by Simon Morden
But there was no more time for questions. The prince, one sleeve of his white shirt trailing like a banner, slipped quietly into the room, and only Trommler seemed to notice.
“My lord Felix,” he said. “The mayor of Juvavum and the library wish to exercise their ancient rights of audience.”
Thaler expected Allegretti to be right behind the prince, but he hadn’t appeared by the time the boy had nodded to both him and Messinger, and crossed to the fire. The night wasn’t that cold, but he seemed to need the heat.
Trommler was also looking around for Allegretti. “My lord should be aware that a decision, or even an indication of his thoughts, is not required at this time.”
“Thank you, Mr Trommler.” Felix looked up at the chamberlain. “Mr Trommler, do you work for me now?”
“If it’s your wish that I keep my position, then I’ll serve you as faithfully as I served your father.”
“I do wish,” said the prince. “There’s so much I don’t know.”
Trommler looked over to where the Book of Carinthia lay on a table. “My lord mustn’t worry. Good advice is closer than you think. Gentlemen?”
Thaler and Messinger drew closer, and Trommler introduced them. The prince had met the mayor before, but he frowned at Thaler’s name.
“The letter writer.”
Ah. Thaler had wondered when this would come, and it was sooner than he thought. “Yes, my lord. Both mine and Peter Büber’s loyalty to Carinthia are as solid as the foundations of this fortress. If he is at fault in fearing the Order, then I’m more to blame.”
“He took the blame for himself.” Felix blinked up at him. “Both he and the witch are banished. He admitted he should’ve told my father.”
Thaler felt his heart sink. “Our fault was assuming he already knew. My deepest regret, my lord, is that we didn’t discover the Order’s perfidy in time. We failed Carinthia.”
Instead of sending him away, or calling for the guard, what was left of it, Felix looked away. “I … mistakes get made, sometimes.”
“My lord would not have a fiercer protector than Master Büber,” said Thaler, knowing it was true.
It seemed that the librarian wasn’t the only one with regrets. Felix turned to the chamberlain. “Is there any way I can change my mind?”
Trommler cleared his throat. “We can try and get a message to him, but he’s the huntmaster and will be difficult to find. Such men are much more adept at disappearing than even Miss Morgenstern.”
“She didn’t disappear,” Felix blurted. “She was with me.”
Then Allegretti came back in, signalling his approach with the jingle of his scabbards. Thaler, open-mouthed, had his slack jaw closed by the back of Messinger’s hand.
The Italian stalked to the centre of the room, looking at the faces of the others to gauge what had transpired while he’d been away. Thaler was examining Allegretti’s features, with similar intent.
“My lord, gentlemen.”
Messinger grunted impatiently, and seemed eager to state his case to the prince, but Thaler wanted something else first.
“Will Miss Morgenstern be joining us, Master Allegretti?” The Italian had returned some time after the prince had arrived. If Sophia had been with the boy, then so had Allegretti.
For a brief moment, the mask slipped and Thaler saw Allegretti’s intent naked: only for a moment, because the urbane tutor reasserted himself quickly.
“She will not, Mister Thaler. As you well know, it is only free men who have rights of audience.”
“If my lord Felix commanded it, however?” Thaler suggested, but the prince blushed and waved at the chairs.
“I don’t need to,” he said, and picked a chair for himself.
Allegretti looked satisfied. Self-satisfied, in fact. Thaler, however, thought he knew Sophia well enough to suspect she hadn’t been entirely silent. The Italian took the chair next to Felix, positioning himself on the other side to Messinger and Thaler, creating the semblance of a faction and promoting himself to the prince’s right.
Trommler hovered in the shadows while the other two took their seats.
“Mr Trommler, is there anything to drink?” asked Felix. “Or eat?”
“I’m sure there is, my lord. I shall return shortly.” Trommler eased himself away, and Felix looked expectantly at the mayor.
