Annise tried not to flinch. Yes, Marissa was a great one for obedience, the stuck up vindictive bitch. After that loaded and layered statement, d’Cardelhac seemed to pause as if reluctant to speak and Annise tried not to let hope surge. Was this unease or maybe uncertainty? “Mistress Athyney, there are matters stirring here in England and elsewhere. They…they disturb the Council.”
Annise blinked. Ahh—what? Marissa’s servant almost grimaced in disgust as if mentioning these ‘matters’ soiled his tongue
“Over the past few years there have been a plethora of foul and unpleasant deeds, some not seen since the Dark times of the Great Mortality.”
Annise did more than blink at that. Unbidden her trembling hand clutched at her ruby. “By Christ no…not again!” If any time seemed to herald the End of all Days it was that yawning chasm of darkness and death. Hundreds of thousands cut down by Death’s sharp scythe. Even their kind, commonly immune to scourges, were taken by the contagion or the insanity it left in its wake.
D’Cardelhac nodded almost grimly satisfied at her reaction. “Yes, it could be so. Thus Marissa commands you to report any matter that appears to you touched of those times.”
Annise shook her head. Shock and disdain in equal measure? Command—why a command? Any return to those evil times threatened them all. Wouldn’t that be better couched as a ‘request’. Damn Marissa for her arrogance! It was almost a natural instinct to voice the next question. “Is it Volund and…and the Convocation?”
Marissa’s watchdog shifted uncomfortably, nostrils flaring and his lips flickered briefly into a mask of loathing and stark hatred. All the servants of the Council knew of the long standing and famous rancour between her and Volund. Kingdoms had trembled and fallen due to their burning desires for revenge, or so it was whispered. When she’d served Lord Volund it was understood as a ‘forbidden’ topic of discussion or speculation. Not even his rebellious minion, Edwin, during his frequent drunken bouts of whining and misery dared hint at it.
As for an answer, d’Cardelhac continued the silence looking deeply into her eyes as if weighing and judging loyalty…or treachery.
Annise dropped her clenched hand and stood straight and defiant, daring him to put the question. To her surprise it was Marissa’s messenger who broke the contest of will, his glaze sliding back out the glazed window. “The Convocation, oui, maybe, according to the Council lords, though do not discount other sources. If in doubt you are ‘required’ to send an immediate message.”
Annise gave a mute nod. The Council, like any other entrenched body, were famously niggardly. To stretch so far as an arcane message leaping across the long leagues spoke more eloquently of threat than a thousand words.
“I give you good day Mistress Athyney and bid you remember your duty and your debts.” At that last injunction d’Cardelhac curtly terminated their brief discourse, made another hint at a bow and brusquely pulled on his gloves, baldly stating that other matters claimed his attention, though he lingered long enough to whisper a few choice words, the most prominent being a hissed ‘Moskow’
Annise returned the rudeness with a deeper show of respect, head bowed, her knees almost touching the floor as Marissa’s’ tightlipped messenger strode out and vanished into the tidal flow of the lane. Gradually Annise’s heart slowed down from its drumbeat tattoo. What in the name of all the blessed saints was all that about? Moskow? Moskow for the love of God, Jesus Christ and the blessed saints and martyrs! D’Cardelhac’s distrust and dislike of her was no secret, nor was that of his mistress or her ready blade, Roderigo. However, except for the unfortunate ‘incident’ that lead to her current situation, Sire Alain had always been stiffly correct even if icily polite. This latest visit was abrupt and insulting to the point of challenge. As for the hinted threat, Annise shivered. Why’d he say that? Fear wasn’t a motivation, was it? She’d have recognized that emotion easily. Anyway if rumour was correct, Sire d’Cardelhac had slain several Ulfhednars, the full blooded wolf beasts. Not the feat of any man who tasted the black bile of fear. But Moskow?
