Luzie sounded doubtful. “Do you mean to turn the opera into a true mystery?”
“I don’t think we can do that. At least Margerit doesn’t think so.” But Margerit had been wrong sometimes. Serafina shook the thought away. “We aren’t calling on God or the saints. But we can create phasmata the same way a mystery does. Not everyone will experience it, but enough will. No one will mistake your Tanfrit for Fizeir’s!”
* * *
The winter had been marked by freezing rain but little snow even into the beginning of February. Serafina had no sense of what she should expect from the season. The longtime residents of Rotenek all grumbled. Grumbling was their natural state. The river still ran low, despite the rain, but that had become the least of Rotenek’s concerns. A barge had run aground downriver at Iser, blocking the passage of other boats. A fever had started in the crowded tenements on the southern edge of the city. Serafina knew of the last for Celeste had come to her begging another candle to work into healing charms.
Kreiser had sent her a note after the New Year, asking for her help in another reading. She had meant to send a polite refusal, but Luzie’s troubles had distracted her and the reply had never been penned. Once, she thought she saw him as she crossed the Nikuleplaiz to find a riverman. She’d changed her path, excusing it to herself that there was no time to talk. The rain made the trip to Urmai uncomfortable, but it was cheaper than hiring a ride except on Luzie’s teaching days. Sometimes Margerit would come by and take her if they both had early classes. But there were days when Luzie was the only reason she didn’t ask about taking up one of the dormitory beds at the school. The Poor Scholars were already making arrangements to inhabit an unused building on the grounds.
She saw Kreiser again, coming home a few days later. This time he was loitering on the bridge over the chanulez by Luzie’s house. There was no excuse to take the long way around and no way to pass without acknowledging him.
“Good evening, Mesner Kreiser,” she said with a polite nod as she tried to push on by.
He took her by the arm and looked up and down the street for witnesses. She would have been frightened, except that Luzie’s house was in easy shouting distance and someone would be home.
“There’s no need for that,” she said sharply, but his grip only relaxed when she turned to face him.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
It was true enough, but no need to let him know how unsettled the last session had left her. “I’ve simply had other concerns. What is it you want?”
“I need you to scry for me again.” The edge in his voice might have been anger or fear. “I’ll be leaving for Paris soon. I need a better idea of what I’ll find there.”
At the mention of Paris, Serafina started. But there was no reason for the Austrian to know she had connections there. She and Paolo didn’t share a surname as Alpennians would. Even if they met…
“You know something.” Kreiser’s voice was grim and urgent.
“No, nothing of importance. Why would I know anything about Paris, more than what anyone knows? I’ve never been there.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “I want to work backward from the mountain zauberwerk again. This time I want you to look specifically for connections to Paris. When can we meet?”
Serafina took a half step further away. “It really isn’t convenient for me to meet with you at all. Furthermore, it isn’t suitable for me to keep meeting with you.” She tried for a tone of stiff hauteur to mask her unease.
He eyed her narrowly. The air between them thickened with anger and desperation. “You haven’t always been averse to doing unsuitable things.”
“If you mean the park at Urmai, there was nothing unsuitable about that.”
“I was thinking more about Maisetra Pertrez.”
Serafina’s heart pounded. How did he know about her affair with Marianniz Pertrez? And why bring it up now? They had been discreet. No doubt there had been some talk—there was always talk. But why should he have taken the trouble to dig it up? She realized she’d taken far too long to answer.
“And I was thinking,” he said with deliberate menace, “about your charming landlady.”
“What do you mean?” Serafina whispered hoarsely.
“It seems you have a bit of a reputation. Oh, not as much of one as your dear friend de Cherdillac. You really might want to be more careful about your friends unless you plan to live a blameless life. And now your very dear friend Maisetra Valorin is also spending a great deal of time with de Cherdillac. One might wonder what else the two of you have in common. It would be a pity if Maisetra Valorin’s reputation were—” He thought a moment, then finished with, “—questioned.”
Did he know something or was he simply casting a net? It didn’t matter. Luzie’s name couldn’t bear the weight of gossip, especially not now.
“What do you want.”
Kreiser smiled. “All I ever wanted was for you to help me locate some men in Paris. It seems so little to ask.”
“When?”
“Carnival is coming to a close in a few days.”
Serafina nodded. Elinur and Charluz had been making their usual plans but she had been too busy to think of it.
“Meet me at the main carnival ground out past the east gate of the city. I’ll be at the fishmongers’ guild show. We’ll find some place quiet to work. Be alone.”
Without waiting for her assent, he strode off back toward the plaiz. Serafina found she was shivering and chafed her arms to get warm again. She mustn’t let Luzie see her like this. She mustn’t let anyone know. He could destroy Luzie on a whim, just for revenge, and even Margerit couldn’t stop him. For a threat like this, Margerit in particular couldn’t stop him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Margerit
March, 1825
The chaos of the Mauriz term had settled into the grueling march of the second term. It seemed far too early to be planning for the next year already. Margerit hesitated with her pen over the ledger before writing Spring Term on a new page. She’d kept the traditional name for the first session—the one that began the week after the feast of Saint Mauriz in the fall—but the remainder of the year didn’t align as easily with the university calendar.
