by Simon Morden
“The famished raven flies from the south, the fallow eagle flies with him, I shall feed them no more on the flesh of the fallen: on my body both will feast now.”
“Gods, please.”
“They were once noble foes, and they are reduced to this pathetic state. The mighty fall, the kings of this world are humbled, the proud are laid low. This world is dull and lifeless and without joy.” Heavyhammer snorted and drooped his head in dismay.
Büber inexplicably thought of Thaler. “You’re wrong,” he said. “And I doubt you’ve ever felt joy. I’m going to catch my horse now.”
He clattered after it, whistling, and it not only acknowledged his presence, it came plodding back towards him. They met, and he patted its muzzle awkwardly, confessing that it managed better conversation than the dwarf.
He led it back to the path, retrieved his sword and, wanting for any vegetation, he found a rag in his saddlebags to wipe the gore away from the blade. When he was done, he tossed it to the ground next to Heavyhammer.
“Don’t tell me it’s a dwarfish custom to allow your weapons to remain caked in the brains of your enemies.”
“Those creatures were not worthy enough to be considered enemies, Master Büber. They were like cattle to the slaughter, lowing even as their lifeblood drained into the rock below their still-shuddering carcasses.”
“Wipe your fucking axe, you miserable old sod, and let’s get going. I’m not going to get caught out here at night with no fire or food.” He sheathed his sword and led his horse past Heavyhammer, the path still heading inexorably upwards.
Büber wondered if he ought to strike out alone and find Farduzes himself. It couldn’t be that hard, and it had been the original plan, as had blundering around and hoping to find the entrance to the underground city. But he’d been offered a personal introduction to the dwarvish king. He should take the crumbs that fate threw his way.
“Come on,” he called back, a little more conciliatory. “We’ve miles to go. You swore an oath to me, Thorsun Heavyhammer. I thought that sort of thing was important to you.”
“What is the point, human? We are doomed, you and me. We will pass from Midgard and no one will remember us. My oath?” He picked up the cloth Büber had thrown down and gave his axe a few desultory wipes before casting it onto the body of the nearest giant. “You would do better trusting Loki himself.”
“That always works out well,” said Büber. “But all I have is you.”
Heavyhammer hauled his pack back on, staggered under its weight – something a dwarf would never have done – and carried his axe to where Büber was standing.
He strode past with a quick gait, and didn’t look back.
60
If Thaler had had his own way, the work of the library would have carried on, in shifts, throughout the night. How dare people get tired, hungry, irritable and bored? And even while he cursed the frailties of others, there was his own corruptible body that itself would succumb to his base instincts despite his best efforts.
Perhaps it was better to work from cock-crow to nightjar’s croak, but possible? No. Eyes that were sharp in the morning became blurred by mid-afternoon.
“Dismissed,” he murmured from his position at the head of the long table.
“Master Thaler?” asked one of the librarians busy filling a barrow with catalogued books.
“Dismissed. Done. Finish for the day. Back to the dormitory, or wherever it is you intend to lay your head tonight. Eat, drink, rest, for tomorrow we do the same thing again. A Sisyphean task, gentlemen, but ours nevertheless.”
He rubbed his slack, grey face, and pressed his knuckles against his closed eyelids. When he’d finished reaming, the seats around the table were empty except for his and Aaron Morgenstern’s.
Thaler rested his elbows on the tabletop. “Thank you for your help today, Mr Morgenstern.”
Morgenstern leant back in his seat and twisted his neck, first to the left and then to the right. Two cracks like falling slates rang out. “You’ve an impressive library. I didn’t know just how many books you had.”
“Neither did we, and indeed, we still don’t. Quite what possessed my illustrious forebears in putting off the cataloguing is anyone’s guess. Extraordinary business. I suppose, if I was being generous, that at some point in the past the sheer volume of titles became simply too daunting and someone decided that it had reached the level of an impossibility.”
