There was a hint of amused respect as he took the atlas back, saying, “No harm in asking. I will let you know when I have further questions.”
Serafina stayed on the bench after Kreiser left, in deference to his impulses to discretion, though he could hardly have concerns for his reputation as she did. If his intent in arranging the meeting for Urmai had been that no one should take note of their meeting, it had failed, but only from chance. Across the other side of the small square, Olimpia was sitting with her sketchpad on her lap. Well, there was nothing to be either ashamed or afraid of in speaking with Kreiser in a public place, but best to make that clear by her actions. She rose and went to lean over the back of Olimpia’s bench where she could see the drawing in progress.
The page was covered with charcoal studies of faces and heads, crowding each other like sweets on a platter. A laughing child, no doubt in quick motion for it was indicated by only a few hasty lines. An old woman and a young one, their heads together in conversation, drawn more carefully this time. They might have been mother and daughter—must have been, for Olimpia’s talent had shown the young woman’s soul shining from under the other’s lined face. Or perhaps they had been sisters? And it was the wrinkles that were the illusion, showing the woman one would some day become? There were endless stories hidden on that page.
Serafina breathed a sigh of relief that her own figure did not appear.
“Were you looking for this, perhaps?” Olimpia said, bringing out a separate paper from the case beside her on the bench.
Serafina had previously seen only the ordinary drawings Olimpia had done of her. She’d refused to look at that last allegory. Was this what Olimpia saw through her true vision? It was only black and white: lines and shading and smudges. Between those marks, wisps of mystic color traced, weaving in and out around the two figures on the bench. It was an illusion that the drawing moved on the page, just as the color itself was an illusion. Kreiser was indistinct: a shoulder, a turned head. Serafina saw herself framed, her hands hovering lightly over the atlas, her face raised and her eyes closed, the better to see the visions that came through it. Although the figure was small and lightly sketched, the face held an expression suspended between concentration and awe.
“But it isn’t right,” she protested, gesturing to the surrounding currents of fluctus in the drawing. “None of that was there. I know. I can’t—”
“I don’t draw what’s there, I draw what I see,” Olimpia said quietly.
“May I have it?” Serafina said without thinking. She couldn’t afford Olimpia’s work! The woman took commissions from the wealthiest people in the land.
“If you do me a favor.” Olimpia laid a plain sheet of tissue on top of the drawing to prevent smudging and rolled it carefully into a small tube.
Serafina made a questioning sound, not committing herself.
“I’ve been asked to do a portrait of Maisetra Sovitre with her college as the setting.”
Serafina didn’t ask who the patron was, but the answer came anyway.
“Evidently Princess Anna liked my painting of the guild dinner. Now she wants portraits of some members of the court. I’d love to have a chance to paint the alchemist! I have plenty of studies of Maisetra Sovitre herself from the painting I did last year, but I need someone to show me around the college grounds. I’d like to show it in progress, half-finished, coming into being from wrack and ruin.”
Yes. Serafina could see the symbolism in that. It was one of Margerit’s passions: to bring things back from obscurity and disuse into life again.
“I know you have something to do with the academy,” Olimpia continued. “Could you take me there? Show me around? Help me find a good setting while the repairs are still half-finished?”
“It might be too late for that,” Serafina pointed out. “The work is on schedule to open with the Mauriz term. The main buildings are all complete, but I think there’s still scaffolding on some of the outbuildings.” She tried to visualize various vistas in her mind. “You could put the mansion itself in the background—”
“There’s still hours and hours of light,” Olimpia said. “Could we go now?”
This was the first time Serafina had looked at the renovations with an outsider’s eye. When Luzie had visited, they had spoken mostly of what the school would become, but Olimpia wanted to see that becoming. The remaining work in the main buildings was all inside—the finishing of the classrooms and the residential areas. The printing house, too, was finished and now busy with activity as the Poor Scholar printers worked to finish Mesnera Collfield’s book before she returned and classes began. It was mostly the farther outbuildings that remained incomplete.
