Juliet Marillier - Hearts Blood

“Has this door a bolt?”

“This may not be your run-of-the-mill household,” Magnus said,“but you’ll be quite safe here. Anluan looks after his own.”

On this particular point it was necessary to hold my ground. “Anluan can hardly be expected to patrol up and down this gallery all night making sure nobody disturbs us,” I said.

“No,” Magnus agreed. “Rioghan does that.”

“Rioghan!” I was surprised to hear a name I recognized. “I met him yesterday. At least, I think it must be the same man. A sad-looking person with a red cloak. I didn’t realize he lived here at the fortress.”

“He’s one of those who live in the house,” Magnus said.“I’ll introduce you to all of them at supper, when we generally gather. More live out in the woods, but you won’t see them so much.”

“Did you really mean that, about Rioghan walking up and down the gallery at night? I’m not sure I’d be very happy about that, even if it did make things safer.”

“Rioghan doesn’t sleep. He keeps watch. He may not be on the gallery—he prefers the garden—but he’ll be alert to anything unusual. As I said, it’s safe on Whistling Tor provided you belong.”

“I don’t belong, not yet.”

“If Anluan wants you here, you belong, Caitrin.”

“I still want a bolt for my door.”

“I’ll put it on my list of things to do.”

“Today, please, Magnus. I understand you are very busy, but this is a ... a requirement for me. Something I can’t do without. Perhaps I can return the favor in some way.” As soon as this was out I remembered the carter’s words: There’s other ways of paying. “For instance, I could chop vegetables or sweep floors,” I added.

“I’ll bear it in mind. Well, make yourself at home. There’s a privy out beyond the kitchen.When you’re ready, come down and I’ll show you the library. You’ll be wanting to make a start.”

Some time later, clad in the spare gown I had brought—a practical dark green—and with my hair brushed and replaited, I stood with Magnus on the threshold of the library and found myself lost for words.

I had always valued order. The skilled exercise of calligraphy depends in large measure on neatness, accuracy, uniformity. In our workroom at Market Cross, the tools had been meticulously maintained and the materials stored with careful attention to safety and efficiency. It had been a haven of discipline and control.

Anluan’s library was the most chaotic place I’d ever had the ill luck to stumble into. It was a sizable chamber. Several big tables would have made useful work surfaces had they not been heaped high with documents, scrolls and loose leaves of parchment. This fragile material was strewn about apparently at random. Around the walls stood sundry chests and smaller tables, their tops as heavily laden as those of their larger counterparts. I suspected every receptacle would reveal, on opening, a welter of entangled materials.

I walked in, not saying a word. There were glazed windows all along the western side of the chamber. In the afternoons the light would be excellent for writing.

“The things you’ll need are in that oak chest,” said Magnus, pointing to the far end of the chamber. “Pens, powders for ink and so on. He said even if you’ve brought your own, they’ll run out quickly. There’s a good stock of parchment, enough for the job, he thinks. If you need more of anything we can get it, but to be honest I’d rather not have the trouble.”

I eyed the disorder around me, trying hard to view it not as an obstacle but as a challenge.“What exactly is it I’m supposed to do here? Is Lord Anluan going to explain it to me himself?” A family of scholars, Magnus had said. I thought of the very detailed instructions Father and I had received for our commissions, the minute attention some of our customers had paid to the niceties of execution. “Where is the material I have to transcribe?”

And when Magnus just looked at me, then cast his gaze around to take in the entire chamber, long scrolls, thick bound books, tiny fragments, loose bundles of parchment sheets, I felt hysterical laughter welling up in my throat.

“ All of this?” I choked.“In a single summer? What does this man think I am, a miracle worker?”

Magnus lifted a scrap of vellum by a corner and blew on it, setting dust motes dancing in the light from the window. “Trained by the best, didn’t you say?”

“I was. But this ... this is crazy. How do I know where to start?”

“You don’t have to write everything down. It’s only the Latin parts he wants, seeing as he was never taught that tongue. It’s Nechtan’s records, the oldest ones. There’s some in Irish, and he’s read those, but he thinks some of the Latin documents are his great-grandfather’s as well. He needs you to find those and put them into Irish so he can read them for himself.They’re mixed up with all sorts of other things.” Magnus glanced at a row of small bound books that had been set by themselves on a shelf, and his expression softened a trace. “Pictures, recipes for cures and so on. Notes, thoughts. Each of the chieftains of Whistling Tor made his own records. But the library’s never been organized. The oldest pieces are crumbling away. If it was me doing the job—not that I’m a reading man, myself—I’d see some merit in making a list of what’s here as you go through it, so you’ll know where to find things later. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Perfect sense, Magnus. Thank you for the suggestion.” I took one of the little bound books from the shelf and opened it flat on a table, revealing a charming illustration of some kind of medicinal herb. Beside it, in spidery writing, were instructions for preparing a tincture suitable for the treatment of warts and carbuncles. “I wish someone had done that before now. Made a list, I mean.You said Lord Anluan and his family were scholars.”

Perhaps I had sounded too critical.“He did make a start himself.” Magnus’s tone was forbidding. “Or tried to.”

