The Pool of Mnemosyne, page 20
“It’s no good pretending that you’re not a gentleman with me,” she said, firmly. “I know you.”
She didn’t, but I didn’t bother correcting her. She was only playing a game. Seeing her adoptive father had unsettled her, although she didn’t want to admit it, even to herself.
The front door of the house opened again then, and Mariette’s voice called: “Elise!”
“Thank the gods,” muttered Elise. “You had me worried there, for a moment.” I didn’t know whether she was talking to me or to herself. She probably didn’t either. She ran to answer the call.
More time passed. I was absorbed. The light was beginning to deteriorate, but it didn’t matter. Faceless Ananke I could probably paint by lamplight, if necessary, but the detail of the Pool of Mnemosyne was a different matter, and I couldn’t think of adding the kind of intricate detail and precise color that the petals would require in anything but the broadest of daylight. My arm was getting tired, though, and my eyes too. I told myself that I really ought to stop—and carried on painting.
I didn’t hear Mariette come in.
“Axel?” she said, after the regulation hesitation. “Elise said you wouldn’t mind, although I wasn’t sure that she had any right to say so.
“She hadn’t,” I agreed, “but I’ll make an exception for you. How are you feeling?”
“Utterly terrible: fathered by Cain on the whore of Babylon. But it had to be done. Not because of you, believe me, or even because of Elise. Just because.”
“He’ll get over it,” I assured her. “The Marquise will do her best to console him.”
“That old hag? I can’t even believe he’s screwing her. I thought he had better taste.”
I didn’t point out that that was her vanity talking. “She’s a sorceress,” I reminded her. “She doubtless used magic, as she has on Alectryon…and Fion Commonal too, if I’m reading the implications correctly.”
“Are you really going to accept her invitation to dinner?”
“It would be impolite not to. And I’d far rather she played this game politely than with daggers drawn.”
“And what if she invites us?”
“You can refuse, if you wish. She’s already licensed the excuse that Elise might find it too upsetting, after her last visit. If the Marquise really wants to hear Elise play, it will be easy enough to find an alternative venue.”
“Here?”
“Perhaps—but you can say no to that as well, if you wish.”
“As well? You’re assuming that I’m going to refuse her invitation, if she sends me one?”
“I had jumped to that conclusion. Are you thinking of accepting, then?”
“You are.”
“Charles might be there, if she really is planning a party rather than a private chat.”
“So what? I’m not afraid of him. It might help to convince him that it’s over.”
I didn’t make any comment on that. The case was still hypothetical.
“Hecate will probably be there as well,” she added, as if it were a casual observation of no significance.
My mind flashed back to a dinner, many years ago, at which I had sat between Hecate and Dian d’Alectryon. As Hecate had said, we’d been to other such dinner parties, at which I’d been seated between her and my latest mistress, with her own lover to her left—hostesses often seemed to think it was amusing—but that one was still stuck in my memory.
“Perhaps,” I confirmed.
There was another pause. I knew that she was looking at the painting. Her silence spoke volumes. Eventually, she said: “When you painted me on the island, Madame had told you to do it, hadn’t she?”
“I didn’t need a commission,” I said. “I’d already made up my mind on the steamer.”
I didn’t hear a sigh of relief. After a pause she said: “I looked terrible on the boat, and I was stuck in that stinking cell with poor Elise. I’d been seasick for days. You can’t have been able to see me properly though that hole in the wall. I was convinced you were going to screw Helen. I still don’t know why you didn’t.”
I didn’t say anything. She hadn’t actually asked a question, and I had my black brushwork to attend to.
“Anyway,” she said, eventually, “it’s settled now. Charles is history. If the Marquise sends him to see us again, or lures us to see him elsewhere, it won’t make any difference. I can face him, if need be.”
Again, there was no question, and no necessity for a reply.
“He asked us a lot of questions,” she said. “I was honest, but discreet, as you recommended. He said some nasty things about you, but it was all just hearsay, so I ignored it.
“It’s not entirely surprising that he’s picked up denigratory gossip, in the company he’s been keeping,” I said. “Vashti Savage doesn’t like me because she thinks I’m standing between her and eternal happiness with Hecate, and the Duc d’Alectryon holds it against me that I seduced his daughters.”
“So that was true?”
“Not entirely. Charles seems to have been given an inaccurate account, and then added an extra twist of his own. I’ve explained it to Elise.”
I stepped back again, in order to study my abstract vision of Ananke in the pool of Mnemosyne. There was way too much black in it for my liking, but my liking didn’t come into it. I had to paint Necessity as I saw her with my mind’s eye; it wouldn’t have been honest, polite or artistic to do otherwise.
I had finished for the day—mercifully, because otherwise, I would have been seriously annoyed when the doorbell rang, and I was subjected to yet another interruption.
XIII. Another Welcome Home
Fion Commonal asked to speak to me in private. I knew there wasn’t anything he could possibly say to me that couldn’t be said in front of any or all of my house-guests, but I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so I took him into the studio, closed the door and invited him to sit down in what I could no longer help thinking of as “Dellacrusca’s armchair,” even though it had also been occupied by dozens of other people, including Sister Ursule
He turned his head sideways to look at the painting pinned to the wall.
