The Malacia Tapestry (11 page)

She would have to have a dozen horoscopes read before she could consent to that; but she did agree to a secret betrothal, and to the same sort of bond that existed between General Gerald and the fair Princess Patricia, our absurd alter egos.

Scents of sandalwood, camphor and pine mingled with patchouli and the precious aromas of Armida's body as we forthwith celebrated our intentions.

A Balloon over the Bucintoro

When you take a stroll through our city along the banks of the River Toi, and especially along the elegant Bucintoro, where pavements are of gold, you can look north and regard verdant expanses of countryside stretching into the Vokoban Mountains, which are themselves, at least on their southern slopes, green and well-flavoured.

When from any other vantage point in Malacia you gaze towards the country, you see nothing so enticing. True, there is the long, dusty road to Byzantium, while to the south-east lies the Vamonal Canal, tree-fringed for most of its course; but in general the vistas consist of undulating plain – ochre, sullen, primitive; all those things against which the idea of Malacia is most opposed. To the west lie the no less uninviting Prilipit Mountains, where the terrain is distorted and uncouth.

Among the folds of the Prilipits, even as Armida and I were luxuriously plighting our troth, gathered an Ottoman army intent upon laying waste Malacia.

There was a general alarm and a mustering of arms. Not a citizen but feared for his well-being, his wife, or something he held dear. But such armies had gathered beyond our fortifications before, had been defeated, and had retired in disarray.

The Council and the generals did what they deemed necessary. They paraded our own forces, they polished our cannon-balls, they set the blue and black flag of Malacia flying from every battlement, they drew a barrage across the rivers, they increased the price of fish and flour in the markets.

While these high strategies were in process, groups of citizens climbed to vantage points in the city – up rickety staircases to belfries – to espy the gaudy tents of the foe; but most of us saw it as our duty to continue living as usual, whilst paying more for loaves and sprats.

Some there were, of course, who fled the city, going by barge to Vamonal or by foot or litter to Byzantium. Others bolted themselves in houses or cellars. For myself, I feared nothing; Armida had cast a spell over my life.

All know what it is to be in love. When I opened my casement window and the breeze wafted down from a meadow outside the city, that breeze might have touched
her
cheek on its way to me; when I trod the street, the ground beneath my feet led somewhere to
her
, was trodden by her feet; when I glanced up and happened to see a bird flying in the sky, it might be that
she
saw it at the same instant, so that our gazes interlocked. Whenever I touched an object, it reminded me of touching
her;
when I ate, the action made me recall that
she
ate; when I spoke to anyone, I recalled what it felt like to speak to
her;
when I kept silent, it put me in mind of
her
lips, unspeaking. The world became a conspiracy of
her
.

In the circumstances, the Ottomans could not weigh down my heart or my considerations by a denario's worth.

One evening, when a Turkish spy was caught in the main square and had his neck extended by a good half-metre before Fetter Place, I went with de Lambant to visit Otto Bengtsohn and enquire how the mercurization was progressing. Such was his secretiveness that, as yet, he had shown nobody his results.

‘How appropriate that you should be immortalized on glass,' said de Lambant. ‘You are such a transparent character, my friend.'

I had paid for the wine that evening. ‘Then we must see that you are posted to posterity on skin and flint,' I said.

We went in through the court by the sign of the Dark Eye and into the workshop, where Bonihatch and other assistants were still at work, or bowed over their painting desks pretending to work. Slapping the erstwhile Prince Mendicula on his back, I led the way into the gallery which at this hour was closed to the public.

Catching in the air a fragrance of patchouli, I spied the fair Armida in the distance, carrying an oil lamp which lit her features from below, suffusing them with a magical luminosity as if she were composed of nothing more substantial than cloud. What a pleasant surprise to see her – I had imagined her incarcerated at home as usual. Here was my chance to introduce her to Guy.

With her were her father, wrapped severely in a double-breasted tail-coat, Otto Bengtsohn in a cringing attitude and his old fur, Armida's and Guy's friend Bedalar, wrapped in a gold pelisse which matched her ringlets; and a man of quite different ilk from the rest of the party, whose aspect was so singular that it was on him rather than on the ladies that my gaze fastened as I approached the group unnoticed.

