A Shadow All of Light (33 page)

I answered the man: “But thou dost know the beggar who laid this tallow burden upon the noble's spirit. And you shall tell us how we may trace him out.”

He shifted anxiously in his boots. “Who can tell that? He is no doubt known among the beggary, but I am not of the brotherhood.”

“Tell us something of his appearance and manner of speech,” I urged.

“He was roundish of corpus, with delicate, clever hands. He wore the brown, patchy robe common to his station, but his voice was mild and reasonable and hinted that he was lettered, a man of knowledge.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“Nomio or Nurmio or Rumino or some such. I cannot recall.”

“Was he accompanied by a girl of fourteen or so years, a silvery slip of a thing with a fixed stare?”

“No. When he went away, he gathered to him a tall, thin blind man with a hawthorn staff whom he guided along the lane. They did not speak to each other.”

“How did you come to commerce with him?”

“He came to me,” Brotero said. “It was an unhappy hour, for I think Uccisore may be broken in spirit now and useless. He offered then to tell me where lay the baron's treasure and how my band of trained rats might fetch it for me.”

“Having got it, you were to sell it to him at a price you would set?”

“Yes. I had thought to demand a handsome fee, but my rats brought back only some paltry candle stubs. I set a fee of two eagles which I expected him to reject.”

“But he paid without complaint?”

“He did, and how do you know of this? What is its concern to you?”

“I know little,” I said. “Your well-disciplined rats understand the world better than I do.”

*   *   *

Mutano and I departed the warehouse in discomposed spirits. Sunbolt had disappeared after his victory and Mutano was pleased at the outcome but glum about the prospect of reclaiming his voice.

“That cat will never return it now,” he said. “He has found it too valuable an instrument.”

“That may be so,” I said. “Yet you possess his voice, and perhaps it too can give advantages.”

He shook his head. I knew that he was thinking of the woman he could not now beguile with ballades and canzoni and other intricate verbal nosegays.

I attempted to lure him into another line of thinking, saying, “If Sunbolt had been killed in the fight, your voice would have died with him.”

“'Tis as good as dead if I do not get it back.”

“We shall work toward a better conclusion,” I said. “Do you recall your observation of Sibylla's shadow as Veuglio made his way through our maze at the château?”

He nodded.

“Do you still hold that the shadow communicated in some fashion to the two of them?”

“Yes.”

“Such a shadow, capable of thought and communication and of some degree of volition, would be most valuable in our trade.”

Mutano agreed and added that he had been considering the subject, although he had lacked leisure to pursue the thought.

“What would Maestro Astolfo give to possess such an umbra?”

A great deal, he told me, for this speaking or signing shadow could be put to more uses than we could readily imagine. “A man might establish an army if he could command a company of intelligent shadows.”

“How could he bend them to his will?”

“By threat of extinction. I can conceive no other way. They would not care for gold or any sort of object. They are independent of desires.”

“Well, these thoughts are idle, like so many of our speculations upon the vitality and intelligence of umbrae. We have more pressing concerns. We need to resolve all this matter of the Baron Tyl Rendig and we must pursue the question of the relationship between the maestro and Veuglio and his ward.”

“And we must reclaim my voice. It is accustomed to nobler purposes than frightening combative cats.”

“Let us divide our labors. I will undertake to recover your voice whilst you search out information on the blind man.”

“How am I to do so?”

“He was involved, perhaps allied, with the beggar guild of Tardocco,” I said. “If you make search among that louse-rag company you are likely to discover the track of him.”

“How do I inquire of them, seeing that they do not speak cattish?”

“Every task mounts difficulties—we must surmount 'em. How am I to persuade Sunbolt to give up his human language, since I have naught to offer in return?”

He smiled wryly. “That is a difficulty you must surmount. I believe you already have a stratagem in mind.”

“Truly? I do beseech you to reveal it to me.”

“You are not one to make rash bargains,” he said.

