The Malacia Tapestry Read online

  'Did you hear that de Lambant's sister is to be wed to a gentleman from Vamonal, Father? He comes of the military house of Orini.'

  'Beppolo says the well's run dry. I've never heard of the Orinis. If he's not lying then it's the first time that ever happened — in your mother's day, we had water aplenty. Everything seems to go wrong. Who are the Orinis, I'd like to know! Bankers, or such-like.'

  'The well often runs dry at this time of year, but I'll see to it on my way out.'

  'You're off already, are you? You never told me what you've been up to. Well, I suppose there's nothing to keep you here.'

  He went over and sat in his battered, leather chair, heavily carved with mythical beasts and lizards. 'Yes, I saw Albrizzi as a student — thin stuff as I remember. And you wanted a shirt for it? You've been working this morning, eh? What were you working at, I'd like to know. Why don't you become a proper tragic actor, eh?'

  I moved towards the door, saying, 'There's no taste for tragedy in this age, Father. It's decadent, as I'm sure you'll agree.'

  'You should become a tragic actor. As long as there's tragedy in life, tragedy is needed on the stage. You see, the housekeeper doesn't always come when you ring — it's the way with housekeepers nowadays. Actors should hold a mirror up to nature, and not just indulge triviality. I don't know what the world's coming to…'

  'Why, the world goes on for ever the same, Father. We have a Supreme Council in Malacia to ensure it.'

  'I don't know about going on for ever. We have reason to believe that there has been change in the world, dramatic change, before now, and that there will be change again. What do you mean, no taste for tragedy? Why, in my young day… Listen, I'm now coming in my great Disquisition on Disquisitions to the Disquisition on the Origins of the Modern World.'

  My honoured father had brought up — or perhaps one should say tumbled over — the subject of his life's work, a serious study of absolutely everything. I believe it was his questioning of the plainest fact until it crumbled into dust which had determined me, even as a mere child, that the stage was the only reality. I relinquished my grasp of the door handle, pleased that I could so unaffectedly show resignation.

  'If you've reached the beginning of the world, your book must be nearly at an end.'

  'How's that? As you must know — after all, the matter was apparent to Alexander — magical lore has it that there were several rival strains of man in the prehistoric world. We know of at least three: homo simius, anthropoid man, and homo saurus, meaning us. Plus other strains here and there of lesser import upon the globe. Now, homo saurus is infinitely the oldest strain, dating clear from the early Secondary Life Era, whereas the simii and the anthropoids are several hundred million years our juniors. Moreover, our kind began cold-blooded, created in the image of the Prince of Darkness —'

  'Father, this old pedantic rubbish is not —'

  'The image of the Prince of Darkness… You young coxcombs, you care nothing for learning! It was different in my young day… But, setting that by… pedantic rubbish, indeed! It has well been divined by the scholars that our world is only one of a number of alchemaically conceivable worlds. In some other worlds of possibility, to take an extreme case, homo saurus may have been wiped out entirely — say at the great battle of Itssobeshiquetzilaha, over three million, one thousand and seven hundred years ago. The result would be a nightmare world in which one of the other human races had supremacy and Malacia never existed…'

  Supremacy, I thought! In this, my home, I'd never been near even equality.

  Taking leave of my father, I quitted the chamber and walked along the corridor. From its panels came an aroma of something like resin which took me back to those years when I depended entirely on the good humour of others. I quickened my pace.

  As I crossed the court, Beppolo emerged from an empty stable, hurrying round-shouldered to see me out of the gate, his right hand already thrusting itself forward, cupped in a receiving attitude.

  'Your illustrious father is cheerful this morning, Perry sir! As well he might be, according to his prosperous station. He tells me he has detected who Philip of Macedon is, to his great benefit!'

  'Where's the housekeeper?'

  'Why, sir, is she not in the house? No? Then perhaps she has gone out. There's little for her to do. If she's not in the house, depend on it she has gone out.'

  'And I suppose that if she has not gone out, then she is in the house?'

  'You could very likely be right, Perry sir.'

  'Be sure to tell her I shall be back tomorrow. I shall expect to see the house cleaned and a proper meal set before my father. Else there will be trouble. Understand?'

