Fireworks and Darkness

by Natalie Jane Prior

‘What are you doing here?’

  Casimir looked up from the sword. ‘I’m trying to track down my father. Have you seen him?’

  ‘I might have done.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Just that. I might have done. What makes you think I’d know where he is, anyway?’

  Casimir hesitated. He had always thought of Tycho as a fool, but confronting him was not so easy as he had expected. Casimir was only fourteen, Tycho a grown man who, for all his folly, had an intimidating physical presence. There was also the sword on the table. Casimir did not imagine for a moment that Tycho would use it, but it did nothing to make him feel easy about what he had come to discuss.

  ‘I came because of that letter you brought,’ he said carefully. ‘The one with the pamphlet in it.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. “On the Death of Monarchs”.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Yes, you have. You came to the shop yesterday and gave me a copy for Simeon.’

  ‘I told you that letter was for your father.’

  It was a tacit admission, but Casimir knew better than to pounce on the fact. ‘I know. But Simeon went charging off last night after he got it and he hasn’t been back since. I thought he might have come to speak with you about it.’ At this, Tycho said nothing. Sensing his close attention, Casimir pressed on, ‘There’s something you ought to know. Since Friday, the Queen’s Guard has had men watching our house. They’re suspicious about what happened. If Simeon’s been taken in for questioning…’

  For the first time, a genuine expression of alarm passed across Tycho’s face. ‘What do you mean, you’re being watched? Your father never told me this!’

  ‘So, you have seen him.’

  ‘We spent the night talking at the Duck and Drake.’

  ‘All night? What for?’ Casimir felt a sort of grim presentiment; whatever excuses Tycho might come up with, if Simeon had spent the night talking with him, it had to be connected with the pamphlet. ‘It was you who wrote that pamphlet, wasn’t it? Why did you do it? Even my uncle wouldn’t sell stuff like that. It’s outright treason, he wouldn’t be found with it in his pack.’

  ‘Ha,’ said Tycho, placing little confidence in Joachim’s probity. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you. All right, I wrote the pamphlet. I’m not ashamed of it. Somebody has to say what they think. Somebody has to point out the obvious. What do you think is going to happen if that idiot, Elsabetta marries Greitz? She’ll effectively hand control of the country over to the Queen’s Guard, that’s what. If you think life’s difficult now, wait until we have the procurator sitting on the throne with his sweet little wife saying yes, dear, no dear, whatever you say. Let’s trash the city, stamp on the thinkers, put all the scum like Tycho and his friend the firework maker into the Undercroft, and while we’re on it, your dear sister Christina and her friend the margravine need husbands, let’s find them some among my officers, they’ll know how to keep them in check. Hand them all over to the interrogators, what’s a few more corpses in the Ling; let’s wade in blood through the streets of Starberg. Well, if you think I’m going to stand by and do nothing, you’re wrong. There’s no shame in killing a tyrant, and if I die, I would glory in it, glory, do you hear me!’ Tycho’s voice peaked in a shout. He banged his fist on the table, making the sword jump and Casimir jump, too. He found himself backing away a step. Tycho’s reputation as a firebrand, a longstanding joke in the circles he mixed in, was suddenly starting to seem no longer funny.

  ‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘You can’t say things like that. You’ll never get away with it.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ Tycho looked at him smugly. ‘I have already.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. None of your business. Why should I tell you anything, anyway?’

  Casimir’s frayed nerves snapped. ‘Because I’m my father’s son,’ he shouted. ‘And I care about my father. I care what happens to him, I’m afraid for him. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I want us to get out of this safely. And we’re not going to do that if he’s mixed up with a moron like you!’

  Tycho’s answer was to push back his chair. Suddenly Casimir realised how close his right hand was to the sword. His heart pounded, and he edged away.

  ‘You know, you’re a very rude boy,’ Tycho said unexpectedly. ‘It’s easy to see why my cousin Ruth gets so upset. Frankly, I don’t know why she puts up with you.’

  ‘Nobody asked her to—’

  ‘As a matter of fact, you’re wrong. Your father did. And considering how much my cousin has done for you, you little filth, it wouldn’t hurt you to be grateful—’

  ‘Grateful?’

