Dark fires, p.19
Dark Fires, page 19
A woman, by her dress a soothsayer, offering her skill, was harshly rebuffed by a cooper at the next table.
“Get away with you, seller of lies. Spin your tales to the weak-minded and gullible. You’re not wanted here.” The voice was so full of loathing that it caught Justin’s ear. The woman’s face hid her feelings, but her eyes registered the hurt. Still she put on a smile and came Justin’s way.
“Are you gullible enough to hear your fortune cast, young Sir?” Her voice had a tint of defiance as she looked at him hopefully.
Normally, Justin had no use for seers and sibyls of her sort, but the cooper’s hateful words had softened his heart.
“Sure, sister, seat yourself, I’ve been weak-minded from birth,” he said loudly to irritate the cooper. “What do you do? Read palms, draw cards or cast bones?”
“Ahh, you’ve had experience with seers of hidden things?”
“Not much, but I had friends who strongly believed in it.” The army was always full of superstitions, perhaps a fortune teller could warn of what dangers to be on the lookout for. Beware of the unseen arrow, the blind spear thrust or the sweeping slash of a sword. On the battlefield there were a thousand ways to die, and it paid to be forewarned.
“I hold your hand, look at your palm, but I feel your fortune that the fates have drawn up for you.” Justin extended his right, but she waved it away.
“The other if you please, the one closer to your heart.” She took his left; her touch felt oddly cool, like the water of a mountain brook. She turned his hands up then slowly down, her eyes hungry for all details. She didn’t hurry but studied his hand for some time.
“You’ve had a hard life,” she finally said. Who hadn’t? “I see pain, feel death in your shadow.” Did she mean as a soldier or could she feel back to Alvarez? “You’ve lost something of great value and now can’t find it.” Whoa! Could she really see something? “You don’t know where to look next.”
“Can you see what I’m looking for?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky. If she really knew something, he needed to test it.
“Not clearly.” She closed her eyes and took the trouble to concentrate, her fingers squeezing his. “I see the color of summer wheat...” Her hair! “A depth of gray winter sky...” Her eyes! “Hear the sound of singing birds...” Her voice! “And the warmth of a well laid fire...” Her smile!
She looked up, her eyes framed by worry lines. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Some. Can you see beyond? Where should I look next? Near or far?
She closed her eyes and tilted her head as if listening to an inner voice. She paused so, and when she spoke her voice was distant, barely a whisper. “Not seeing makes it far... Your wishing makes it near... And your mind wars over it...”
“That’s as clear as a stream stirred up by a downpour. Can you be more exact?” He leaned forward as if to read the answer from her lips.
“It always comes in a fog. My hope is that you can recognize something in what I see and tell you.”
“Well I need more...” he said leaning back, away from her.
“Then follow your heart. Let your desires be the light for your intent.” She stood up. “I’m sorry if that’s not enough.” Justin gave her two coins, twice the price of her reading.
“Thank you, Sir,” she curtsied and looked around to find the next gullible person to want to hear their fortune.
At the next table, the cooper smirked. “A fool and his money, easily parted...”
Justin flared. “I prophesy for you a black eye, should you persist! A broken nose is also a possibility.” And he slammed his fist down on the table forcefully. The cooper put his head down to study his soup.
Justin was puzzled. She had seen something but not enough, leaving it up to him to interpret. What to make of it? Follow you heart? Something to tell a pining girl. Desire to be your light? That was more enigmatic. And, he was still left with the near or far.
His stomach felt so bloated with the full meal that he went outside to walk the fullness off. Up on to Park Lane, along the tight row of houses, the doors just steps away from the street. The light was dimming as the sun inclined toward the horizon. The sound of people at supper brushed by him as he passed an open window, but he was little aware of it, still deep in thought. He took a turn to the right and was on Wellspring Walk. Here the houses crowded the lane even more closely and only a ribbon of the sky showed above, cut down by the lean of the houses, that took more of the air from the lane. He had to turn sideways to let a group of men heading for drinks pass. He smelled a strong whiff of garlic that lingered with him. He resumed his way, his feet having to find the track in the dim light. Where to next? He had seen everything here. Been anywhere Conti could have been, yet found not a footprint. Not at Durers or at Malteks. He really had to make up his mind what to do next.
Abruptly he raised his head, surprised that he was stopped, not remembering wanting to. He was standing in a small triangular place where three lanes came together. He thought the Peacock was down to the right, and turned that way. A strange compulsion overtook him, and he felt back in the battlefield ducking arrows. Alarmed he looked about, sensing into his surroundings. Nothing moved, as things were as they should be. A few houses already showed light as people inside lit their oil lanterns. Still the feeling nagged at him. Very faintly he heard the sound of a musical instrument: someone was plucking at strings, picking out a melody. He followed his ears, leading him to a large house with a lantern turret embracing a corner of the walls. He heard the melody more distinctly now; whoever was playing it was accomplished. Each sound was clear and distinct, not slurred like a beginner’s. Was it an Italian lute? No, a mandolin! His heart did a triple beat. A mandolin like Opal’s! He sharpened his ears to capture every note, the rise and fall of melody. How often had he heard Opal play just like that? His heart nearly burst with the pain of missing her. He leaned against the wall, as if he could force himself through, to project himself inside.