Messinger scratched at his chin, and with a resigned shrug of his shoulders recounted the entirety of his and Thaler’s trip up Goat Mountain. When he left something out, Thaler filled in the missing details, including the parts that should have been Sophia’s to relate – and, judging from the prince’s reaction, it didn’t seem that he was hearing these things for the first time.
When the moment came to tell of the encounter with Eckhardt, the mayor reached forward and drank a good deal of the wine provided by Trommler. He could barely bring himself to speak of it to Felix.
So Thaler took over and explained what exactly the hexmaster had offered, and what he wanted in return.
“My lord, those are his terms, and he awaits your answer.”
Felix stared into the fire. “How long do we have?”
“He didn’t say.” Thaler looked to his own wine. Despite everything, he was determined to sleep well that night. “Whatever you decide to do, you have to consider other factors as well.”
Allegretti shifted in his chair. “We have heard your testimony, gentlemen. Thank you. Mr Trommler will show you out.”
Felix looked from the Italian back to Thaler. His lips twitched. “What other factors, Mr Thaler?”
“We can discuss them when the gentlemen have left, my lord.” Allegretti said firmly.
But the boy would not be swayed. “Mr Thaler?”
“Water,” said Thaler quickly, before he could be interrupted. “Juvavum’s water supply depends on magic to push the water through the pipes. Without it, we have no sanitation, no domestic or industrial supply.”
“Be assured,” said Allegretti, “that the prince has the welfare of all his people in his heart.”
“Tell him, man,” growled Messinger. “Tell him your plan.”
Allegretti was about to cut the mayor off, when Felix held out his hand. He fixed Thaler with his fire-bright gaze. “A plan, Mr Thaler?”
The librarian went cold inside, and his mouth went abruptly dry. He took a mouthful of wine, and swallowed hard. “I do have an alternative, my lord.” At least, he hoped he had.
Felix leant back in his chair. “Go on.”
Thaler got out of his chair and started to pace the floor. “The Romans, my lord: their magic was poor, and their building excellent. When they founded Juvavum – or rather, razed the German town on this site to the ground and built on top of the ruins – they installed a water supply that worked without magic.”
“Gods,” muttered Allegretti, shaking his head.
“It is my belief that this underground system is still working.”
“Ha.”
Messinger gripped the arms of his chair. “If you don’t shut up, you coxcomb, you gilded pig’s…”
Thaler kicked the mayor’s chair. Hard. And he was still in his library slippers.
“When did Rome fall, Mr Thaler?” asked the prince.
“A little over a thousand years ago, my lord. However, the Romans built to last. We have Roman buildings in Juvavum and throughout Carinthia. Parts of this fortress date back to Alaric’s time, and as I’m sure my lord is aware, the library used to be a Roman temple.”
“And what makes you think that the Roman water pipes are still there?”
“Because we still use part of the system. And because there is still water flowing into the Jews’ ritual baths.”
At mention of the Jews, Felix raised his head, and Thaler suddenly, dizzyingly, realised that he might actually pull this audacity off.
“If the ah, mikveh, still has water,” he continued, “so could we. At least, I’d like your permission to investigate the possibility before my lord
feels compelled to accept Master Eckhardt’s bargain.”
Allegretti looked disgusted, but the prince seemed intrigued. As for Trommler? He never gave anything away he didn’t intend to.
“It’s good to have choices, Mr Thaler. You taught me that yourself, signore.”
“My lord, this hardly counts as a choice!”
Felix ignored the man. “What do you need, Mr Thaler?” he asked.
“I … I don’t know.” He looked to Messinger for support.
“He’ll have everything he needs, my lord,” said the mayor. “Men, materials, whatever.”
“Thank you, Master Messinger.” The prince nodded. “Mr Trommler said I didn’t need to make a decision now, and Master Eckhardt seems to say he can wait a little while. Can you hurry, Mr Thaler?”
All hopes of sleep had gone in an instant. “My lord, I shall apply myself and my fellows to the task with all haste. Starting now. Mr Messinger, if you please?”
