The Necromancer's Grimoire

by Annmarie Banks

  William nodded obediently, his breathing slowed to the rhythm of slumber so different from the rhythm of dance pounding in Nadira’s head.

  “Hmm, Nadira,” he breathed softly. His hand moved from beneath the blanket and reached for hers.

  “What is it, Will?” Nadira tried to chase the jealous thoughts away, aware now that Robert had cleverly won this battle. He had succeeded in frightening her.

  “Nadira, I ...” He touched her hand with one finger, then stroked her wrist and began to slide his hand along her arm to her elbow.

  She turned to him, dismayed, but his hand dropped suddenly to the bed. He was asleep, low snores replaced his deep breathing. “Ah, Will,” she sighed.

  Two days later Nadira unwrapped his bandages to apply more honey to the cuts. She ran a finger over old ones that had healed, feeling the raised ridges. There were weeks of scourges on his body.

  “My lord’s back carries scars as well,” she said softly to him. “But he did not place them there.”

  “You cannot understand, Nadira,” William sighed, “and I will not try to explain.”

  “No. It is enough that you have put aside the flail forever.” She touched the honey gently into the rawest wounds. “Let me re-bandage these few that seep, then we shall dress you in a tunic and leggings.” She glanced at the clothing on the bed beside her.

  “I feel like I am stepping from the firm ground into a leaky boat,” he said.

  She smiled, though he could not see her. “I can help to patch those leaks. Let me send you somewhere beautiful. The blue vial is for that.” She finished with the wounds and began to wind the soft cloth around his pale chest, leaning to and fro and lifting his arms one by one. He turned his head to the side and she caught a glance of one golden eye. He smiled shyly back at her as she tied the ends.

  “I would like that. Can you come with me?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Perhaps.” She paused with his new tunic in her hands as she considered this. “I think I would have to put you somewhere first, then ask you to stay put while I find you there.” She slipped the tunic over his head and helped pull his arms through the sleeves.

  He winced. “I will spend weeks sleeping propped against a wall,” he said.

  “Soon this will be healed and you can sleep soundly again,” she soothed. “There will be no more fresh wounds.” She made the last sentence sound like an order.

  He pulled the laces at his throat. She handed him the trousers. “How long has it been since you’ve been in leggings?”

  His eyes looked up as he counted, “Nine years.”

  She teased, “Do you need me to demonstrate how they work?”

  He laughed as he stuck one leg into them, the golden eyes twinkled with a happiness she had not seen since Andorra, “There may be some fumbling at the privy at first, but I will adapt. Riding will be easier.”

  He stood to tie them at the waist and she helped him adjust the tunic. “Now for your boots.”

  “Boots.”

  “Yes. My lord bought them for you last night. I hope they fit. He assures me he is a good judge of size…” She dimpled as she lifted the leather shoes from their place on the floor.

  William took one in his hand and gauged the size and admired the Turkish stitching. “He is generous. This is fine work.”

  “He likes you,” she said.

  This brought some sadness and doubt to his eyes. “Does he?” He sat on the bed to pull the boot over one foot. “Many nights I slept uneasy, imagining him sliding that sword though me from one end to the other.”

  Nadira laughed as she handed him the other boot. “Please. Really?”

  He did not answer, but glanced up at her. She saw the long nights in his eyes.

  She changed the subject, touched the waving stubble of his tonsure. “This will grow long soon enough. Shall I cut the ends shorter and try to match the length? It is conspicuous.”

  “No. The cloak has a hood.” He indicated the dark cloak on the stool by the window. “I will wear it for a few weeks. The tonsure is no more conspicuous than the color of my hair.” He pointed to the golden brown strands that were growing long over his ears. “And this,” he touched his chin where a soft blond beard emerged. His eyes twinkled at her again.

  “I am glad you are feeling like a new man,” she said.