  ‘—because where were you twelve months ago? Living off the back of a cart and sleeping under a haystack.’ Tycho stood up and this time his stance was menacing. Casimir took a step back. ‘What do you mean, coming in here like this? What do you mean, poking your nose into affairs that don’t concern you, what do you mean, reading other people’s letters? What do you—’

  ‘All right, I’m leaving!’ Casimir backed away until he hit the door. He pushed through it and ran down the stairs. As he passed the front room Will and Annice’s baby started howling again, whether through hunger, wind, or simply the awfulness of having to live under the same roof as Tycho, Casimir did not know. He did not stop to enquire, but left the shop and went straight home. It did not occur to him immediately that in speaking to Tycho he might have acted unwisely, or that watching eyes might have taken note of his visit. But by the time it did, it was too late to have any regrets.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Casimir returned to the shop he found Joachim gone, the firework boy missing from the window, and great gaps in the stock on the shelves. A cryptic note had been left for him on the counter. It said that Joachim had gone hunting and was signed after his uncle’s fashion with three small circles to represent cannon balls. Soon after six o’clock Joachim came back, in a foul temper, for the rain had started up again, and he was sopping wet. Casimir was watching out for him from the shop. The lamplighter came and went; the rain drove in gusts along the cobbles. At last the street light was blotted out by a tall familiar figure in a topcoat. Its dark shape loomed in the window and there was a loud rap on the glass that sent the crocodile spinning on its string.

  Casimir ran to pull back the fastenings. The door blew open, landing Joachim and a spatter of rain on the doormat. He thrust a greasy parcel into Casimir’s arms.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said sourly. ‘Sorry about the goose. The poulterers were closed. This was all there was left.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how to cook a goose if you gave me one,’ said Casimir.

  ‘You stuff it.’ Joachim followed him out to the kitchen, where there was a fire going; he hung his topcoat on the back of the door and began removing his sodden clothing. His fingers ripped through the fastenings on his worn leather waistcoat and he draped a tattered scarf over the back of a chair. ‘Which is what they ought to do to me, after this afternoon’s effort. Four hours, following your father all around Starberg and what have I got to show for it? Not so much as a brass farthing. The magic’s slipping. I must be getting old.’

  Casimir opened the parcel and tipped a large, pungent sausage and some baked potatoes onto the table. ‘You mean, Simeon came back?’

  ‘Came back, closed the shop and went straight out again. He loaded up a handcart with fireworks and then took off. Furthermore, he did so right under the eyes of that ordnance officer, who came back at just the wrong time. Which leads me to something else, Casimir. Your father has magicked away the entire contents of the powder cellar. I don’t know why, or where he’s sent it, but when the ordnance man went down there to search, there wasn’t a skerrick of black powder left, just a stink of magic that would have knocked out an elephant.’

  Casimir’s initial spurt of optimism fled. ‘Where did Simeon go to?’


  ‘Now that’s the really interesting part,’ said Joachim. ‘Nowhere at all. At first he headed out as if he was going to the River Court, but he turned off before he got there. He went past the Undercroft, looped back up by the cathedral—past Fish Lane again—then down through the Christmas market by the Ling. All the time he was striding along, head down, as if he knew exactly where he was going. But in fact, all he was doing was marching around in a circle. People were starting to look at him as if he was crazy. Then, on the fifth time around, he disappeared.’ Joachim shrugged. ‘I can’t say where he went, or even what he thought he was doing. Before he left, he told me he was delivering fireworks for a party. He sounded perfectly reasonable, which for Simeon is probably about as ominous a sign as you can get. Here, hand me that sausage. It’s going cold.’ Joachim pulled a knife out of his boot top and started hacking it into slices. ‘God, this looks disgusting. Tough as shoe leather and five weeks old if it’s a day. Another twenty-four hours and it’ll come back to life. Do you think it’s edible?’

  ‘You bought it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take that as a recommendation. You forget, I spent ten years in the army.’

  ‘The potatoes are all right.’