*   *   *

In the tavern called The Double Hell I stationed myself at a table where I could observe the thirsty come through the door with the bright mid-afternoon light strong behind them. The fellow I awaited would be called Quinias or Quinny or some such. He was the brother of Maronda, she who at the cattery rival to Brotero's had been so sharp-set against me. This Quinny—or Ninny, as I judged him—I would recognize by his shadow. His sister had said of him that he was hale and whole once more and this meant that he had regained the shade that, as he told his sister, had been stolen from him. I thought it more likely that he had acquired a shadow not his own. If so, he had not got it from the establishment of Maestro Astolfo, or I should have known of it.

No one likes to lose his shadow. It is not a mortal blow, but it is a wearying trouble. If it is stolen or damaged, a man will seek out a dealer in umbrae resupply and the difficulty is got around in a hobbledehoy fashion. The fellow is the same as before, so he fancies, with a new shadow that so closely resembles his true one, no one would take note.

That is not the case. His new shadow never quite fits him so trimly, so conformably, so sweetly, as did his original. There is a certain discrepancy of contour, a minor raggedness not easy to mark but plainly evident to one versed in the materials. The wearer never completely grows to his new shadow and goes about with it rather as if wearing an older brother's hand-me-down cloak.

Another change occurs also, not in the fitting or wearing, but in the character of the person. To lose a shadow is to lose something of oneself. The loss is slight and generally unnoticeable, yet an alert observer might see some diminution in the confidence of bearing, in the certitude of handclasp, in the authority of tread upon a stone stairway.

All these things I had been told or had read in books. I had never at that time experienced such loss myself and believed that I never would.

I am proud of my ability to find out these distinctions between original shades and acquired ones. I was confident that I would recognize this Quinny-Ninny when he entered, and I felt reasonably certain that enter he would. I had formed a picture of his character and I was content to sip ale and nibble at eggs in pickle until his arrival. The Double Hell is a tavern where gamesters repair and it is a superstition among this breed that to change place of play is often to damage luck. Even a modicum of success under a certain roof will lure the player to return again and again.

So I marked my man as soon as he slid slouch-wise into the room, shouldering against the heavy pine door with its carved flagon. He took a seat on the bench by the far wall. He signaled and a mug was delivered by a thin boy in a soiled shirt who showed no affection for him. He coppered the youngster and waved him away, looked about, then settled to his beer, awaiting his usual circle of fellow gamesters.

I rose and walked directly to him, unsheathing my shorter dagger. I buried it an inch deep into the table before him. “My name is Falco.”

He gave the knife a quick appraisal before looking into my face. “That is interesting to know,” he said. His tone was as suave as glove leather, but I heard the undertone of uncertainty.

“Know too that I brook no insult.”

“No man should.” He looked at my blade again.

“I am in the employ of Maestro Astolfo.”

“Ah, the master shadow—”

“Take care you do not say
thief,
” I said, “for that would compose an insult.”

“Shadow merchant, I was about to say.”

“You were about to say
thief,
and I would have had one of your eyes for it. I may yet pluck the left one, if you persist in untruth.
Thief
is a name I will not bear.”

“Friend Falco,” he said, “I never could call you thief. I never saw you until now.”

“Another lie,” I said. “I am not your friend.”

“I hope that at some time it may be so, if I can make clear your confusion. I never called you thief.”

“You have said to many that your shadow was stolen from you here at The Double Hell. You complained broadly and bitterly. You applied to your sister for coin to regain it and she took pity and now she holds a deceived opinion of honest Falco. The truth is, you diced the thing away and were too cowardly ashamed to own to the fact. If you deny, you lie. I do not abide lies.”

“It is true. I misled Maronda. She does not approve my gaming and calls me wastrel and good-for-naught. I was in close straits and must needs borrow. She was my last resort.”

“Not for the first time, I'll warrant.”

“She knows my brotherly affection. She understands that I will restore all in the near future.”

“I should like to live so long as this near future,” I said.