‘… circumspect conduct which may nevertheless be of service to the realm, if only for an interim period,' this individual was saying, in such a manner as to make Armida look grave and her father to take snuff. The speaker was tall and thin, yet not only thin but decidedly paunchy, while his face, to match this paradoxical effect, appeared gaunt and dark with a puffy pallor to it. His frock-coat was black, very capacious, and frightening, as if it held coils of rope in its pockets. His skull was capped by a grey club wig on which was a black bicorne-hat sporting the blue and black rosette of the Supreme Council. He was a man accustomed to seeing people quail before him; he even had a person to quail behind him, a twisted lackey with lips like raw steaks who kept to the shadows of the gallery.

The member of the Supreme Council turned his gaze on me to such effect that not only did I stop but found myself moving slightly in reverse.

‘We will repair to your office without further interruption, Hoytola,' he said, in a voice that came from somewhere beyond the reach of oil lamps.

The party turned their backs on me and moved away. I made no attempt to go farther. His saturnine voice reminded me that on the whole I preferred nice people to nasty people. Armida, bless her, found a chance to flit back and touch my wrist. The lamp and its shadows made of her face a world with sunshine and cloud. She said, ‘We're having a meeting, I'll see you tomorrow. Take care of Bedalar.'

With that she vanished, following the party through a green baize door up the dim stair which led to Master Hoytola's apartments and offices. Only Bedalar stayed, holding a candle and looking sheepish at being excluded from the party.

We stood gazing at each other from a distance.

‘Well, that's that,' she said.

‘Yes. Is there some trouble?'

She inspected her candle and then said, ‘I don't know what's happening, do I?'

‘What's that man doing here?'

‘Business with Armida's father. He's only just arrived.'

‘I wouldn't want to do business with him,' Guy said firmly.

We went back into the workshop, which was better lit and had less of a feel of ropes in black pockets about it.

Bonihatch and the other apprentices were skipping about with greater animation than they showed when Bengtsohn was there, trying to amuse a pallid waif of about nine years old. The waif, faintly smiling, was a girl who stood holding the hand of our seamstress, Letitia Zlatorog, alias the Lady Jemima. Letitia was looking much less the Lady Jemima tonight in her severe drab dress and worn slippers, although she smiled a smile which, by the glow on Bonihatch's face, had kindled something of a fire in his heart. The waif's thin face was like a candle-flame against Letitia's.

I greeted them, tickling the waif under the chin, despite a suspicion about its cleanliness.

‘Letitia has just brought me down a beautiful shirt,' Bonihatch said, coming over to me in a friendly way. ‘I can act with you now, Perian! Though Otto provided some bits of costume, I've had to find my own shirt, and had nothing adequate for a prince to wear until now. Now, I could be a king, so over-privileged shall I feel in Letitia's handiwork.'

‘Or the queen even better than the king, for that matter, for 'tis very fancy,' I said, handling the new garment.

‘Come, say you admire it, Perian,' Letitia urged, coming over. ‘It is my uncle's very best pattern, and I stitched every stitch myself.'

‘It's better than anything you've got to wear, I'll be bound, for all your airs,' one of the other apprentices, Solly, jeered, pulling a face at me.

Certainly it was an admirable shirt, made of thin cotton, pleated at the waist, with an elaborate, frilled open neck in a style that might seem florid on the street but would certainly answer in all manner of theatricals. The stitches were finely done and an embroidered posy ornamented the right cuff.

I laughed and put an arm about Letitia. ‘It
is
a noble shirt, your uncle's pattern rivals anyone's, and it
is
better than anything I have – that I freely confess. You're a clever girl, Letitia, and I'll take you all to the Leather-Teeth Tavern for drinks to celebrate.'

‘We apprentices can't leave the shop till Otto comes back,' Bonihatch said promptly.

‘Then I'll take Letitia alone. And of course de Lambant and Bedalar when they're done whispering together in the corner.'

