A Shadow All of Light (2 page)

Of course, Astolfo denied that he was a shadow thief at all, much less the acknowledged master of the art. “I deal in shadows,” he explained. “Clients come to me. I do not seek them out. Let others purloin as they will—I traffic only in commodities.”

And it is true that I never saw him take a shadow by stealth except in the process of a training exercise. His thieving days were behind him. Yet they left a long trail of legend which was vital to his legitimate enterprises. If he were not the hero of scores of tavern-tales and beggars' gossip, he would have attracted fewer clients. To traffic within his sphere was to gain a warrant of security for any risky venture at hand.

Most tedious of all the parts of my training were the mathematics and the treatises of theory. I am no lover of brain-toys, and to spend a long rainy day poring over Teteles's
Primeval Shadow Theory
or the
Liber Umbrae Antiquitae
of Carnesius is not my ideal of entertainment. I disliked geometry too, though I could see the sense of it. If you plan to cut away a shadow where it is splayed across a wall nook with three irregular corners, you will be glad to know of angles and arcs and degrees. But if you find any use at all in the worm-gnawed pages of the anonymously written
Speculum Mundus Umbrae,
you are a scholar far superior to Falco.

The training seemed never to leave off; it was continual, and part of the discipline lay in his deceiving me as to what was an actual theft and what was only an exercise.

Consider the most recent matter, for example. Here we stood at the side entrance of a gloomy harbor warehouse. Astolfo gave the weathered, strap-hinged door a coded knock, two-one-two, and we were admitted by as large a pair of dusky ruffians as you would ever care to accost in the greasy alley called Rattlebone. One of them led the way through the mazy corridors to a small door with no window. The other followed us. At the moment Astolfo rapped upon this door, I felt the unmistakable prick of a sword point between my shoulder blades.

In such circumstances, the apprehensive body allows no rational thought. I dropped to the floor while snatching my dagger from my small-boot, curled like an ingratiating cat around the feet of the large fellow, and clipped in two his heel tendon above his pretty yellow shoe. He howled in a tone surprisingly high-pitched for one so hirsute about the chops, dropped his cutlass, and staggered against the wall. I sprang to my feet and swept out my sword, ready to defend myself and Astolfo. I assumed that we had been led into a trap. Astolfo's wealth was fabled and attempts upon it—and upon his life—were not infrequent.

With a gesture he calmed me. “Hist'ou!” he said. “What are you doing?”

“The fellow threatened my life,” I said. “His point was in my back.”

The door opened and a wizened, yellow-faced old man peered out and took in the scene with a single glance. “What, Astolfo? Have you brought some assassin upon me?” His voice was that of an elderly man accustomed to the use of authority.

“Look to your man there, Pecunio. He attacked Falco from behind. He is fortunate to escape with a gizzard complete. Why does he draw steel upon an invited guest?”

The old man gave Astolfo a searching look before nodding assent. He signaled to the other lummox of a servant, who helped his companion to stand and supported him as he limped away into the dimness. I watched them go, thinking it would require some space of time before the one who had so rudely poked me would be leading the dancing floor in a quadrille.

“These are perilous days, Astolfo,” Pecunio said. “I have made it a practice to hold strangers at blade point when they enter my little counting room.”

“Anyone with me is no stranger. You have long had my surety upon that.”

Pecunio nodded. “My man Dolo is large, but he is not a giant of the intellect. Let the matter rest and come in.”

When we entered I saw by the light of a dozen candles that our host was smaller than I had thought and that he carried a hunchback. He was dressed in black, tunic and hose and footwear, with white laceless linen at throat and wrists. He took his own good time looking me over, and his expression gave nothing away. Then he turned to a tall cabinet, brought forth a decanter and three small gilt-rimmed glasses, and poured a measure for each of us.

I followed Astolfo's lead, raising my glass in salute and draining it in one swallow. It was fiery, and cloyingly sweet, and I knew it too costly for my purse and too genteel for my taste.

“It is good to see you again, Pecunio,” Astolfo said. “I hope to be able to do you better service than chopping off the feet of your servants, as my hasty prentice is so eager to do.”

