Path of the Eclipse (45 page)

“Why would earth aid spells?” Rogerio persisted, bending to move a number of the sacks he had cataloged into a tighter pile.

“I doubt the earth does aid it, but if the magus believes it does, it will be essential to him. You remember that sorcerer in Britain? He was a man about fifty, a fair healer and good with herbs.” He saw Rogerio nod. “He had earth from all over the island, and before every campaign, he would perform certain rites that used the earth so that his leader would triumph. It may have helped. As I recall, they held that beleaguered kingdom together for more than fifteen years.” Saint-Germain folded his arms. “Perhaps it’s because I’m so far from home, and may not get back to it, that I spend so much time remembering.”

Whatever Rogerio was about to reply was interrupted by the arrival of Bhatin, the eunuch who was the chief steward of the household. He was somewhat taller than Saint-Germain, with a clever face. His hair was clubbed at the back of his neck and he wore a sleeved linen tunic that almost reached his ankles. He favored Saint-Germain with a polite gesture of greeting.

“It is my honor to tell you that my mistress has come to see you.” There was no indication, either from the inflection or the words he used, how he viewed this.

Saint-Germain had spoken to Padmiri, but had not yet seen her. As was proper, she had received him in a chamber divided by an ornamental screen. This departure from custom puzzled Saint-Germain.

“I have no screen here, and the room is as dark now as I may make it,” he said to Bhatin, and noticed there was a subtle alteration in his attitude.

“She wishes to see you,” the eunuch said in his high, clear voice. “Your servant and I will remain here.” This was an order, and Rogerio bowed his acceptance.

There was a light, firm tread in the hall, and then Padmiri, sister of the Rajah Dantinusha, came into the room. Her eyes, clear as dark amber, found Saint-Germain at once, and she bent her head to him, as if she were meeting a distinguished teacher or scholar.

Saint-Germain returned her greeting. “Rani—” he began.

“No,” she corrected him in a musical, low-pitched voice. “I have renounced all claim on that title. It has brought me little but sorrow.” She met his eyes frankly. “So you are the foreigner I have admitted to my home. Welcome, foreigner.”

“You are most gracious. Your introduction the other evening was more than I had expected or hoped for.” She had told him then that he would be permitted to set up his workroom as he saw fit, that he could hire servants or purchase slaves and that so long as he paid for their maintenance, she would place no restrictions on him.

Her laughter was the sort that came only at the end of long suffering. There was a freedom in it; her laughter was for its own sake. “We are both aware of how remote this house is, and how little diversion I am able to offer you. When my brother informed me that you had much knowledge, learning and skills, it was too tempting to refuse him. You must think of this as a part of your home.” From the fleeting pain in his face, she knew she had erred. “Perhaps not your home.”

“Forgive me, Ra…” He stopped. “What shall I call you?”

“Padmiri.” She ignored the admonitory hiss Bhatin gave her. “And you? What do I call you?”

“Saint-Germain will do.” He turned toward the various piles and stacks littering the floor. “I would show you what I can produce here, but as you can see, I am not ready to begin.”

“But you will permit me to come here, on occasion?” Her handsome face brightened as she asked.

“Naturally. It is your house.” He had not intended to offend her, but he saw that he had.

“It is not my wish to be tolerated, Saint-Germain,” she said stiffly. “If you would rather I do not come here, I will respect your wishes.”

Saint-Germain made an impatient sound in his throat. “No, that was not my intention. You have the right to come here at any time and you have my invitation to do so. It was your kindness that has made it possible for me to be able to work.” His formality reassured Bhatin but puzzled his mistress.

“Tell me, Saint-Germain, why would my brother make this request of me for you?” The iridescent silk of her gold-embroidered skirt was the color of carnelian, and the short, loose jacket she wore was a deep red-brown.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he said after a moment, “but I think that the jewels he has bought from me had something to do with it.”

“Jewels?” From the way she said it, she felt that her brother had been bribed.

Saint-Germain was quick to explain. “I believe he wants more of them. He hinted as much when he sent me here.”

“And you have more jewels?” She seemed disappointed now, and raised her hand to signal Bhatin.

“I will have,” he said without amusement.