A long term beginning after Easter wouldn’t work. It was all very well for young men, living in lodgings or free to stay on in town when their families left Rotenek for the summer. But the girls in the upper town would be at the mercy of their families’ plans.
She’d chosen instead a full ten-week term in the spring, ending in concert with the university’s short Lenten Term, but one couldn’t call it that, not when it began earlier. Nor did the name of Easter Term fit for the summer session when she’d chosen to begin it at the end of May, to be certain of falling well after floodtide, whenever that might be declared. That one would be for the Poor Scholars and whoever else was left in town over the summer. A full session, not a short one. Akezze had worked out a plan of classes that would make the best use of that difference. It would have more practical studies for those expecting to earn their bread by their brains.
Margerit sat back and rubbed at her eyes. Perhaps she should simply name all the terms after the seasons, despite being scheduled around the feasts. It seemed a silly thing to worry over when there was so much more to plan. By the fall term—yes, she would simply call it the fall term—she wanted to find someone able to lecture in law. Once, she’d hoped to come to an arrangement with the university regarding classes in law and medicine, but that door was closed. She’d cobbled together a few lectures on medical topics, but that wouldn’t be enough for the Poor Scholars who hoped to license as midwives or apothecaries. Barbara and LeFevre might have ideas on someone willing to teach the history and principles of the law to a pack of girls who would never have the chance to practice. Margerit scribbled another note in the margin to remind herself of that question. To think she’d considered herself hardworking when she was a student!
&n
bsp; There was still time for more disasters—school disasters. There were enough of the ordinary sort, but she had no responsibility for them. She didn’t dare call the term a success yet. Soon, perhaps, if they could get to the end of March.
There was a soft knock on the door, though she’d left it open in invitation. She looked up to see Valeir Perneld waiting. Margerit glanced over at the clock. Was she late for the thaumaturgy lecture? The girl’s expression combined excitement and trepidation.
“What is it, Valeir? You must have news to share. Come in.”
She still remembered her first meeting with Valeir, during one of the summers spent at Saveze. Valeir had been a student then, at the Orisul convent, just about to launch into her dancing season. The two of them had helped Sister Marzina devise and work a mystery to heal a little boy deaf from a fever. It had been a revelation to her how differently Valeir’s sonitus worked from her own visions. Now the girl was one of the strongest pupils in the thaumaturgy classes and a constant challenge to Margerit’s understanding.
“Maisetra Sovitre?” Valeir said. The excitement in her voice was infectious. “He asked last night. Petro Perfrit. We’re betrothed.”
For only a moment, disappointment ruled. No, I don’t want to lose you! But this was a time for congratulations and a wish for every joy. It would come to this more often than not. They would come to study and then move on to take up the roles of wives and mothers. It couldn’t be a matter of one or the other. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that education was a waste for girls who then chose the conventional path. That was the argument of those who saw no point to educating them at all beyond languages and the arts.
“We’ll miss you,” she said, as she released Valeir from a quick embrace.
“That’s what I—that is, Petro and I—we wanted to ask about.”
Margerit glanced at the clock once more. A quarter of an hour before her lecture. She gestured Valeir to the chair facing her own and sat.
“What’s this about?”
“I was thinking,” Valeir began. “And I asked Petro because I don’t think I could have married him if he said no. I want to finish my studies first. Before the wedding. Petro agreed, but my papa doesn’t like it. He’s afraid Petro will change his mind if I put him off for two more years. I was wondering—would you speak to him? To my father, that is?”
Now that was unexpected. A fiancé who was willing to wait for a girl to complete her degree? Or at least as much of a degree as they’d be able to offer her. But… Petro Perfrit. She remembered that name now, though it had been years. He’d been part of the late lamented Guild of Saint Atelpirt, the student guild she’d joined that had ended in the disastrous castellum mystery. She searched in memory. A quiet man, not sensitive to fluctus but solid in his approach to theory. A partisan of the Dowager Princess, but so many of them had been and that was all in the past now. It was odd to think that her own example in that guild might have influenced his willingness to choose and champion a scholar-wife.
“Yes, of course I will,” she answered. “You’ve made a good choice in Maistir Perfrit. I don’t know that your father will listen to me, though.”
“He will,” Valeir said.
Such confidence! And what had she done to deserve it?
“I’ll call on your parents in the next few days. I imagine they’ll be at home for visitors with so many coming to wish you good fortune.” Margerit rose and gave Valeir another quick hug. “And it sounds like good fortune indeed. Now we mustn’t be late for the lecture.”
* * *
Margerit scanned the row of students looking for a face that held the answer. She didn’t care to treat class discussions as examinations. Teaching thaumaturgy wasn’t simply a matter of mastering a skill. These young women might have a hand in renewing Alpennia’s future, just as the namesake of her academy had helped Gaudericus renew it in ages past. For that, she must spark curiosity, not simply demand correct responses.
“So, Ailiz, what would be the consequence of incorporating ambiguous reference in the structure of your markein?”