“That’s a new departure,” he commented.
“Yes,” I said. “I presume you’ve come to welcome me home, on behalf of the Island Council?”
He actually seemed surprised. “No,” he said, “I’ve come to see how you are. You can’t imagine how worried I was when you disappeared after I bandaged your arm and we had…our conversation. But if you like, yes, welcome home, on behalf of the entire population of the island. You’ve been missed—more than any of us would have imagined. You shouldn’t have gone.”
“As I remember it, Fion,” I observed, dryly, “you were the one who advised me to get off the island as soon as possible. Surely you should have been glad that I’d taken your advice?”
“If I’d thought…,” he began, and then stopped.
“It’s all right, Fion,” I told him. “I could see that you were in a state of some confusion when you gave me the advice. I knew even then that you’d been initiated into the Cult of Orpheus, but that the last thing you expected to come of it was that you’d see Dellacrusca assassinated before your very eyes. I took it for granted that you weren’t involved, and that you were telling the truth when you told me you didn’t know who was. Nor do I expect you to tell me now what you’ve learned in the interim, although I’d obviously be grateful for anything you can tell me without violating any oaths.”
He didn’t look as relieved as he might have been by those assurances.
“There are all kinds of rumors flying around about your return, Axel,” he said. “Inevitable, I suppose, and mostly absurd. People are saying that you’re the Hierophant of the Cult of Dionysus.”
“That’s true,” I told him. “I’ve spent the last couple of months on the Island of Dionysus. I was initiated almost immediately, and promoted with flattering rapidity. Does it mean that you feel obliged to consider me an enemy?”
He tried to look at me as if I were mad, but he couldn’t. He believed me,
“No, of course not,” he said. “At least, I hope you don’t consider me an enemy...”
“I don’t,” I assured him. “Indeed, the whole purpose of my being here is to negotiate a pact between the Orpheans and the Dionysians. I’ve already arranged matters with the Dellacrusca twins, but I understand that the organization has fragmented somewhat since Dellacrusca’s death. Apparently, I’ll have to negotiate a separate peace with Alectryon. Do you think that will be possible?”
He frowned, as if he had just had a flash of enlightenment, but he wasn’t about to give anything away, as yet.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ve had an invitation to dinner at the Marquise de Mesmay’s house the evening after next. Alectryon will probably be there—I believe that he’s staying in her house at present.”
This time, he did manage to look at me as if I were mad.
“You’re actually going to go?” he said, incredulously.
“Certainly. Do you know of any reason why I shouldn’t?”
He swallowed. “I’ve had one too,” he said. “An invitation to dinner, I mean.”
“That’s good—reassuring, in fact. The Marquise must know that you and I have been good friends for a long time. Alectryon’s always polite to me, but there’s always been a certain frostiness in his attitude to me, as you know. Your presence will help smooth things over. Do you have any idea who else will be there?”
Commonal shook his head. “I had no idea that you’d been invited,” he said.
“Don’t look so worried,” I said. “I can’t imagine that a gang of fake maenads are going to loom up out of nowhere and stab me to death. The Marquise came to see me this morning and she was extremely civil. She’s always been a perfect hostess, to the best of my knowledge. Since it does seem to be a party, she’s bound to have invited Vashti Savage and Hecate Rain. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it?”
The physician didn’t seem convinced of that. “There are other rumors…,” he began, hoarsely.
“No need to be shy, Fion. Yes, I’m with Mariette now, Charles Parenot’s former mistress. She and her ward Elise are living with me here. I have the blessing of the Dellacrusca twins to assume temporary guardianship of their niece. Parenot is a trifle upset, as you can imagine, but we’re all adults. It’s not the first time I’ve stolen someone else’s mistress, as you well know. You’ve described me as incorrigible yourself more than once. Just like old times, as I say”
“These aren’t the old times, Axel,” he said, having finally firmed up his tongue. “Things have changed.”
“I haven’t,” I assured him. “It takes more than being appointed as the Hierophant of Dionysus to change me. As I said, my mission here is to smooth everything out. Having seen the Marquise this morning, I’m optimistic that it can be done.”
His eyes went to the canvas hanging on the wall.
“Really?” he said, mustering a hint of sarcasm. “That doesn’t exactly say optimism to me.”
“What does it say to you?” I enquired. Although he was a physician, Fion was something of a connoisseur of the many arts of Mnemosyne.
“Looming disaster,” he said, succinctly—and not entirely inaccurately.
“It’s far from finished,” I assured him. “That’s just the backcloth. I haven’t made a start on the petals yet.”
“Petals?” he queried. “Those blurred dots, you mean?”
“That’s right. It’s an obscure reference, I’m afraid, to an image in one of Hecate’s unpublished poems.”
Almost on cue, the sound of music became audible, from the bedroom that had been allocated to Elise. She was playing one of the instruments she’d brought from the island: a cithara. I assumed that Hecate was with her.