‘I mustn't come – I must get back to my stitching,' said Letitia, looking anguishedly towards Bonihatch. ‘My sister and I have been away too long. The others will miss us.'

At this the waif by her side set up a wail for food. Letitia squatted by her, took her in her arms, and promised a refreshing glass of tea as soon as they were home. The waif was Letitia's small sister, Rosa. While this domestic scene was in progress, I turned back to Bonihatch, who was now folding up the shirt in a restrained manner, and asked him how much the garment cost, or whether (not knowing their relationship) Letitia had given it to him as a present.

‘Not at all like that,' he said in a low voice, giving me a curious look. ‘Letitia's family, the Zlatorogs, are the poorest of the poor. I paid the market price – although I'm proud to say that my friends and fellow-apprentices weighed in from the goodness of their hearts and helped me with the cost.'

He told me what he had paid. I whistled to show that I was impressed by his extravagance although the shirt was something of a bargain; even so, it was more than I could command at present.

Letitia and Rosa were now making their farewells. They collected up the sheet of paper the shirt had been wrapped in and smiled at one and all. The seamstress got a kiss and a squeeze from Bonihatch, while the other apprentices gallantly kissed her fingers. De Lambant had managed to disappear with Bedalar; I did not imagine that I would see them again. As Letitia and the child went to the door of the court, I moved in beside them.

At that moment, Bengtsohn appeared from the direction of the gallery. He looked shaken, and went to sit on a chair. When the apprentices went crowding about him, my chance came to speak to Letitia.

‘Your little sister is hungry, Letitia – she looks as if she last ate on Halberd-head Day. Let me buy you a glass of wine and her a pastry at the Leather-Teeth, then you can slip home.'

While I was speaking, I urged her into the court. She was protesting and the child began to snivel. There was no lighting in the court except for what filtered through the odd window, in particular the side window of the tavern, above the frosted portion of which I could see men at the time-honoured pastime of pouring liquor down their throats. Catching hold of the waif's hand, I said, ‘Come, child, and I'll buy you a pastry straight away.'

I pulled her into the tavern, but Letitia would not follow. She waited by the door, looking vexed. Vexed myself, I bought Rosa a bun stuffed with plums and spice, told her to stay by the counter, and hurried to Letitia's side.

She was a thin girl, as always rather mousey, but by no means formless, even in the worn grey dress. Despite the pallor of her face, Letitia had her beauty. She had been enclosed in her trade too long for anything positive to emerge, yet her eyes were large, while something about her mouth and cheekbones enticingly suggested foreign blood.

‘Miss Letitia, you look so pretty standing there. Never wait at an entrance, that's my motto. Come in and drink and part with a mite of conversation to pay me for the wine. We have never talked together.'

‘You have more time to talk than I. My uncle needs me to work and we are always busy, day and night.'

‘That I am not busy at present is no reflection on my talents – about which agreement it fairly universal.'

‘I meant to imply no insult – merely that I work hard and must return home now. I ask you not to detain me.'

‘Stay for as long as it takes to swallow a spiced bun! No? Very well, then, I may perhaps be allowed to accompany you to your door.'

Rosa, anchored to the bun but impermanent at her post, had joined us. Since she had no free hand, Letitia took her by the shoulder and steered her into the darkness of the court. Following, I moved to her side.

‘We need not be together merely when the zahnoscope is trained on us, Letitia. It has no magical powers. Let's meet one evening when you are free to enjoy yourself.'

‘And when you are free from Armida Hoytola? Very rightly you have no eyes for me when she is about.'

‘You should at least get to know me well enough to have the right to be jealous.'

‘Jealousy – that's a very expensive luxury, above my station.'

We came to a door in the smelly recesses of the court, where it was so black that I held Letitia's arm for guidance. She brought out a key and unlocked the door, which she opened to reveal a bare, well-worn staircase, lit by a stub of candle guttering in its socket.

‘We have to part here, Perian. Rosa and I thank you for your kindness in buying her the bun, which we hope will not spoil her appetite for supper.'