Daughter of Mystery (31 page)

It was a surprising insight. Barbara thought back on every move she had made since that day in the warehouse. “I don’t have a legal standing,” she explained once more, “to attack in my own defense.”

“But you do in my defense,” Margerit countered. “And if I lose your protection, that’s an attack on me. It doesn’t matter what they intended.”

Barbara considered the argument. It might hold before a judge if it came to that, but she wasn’t sure she cared to test the case.

“From now on, you do whatever you need to in order to be safe. If it ever comes to a matter of law, I’ll swear it was by my orders—and it’ll be true. Whatever comes after can fall on me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand what that could mean.”

Margerit’s response was sharp. “I understand what it would mean if I lost you! Promise me. Promise you won’t let yourself get cornered again out of some mistaken fear of bringing trouble on my head. You told me last night that when the baron trained you to fight he gave you permission to do anything necessary to protect yourself. Why won’t you take that same permission from me?”

Because you aren’t the Baron Saveze. You have no power, no influence to let me get away with murder.
But did it matter? Money could buy a great deal of forgiveness. And these thugs weren’t courtiers with friends in high places like Estefen’s friend Iohenrik had been. “I promise,” she said at last.

* * *

The first week, it was easier than she would have thought to do nothing. The stiffness made it a challenge simply to dress and manage the stairs. The dull throb in her head made books no comfortable refuge. And the constant sullen drizzle of the rain ruled out the gardens as a safe place for slow limping walks. She had quarreled with Margerit once more on the question of leaving the house but the risk of encountering her creditor’s men while still lame won that argument. It was still maddening to stand idly by and watch another take her place, however temporary it might be. The only thing that sealed her obedience was the promise that—barring reinjury—she would be back at her duties by the time the Christmas guests descended on the household.

By the second week she had returned to her own studies and noticed how empty the house seemed when Margerit was out and about. It was Marken who saw her to all her lectures and kicked his heels at the afternoon teas and mingled with the other armins at the evening affairs. She would have felt a twinge of jealousy except that he was as eager as she was to get back to sharing the rigorous schedule of looking after a scholar-debutante.

In odd moments that week her mind went back to the problem of how to settle those shadows from her past. She looked again for the copy of the debt tract that Margerit had brought but it was gone. Only borrowed, no doubt, and returned. So she found herself setting out the key points anew on paper.

Item: Her father had died encumbered of a large debt. Large enough to swallow not only his own wealth and his wife’s dowry but enough of his family’s resources that their name itself was abandoned as poisonous. Large, but not unusual. The last generation had seen many upheavals and turnarounds and not all the fault of their victims. Most such debts were pursued for a time then abandoned as the potential targets fell away or disappeared. If it were only the sum involved, it might make her worth the trouble of pursuing, but there had to be some hope of payoff. Chances were the debt itself had changed hands more than once. These things were bought and sold in hidden markets and not always only with gold in mind.

Item: She had been protected from the liability for that debt by virtue of having no resources to pursue. It had been a brutally crude method, but not originally by the baron’s choice. Indeed, it had only been made possible by her father’s last act of greed. By selling his child—however base his own motivations—he had set a wall about her. For nearly twenty years that protection had held with no assault. Or had there been? She couldn’t know what sorties might have been deflected over the years. No, there would have been some sign. The sort of man she was dealing with now would have had no compunction about exposing a child to his maneuverings. No, there had been some other bar. And why now? When the same legal shield still stood? The answer was no doubt the same. Whoever it was—perhaps several whoevers—had feared the baron. Margerit was not the least frightening. Whether they thought to work on her by threats to Margerit, or work on Margerit by threats to her, they believed there was some hope of gain.

Question: Would there be any use in identifying her father by name? Her father…well, she hardly had any fond thoughts for that unremembered individual, but she cherished the promise of a return of her name as she hoped for salvation. And the baron had promised she would know. But he’d made other promises that lay broken. Was there a point to waiting patiently for another year—just a year and a bit? Would anything change? Why wait? That name was her only inheritance. Why not claim it for herself?

