The air smelt strange: incense mixed with other elements, one of which I thought could be cinnamon. There was also an animal smell, like goats. I sniffed cautiously. In my work with Edild I have learned not to sniff hard at an untried substance as the effect can be disturbing. I detected rosemary, which I know is used to increase the potency of a mixture, and also something that I thought might be bay laurel, although it seemed strangely sweet, as if the leaves were being steeped in honey. In addition, there was a metallic tang that I was rather afraid might be blood.
We turned to the right, went down some steps, left along another passage, and then left again, down more steps that led through a low archway. The room into which we emerged was lit by a single candle and seemed to be vast, as if a cellar had been hollowed out beneath this house and perhaps the one next to it. Very quickly, however, I realized that this had been an illusion; I was probably still disorientated by the twists and turns of the walk through the dark corridors. Recovering, I stared around me and saw a small, square room, its vaulted roof supported by several thick pillars. A workbench ran along the wall to the right of the steps, there were shelves of bottles and jars on the wall opposite and, to the left, a low cot on which there was a pillow and a stack of neatly-folded blankets. Beside it there was a little table covered with rolls and sheets of vellum and a quill pen beside a small flask of ink. Beyond the cot, the wall was covered with a large, heavy hanging. If there was a design or pattern on the hanging, the light was too dim for me to make it out.
My eyes were drawn to that single candle flame burning on the workbench. Now that I was able to detect more detail, I saw that there was a bulbous glass container suspended over the candle, resting on a three-legged iron stand. Some dark liquid was bubbling away in the container, and it was, I realized, the source of both the loud fizzing noise and the curious smell.
What on earth was going on? What terrible, secret potion was being created down here in this hidden, underground room? Did those jumbled pages of vellum contain the formula that all men sought, the one that bestowed eternal youth? I felt a shiver of dread slide down my back, and I took an involuntary step closer to Hrype. Hrype was weird, and at times very frightening, but at least he was familiar. .
The person who had admitted us was bending over the candle and lighting others from its flame. He — or it could have been she, for I couldn’t yet tell — had his back to us, and I was able to study him in the waxing light. He was short — almost a head shorter than me — and gave the impression of a certain rotundity, unless this was because he was bulked out by the voluminous garments he wore. It was chilly in the room, and he appeared to be wearing several layers, topped off by a generously-sized and gloriously-coloured shawl with a long fringe, which covered his head and shoulders and almost touched the floor at the back.
There were now seven candles burning brightly on the workbench. The person turned round, flung back his shawl and looked right at me. He was a man of late middle age, his hair styled like that of a monk, with a bald crown surrounded by a fluff of hair. His eyes were bright blue and full of laughter, set in a face with regular features and a wide mouth. There was something odd about him, and I soon saw what it was: although he was quite old and his hair was white, his face appeared to be almost completely unlined.
He stepped towards me, studying me intently. I felt a strange sensation — it was as if someone were running a feather all over my skin — and I knew this man was looking inside my mind. I wanted to drop my eyes, for the sensation that he was somehow creeping into my head was disconcerting, but his gaze held me and I could not look away. Something in me began a timid protest at the intrusion and, almost without my volition, I made a feeble attempt to raise my defences. After a few moments, the feeling altered subtly, and in place of the stern inquisition I felt approbation and welcome.
Hrype was standing behind me. He said, addressing the man, ‘May I present Lassair?’ Pushing me forward, he added, ‘Lassair, this is Gurdyman.’
TWELVE
Hrype watched as the man who was his mentor and friend studied the girl. Hrype had been looking out for an opportunity to bring the two together for some time now, and the need to discover more about the household of Ida’s former mistress had presented the perfect excuse to bring Lassair here.
Hrype was almost certain now that Lassair had a quite extraordinary gift. He knew that Edild felt the same, although she was hesitant to say so because she feared that her love for the girl was making her see things that were not truly there. Bringing Lassair to meet Gurdyman was the test: the sage had schooled and trained many young men and women, and he always recognized talent if it was there. Hrype might still be wrong about her, but he did not think so.
He studied her, reaching out with his senses and testing her mood. She was afraid — well, that was only natural, since even someone with a fraction of her gift would sense what Gurdyman was and fear it — but she was also excited and extremely curious. He looked at Gurdyman, and just for a heartbeat Gurdyman looked at him and one eyelid closed in a swift wink.
She had, it appeared, passed the first test.
Gurdyman was speaking to her. Hrype relaxed and began to listen.
‘I have almost finished down here,’ the sage was saying, ‘and indeed I had hoped to have concluded my work before you arrived, in which case I could have been upstairs ready to greet you.’
‘But-’ Lassair began, only to blush and cut off whatever remark she had been about to say.
Gurdyman looked kindly at her. ‘But?’
‘I thought — well, I saw the cot over there — ’ she nodded towards the little bed — ‘and I assumed you lived down here. All the time, I mean.’
Gurdyman chuckled. ‘It was a reasonable assumption, but wrong,’ he said, still smiling. ‘However, very often my work demands that I spend many hours here in my little crypt, and then I am grateful to be able to restore myself with short periods of sleep. Now — ’ he turned away from Lassair and went back to his workbench — ‘let me just see how this is progressing. .’
Nothing happened for quite some time. Hrype, used to Gurdyman’s ability to forget everything and everyone when his attention was focused on an experiment, stood still, enjoying the moment of restorative calm. He was aware of Lassair beside him trying, not very successfully, to quiet her breathing and restrain her impatience.
Presently, Gurdyman nodded, muttered something and blew out the candle beneath the glass container. He spun round, rubbing his hands together, and, catching sight of his guests, gave a start. Recovering quickly, he said, ‘Dear me, I do apologize. I had momentarily forgotten you were there.’ Then he blew out all but one of the other candles and, picking up this last one, led them out of his cellar, along the passage and back up the steps. He turned away from the door that opened on to the alley and went towards the back of the house, passing a door on the left before opening one immediately in front of him. He flung it open and, standing back, ushered his guests into the space beyond.
Hrype heard Lassair give the same surprised exclamation that he had given the first time Gurdyman had brought him here. In a bustling, rapidly growing town where the dwellings fought for space and people lived on top of each other, the sage had contrived a secret, leafy space within the walls of his house that was open to the sky. He had once revealed to Hrype that the concept originated in the far south, where the sun beat fiercely down and there was no rest without shade, and where people who had the means constructed little courtyards in the middle of their houses where they could sit and enjoy the air whilst remaining cool and comfortable under the specially-planted trees. ‘In the south it is palm trees and the like,’ he had added. ‘Here in the cooler north, I have had to adapt.’