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it. The truth is that O.one says you cured him. He's convinced that
you're an archangel in disguise."
Alf laughed with genuine mirth. For an instant he looked a boy again, the
shadows held at bay in the deep places of his eyes. "Brother, you ease me, you
and your beloved artist." From the bed he took what apparently had brought him
there, the folded cloak. He bowed to Giacomo, smiled at
Jehan, and turned to go. The Prior held up a hand. Alf paused, brow lifted.
With a scowl of frustration Giacomo waved him away.
Now he would do it. Now he would tell her. Now she would know what he was.
Nikki made a litany of it, striding blindly through streets grown familiar, as
oblivious to both marvels and commonplaces as any Roman born.
His nose and his feet between them took him past the tavern to the scrivener's
shop. There his feet would go no farther. He could not mount the stair. He
could only stare into the shop, realizing very slowly that the pale gleam
within was a candle on Uncle
Gregorios' bald head. The scribe was at work over a heap of documents. "Behind
again," he said by way of greeting, "thanks to all the uproar with the
marriage contracts. Did you hear? No?
Herminia Capelli was to marry Pietro
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Brenrano, which was much to the advantage of both families, and which was very
much to the taste of the bridal couple. But she was a widow with a young son,
and there were properties settled on her on the boy's behalf;
and someone somewhere had found an irregularity in the contract of that first
marriage, the hounds of god 207
which affected the inheritance and possibly the legitimacy of the union
itself. Now if the marriage was improperly sealed and the boy improperly
conceived
..."
Gregorios' words washed over Nikki, sharp yet soothing, demanding nothing but
a nod now and then.
Nikki moved about the cramped confines of the shop, attacked a sheet of
parchment with pumice until it took on the sheen of raw silk, trimmed the pens
laid in a box for the purpose, scraped smooth the wax tablets Gregorios used
for jottings and for teaching the pupils who came to him in the mornings to
learn a little Greek. One tablet bore nothing but row on row of staggering
alphas; in spite of himself Nikki smiled. New pupil, surely.
He almost regretted the stroke that smoothed the tablet into waxy anonymity.
The voice had stopped.
Gregorios, with his usual finesse, had ended tale and document together; he
held a stick of wax to the candle's flame, gathering each scarlet droplet upon
the bottom of the parchment. Nikki set in his hand the heavy notary's seal; he
nodded his thanks. There was little in his face to suggest his kinship with
Stefania.
He was a little shorter than Nikki, neither fat nor thin, with a square-cut
face and a strong blunt nose. As if to make up for the bareness of his head,
his brows were thick and black and long enough to curl, beetling over the
sudden blue gleam of his eyes; and
his beard, though sheared short, sprang forth with a will and a vigor all its
own. He looked mildly alarming, yet somehow, like Stefania, he struck Nikki
with his perfect rightness. He could not be other than he was.
For a witch's fosterling, Nikki was dismayingly forgetful of the power of
names. Even as he named her in his mind she was there, holding back the
curtain that concealed the inner stair, regarding them with a total lack of
surprise. But her relief was an undertaste as sweet as honey, a deep swelling
joy to see Nikephoros there, healthy, holding her uncle's seal. Where he
belonged, she almost thought.
But not quite.
208 Judith Tan- He could have cried aloud.
He should have fled. Gregorios muttered something about supper, and was it
that late already? He squeezed past
Stefania, trudging up the steep narrow steps.
She poised, alert, ready to bolt. A blush came and went in her cheeks. Her
voice was more trustworthy; she kept it light and easy. "You look well,
Nikephoros. You'll stay for supper, of course; even if Uncle could forgive you
for refusing, Bianca never would."
He stepped toward her. She held her ground.
He set his hands on her shoulders. Did she tremble? He was frightening her;
she thought he might, after all, be ill.
No, he said. No, Stefania.
She was scaring directly at him. She did not see. He kissed the lid of each
beautiful blind eye. Very gently he set his lips to her forehead. Milady
philosopher, I fear, I very much fear-- "Love is natural and inevitable."
She said it a little quickly, a little breathlessly.
On whose great authority do you make that pronouncement? "My own." Her fingers
tangled themselves in his hair. She envied what she saw as his wry calm. "No
doubt you've often found it so.
Natural; inescapable."
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He shook his head slowly, not denying anything, struggling to do what he must
do and say what he must say It was all framed and ready. Stefania
Makaria, you can't love me. You don't know what
I am. I'm a liar; I've deceived you. These very words are false, not words at
all but purest witchery. I'm a witch, an enchanter, a shaper of spells. I was
born a cripple, deaf and mute, and so in spite of my sorceries do I remain.
I'm never the lover you deserve. He got only as far as her name. Stefania--
She pulled free from him, but far more from a swelling desire. To kiss him
there, where one black curl fell just athwart his forehead. To kiss him there,
where hair mingled with young downy beard, curling against the arch of his
ear.
the hounds OF god 209
And to kiss him there on the fine modeling of his mouth, just where he would
be warmest, except for--
Where did a maiden ever learn such things?
Surely not in Aristotle! She thought she had
spoken unawares, he in response. Her cheeks were scarlet. "Come up to supper,"
she said, "before it gets cold." He reached again. His hand fell short. Wait,
yes, and tell them all, test them all, take all the pain at once and have it
over.
He snuffed the candle and followed her out of the shop.
Bianca was full of senile nonsense. Stefania was chattering incessantly and to
no perceptible purpose. Gregorios overrode them both at intervals with words
that meant nothing. Nikki must have nodded, smiled, responded properly; no one
seemed concerned. His body fed itself hungrily enough to satisfy Bianca. He
tasted nothing. Maybe he grew a little drunk. They had brought out the
Falemian for him, and his cup was always full.
The pup appeared somewhere between the serving of the fish and the consumption
of its last morsel. For that final bit was cooling in Nikki's fingers and the
needle-teeth were disposing of it with a good will, their owner curled [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]