An Embarrassment of Riches (21 page)

Smiricti looked even more uncomfortable. “The Episcopus says it is vanity to take such life, and a sin to attack any of God’s creatures; he himself does not eat meat except for lamb at Easter. He says that God gave us the task of ruling over all creatures.”

“Does that mean that the Episcopus thinks that rats are answerable to God? If they are so dear to God, then surely they would be more prominent in Scripture, and there would be verses to explain their merits.” He shook his head. “I have heard the Pope say that rats are a plague of Satan’s doing, and that they must be purged or devils will come to work upon men.” That the Pope who had said it had been dead for five centuries he kept to himself.

Smiricti considered this. “I will inform the Counselors on this point, and the Episcopus as well. The suit of the Beggars’ Guild is still unresolved. None of us wants to act against Episcopus Fauvinel, but surely so many rats as now run in our streets and houses are a danger to the city.” He took a long breath. “So you know something of poisons. How much do you know? Or would you rather not say?” He would have asked Rakoczy more, but went silent as Barnon came in with a tray on which stood an earthenware jug and cup as well as a small loaf of bread, sliced into three pieces. “Ah. Most kind; most kind.”

“The front withdrawing room, Comes, or the rear?” Barnon asked.

“The front. It is warmer,” said Rakoczy. “And when you are done here, will you find Hruther and ask him to come to me?”

“Of course, Comes,” said Barnon, going toward the front withdrawing room, his tray held high. “Will you want a meal for the Counselor?”

“Not this time,” said Smiricti, speaking directly to Rakoczy, as if the Comes had asked the question. “I am expected home shortly, to dine with my family. On another occasion, it would be my honor.”

“We will arrange it,” said Rakoczy, leading the way to the withdrawing room

“I will put the tray on the low table,” Barnon announced, and set action to his words.

“Thank you, Barnon,” said Rakoczy, and noticed that Barnon no longer winced at this unusual courtesy. He nodded to the upholstered chair. “If you would sit, Counselor?”

“Most gracious,” said Smiricti.

“And let me offer you some wine,” he went on, taking the earthenware jug and pouring out a good measure of hot, spiced wine into the cup.

“It’s a pity you don’t drink. Your wines are delicious,” said Smiricti as he took the cup and drank. He smiled as the warmth went through him.

“I thank you for your satisfaction,” said Rakoczy. He went to poke the log in the fireplace that served both withdrawing rooms; sparks danced in the billowing smoke that rose from the log. “The chimney wants cleaning,” he said to himself.

“Better to clean in the summer than the winter,” said Smiricti. “There’s better weather and the fires aren’t needed, so the cleaner can take his time.”

“The chimney might not wait so long to catch fire, given how poorly it draws.” He thought of the bake-house flue with the rats’ nest inside it. It had taken the smallest of the scullions to get the mess cleaned out, and the boy was ill for a week afterward.

“Half the chimneys in Praha smoke like yours,” said Smiricti, his words muffled by the section of bread he had popped into his mouth.

“Is there someone you can recommend?” Rakoczy asked, coming back to the table and sitting in the X-shaped chair across from Counselor Smiricti. “I would rather not subject one of my servants to the task.”

“Ahil is known to be reliable, for all he’s Bulgar; I’ve had him clean the flues in my house and they smoke much less now. He has two midgets who have worked for him many years; they know what they’re doing,” said Smiricti, chewing vigorously. “You can find him at the Artisans’ Market.”

“Thank you,” said Rakoczy. He regarded Smiricti for a short while, trying to discern what more the Counselor wanted from him, for clearly he was circling another question. “I will prepare a list of the various ways I deal with rats and have it carried to your house this afternoon. Employ those methods you like.” He paused, then took a chance. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“The Konige will be pleased that you have contributed so much to the coming festivities. And it is her intention to see that you have citation for your many generous gifts.” Smiricti finished the wine in his cup, and made no protest when Rakoczy rose and filled it again. “She has remained melancholy, in spite of all we have done to help her to regain her spirits. Neither musicians nor jongleurs can brighten her heart for very long. The Episcopus himself has exhorted her for her lack of trust in God, yet she remains despondent.”

