The Mystic Marriage (8 page)

Langal frowned and dropped the gem back onto the cloth. “The last time someone tried to pay me in alchemical gold it was nothing but gilded copper. He swore it was an instability in the transformation and that it had been pure gold when he gave it to me, but it came to the same thing. I have no interest in being made a fool when I try to sell cut glass and rock crystal. And this—” He nudged the stone where it lay. “Don’t insult me by trying to pass it off as ruby.”

If he hadn’t the wit to look beyond glittering jewelry…“The stone’s value lies in other properties than the obvious,” Antuniet returned evenly.

“Oh, no doubt. I’m sure you can produce some clever conjuror’s trick to convince me of its power. But what of the ones you plan to give me in payment? I’m no infant in the world. I’ve seen all the tricks before. But in any event, you seem to be misinformed as to my trade. I’m not a moneylender.”

Antuniet blinked at him. The man’s reputation was known to all. What was the point in denying it?

“Ah, I see your confusion,” he said. His thin lips failed to manage a smile despite the amusement in his voice. “I’m not a moneylender, I only broker existing debts. I have, on occasion, been known to venture a mortgage or two. But the true profit lies in relieving amateurs of the burden of collecting on the notes they’ve been so imprudent as to accept. If some other person were unwise enough to extend you credit, that debt might find its way into my hands. But no, I have no interest in investing in your little alchemical charade.”

“My brother Estefen—”

“Yes, your brother. Shall we discuss your brother? I made the mistake of holding his notes and he, at least, had expectations. What do you have? Would that cousin of yours be willing to stand surety for payment? Ah, but no. If she were, you wouldn’t be here talking to me, would you?” He leaned forward across the desk with a pugnacious scowl. “Here’s my offer: pledge yourself to pay back your brother’s notes and I will undertake to find you an investor.”

For one brief moment she considered it. But no, that road led nowhere but ruin. Better to build up slowly from her tutoring fees. It might take years to come back to the starting place she’d had in Heidelberg, but she could make it work. She rose and said, “I do apologize for wasting your time, Maistir Langal.”

But when she reached to tie the stone back up in its cloth, he stopped her and picked it up to examine again. She held her breath, watching for signs that the amulet was working its influence.

His face settled back into a thoughtful look. “Alchemy, you say? There’s a possibility that occurs to me. I give the advice freely because I’m in a strangely generous mood and it takes nothing out of my pocket. And perhaps because I admire you for being too sensible to accept my offer. In this business one hears things. One never knows when information might become valuable. I will tell you only that if you went and talked to Monterrez, the goldsmith on Zempol Street, you might hear something to your advantage.”

Antuniet recoiled. “I’m not that desperate yet,” she said, retrieving the gem from him and tying it up securely.

“Truly?" Langal asked in amusement. “Now how might I have taken the impression that you were? But Monterrez isn’t a moneylender either, if that’s what concerns you. Not in the ordinary way of things. He…let’s say that I think he might be interested in your project for his own reasons.”

* * *

If she had any other prospects, Antuniet would have discarded the suggestion as one more cruel joke. But without making any conscious decision, she followed a path back to her room in the university district that bent to take in the neighborhood centered around Zempol Street.

The shop gave little indication of its trade, only a counter overseen by a serious young man and a half-finished project lying on a table behind him among tools for polishing and delicate repairs. No doubt the wares were brought out only for customers. The man at the counter was too young to be the owner of the shop and Antuniet briefly wondered if she had come to the right place. “I’m looking for Maistir Monterrez,” she said.

He might be young but he seemed to have evaluated her in a single glance. “Perhaps the Maisetra has some jewelry to sell?”

The jewelry had gone long before the gowns had. “I have a business matter to discuss with him.”

The man pursed his lips and regarded her carefully. Then, without letting her leave his sight, he stepped back to a doorway and called out something rapidly that Antuniet couldn’t follow. A woman’s voice answered and he nodded at the response. “He will be with you shortly, if you’re able to wait,” he told her.

