“Your brood!” cried the angel, pretending to be offended. “Are we poultry now, Father?”
“You are indeed,” Claus said. “But you’ll have to wait your turn, my little chick. Oldest first, remember? Marguerite, this magnificent creature to my right is Lorens Magnusson. We called him home especially to meet you; and it’s quite a treat for us as well, for we don’t get to see him very often anymore. He lives at Harrowsgode Hall and is studying to be a Magus Mästare.”
“Papa is very proud,” said the beauty.
“As he has every right to be,” Claus returned. “And this impertinent young lady is our daughter Laila. She is at the university studying natural philosophy, and she talks of nothing but chemicals and corpuscles and carbonates—” He leaned hard on those explosive c’s for comic effect. “And she says I am dull!” He said all this with the greatest affection and pride; the beauty took it with a smile.
“Now on your right is Laila’s twin, Jakob. And on your left—”
“Father,” said the boy, “aren’t you going to list my accomplishments?”
He had turned to address his father; all Molly could see was his hair, his ear, and the curve of his cheekbone and chin.
“I am the family disappointment, after all. Surely that counts for something.”
“Oh, spare us, Jakob, please,” Claus said.
“But it’s true. Every family must have one. Don’t you agree, Marguerite?”
He turned as he said this, and Molly stifled a gasp—for it was the boy in her dream! And from the way he locked eyes with her, it was clear that he had recognized her, too.
“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Margit.
“No,” Molly said. “I mean yes. Yes.”
A hand reached in and set a bowl of soup before her. Molly looked down, then up at Jakob again.
“I’m not at the university with my sister,” he went on mechanically. “I failed my exams, you see—quite spectacularly, in fact. So I’m apprenticed to a silversmith. A tradesman in this family—only think of it! Papa is so disappointed.”
“That’s enough,” Claus said. “You’re making our guest uncomfortable. And do stop staring at her, will you? She’ll want to turn around and go straight back to Westria this very night.”
The boy sniffed as if that was somehow darkly amusing.
“Jakob!” Margit snapped. “I’m sorry, Marguerite. He’s not himself tonight.”
“You forgot about me,” said the little sprite. “You left me out entirely.”
“I was trying to get to you, child, but your brother was insistent upon—”
“Father,” said the beauty, “let’s move on.”
“Indeed. This lovely creature to your left is Sanna, our youngest. She is a first-year scholar.”
Sanna knew how to sparkle, and she did so now. She turned to Molly, eyes wide, and asked with wonder in her voice, “Are you really from Westria?”
Molly said she was.
“Ohhhh—what’s it like?”
“Well, we don’t have as many mountains as you have here. Actually, now that I think of it, there aren’t any mountains at all. Just some very big hills.”
“What else? Is it very large?”
“About the same size as Austlind.”
“And does it have a king?”
“Most certainly.”
“Is he old?”
“Not at all! He’s younger than Jakob and Laila. His name is Alaric, and he’s very, very handsome.”
“Oh!” Sanna clapped her hands, wild with excitement. “Ours is old. Have you seen him in person, then—the king of Westria?”
“Why, yes, Sanna; I’ve seen him many times. In fact, I shall tell you something that will amaze you; just the other day we were walking together in his private garden—”
“Alone?”
“Well, there were guards outside, but yes, we were alone. And he took my arm, just like this, and he held me close . . .”
Sanna flopped back in her chair in exaggerated amazement, rolling her eyes up into her head, her mouth open wide. Then Molly realized that the others had stopped drinking their soup; spoons in hand, they were staring at her—what? Dumbfounded? Scandalized?
“In a brotherly sort of way,” she added. “Nothing improper. We’re just very good friends.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Margit said, and changed the subject.
As dish after dish came out of the kitchen and then was carried empty away, the conversation rolled cheerfully on, Jakob’s outburst and Molly’s indiscretion long forgotten. Soon the family drifted back to their accustomed subjects: the university, philosophy, and corpuscles. Even Sanna, who had little to offer on such subjects, made an effort to join in.
Only Jakob and Molly held back. They sat, eating in silence, pretending interest in the discussion. Finally, at a particularly noisy moment when Laila was making everyone laugh, Jakob leaned in and whispered in Molly’s ear.
“In the garden,” he said. “By the bench, after dinner.”
13
Jakob
WHAT A FOOL HE’D MADE of himself at dinner. He hadn’t pulled a stunt like that in years. True, it had hurt to be discounted so transparently, especially in front of his cousin; but he ought to be used to it by now.
Jakob understood his father very well, better than most sons did. He knew Claus to be a proud man: proud of his clan, his position in society, and the accomplishments of his children. But Jakob also knew that beneath that pride lay a deep well of disappointment—that he, Claus Magnusson, had been granted no gift at all. He was nothing more than a university professor, and not even a great one at that.
