The Book of Whispers

by Kimberley Starr

  ‘The Megas Doux has sent ships to ferry us across to Byzantium,’ he says. ‘Once there, we’ll ride from Dyrrhachium to Constantinople. Tomorrow, we’ll sail on the Nikopeia. I’ve arranged a hostel chamber for us tonight.’

  I urge Orestes to follow Potestas down pale cobblestone streets that narrow as we get to the busier part of town.

  Brindisi is overrun both with pilgrims preparing for the sea part of our journey and the demons travelling with us. Eventually, a wide blue harbour becomes visible in the distance between white buildings. Ships of all ages and sizes bob around the dock, like ants ringing a drop of spilled honey.

  Our hostel is a narrow timber building with crooked, unglazed windows. We pass beneath the swinging sign of a ship at full sail and climb a spiral staircase to a chamber we’ll share with Narlo. I’m relieved to have a more private place to stay in than a tent. This will be my chance to make sure the book is undamaged. I owe that to Father. I also owe him the truth. He needs to know it’s with us, although he’ll be angry.

  Desi takes Orestes to the stable where the grooms will sleep with our horses. I wait for Father to leave so I can look inside the bag, but he stretches out on the bed.

  ‘There are so many people—’ I begin.

  ‘This is only a fraction of the army we’ll become,’ Father tells me. ‘I hear a hundred thousand pilgrims will meet in Byzantium. Other crusade leaders are already there. Bishop Adhemar of Puy is one of them. The Pope’s legate.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘His word is the Pope’s word. Princes themselves will have to do as he says.’

  A moment later, there’s a knock on the door. Mattiolas bounds in. ‘Luca! Come down to the harbour! You can see the Nikopeia. See how likely she is to sink.’

  ‘Go,’ Father tells me. ‘We can talk later. We’ll move faster in the morning if we know where she is.’

  I swallow when I see the Nikopeia bobbing and swaying in the harbour with the fleet. Like many ships, she’s normally used to ferry wheat and barley across the Aegean, past the nearby archipelago. This will be her first long trip to the Levant, the Eastern Mediterranean.

  ‘I hear waves turn the bravest knights into weaklings,’ Mattiolas says.

  ‘We’ll be fine.’ I wish I believed it.

  Returning to our hostel, we walk through streets filled with pilgrims waiting to set sail. For many, this will be their first time aboard a boat. Many look as nervous as I feel, and attempt to cure their nerves with ale. Locals with wares to sell move hopefully through the crowd.

  I pause to buy two stems of dried dates from a sweets seller, passing one to Mattiolas. They are delicious, sugary treats. We turn a corner, to face a vast empty hole in the ground, muddy at the bottom. A few men sit upon construction equipment at the other side, passing around a wineskin.

  ‘They’re building a new basilica.’ It’s Monsignor Ramberti. Did he follow us here? ‘What a wonderful reminder of God’s glory. Like the Collegiata in San Gimignano.’

  I’ve always thought of the Collegiata as a natural landscape feature, like the Chianti hills or the river winding between them to the ocean. Yet it’s a human construction and must have begun like this.

  ‘It’ll take a while to complete,’ Mattiolas observes. ‘Its builders will join us. Our pilgrimage is stopping the world.’

  Ramberti frowns at Mattiolas. ‘God is recreating the world. In Jerusalem.’

  In the shadows beside the vast hole, I see a pale-haired man in a metallic cape. The man from my dream, and from San Gimignano.

  ‘Who is he?’ I demand of Ramberti.

  The priest holds his palms upwards. ‘You’ll learn to speak to me more respectfully. Who is who?’

  ‘The tall man. Over there.’

  Ramberti looks and frowns. I turn back to the darkness. The empty darkness.

  ‘Are you seeing things again, young Luca?’ Ramberti asks, pointedly. ‘You should be more careful. Unless you want me to repeat that exorcism.’

  His voice is as slippery and dangerous as spilled oil.

  I’ll tell Father about the book now, I decide, before he can discover the truth himself. But he’s walking down the hostel stairs as I go up.

  ‘It’s time for our evening meal,’ he says.

