Thirteenth Night (7 page)

I agreed to the last, both to stop the torrent of words and because it sounded delicious, and he left me to my unpacking. I immediately cast about for a decent hiding place for my jester's gear. I didn't know who might decide to poke through my belongings, but the Captain looked like a thorough man, and who knew what spies Malvolio had? Rejecting the floorboards as obvious, I stood on the bed and pulled myself up onto the rafters. Where they met the roof beams, I wedged the bag in. I dropped back onto the floor and was satisfied that it was not immediately visible.

A girl of twelve knocked on the doorway and carried in a basin of water and a cloth. She had long brown hair plaited untidily behind her and was wearing a brown gown that had been tied in haste. “Father wants to know if you'll do with just the heel of the bread,” she said nervously. “If not, he'll send me to the baker, but I don't know that there's any left.”

“Tell him that would be fine,” I reassured her. “I had an ample lunch and just want enough warm food to take the chill away. You must be Agatha.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and curtsied prettily. “We saved you some of the good parts in the stew. It's heated up now.”

I followed her down and sat at a table near the fire. There were squid and mussels and bits of fish mixed together in the bowl, and the cider was flavored with lemon and spices. Apart from my host and his daughter, I was alone in the room.

I was puzzling over in what manner I would approach my former patrons, direct or indirect, when the door swung open and the decision was made for me.

“Barkeep!” bellowed Sir Toby as he lurched in, angling his great bulk in order to get it through the doorway. “It's Christmas, Alexander, and it would be a sin to pay for a drink on this day. But just in case you have no charity in you, we brought old Isaac along to foot the bill.” He dragged in a Jew, a long-bearded fellow about my age, who forced a smile. Then a gust of wind blew Sir Andrew stumbling in behind them.

They were fat and thin when I knew them, and they were fatter and thinner now. Sir Toby had spent so much of his time drinking the health of others, and eating to keep pace, that he now looked as if he could feed the town for a month, were it permissible to cook and divide him. Sir Andrew, on the other hand, was barely a mouthful now, not even enough meat on him to make a passable soup. Aguecheek, people used to call him, and he had become so gaunt of frame that a medical school could have used him for a lesson on the skeleton, so sharply defined was every bone. A pronounced tremor possessed his body so that it was surprising that he didn't make a constant rattling noise. The stringy yellow mop of hair was now streaked with gray. Time's palette had found less inspiration in Sir Toby's thatch, on the other hand, and had contented itself with lopping it off. The man was stone bald, and the light from the fire reflected merrily off of his pate to cast a second glow in the room.

“Good evening, Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, Master Isaac,” said Alexander, placing three tankards on the table nearest the stove. Agatha came in with a pitcher and filled it from one of the casks.

“Let's see them, my pretty one,” cried Sir Toby, pulling her onto his lap and pawing at her blouse. She turned beet red but submitted to his inspection. “Not ripe enough for marriage yet,” he pronounced. “But we'll start looking for a husband for you. You don't do your sainted namesake justice, dear Agatha. Her breasts were huge and holy, if the legend is correct.”

“Were they?” asked Sir Andrew. “I thought she was the one who gave the apples to the lawyer.”

“No, that was someone else. Saint Clare or somebody.”

I cleared my throat. It seemed as good an opportunity as any. “Excuse me for interrupting your pious and learned conversation, but the saint you refer to is Saint Dorothy. She promised a lawyer who was a disbeliever that she would send him apples from Paradise upon her arrival. The apples appeared by his bedside at her death, and he converted and became a martyr himself.”

“A holy lawyer!” exclaimed Sir Toby, clapping Isaac on the back. “Then there's even hope for you, Isaac. Be a saint, man, and repay your debt to Our Savior by buying a drink for this gentleman.”

“I owe your savior no debt,” said Isaac. “I owe you none as well. In fact, you owe me. But I will welcome the gentleman as I would any traveler. Sir, my name is Isaac. I am the assistant to the Duke's steward. Please join us if you would.”

“Your servant,” I said, bowing. I picked up my cup and moved to their table. “I am Octavius of Augsburg.”