Item: She had been born at the end of the year in the twenty-eighth year of the reign of the current prince. There would be a record of baptism some time in the month following. At some church. Somewhere in Alpennia. Listing as father some now-forgotten nobleman—and many had been forgotten in the time since then. She knew nothing of her mother’s family except that they had abandoned her in her time of need, but the clues were there. It wouldn’t be the first time a family of wealth and ambition had married off a daughter in the hope of buying nobility for their grandchildren.

So all that was needed was to search in one month’s records in the entire country for an entry recording the baptism of one Barbara, daughter of a now-extinct line, who could not be otherwise accounted for among the Barbaras now living. It was a name neither common nor unusual. And many families had vanished during the war or the chaos that came after. Prince Aukust had found those gaps very useful for renewing the ranks of the nobility from the ablest of the middle rank.

Barbara sighed. Well, perhaps it was simpler than that. Most likely, she had been born here in Rotenek. And if her father’s family had been prominent, there were only certain churches that would have been sufficiently dignified for his child’s baptism. It wasn’t such an impossible task.

She was still poring over her notes when Margerit came in, excited to share the latest arguments from Dozzur Mihailin’s lecture on the new philosophers. And how he had led one pompous student into such a tangle of argument that he ended up denouncing Aquinas by accident. Barbara unobtrusively slipped her notes under a ledger to take away later. This was her puzzle, for her to solve.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Margerit

Margerit wondered if Aunt Bertrut had been overly cautious in timing the wedding itself. She’d declined to send announcements of the betrothal to Chalanz on the technical grounds that such notices were really invitations to the wedding and no general invitations would be issued. The wedding itself was held a bare week before the Fulpis were due to arrive, guaranteeing that the personal announcements would cross on the road, giving Uncle Mauriz no opportunity either to cancel the visit or to complain of not being told. In the hubbub of arrival and introductions Uncle Mauriz kept his response to a startled silence. Afterward, his ability to rage about it was damped by Mesner Pertinek’s calm insistence on staying at Bertrut’s side and doggedly repeating, with no wavering of the cheerful expression on his pleasant round face, “The matter is really none of your affair, Fulpi.” Short of destroying Aunt Honurat’s and the girls’ enjoyment of the visit, that left nothing but acceptance.

With the family crisis past, Margerit was free to enjoy playing hostess and showing off what the capital had to offer. Sofi and Iulien were too young for there to be any question of begging invitations to formal dances at the grand
salle
but there was the opera and the lesser theaters. There was shopping and the exotic sights at the Strangers’ Market in the wharf district. There was the simple opportunity to walk out and see people and things that were only fairy tales back in Chalanz. Even the excitement of coming across a formal duel one afternoon in the Plaizekil, though Aunt Honurat hurried the girls away in an excess of caution. And above all there was the unmatched pageantry of the seasonal celebrations at the cathedral.

With her newly sharpened perceptions, Margerit found the holiday services fertile ground for new questions. Was there truly a distinction between mysteries of worship and petition? The joyful Mass of Christmas Day produced the same dizzying effects of
sonitus
and
visio
that the more purposeful ceremony on Mauriz’s feast had. Yet in several sessions of close observation on ordinary days, it was only—or mostly—the petitions whose answers could be perceived. Perhaps it was an effect of numbers. A packed crowd of worshippers each contributing his mite, blazing like the Milky Way to a single star. Perhaps that was the reason for the guilds—beyond the simple human desire to gather in groups. Even those blind to the immediate response of the saints might have found that the petitions of groups were more often answered than solo ones. Yet the visions seemed tied to purpose. Where was the purpose in celebrating the Nativity? So many puzzles still to solve! In the ordinary way of things, she would have closeted herself in the library afterward with only Barbara and her books for company, hunting down what this author or that might have opined. But there were few quiet moments with the house full and entertainments to organize. And there were entire days when she didn’t see Barbara even in passing.