  The morning sounds in the hallway alerted her that guests and servants had started their daily tasks. Alisdair sat in the corner, his head tipped over his chest, also asleep. He had come in soon after midnight and took his place on the low bench. His long red hair hung down in careless braids, the ends variously unraveled in random waves. She padded over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Alisdair,” she said softly.

  “Umph,” he breathed, lifting his head.

  “Where is the baron?”

  “Tavern,” he grunted.

  She made a face. “Surely not. It is morning.”

  Alisdair gathered his long legs under him and made to stand. His unsteadiness suggested he had also been at the tavern. “Aye. He sent me back here to check on ye.” He opened one eye at her, blinked it several times as if trying to see her clearly. “Good. I checked. Now I need to get to the privy.” He lumbered to the door and paused on the threshold, one hand on the lintel.

  “Take Will with you,” she suggested. “Go with Alisdair,” she murmured to him.

  They disappeared as Thedra entered.

  She followed them with her eyes until they were gone, then turned to Nadira. “Your leader Corbett wishes to depart today when all is readied. I don’t want you to go.”

  Nadira picked up a comb and started on her hair. “I would rather stay, myself. I have greatly enjoyed your friendship and learned a great deal about your fine city. But I know why he leaves and I have no defense to make on his behalf.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence before Thedra spoke. “He cannot defy the Padishah. You have not met with him yet.”

  Nadira put down her comb. “No.” She had been made to understand the great Sultan had recently left the city for a brief journey on important business, but she suspected the necromancer was delaying the meeting indefinitely.

  “I was not able to hear where the frenki knight said he was going, and of course I cannot ask.” Thedra pouted prettily. “I would ask that you leave your Scotsman with me.”

  Nadira laughed. She brushed her dress with her hands to smooth the wrinkles and then adjusted the laces. “That I cannot do.” She lifted a light veil and covered her hair with it.

  Thedra dimpled. “The act of love will never satisfy me again. I will forever be making comparisons…”

  Nadira tilted her head, “And you are certain that there shall be no red-headed babies?”

  “No. I am well-skilled in that area.” Thedra smiled back. “He is well-skilled as well. He taught me something he said in learned in Paris. There is not a man in all of Anatolia who would do that to a woman. If he leaves I will never be happy again.” She put on a comical sad face.

  Nadira could not help but laugh. “Paris?” She tried to imagine. “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”

  “I know, and I am sorry for you. I can only hope your lord studied in Paris as well.”

  Her lord pushed open the door at that moment, “Studied in Paris?” he asked as he entered the room. He took in the absence of William and Alisdair, the mussed bedding, the toiletries on the low table and Thedra. He bowed to her. “Lady,” he said in English.

  Thedra inclined her head in greeting. “Please tell your lord I was explaining why the red Scotsman sometimes braids this part of his beard over his chin just so…” she touched her chin and gave Nadira a naughty flash of her eyes before gliding out the door and disappearing down the hall.

  Montrose turned to Nadira, and she was surprised to see a florid flush rise up from his neck until his whole face was bright.

  “That woman…” he said. “She said something about Alisdair’s beard…”


  Nadira could not resist. “Did you study in Paris with Alisdair?”

  “God. What has she been saying to you?”

  “Apparently I am well-educated in all areas but one.”

  “Nadira,” he said in a low voice, “Frivolities later. I have come to tell you to pack. Corbett has talked our way out of this trouble with William, but we have been asked to leave this house.”

  His blush faded as he began to loosen the ties on the leather sacks that protected their clothing. Nadira put her comb away and sat on the bed to put her shoes on. “I hope you studied in Paris,” she pretended to sulk. “I would know what she knows.” He turned to look at her over his shoulder as he packed the bag. She continued lacing the other shoe. “It pains me to think you were teaching it to other ladies last night.”

  He stood up and put the bag down. “I taught nothing to ladies last night. I enjoyed some strong drink…”

  “Yes?”

  He shrugged.

  “And the ladies?”

  “There were no ladies at the tavern, Nadira. What makes you think there were? Do you think I went to a bawdy house? Did Alisdair tell you that?” His face darkened.