They wandered along the paths, now well-trodden by workmen. Olimpia made maps of where the structures stood with little notes about their condition and how they would show against the mansion itself. Serafina took her to visit Tanfrit’s cottage with an air of sharing great secrets. It had been cleared and cleaned, and the smell of fresh carpentry and new plaster had replaced that of the barnyard.
Olimpia paused for a brief sketch while hearing the history and significance of the building. “And what does Maisetra Sovitre plan for it?” she asked.
“I don’t think she’s decided. In her mind it’s something of a shrine. Not like in a chapel. There’s a chapel on the grounds already that the students will use. It isn’t sacred in that sense.” Not in that sense perhaps, but there was a stillness, a depth to the place.
Olimpia must have had something of the same impression. As she looked around, she said slowly, “No, there’s nothing of that sort here. But lives can make a place as sacred as relics can.” And then more briskly, “We’re making this too complicated. I think that for the background I shall simply need to move things around.” She frowned at her notes. “I’d like to use the front facade of the main building. The view from the river approach. I think I’ll just add some scaffolding back on.” She gave Serafina a sidelong smile. “It’s the advantage of painting what I see rather than what’s there.”
Somewhere along the path out to the cottage, the awkwardness had fallen away. The memory of that last sitting remained, but without the sting. Might they still be together if Olimpia had used her vision before? But no. Magic was no solution to the human heart.
“I’ll introduce you to Mefro Montekler, the housekeeper,” Serafina said, nodding in the direction they had come. “And Maistera Ionkil as well. They’ll see you settled with anything you need for your work.”
As they returned to the mansion proper, Serafina ventured, “The portrait of Maisetra Sovitre, will it be a…a true portrait?” She was never quite certain how to speak of that special quality in Olimpia’s work.
“I think it must. That’s what Princess Anna is paying me for. She’s too sharp to be put off with excuses about muses and inspiration. I only hope she’s careful about which courtiers she asks me to paint!”
The printing project had spilled out of its own buildings into what would become the dining hall. Stacks of finished folios crowded against bundles of color plates carefully layered in tissue. The air was thick with the tang of printer’s ink. Someone had been assembling signatures in a corner of the room, but there was no one at work just now. Serafina hesitated at the entrance to the room. The disarray seemed to have become a point of contention for the three women gathered there.
“Sister Petrunel,” the housekeeper was saying firmly, “I told them they might use the space, so there’s no point to scolding the printers over it. They aren’t in anyone’s way at the moment and they hope to be finished before the term starts. If they aren’t, we’ll find some other space.”
Akezze was standing beside her with arms crossed, making a united front against the headmistress.
To cover the awkward interruption, Olimpia paused to examine one of the plates, a careful drawing of a tree-like structure, with some details enlarged to one side. Serafina saw Akezze’s head turn to take note of them, but the ar
gument continued unabated.
“It wasn’t your place to give them permission,” Sister Petrunel said. “The school is under my administration.”
“Begging your pardon,” Montekler replied. “The buildings themselves are under my authority. It’s the teaching and the students that are your concern. And as the teaching hasn’t started yet—”
“But the printers themselves—” Petrunel began.
“Are not yours to direct either,” Akezze pointed out. “And I would ask in the future if you have concerns about them, that you bring them to me.”
Petrunel bristled visibly. “I see I was mistaken. I had thought that the publications were under the name of the academy.”
“Not entirely,” Akezze explained. “Maisetra Sovitre plans to have certain works published under the academy’s name, but the printers have been given a lease for the space. That’s a separate arrangement from the school. But even it they were, that would fall under Maisetra Ionkil’s concern, not yours.”
“If this—” Petrunel held up one of the printed pages. “—has nothing to do with the academy then it has no business here.”
The argument seemed to have circled around to its beginnings again and Serafina thought an interruption might be welcome.