Morgenstern cracked his knuckles next. “Did Sophia remind you she’d brought back the books Thomm stole?”
“You are, without doubt, a most generous and law-abiding Jew, and a credit to your people.” Thaler endowed him with a beatific smile. “She also made reference to the pseudo-Euclid book you received by mistake.”
“The one she gave to you.”
“Again, generous to a fault. My thanks. I trust the scrolls of your religious writings have found their rightful place in your synagogue.”
“Each one needs an ark building for it, but yes.” Morgenstern softened a touch, and Thaler thought that perhaps returning the sefers would mark a change in the relation between the library and the literate Jews.
“We’re very short-staffed,” he ventured. “Especially when your daughter keeps finding new jobs for my librarians. If you could possibly…”
“I’ll see what I can do. The young men are busy earning their shekels, but the old men? They sit around and do nothing but kvetch.” Morgenstern got up, but instead of taking his leave and walking out, he picked a chair next to Thaler’s. “May I?”
“Of course, please do.”
Morgenstern sat again, and readjusted his kippah. He seemed nervous, but the only sounds were the last few librarians wheeling trolleys and shelving books in the deep recesses of the library.
“Sophia.”
“Yes?”
“How are the Germans taking it? I mean, it must be strange for them.”
Thaler countered. “And the Jews? Your religion is exclusive. One God as opposed to a pantheon, strict laws and formal observance as opposed to occasional propitiation, a written tradition as well as an oral one. From your point of view, I suppose she’s taking a bigger step than Felix.”
“If they were married, then perhaps things would be more settled.” Morgenstern pinched at his nose. “Do you know the word concubine?”
“I know that it means less than a wife,” said Thaler.
“Your handfasting is less than what we’d like.”
“And I’ve observed your marriage processions before.”
The two men ruminated on their differences.
“Honestly,” asked Morgenstern, “will the Germans accept Felix taking a Jewish wife?”
“Eventually? I expect so.” Thaler had heard the usual grumbles. Though, since Morgenstern had requested honesty, he ought to be honest. “They’re confused. Your people have lived more or less separate lives in our midst. Like those parallel lines Euclid is so fond of. To suddenly find a Jew in the royal family, and one older than Felix, and more importantly, Felix being only a boy and Sophia a woman? It’s a hard thing for them to take. A prince of Carinthia is supposed to marry someone close in rank, and for duty, for the country, for peace, not for…”
“Not for love, you mean.” Morgenstern rumbled into his beard. “I’m worried about her.”
“As is right and proper. You’re her father.” He paused. “Would she withdraw if you objected?”
“Objected? She’s with the prince. Objecting would have me locked in a tower like those Bavarians.” Morgenstern sniffed. “Not really. She’d just ignore me. Oh, for certain, she’ll consider what I have to say, but I can’t order her around now, if I ever could. She’s her own woman. Takes after her mother. ”
“If there was a marriage, how would your people treat her?”
“My … Yes, I understand that you Germans are more lax about taking a wife, but for us, it’s important. It’s a father’s duty to see his daughter married well.”
�
��In which case,” said Thaler, “you should be delighted.”
“You mistake me. A Jewish woman’s duty is to provide Jewish children for her Jewish husband. Marrying out is a particular fear we have. There aren’t many of us, Master Thaler.”
“In the circumstances, calling me Frederik wouldn’t be out of place.”
Morgenstern smoothed the hair between his nose and his lip. “Frederik, then. We have to marry within the faith, or we’re lost. It’d take only a generation.”
“But think of the protection she could give, Aaron.”
“Is already giving. There are …” and Morgenstern waved his hands, “precedents. And any … ah … issue would be considered Jewish.”
“Matrilineal? Interesting. A son would be…”
“A Jew. Yes. By our measure. How would the Germans take that?”
Thaler bent his head, deep in thought. It was a conversation that Morgenstern simply couldn’t have had with anyone else. He felt strangely honoured by the level of trust imparted between two men who had, up to that point, had a mutually competitive interest in books: rivals, even, and Thaler had always had the upper hand.