The mayor rose from his chair and looked sternly at Allegretti, before bowing to Felix. “We’ll send news as we have it.”
The boy shook his head. “Don’t. That’ll waste time. Just tell me when you’ve done it, or you know you can’t.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Messinger swept from the room, pushing Thaler ahead of him. When they were alone, he hissed: “Do you really think you can do this?”
“I have absolutely no idea at all.” Thaler cracked his knuckles. “But we’re about to find out.”
33
It was light when she woke. Sophia was vaguely aware of a hammering noise, and she wondered if it was her head. Purim drinking was both epic and legendary, and she’d taken some wine when she’d got back home, despite it only being the men who were obligated to get to the point where they couldn’t tell the difference between cursing Haman and blessing Mordecai.
As she raised her head from her pillow, she realised that the banging was real, insistent, and coming from downstairs.
It was loud enough to wake the dead. More importantly, it was loud enough to wake her father, who, as well as being just a little deaf, had imbibed heroic amounts of syrupy sweet wine and danced the hora well into the night.
She threw back the covers, dragged her heavy housecoat over her night-clothes and tried to hurry. She fell against her bedroom door, hauled it open with difficulty and then crashed against the opposing walls of the staircase on her way down.
“All right already,” she called. “Enough.”
The knocking stopped, and she worked the latch, with no result. Seemingly, she’d had enough wits about her last night to close the bolts.
Last night. She pressed her fingers hard into her temples and leant against the wall. Then she put her hand to her neck, and felt the scab of dried blood, and touched the top of her head where it was sore.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Mr Thaler, Miss Morgenstern,” came the reply, bright and loud.
What was the idiot doing? She struggled the bolts free and heaved the door aside.
It was Thaler. It was also half a dozen librarians, two of the town’s militia, and three high-ranking guildsmen.
She stared at the crowd, trying to understand what brought twelve men to her house before breakfast. They stared back at her, clearly expecting something to happen, Thaler the most expectant of all.
“What?” she asked. She moved the hair that was curtaining one eye. “What is it?”
Thaler looked behind him at the waiting men. “We need your help. What else would we need?”
“My … help?” Her hair fell over her face again, and she made more of a concerted effort to trap it this time. “I don’t understand. Is this about the books?”
“Yes,” said Thaler, “but not those books. I, we that is, have a plan.”
He beckoned one of the librarians to him and plucked the roll of parchment from his pale hands. He unrolled it and held it up to her. It had lines and markings on it, with tiny annotations made in Gothic script.
“Yes. I see. You do have a plan.” She leant back against the door frame. “What is it a plan of?”
Thaler let go of one end of the parchment and it rolled up again with a snap. “The water supply. Is your father up?”
“Up?” She looked back into the house. “You won’t get any sense out of him before midday. And honestly, I’m not getting any sense out of you, either. What do you need my father for?”
“We need a scholarly Jew,” said Thaler. “We have a book.”
He waved at another librarian, who stepped forward and held up a black-bound book, the cover embossed with a menora.
“I can see you have a book. A book and a plan.” Sophia shook her head to try and clear it. “Why do you need my father again?”
Thaler opened his mouth, but the man carrying the book got in first. “Begging your pardon, miss, but Mr Thaler’s had no sleep at all, so if I might explain?”
“Someone needs to,” she said.
“I think Mr Thaler’s already told you that he thinks he can get the water running again. He has what we hope is a map of the underground cisterns, but we need someone who can read this Hebrew script. The library’s got Hebrew readers, but they can’t make head nor tail of this.”
She focused on the man with his slicked-back hair and thin face. “Let me have a look.”
She took the book from him and opened it at a random page near the middle. The spine creaked, and she had difficulty supporting its weight in one hand. She didn’t want to drop it, so she only took a quick look.
“It’s Yiddish, not Hebrew. Vernacular and old. No vowel marks.”
Thaler looked pleased. “Your father can read it?”