She stared at him. “You
will
have? How?”

“Why, with this,” he said, looking around the cluttered room. “I am an alchemist, Padmiri. There is more to alchemy than making gold for greedy Kings and better steel for warlike ones.” He saw that he had recaptured her interest. “There is a secret to jewels. I am not speaking of counterfeit gems, but real ones. It’s a tedious process, and most of those who practice the Great Art would rather make gold. There are more rewards in it. But there are many other achievements. There is a most effective remedy that begins with nothing more than moldy bread, which can be made relatively simply. There are pigments of rare luminosity that can be blended with certain powdered shells. The jewels are another such achievement.”

Padmiri heard him out, tension in her face. “Does my brother know this?”

“He suspects it.” He knew that his answers had disturbed her and wished to make amends. “I hadn’t intended to send him reports, Padmiri.”

“He will know of it, though. The household spies will tell him when you have made more jewels. Then he will seek you out again and will try to coerce you into doing more for him.” She shook her head and stared blindly at the window shutters. “If he does not, one of the others will and it will all begin again!”

Rogerio cast Saint-Germain a worried look, but Saint-Germain motioned him to be still, and approached Padmiri gravely. “Would you rather I leave? I have no wish to repay your generosity with trouble.”

She did not respond at once. “You don’t know what it was like when our brothers and cousins rebelled. The streets were so filled with blood that sheep and cattle could not be driven across them. I think of my uncle, who was a kindly man, and had done nothing more than take his oldest son into his house during the rebellion. He was dragged out and put on a wheel and his hands and feet sheared away. Then he was sawn apart with ropes. This man was old! He was not part of the rebellion, except that his son participated. He insisted that he was loyal to my brother and supported the truce with Delhi. It was after that that I left the court. Never have I been so grateful that I had no husband or children. Doubtless they, and I, would have been taken to the execution ground as well.” Her face was wet and there was a tremor in her voice, but she sighed and went on. “For one who insisted that you not discuss court life in any way, I have a poor opinion of my own strictures.”

Saint-Germain came near her, his dark eyes—dark in a way hers were not—full on her face. He read old anguish there, and resignation that preferred this lonely life to further hurt. “Padmiri, this is not my country, but I know what it is to lose those of my blood. You may speak to me or not as you choose, of this or any other matter. Perhaps, because I am a stranger, you will find it easier to talk.”

Padmiri wiped her face. “I don’t know if I will do so, but I know that your offer is given in kindness.”

“As was your offer to me,” he said at once, touched by her candor and her dignity.

She said nothing, turning toward the door and motioning for Bhatin to follow her. When she was at the door, she turned back. “Saint-Germain, though my brother did not ask this of me, I would have been pleased to have you here. I trust you will not regret your decision to stay here; I am glad that you have come.” With a polite lowering of her head, she was gone, and her eunuch closed the door behind them.

“An interesting woman,” Rogerio said into the silence.

“Yes,” Saint-Germain responded in a very neutral tone, and did not mention Padmiri again until two days later while he was setting the last of the bricks into place on the athanor. The storm had not passed, and there were one or two damp patches showing on the shutters as well as moisture on the floor. “Padmiri,” Saint-Germain said as he tested the shutters with a long, thin knife for rot, “told me that these shutters are three years old. She’s offered to replace them if they should require it.”

“She’s a generous hostess,” Rogerio remarked. He was putting the last of the sacks and boxes into their places on the new shelving which he had installed the day before.

“The floor is all right,” Saint-Germain went on. “I tested it yesterday. Though I think I might make up some of that sealant and apply it to the floor and walls: it will protect against stains as well as wet.”

They both continued to work; when Rogerio finished his work, he drew up one of the two rough stools in the room, and, as he sat, said, “I gather from what the grooms were saying earlier today that there were messengers from the Rajah here last night.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Saint-Germain said as he painstakingly fitted one of the last three bricks into place. He spoke rather distantly, his concentration on his hands, not his words.

“Actually, from what they said, it
is
surprising. There is little communication between Dantinusha and his sister, apparently. That’s been her choice. The servants know that regular reports are exchanged, but this was unusual.” He bent over to tug the soft shoes he wore into a better fit. “Most of the servants attribute this to your presence.”