He still did, of course, on paper. He was a prince’s man, and the holder of arguably the most important position in the whole of the palatinate. Except he was sitting across the table from the prince’s de facto father-in-law.
“I don’t know. It’s never happened before. Gerhard’s mother was an Italian, and his first wife a Frank. If you were to be strict about these things, Felix is less than a quarter German already.” Thaler thought he’d seen a book earlier with lists of kings and queens in it, and he looked around to see if he could immediately spot it. “We were never strict about inheritance, though. In the earliest days of the palatinate, the earls elected the prince from among themselves. The succession could, and did, swap families.”
Morgenstern was discomforted. “And if the earls take it on themselves to do that again?”
“Most of the earls are dead, Aaron.”
“But not the earldoms. There’s always someone who’ll claim to be the heir.”
Thaler patted the table. “They take their authority from the prince.”
“Who is only twelve.”
“We’re not going to solve all the problems of Carinthia tonight. The great council’s coming: that should settle matters.” Thaler reached into his pocket and pulled out the work of ibn al-Haytham. He slid it across the table. “It might not be by Euclid, but I’m still interested.”
“If the great council is going to be anything like our synagogue meetings, all we’ll get is a bunch of old men shouting at each other. And I speak as one of those old men.” Morgenstern took the book and idly flipped open the front cover. “If this had been Euclid, I could have commanded a price that would have kept me in luxury for the rest of my days.”
“On the Balance would have been a dramatic find, Aaron: a lost work, rediscovered. This one, though, has some promise.”
Morgenstern leafed through the pages, looking at some of the illustrations and frowning at their novelty. “I thought at one point that you might have been interested in Sophia.”
Thaler kept his face guardedly neutral. “I’m a librarian. We don’t marry.”
“You’re still a man.” Morgenstern affected studying the text in front of him closely. “Look at the state Mr Thomm got himself into.”
“Sophia is an intelligent and learned woman. I enjoy her company in the same way I enjoy speaking to anyone of a similar disposition.” Thaler pursed his lips, as if to indicate his disapproval. What if he had, briefly, ludicrously, entertained thoughts of Sophia Morgenstern? He couldn’t have had both her and the library, and now, whether or not it was possible, he’d made his choice and she hers. No point in wondering what might have been.
Aaron Morgenstern grunted. “You realise that this isn’t just one book, rather several sewn together?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Thaler, glad of the change of subject. “What else do we have?”
Turning back a few pages, Morgenstern consulted the title. “Risala der Mehel: a Treatise on Place, which discusses moving bodies, I think, and another risala, this time on optics.”
“Optics?”
“The behaviour of mirrors, curved glass, and such. Here, listen to this: ‘Suppose then that the enquirer views a phenomenon they cannot explain. They must observe similar occurrences, which in itself is not enough. They must propose a solution that encompasses all those occurrences, which is not enough either. To truly seek answers, the enquirer must also carry out such experiments as are necessary. This is in order to prove the solution correct in all circumstances that are applicable.’”
“Experiments?” Thaler glanced up at the scaffolding tower. “So if I were to propose that all objects fall at the same rate, no matter how heavy they are…”
“I imagine you’d be the laughing stock of the town.”
“No, hear me out. I could carry a variety of weights up to the top of a tower, release them at the same time, and if they strike the ground at different times, I’d be proved wrong.”
“Yes. That’s what’ll happen. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone? Well then.” Thaler pushed his chair back and stood. “Shall we prove them wrong?”
“What? Now?”
“We still have daylight, and it’s not something I can do by myself.” The master librarian reached forward and took the book from Morgenstern’s hands.
“One old man and …” – Morgenstern regarded Thaler’s physical form with scepticism – “another out of his prime, climbing towers and throwing weights off them, and to what end? It’s foolishness.”