“Now I have said the truth. Now you are satisfied and will cease your threats.”

“The threat holds until you confess in forthright words this mouse-heart shame to your sister in my presence.”

He shook his head, frowning. “You demand too much.”

I raised the end of the big table, edged its leg onto his toe, and plumped my bulk upon it. His face turned white before it purpled, but he made no outcry.

“Since you have laid your hand on the hilt of your sword, you can now hand it over to me.”

He did so.

I took the blade, slid off the table, and grasped his elbow. “Now we shall journey to the slaughterhouse of Nasilia, where you will reveal to your sister Maronda your pitiable deception. You will avouch me an honest man who steals no shadow from a fumble-finger dicer. You will clear the name of Falco from your smutch till it gleams like a new eagle. This is your near future, is't not?”

He hung his head and breathed a grievous sigh.

“I do not relish the visit either,” I said. “The smells of that cattery cause my eyes to stream and my head to burn. Nevertheless—
onward.
”

*   *   *

I felt beset with these unpleasantnesses as soon as I glimpsed the low yellow-brick edifice and its thick, weathered door. I gestured and Quinias lifted and let fall the iron curl-tail knocker. Maronda opened the door, and it seemed to me that the scowl I saw on her face during our least meeting had never left it.

“Good day, Maronda,” I said. “I have brought your brother to visit you because he has fresh and important news to report.”

Standing half a hand span taller, she gazed down at him with weary distaste. “What is it now, worthless one?”

“I will step away,” I said, “so that you may conduct your personal affairs in privacy.”

Ten paces put me out of earshot, and I observed that their conversation was animated. Maronda was a statuesque and, might be, a handsome woman, but now her features were contorted with anger. Though I could not make out her words, I could hear the rising pitch of her voice, under the force of which her brother shrank and withered like a peony petal on sun-scorched stone. The conclusion of this recital was sharply percussive as she raised her good right arm and delivered her brother a slap on the cheek that sounded like a courtyard gate clapped to. He staggered and reeled backward.

At this point I advanced upon the pair to prevent Maronda from retiring. “Signorina Maronda,” I began, and when she turned her gaze toward me Quinias furtively backed away. He was making an ungainly retreat, accompanied by unsisterly epithets.

“Signorina,” I said, “I hold that you have done me an injustice. I am honest in the shadow trade and all otherwise. I do not ask for apology, for it is clear that you were deceived.”

“Thou'rt no holy saint,” she said, “and will receive no apology.”

“Then that is settled and there is no reason we should not do business together.”

“I suspect your business.”

“I am in the market for a cat,” I said. “If you can supply my need, I will pay the price you ask, within the bounds of reason. More coin, mayhap, than Nasilia has ever received for an animal.”

“What sort of cat?”

“Let us talk a little and I will describe.”

“Well then,” she said, but her gaze was directed not at me but over my shoulder. I turned to see that Quinias was already far down Chandlers' Lane and now squirmed in weasel fashion around the corner into an alley. “Come inside.”

“If you will oblige me, we can talk better here.” Even outside, the musken air was working upon me. My eyes teared. I took a square of green silk from my cuff and dabbed at them. Then I spoke of the form of cat that I desired.

*   *   *

Mutano found me in the villa garden at twilight. I sat watching the late sun at play upon the high-billowed clouds, observing how tint mingled with tint, how the changing light altered the appearance of the cloud, and wondering how deeply into a mass of cloud a ray might penetrate and in what fashion the colors of the ray would change along its journey.

He came quietly toward me, unwilling, as I thought, to disturb my meditation. “You have found something out,” he said.

“Naught of strong import as yet, but I have hope. I was pondering the way light intermingles with cloud and comparing that with the way shadow mingles with other substance. We are accustomed to improving the nature of wine, of cloth, of walls and corridors and gardens with our shadows. Silver, though, doth not acquire much tincture, nor does unglazed pottery. Pewter receives it only reluctantly and in slight measure. A lump of wax is not much affected.”