Avram Davidson - The Phoenix and the Mirror

“If necessary… something like that.” And the secretary had handed over the documents of vellum and parchment, lettered in glossy black, vermilion, and purple; here, with seals affixed to the page, and there, with seals dangling upon ribbons tied through slits — all very impressive.

If the Sea-Huns paused long enough to be impressed.

Clemens’ mule made another snap at him, and he gave it a slap on the muzzle which echoed, and which caused the beast to shake its head, and to subside, convinced, into relative good manners. Then he pointed, with the same very large hand. “That, I believe, is the gate of the villa — but what, may I ask, is that arrangement in gray?”

Tullio, clad in gray silk, his iron-gray beard cut sharp, was waiting for them at the gate, mounted upon a gray charger. He was accompanied by two squires in gray linen on dappled gray ponies, and a pack of the small greyhounds that were (outside of the Italies) called “Italian” capered about them.

“It is her seneschal. You know of him. His name is Tullio — he’s the one who opened the door to the conduits when I was here before, and let me out.” He said nothing as to what other door Tullio had helped to open. And to close.

“I don’t know what you find to laugh at. The closer I get, the more impressive it looks.”

Vergil did not begin to explain that his laugh was an affected one; there would not have been time to finish. The company rode forward to meet them.

“Magus, I bid you welcome in the name of Her Majesty Queen Cornelia, Dowager Queen of Carsus.” He bowed from his saddle.

The bow was returned. “Sir Tullio, my thanks. This is my companion, Dr. Clemens, a savant learned in the lore of metallurgy, and a leading alchemist, as well as master of music and many other subjects. He will help us in our present task.”

Various expressions moved slowly over Tullio’s face. He was impressed with Clemens’ title and attainments. He was not impressed with his mule. The contrast between Vergil’s neat and fashionable cut garments and his companion’s — which were neither — seemed to confuse him. He approved of Clemens’ considerable size. After a moment be nodded, as if having digested all and come to a conclusion. Then, with a courteous word and gesture to the alchemist, he and Vergil fell behind.

Cornelia met them in a chamber floored and walled and roofed in marble of many colors. The lucent stone seemed to give as well as receive the soft flood of light in which her chair (it was almost a throne) swam in the center of the room. She had taken some pains with her toilet. The high collar of her robe, around which was bound a rope of gold, became her more than the lowcut garment she was wearing when Vergil had first seen her, under the great oak-tree. It was more feminine then the severe hunting costume she had worn at their second meeting, and — perhaps more than a hint of the native garb of Carsus being present — there was a certain vigor and splendor to the ensemble which was at the same time barbaric and sophisticated. Certainly there was nothing of the softness of current Neapolitan fashion to it, and this absence complimented her own decisive personality very well. There was a glow in her cheeks that did not seem altogether the result of cosmetics.

“I’m not Queen this afternoon,” she said, having greeted them, “only Lady Cornelia. Please sit in my presence. Wine.” The wine appeared, as if conjured, was poured, served. “Have you made progress, Magus? How near are we to beginning the work of the speculum?”

Vergil suppressed a sigh. “Lady Cornelia, we are one day nearer than we were yesterday. I hope tomorrow to arrange for passage to Cyprus on one of the Imperial ships.”

A spasm shook her face for an instant, was quickly controlled. “Another day and another day. My daughter is in danger, Magus — a danger no less terrible for being unknown. Why is it necessary to risk your person and to spend your time in making this trip to Cyprus? Why can you not, with your art magical, simply bring the ore of copper to Naples? I knew a nigromancer — ”

“Madam, I am not a nigromancer.”

The serene and lovely face lost its composure, dissolved. “Please do not vex me with these subtle distinctions, Magus,” she cried. “I am in agony over the necessity of this matter. Each moment’s delay may bring death so much nearer.”

Vergil bowed, slightly. “The work will be carried on as rapidly as I am able to do it,” he said. “But it is I who am doing it, and no one else — not even the Lady Cornelia is capable of judging or of correcting me in it. She may, however, if dissatisfied, dismiss me, and seek other assistance.”

She looked at him, her mouth open, her eyes lost. Her hands worked convulsively upon the carved lions’ heads that formed the ends of the arms of her chair. Tullio placed his hand upon his sword. Clemens picked up, as if negligently, a marble-topped end table, and held it in one hand.

Vergil did not move from his place. His head slightly to one side, he appeared to be listening. The room went from sunlight into shadow, and, in the shadows, dim figures, which had not been there before, moved indistinctly. Voices murmured. The shadows grew darker, thicker; the obscure figures more numerous.

The Lady Cornelia’s eyes moved from side to side. She opened her mouth, shuddered. Vergil, turning to that side of the room where the ghostly company seemed thickest, shook his head. Gradually the shadows dissolved, the voices fell away, the strange and umbrose crowd vanished entirely, and the sunlight was bright and warm once more upon the marble.

In a low, distressed voice, wherein there were now quavers and tremors, she said. “You ought not to have vexed me with these subtle distinctions.” She threw back her head, gestured with both hands. “I’m only a woman, I don’t understand matters of science and witchery. There, Magus, on these tables, as you have asked, are all of my daughter’s jewels and tiring-gear — except for what she has with her on her journey — for you to choose among. Shall I have them brought to you?”

He nodded, took a seat at a long board facing her. She snapped her fingers. Instantly, from right and left, servants came, bringing boxes and coffers and cases, set them down before him with their lids turned back.

“We can’t use pearls and gems,” he said. “Only things of metal can be of virtue in this work.” He waved aside the necklaces of coral, ropes of carnelians, beryl rings and bracelets; pushed away from him the heaps of rubies and emeralds, set and unset. Gold rings and armills which had no stones he kept, also plain brooches and ear baubles of silver filigree. “Any of these will do, I suppose,” he said. But he seemed hesitant. His fingers moved among the gold and silver articles, moved uncertainly. Nothing… nothing seemed to feel right.

Or, at least, not right enough.

“The Lady Laura has, as I suppose, so many, many things to wear — ”

“She is the daughter of a king,” said Cornelia, “and the sister of a king. Her grandfather was Doge of Naples, and her grandmother’s grandfather was an emperor.” The lady’s face grew prouder as she recited this lineage, and her eyes sparkled. “Of course she has many jewels. What of that? Why should it be otherwise?”

Slowly, carefully, choosing his words, Vergil explained to her exactly what it was that he wanted — something which the Lady Laura had had very often upon her person. With such a rich supply to draw upon, it was likely that her ornaments were constantly varied, none of them being worn very frequently. It was natural for her to prefer variety when she had it. But, was there not, perhaps, one single and particular item, an item which was not among those spread out on the board, but was nonetheless available; a favorite pin, perhaps? Or anything at all, as long as the missing young woman had worn it very often?