  We eat in a tavern near the harbour. Our tankards are filled with ale and our trenchers loaded with beef. I have no chance to talk quietly to him. We sing songs and try to forget how soon our saddle-weary bodies must return to the road.

  While we’re eating, a half-hearted brawl breaks out between knights from rival Tuscan towns. At the end of a long argument about the power of Florence, one Tuscan belts another, right across his jaw.

  Father leaps up, outraged.

  ‘We’re on God’s work! This pilgrimage should put an end to your petty squabbles!’

  The two Tuscans laugh, abashed, pretending it meant nothing. Father returns to his bench, glaring at them.

  Afterwards, Narlo goes drinking with other young knights. I follow Father outside, past pilgrims sleeping near their horses on clogged stone roads. Around them, spilled beer has mixed with urine to turn the dirt into a foul mud.

  It’s a relief to reach our hostel but it’s still hot. Father leaves the shutters open despite the risk of thieves. He busies himself locking everything away. ‘There’s a difference between trusting people and being foolish.’

  He notices my silence. ‘Luca, what is it?’

  ‘I need to show you something.’

  He sits on the bed and takes off his heavy walking boots while I pull the book-shaped package out of my bag. His face bears a mixed expression of shock and disappointment.

  ‘Your book,’ I say.

  ‘Your book,’ he corrects me. ‘Can you explain why it’s here?’

  Slowly, I shake my head.

  ‘Luca?’

  ‘I want to explain. But I can’t. I’m not sure.’

  He taps his fingers, sceptical. ‘You’re not sure how it got into your bag?’

  Tutivillus looks at me mockingly.

  Father removes layers of scarves until the book is in his hands. ‘Luca,’ he says sadly, ‘what disappoints me is your behaviour. Until you disobeyed me, I was proud of you.’

  ‘I discovered it in my bag today.’

  He looks more disappointed. ‘Luca, think of what you’re saying. Think of how hard it is for me to believe you.’

  ‘Maybe Narlo—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more ridiculous claims about your cousin. Make me a promise, Luca. Make me an honest promise. We set sail on the Nikopeia tomorrow. I need to know that if anything happens to me while we’re travelling, you’ll make sure this book gets home. And you’ll keep it safe until then.’

  That night, I’m haunted again by dreams. A dream demon flings open the chamber window, revealing the dark sky and the darker outline of the town, as though someone has pressed black shapes into faded cloth. I see lights shining from ships in the harbour. Many pilgrims have boarded already and sleep on the decks.

  And then the sun is up. Time is strange in dreams. I’m still asleep, but I’m outside. I shake my head and the movement lets in sounds.

  Sounds of horror! Sobbing and wailing, screams from somewhere in the harbour where the ships are moored.

  ‘The Nikopeia! The Nikopeia!’ people cry.

  I’m flying, soaring and swooping over water. I peer into deceptively placid depths and see an impossible thing.

  A mast reaches from the sea. Just a mast. No ship.

  Amid cries and howls, I float down to the water. Hanging in the air above the mast, as faint as rain in the distance, is a large crucifix—the shape that might mark a grave.

  Now, I’m standing on the shoreline. The iron-caped man stands beside me. ‘The Nikopeia has sunk,’ he says.

  I’m certain I’m dreaming. It’s darker, later, nearly night. A corpse washes onto the shore. Men wade into shallow water to turn it. To my horror, I recognise the corpse’s face.
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  It’s Mattiolas.

  ‘Praise the Lord!’ says a monk, brown robes dipping into the water’s edge. ‘This man bears the sign.’

  Mattiolas’s shirt has been ripped open to reveal a swollen and distended abdomen. Burned onto his skin, like a brand, is a cross.

  ‘It’s a message for us! It’s a miracle!’ the monk shouts. ‘It’s a sign that God wills it! We must go on! God wills it!’

  There’s a sudden yell of horror and I wake to discover the sound has come from me. I was asleep. It was a dream.

  In its corner, the book’s demon sniggers.

  I’m pulling on my boots in the morning when Ramberti bangs on the door and enters.

  ‘I heard shouting during the night,’ he says. ‘Luca?’

  ‘I had a nightmare.’

  Ramberti reveals his crooked teeth. ‘You should say confession, Luca. You know the Devil has terrible tricks to play on an unquiet soul.’

