When the music finally began, Antuniet could see why Jeanne had chosen such a setting. Ion-Pazit’s work was…daring might be the kindest word. A traditionalist might say he broke rules, but it was clear that he merely considered rules to be beneath him. Jeanne whispered that he’d agreed to let the Mazzies girl perform this work only because the other violinists capable of the part refused to touch it, and those who were willing to put up with his temper he considered to be idiots.
Iustin Mazzies addressed the piece with the focus and tenacity of a striking hawk, though there were parts where Antuniet thought the better image might be a terrier on a rat. The two seemed not so much to be playing in concert as to be locked in combat over the soul of the music. The least one might say was that the unrelenting intensity of the piece left no one unmoved.
With the final chord, there was a moment of stunned silence, as if the audience were uncertain what it had heard. A few quick glances passed among the crowd, gauging whether they were meant to approve of it. Then a sprinkling of applause began, gaining ground as the uncertain ones feared to be left behind. That was Jeanne’s genius as well. A more sophisticated crowd might be less willing to be led against their own taste. Antuniet hadn’t cared much for the music, but the artistry—of all types—that she could admire.
There was still the reception to be endured afterward, with Antuniet keeping close to Jeanne’s side to avoid being drawn into other conversations. And that meant attending on their hostess as she accepted the congratulations of the guests. Tio and her set seemed determined to make their curtsey and leave early.
“It was so kind of you to come,” Maisetra Marzulin repeated to each. “I hope you enjoyed the concert. We had hoped perhaps you might be joined…” Her voice trailed off. The rumored hope of Elisebet’s presence was too presumptuous to voice.
Elin began, “It wasn’t possible. Not under the circumstances—”
Tio hushed her but added more pleasantly, “I wouldn’t have missed the concert. Jeanne has quite an eye for talented young women.”
When Maisetra Marzulin laughed politely and moved on, Jeanne lowered her voice to ask, “What was that about? No, not your comment. The other matter.”
Tio glanced back at her companions. Her voice, too, came in a whisper. “It’s Chustin. Princess Elisebet is in quite a state from worry over him.” Antuniet felt Tio’s glare as she added, “And don’t tell me she’s making too much of sniffles. The boy’s ill. Has been since Christmas. He sleeps sixteen hours in the day and suffers from evil dreams. She’s had four or five doctors to see him and taken him to her favorite thaumaturgist as well but they only shake their heads.”
Well, perhaps there was something in it this time. Certainly Tio wasn’t feigning concern and she didn’t seem given to mad fancies. The news sobered the remainder of their evening. Yet, all in all, the affair seemed a success. And by the time they reached home, Jeanne was planning the next setting for Iustin’s conquest of Rotenek’s concert halls.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Margerit
“Have you ever considered adding music to your mysteries?” Serafina asked.
The thin winter sun had faded enough that Margerit had risen to light the lamps and ring for someone to tend to the fire. She paused for a moment to wonder why it seemed such an outlandish idea. “We never have. It isn’t traditional in Alpennian ceremonies.” Saying that, she realized how thin an excuse it seemed.
Barbara seemed less taken aback. “I saw one once in Genoa that included hymns, but of course I have no idea whether they added to the effectiveness.”
“I’ve always wondered about that,” Serafina continued. “In Rome there’s such a separation between mysteries and the sacraments proper. Music belongs to the Mass, for the most part. But I experienced a mystery with music once in Palermo that—” Her eyes went misty for a moment and she hugged herself tightly. “I can’t explain. I would give anything to feel that again.”
It was the long, quiet season between the New Year and the beginning of the Lenten term. Margerit had plunged into working through the Mauriz notes alongside Serafina—not student, but not quite teacher. More a renewal of those exciting days during her early studies when she and Barbara would explore the whole universe of philosophy and argue out from first principles to last conclusions together. Barbara had taken up the return to their close studies enthusiastically.
“Perhaps,” Margerit said slowly, “the difference is in how rare auditors are in comparison with vidators.”