  ‘I’d rather get food poisoning than eat a vegetable. I think I’ll stick to beer. Well, that’s my daily report. Why not tell me some good news and cheer me up?’

  ‘There isn’t any good news,’ said Casimir. ‘Well, I suppose the mortars are all right. A bit damp, and they need cleaning, but they’re safe. Apart from that, I found out where Simeon spent last night. He was with Tycho in the Duck and Drake.’ He pulled Tycho’s letter and ‘On the Death of Monarchs’ out of his pocket. ‘Here. I stole this off Ruth. Tycho’s sent copies to her and Simeon, other people too. The worst of it is, I think he means what he says.’

  Joachim read the title and his eyebrows went up.

  ‘I think I’m going to need another drink.’ He drew two mugs of beer from the keg in the corner, lit another tallow candle, and settled down at the table to read. Casimir sat watching, drinking his own beer and eating his slice of the sausage. It was not quite as bad as Joachim had intimated, but it was bad enough that he could feel his stomach turning as he ate it. When he had finished, he ate a second potato and then a third. Joachim reached the end of the pamphlet and laid it down thoughtfully.

  ‘How many copies of this are out there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Casimir. ‘But he’s taken the trouble to have it printed, so there must be a few. And he wrote it himself, he admitted it to me. He told me he would glory in it if he died.’

  ‘He wouldn’t if he’d ever seen action,’ said Joachim dryly. ‘Glorying in death doesn’t sound like Simeon.’

  ‘No. But Simeon’s not been acting normally. Not since the firework display, when Circastes came back. And I’m starting to think I know why.’ Casimir had now had several hours to think about it. ‘Nobody takes Tycho seriously. He’s an idiot. Normally, I can’t think of anyone Simeon would be less likely to sit all night in a pub with. But suppose Circastes had got inside his head? Suppose he’s driving Simeon, telling him to do what Tycho wants? It would explain why he’s acting so strangely, why he’s taking the gunpowder out of the powder cellar and the fireworks out of the shop. Because Simeon’s help is all Tycho needs. Simeon has gunpowder, he has the mortars at Ruth’s place and he knows how to use them. And the thing that really frightens me is that the queen’s wedding is only two weeks away.’

  ‘Maximum confusion. All the court and grandees of Ostermark in the same building,’ said Joachim thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Casimir. ‘Why does Circastes have to kill Simeon, when he can force him to kill himself? And for a cause he doesn’t even believe in. Or maybe he wants him to be arrested and executed. That would explain why Circastes attacked the firework display on Friday night. It brought Simeon to the attention of the Queen’s Guard and they’ve been watching us ever since.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Joachim. ‘On the other hand, I doubt Circastes has waited for his revenge all these years without wanting to be in at the kill. Because I’m sure he does intend to kill Simeon. Not you. He has other plans for you, or he would have killed you outright on Friday night.’ Joachim picked up the pamphlet. ‘You’re right: Tycho is an idiot. Unfortunately, he’s also half right about this. Elsabetta is a fool, an intelligent well-meaning fool, which is the worst sort. This marriage is the most ill-advised thing she could have conceived. If Christina became queen, things might be different, but as it stands…I’m starting to wonder whether or not it would be worth my leaving Ostermark.’

  ‘Leave Ostermark?’

  ‘Why not? I wasn’t born here. I don’t owe the place anything. You could come too, if you like.’

  ‘I couldn’t. Not without Simeon.’

  ‘We could meet up with Simeon, later,’ said Joachim, but he saw from Casimir’s expression what he thought and did not press the point. ‘At the very least, Cas, we should think about leaving this house. Staying here is becoming too dangerous. If Tycho’s been letter-dropping treason all over Starberg, you can bet a lucky seven on the fact that he’s being watched. You would have been seen visiting him and so would Simeon. Pretty soon, somebody else is going to start and make the same connections you have and when that happens, our chances of evading arrest are going to be pretty slim.’

  Casimir had not thought of this. ‘Where can we go?’ he asked helplessly.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ Joachim confessed. ‘But before we do anything, I want to know more about what Simeon’s been up to. Come with me. I want to look around upstairs.’