  “No, he said nothing, though he smelled strongly of cinnamon and alcohol and a strange sweet smoke.”

  Montrose nodded and went back to packing. “We talked of the weather and travel across the sea to Attica. We spoke of the sultan and his vizier and his navy. We mentioned no ladies at all.”

  Montrose pulled hard on the lacing and tightened the bag before setting it down by the door. He moved to the bed and sat next to her. “How is he this morning?” he asked.

  “He is nauseous and pale.”

  “No. I mean, how is he? Has enough time passed to be able to tell?”

  She shook her head. “He will recover. He will never be the same again, that is certain. How he takes this new experience and understands it is still unknown. I suspect some vows will have to be broken.”

  Montrose raised an eyebrow and put his arm around her waist. “Not that one.”

  “No.” she agreed. “Not that one. But he can no longer be obedient. He maintains the poverty…”

  “That is understandable.”

  “…And the chastity. But he sees that God is not a vengeful tyrant, eager to punish his worshippers for their foolishness and weaknesses.”

  “No?”

  “No.” she pointed to the wall under the window. “Do you see his rosary?” Montrose nodded. The wood beads were scattered like grain and had rolled into the seams of the floor where the tiles were set together. “He will not be packing that in his valise,” she finished.

  “And you?” He pulled her toward him. “Did you learn about the difference between a priest and a man?” he asked.

  “He is not a priest,” she insisted, “He is a friar. Was a friar,” she amended sadly. “There is a difference and you know it.”

  “He cannot give the sacraments,” Montrose agreed. “But the vows are the same. Yet he is a man. Did he touch you?” His voice was pitched between dread and hurt.

  Nadira put a hand to his cheek. “Why do you think I will betray you the moment you are not in the room?” she asked very softly.

  He looked at her, his gaze steady as he considered her words. “I don’t…”

  “But you do, or these thoughts would not torture you.”

  He nodded reluctantly. “It is not your betrayal that troubles me. I see how he looks at you when your eyes are turned away from him. I see…” He sighed heavily as though he did not want to finish the sentence. Nadira squeezed his hand. He shook his head. “It is true that I envy your discussions. Perhaps I see his passion for your mind and turn it to passion for your body. The envy is real, however.”

  “That was very honest of you,” she murmured.

  He agreed. “I possess your body, and he your mind. I want all. I have trouble sharing.”

  She looked up at him coyly. “And yet you do not really possess my body, do you?” She moved his hand to cover one breast. “But you could. Right now.”

  He did smile at that and bent down to kiss her. “In good time.”

  She looked around the small room. “I can bar the door.”

  He laughed and stood, drawing her up from the bed with him. “I know that the Oracle at Delphi had to be a virgin. Has it not occurred to you that you must be a virgin to present yourself before the High Priestess at Eleusis?”

  Nadira opened her mouth. “No, I did not know that.”

  “Perhaps you must. I don’t know either. Wait and see. Better to be sure than sorry.”

  “So these many weeks when you could have…you did not because…because of her?”

  He shrugged. “There are many reasons.”

  “Alisdair told me it was because of your mother.” She frowned, trying to remember that conversation.

  He nodded again and shouldered the two leather satchels. “You have not felt my passion, Nadira. Do not think it is because it is not there.”

  She picked up her own small case that contained her personal items. She knew his passion. He could hardly hide it from her. She said to him, “But I assure you that William is aware of your passion as well. He fears you.” She remembered something else. “He often reminded me not to touch him. I thought it was because of his vows.” She sighed. “Now I know it was because of the wounds beneath his cassock.” She shuddered. “I still have trouble with that idea.”

  Montrose held the door for her. “We will go to William’s room now to get his things.” He looked down at her. “You have seen William’s passion. You will feel mine one day.” He glanced back into the room to be sure nothing was left behind. “My family’s motto is “Semper Intrepidus. My father’s meaning may differ slightly from mine.” He tried to hide his smile.

