Master of restless shado.., p.11
Master of Restless Shadows, page 11
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
The chapel and its enclosed grounds lay opposite the stables, and Narsi wasn’t certain which was grander.
“The duke’s horses live better than some bishops,” Berto informed Narsi, and he could almost believe it was true. The spacious, tidy stall provided for his mare would certainly have been the envy of most novice monks.
Second bell rang out as Narsi and Berto slipped into chapel. Moments later two teenage acolytes in unlined black robes closed the doors behind them.
Narsi paused an instant after stepping out of the light to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark interior, only to find himself paralyzed by instinctual fear at the sight of an immense wolf snarling down at him. Then, realizing that he was cringing beneath a statue, he took in the rest of the building. The Grunito chapel had not boasted less goldwork or fewer jewels studding the walls, but the carvings of serpents and demons arching up over the heroic figures of the Savior and his saints had not possessed nearly so much detail as these. Somehow despite being motionless, the wolf’s body conveyed a snarling, flexing vitality.
All at once he recollected a section of Lord Vediya’s memoir, Five Hundred Nights in the Court of the Scarlet Wolf. He’d been riveted by the description of Count Radulf awakening stone trolls and other carvings of mythic creatures. They’d burst to life from ancient pillars, walls and even the supports of bridges to battle the invading witch queens. Now it seemed all too easy to imagine the monstrous creatures that formed the chapel’s stone walls shaking off their slumber and snapping up the parishioners.
There was something to inspire a few prayers heavenward, Narsi thought.
Though the people gathered in the pews ahead of his seemed to pay the carvings no particular mind.
“I’m afraid I must abandon you for the moment. I’ve taken up the daily duty of proffering Father Timoteo an inoffensive sermon so that he can disregard it after the first sentence.” Berto smiled despite his complaint. “Though . . . would you like me to make introductions for you?” He shifted his gaze out to the parishioners filling the pews ahead of them. Narsi studied the crowd as well.
The majority of them wore the Quemanor colors but cut in the modest design of servants’ garb. They seemed largely occupied with their own thoughts and prayers, paying him little mind at all.
“Don’t let me keep you from Father Timoteo. I’ll be fine.”
While Berto strode ahead to the vestry, Narsi continued studying the chapel and its occupants. He felt most comfortable here in the shadows at the back of the building, where he could look on without his presence drawing too much attention.
The finely upholstered pews at the very front of the chapel stood empty, reserved for members of nobility, but those a little farther back from the gilded pulpit accommodated a group of men whom Narsi guessed numbered among the astrologers, mechanists, musicians and more-learned tutors whom the duke retained. Narsi supposed that his proper place should have been among them, but for the time being he preferred to sit back among the cooks, maids, grooms and gardeners to observe his colleagues. He seated himself near a fellow who looked like an undergardener and smelled like camellia flowers.
The fencing instructor, Master Ariz, was not present. Narsi wondered if that was due to his injury or if he counted among the growing number of educated men and women who chose to attend chapel only on the highest of holy days, if ever. None of the other masters appeared to expect him and Narsi didn’t hear his name whispered through the quiet of the chapel, so he guessed that Master Ariz wasn’t a religious fellow.
Odd. Most swordsmen were inclined toward prayer, in Narsi’s experience. Maybe the fellow possessed more the character of a dance instructor. Or, recalling the mess of scars that marred the man’s body, perhaps he simply preferred to take his exuberant penance in private.
As the acolytes stepped up before the pulpit, Narsi abandoned his contemplation. The two boys sang out the first notes of Consecration. Narsi stood and raised his voice along with them and the rest of the congregation. While they lifted the notes up to the heights of the azure ceiling, Berto appeared, escorting Father Timoteo out from the vestry and up the steps of the golden pulpit.
Taking in the Holy Father’s emaciated figure, Narsi forgot the song, his heart sinking like a stone to the pit of his stomach.