“But I’ve already done it once.” Thaler looked lost. “I went up to the gallery and I pushed two of the workmen’s lunch-pails off, one empty and one full, and they hit the ground at the same time.”
“You only think they did, Frederik. That gallery up there isn’t high enough to prove anything.” Morgenstern snorted. “Everyone knows that the heavier something is, the quicker it falls to the ground. If you take a feather and a stone—”
“Yes, yes.” Now he was getting cross. “But a feather is supposed to push back against the air.”
To illustrate his point, he grabbed one of the prepared quills on the table, and waved it back and forth. He could feel the pressure of it against his fingers. It wanted to fly, just like the goose it had come from.
“Well, there you go,” said Morgenstern. “You have to consider the nature of the thing as well. A pound of feathers will fall more slowly than a pound of lead.”
“Ah! Ah hah!” Thaler pounced. If an empty container fell at the same speed as one with a pound of lead, then he was absolutely confident one stuffed with feathers would. “A hundred florins says it won’t.”
“A hundred florins? Merciful God in Heaven, where is a poor bookseller supposed to find a hundred florins?” Morgenstern mopped theatrically at his brow. “You may as well make it a whole talent of silver and have done with it. A hundred florins would break me.”
Thaler didn’t have five florins to his name, let alone a hundred. He had no idea why he’d said that amount, unless it was to embarrass Morgenstern, and that wasn’t his intention at all.
“A translation of this book, then, if I’m right. To be done at your earliest convenience.”
That wasn’t asking much. Sophia expected her father to do it anyway. Morgenstern considered the penalty.
“And what do I get when you inevitably fail? A book from the library? Any book I choose?”
“These books are not mine, Aaron, any more than they were Thomm’s.” Thaler even stamped his foot. “I’m missing an under-librarian now that Wess has left me to push paper on behalf of your daughter. How about Under-librarian Morgenstern?”
“Oy. I’d have to work for you? And this is supposed to be a good thing?”
“The book trade will take years to recover, even if we avoid war with every single one of our nei
ghbours. Yes, you could spend every day in the fortress, sitting on your thumbs, or you could be down here, in among the books.” Thaler held out the al-Haytham. “Smell it, Aaron. Smell the age on it. The knowledge in it. Where else are you going to get such an offer?”
Morgenstern pressed his hands together and held them against his chin, his lips and his nose. “Hmm. Put like that, I might even want you to be right.”
61
“This,” said her prince, “is a sword.”
Sophia felt the announcement was more than a little redundant, since the Prince of Carinthia was holding the Sword of Carinthia above his head to the assembled trainees. Sitting on a barrel to the side of the courtyard, she sunned herself in the slanting sunlight that squeezed over the battlements and watched the motley crowd of faces, both familiar and strange.
Rabbi Cohen was there, and her neighbour Mr Rosenbaum, and Master Ullmann, and Master Emser, one of the guildmasters who’d gone exploring underground with Frederik Thaler.
Felix had unbound his right arm – against her wishes, but he was young and he’d learn – but still held the sword in his left. The sunlight caught the blade and it glittered marvellously. The men looked to their own swords, a mixture of old Roman-pattern cavalry swords and Goth-style longswords. Not one of them was as fine, and they didn’t look at all convinced that they’d be able to learn anything.
She frowned. Did he realise? Should she tell him?
She’d help set up the wicker dummy behind him, as well as the deer carcass hung on chains from a wooden drying frame. That was as far as her involvement seemed to extend.
“Rabbi,” said Felix, “come here.”
Nervous, fingers flexing on his hilt, Cohen took a pace forward and stopped.
“No, over here.” Felix beckoned.
With a glance over his shoulder, the rabbi walked towards Felix.
“Prince Felix?” Ah, getting a “my lord” out of that man was harder than milking a stone.
Felix gave him the sword he held, and exchanged it for the notched, dull, hammer-beaten one Cohen had chosen from the armoury.