“If I can, he can. But if I wake him up now, he’ll still be drunk. As will every other male Jew in the street who might be able to make out what it says.” Sophia handed the book back and stuck the heel of her hand into her eye socket. “Mr Thaler?”
“Miss Morgenstern?”
“At some point, we’re going to have to stop doing this. Wait here.” She stumbled back inside and pushed the door closed. This was insane. She had the fires to make, food to cook, dishes and clothes to wash, and today was Friday! The Sabbath wouldn’t wait for anyone: two days’ work to fit into one.
She couldn’t afford to nursemaid goyim librarians through an obscure history book for the rest of the day. She needed to be here, in this house. Nursemaiding her father’s sore head. Lighting the Shabbat candles.
But it was still very early, and her father wouldn’t be conscious for hours. She ran a good household, so she could spare some time. Her neighbours would talk, but they hadn’t seen the look on Eckhardt’s face: the Jews needed the Germans like never before.
She growled at herself, and fled upstairs to get dressed, stamping back down again and flinging the door open on the still-surprised men.
“Where are we going?”
“The, ah, mikveh.” Thaler pointed up the street in the direction of the synagogue.
“I know where it is, Mr Thaler.” She closed the door behind her, and still they all stood and stared at her. “Oy. What are we waiting for?”
Sophia elbowed her way through and set off without them. Some of the window shutters were already open in the other houses, and as she strode past trailing a gaggle of black-robed men, spear-carriers and guildsmen, faces appeared at the openings, heads and shoulders leaning out to get a better view once she’d gone by.
The synagogue was at the corner of the street where it made a dog’s leg into Scale Square. Stone-built, it was sturdy and squat, and underneath it, accessed by separate steps, was the mikveh.
She’d barely put one foot on the first step down when a window flew open.
“You men! Stop!”
They all looked up.
“You can’t go down there. It’s not allowed.”
Thaler looked briefly confused. “But the prince has ordered it.”
It was the turn of the woman stretched out of an upstairs windo
w to be stunned. “The prince?”
“Yes, good lady. And the mayor.”
Sophia retraced her path, and shielded her eyes so she could see. “Good morning, Mrs Cohen.”
“Who’s that?” She peered down. “Sophia Morgenstern? What are you doing?”
“I’m assisting these gentlemen in the execution of their lawful duty.” She smiled. “I expect they’ll arrest you if you try and stop us.”
“Where’s your father? Go and get him at once.” The rabbi’s wife’s voice was sharp and demanding.
“My father is otherwise incapacitated, Mrs Cohen, as I expect your husband is. Now, if you’d like us to shout our business to the rooftops, I’ll happily do so another time – but not now.” Sophia cupped her hands around her mouth. “We’re busy.”
She’d pay for that later, especially if this plan of Thaler’s didn’t work. She turned back around and descended to the wooden door of the mikveh.
“Watch your heads.” She ducked through the doorway, and collected the lantern from the alcove. The air was moist and cool, and the sounds of moving water percolated upwards. “Tell me you brought more lights.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Thaler. I’ve brought a few from the library.”
“Excellent, Mr Ullmann.” Thaler beamed. “Yes, Miss Morgenstern, we have lights.”
The mikveh was at the bottom of a square shaft, wound around with steps. They all clattered down, as far as they could go. The stairs went on, under the water, and the lazy ripples in the pool twisted the candlelight back up at them.
“Oh.” Thaler leant out over the water. “I expected something more…”
“Grand, Mr Thaler?” She’d stopped on the step above the water, and held on to the handrail. “Not this mikveh. I’m told the one in Spira is very much bigger.”
“But look. The water’s not still.”
“Can we drain the pool?” asked a voice.
“There’s a gate which slides over the inlet. It’s not a perfect seal, but the water leaves the pool faster than it leaks in, through a grating at the bottom. That’s the way we empty it. But Mr Thaler,” she asked, “you’ve yet to explain why we’re here.”