Sir Andrew greeted me haltingly in German, and I replied fluently in the same tongue. He looked at me uncomprehendingly and blushed.

“Marvelous, isn't he?” commented Sir Toby. “Speaks a dozen languages with as much wit, and can still turn a lady's head after all these years. Isn't that right, Agatha? I have it, we'll marry you off to him. What do you say, dearest?”

Agatha looked as if Sir Andrew turned her stomach rather than her head. “Oh, he is much above me and deserves better,” she said gratefully. She pulled herself up from Sir Toby's lap to fill my cup with wine.

“I don't know what I deserve anymore,” mused Sir Andrew. “I didn't think I deserved bachelorhood for so long, yet here I am.”

“Perhaps if you didn't waste so much time on your damn fool experiments,” scolded Sir Toby. “Puttering around your cellar making those foul stinks. Meandering through the woods picking up pieces of bark and stones.” He leaned towards me to roar confidentially, “Man thinks he's a sorcerer.”

“I'm an alchemist,” retorted Sir Andrew. “I'm searching for the eternal verities of the world. What higher calling could there be?”

“Aye, you're an alchemist now. And before that it was lapidaries, and before that hydromancy, pyromancy, necromancy…”

“Don't forget the haruspicy,” added Isaac.

“Ugh, I wish I could. All those entrails you made us look at. I tell you, friend Octavius, this slender fellow will follow any mancy that takes his fancy.”

“But alchemy is no fancy,” I protested. “It is a true science.”

“Exactly!” shouted Sir Andrew. “Well spoken, stranger.”

“Well, enough of this,” rumbled Sir Toby. “Brother Octavius, as a visitor and guest, I leave the next toast to you.”

“You are most kind,” I said, lifting my cup and considering. “To our new friendship, to your generous welcome, to the spirit of the season, and finally, to the memory of your late Duke.”

They stared at me as I drained my cup. Sir Andrew's jaw hung open, completing the fishlike appearance begun by his pale skin. Isaac leaned back on his stool and lifted his cup to his lips while observing me thoughtfully through half-closed eyes. Sir Toby cast his eyes downwards.

“Well, sir,” he said, subdued for the first time since he came in. “Those were kind words. He was a friend of mine and kin by marriage. We drank together, we traveled, we fought side by side in the Holy Land against the armies of Saladin. I drink to his memory.” And he drained his cup in one prodigious quaff.

“Did you know the late Duke?” inquired Isaac.

“I cannot say that I knew him,” I replied. “But I met him once years ago. I was passing through the area, and he was kind enough to invite me to sup with him. He asked me about myself, which is the mark of a gracious host. I found him to be a knowledgeable and generous man on short acquaintance.”

“And the Duchess?”

“There was no duchess that I recall, although there was some talk about a countess who lived in the town. Did they marry finally?”

“You mean you don't know the tale?” exclaimed Sir Toby. “Well, I'll tell it to you. I was intimately involved.” And he regaled me with a version of the events that did violence to my memory of the role he played.

“Remarkable,” I said when he finished. “The whole town must owe you a debt of happiness, Sir Toby.” Isaac and Sir Andrew rolled their eyes. “But is there an heir?”

“There is,” replied Isaac. “The young Duke Mark inherited his father's title and lands. A fine boy. He'll be a fine leader someday.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven.”

“And is there a regent?”

“Not yet,” said Sir Toby curtly. I guessed that he had volunteered unsuccessfully for the position.

“Unfortunately, the death left a great void in the town,” explained Isaac. “Normally, the Duchess would be considered, but she is foreign-born and not trusted by the wealthier families of the town, the Countess Olivia excepted. Likewise, the Duke's steward, Claudius, is a newcomer.”

“He is someone I may wish to meet,” I said. “Will he be joining you tonight?”

“Ha!” snorted Sir Toby. “The man is inhuman. I've never seen him eat or drink anything. He disappears into that office and emerges the following morning. If he didn't have such an aptitude for business, you'd think he was a damn anchorite.”

“You're not far off the mark, Sir Toby,” said Isaac. “He is a deeply religious man and spends much of his time in solitude and prayer. Although it is not my faith, I respect him as a learned and holy man. If you wish, I will try and arrange an appointment for you. Not today, of course. He will be at prayer at some chapel right now.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. Shall I come by your office?”