“They may be right,” Saint-Germain said, not truly listening.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters, making the wood shiver in the frames. Rogerio looked up sharply.

“I don’t know how these people get used to these storms,” he complained, but more with irritation than ill-usage. “Last night I thought the wind would lift off the roof.”

“It did damage one of the walls of the slaves’ quarters,” Saint-Germain said, standing upright and looking away from the athanor.

“When was that?”

“Late last night, apparently. Two of the slaves were badly hurt when a beam fell. One of them died.” He spoke quietly, icily. “From what Bhatin said this morning, he views the whole incident as inconvenient. Slaves are necessary to a household this size, and having two die unexpectedly upsets the order of the house.”

“Did Bhatin wish your aid?” Rogerio straightened up.

“No. He is of the belief that if he aided these slaves, he would have karma with them in a later life, and he cannot bear the thought of having to deal with Untouchables. When he came to my room this morning, it was to deliver a message from Padmiri.”

“Why does she send a message to you? Why not carry it herself or ask that you come to her?” Rogerio found many of the ways of Hindus difficult to understand, and despite two journeys through Hindu countries, had never learned to deal with the formalities or the customs.

“Apparently it is not fitting that she come to me, and requesting that I come to her is little better. She lives alone and has never married, and there are many restrictions on such women.” He gave his manservant a tight smile. “Do they know that you understand them, the servants?”

Rogerio shrugged. “They know that I understand a little, but they think that if they speak quickly, I will not be able to follow what they say.”

“That’s a useful ruse,” Saint-Germain approved. “Don’t let them learn otherwise. We may have need of servants’ gossip before we leave here.”

One of the shutters banged open on a fierce gust of wind. Rain streamed into the room, spattering and darkening the floor. Rogerio moved quickly to secure it as Saint-Germain threw rough sacking onto the spreading pool. When the water had been mopped up and the shutter protected with a double twist of wire, Saint-Germain pulled the other stool away from the wall and straddled it.

“Padmiri is curious about what we do here, but I doubt she will intrude. I will invite her to visit here regularly, which will lessen the suspicions of the household a little.” He stared, unseeing, at the opposite wall. “I wish I knew which of the servants were spies, and for whom.”

“Is there any way to discover that?” Rogerio did not think that there was, but hoped that Saint-Germain might know a method to obtain that information.

“It might be done by accident. Spies are natural to a court, and it isn’t impossible to find out who supplies information, at least trivial information. In a household such as this one, I don’t know what must be done to unearth the spies. You’re more apt to stumble on spies than I am, as the servants may be bolder around you.” He put his hand to his forehead. “It’s … disquieting to be here. This is a prison without bars. Very pleasant, certainly, but still a prison.”

“Is that why the Rajah sent you here?” Rogerio got up from the stool and began to make measurements on the wall, using a length of knotted cord.

“I think so, in part. Though what his sister makes of this, I can’t say. If she were younger than he is, he might be able to command her at will, but since she is older…”

“When will you speak with her again?” Rogerio began making notes on a narrow paper scroll. The numerals he used were Roman, though Saint-Germain had often pointed out that the Arabic system was faster, more adaptable and useful; Rogerio had learned his figures the Roman way and he preferred to continue to use them.

“Later today, I hope. It’s awkward, because of our irregular position in society. From what Bhatin said this morning, no one is quite sure how you and I are to be treated. Bhatin delivered her message and I asked him to tell her that I could not reply as I would wish to the question, and told him that I hoped she would be willing to receive me so that we might discuss the matter. Bhatin is not convinced that I have any right to make that request, or that Padmiri should grant it, but I’m fairly sure he’ll repeat what I said.” He looked around the room. “I think we’ll be able to do serious work fairly soon. If the weather changes, it will go more easily. It will take at least two days after the rains stop for the road to be passable to wagons. Once we get the next consignment from Chol, we will do well.” His face lightened at the prospect of working again. He had missed the excitement of alchemy, the discipline and the discovery which had fascinated him for more years than he cared to count. His work and his music had sustained him—he had been without both for too long.