It was clear by now that the music was coming from the far side of the house, and Justin was more to the back. Could he circle around, and perhaps find the front, and look inside to catch a glimpse of the singer? As he stood undecided, he recognized that the musical piece was reaching the end, and he was surprised that he knew this. Still he wanted to hurry and catch the last of it. Then the sound faded into silence and he felt deeply disappointed. He turned to find his way to the front, when a fresh wave of notes tickled his ear. Another Italian song he recognized. Again he was surprised, not being musical; just how many Italian songs did he know? He made sure that the song was what he thought it was, then turned to find the corner and the front of the house. It was longer than he expected: the lane refused to end but led on a long way, turned, and turned again and put him on the way back to a row of house fronts. He hurried along listening for the voice of a mandolin, but he walked quite a distance and found nothing but the usual noises that belonged to the night. It was fully dark now and people went about with lanterns.
Twice more he went up and down the street, but heard none of the sounds he was hoping for. He could not even locate the front of the house, where it could have come from. One house looked more or less the same as any other. Big, good quality houses with shops and ateliers to the front.
The night was long, certainly one of the longest of Justin’s life, longer even than the night of his interrogation in the East Tower. He didn’t sleep a wink, but warred with the possibilities. All signs, that is all sounds pointed to Opal playing her favorite songs, but on the other hand the odds were heavy against a discovery on the very eve of his leaving the town. On the long walk, he had decided to strike out for Venice. The coming day would tell him the truth or disappoint him again. He couldn’t wait until the sun came up and awakened the rest of the world. He sweated with hope and anxiety.
Justin was up at first light, impatient to get going, yet he had to wait for a more decent hour: he couldn’t barge in on people before they had their breakfast. To burn off his impatience he walked aimlessly around town, seeing it come alive slowly. Stores opened; the shopkeepers arranged their wares or products in an inviting display. Men with baskets on their backs made deliveries. The odd wagon bounced along the cobblestones. For a while a herd of goats blocked the way, bleating loudly, creating confusion as people had to wade through them. A cat tried to catch the first sunshine on a window sill, warily watching a pair of dogs come down the street pausing with their noses to the ground. Finally the church bells rang out eight and Justin couldn’t contain himself any longer. With long strides he headed for Cyprus Hill Alley. The area looked surprisingly different in daylight. Still, Justin had no difficulty finding the distinctive lantern turret holding onto the corner of the building. He didn’t want to use the back door, so he counted houses to circle around to the front and find a freshly painted bright blue door. Heart hammering he knocked and then waited. He had to knock again before the door swung open a crack and a young girl of about fourteen years peeked out at him. “Yes?” she asked, her eyes curious.
“I was walking by last night—”
“Who is it, Lise?” A matronly woman came into view, drying her hands on an apron. Seeing Justin fill the doorway, she paused and unconsciously patted her hair into place. “Yes Sir, how may we help you?”
“I was walking by last night and heard the most pleasant sound of a mandolin playing and I wondered who could be playing it so well?” What he was really wondering was if it was Opal.
“That would be my daughter, Sir.” The woman radiated her pride, and Lise covered her mouth to hide her delight. “She is good, isn’t she?”
“Very good.” Justin tried to smile, but the disappointment was like a weight falling on him: it wasn’t Opal after all. “Your daughter has talent and a wonderful light-fingered technique. Yet she plays with the authority of someone older, who’s studied for a long time.”
“Doesn’t she? She practices hard every day and has a good teacher.” Mother was melting like butter in the sun. The young girl’s face glowed with pleasure, but it confused her and she stepped back into the foyer, suddenly shy.
“I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed the music and thank the young lady for the concert.”
“We do that most evenings. Would you like to come and listen?”
“I fear business will tie me down, but I deeply appreciate the invitation.”
“Do you play an instrument yourself?”
“No. But someone close to me did.”
“Well, if you can make it after six bells, you’ll certainly be welcome.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Justin took his leave, bowing to the two in the doorway.
“What a pleasant young man,” Justin heard the mother say.
“Do you think he’ll come?” the daughter asked hopefully.
Two steps more took him out of earshot so Justin could drop the polite mask from his face and let his disappointment show. Well it was a long shot, he thought, as if aiming a sling stone at a fly at twenty paces.
Returning to the Peacock he went upstairs and packed his few belongings. Then he sought out the innkeeper and settled his account. Walking to the stable, he asked that Duster be saddled. The stable boy made a sad face and reported, “That horse threw his left rear shoe. It has to be fixed before the gentleman can take the animal on the road.”
“Well then lead him to the nearest smith and get it done,” Justin said, a little exasperated.
“I would Sir, gladly. But the smith drank into the night and he ain’t right until after he eats lunch and gets better after two bells.”
“Is he the only smith in town?” Justin couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.
“No, Sir, but he’s the best.”
“Well then, after two bells take the horse to the best smith in town.” And he slipped the boy the coins that would cover it. Then there was nothing to do but march back to the Peacock and rent a room for one more night.