“Mefro Montekler?” she said, pulling Olimpia along after her. “I wanted you to meet Olimpia Hankez, the painter. She’ll be in and about working on a painting of Maisetra Sovitre.”
The others nodded to them and Montekler took Olimpia aside to speak in low voices about her needs.
Akezze returned to the matter of jurisdiction. “I believe Mesnera Collfield will be teaching botany here, so her book is not entirely unrelated.”
“Teaching?” Petrunel asked sharply. “Her name hadn’t been mentioned to me.”
Now Akezze hesitated. “I might have misunderstood.”
It sounded to Serafina that the misunderstanding was on the other side, but perhaps that wouldn’t be polite for Akezze to suggest.
“If she limits herself to the physical sciences, I suppose…” Petrunel began. Then she turned to Serafina. “And I suppose you’ll be teaching as well, though goodness knows what!”
Serafina shook her head and her tongue faltered. “No…I…I’m only a student like the others.”
“A student?” Sister Petrunel looked her up and down. “You’re old to be a student. In what?”
“Maisetra Sovitre has been teaching me thaumaturgy. How to create mysteries.”
“Ah, you must be the Talarico woman. Yes, Margerit spoke of you. She had given me the impression that you had studied elsewhere. But surely she hasn’t been teaching you herself!”
It was clear from the woman’s tone that this was news to her. Serafina knew that Margerit softened the importance of her own instruction when speaking to others. And she could see how Sister Petrunel’s opinions might lead one to skip over topics that she might object to. But Margerit had always spoken glowingly of her former governess. How was it they hadn’t yet butted heads over this subject?
Serafina glanced over to Akezze and saw the same worry in her eyes.
Chapter Twenty
Jeanne
Early September, 1824
The sky cracked open with a blaze of lightning as they crossed the border into the low, forested hills of Helviz. The coachman called down that he’d try to make Pont-Sain-Pol before dark. Jeanne relaxed into the cushions. The fury of the storm was nothing to the tense suspicions of the soldiers in the past week on the road. Travel papers that should have seen them safely through the morass of jurisdictions between Bayreuth and Strasbourg had been questioned at every turn and they had only once made the mistake of mentioning the nature of their visit to Prague. The closer they came to Alpennia the sharper the looks. What would Antuniet have done without her to coax and cajole? But Antuniet had done this before, and very much alone. Jeanne glanced over and saw her staring pensively out the window where rain lashed the glass into impenetrability.
“Are you thinking of the last time?” Jeanne asked.
Antuniet’s head turned from the window. “The last time?”
“That you traveled this way,” Jeanne said. “The last time you returned home.”
“No,” Antuniet said. And then, “Yes, I suppose. It’s different this time, but there’s still that uncertainty. Will my project succeed? What will the reception be?” She looked back toward the window. “That’s no natural storm. No wonder the people back in Les Bains were frightened. What have we come back to?”
Jeanne took her hand. That much, and no more. Toneke hated to be fussed over, and yet she longed to fuss. Throughout the whole journey she’d wanted to offer comfort when it might not be wanted, or even needed. And, of course, Marien was perched on the forward seat, studiously not seeing anything she wasn’t meant to see.
Not all of Antuniet’s outward calm was for show. When it came to the central purpose of this journey, she had made her calculations, weighed her choices, and set out with eyes open. Perhaps it was enough to be here, beside her, accepting those choices.
They’d sent word ahead from Basel of their expected arrival. Not the precise day or time, of course, yet Tomric had the door open in welcome before the hired groom had even let down the steps. And while the men dealt with trunks and boxes, and Marien took their coats and bonnets, Ainis bustled out to promise tea as soon as the water could be heated.
“Never mind the tea, but heat enough for a bath,” Jeanne said. “Toneke, you’ll want to lie down for a bit until its ready.”