There was the root of the family tragedy: Because, of the four children, Jakob should have been the one to fulfill his father’s hopes. Instead, he’d been difficult; he’d denied his prodigious gift, pretending to be a slow-wit and setting himself on a path that led to service in a trade. He’d taken the very thing that Claus valued and wanted most in the world—and thrown it away. Of course the man was angry. But if Claus had tried to understand his son, as the son understood the father, he might have found it in his heart to forgive, and gained a measure of peace for himself into the bargain.
Jakob heard the sound of footsteps on gravel and saw a figure moving slowly down the path, feeling her way in the darkness.
He crossed his arms protectively over his chest. He was trembling a little, wondering whether his cousin would be a kindred soul—and certainly Jakob needed one—or a threat to his very life and happiness. Well, he’d know soon enough.
She was waving at him now, with big, wide sweeps of her arm as though hailing a ship at sea. She seemed so young and childish—and that was odd, considering who and what she was. But then she’d been raised common, according to Claus, and had been given no education. That might account for it.
“Jakob?” A loud whisper.
“Over here.”
Now she was standing in front of him—such a little thing, all skin and bones and enormous eyes, like some wild creature. Not timid, though. Not timid at all.
“Well, cousin,” Jakob said. “Here we are. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Then we’d best get right on with it, hadn’t we? You’ve seen me before. In there, just now, you recognized me.”
“We recognized each other, Marguerite. It went both ways.”
“Yes. I’ve been seeing you in my dreams this last month and more.”
“They were visions, I think.”
“All right, visions. You were always dressed in a fawn-colored doublet, embroidered with soft green vines. And the sleeves were some sort of stiff brocade, burgundy and gold, puffy at the shoulder and narrow at the wrist. Do you have a doublet like that?”
“I do—exactly like that.”
“Ah.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “And you were holding a silver goblet up against your chest, like so.” She raised her hands to show him, fingers enclosing empty air. “The base is very fancy—some
parts gilded, with enamels framed in filigree. But the cup itself is plain.”
“I’ve seen the same goblet,” he said, “except it was you who held it.”
He could hear her slippers shuffling the gravel as she thought about this.
“Listen, Jakob,” she said after a while, “I must tell you something. I was sent to Austlind by the king of Westria to find a special cup, of a kind my grandfather used to make. We went to Faers-Wigan, a crafts town to the south, because that’s where he lived and practiced his trade. But while we were there I found out that he hadn’t been born in Faers-Wigan; he’d come there from someplace else. Yet right from the start, before Alaric even called me back to court, before I’d even heard of Harrowsgode, I was dreaming of you. Don’t you see? I was meant to come here.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And there’s something else. The cup we both saw—”
“—is a Loving Cup. And that’s what your king is after.”
“Yes. It all fits together. I saw you holding the cup because you were meant to make it. And you saw me in your visions—”
“—because I’m supposed to make it for you.”
“Oh, Jakob, I’m so glad I found you! There are only two people in the world I completely trust—my friend Tobias and Alaric, the king of Westria. But even they can’t understand what it’s like to be the way we are. Talking to you feels so natural. It’s almost like talking to myself.”
And there it was, the answer to his question: a kindred soul.
They were quiet then for a while, aware that something important had just happened, and feeling a little bashful at the intimacy of it.
“Jakob,” Molly said at last, breaking the silence. “I want to ask you something. I don’t mean to pry, but . . .”
“Go ahead.”
“Why are you a silversmith? No, wait—let me ask this in a different way. Why are you also a silversmith, like my grandfather was, when both of you might have been—well, what Lorens is, only greater? Where I come from, having visions and knowing the future are seen as marks of the devil. Here it’s a sign of greatness. So, why?”
Jakob turned away and studied the rosebushes, trying to decide what to say. That had been the most personal and painful question anyone could have asked. Did he really trust her that much?
“Let’s sit down,” he finally said, having made up his mind. “It’s not going to be a short answer.” He took his time, ordering his thoughts, deciding what to tell now and what he could put off till later. Then he took the plunge:
“When I was very small, I was playing with Laila, here in the garden. I had a toy horse, with a real horsehair mane and tail, and big, button eyes. It was my very favorite thing. So naturally Laila, being devilish, took it away from me and ran away—waving it in the air, you know, just to torment me. I ran after her, growing angrier by the minute, until I was positively beside myself with rage and frustration. She was a fast little thing, but I finally caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm . . . and I remember feeling this strange sensation: the heat of my fury just pouring out of me, through my hand, and into her body till she screamed and fell to the ground. And she lay there, not breathing, her skin very white. I thought she must be dead—and that I had killed her.
“I couldn’t think what to do—I was very young and stupid—so instead of calling for help I just knelt down and touched her cheek, stroked it gently. I was sobbing the whole time because I loved her—I still love her—like nobody else on earth. Then suddenly she gasped and opened her eyes.”
“Oh!” Molly said.
“She didn’t remember any of it, didn’t understand what had happened. She thought she’d just fallen down. And I was glad, because I was sure she’d hate me if she knew. I’ve told her since, some of it; but back then I had to carry it alone, and the pain of it nearly destroyed me. I took to hiding in dark places and wouldn’t let anyone near. I’d go out into the garden sometimes and touch things—caterpillars, beetles—to see if they would die, but they never did.