“That’s Elise,” I said to Fion. “She’s very talented. She’ll be a great artist one day, and an honor to the Dellacrusca line. Hecate has taken her under her wing, but I’ll have to search among the island’s musicians for someone who can give her tuition on instruments of the lyre family, or at least stringed instruments of some kind. Davida Amalek might be able to do it, if she’s willing. The Marquise is keen to hear Elise play, having heard so much about her from Hecate. Have you been to any good séances lately, by the way? I’ve heard that Vashti is excelling herself at present. Has she mastered the art of producing ectoplasm yet?”
“I’ve made up the numbers at séances the Mesmay house,” Fion admitted. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”
“I always believed that Vashti had talent,” I told him. “She and I merely disagreed as to the exact nature of the talent. I couldn’t be more delighted to know that her abilities are blossoming, and I’m eager to hear what her spirits have to say, if she’s going to perform after the dinner party.”
Fion shook his head. “I’m sorry, Axel,” he said, “but all this has caught me on the hop somewhat. I don’t know what to say to you.”
“What did you come to say to me?” I asked, blandly. “Apart from whispering another suggestion that I get off the island.”
“I had just bandaged your arm because someone had tried to assassinate you,” he said, defensively.
“And you had no idea who was responsible. Nor had I. Clovis told me last night that he hadn’t been able to catch the man who escaped, leaving us all none the wiser. The only person that I can be certain that it wasn’t is Lord Dellacrusca. He and I had a long chat shortly before, and he definitely wanted me alive,
“You and Dellacrusca had a long chat?” he said, trying to pretend that he hadn’t heard. “About what?”
“Various matters, mostly his granddaughter and the Orphean text that Toustain had bequeathed to me. He told me the story of his daughter’s elopement with poor Almeras, and I told him about my particular interpretation of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice and my philosophy of art. I held forth for some time about the unconscious mind, and he listened very politely. But he was never a man for only doing one thing at a time. He asked me to do him a favor—a commission, of sorts. Do you think that might have been why someone tried to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” he murmured. “What commission?”
“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. It was confidential then and still is.”
“But it has to do with the Orphean manuscript?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Naturally, he took entirely the wrong inference from that perfectly true remark. “It’s rumored that the document has been translated,” he said, tentatively, still trying to pretend that he didn’t know.
“That’s right. Of course, the meaning was understood long ago on the island. Madame’s long been familiar with the incantation and its possible uses.”
He sat u a little straighter. “Madame?” he queried.
“The island’s presiding genius, my initiator into the cult. She’s a Macrobian, like me, but much older—perhaps as much as two thousand years.”
“What’s a Macrobian.”
“A person who stops aging at some stage in his life and enjoys an extended lifespan. As I’ve always told you, I’m older than I look.”
“How much older?” he asked, warily.
“A lot. You’ve surely heard the rumor?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t believe it. You are a sorcerer then?”
“So far as I can tell, the longevity is a perfectly natural phenomenon. But Madame is certainly a sorceress, and although I can’t claim to be an adept, she has employed me as an instrument in one of her operations. My role was passive, but interesting.”
“You wouldn’t care…?”
“Why not? It was the evening when Hecate and Vashti were initiated into your cult. I know you were there, because I saw you…in a vision, obviously. Madame employed me to establish some kind of link with my painting—the Orpheus triptych, that is. That’s why she kidnapped me and brought me to the island. She brought Elise and Mariette so that they could participate in the same operation.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Axel?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Because I thought you might be interested. “It’s not confidential—you can tell whoever you wish. They’ll probably believe you, given that you’re what Clovis calls a usually-reliable source.”
“So...you’re not a sorcerer?”
“I’m an artist. There’s more similarities than you might imagine, but no, I’m not a sorcerer in the sense that I can perform magical operations, except as an assistant. I can’t kill people by making dolls to represent them and throwing them in a fire, as the two African sorceresses who are staying with the Marquise at present are reputed to be able to do. You’ve met them, I presume?”
“I’ve seen them. They can’t speak any language but their own, so I haven’t had any communication with them. The Marquise is trying to learn their language, but it’s not easy.”
“I can imagine. You must have been very busy of late, with the unseasonably bad weather and respiratory problems caused by the dust emitted by Hekla.”
Fion seemed grateful for the change of subject. “There have been problems,” he admitted. “I’ve coped. Nobody expects many summer visitors this year, though, so I night have an easier time of it than usual.”
“I hope not,” I said, “but you might be right. Did you notice on your way out here that I’m having a telegraph cable run out to the house?”
“Yes. It seems to have become quite fashionable, but I don’t trust the damn things myself, and everyone who has one seems to be cursing their unreliability. Do you understand all that clicking? I don’t.”
“Neither do I, but I have an operator who does. I’ll soon be in communication with both Lutèce and Madame’s island; it should make negotiating a treaty between the Dionysians and the Orpheans much easier, helping to put an end to hundreds of years of unnecessary rivalry. It’s a pity that Lord Dellacrusca didn’t live to see it.”
“Yes,” said Fion, “I suppose it is.” He didn’t seem convinced.