  'Every word, sir, as sure as I stand here wearing my old patched breeches.' He bowed low and dragged the gate open. I tossed him a sequin. The gate squealed closed again; its lock clicked as I made down the street. My father was safe with his researches.

  The bells of St Marco's chimed one of the afternoon. A pack of ragged children were teasing a chick-snake against a wall. The little yellow-and-red creature stood waving its hands defensively and barked like a gruff dog — a habit it had learned from the local mongrels. Several of the smaller kinds of ancestral animal, wandering in from the wilderness, had come to an alliance with the canine inhabitants of Malacia. Chick-snakes and grab-skeeters, which were good climbers, were particularly common. I chased the urchins away and headed past Truna's for a cheaper tavern.

  The Cellar of the Small Goldsmiths was built into an old ruined triumphal arch. I sat outside and was served wine and meat, speaking to no one, although there was a cheerful meeting of fellows at the next table. As I was leaving, and they were singing and bellowing, one of them leaned over to pluck my sleeve.

  'You must have a solemn philosophy, cavalier, to keep so straight a face with your wine!'

  Looking down at him, I said, 'There you are correct, sir. Henceforth, I mean to pursue pleasure as a serious business.'

  'Have you not heard that Tvrtko and his army are leaving Malacia? The plague makes too long strides among his men. Is not that worth celebrating?'

  I hit my fist in delight. 'Then Bengtsohn's scheme succeeded!'

  In delight, I told them who I was. All had seen me soar over the Bucintoro. All insisted on buying me drink. But I cut short the carouse, haunted by thoughts of Armida, Bedalar, and my father. For once, I preferred to be out of jollity.

  As I walked down the street, the laughing voices faded, although there were other taverns, other voices. At the door of one stood a woman, singing as sweetly as a bird, with dark-red lips and a black skin. I turned in the direction of Caylus's chambers. Suppose that Bedalar were there…

  Under the archway of his house, a hag in black stood in the shadows selling paper-charms, small birds, shields, flowers, buglewings, boats, animals. The tissues fluttered in a draught blowing through the archway. Behind her, she had lit a smouldering charcoal enchanter's fire; wisps of smoke rose from a tibia and sprinkle of chicken bones. On impulse, I bought a paper shield before I mounted the wide stair.

  No answer came from Caylus.

  I pushed open his door, vexed that he was not here after what he had said. I needed company.

  In his chambers all was quiet. Something told me that the room in which I stood had but recently been vacated — some vibrance in the air, a disturbance in the golden motes floating between window and rug. Sunlight created its pattern on an area of floor by Caylus's couch. In the air, a scent was discernible, faint but luxurious; I stood in a reverie, as still as the room itself. I knew that odour.

  Once I said Caylus's name aloud. I remained in the middle of the gold-flecked room, the door still open, cries from the street coming to me distantly. I looked about, bewitched by the flowers and the room's recent passion. Bedalar…

  Here were Caylus's few books, his many sporting engravings, his altar, his table with a flask and two empty glasses on it, his fernery, his foils, his water-clock, his couch, covered by a rumpled, sil
ken spread. On top of the spread lay an amber object no bigger than a butterfly's wing.

  By a trick of the mind, the sight of this little item made me realize that as well as lust a faint scent of patchouli floated in the chamber.

  I recognized the object before I picked it up. The tortoise-shell glowed in slatted light, its two little horns thrusting upwards like the retractile eye-stalks of a snail. It was a plectrum of rare design. I let it rest in my hand.

  Caylus's time had been better occupied than mine! Dragging up a chair, I put the plectrum in the middle of the table and sat down. Sprawling there, taking up Caylus's quill and ink, I composed an ironic quatrain to greet his return, whether alone or no. I slipped the quatrain under the plectrum.

  Dear Caylus! Those discordant Age hath laid

  Aside lack games harmonious as hers —

  As, mute while she a wilder Music stirs,

  Her mandoline in shadow lies unplayed.

  At the door, I turned to survey the empty room, with sunlight imprisoned among the shadows. Walking slowly downstairs, I found the old hag still under the archway by her smouldering fire. I returned the paper shield to her.

