So the Scottish woman was rich, it was soon learned, the love child of a nobleman of that country, who though he could not acknowledge her, sent her money aplenty which she shared with the Roelants, who had been kind enough to take her in.
And who might that be, I wondered? The nobleman in that great hulking Scottish castle which glowered like a pile of natural rock over the valley from which I’d taken her, his merry-begot, barefoot and filthy and scarred to the bone from the lash, unable even to feed herself? Oh, what a pretty tale!
Roemer and I watched all of these goings-on with trepidation, for you know as well as I the reason for our own rule that we shall never use our powers for gain. And how was this wealth being got, we wondered, if not through that spirit which had come crashing into Roemer’s chamber to break the clocks as Deborah commanded him to do?
But all was contentment now in the Roelant household and the old man married the young girl before the year was out. But two months before this wedding took place, Rembrandt, the master, had already painted her, and a month after the wedding the portrait was displayed in Roelant’s parlor for all to see.
And around her neck in this portrait was the very Brazilian emerald which Deborah had so coveted the day I had taken her out. She had long ago bought it from the jeweler, along with every bit of plate or jewelry that struck her fancy, and the paintings of Rembrandt and Hals and Judith Leister which she so admired.
Finally I could stay away no longer. The house was open for the viewing of the portrait by Rembrandt, of which Roelant was justly proud. And as I crossed the threshold to see this picture, old Roelant made no move to bar my entrance, but rather hobbled up to me on his cane, and offered me with his own hand a glass of wine, and pointed out to me his beloved Deborah in the library of the house, learning with a tutor to read and write Latin and French, for this was her greatest wish. She learnt so fast, said Roelant, that it amazed him, and she had of late been reading the writing of Anna Maria van Schurman who held that women were indeed as open to learning as men.
How brimming with joy he seemed.
I doubted what I knew of her age when I saw her. Arrayed in jewels and green velvet, she looked to be a young woman of perhaps seventeen. Great sleeves she wore, and voluminous skirts, and a green ribbon with satin rosettes in her black hair. Her eyes too seemed green against the magnificent fabric that surrounded her. And it struck me that Roelant himself did not know of her youth. Not a word had passed my lips to expose any of the lies that circulated around her, and I stood stung by her beauty as if she had rained blows on my head and shoulders, and then the fatal blow to my heart was struck when she looked up and smiled.
Now I shall have to go, I thought, and made to set down my wine. But she came towards me, smiling still, and she held my hands, and said “Petyr, come with me,” and took me into a small chamber of cabinets where the household linen was kept.
What polish she had now, and grace. A lady at court could not have done it better. But when I considered this, I considered also my memory of her in the cart that day at the crossroads, and how like the little Princess she had seemed.
Yet she was changed from those times in every way. In the few thin shafts of light that pierced the little linen room, I could inspect her in every detail, and I found her robust, and perfumed, and red-cheeked, and there sat the great Brazilian emerald in its filigree of gold upon her high plump breast.
“Why have you not told everyone what you know of me?” she asked as if she did not know the answer.
“Deborah, we told you the truth about ourselves. We only wanted to offer you shelter, and our knowledge of the powers you possess. Come to us whenever you wish.”
She laughed. “You are a fool, Petyr, but you brought me out of darkness and misery into this wondrous place.” She reached into the hidden right pocket of her great skirt and pulled up out of it a handful of emeralds and rubies. “Take these, Petyr.”
I drew back and shook my head.
“You say you are not of the devil,” she said to me. “And your leader says that he does not even believe in Satan, were those not his words? But what of God and the Church, do you believe in, then, that you must live like monks in retreat with your books, never knowing the pleasures of the world? Why did you not take me in the inn, Petyr, when you had the chance to do it? You wanted it badly enough. Take my thanks, for that is all you can have now. And these gems which will make you rich. You need no longer depend on your monkish brethren. Stretch out your hand?”
“Deborah, how did you come by these jewels!” I whispered. “For what if you are accused of stealing them?”
“My devil is too clever for that, Petyr. They come from far away. And I have but to ask for them to have them. And with but a fraction of their endless supply I bought this emerald which I wear about my neck. The name of my devil is carved on the back of the gold fitting, Petyr. But you know his name. I admonish you, never call upon him, Petyr, for he serves me and will only destroy anyone else who seeks to command him through his given name.”
“Deborah, come back to us,” I begged, “only by day if you wish, for a few hours here and there, to talk to us, when your husband would certainly allow. This spirit of yours is no devil, but he is powerful, and can do evil things out of recklessness and the prankishness that characterizes spirits. Deborah, this is no plaything, surely you must know!”
But I could see such concerns were far from her thoughts.
I pressed her further. I explained that the first and foremost rule of our order was that no one of us, regardless of his powers, would ever command a spirit for gain. “For there is an old rule in the world, Deborah, among all sorcerers and those who address powers unseen. That those who strive to use the invisible for evil purposes cannot but invite their own ruin.”
“But why is gain an evil thing, Petyr?” she said as if we were the same age, she and I. “Think of what you are saying! What is rich is not evil! Who has been hurt by what my devil brings to me? And all these in the household of Roelant have been helped.”
“There are dangers in what you do, Deborah! This thing grows stronger the more you speak to it-”
She hushed me. She had contempt for me now. Again, she pressed me to take the jewels. She told me bluntly I was a fool, for I did not know how to use my powers, and then she thanked me for having taken her to the perfect city for witches, and with an evil smile she laughed.
“Deborah, we do not believe in Satan,” I said, “but we believe in evil, and evil is what is destructive to mankind. I beg you beware of this spirit. Do not believe what it tells you of itself and its intentions. For no one knows what these beings really are.”
“Stop, you anger me, Petyr. What makes you think this spirit tells me anything? It is I who speak to it! Look to the demonologies, Petyr, the old books by the rabid clergy who do believe in devils, for those books contain more true knowledge of how to control these invisible beings than you might think. I saw them on your shelves. I knew that one word in Latin, demonology, for I have seen such books before.”
The books were full of truth
Roemer forbade me after that to see her. What he did with the gems I have never asked. The great treasure stores of the Talamasca have never been of much concern to me. I knew then only what I know now: that my debts are paid, my clothes are bought, I have the coins in my pockets I require.
Even when Roelant took ill, and this was not her doing, Stefan, I quite assure you, I was told I could not visit Deborah again.
But the strange thing was, that very often in odd places, Stefan, I beheld her, alone, or with one of Roelant’s sons in hand, watching me from afar. I saw her thus in the public streets, and once passing the house of the Talamasca, beneath my window, and when I went to call upon Rembrandt van Rijn, there she sat, sewing, with Roelant beside her, staring at me out of her sideways eye.
There were times even when I imagined that she pursued me. For I would be alone, walking and thinking of her, and remembering moments of our first beginning together when I had fed her and washed her like a child. I cannot pretend I thought of her as a child, however, when I thought of this. But all of a sudden, I would break my stride, turn, and there she would be, walking behind me in her rich velvet cloak and hood, and she would fix me with her eye before she turned down another lane.