Serafina shook her head. “You forget how rare it is to sense the fluctus reliably at all. Don’t argue from your own case. If we were discussing market-charms I might agree. But the formal mysteries have either been set for centuries or are built up out of parts of those, like what you described of your new Mauriz. I could accept that a new mystery like that one might exclude hymns and music because its sources did, but not that it was a deliberate and considered omission. If words are the building blocks of powerful mysteries, why shouldn’t music—which stirs our hearts so strongly—add its part? You said yourself that you sometimes see the fluctus as currents of music.”
“Have you ever seen it happen?” Margerit asked.
“Only that once. I see things—wondrous things, and I feel…” She laughed. “I haven’t the words. That’s why I came to you! I know something is happening, but I don’t know what or why—or how to bring it about.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. “That will be someone to build up the fire,” Margerit said, and called out an invitation.
Instead of the expected maid, Brandel poked his head in. “Pardon me, Cousin Barbara, Maisetras, but there’s an urgent message come from the palace. I told him I’d fetch you.” Barbara began to rise but he said, “No, it’s for Maisetra Sovitre. I think she’s asked to come. The man is waiting.”
It wasn’t unusual for Annek to send for her unexpectedly, but never with such urgency. The only project she was working on at the moment was a review of the Royal Guild’s Easter mysteries, and surely there was no rush to finish that.
Afternoon had faded to dusk by the time the carriage turned through the gates of the palace grounds, crunching on the crusted snow piled in the shadow of the walls. And after that, there was an hour to wait in the chilly gallery. At last she was escorted in to find the office deserted except for the woman behind the writing table.
Princess Annek looked far more worried than Margerit had seen her before and barely acknowledged her salutation except to say, “I thank you for coming so quickly.” She gestured to a chair opposite her. After Margerit obeyed, there was a long silence, as if the princess weren’t certain how to begin. “Do you have any experience with mysteria veridica? With truth mysteries?” Annek asked at last.
“No,” Margerit said in surprise. “Not really; I’ve never studied them. I thought…that is, I know they’re used in the courts on occasion. Barbara told me something about that—that they weren’t part of Lord Chormuin’s bill. But I thought they were rare.”
“Yes, like any of the lesser mysteries, there’s the problem of finding a reliable practitioner. The magistrates sometimes call in a priest to administer them, whether they have any skill or not. They’re more use in frightening people into confessing than to distinguish between truth and lies. I may have need of a means to distinguish just that. Or to prove the innocence of someone wrongly accused. Do you think you could devise a truth mystery that would make the judgment evident to all?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace. I don’t think it’s possible, unless…” She considered carefully. “I would need to study the existing forms. Isn’t the judgment usually returned in a vision? That makes it difficult. But it might be possible to tie it to a tangible sign.” She thought back to that first time she had been so blessed, when the cherries bloomed for her on Saint Chertrut’s day. “Yes, a physical sign so all can see the result. When would you need me to be ready?”
“That is uncertain,” Annek said. “P
erhaps it won’t be necessary at all. Tell me, how well do you know Maisetra Chazillen?”
And what does Antuniet have to do with this? she wondered. But perhaps there was no connection. “Well enough. We’ve worked side by side for the past year,” she said. “And before that—” She hesitated, but Annek knew the whole story well. “Before that we worked together in the Guild of Saint Atelpirt.”
Princess Annek tapped a finger softly against her lips while she considered. “Do you know any reason why Maisetra Chazillen might have a grudge against my cousin Elisebet or her son?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. “I don’t think that Antuniet cares for politics at all. She had no part in her brother’s plot against you. She never openly supported any side in the succession. I think the only cause she cares for is the Chazillen name.”
“Yes,” Annek said slowly. “And if that were the matter, then why—” She shook her head. “There has been talk. Your friend has opened herself to suspicions and accusations. I do not speak only of the alchemy.”