“We will come to terms about that when you name a price,” Pecunio said, “for the service I have in mind is but a modest one. I only desire your opinion about a certain piece of property.”

“An appraisal?”

“Call it so. I have come into possession of a shadow. It has been represented to me as a curious and valuable object. And so might it be, if it is genuine.”

“What is its provenance? Can you not trace down the owner?”

“I dare not come anywhere near him, if the provenance is as reported,” Pecunio said. “Perhaps you too, even the adroit Astolfo, would think twice upon the matter.”

“Perhaps. Just what is this marvelous shade supposed to be?”

“Let us have a look.” Pecunio crossed the room to a huge oaken closet with a heavy door that reached to the beamed ceiling. With a small silver key he clicked one well-oiled lock and then another and then finally swung open the silent door. He gestured to Astolfo.

The plumpish shadow master slid his arm carefully into the recess and brought out one of the most opulent umbrae I have ever seen. Midnight its color was, the midnight of a deep forest, with the wind brushing the leafy boughs overhead so that starlight arrowed through in bright streaks. There were colors in its deep blackness, a quick threading of silver here, of scarlet there, and now and again a dull mauve glow hard to distinguish pulsed in the general texture. If 'twere cloth, it would be heavy velvet, but it was shadow and had no weight—mass, of course, but no weight. I will forbear to cite at length the
Testamentae gloriae umbrae
and all the other beetle-nibbled volumes on this point. Anyone who has seen shadows bought and sold knows all that is necessary.

Astolfo's touch with the stuff was so light, he might not have been holding it at all but only allowing it to drape about his half-opened hands. That is the proper way to handle shadows, but skillful experience alone makes it possible. At that time I had yet to attain to that level of skill.

He gestured slowly, turning his hands over as if warming them by a brazier. “This is excellent material,” he said. He put his face near and inhaled gently. “A complex aroma, but with pronounced salt. This is the shade of a quondam seaman, perhaps of someone who no longer follows the sail.” He closed his eyes and considered. “If he be such, he has fought many a battle and sent many a poor tar to swirl in the deepest currents.” He put his tongue out briefly, tasting the air like a serpent. “I should not like to have the owner of this shadow as my enemy.”

“You believe that the caster of this shadow is still alive?” Pecunio asked.

“I know men now standing in their flesh less lively than this shade. Whoever stole it from its caster had best beware.”

Pecunio replied quickly, his tone apprehensive. “I did not take it and I do not know who the thief might be. I bought it only for its fine qualities. How it came to the seller I do not care to know.”

“Very well,” Astolfo said. “But in that case, I fail to see how I might be of service.”

“It was represented to me as the shadow of Morbruzzo,” Pecunio said.

“The pirate?” Astolfo asked. There was an unaccustomed hint of surprise in his voice. “The sea raider infamous in broadside and ballad? The villain who razed the port of Lamia and ravished the queen of the Dimiani clan? If this be his, it is a rare treasure, but its price may be higher than you are willing to pay.”

“I have already parted with a smallish treasury for it.”

“I do not speak of gold.”

“My life, you mean?”

“He is no squeamish breed of pirate, by all account.”

“What if it is not Morbruzzo but only some other felon?”

“Then the value of the object decreases, yet you are still in danger.”

“Can you determine for me the lay of the situation?”

“Let us be clear,” Astolfo said. “You would have me first affirm whether this shadow really is that of the man-slaughtering Morbruzzo; then I am to find out if he has sent or is sending agents against you; and then I am to advise you whether you may guard yourself or if you should rid you of the property as soon as may be.”

Pecunio hesitated, then nodded.

“If I undertook this commission, I should put myself in mortal danger.”

“To which you are no newcomer.”

“In fact, you have already exposed me to such by inviting me here.”

“There are already those with designs upon your life by day and by night.”

“If I accepted this little chore, my fee would be a tall one.”

“Your fees are always exorbitant.”

“You shall have answer two days hence. I know that Falco and I will be followed when we leave here today, but I shall take pains to ensure we will not be followed when we return. Now if you will bid a servant guide us out of this labyrinthine storehouse, I will make certain that rash Falco here will refrain from puncturing him.”