  Casimir picked up the oil lamp. He did not bother to douse the fire. Since there were virtually no fireworks left in the building it hardly seemed to matter any more. His lamp glow cast eerie shadows over the walls as he followed his uncle up the stairs to Simeon’s first-floor study. A stale smell of used magic fluttered out when they opened the door, like moths from an old woman’s clothes chest.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Casimir asked.

  ‘Anything suspicious. Papers, magical apparatus. Simeon used to have a wand. It was made out of black wood, about the thickness of my thumb. Of course, it’s possible he has it with him. I assume your father has the keys to this?’ Joachim indicated the big chest under the window. When Casimir nodded, he produced a wire lockpick from his pocket and set to work with it. Casimir put the lamp down on the desk. Its single drawer contained pencils, quills and plain white paper, but underneath these was the tin gun case that had held their personal papers. To Casimir’s surprise, the box was no longer empty. It now contained a sizeable bundle of letters on creamy paper, tied up with an old yellow hair ribbon.

  Casimir lifted the letters out of the box. A small object fell out of one of the folds into his hand and he felt something lurch inside him. Lying in his palm was a fat, red curl, tied at the end with a silken thread.

  The hair was glossier, thicker, perhaps a shade darker than his own. Casimir held the lock wonderingly between his fingers, marvelling at the fact that it even existed, that Simeon had kept it hidden all these years. Then Joachim looked up from the chest. With an oath, he crossed the room and plucked the curl from Casimir’s fingers, lifted the mantle on the lamp and thrust it into the flame.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Casimir made a grab at the curl, then the letters, too late, for Joachim was already untying the bundle. Meanwhile the lock of hair sizzled, smoked, and flared away to nothing. Casimir felt a surge of rebellion and anger, mixed with disappointment so bitter he could almost taste it. Like all the other traces his mother had left of her existence, the token was gone before he’d had a chance to do more than register its presence.

  ‘Simeon had no right to keep that,’ said Joachim, curtly. ‘A magician can do a lot with a piece of hair.’ He removed the cover from the lantern and poked at the last charred shreds with a long, dirty finger. ‘The chest’s unlocked,’ he added, and Casimir tu
rned aside without a word. He could not bear to watch while Joachim opened and read, then cold-bloodedly destroyed his mother’s letters one by one.

  The chest held next to nothing to show for Simeon’s life: just some books and a pair of flintlocks in a shagreen case, a military issue powder horn and shot pouch, and a few changes of clothes and bed linen. Casimir took them all out and stacked them neatly on the floor. At the bottom of the box was a false floor for hiding cash, removable by pressing a hidden spring in the side. There was no money in it tonight, though: only a bundle wrapped in a thin piece of black silk. Inside were the ebony wand he had seen Simeon using on the window, a squat black book like a small bible, and his father’s copy of Tycho’s letter, enclosing ‘On the Death of Monarchs’.

  ‘I’ve found the wand.’

  ‘Good.’ Joachim had finished burning the letters. He rubbed his fingers briefly through the ashes to make sure there was nothing left and took the bundle out of Casimir’s hands. The book he glanced at briefly and set aside, but he picked up the wand with evident satisfaction and balanced it expertly in his hand. Then, before Casimir had a chance to anticipate his intentions, he uttered a single guttural word under his breath and ran it swiftly along the wooden window frame.

  There was a crackle and a flare as of a firework catching. At once the silver characters Casimir had seen Simeon inscribe there flared into life. Casimir almost dropped with shock.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m checking the wards Simeon’s put up. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. When one fraternises with magicians, one picks these things up.’ Joachim finished his pass around the window. ‘There’ll be others, of course. Simeon will have put them on every window and door. I’m curious to see how thorough he’s been.’ As he spoke, a noise like a punch sounded somewhere below them. Casimir looked around sharply.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sssh!’ Joachim lifted his finger to his lips. He went to the door and stood there a moment, listening intently. Casimir listened too, but could hear nothing beyond the normal creaking of the wooden building. Joachim waited a few seconds longer. Then he abruptly extinguished the lamp and thrust the wand into Casimir’s hand.