  She laughed.

  Corbett met them at the gate to the street after the noon meal. His face was troubled. The sun was bright on the brick wall of the garden, and the trees overhead cast distinct shadows on the street. The sounds of the busy market at the base of the hill were loud enough to make Montrose raise his voice.

  “Will you take your leave of Angelo?” Montrose stood aside to let him pass into the house.

  “No. I will not.” Corbett’s eyes were hard, and he made no attempt to enter the house. “Where is your man, Alisdair the Scotsman?”

  Montrose frowned. He set the satchels on the ground at his feet and turned to Nadira. “Where is he? I thought he was already packed and out of the stable. Will?”

  “He took me to the privy, then sent me to eat alone,” William answered.

  She closed her eyes and looked for Alisdair. Something was wrong.

  Corbett interrupted. “Did you know he bought a cart?”

  “What?” Montrose took a step as though to head for the stables, then turned around to face Nadira.

  “Yes, it would save time to ask her instead,” Corbett waved a hand. “Angelo Borelli is speaking to no one. I would know why. None will say. Perhaps the Scot has stolen something.”

  Montrose turned on him, furious. “Never. Alisdair is no thief, and he would never dishonor me so.”

  Nadira stretched her mind to find Alisdair. When she was unsuccessful, she cast about for Garreth. There he is. Astride a horse…heading away from the city. She caught a glimpse of a light two-wheeled cart beside him. Carpets.

  “Carpets?” she wondered aloud.

  “He went to the souk, yes…he bought many fine things at the bazaar,” Montrose answered her. “I gave him his share of the rents. Garreth too.” Montrose exchanged glances with Corbett. “He bought carpets?”

  Nadira’s eyes flew open. “Where is Thedra?” she cried.

  Corbett set his teeth. “So that is it! Borelli would not say, but he was miserable with that unspoken news. Damn that Scotsman.”

  Montrose narrowed his eyes. “You are going to have to spell this out for me. Are you saying Alisdair stole carpets from Angelo? Then fled the city without a word t
o me? Impossible.”

  Nadira put a hand on his arm. “Not carpets, my lord, but he stole something even more valuable. I think if you unrolled one of those fine rugs, you might find a finer prize inside.”

  “No…” Realization twisted his face into a grimace. He rubbed his eyes and then started pulling on his hair.

  Nadira looked to Corbett. “This is a grave offense, are we in danger?”

  “Borelli is not a violent man…” Corbett started.

  “No, he is not,” said Montrose. “But he is a man, nonetheless and no man will take kindly to his woman being stolen.” There was a sharp edge to his voice.

  Corbett said gently. “For their sake, they must get far away. Your Scotsman is not going to be able to escape notice. He is like a great orange beacon in this land.”

  Montrose turned to Nadira. “And Garreth is with him?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. She could see them now. “Alisdair is hidden beneath the straw in the cart. Thedra is rolled in a carpet among the baggage. Garreth leads the cart horse, and he is cloaked.”

  “Where are they headed?”

  “Thedra knows.”

  Corbett interrupted. “More importantly, news will get out. This is a great insult to our host and shames all of us. And it will get worse.”

  “Tell me, old man,” Montrose shouldered the baggage with one arm and grasped Nadira’s arm with the other. “How can it be worse?” The deep hurt in his voice touched her heart. She put her hand on his.

  Corbett told him. “It can get worse if Borelli appeals to the sultan for justice in this scandal. We would not be welcomed by any of the court. All access to the palace and to the necromancer would be cut off. We may be asked to leave the city before we have completed our mission.”

  “What will we do?” William’s eyes were large and round.

  “First, we must start walking, for it will do us ill to be seen standing in front of Borelli’s house.”

  The four of them turned away from the gates of the house and moved to a smaller unpaved path that lead away from the main street. When they were far enough away Montrose stopped them. “Where do we go from here?”

  Corbett shook his head. “We will have to stay at a caravanserai for now.”