Pecunio smiled. “Of course.”

Astolfo placed the shadow back in the great dark closet and Pecunio turned home the locks upon it. Then he crossed to the table and raised the decanter in invitation. “Shall we seal our compact with another sip?”

“I have not yet agreed,” said Astolfo. “But when our business is concluded, a glass would be welcome.”

“I understand.” Pecunio reached to a shelf above, took down a hand-sized copper bell, and rang it. Almost immediately the door opened and a serving man stood there, a slender, yellow-haired fellow who wore incongruous high boots. He was fair of countenance, and his person might well have been thought attractive by helmsmen as well as seamstresses. His feet, to judge by the boots, were outsized, even larger than my own.

“Be so good, Flornoy,” Pecunio said, “as to show our guests the way out.”

As we followed this figure through the corridors, I was surprised by the aggressive way he stepped along, but Astolfo seemed to take no notice, peering in one direction and another along the clammy walls.

*   *   *

When the warehouse door eased to behind us and we were alone in the malodorous alley, I started to ask one of the hundred questions that bubbled in my head.

“Not yet,” Astolfo said. “We shall be followed, and we must discover by whom. At the corner next, we shall part. I shall cross the cobbles to the tavern opposite. You turn to the right toward the wharf, then cut back through the little passage there and come round behind our pursuer. Find out everything you can, and we shall rejoin at the manse.”

I followed his orders and took advantage of the occasion to gain some knowledge of this port of Tardocco upon which the well-being of the city depended. The bay was one of the most tranquil, protected from the wild storms of the Rodantic Sea by two peninsulas that curved round like the claws of a crab to form an inlet. The harbor that lay within was extremely deep, unfathomed at its centermost, so that its waters were more black than blue, so black as to give credence to old wives' tales of a sea dragon that dwelt below. It was called the Mardrake, this dragon. The old fable with its monster was a favorite among the gentry and nobility, who recalled the legend as a handy terror with which to correct mischievous children. “The Mardrake adores to gobble up wicked little boys like Ricardino.” There were Mardrake toys of various shapes and forms to amuse children.

The hoary legend was no hindrance to trade. Tardocco was a busy and prosperous port but not well guarded by civil or military arms. The possibility of pirate attack was a source of continuous concern. Part of the lore of the Mardrake was that it was guardian during the direst circumstances. When the enemy came, it would rise from unsounded depths to fall upon their vessels and tear them to flinders. It was a jolly tale, but it did not serve so well as would a warship.

I wandered about for a space, trying to appear to be aimlessly idle as I kept my eye out for any figure that might be following me. At last I turned my steps toward Astolfo's town villa, which was now my home.

*   *   *

When I got back there Astolfo had not yet arrived. Mutano, his dumb but not at all deaf servant, allowed me the largess of the pantry, including a hunk of buttery cheese, a handful of black bread, and a tankard of ale to obliterate the taste of Pecunio's sickly-sweet wine. While I was making good use of these eatables, Mutano signaled to me that Astolfo had returned and now awaited me in his library—the small one with the fire grate, not the great glum one with all the musty books and their eye-murdering tiny print.

Seated in his leather armchair, Astolfo motioned me to the splint-bottom across. “Who was't dogged us, think you?”

“I saw no one,” I said.

He thought. “That means there were not two hounds on our trace. You would have spotted two. You might well have spotted one who was inept. So either there is none or there is one who is sharp in his craft. We shall of course proceed on the latter assumption.”

“Proceed to what end?”

“Why, to preserve our skins and to plate them with gold; that is, to stay alive and make a profit. Here lies the shape of things as I surmise. Pecunio did not come by this shadow in the way of ordinary trade. It was offered to him by someone close enough to Morbruzzo, or whoever the shadow's owner is, to be in the confidence of the robbery victim so that he could betray him. This would be someone well skilled, with an expensive price on his head. His first thought might have been to sell the shadow back to its caster for a goodly sum and then to renege on the bargain and afterward sell it to Pecunio. In this way, he could make two profits at once. But there may be other motives involved.”