Now it was “your friend” and not “my alchemist.” Margerit felt a chill. The indifference of society had its limits. “Your Grace?” she ventured hesitantly. “Might I ask…It would be easier to devise the mystery you want if I knew what sort of truth I’m seeking.”
“You have heard that Aukustin has not been well.”
Margerit frowned. “I heard something of that, but nobody gave it much credence. Princess Elisebet is always concerned over something.”
“It seems this was more serious,” Annek continued. “Aukustin has been ill since before the New Year’s court. Badly ill. Doctors have been no avail. Princess Elisebet consulted a thaumaturgist but evidently the man was perplexed, until he thought to examine Aukustin’s chambers. Whatever he saw there, he had them take the bed apart. And hidden in the mattresses were a number of curious stones.”
At that word, Margerit felt a shiver. “Many people use amulets and talismans. Could they have been meant for his protection?”
Annek shook her head. “I know only a little of the matter, and that only through my spies. But the thaumaturgist said at least some of the stones were clearly of ill intent. And now I expect that Elisebet is recalling that my son has been hard at work all this autumn creating powerful talismanic gems. She’s ever eager to blame him for any accident that befalls Aukustin, and that affair with the ships was ill-timed. But it seems to me that were Elisebet’s prejudice set aside, it would be more natural for suspicion for this particular affair to fall on my new alchemist. So I ask you again, do you know of any reason why Antuniet Chazillen would seek to do harm to Aukustin?”
“No!” Margerit’s emphatic answer came from her heart, not her head. Did Annek think to turn suspicion away from Efriturik by offering Antuniet in his place? “I can’t imagine any reason why she would have an interest in him at all.”
“Very well,” Annek said, though she seemed far from convinced. “But you can see why I might have need of a means for establishing the truth beyond any doubt. Whether my son or my alchemist, someone will come to be blamed in time. I don’t know if it will be a matter for the courts…There’s nothing yet of accusation, only rumor. Before that changes, see what you can do. And keep this matter as quiet as may be.” But as Margerit was departing, she added, “You have leave to tell Baroness Saveze. Tell her I’d like to see her keen edge brought to bear on it.”
It would have been exhilarating to be set onto a new type of mystery, if not for the cloud of peril hanging over it. Barbara received the news with a frown of concern, but when she heard the message from Princess Annek, a fierce interest leapt in her eyes.
“What does she mean by that?” Margerit asked.
Barbara grinned. “It means she’s unleashed me to look for the true villain.”
“Do you think that this is Kreiser again, meddling in Efriturik’s affairs?” The thought was new, sparked by Barbara’s words.
“Perhaps, but it’s hard to see how it could benefit him, unless his goal is simply to bring down both Alpennian heirs at once. Either the stones were meant to be found and the plot is aimed at Efriturik, or they were meant to stay hidden and Chustin was the target. But could the one who put them there know which it would be?”
Yes, it was exciting to have a new challenge. Too exciting, should she be unsuccessful.
Serafina took the news of the change in focus for their studies with curiosity. “But that’s what it means to be a royal thaumaturgist,” Margerit explained, leaving the details silent. “I’m set to odd little projects all the time.” To deflect her curiosity, Margerit told her of the installment ceremony for Baron Razik.
“I’ve heard of mysteries used for determining guilt,” Serafina said, “but I never studied them before. I think Kant considers the problem, but he seems to think that truth means such different things in philosophy and in the courts of law that there is no point in pursuing them by the same means. I do recall that he dismisses the possibility that a veriloquium could be used to answer philosophical questions. They answer only what is understood in the mind of the one questioned.”
“Kant,” Barbara said, noting down the name. “Margerit, you’re more familiar with the modern philosophers. What do we have of his?” She crossed to the shelves and searched until she pulled out a thick black-bound volume. “Judgment?” she asked.
Serafina shook her head. “No, I think it was his Reason, but he won’t have any practical advice on mysteries. He was a Lutheran you know.”
“Who else?” Margerit asked. “Barbara, when you studied law, did it cover this topic?”