He spent most of the day reading and trying not to have a conversation with a traveling doctor who offered to examine Justin’s urine and diagnose his health. Twice Justin declined. For his meal he had steamed rabbit in an herbal infusion, served with boiled turnips and carrots. He returned to his book and only lifted his head out of the pages when the bells struck two. Hope the best smith does a good job. He ordered a jug of wine and sipped on it as he read. He was nearly finished with the book; he’d have to find a new one to take on the road. Venice was far away. Then he thought how good it would be to speak Italian again.
Six bells again got him looking around. Was there something he meant to do? Then he remembered the invitation to the concert. The doctor at the next table, who was still holding forth vociferously, decided the case for him. He got up and took himself to Cyprus Hill. He knocked on the blue door and was welcomed as if he were a longtime family friend. The father poured him a cup of wine and directed Justin to a place on the bench.
As Lise took out her instrument, Justin had another heart-tugging moment, remembering Opal doing that. Another girl joined her up front holding a flute. Some more people arrived, apparently neighbors, and found seats along the wall. A young man who joined them was obviously in love with Lise.
Her father came to sit beside Justin and started a conversation, asking what he did for a living. Justin deftly led the question back to music and how talented his daughter was. The father swelled visibly with pride. “It must cost a lot of money to pay for the teaching.”
“It would and I certainly couldn’t afford it. But her teacher does it all for free. Like all of us, she believes in Lise’s talent and wants to nurture it.”
The music started up, the mandolin and flute at times playing closely together, other times in counterpoint. Both girls were very good, their music fitting like a key into a lock. Justin was taken back in time; he closed his eyes and he was in Fiora again. He could almost see it; Dog in the window alcove, mesmerized, himself at the table wholly at peace. The memory was so strong that when he opened his eyes he expected Opal to be there, but of course she wasn’t. A great sadness claimed him, and a rare tear trembled on his eyelashes.
The girls played one selection after another to near perfection, failing only once and dissolving into a fit of laughter. “Good thing the teacher isn’t here to hear that,” the father grumbled under his breath.
A small intermission followed. Glasses were refilled, small pastries were passed around and people broke into loud conversation. The host and hostess were proud to put on the evening and have the girls so thoroughly admired. It looked as if the second part of the program was coming, but Justin excused himself, and after many thank you’s and come again’s, he was allowed to leave.
In the freshness of the evening, Justin walked the streets, rationalizing his disappointment. He had enjoyed the music, though it had dredged up a lot of memories and filled him with pangs of longing and pain. He realized how tightly he was locked into his present course: his whole life had no other aim than to be reunited with the Contis. Strangely, almost in absentia, he had fallen in love with Opal. He had liked her before, loved her quietly, but now she had become the centerpiece of all his thoughts and dreams.
After a substantial breakfast Justin was at the stables, saddling Duster. He had became fond of the big horse and had spent time daily with him, brushing or feeding him oats off his palm. At the moment he had no other friends, so the horse had become one. He got into the habit of talking to Duster while grooming him. Though the horse nuzzled him with seeming affection, he had no feelings for Justin one way or another. He dutifully did his job of carrying the rider, but was too mature to form a deep bond. No doubt he already had had a number of owners.
Justin lifted the back leg and inspected the new shoe. It seemed solid: the smith had taken the trouble to trim the hooves of both hind legs and the metal of the new shoe still shone. Justin also checked the front shoes, finding them tight and cleaned, grateful that the fee had been well spent.
Justin led the horse outside, mounted and they started off, clattering along the cobblestones. Duster was frisky, prancing a bit, either enjoying the movement after weeks of confinement in the stable or was proud of his new shoe and showing off. Justin was an indifferent rider, having learned while working on a farm one summer, never developing the finer points of horsemanship. In that sense rider and horse were well matched, neither troubled with the high-strung temperament of thoroughbreds.
The city was waking and the streets soon filled with traffic, verifying that Augsburg was a major commercial center on the trade route with Italy. It was thus well into the day when Justin finally passed through the city gates into the countryside. Immediately the ride became more comfortable on the softer surface of the road. From time to time Duster tried to put his head down to taste the green grass by the side, but Justin jerked him to task.
It was a fine day with a soft breeze blowing from the side. The freshness of the air made obvious that the city, any city, was full of smells of human habitation. Of course one got used to it and thought nothing of it until one rode into the wide outdoors. In the open spaces, the smell was of the earth, seeds ripening, full of energy from the sun.
Justin swayed gently in the saddle to the rhythm of the horse’s pace, and started talking. “You know Duster, we’ve left a fine city, with wealth and good industry, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Like most walled places, it’s like a bowl and it’s crowded and full, no more space left to grow. Anyway, I didn’t find what I was looking for...” Justin had to pull to the side, as an Imperial Post rider pounded by, going the other way. “Maybe in Venice we’ll find our luck. It’s a famed city, crisscrossed by canals, full of ornate palaces. Much is said and claimed about St. Mark’s Basilica. And there are many libraries in the city. I guess we’ll get to see it all.” Then he wondered what he would do with Duster in a place where people used water instead of streets and roadways.