A gentle knock at the door pulled Annise back to the here and now. A fellow in livery was at the doorway beside Master Howarth, letter in hand. She dusted off her kirtle and handing over a penny accepted the folded parchment. Breaking the seal and thread she quickly scanned it. God’s curse on the impudent meddler! Agryppa again, now demanding that she attend him an hour before sunset. Instinctively she glanced out the window, hmm still thick cloud, and tapped the parchment in thought. A heavy cowl this season would suffice. With a dismissive flick of her fingers she waved off the doctor’s servant.
Frowning in deep annoyance Annise set to work. A heavy apron was first on her list. She wasn’t going to ruin a good kirtle for that worthless physician. As for Marissa’s abrupt command and less than cryptic warning, she shrugged. Time would sort it out, or not. Anyway she had her own moaning minion to drag out of whichever tavern or tumbled ale house held him captive today. She smiled at the thought. Yes mayhap a good bout of penitential whipping was in order. It would certainly restore her spirits.
****
Chapter 12: Modern Methods—Blackfriars Chapel
Annise viewed their new master’s fussy preparation with a feigned air of disinterest. So this Doctor Agryppa thought he could twitch them like a mummer’s puppets, huh? What a fool! Inwardly she gave a smile of satisfaction. Despite the disgust of bondage she was beginning to enjoy this second night. It wasn’t half as boring as she’d expected. For one thing, everyone on this room, well at least the living company, spent all their time pretending they weren’t watching the others. Richard of course had his eye on that nervous servant of Francis Bryan’s as well as another on the doorway to the crypt. That was only to be expected. The fellow’s master was playing his own game of observation as he made a play at nonchalance, leaning against the crypt wall. Annise even felt flattered by his recognition of her discrete glances, in between his close attention to Agryppa and strangely also to the body. That was the audience. Agryppa had dismissed his servants so they were alone the, oh yes, five of them. One mustn’t forget the faithful Richard her bonded retainer. When he wasn’t moaning about his sins or playing at penance he had his uses, such as earlier this day. But her main focus was on their supposed new lord and master.
She was highly amused to notice that Agryppa’s attention was divided in three. Firstly there was his setup by the corpse, secondly his feigned dismissive glance at her, and thirdly the watchful eye he kept on Master Bryan. As she’d speculated at the tavern and in the alley, their alliance appeared to be freshly minted. That being so divined, she’d sought to create a few, ahh, tensions.
The first play had been her feeding at Southwark the previous night. That was an impulsive whim. The scent of fresh blood was still so heavy in the air and the low moans of the wounded assailant set off all her predatory instincts. The fool hadn’t been rescued by his companions and had dragged himself less than fifty paces. Taking the pause of indecision as ascent, she’d slipped out of the wooden platens that kept her shoes out the street filth, then despite the heavy layers of the dress quietly sped down the rutted alley. The pull of the hunt had taken over, and like the silent angel of death, she was over the groaning man before he could make out more than a shadow. One hand had knocked the dagger out of his weakened grip while the other grabbed his doublet and pulled him close with all the intimacy of a lover. Annise inhaled the iron tang of blood and her needle sharp eyeteeth surged out of their sockets. Almost purring she rubbed her cheek over the course bristles of the fellow’s face. His breathing was short and gasping, then as the tip of a tooth gashed his neck, he let out a startled scream. Annise smiled and moving her other hand up and severed the man’s windpipe with the captured dagger. The scream abruptly terminated in a loud rasping bubbling and Annise moved her mouth over to where the artery lay, Its rapid beat drew her in. She closed her eyes and bit down. The eyeteeth easily punctured the skin and flesh and she tasted the life as
it spurted over her tongue. Ohhh…pleasure.
On her return she’d left her face covered in blood. Usually she was obsessively fastidious with her appearance, and would never have made the grievous error of dining so publicly. But if her ‘master’ wanted any of her services this night then well, perhaps he should consider the cost of the coin. The result had been worth the risk. One of the servants had pissed their hose, while the redoubtable Doctor Agryppa, master of modern magicks, had noisily vomited. As for Master Bryan, he’d raised an eyebrow in, ahh, open interest and possibly amusement. Overall, a very satisfying result.