The Holy Father towered over Berto, but his immense height only emphasized his terrible thinness. His long, broad bones—suited to the frame of a giant—jutted from beneath the slack folds of his black and violet robes, lending him the appearance of a spindly marionette. His large hands appeared skeletal, and between his hooked Grunito nose and the deep hollows of his cheekbones his face resembled a death mask more than a living countenance. The man was only thirty-eight, but already his close-cropped hair had gone white and he moved with the slow deliberateness of a man in his sixties.
After the last notes of Consecration faded into soft echoes, Father Timoteo spread his hands and the congregation sat. Then the Holy Father raised his voice in sermon and the sound rang deep and rich as the notes of any great bells. Narsi always marveled that so powerful a voice could arise from an emaciated husk of a body. Faith resounded through him as he spoke of the countless forms of the sacred found in common acts of compassion, forgiveness and courage. Though Narsi didn’t consider himself a devout man, he never failed to feel moved by Father Timoteo’s words.
Unlike most other priests or Bahiim, Father Timoteo didn’t drag his sermons out just for the seeming pleasure of hearing his own voice. He spoke his piece and then offered up blessings for all those who had gathered to hear him. Then his six young acolytes led the congregation in the Song of Six Blessings. After which, Narsi expected that they would all be sent on their ways, but instead Father Timoteo addressed those gathered in the pews once more.
“Some of you may know that I had sent for a physician to minister to the physical well-being of this great household. The good man has arrived and I would introduce you all to him.” Father Timoteo indicated for him to stand with a gesture of his bony hand. Narsi rose, feeling quite self-conscious as the rest of the congregation turned in their seats to peer at him. Some gawked, and in the echoing chamber of the chapel Narsi could clearly hear the whispers of “Haldiim.”
“This is master physician Narsi Lif-Tahm.” Father Timoteo’s words rolled through the chapel like thunder, dissipating all other sound. “He is not only a member of my household but a very dear friend. I hope that you all will welcome him as warmly as you have welcomed me.” Then the Holy Father bid them all to go forth with blessings in their hearts.
The Holy Father’s words silenced the disparaging comments but placed Narsi in the awkward position of having everyone filing out of the chapel pause and attempt to offer him some form of greeting. One of the kitchen women seriously inquired if his people could eat natural food. Narsi nearly asked her what she meant by “natural,” but seeing how flustered she looked, he assured her that he could eat just about anything after a breakfast of only barley water. She looked relieved, laughed nervously and then hurried away. Several grooms commented on Narsi’s size, deeming him “a big one for one of your breed,” “half horse” and “taller than the Savior.”
At least two of the maids took in his features and then stole scandalized glances back at Father Timoteo. Narsi supposed there would be no stopping the speculation and gossip, given the resemblance. Still, he appreciated that the Holy Father had spoken up for him. Overall he met mostly friendly expressions and felt welcomed. The slim, brown-haired music instructor even walked out of the chapel alongside Narsi, quite intent upon voicing his dissatisfaction with common cures for piles.
“I’ve already been fingered by far too many quacks.” Master Leadro sniffed. “One begins to suspect they take some perverse pleasure in it.”
“Have any prescribed split-pea and lentil gruel?” Narsi asked.
“No,” Master Leadro admitted, though he didn’t look at all happy about the prospect. “In place of which meals would you say I should have this gruel?”
“Not in place of them, Lord forbid!” Narsi assured him. There was the problem with so much Cadeleonian doctoring, prescribing penances in place of medicines. “Fasting will only make the matter worse. It’s far better to take a cup of gruel along with your luncheon and supper.”
“Really?” Master Leadro stopped alongside Narsi on the chapel steps. “That sounds far too reasonable. Are you certain you’re a physician?”
“I have the ring to prove it,” Narsi replied. “Though if it would make you feel more certain of my skill at quackery, I could sell you a few elixirs of questionable origin.”
The music master laughed at that and assured Narsi that the gruel would do for now. Then he departed and left Narsi to await Father Timoteo. From what he could remember, the Holy Father usually took a stroll after his morning sermon. Today proved no exception. Just as the bells high in the chapel steeple rang out four clear notes, Father Timoteo emerged with Berto at his elbow. Narsi went to him and bowed his respect.