Antuniet said nothing, only stepped to one side as another customer came and went. The goldsmith emerged a few minutes later, looking as though he had hastily traded his work apron for coat and neckcloth, for there was a smudge of jeweler’s rouge on one cuff. Evidently the summons had conveyed the information that there was no need to fetch a fresh shirt and don a hat. “How may I assist you?”

Antuniet had considered and discarded several approaches and in the end she simply brought out her one perfect gem and offered it to him to examine. He sent a sharp glance at his assistant, as if to reproach him for disturbing his work for a simple appraisal, but then he took the stone over to the window and peered at it more closely, drawing out a small glass to assist him. A frown furrowed his broad, balding forehead. It wasn’t the admiration of a work of art but the consideration of a puzzle.

“Where did you get this?” he asked at last.

“I made it,” Antuniet replied.

He looked up at her expectantly and she felt her way toward her question. She risked revealing more than she ever had previously. “I was told you might…that is, your name was suggested to me…I…I have been working with certain properties of stones and how to create and enhance them. I created that one in Prague.” That would mean something to him, perhaps. “There were others, but I lost them. I want to set up a workshop here in Rotenek. But I need…” She shrugged. “I need everything. I was told it might be useful to speak to you, but not why. I can offer no security, no bond except my word. I—”

He held up his hand to stem the flailing. “You made this?” he asked. And then, more pointedly, “
You
made this.” And again, “You
made
this, you were not simply working with a natural stone?”

She nodded.

“If I may ask, whom did you study under?”

“Rutufin, here in Rotenek, and then Vitali in Prague. But the stone, that was my own work. I found…” No, she didn’t want to reveal too much. “I found some hints and formulas in an old book. Some of the techniques of DeBoodt.”

That clearly did mean something to him. “I see. I think I know why you were sent in my direction, but forgive me…ah…Maisetra? I believe I missed your name.”

“Chazillen. Antuniet Chazillen.”

She saw recognition in his eyes for the name at least. He returned the gem, saying, “I need to think on this matter carefully. Could you return in the morning?”

What matter?
He didn’t seem to be speaking only of business affairs. But at least Langal’s hint hadn’t led to a solid wall. She nodded and left.

* * *

On her second visit to the goldsmith’s shop, her host was more formally attired and she was led into a small parlor behind the store proper. Not a part of the residence, but no doubt a place where favored customers might be entertained in privacy. She was offered a seat but no refreshment. She had gone outside the limits of her ability to read such signs.

He began with little preamble. “Maisetra—you will forgive me?” From the hesitation it was clear that he had acquainted himself with her history and with her fall in status. She nodded in acceptance. A few more repetitions and the
burfro
title would cease to sting.

“Maisetra Chazillen, I have a daughter. God help me, I have four daughters. It was the husband of my eldest you met in the shop.”

It was a mystery why she was being treated to this familial explanation, but Antuniet settled her mind to patience. She tried to look interested.

“My youngest but one, she has long had a mind to study alchemy, like you. Ordinarily it would be out of the question, of course, but…four daughters! What is one to do? Perhaps it might be best to give her a means of making her own way in the world, if the need arises, and if she has the talent and the interest. And an alchemist in the family could be useful. But there are difficulties, as I’m sure you know. I have done what I could and she has studied what she may, but looking forward, the usual roads are barred to her.”

“The university allows…” Antuniet’s thought trailed off. They lived in entirely different worlds. Did the university allow women of her sort…? Her own studies had been hard enough back then—piecing together scraps of philosophy and chemistry—until Rutufin could be convinced to take her on. How much more difficult…

He had watched her closely as she worked through the problem. “Whatever the university may allow,” he said, “I cannot allow it. In my own home, in our own community, I have respect. I can protect my daughter as I should. But outside that? If she ventures so far outside what is considered proper for her? There are too many men who would consider that she had stepped outside the protections of modesty and respectability.”

And that was even before one came to the question of alchemy. An absurd possibility was presenting itself. Antuniet stilled her impatience and asked, “And what would all this have to do with me?”