“She was hoping for a son,” Rakoczy reminded him.

“But God gave her a daughter. Undoubtedly He has reason for what He has done. The Episcopus and Pader Stanislas have pressed her to embrace Agnethe.” He shrugged philosophically. “It would do her a world of good to bow to God’s Will. The Episcopus is right about that. She must not continue to languish as she has done. There should be something that will restore her to her former spirits.” He took another section of the bread and began to chew it, more slowly than before.

“It is unfortunate, particularly for the Konige,” said Rakoczy.

“If there is something—someone—who could alleviate her misery, you would tell me who or what that is, wouldn’t you?”

“If I did know, I would.” Rakoczy felt more guarded.

“Pader Stanislas has recommended she drink the blood of merry animals—lambs and puppies, or perhaps songbirds. The Episcopus is considering it.”

“That could be risky,” said Rakoczy, his manner deliberately thoughtful. “Merriment is not the only virtue of those animals, and what the Konige takes could have results that would not please her or the Konig.”

Smiricti nodded, then asked, “What kind of poison do you use on rats?”

Realizing that Smiricti would say nothing more about Konige Kunigunde, he answered, “I use wolfsbane and syrup of poppies mixed with grain and formed into cakes, which I put into boxes with holes in them to allow the rats to enter. They die with little pain. Their bodies must be disposed of quickly, to keep the dogs and cats from eating their deadly flesh.” He spoke readily enough, though he could see suspicion in Smiricti’s eyes. “It is best to put the boxes in places where rats gather—closets and cupboards and granaries. If you put the cakes where dogs or ferrets can find them, the animals may eat the cakes and die.”

“Why not just put the cakes inside the rat-holes?” Smiricti’s curiosity kept Rakoczy alert. “Why go to the trouble of a box?”

“I use the box for the same reason that I place them prudently—so that no other creature, except perhaps mice, will eat the cakes and die of them, inside the box,” Rakoczy told him. “And any creature who might eat a dead rat will not be able to do so, and perish from it.”

Unexpectedly, Smiricti grinned. “The Episcopus should approve that, if he approves killing the rats at all.” He looked around, his eyes shining with speculation. “Is there such a box in this room?”

“No; most of my boxes are in the kitchen, the pantry, the bake-house, and the stable. I have two on the upper floor.” He watched Smiricti finish off his second cup of wine and went to refill the cup, but was stopped as the Counselor held up his hand.

“You are most generous, Comes, but I have a way to go, and cannot linger much longer.” He made a moue of regret. “The demands of the Council are with me, day and night, and the rain will not spare me.”

“Are you afoot or do you have a carriage—”

“I’m walking. I have two men-at-arms to walk with me: they’ve gone to the servants’ hall. They have my pluvial with them.” He patted his huch. “That is why I’m dry.” He rose, ducking his head to his host. “I will look forward to your methods for killing rats later today. The rain always brings them out in droves.”

Rakoczy accompanied Smiricti to the door of the room and called for Barnon again. “There are two men-at-arms in—”

“—the servants’ hall. I will tell them their master wishes to leave. Hruther is in your workroom, busy with the task you assigned him.” He left without waiting to be dismissed, offering little more than a nod.

“Insolent fellow,” Smiricti remarked.

“He is unaccustomed to my ways, and that makes him brusque. He has not been treated with much respect until now. There is no harm in him.” Rakoczy escorted the Counselor into the entry hall, taking care not to rush him, and hoping the Counselor might give some sign of what his underlying purpose for his visit was. “When you learn when the Konig will arrive, will you be good enough to let me know? I want to be sure that Mansion Belcrady is ready for his return, with fir garlands hung from the walls.”

“Yes, I will,” said Smiricti, his attention on the half-completed mural by the door while he pulled on his gloves. “They say we may have flooding along the river if the rain persists.”

“That has happened before,” Rakoczy said.

“It is God’s Will,” Smiricti grumbled, then said more genially, “Well, the Konig will be back shortly. We will pray the rain ends and that no flood comes.”

“Are you still planning the civic procession? If the weather remains wet, will you have the procession?” Rakoczy anticipated the answer.