  ‘Luca is always close to demons,’ Narlo remarks. The demon that follows him everywhere titters.

  ‘I don’t need to,’ I say.

  Father shakes his head. ‘I believe you do.’

  Ramberti bows. ‘Conte, if you wait outside?’

  Father and Narlo leave the room. Ramberti sits on the bed, his spine straight. Although he’s grown his beard as we travel, it doesn’t soften his features.

  ‘Tell me about this nightmare.’ Ramberti’s voice is low and smooth.

  I describe the shipwrecked Nikopeia and misery. I tell him of the pilgrims I saw in mourning, and the body on the shore, burned with the sign of the cross.

  Ramberti sighs. ‘You must ask God to forgive you for believing such nonsense. Let us pray.’

  Father will not agree if I tell him why I want to change ships. I’ll have to arrange this myself. After matins, I run to find our grooms. They spent the night staking out deck space aboard the Nikopeia, and won’t be pleased when I tell them our horses need moving.

  The exchange of many gold bezants at the docks reserves a cabin for Father and his knights and me—and Mattiolas—upon the Byzantine ship Theodora, due to set sail late this afternoon.

  It’s still early morning when I follow Father to the stable, where we help Desi and the other grooms load the horses with supplies we’ll need until we can restock. Grains and dried vegetables form the basis of our food load, but we also take a cart laden with chickens for eggs and goats for milk and cheese and, eventually, for meat. We lead them down the cobblestone streets to the dock.

  ‘Father,’ I say quietly. ‘We can’t take the Nikopeia.’

  ‘It’s normal for a man to be frightened the first time he sails. But being on the Adriatic is as safe as being on a horse.’

  I look down at my feet. ‘I’ve found another ship. The Theodora. We sail this afternoon.’

  ‘You’ve done what?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘The Nikopeia isn’t safe…’

  ‘Not safe? What do you know about ships?’

  ‘No. I…’ I pause. ‘That was my dream. The Nikopeia isn’t safe.’

  ‘Come with me!’ Father takes my arm.

  The docks are crowded with people boarding various ships, along with their supplies: barrels of wine, joints of meat, dogs, goats, pigs and horses. Father soon finds the Nikopeia and its captain.

  ‘Too late to change your mind again now, Conte,’ the captain says, when he sees us. ‘We’re full. Unless you want to sleep on the decks after all.’

  We step away from the ship. Father glares at me.

  ‘There’s room for us on the Theodora,’ I say.

  I take him along the dock to where the Theodora is moored. Father boards and spend a few minutes talking to the captain, then returns to me. ‘Is this some prank of your foolish friend’s?’

  ‘Mattiolas?’ Father seems to disapprove of my new friend.

  ‘Will he be aboard the Theodora too?’ Father asks.

  ‘That’s not why I made the change.’

  ‘We’ll talk later.’

  We find our grooms outside an inn, drinking beer from titanic tankards. Desi stands when he sees us, wiping ale from his lips with a dirty hand.

  Inside, Father sits beside Narlo at the table. ‘I’ll have an ale,’ he says. ‘But only a small one for Luca. It’s not yet noon and he’s already acting strangely.’

  I sit at the bench with my shoulders hunched. There’s more bustle, then news that the first ships are ready to sail. The Nikopeia is among them. If only I could do something to save the people still aboard! But hard experience has taught me that I’ll be blamed for any disaster I foresee.

  Father jokes with the other pilgrims who join our table, but he looks over at me often. ‘No dream about the Theodora?’ he asks after a while.

  I shake my head. ‘I…’ I begin, but I stop, swallowing up the rest of my sentence with a gulp of ale.

  Down on the shore, a woman is screaming.

  Soon, others join her.

  Father and Narlo run outside and down to the docks. I stay, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

  Out on the still, calm sea, the Nikopeia has broken in half.

  Through a nearby window, I watch the ship sink again—this time for real.

  A woman shrieks. ‘This is a message from the Lord! We need to go home!’

  Time passes. I ignore the gleeful demon chatter. Eventually, Father returns with Narlo. Neither can meet my eye. Father orders large ales for us and our grooms. We drink them in silence.

