my librams and auguries.
'We will need attributes of Levity; the feathers of a swallow should suffice. It is not required, but a few pounds of spider-silk, spun into a gossamer net over the hall, would help the signatures. We will need incense of sanctified wormwood, philosophical essence of cedar and hermetic lavender. At least eleven pounds of powdered lodestone are required. This must be ground finer than the most costly pomade, and allowed to rest for two days under the Sigil of Eratu, with the dark light of pitchblende shining upon it at an angle of between forty-three and forty-seven degrees during the hours of darkness. It must be contained in a parabolic bowl of philosophical gold, and the rays of the sun must be shone onto this at a constant angle of eleven degrees during the day. Only mirrors of hermeneutic asem, at least ninety-seven percent pure, may be used to achieve this, and even a trifling error of over half a degree may thwart our purpose.'
Judan licked her right thumb and selected another page. “Three pounds of bees’ eyes, removed with a sanctified obsidian blade in the presence of a constant chant of Quelling, will be advantageous; they should be prepared no later than five hours before the spell is cast. A freshly-prepared Stone of Monan, prepared from condensed frog-sputum, is essential. One of seven ounces should suffice, and it must be no more than two days old when we begin the ceremony.
'For the insectoid signatures, I imagine we have adequate quantities of dried flies’ hearts, butterfly brains and mosquito blood, so I won't dwell any further on that.” Judan swept a stray brown lock under her wimple. “But I will add that we must all adhere to a strict diet of bats’ hearts and boiled sea-grass until the spell is cast. I also recommend that we all apply an enema of ginger and capsicum each night until that time, and that we take care to observe the strict Rites of Inner Purity. I imagine that will be harder for some of us than for others, but I will monitor all of you for compliance until the day.
'There will, of course, be further conditions to be followed when I have had time to compile more detailed notes, but I will tell you of those as soon as I am able.'
Lizaveta scanned the lowered faces of her flock; some were serene and untroubled, while others bore expressions of consternation. She knew that most of these pampered Sisters had never taken part in a Great Spell in their lives, but she was pleased to see that they all appeared to be resigned to the ordeal to which Judan had condemned them.
Still, she thought, it would not hurt to reinforce the message.
'I trust that you have taken our beloved Sister's words to heart,” she said, her tone severe. “You may all take it that I regard Sister Judan as your Superior in all regards until this spell is complete, responsible only to me. Should she report that any of you is dilatory or lazy, the transgressor may expect to face my wrath-and I am sure you all know the consequences of exciting my anger.'
'Yes, Reverend Mother. Thank you for guiding us. Your will is ours.'
The Sisters’ response was a rote one, drilled into the rawest Novice from her earliest days in the Order, but Lizaveta felt the sincerity in the chorused words. Each of the Score felt determined to do her best for her Superior. Nonetheless, this spell was important to the Prioress, and she felt that a little reinforcement might not go amiss.
'I would just add one corollary to what I have said, dear Sisters: I am well aware of your normal games of precedence and favouritism. Normally, I am happy to condone a little ambition, if it is well-intended. However, this privilege is henceforth suspended until the magic is successfully cast.
'For the purposes of this spell, you will all act as if you were the humblest of Supplicants, beseeching the Order's charity. Should I learn that any of you is seeking to do down one of her Sisters, there will be no Judicial Hearing; you will be condemned to a long, painful, lingering death, and you will be replaced by one of your guardian Novices. You will rue the days on which you and I were born. Do I make myself quite clear?'
'Quite clear, Reverend Mother!'
'Good. Under Sister Judan's wise guidance, let us proceed. From this moment, all of us will maintain Strict Observance. I do mean ‘all', since I do not exempt myself from the strictures of this most important spell.'
At first, Drexelica had resented and feared her nightly visits from Shakkar. When she had arrived at Crar, she had found the towering, fang-toothed demon terrifying. Only much later had she realised that the titanic monster's intentions were quite honourable; what she had once interpreted as ravening hunger for her flesh, she now recognised as concern for her well-being. In the absence of Grimm Afelnor, the demon had been detailed to look after her, and she had to admit she could think of no better protector than the dour Shakkar. She knew her underworld guardian would die before he would let her down.
'Just checking, Lady Baroness,” the grey, winged monster said, as he always did.
'Thank you, Shakkar. Goodnight,” she said, resisting the impulse to kiss the impassive demon on the cheek. She could not have reached it, in any case.
'Goodnight, Lady Drexelica,” the demon rumbled. “I hope you sleep well.” As silent as the passage of the moon, Shakkar slid out of the room and closed the door.
Drex knew the huge demon was never able to enjoy the mortal surcease of sleep, and she therefore found his familiar, nightly words even more comforting. She would have preferred that Grimm were present to safeguard the domicile, but she accepted that this was not always possible.
Drex understood, even if she did not appreciate, that Grimm had a vocation to fulfil. Despite the opulent conditions in which he lived, her lover was not a free man; in fact, he was more a slave than she would have been if the Questor chosen to condemn her to the Grivense authorities for her attempted theft of his purse.
Drex stood before the tall mirror in the room she had shared with Grimm during their all-too-brief liaison. She still thought of herself as a grubby beggar, a penniless waif, but she could no longer deny that she was a beautiful woman. She did not suffer from an excess of vanity, but she admired the way her gold-flecked locks cascaded over her shoulders in a fulsome wave. Her green satin robe hinted at her feminine curves in an artful manner, without making her look like a common street-woman.
For the first time in her life, she was able to appreciate her Aunt Dalan's advice on the proper application of cosmetics and clothes: “Accentuate your features, but don't flaunt them. Subtlety, girl; hint at it, don't hand it over.'
After spending so many years in dire poverty, now Drex had the means to follow her long-dead aunt's advice. Grimm had not forced a choice of clothes upon her; he still had an adolescent boy's ignorance in such matters, and she felt grateful that he acknowledged the fact.
She revelled in her sumptuous, self-chosen wardrobe, but a part of her still warned her that she might be returned to penury in the space of a heartbeat; she did not care to dwell on her elegant, reflected image for too long.
Despite her lover's absence, Drexelica took a leisurely toilette, enjoying the silky feel of the costly balms and perfumed essences on her softening skin. Already, she felt she was leaving the squalor and deprivation of the slums of Griven behind her, and she felt safe and content.
Grimm would come back to her, she felt sure, and, with a demon and an army to protect her, what could go wrong? She would wait for her man, no matter how long it might take.
What can go wrong? The thought reverberated in her head and would not go away, like an annoying moth in the night, scurrying around a candle-flame.
She finished her nightly ritual and went to her large, lonely bed. For several hours, she tossed and turned before she found sleep, but it was not the blessed relief she sought when it came to her. Something felt awry, but her dream-self could not focus upon it. Vague, disturbing images and feelings tainted her as she slept, and taunted her. As if only moments had passed, she awoke, soaked in perspiration, to the early morning rays of sun that shone through the window.
She chided herself for her foolishness, knowing she was safe and secure within the well-protected city of Crar, but she could not pin down the cause of her anxiety; perhaps it was the knowledge of the danger her young lover might be facing.
Whatever the cause of her worries, one thought was ever-present in her mind: Come back soon, Grimm!
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