The girl closed her eyes and recited, “Ambiguous reference is when a description may be equally applied to unrelated things. When it describes but does not define.”
Margerit sighed inwardly. “And how might that affect the resulting mystery?”
Ailiz looked to either side, hoping someone else would answer. “If the markein describes but does not define the ambit of the mystery, then the effects might take hold in a different place than intended.”
“For example?” Margerit prompted.
“For example, in the castellum mystery you were telling us about. When the leopard was used to refer to robbers and brigands, but it could also represent the Maunberg arms. That was why the mystery deflected from the protective intent and attacked Princess Anna back when she was Duchess Maunberg.”
Was that how she’d explained it to them? “That might be an example if the ambiguity had been inadvertent. No, that one was a case of misdirection, when one symbol is used to conceal a different intent. Yes, Doruzi, do you have an example?”
“In the Mauriz mystery that you were showing us in depictio class, when the ceremony says—” She struggled to recall the word. “When it says aedificium and it could mean either the church as a building or the church as an institution.”
“Yes,” Margerit responded. “That’s closer. Now, Mari, think of an example that doesn’t come from the lectures.”
She waited patiently. It would do no good if they could only repeat back what they’d learned in class.
“If…” Mari paused. “This isn’t from an actual mystery, but if you were using something as a symbol and instead the mystery worked on the thing itself…I was thinking of a love charm we did at floodtide one year. In part of it, the words say, ‘Bring his heart to me.’ And I was thinking—”
Ailiz made a disgusted noise. “That would be horrible!”
“Yes,” Margerit agreed. “If the charm actually had power and brought you the living heart of your sweetheart, that wouldn’t do you much good! Fortunately, love charms rarely have that sort of power. Acting on matter is hard, especially on living matter. That’s why healing mysteries are so uncertain. Love charms are usually more subtle, working on the emotions or the perceptions. They work through concrete symbols, but the fluctus follows the easier path through the immaterial rather than the material.”
“Then what would you do if you wanted to heal a heart?” Valeir asked. “How could you define the markein to indicate that you meant the physical body and not the symbol?”
It was a good question, Margerit thought. “I don’t know, I’ve never succeeded with healing mysteries that acted so directly. Only ones to cool fever or to heal wounds without infection—ones that work with the body’s natural desires. If a soldier’s leg is amputated, mysteries can save his life but they can’t regrow his limb. Even miracles must work hand in hand with nature. And as you know—”
They repeated with her the familiar litany: “When a mystery works with nature and not against it, it’s hard to distinguish truth from fraud.”
“And what I never want you to do,” Margerit concluded, closing her book, “is to take credit for something that would have happened by nature. Now for next time I want you to read Desanger and identify all the types of definitional fallacies that could affect a markein.”
When the clatter of departing students had quieted and Margerit had finished putting away her books, she turned to see Serafina waiting patiently.
“Do you have questions? I think we covered all this last summer.”
“Not about the lecture,” Serafina answered. “I was wondering if I might ride back to the city with you.”
“Of course, if you like. But I won’t be leaving for hours yet. I think there’s a wagon taking some of the Poor Scholars back soon. You might catch a ride with them.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Serafina said. “It’s quieter here. Luzie’s hou
se is full of her family—for the opera rehearsals and all.”
In the end, it was almost dusk before the carriage collected them at the drive before the main building. “You should have taken the earlier ride,” Margerit apologized.
Serafina shrugged. “Then I’d have to walk from the Poor Scholars’ house.” But there was a touch of worry in her voice.
“Is that a problem?” Margerit asked in concern.
No direct answer was forthcoming. “Do you know if Mesner Kreiser has left the city yet?”
“I think so,” Margerit said. “Barbara would know. Do you want me to ask?”
Serafina shook her head. “It isn’t that important. It’s only…I was doing some work for him and didn’t know if he needed more.”
“Then ask Barbara.”
Serafina was silent and the dim lighting within the carriage made her face hard to read. Margerit thought it best to turn the subject.
“Since we have this time together, I hoped you might give me your thoughts on how the thaumaturgy classes are progressing.”
“It’s…different, having the formal classes.”
“I didn’t mean for you in particular,” Margerit hastened to reassure her. “You’re far beyond what we’re covering. But do you think the girls are learning things in the right way? When I took lectures at the university, we studied theology first and then the principles of thaumaturgy. Nothing so practical as what we’re doing now, mixing in logic and applied theory. Barbara and I studied that on our own. It was only later that Akezze made me go back and study the philosophers in depth. Do you think it works?”
Serafina nodded, though it might have been just the jouncing of the carriage. “I think it works well enough. Why did you omit theology?”
It was a sore point. Sister Petrunel had asked the same thing. “I would have needed to have a priest come in to give the classes. And then it would have been hard to draw the line. I wanted to teach thaumaturgy in my own way, not the way it’s taught in the approved books.”
“Do you think it’s wise to study mysteries apart from theology?” Serafina asked. “Isn’t that why your Gaudericus was banned?”
Mother of Souls: A novel of Alpennia Page 41