve hired her to come with us to Saveze for the summer to tutor me, but there’s no hope of keeping her in Rotenek in the fall unless she has enough students to make it worthwhile. And I’m not talking about schoolgirls. She’s a better scholar and a better teacher than half the
dozzures
at the university. But I need people to see that for themselves and the ones I want wouldn’t come just for entertainment. That’s where I need your help. It’s all entirely selfish, you know.”

Antuniet turned from where she’d been setting the workbench in order. “The both of you have very strange ideas of selfishness.”

“Now there’s a challenge,” Jeanne said, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. “Do you know what she’ll be speaking on? It would help if there were some practical use—”

“The rhetoric of public debate,” Antuniet suggested. “If she’s willing. Don’t aim for the well-born students. It’s the ambitious
burfroites
you need to attract and mostly they’ll want knowledge they can apply in their careers. Geometric proofs are all very well, but teach a man how to win an argument in sessions and he’ll be willing to learn it even from a woman.”

“An excellent idea. Margerit, will you hire the
Salle-Chapil
like last time? Or perhaps someplace in the university district would make more sense.”

When she left an hour later, Margerit was confident that the lecture would have its best chance of success.

* * *

When the day arrived, the lecture was indeed looking to be successful, at least within the modest ambitions she’d set for herself. The
salle
was growing full, or nearly so. There was a sprinkling of the powerful to give the affair approval, but largely the crowd consisted of students, eager to hear something outside the limits of their formal lectures or simply curious. It seemed that her own name was enough to stir that curiosity when it was attached to the event. Barbara had insisted, even to the point of staying home,
This is your venture. Have faith that you can carry it off.
It had made sense when she’d said it, but she wished for Barbara’s presence for comfort, if not for courage.

This time she stood alone, welcoming those who would expect special notice or who were close friends. Jeanne and Antuniet arrived together, but she had no time for more than a brief nod. It seemed Antuniet had decided to spend a mark or two on new clothing after all… No, she’d seen that outfit before on Jeanne. So perhaps the pride could bend a little when there was no complication of patronage to provoke it. With no time to think further on the matter, she turned with a glad cry to greet Amiz Waldimen and Cheris Riumai, but it was Cheris Enien now. “I scarcely expected to see you here. Amiz, have you decided to give up balls and return to the university?” They all laughed, for Amiz had never been more than desultory at her studies, attending lectures out of boredom while waiting for her turn to be out.

“I saw the notice and thought it would be a lark to see what you were up to. And I dragged Cheris along so I wouldn’t need my mother as
vizeino
. I don’t know that she’d entirely approve.”

There were others present from the loose community of girl-scholars: the ones hungry for what scraps the university allowed to fall their way and the ones, like Amiz, who had attended lectures as a permitted license from their sheltered lives. Margerit knew she’d become something of a legend among the younger girl-scholars and there were some shy and longing glances from under the shadow of their escorts. But welcome though the girls were, the most important audience for the lecture would be men. They were the ones who could pay for tutoring, whether for their children or themselves.