Margerit stretched the rules sufficiently to invite Amiz and her parents to a small dinner party. There was no bar of rank between the Waldimens and Fulpis and one could make allowances for the charm of country manners on occasion. Even Nikule brought little awkwardness and both of them were able to pretend that day in the parlor on Chaturik Square had never happened. On the last day before the visit was to end, when Nikule was making noises about returning to his lodgings for the evening—for even student rooms were more spacious than what he would have gotten at Tiporsel with all the visitors—he took her aside and asked to speak with her privately.

“I have a…a proposition to pass on to you,” he began and then hastily protested, “no, no, nothing like that!” at the wary look in her eyes.

So she went aside with him to a corner of the drawing room to listen.

His explanation was hesitant, as if he were afraid to provoke her into a swift refusal. “There are some fellows I know, they’ve been talking about starting a new mystery guild at the university. Not one of those stuffy old men’s clubs like Papa always complains about and not…well, I know that student guilds have a reputation for being drinking clubs and…and worse. They want to begin something that’s actually focused on celebrating mysteries. Maybe researching and reviving some of the older ones. Maybe trying to create new ones.”

Her interest was caught. She nodded, trying not to show too much excitement in case it were only teasing as he used to do. But Nikule seemed in earnest.

“One of the fellows—he thinks it’s important to have a mixed guild: men and women both. He thinks it—well, I forget how he described it. All abracadabra stuff. But they want to invite some of the girl scholars. The serious ones. And they asked me to invite you. Truth to tell, I think I only got included so they’d have the chance to ask you. You have a bit of a reputation, you know.”

That was a surprise. It had never occurred to her that any of the regular scholars had even noticed her as an individual, rather than as part of the annoying gaggle in the top rows of the lecture theater. But she could see many problems. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound entirely…proper. I’m trying to imagine any of my friends being allowed to join something like that.”

“It’s all very respectable,” he insisted. “Your friend Mesnera Chazillen has already joined. And Mesnera Nantoz as well.”

The latter Margerit knew only by reputation, but that reputation was impeccable.

“Don’t imagine these are wild student parties, wandering through the catacombs by candlelight. At the moment we’re meeting at Dom Amituz—the count’s son is a member—although I think they’re looking for someplace more formal for the mysteries themselves. What can I tell them?”

Margerit could hear the story he wasn’t telling. He’d come to the notice of well-born men. Men whose families had influence. And they wanted something they thought he could provide: her. And if he failed, likely that would be the end of their notice. But a guild interested in treating the mysteries as more than simple ritual—as something to be explored and tested? And who wanted her specifically? She wondered if Antuniet had suggested her. But then why hadn’t the invitation come from her?

“I would need to ask Aunt Bertrut’s permission—to see if she thinks it’s proper.”

He seemed relieved and even teased, “But not Papa?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t understand how things work here. He’d either be against it for the wrong reasons or approve for different wrong reasons. Aunt Bertrut doesn’t know all the rules but she knows whom to ask. She’s never set me on the wrong path yet.”

Nikule nodded though he looked as if he’d hoped for a more certain answer. And then he ventured, “Margerit…,” in an even more hesitant tone than before.

She waited.

“Margerit…I’m sorry. That matter. Back in Chalanz. I didn’t—”

“It’s forgotten,” she said firmly. And somewhat to her own surprise, she meant it. He’d been a pawn in Uncle Fulpi’s plans as much as she had. And it had been those plans that set her free. Nikule was no more a villain than he was the icon of her childish fancies. And if the guild’s invitation were a peace offering, they could both consider the matter closed.

When Bertrut was petitioned, she took several anxious days to consult with a few well-chosen acquaintances. And in the end, the answer was yes. The judgment had been made that this new guild was a harmless enough diversion. The principals were from some of the oldest families and the ordinary members at least had no bad reputation. And if it brought the young lady scholars together with men who would never be admitted to their parents’ drawing rooms, as long as the proprieties were observed it was no worse than attending lectures in the first place.