  Disconsolate, I headed towards Kemperer's tailor.

  At a haberdasher's shop, a frumpy matron was standing in the doorway holding up lace to the light. A figure behind her called my name.

  As I started looking in past the female obstacle, a horseman rode down the street, crying that the Ottoman army was in retreat, moving away through the south-west marshes. The Tuscady cavalry was hastening their retreat. The Powers of Light and Dark had again saved Malacia for their own purposes.

  Propelled by this cheering news, I entered the shop. And there stood Bedalar, dressed in a smart city gown with hair-style to match. Lovely though she looked, her pleasure at seeing me made her even more inviting. She introduced the frumpy person as her chaperon, Jethone; there the reverse was true; her displeasure at seeing me rendered her even less inviting.

  'We were about to call upon my brother Caylus, but have been detained by a quest for a certain fine piece of lace.'

  'It must be from Flanders,' said the chaperon.

  'It must be in Flanders, judging by how long we've searched here,' Bedalar said.

  'You are being impertinent, miss.'

  With secret signals of desperation, Bedalar said, 'And there are more shops along the street.'

  'Lace hath charms to suit the savage breast,' I said, stroking my chin. 'As it happens, Miss Bedalar, I have just come from your brother. I was sorry to leave, since he has such respectable company with him, but urgent business calls me to my father. However, I will willingly escort you to Caylus, in order to be of assistance to your companion, if you like. Then I shall have to take leave of you immediately, but your brother would have charge of you until Jethone arrives.'

  She blinked a little and, with straight face, said, 'Perhaps I should not intrude. Who is this respectable company with my brother?'

  'Oh, a priest of the Religion and a couple of rather severe-looking schoolmen.'

  'Then I'll stay here and advise Jethone, thank you.'

  The harridan said, 'I could manage comfortably without your comments, miss, thank you all the same. If you will go straight to your brother's house with this gentleman, I will join you there in five minutes.'

  To me she said, 'And mind you deliver her to her brother immediately. How many priests?'

  'One only — but very emaciated.'

  With heartfelt protestations about my intention not to let Bedalar out of my sight, I grasped her arm and whisked her from the shop. Jethone, lace in hand, watched us until we were round the corner. A minute more and we were under the archway, up the stairs, and standing in that silent scented room, our arms about each other. It was all accomplished on the instant.

  'I thought I'd die of boredom,' she said. 'That old crow makes a religion out of lace.'

  'You look faint, dear Bedalar. Let me arrange you on this sofa and feel your pulse.'

  'My pulse?'

  'And not only your pulse, for this is a case where a more thorough examination would be in order.'

  'Perian, your secret engagement to Armida —'

  'Ssh, it's a secret!' I sealed her mouth with mine. Her arms came round my neck to make me captive. As I climbed on the couch with her, I could tell from the way she disposed her limbs that she was herself well disposed.

  So it proved. Amid our kisses, my exploratory hand found that she had the warmest of welcomes. Soon we had lost the scent of the world about us in pursuit of our own quarry. Her yielding acceptance of me sent me into raptures. She unthinkingly granted me more than Armida.

  At last we lay quiet, her fair head pillowed on my arm, smiling at each other.

  'Perian, what sort of person are you really? You play the dashing man-about-town, but I know there's more to you than that.'

  'I play all roles. They are all me.'

  'I mean, beneath the roles. Your true self. This is fun, just a piece of joyous naughtiness — I could no more resist seizing the instant than you could, for men and women are much alike there. But now, I'm fond of you — but I wonder if we should have done it for Armida's sake. She's my friend, and I feel I betray her.'

  'We don't need to tell Armida. If she doesn't know, she's not hurt. Loving you makes no difference to my feelings for her.' I sat up in bed; catechism is not my favourite hobby.

  Bedalar persisted, sitting up by me. 'We'll feel constrained when we meet in her company. I'm so stupid, I don't understand. And what about Guy, who says he loves me? For his sake, I should not have slipped up here with you. I'm a hussy!'