Barbara paused her pen. “There’s a long section in the Statuta Antiqua that discusses the circumstances of their use, but not the rituals themselves. I remember there was that brief section in Fortunatus, but only from a theoretical point of view and nothing at all as detailed as you’d find today. I rather suspect the topic is too…I suppose I would say too practical for him. I’ll read through the Statuta to see if they mention any names or cases and perhaps LeFevre would have ideas. It wouldn’t fall at all within his legal interests but he likes to read through records of old cases and may remember mentions of times when veriloquia were used.”
“And what about Prince Filip?” Margerit asked with a sudden thought. The other two stared at her. “I remember from my history books. There was that scandal over his cousin’s parentage during his reign and I think they used some type of mysterium veridicum to sort it out. I don’t think the chronicles mention any details beyond that, but the archives—”
Barbara nodded sharply. “Yes, that should fall within the records that still survive. I don’t know whether those years would be in the palace archives or held at the cathedral but—” A slow smile crept across her face. “I think perhaps I shall set Brandel on it. He needs to be reminded that adventure can be found in books other than romances.”
It was the old excitement again. That sense of a small band hunting down the secrets of the ages. Urgency gave it an uncomfortable edge. Margerit knew she could be as discreet as the grave and the story would still find its way out through others. Annek might have good cause to keep the matter quiet while it was resolved and Elisebet’s people were strangely silent as well, but too many people would know some small fragment, people who had no such qualms.
Whispers soon grew into rumors that sorcery had a hand in Aukustin’s malady. Margerit found it easy to laugh off the gossip the first time it came to her in the corridors of the opera house. Everyone knew how Elisebet jumped at shadows where her son was concerned. It was harder to dismiss the strained looks on the faces of Elisebet’s ladies when they were seen about town. And yet no names were named, no accusations made. Perhaps even Elisebet realized there would be no turning back once that was done. Proof would be needed, proof of a sort that could stand under law.
Sorcery, the rumors said; nothing more specific. But sorcery was a slippery charge, more often used from malice than conviction. M
argerit watched Antuniet carefully as l’affaire Augustin was discussed before her, but she gave no sign that she considered it anything to do with her.
By the end of a week, their research had outgrown the library tables. Margerit briefly considered commanding an office at the palace for the work, but that seemed too public. Here there was no close scrutiny from outsiders.
“Aunt Bertrut?” she began one morning. “I’m going to need to take over one of the other rooms. I need more space for our books and papers. I thought perhaps the dining room? Or perhaps the front parlor? I could bring in some trestles but then you’d need to entertain visitors somewhere else and I’d hate to ask you to use the upstairs sitting room.”
“It’s your house, dear,” Bertrut replied mildly. “How long do you think it will take?”
“I don’t know,” Margerit said with a frown. “Perhaps a week? Maybe two?”
“We have the Faikrimeks invited for dinner on Wednesday.”
“Then it must be the parlor, I’m afraid. Do you mind dreadfully? I wish I had some proper place to do my work. What I want is a home the size of Fonten House but here in Rotenek!”
Aunt Bertrut took her at her word. “You could take a house out past the north gate, I suppose. There are always estates on offer there. But everyone would stare if you gave up a place on the Vezenaf to move to the edge of town! We’ll rub along the best we can for now.”
Barbara had obtained the expositula for the truth-mysteries used in the Rotenek courts and together they picked them to pieces, teasing out the formulas and structures that lay beneath. Serafina was mostly silent the first few days, taking the notes from their discussions and listening intently.
“Did you have any thoughts?” Margerit asked, after watching her puzzle through the diagrams.
“More questions than thoughts,” she admitted. “I’d rather watch you work. I want to see how you go about developing the ceremonies. I want to see the paths you follow in your analysis and how you map them. When I read the notes you’d taken on the Mauriz tutela it was like nothing I’d seen before, and I’ve reviewed a great many treatises on the structure of mysteries at the Vatican.”
The Mystic Marriage Page 46