Even here in the crypt she could see that Agryppa was worrying over his degree of control. For the second time in the past few minutes he’d cursed under his breath and had to repair another error in his little device. His undercurrent of uncertainty gave her an extra measure of satisfaction, so to keep that edge she’d taken a few paces closer to peer over his shoulder. Agryppa flinched nervously and glared at her and then returned to his finicky adjustments of some kind of silvered concave disc about a foot across. He’d positioned it above the corpse and opposite the strange lion footed lantern on the bench.
She took a pace sideways and gave the lantern a light tap with a finger. “What use is this…toy?”
Agryppa left off his adjustments and turned his scowling attention to her. “Mistress Athyney.” Oh wasn’t that a bitter waspish tone. “No doubt you are unaware of the modern philosophy of magick and alchemy. These new ideas and methods have left the older practices, as it were, behind moldering in the dust of the past.”
Annise gave an indulgently edged smile. Agryppa may publicly proclaim so to bolster his credibility, but if it was so then why had he gone to so much effort to snare her now ‘decayed and moldering’ skills?
Agryppa’s frown deepened at her dismissive attitude and he stroked the boxy lantern with the fond regard of possession. “With the aid of this device Mistress Athyney, and my modern interpretation of the ancient Catoptrica, I divined that we are dealing with a matter of the darkest Arcanum!”
Annise gave a shrug. In her experience most so called masters of magick stubbed a toe and automatically attributed it to the curse of some rival via the intercession of a malignant star. From what she could see Agryppa, for all his trinkets, was no better. “Hmm.”
Her doubtful hum didn’t need any further clarification. Agryppa glared at her and rapped the bench with a clenched fist. His face was flushed with rising choler as he struggled to control his anger. But before he could launch into a new tirade the dryly amused drawl of Master Bryan cut through the discussion. “Actually I believed it was the re–animation of the corpse that clinched the debate…twice.”
Annise gave the interrupter a flashing smile just to annoy Agryppa. “So Master Bryan, you were there?”
“Oh yes. Actually there were three occasions now I think about it, including the first where she tried to murder me though she was living and breathing then.”
Annise couldn’t help it. She blinked in amazement. This courtier survived three attacks? It wasn’t possible! Either living or dead the possessed were dangerous to fight, even for one of her experience. Suddenly the depth of ignorance yawned before her and angrily Annise rounded on her so–called lord. “You fool! You said this was just a corpse. Just when did you plan on telling me it was a possession?”
“Silence demon—do not question your betters!”
“Betters?” Spat out Annise her wrath rising. “You pickle brained idiot, you don’t have the slightest comprehension of the peril. Where are the wards and precautions?”
It may have been a reasonable question but Agryppa took the questioning of his abilities as a personal slur. He grabbed a silvered fork from his belt and struck the crystal ampoule hanging from the chain at his throat. Annise dropped suddenly to her knees clutching her head. It was full of the chiming ring that echoed around her skull. Blood began to drip from her nose and her vision pulsed in waves of black and red. Then abruptly the pain stopped.
“Enough Agryppa I think you’ve made your point. However I would also like to know what protections we have.”
Annise raised her aching head and saw that Master Bryan had caught hold of the doctor’s hand and held it tight. His voice was harder than she remembered from the tavern. Now it rang with the edge of accustomed authority.
Agryppa glared, his teeth bared and clenched together. To Annise in the remembered blur of pain for a trembling moment they both appeared locked together in some unseen struggle of will. Then the master of modern magicks gave a sneering grimace and shook off the loosened grip. The silver fork though was replaced inside some inner pocket of his dark gown. “We’re safe enough Master Bryan. My device dispelled the baleful influences. Now all we have to do is track the possession back to its source.”
With the aid of a concerned Richard, Annise pulled herself upright and cautiously shook her head. Silently she cursed the rash impulse to challenge Agryppa. Too damned soon. While he was arrogant and pompous, the doctor also knew how to cause pain. That was careless. She’d bruised his pride earlier and Agryppa wasn’t a man to let an insult pass un–avenged. As for the intercession of Bryan, it was a minor point gained given the whipping. Annise retreated several paces to continue her observation and regain her shattered composure.