  'It's only a half-hour's pleasure, Bedalar. Don't make a tragedy of it. Guy won't know either, unless you tell him.'

  'There, you say it again — don't tell them. That means it's wrong, doesn't it? I love this cosy loving, Perian, don't mistake me, but I hate having secrets, hate feeling guilty. Don't you feel guilty?'

  'Stop it, you sumptuous hussy — we live in a decadent age!' She tried to look into my eyes, but instead I began putting my tongue to one of her generous nipples.

  'You see, you swive with me, Perry, but you keep your mind closed to me. That's not real love… Or maybe you have not learned yet to open your mind to others — even to Guy — so that no one knows who you are… Oh, that's lovely — do the other one… Perry, love… Do you know who you are yourself?'

  'By the bones, woman, be quiet and enjoy!'

  She was falling back with eyes half-closed, the folds of her body flowering towards me. 'It's just — after the night on the mountain — the thought of you so near… I could hear you with Armida… I wanted to see you unclothed… And I longed to find out what you were really like… Unclothed under the smart talk.'

  Bursting into laughter, I jumped up and did a jig about Caylus's room, returning to climb astride her pillowy stomach. I smacked her hip.

  'There now — you've seen me unclothed and I'm nothing to be ashamed of. Stop the silly chatter, stir me up, and see me in action again. The Turks may be in retreat but I'm ready for a fresh advance.

  With sudden energy, she kissed the banner of my attack. 'Seeing that you're such a hero today, helping to chase away the Ottoman…'

  'I'm always a hero; soon I shall be twice a hero, playing Albrizzi.'

  'No, Perian, you know what I mean. Not just pretending, but going up in the air on that charger as you did, to defeat the Turks. That was a brave thing.'

  Sometimes, as I often say, the gods and men see eye-to-eye. As she spoke, bold fanfares sounded from the direction of the square, so much more virile than the twangling of a mandoline. The triumphal occasion would be properly marked, without doubt.

  'You're right, Bedalar, my beauty. It's your fortune to have me, so don't question it. This is an occasion, I am a hero, and we must celebrate.'

  'We are celebrating,' she said, taking firmer hold of me.

  Later, I wrote another quatrain, a companion-piece to the one I had l
eft for her brother, and flung it negligently to her, as if I tossed off poetry all the day.

  Dear Bedalar, of all girls I have laid

  Yours is the music that most wildly stirs

  Me; while no marring discord joy defers,

  Your instrument must never lie unplayed.

  It had not quite the flair of the first quatrain, yet was more deeply felt.

  A Young Soldier's Horoscope

  Charmed Malacia! In the wildernesses beyond its fortress walls, in dreary chasm, tangled forest, or endless mountainside, the forces of many kinds of evil struggled for supremacy. Within our winding streets serenity seemed to prevail.

  The conclusion of the week of festival was marked by an improvised pageant celebrating the withdrawal of swart Tvrtko and his forces, in which I was lionized almost to exhaustion. The flight of the buglewing from our calendar coincided also with the return of Armida from her exile in Juracia. On the evening of the day before Bengtsohn summoned us to resume work with the zahnoscope, I received an unexpected invitation to visit Armida at the Hoytola mansion; perhaps my increasing celebrity had softened her father's heart.

  I presented myself early next morning. Debonair though I was, the brute at the gate, as ugly as his two guard dogs put together, regarded me with as much favour as Stefan Trvtko himself would have received, supposing him to have manifested himself there with cannon, a dromedary, and assorted plans for bastinado. While the brute delayed me, I tried to recall something witty de Lambant had said about surly porters driving inconstancy from the door.

  At last I was allowed in, and shown to a cool hall. Knowing it was the custom of the Hoytolas to observe breakfast as sumptuously as in Constantinople, I hoped to join their meal, but coffee alone was served to me as I awaited my lady.

  A row of marble busts set on pillars confronted the visitor. The gentlemen portrayed were universally severe, as if finding immortality conducive to migraine. I tried to set my face into their mould. I was glad to be summoned to Armida's palazzo, although my stomach produced whining noises loud enough to make passers-by suspect I had a lap-dog smuggled under my shirt.