“Tried to.” If what Tomas and Orna had told me was true, this chieftain must have a lot of time on his hands. They’d implied that he did not perform any of the duties a local leader might be expected to undertake, such as riding forth to make sure his folk were well, checking on his fields and settlements, establishing defenses against possible attack. “This is a big task, Magnus. It looks as if I’ll have to sort out the entire contents of the library before I start on the translation. Is there anyone here who could help me?”

“Shall I go and tell him you can’t do the job?”

“No!” I found that I was clutching the plant book to my chest, and set it down. “No, please don’t. I will do my best.”

Magnus’s gaze was assessing. “Is it the law you’re running from, with your need for a locked door and your wish to take on a job nobody else would want?”

He was too perceptive by half. “If you don’t ask awkward questions, I won’t,” I said.

“Fair enough.”

“But I must ask just one. Why doesn’t Lord Anluan come and talk to me about this himself?”

“Anluan doesn’t see folk from outside.”

This flat statement sounded remarkably final. How could I do a good job without talking to the man who wanted it done? No awkward questions. That meant I could take this line of conversation no further.

Magnus had moved over to the window and was staring out. The library overlooked the herb garden in which I had encountered the reclu sive chieftain of Whistling Tor earlier. From here I could not see the clump of heart’s blood, only the profusion of honeysuckle and the riotous growth of more common herbs.

“You shouldn’t judge him,” the steward said quietly. “He’s got his reasons. You’re our first visitor in a long time, and the first ever to come without some coercion. And you’re a woman. It was a shock.”

“To me, too,” I said, deciding not to point out that if one advertised for a scribe, one should not be surprised to see one turn up on the doorstep, so to speak. I was learning that the rules of this household bore little resemblance to those of the outside world. I moved to a small table by the window, which stood out for being the one tidy place in the chamber.The oak surface had been wiped clean, and on it stood a jar fashioned of an unusual green stone with a swirling pattern, containing several inexpertly trimmed quills and a knife. Perhaps Muirne was responsible for this little island of order. Beside the jar lay two sheets of good parchment, covered in writing. I picked one up. “Whose hand is this?” I asked.

“Anluan’s,” said Magnus. “Nobody else here can write.”

One look told me why Anluan had done no more than make a start on the daunting task. True, he could write, and if I really put my mind to it I could read what he had written. It was the worst hand I’d seen in my life, so undisciplined that the letters seemed to be trying to crawl right off the page.

“Don’t look like that,” Magnus said. “You’re a scribe, and he’s a fellow who’s lost the use of his right hand.”There was no judgment in his voice, only sorrow.

“I’m sorry . . .” My voice faded as I began to read.

Autumn begins to bite hard. I am in the final stages of preparation. With each new dawn, my mind and body are more fiercely driven by this. Knowledge beyond the earthly; a discovery to surpass any made hitherto by mortal man in this world. What if it is true? What if I can open this portal into the unknown? Where might I journey? What wondrous events might I witness? And when I return, how will I be changed?

I have dispatched Aislinn to gather wolfbane.

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve got things to do.”

I glanced up, one finger keeping my place on the page as I nodded to Magnus. He said something about supper, but his words faded into nothing as I was captured by the narrative before me.

Another day. Another step. As the time for the experiment draws closer, my helpers desert me, too blind to share my vision to the end, too feeble to bear the weight of my aspirations. They have allowed the superstitious tales of the local populace to influence them. My steward left me this morning. I can no longer serve you—those were his weakling words. No matter. I need no lackeys. I will do this alone, and when it is done I will have a parade of followers, a retinue of attendants, an army worthy of a king. They will be mine to lead, and those who doubted me, those who had not the stomach to stay the course, will choke on their cowardice. I will open this portal, and I will walk

I had reached the end of the second page. A dark and fascinating tale; I wanted more. But there was no more, not here at any rate. It couldn’t be Anluan’s account of his own experience, surely. He had not seemed at all the kind of man who would write thus, in an archaic and grandiose way, nor could I in my wildest imagination think of him commanding an army of any kind. This must be a partial transcription of some older document. To discover the rest of the story, I would have to hunt down Anluan’s source.

In the window embrasure beside the table where the chieftain had been working stood a little old chest. It was marginally less dust-coated than the others and seemed the obvious place to start looking. I reached out to see if it would open, then withdrew my hand.The box had a powerful aura, enticing and repellent at the same time. It made my skin prickle with unease and my heart race with anticipation.

The voice of reason told me there was no need to open it right now. There were small mountains of other documents to sort, not to speak of sweeping the floor, wiping away the dust that coated every surface, airing the room, establishing a storage system so I would know where to find things. I cleared a space on one of the bigger tables by the crude method of pushing everything else out of the way and got out the folding wax tablet I kept for making notes. It had seen good use over the years. I had learned my letters on it, my small hand wielding the stylus at first awkwardly, later with more control, as I formed the foundations of my craft. The tablet was shaped like a book, with a hinged wooden cover. A leather strap held it closed when not in use, and the stylus had its own pocket. The wax surfaces, protected thus, had remained clean and serviceable. I would use this to keep daily records of my work and to note down which documents were located where. Parchment and vellum were too costly to be squandered on such ephemeral writings. I opened the tablet, glanced around the library and sighed. I could feel that box calling to me. Read , it whispered. Read and weep.