Agryppa didn’t even spare her a triumphal smirk, instead returning all his attention to setting up his array of devices and ignoring his audience. Eventually the lantern threw a beam of pale light at the concave mirror which then reflected it onto the corpse. She watched Agryppa tug his beard and nod before slipping in a careful selection of several coloured frames of glass. This adjustment concluded, the colour of the beam transformed from glowing white to shades of blue with a touch of purple. And to her amazement under the shifting spectrum the corpse appeared to glow with a mottled hue.
Now Agryppa turned to her, the glow of triumph in his eyes and the self–proclaimed master of modern magicks peremptorily waved her over to the body like the lowest minion. This time Annise played the chastised maiden, walking over with lowered head. Agryppa in the meantime returned a mocking bow along with his orders. “I charge you Mistress Athyney, divine the source of this mischief.”
She ignored the tone and concentrated on the corpse. The long night hours tethered here with this smoldering fool had cramped her, thinking and skills, she stretched out her hands and fingers spread wide moved over the body from top to toe. At her estimation the woman was of some twenty years of age. From long familiarity she could tell the waxy skin was flushed with life two days or so before. Now all the muscles had slackened and from a sniff she detected the first hints of putrefaction. In the life the girl would have been attractive with her fine cheekbones and shapely figure. Idly she wondered how Master Bryan had come to slay her. Frowning away the distraction, Annise focused on whatever Agryppa’s toys had revealed. The blotching purple shadows overlay the pale skin and despite her manipulation the corpse’s limbs stayed fixed in the illumination of the lantern. Now that was interesting. There were several patches, one on the forehead, one at the heart, one each on the back of the hands.
Hmm, curious. Annise tapped her lip in thought. Lord Volund had been a good teacher of secret skills and knowledge, and as that stiffly arrogant milksop d’Cardelhac had once phrased it, he was also her true father in darkness. She’d learned the skill of the Noregr Vikingr Havamal runes and as well as the more common summonings of the denizens of the four elements by the crafts of the Visinda–kona. With considerable help and protection from time to time she’d even ventured to call up real demons that would have left Agryppa mewling in terror. This though was different to the usual recourse to the lesser spirits and minor demons. Possession and re–animation wasn’t a trick any hedge witch or supposed sorcerer could even encompass, despite their claims. As with the physical world, the laws of magicks could be bent and twisted, but breaking them, no that was too dangerous. While the initial dominance of the girl’
s will wasn’t too straining, infusing the newly dead with a spirit was more—ahh—challenging, that cost a life in payment. As for Master Bryan’s statement of two re animations the cost doubled that was three lives wretched from bodies in pain.
Annise gave the slightest shiver, and stilled the reflex to sketch a cross in defense from the darkness. It had been a long time since her own soul was as white as a novice’s surplice. Occasional murder, frequent assassinations and a fondness for the indulgence of sin had left it somewhat tattered and stained. However she’d never ever resorted to this kind of dark magicks. It corroded the mind as well as the soul past sanity or any hope of salvation. In short it was too dangerous to employ. There had been rumours floating around by way of Volund’s whining minion Edwin that one or more lords of the Convocation had ignored the restriction, and thus it led to their, ahh, ‘precipitous removal’. Annise shook her head. That was high politics and irrelevant. Someone though was playing fast and loose in this city of London and it seemed they didn’t care about consequences. Was this the threat that had the Council so worried? If so investigation was going to have to wait, since once more Agryppa had mistimed his arrangements. The morning chimes rang out over head, the sweet metallic ring signaling to even the most thickheaded that night magicks, demons and divining were banished with the dawn.
***
Chapter 13: Old Friends—The Liberties Farrington Without
The sackbut and shawm brayed and squealed in rough time to the beat of the tambour as the alehouse company roared out the verses.
A lusty young smith a’ ‘is vice stood a–filin’,
Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, in an’ out, in an’
Darkness Divined (Dark Devices) Page 10