“Narsi.” Father Timoteo reached out, drawing Narsi upright, and then clasped him in a welcoming embrace. “My dear, dear child, you’ve grown so tall and handsome!”
When Narsi hugged the Holy Father, he felt Father Timoteo’s ribs and vertebrae through the light cloth of his monastic robes. The man had starved himself down to bone.
“How have you been?” Father Timoteo drew back a little, though he kept one arm draped over Narsi’s shoulder. Narsi leaned into him, taking as much of Father Timoteo’s weight as the Holy Father would allow. Berto braced the Holy Father’s left side.
“I’ve been well,” Narsi said. “I’m not quite settled in my rooms, but I think I should be before the end of the week. I’m hoping you’ll allow me to test one of my soups on you.” Narsi wondered how much cream and butter he could introduce to Father Timoteo’s meals. Perhaps he should speak to someone in charge of the kitchen.
“Anything I can do to help you settle in here. I have no doubt that once the duke meets you, he’ll be charmed. You’re so like your mother I can’t imagine anyone failing to be delighted by you.” Timoteo nodded, then his happy expression faded. Narsi noticed the Holy Father’s dark brown eyes taking on a glassy gleam. Berto cast Narsi a concerned glance, but Narsi didn’t know what to say.
“She was such a beautiful soul. I miss her and her correspondences terribly,” Father Timoteo said before either of them could utter a distracting comment. “I must have her letters organized and published someday. They were so edifying, and so filled with compassion.”
Narsi almost said that he had one final letter, but somehow this didn’t seem the right time to mention it. After all, he didn’t have it with him, and though he and Berto were friends, he didn’t know that he wanted anyone but Father Timoteo to know about his mother’s final correspondence.
“Shall we have a stroll through the water gardens before we make for the masters’ tables for a solid meal?” Berto inquired.
Father Timoteo nodded but then frowned into the distance. Both Narsi and Berto followed his gaze to see a vast party of richly clothed men and women hurrying toward them through the arches of rose trellises. Narsi recognized Lord Vediya second in the group, looking quite serious as he spoke to the striking, dark-haired man at the lead.
Father Timoteo drew himself to his full gaunt height and pulled a step ahead of Narsi. He shot the man at Lord Vediya’s side a cold glower. Berto’s expression lit with alarm and he glanced Narsi’s way.
Narsi raised his brows in question and Berto mouthed, “The duke.”
Dread gripped Narsi. He’d been warned that the duke disliked physicians and that his presence wasn’t all that welcome, but he couldn’t have imagined that he could inspire such a stark expression of rage and hurt in a man he’d never even met. Beside him Lord Vediya looked like a man attempting to soothe an agitated stallion. And in fact the duke did look half wild: wearing neither doublet nor vest, his glossy black hair long and loose, and his pale skin flushed and gleaming with sweat.
Narsi stole a glance back at the men and women following the two of them. He read degrees of expectation and worry in their expressions. Some appeared genuinely anxious, but several looked too excited, as if they were anticipating a thrilling performance. Narsi drew in a deep breath, willing his racing heart to calm. No matter what, he promised himself, he would not allow a Cadeleonian—no matter how powerful—to strip his dignity from him.
As the party drew close, Lord Vediya’s words carried. “I’ll see that it’s done myself—”
All at once Father Timoteo sprang forward in three long strides, stepping directly into the duke’s path.
“Fedeles,” Father Timoteo began quite firmly, but then to Narsi’s surprise the duke threw his arms around Father Timoteo, embracing him for several moments before sinking to his knees still clasping Father Timoteo’s hands. Narsi could now see that tears streaked the duke’s face.
“Tim, you must promise me that you’ll give Batteo Ciceron final rites.” The duke’s tone wasn’t commanding but entreating and broken by the obvious struggle to suppress a sob. “He had his enemies in the holy orders, I know. He wasn’t without his failings, but in his heart he was a good man. His soul deserves the respite of paradise.”
