Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [374]
‘Could it be either?’ Nicholas said. The answer was no; but that didn’t solve anything. He thought of Craigmillar. He said, ‘I think, all the same, I’ll get Sandy’s food and drink tasted, and the King’s. That should stop any false accusations, or real ones, for that matter. Is there anything else I can do?’
‘Have your own food tasted,’ said Tobie.
Nicholas stared at him. ‘Well, of course. If someone wants to kill the King or his brother, then clearly I’m next. Everyone will appreciate that.’
‘I didn’t say,’ said Tobie, ‘that it would be for the same reason, or that you should take precautions in public. Your pendulum would tell you. You’ve used it for poison before. You’ve used it for other things that maybe you ought to return to. We need all the help we can get.’
‘But not that kind,’ said Andreas. ‘I agree with Nicholas. Let the pendulum rest.’
He would not say why, and Tobie dropped the subject, annoyed. To begin with, Nicholas too preferred to leave it alone. Then he changed his mind and sought out the astrologer. ‘Will you tell me why?’
As always, Andreas of Vesalia had no air about him of mystery; no hint of the occult in his large-hewn, positive face or garrulous tongue; nor in his romantic history, about which gossip was rife. But he took the question seriously enough—more seriously indeed than Nicholas expected.
‘Why do I think you shouldn’t divine? Because in ordinary hands, the wand or the pendulum are just tools, but sometimes they are more. It seemed to me that you were in danger of becoming the possessed rather than the possessor: the moments of dislocation were increasing. For any good you might do, you might harm yourself more. I should leave it.’
‘Of dislocation?’ Nicholas repeated.
Andreas looked at him. ‘You told me once. Gelis also described it. You see something familiar that cannot be familiar, for you have never been there before. Does that still happen?’
‘No. Or hardly ever,’ Nicholas said. He had just realised it.
‘No. And you do not want to encourage it,’ said Andreas.
He said, ‘Why not?’ Bel had talked about fear. He felt fear now. He added, ‘Is it because the events I thought I saw—the fires, the terror, the deaths—were all about to happen to me? None of them has.’
‘I have been wondering,’ Andreas said. ‘It seemed to me that what you were seeing was not your own life, but another’s. I was concerned enough to go further. My conclusion so far is the same as your own. The moments of great emotion are not yours, but belong to some other person. You may not even know who it is. They may live in the past or the future. But they must be related. No other bond could be as strong as this one must be.’
He waited. Andreas was good at waiting, when he thought it worth while. Nicholas drew a long breath. Then he said, ‘Might it be the lady my mother?’
The astrologer looked at him, not without sympathy. He said, ‘You would like to think so? But do the experiences match? That lady lived most of her life in one place. These happenings indicate many different scenes, some of them violent; or so your friends say. There must be many more that only you know of. Was this the life of Sophie de Fleury?’
No, it wasn’t. It fitted no one he knew. The mind he had felt behind all these random, formidable pulses was not that of a woman. He saw that now. It was a man’s.
Then he thought of Umar, and was transformed, until he saw that that was impossible, too. The long, polished library table, the swooping eagle, had no place in the life of a European slave, or an African judge. Whoever it was, the sender was not in his present life. He could not be reached, and the unconscious messages, whatever their source, would now fade.
Instead of fear, Nicholas felt desolation. He said suddenly, ‘Perhaps I should use the pendulum. It detects poisons. It told us about Robin.’
Then Andreas stood up and said, ‘Nicholas. This is dangerous. Dangerous for you, and perhaps even for the sender, whoever or whatever he is. Leave the pendulum. Appoint me your surrogate. Let me use what arts I have. When I have the