“Please do. I am at the north end of the market. If Claudius is not there, we shall discuss your business until he arrives. After your services, I should think. Around noon? Good, it is agreed. My turn to toast, gentlemen.” He lifted his cup. “To peace and to prosperity, for one cannot exist without the other. To long lives and noble deaths. To the Duke who is past and the Duke who is present. May he reign as well as his father did.”

We drank again, and Sir Toby refilled our cups, slopping some wine on the table, which he mopped up ineffectually with his sleeve. “My turn,” he said, and he raised his cup high. “To women!” he shouted. “To Agatha's future husband, whoever he is, and to the marvelous wench who still shares my bed for reasons she alone knows. To Maria!”

“To Maria,” echoed Sir Andrew. “And now it's my turn.” He lifted his glass, then looked puzzled. “Dear me, you've done all the good ones. To the Church, the Pope, and whatever's left to toast.”

We finished the pitcher, and the three got up to leave. As the Jew settled with Alexander, I tapped Sir Andrew on the shoulder. He glanced at me quizzically.

“I would like to visit your laboratorium,” I whispered. “I, too, am a student of the Four and the Three and the Two.”

“Wonderful!” he said fervently. “It's been so long since I've had an intelligent conversation about it. Later in the week, if you plan to be here that long.”

“I do.”

“Then come by in the afternoon. In the mornings, I search for the Stone.”

I promised that I would, then the three left. Alexander emerged from the doorway and began cleaning the table while I finished the last of the wine.

“How did the late Duke die?” I asked casually.

He shook his head sadly. “Fell from the cliffs overlooking the town. You can see them from the beach if you go seaside.”

“Accident or suicide?”

He drew in his breath sharply. “That's a sinful thing to say, sir, and I suggest you not repeat it in town. No, there was no question it was an accident. There was a man who saw it.”

“Really? Astonishing. Who was it?”

“Old Hector. He lives in a shack at the end of the beach. Pans salt, collects driftwood, spreads his nets in the tidal pools. Drops off a bucket of crabs here once a week, so I usually send Agatha out there with a bottle of something to keep off the chill. Anyhow, he saw the Duke fall, so it was an accident.”

“Why was the Duke up there at all?”

“Oh, he always goes there towards sunset. Looks across the sea for ships or looks across the town. Master of all he can see. And where did it get him? Dead on a slab like everyone else. But a good man while he was alive.”

“Did he always go alone?”

“Usually either the Duchess or that steward fellow would walk with him. Kind of a daily ritual. But that day he was alone, as it happened. Why are you so curious about it, if you don't mind my asking?”

I shrugged. “It's the news of the town. I just wanted to hear the latest gossip, and that's as good a story as any. It also helps a man of my profession to know who's in charge here. Is Claudius the man to see?”

“If it involves business, I'd say so. And there's Fabian. He manages the Countess's estates, and she's next to the Duke as far as being rich and all.”

“Good to know. Now, may I rely on your discretion as to a particular matter?”

He sat down across from me and leaned forward. “Depends what you're asking for. I don't keep a bawdy house here.”

“Content yourself, good barkeep. I shall not scandalize you. I only wish your aid in finding a particular person, should he arrive here. My brother, in fact. We had arranged to meet in Orsino come the New Year, but my affairs were settled early enough for me to get a head start. He's about my height, a year younger, and when I last saw him sported black hair and a beard. However, that was three years ago and he may be gray, bald, clean-shaven, or one-legged by now, for all I know. He may be traveling under an assumed name, as well. His given name is Heinrich.”

Alexander shook his head. “Doesn't ring a bell. Why so secret?”

“Because of our competition. A certain Venetian
colleganza
would be most unhappy if we succeeded, and the stakes are high enough that they may try to interfere. I sense that you are a man of honor, and I am counting on you.”

He stood up beaming. “Well, there's counting, and there's accounting, if you take my meaning. I'll keep my ears peeled in the meanwhile.”

I thanked him, then decided to stretch my legs before curfew was called.