“Of course we will have the procession, but we will wait until the skies clear and Otakar is here; the procession will take place. Even Episcopus Fauvinel has said it is a worthy deed.” A loud thump on the door announced the arrival of Smiricti’s escort; the Counselor nodded to Rakoczy. “I thank you again for receiving me and for your help.” He was startled when Rakoczy opened the door for him. “Too much honor, Comes.”

“Hardly an honor,” Rakoczy said, taking note of the two bedraggled men-at-arms huddled on the steps. “Why should we all wait for Barnon to return and open the door?”

Smiricti reached for his dark-gray pluvial and tugged it on, raising the hood. “May God guard and save you, Comes.”

“May He watch over you, Counselor,” he said, and closed the door. He stood in the entry hall for a short while, his thoughts contending within him. With none of his questions resolved, he went back through the main hall to the stairs and climbed up to the floor above. At the door to his workroom he tapped twice before going in.

Hruther was near the athanor, his heavy dull-red cotehardie showing two large stains on the left sleeve. “I would have come, but it is almost cool, my master,” he said in Imperial Latin. He nodded toward the beehive-shaped oven at the end of the room.

Rakoczy nodded, and spoke in the same tongue. “Before mid-afternoon we can remove the new jewels; I’ll prepare a pouch to present to the Konige tomorrow. I will have more by the end of the month.” He went to the fireplace and put two cut branches on the dying fire. “I have to supply the Council my various ways of killing rats. At least that is what Smiricti has requested.”

“You think he may have had another purpose,” Hruther said quietly; he came down toward the reading-table, a small stand with a tilted top and a lip to hold a book in place. “Do you know what that might be?”

“He seemed inordinately interested in my knowledge of poisons,” said Rakoczy, his voice remote.

“Did he say why he was interested?” Hruther asked.

“He wants to kill rats. I pledged to supply him a list of the methods we use,” Rakoczy said, making his way to the athanor and testing the heat-plate on the door; he pulled his hand back at once, shaking his fingers. “I may be seeing things in the shadows, but I have the sense that he is seeking something more from me than how to kill rats.”

“What did he say that made you think so?” Hruther’s austere features revealed nothing of his thoughts.

“There was no one thing, except that he dwelt on the details of how the poison is given, though I did offer him details.” Rakoczy began to pace, his dark eyes clouded by worry. “I am fretful. It is as if my soul were itching, or it may be little more than that my mind is growing bored and restive with this place.” He turned at the athanor and came back toward Hruther. “My aggravation may be nothing more than a sensation of frustration.”

“You do not usually like imprisonment,” Hruther observed. “Why should this be any different because the accommodations are amiable?”

“Imprisonment?” Rakoczy stopped moving and stared at him.

“Why yes,” said Hruther calmly. “I’ve been mulling this over for a few months. Praha may be more pleasant than a lightless cell in Kara Khorum, or a barred hut in Tolosa, but you are still confined and constrained: you may not return to Santu-Germaniu without bringing war and rapine to your vassals; you may not leave this city without abandoning your people and your land to the vengeance of Konig Bela. You are bound here as if by chains; half the Konige’s Court might as well be your jailers, so closely are you watched. So it is a prison.”

Rakoczy considered this, and nodded. “I had not thought of my exile in that light.” He folded his arms. “I have let myself become more captive by seeing faces in the shadows.”

“Which may well be there,” Hruther interjected.

“So they might,” Rakoczy agreed. “No doubt there are some of those faces here in this household.”

“Only two of the staff can read, and only one can write,” Hruther reminded him.

“So if they spy, they spy for Konige Kunigunde, and give their information to other spies,” said Rakoczy with a fatalistic nod. “Unless there is someone from Konig Bela here at Court to whom they report, or a priest who keeps Episcopus Fauvinel clandestinely informed.” He clapped his hands in exasperation. “Only one of the Konige’s ladies-in-waiting reads—Imbolya of Heves. I was told that Erzebet of Arad could read and write.” He looked toward the hearth. “Perhaps she had discovered something in her reading that was secret and that was why she was killed.”