“Then I started having these visions of another little boy. I saw him playing with a kitten once. He’d ask it questions, and it would answer. Another time I saw him telling his mother that the dustman wouldn’t be coming that day because he’d died in the night. And she scolded him, saying he mustn’t make up dreadful stories like that. But later it turned out to be true. And once I saw him make the fire burn brighter, just with the wave of his hand.
“I realized then that we were alike, this boy and me. We both had these inexplicable powers. I found it comforting, as you can imagine.”
“Yes, I can. I’ve felt like a freak since I was seven years old. I would have been glad back then to know there were others like me.”
“The boy was with me all the time, but he was always a few steps ahead. He became my guide, my model. When he turned himself into a thick-wit at school—took to asking foolish questions and giving the wrong answers—I did the same. I failed my exams, just as he did. And I followed him into the same trade.”
“It was my grandfather, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. But William was different from me in one important respect: his gift was not merely great—it was extraordinary, such as only comes along once in a hundred years. So if I could kill my sister with an angry touch, then bring her back to life with my grief—for William it must have felt like holding lightning in his hands. It frightened him terribly. That’s why he kept it hidden. He knew that if he ever learned to harness those powers, they might consume him and drive him to do despicable things.”
“Oh, Jakob!”
“What?”
“Did you see—in your visions—the whole of his life?”
“No. I saw him dive into the river—over in Neargate, where the canals come together and flow under the walls—and swim underwater for what seemed like hours, through endless darkness; then there was just a hint of light, and he rose up and out of the water and took this deep, gasping breath, floating in the still waters of the moat. And he was wild with joy, thinking, I’m free! I’m free! And that was the end of it. After that vision I never saw him again.”
“Oh.” He could hear the sadness in that single word.
“Tell me.”
“I think he was right to be afraid. He never meant to do harm—indeed, he did a lot of good. He made Loving Cups that caused people to love each other. But in doing that he revealed himself and his powers to the world. Someone forced him to use them in a horrible way—they threatened to kill his family if he didn’t. So he made a beautiful silver bowl as a baby gift for a prince and filled it with a hundred curses.”
Jakob shook his head, refusing to believe it.
“But the prince didn’t die as he was supposed to. William was too smart for that. The curses he made were innocent things, like scraped knees and cold porridge. And he put a guardian spirit in the bowl to make sure everything went as planned—a little man, allover silver, and very kind. He was like a little”—she pressed her thumb and forefinger together as if holding a pinch of salt—“a little fragment of my grandfather, all his wisdom and sweetness, dressed up in a silver suit.” She smiled, remembering. “My grandfather always tempered the metal with his own blood to make the enchantment work. That made us blood relatives, the Guardian said. So he asked me to call him Uncle.”
“You met him—inside the bowl? I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long story. Things didn’t go as planned, and he called me for help. When it was over and all the curses were destroyed, his spirit was released. His body melted back into the bowl. Now his spirit is”—she waved a hand at the sky—“out there somewhere. I miss him, Jakob. I miss him very much.”
The bright tip of a full moon was rising over the eastern mountains. Jakob watched it emerge and grow until it hurt his eyes. He knew she hadn’t finished the story. She’d come close, then changed the subject. But he had to know.
“Molly,” he said. “What happened when the curses failed?”
She took a deep breath and let it out, then sat in silence for a while. “William was murdered,” she said.
He covered his face with his hands and felt tears stinging his eyes. “That breaks my heart,” he said. “I always imagined he lived a long and happy life, that he found a girl he fancied, and married her, and spent his days making beautiful things out of silver and gold. . . .”
“He did all that.”
“But not for long.”
“Long enough. He found kind friends and was a great success at his work—he was the youngest master silversmith in the history of the city’s guild. He had a wife and a child he loved. And he died saving their lives.”
“I’m glad. It’s strange—I never met him, just saw him in my visions, but I loved him very much. He was like my closest friend.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Marguerite—”
“Molly, please. Marguerite is for strangers.”
“All right, Molly. It’s my turn to tell you something hard.”
“I thought you just did.”
“This is different. And I’ve been putting it off, because . . .” He plucked a leaf from a lilac bush and rolled it in his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face. “You came here in search of a Loving Cup, and I’ll gladly make you one. But you can’t give it to the king of Westria, because you’ll never see him again. Like death, this is the undiscovered country from which no traveler returns. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
“No!” she said.
“Listen to me: I told you I saw you holding the cup, but I didn’t say what you were wearing. Molly, you were dressed in the robes of a Magus Mästare, and my visions never lie. That’s your future, and the reason you were called here. You possess the Gift of King Magnus, as your grandfather did; and you will spend your life in Harrowsgode Hall, growing your powers and learning—”
She was shaking her head. “That’s not true! I just see things sometimes, same as you.”
The Cup and the Crown Page 9