  News finally reaches us. ‘All who were aboard the Nikopeia—four hundred souls—have drowned.’

  Father’s eyes are wide and fearful.

  Following afternoon prayers, it’s time for us to board the Theodora. Our grooms walk silently behind us. Hammocks are slung upon the deck, swinging above straw laid to collect droppings from our horses and make them easy to sweep away. Our grooms go to find places for themselves and our animals there. Father, Narlo and I go to our cabin.

  As the Theodora pulls out of the harbour, I look more closely at the people who sail with us. Standing at the prow, gazing towards Byzantium, is a black-clad figure I know too well. Monsignor Ramberti. Though he said my dream was demon-inspired, he also gave away his berth upon the Nikopeia.

  Ramberti stares at a very large sheet of parchment in his hands as we move. I step closer to see what he’s looking at. At the top of the sheet I see a picture of stars arranged into the constellation of Taurus. There’s the image of an explosion there and a new star, and the number forty-five.

  What does that mean? My father is forty-five. I remember he said there was a new star the year he was born. It burned as brightly as the moon until Father turned two years old, and then shrank to a normal star. Could that have something to do with us now?

  Other parchment images, herbs and demons, remind me of pictures in my book. I move closer, trying to read the writing.

  Ramberti looks up. ‘Go away, boy. Don’t meddle in what you don’t understand.’

  He’s up to something. And he’s not acting alone. I’ve only ever seen the tall man in the iron-coloured cape when Ramberti is around. I need to work out the connection between them. I still don’t know what they meant about two falcons. They’ve brought no birds—could they mean Father and me?

  The Theodora bucks on the water like we’re astride a giant, galloping horse. Surely I’ll be seasick for a thousand years.

  But after a few hours, I start to feel better. I seek out Ramberti. The iron-caped man might be travelling with him.

  I find Ramberti alone on the deck as a squall begins to blow. The ship is struck again and again with salty foam from high waves. He carries a silver vessel and, around his neck, wears a large silver medallion with mysterious symbols. I’ve seen it before, on the iron-caped man in the Collegiata.

  He waves his hand in the air as though beckoning someone and then reaches over the ship’s side. I move forwards and hide behind a couple of securely fastened barrels.

  A moment lat
er, an immense wave washes water over the handrail. I step backwards in fear, remembering the Nikopeia.

  Ramberti hasn’t moved. I grab onto a ladder behind me as the waves keep rolling. I blink, not believing my eyes. A head, the size of a cartwheel, with wild hair and flashing eyes, has emerged from the waves, teetering on the end of a tentacle-like neck.

  A sheet of foam hits me, and another head appears beside the first. Their two necks are connected like branches from one stalk.

  I’m frozen to the spot. I wait for Ramberti to react. As far as I know, I’m the only person who can see these creatures. But Ramberti raises his sword and lunges at the pair of heads, decapitating one with a sudden swipe.

  Blue blood spurts from the severed neck, mixing with salt sea-spray. The detached head drops onto the narrow deck and rolls to Ramberti, threatening to knock him over.

  The remaining head lets out a deafening roar and hisses at Ramberti, then disappears. The severed head finally stops rolling, becoming jammed in the space where the deck narrows.

  Horrified, I wait to see what will happen next.

  Ramberti, stiff in his chainmail, approaches the stuck head. Blue blood runs from the creature’s gaping neck. Ramberti collects it, holding his mysterious silver vessel still until the blood stops running. He screws the silver lid on, then crouches beside the head. With a grunt, he heaves it over the side of the ship.

  Ramberti has defeated a demon. Ramberti summoned a demon (what else could that hand gesture mean?) and then defeated it.

  It’s clear he was after the blue blood. I need to know why.

  Demons I’ve seen before were invisible to other people. They didn’t cast shadows themselves, and they certainly never bled. But if it wasn’t a demon, what was that multi-headed creature? And what does Ramberti understand about them? Clearly, he knows more than he ever admitted when he put me through that exorcism.

  I retreat to our cabin to consult the book. Ramberti’s parchment looked like Anna’s list of plants for the garden. She uses them for recipes. Is that what the book—and Ramberti’s parchment—is for? Giving lists of ingredients needed for…some sort of demonic recipe? A charm? If only I could read it!