Antuniet gave an exasperated sigh. “Jeanne, I don’t need to be cosseted like that!” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “There are foundations to lay before we let the world guess that I’m in a delicate condition. I need to have Margerit set me up with another lecture so I can share the fruits of this summer’s research. All in the most theoretical terms, of course. Just enough to let them all draw their own conclusions.”
“Then if you won’t lie down, at least sit,” Jeanne urged. “It makes me tired to look at you. And I’ll spend the time sending out a few notes to let people know we’ve returned. I suppose you’ll want to go see to your workshop tomorrow. Shall I let Anna know to meet you there?”
Antuniet nodded and Jeanne settled down to work.
* * *
By midmorning the next day, Jeanne found herself still staring at the remaining stack of correspondence yet to be opened and wondering if there were anything that couldn’t wait for a few more days. Despite her protests against being cosseted, Antuniet was barely stirring upstairs and Cook was already asking when luncheon should be served. At least it was a week or two before anything resembling regular visiting would start again.
To belie that thought, she heard the faint chime of the doorbell ringing in the back, and the quick steps of Ainis hurrying to answer. Before Jeanne could decide whether to be annoyed, Anna was there in the doorway to the parlor saying, “I hope you don’t mind. I know your note said the palace workshop this afternoon, but then I wouldn’t have a chance to welcome you back as well.”
When had she grown so tall? They’d only been gone four months. But no, it was only fresh eyes from the absence. This new Anna had been emerging all the last year, leaving behind the shy, studious girl for a poised young woman. Where once she might have dashed across the room into Jeanne’s welcoming embrace, now she moved gracefully, taking Jeanne’s hands to kiss then letting herself be enfolded in her arms.
“And just as well,” Jeanne said, “For Toneke is still barely stirring. How was your summer?” She held Anna at arm’s length and examined her again. “It’s good to see you again. Ainis, go up and let Mesnera Chazillen know that Anna is here.”
The workshop was forgotten and the three of them spent the afternoon sharing stories of their adventures—the ones that could be shared—while Anna recounted her summer studies and the changes in her family.
“Both my older sisters have new sons! That’s three boys now. Papa say
s they’re making up for all of us being daughters.”
When the talk turned to Prague and the wonders of Vitali’s work, Antuniet glanced over briefly in warning then took Anna’s hands in hers and fixed her gaze intently.
“There was a special purpose to my visit there, you know. A Great Work that I needed assistance on. You remember that secret project from the spring? The amulets that I said not to ask questions about? I didn’t want to speak of it until I had some confidence of success, and you mustn’t go telling anyone else quite yet. But I have succeeded in creating a homunculus—a living being—through the power of my art.”
Anna’s mouth opened into a little O and her eyes widened. Jeanne couldn’t tell whether it was awe or disbelief. This would be the first test. Would Anna find it harder or easier than most to believe the story that would preserve Antuniet’s good name?
“But how? Where?” Anna began, looking around as if she expected the child to be tucked into a corner of the room.
“As to how, I’ll be sharing some of that in a lecture soon, I think. Is Margerit planning to move all the public talks down to Urmai, do you know? I think it would be of interest to a wider audience.”
And, Jeanne thought, more important for our friends to be convinced, than for a group of schoolgirls.
“I don’t know.”
Antuniet waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. As to where, I couldn’t very well wait in Prague for the project to be completed. I have too many responsibilities here.” Antuniet nodded at Anna with a smile. “But I couldn’t very well be dragging a sealed cucurbit halfway across Europe, so I decided to complete the cibation in a more traditional way.” She briefly touched her belly in a gesture that was becoming more natural each time.
Anna’s mouth opened wider as understanding dawned. “Truly?”
Jeanne noted surprise, but neither shock nor doubt. So Anna accepted the alchemical story as true. If enough people did, the others would hold their tongues.
“Now tell me,” Jeanne interrupted, sensing that it would be best to let the idea take root on its own, “how is Margerit’s school progressing? Is it all settled for you to be a student?” They had worried that Maistir Monterrez might balk at that step.
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