“As do all souls,” Father Timoteo stated as he always did when the matter arose, but then his expression turned uncertain. “But what has befallen the captain? He was hale and healthy last time we argued philosophy.”
“Assassins.” The duke looked sickened. “They murdered him as he was returning home to his wife and children. They took his head.”
Narsi looked quickly to Berto to make certain that his own horror at the news wasn’t the naïve behavior of a man unused to the capital. Berto’s disturbed expression assured Narsi that despite its reputation, the city had not grown so jaded that assassinations and beheadings were actually commonplace. Though hadn’t Berto just yesterday mentioned the city guards in connection with the beheadings of several priests?
Now was not the time to inquire if this murder could be connected to the others, obviously. But it did give Narsi pause, and for no reason that he cared to admit to, Narsi glanced to Lord Vediya. Surprisingly he found that Lord Vediya watched him in return. When their gazes met Lord Vediya offered him a very brief smile. Flustered to be caught out, Narsi quickly averted his gaze to his medical satchel.
He missed some of the exchange between the duke and Father Timoteo as the latter coaxed the former back onto his feet, but quickly surmised that they were making arrangements for a quick, discreet burial to take place here at the duke’s chapel. Narsi wondered if he’d be called upon to prepare the body. He’d need to purchase white spirits and camphor for embalming, unless a casket could be made, the grave dug and ground consecrated within the day. Doubtless the warm weather was already turning the remains foul. Narsi wondered how the body would be transported and if he might be granted access to an icehouse, if the duke maintained one.
The duke’s manner seemed to calm greatly once Father Timoteo assured him that Captain Ciceron would receive the blessings necessary to assure his eventual entry into the Cadeleonian paradise. Had he been Haldiim, then a Bahiim might have been hired to invoke blessings to ensure the safe conduct of his soul into his next life. And though the captain’s loved ones would have mourned his death, they could have taken some comfort in knowing that he would be born again. At least, that was the comfort that Narsi took after his mother’s passing. She was gone from him for a little time, but someday he might well see her smile again in the face of a child.
“ . . . I hope it won’t be too great an imposition, but Master Ariz has spoken highly of him and Atreau feels that a physician may be needed.” The duke’s words drifted over Narsi, without fully drawing his attention.
He was wondering if his mother would be glad to be reborn or if she would have preferred to have received Cadeleonian blessings and joined her husband. A little guilt still gnawed at Narsi for not arguing the matter with his aunt. But with Father Timoteo gone, it would have been a struggle to find a Cadeleonian priest willing to consecrate a Haldiim soul. And there had also been the terrible thought that he stood to lose not just one, but both his parents behind the great ivory walls of the Cadeleonian paradise for all the ages to come.
“Narsi would surely welcome the opportunity to visit the city.” Father Timoteo cast an encouraging glance back to Narsi.
“Yes,” Narsi responded immediately, while his mind raced back over the details of the half-heard conversation.
Poppy drops and duera had been mentioned in regard to what might assist the young widow in her grief. Narsi hadn’t noticed either to do much good for those who were truly heartbroken. Though perhaps the drops would help the widow sleep.
The duke took a step in Narsi’s direction and for the first time, seemed to actually take in his presence. He stared, which was a response Narsi was growing to expect of Cadeleonians here in the north. But the duke’s expression wasn’t disconcerted so much as filled with recognition. A slight smile curved his lips.
“You were raised in the Grunito house?” the duke inquired. His eyes were blacker than any Narsi had ever seen before. His gaze seemed to bore in as he looked Narsi up and down. Narsi realized that most likely the duke was attempting to work out who among the army of Grunito men had fathered Narsi.
Good luck to you, my lord; if you figure it out be sure and tell me.
“I was, my lord,” Narsi responded. Beside him Berto and Timoteo nodded.
“You are younger than I had imagined,” the duke said, then he turned to Lord Vediya. “You should accompany him, Atreau. You know the way.”
“I do. Though with the festivities planned for this evening, we may be delayed on our way home.” Lord Vediya stepped forward.