“If you would contract to take my Anna on as an apprentice—to teach her all the skills and secrets she would need to become a mistress of the art—I will arrange to provide the place and the materials and whatever else is necessary for it.”

Was it possible?
That he had the resources was clear from looking around. His custom must be drawn from the elite of society to maintain this style. But an apprentice? She could only imagine the burdens of shepherding the pampered daughter of a goldsmith through the rigors of the art, even merely as a student. How much success would he require to fulfill the bargain? If it were the only way…“Perhaps I should meet her before deciding.”

“Of course,” he said and went to the door to call, “Anna, come here.”

From the rapidness with which she appeared it was clear the girl had been waiting on the other side.

Antuniet’s first reaction was dismay.
She’s too old; it’s too late. She needed to have started years ago!
But then she realized it was an illusion of the girl’s height, the soberness of her clothing and the way her dark hair was braided up in a crown under a cap more suited to a matron than a young girl. Her eyes, staring from under delicately arched brows—they spoke more truly, with a mixture of shy deference and hopeful expectation. She dipped in a formal curtsey and Antuniet rose to meet her, asking abruptly, “What is your age?”

“I have fourteen years, Maisetra,” she answered softly but with confidence.

“And what ancient languages have you studied? Latin? Greek?”

She nodded. “I have some.” It was hard to know whether that was modesty or a deficiency. “And Hebrew, of course.”

“Modern languages?” Antuniet continued. The usual assortment in smatterings. “Mathematics? Astronomy? Chemistry?” Her answers gave a patchwork picture. Well, that wasn’t at all unusual given her background. Margerit Sovitre had been the same, delving deeply into what interested her and touching barely on what didn’t. The deficiencies could be made up if she were willing to work.

“You realize I need an apprentice, not a schoolroom miss,” Antuniet said sharply. “You’ll be grinding ores and tending furnaces.”

In the first spark of something more than obedience, she replied, “That sounds no worse than baking days.”

Antuniet covered a doubtful laugh by demanding, “Let me see your hands.”

The girl held them out before her and Antuniet turned them over one at a time. Nowhere near as rough as her own had become, but the hands of someone accustomed to work. And the telltale stains of ink around the nail; at least that was true. She turned to the goldsmith. “Shall we discuss the details of the contract?”

Chapter Six

Margerit

It was worse than her coming-out ball, Margerit thought as she frowned over the gown that Maitelen had laid out and wondered if it were too frivolous, too young-looking. At twenty-three, she was scarcely ready to give over the trappings of youth for those of a confirmed spinster—to trade curls bound up carelessly in a fillet for a matron’s lace cap or turban—but there was a certain dignity to be maintained. At her own debut she had scarcely noticed her dress. She’d felt like a boat on the flood, uncertain where the tide would carry her. But tonight was for the debut of her creation, her child. And while she was more certain of the outcome, she also cared far, far more.

It was usual for the mystery guilds to enjoy a formal dinner before their own special observances. Princess Annek had gone further and chosen to hold a full diplomatic ball on the eve of All Saints, with every foreign visitor and dignitary of rank in Rotenek present to hear of the working. Only a few of those guests would be invited to witness the
castellum
itself. It would be enough that they carried away the knowledge that the nation of Alpennia, small as it was among the great players, was still to be taken seriously.

And she, too, hoped to be taken seriously. She turned to Maitelen to question the choice of gown once more but was forestalled by a tapping at the door that the maid hastened to answer.

“Margerit dear, are you still not dressed?”

“Just starting, Aunt Bertrut,” she replied, putting away her qualms.

Her aunt had been both relieved and disappointed that her services as chaperone would not be required tonight. Balls and concerts were one thing, but this event was outside the world Aunt Bertrut knew. Last year her aunt had finally agreed to let Uncle Charul present her at court and that was as high as she cared to go. She had married into the aristocracy, but she was still only Maisetra Pertinek and content to remain so. Yet she couldn’t help fussing over the proprieties.