Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [86]
I paid a visit, by day and sober, to Emile in Night's Doorstep. To him I gave my heartfelt thanks, and a purse of gold coin, which he made to refuse. "No." I closed his fingers over the purse. "Keep it, Emile. Half for yourself, or the Didikani of the City if you wish, and half for Kristof, Oszkar's son. Let it be known that it is out of gratitude, in honor of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia's son. I ask nothing in return but silence."
"Tsingani do not meddle in gadje affairs," Emile said automatically, then grinned. "Not those who walk the Lungo Drom, any mind. So you found the missing prince?"
"I found his trail," I said. "And I will cross it again, Elua willing. But my duty is done to the best of my ability. It is Hyacinthe's quest I undertake now."
TWENTY-SIX
On THE following day, I was no less idle, meeting with Audine Davul at the City Academy and listening spellbound as she told me aught that she might of Jebe-Barkal. In my ignorance, I had conceived of it solely as a desert land, like unto the Umaiyyat; but there were mountains, she assured me, and valleys dense with foliage, vast inland lakes and one of the most spectacular waterfalls in existence.
Our journey, as best I could guess, would take us through all these terrains and more.
"Show no weakness," Audine Davul cautioned Joscelin and me alike. "They are a proud folk, and capable of great generosity and great cruelty alike. These descendents of Shalomon of whom you speak—I know nothing of them save what is told in story. But in the north . . . Jebeans are jealous of their pride. Give every courtesy, and never reveal fear."
We thanked her, and Joscelin bowed deeply. I tried to imagine him showing fear, and failed. Then I remembered him in the hut in Waldemar Selig's steading where he had wished to die, enchained, his hands raw with chilblains, lank-haired and wild-eyed.
All things are possible.
Even the worst of things.
I'd made a fair-copy of Audine's translation of the Jebean scroll upon our return to the City of Elua and had it sent to Eleazar ben Enokh, my favorite Yeshuite scholar. It was upon Eleazar that I intended to call that afternoon—and I will own, it was an encounter I anticipated with some excitement. Ten years of my life I'd given to the pursuit of the Name of God. To be sure, I was a long way from finding it, but I looked forward to hearing Eleazar's thoughts with a scholar's arcane passion.
"I'll send the carriage back for you," Joscelin promised, dropping a kiss upon my brow. His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I am eager to hear the shortened version of Rebbe Eleazar's impressions. I fear the full might of them would be too much for Cassiel's simple servant to endure."
"Liar," I said affectionately. He laughed and took his leave.
Within, I found Eleazar aquiver with excitement, sitting cross-legged on his prayer mats and slapping his bony knees, the translated Kefra Neghast on the floor in front of him. "Phèdre nó Delaunay!" he exclaimed. "What a treasure you have found! Come, and let us share our thoughts on this matter."
I took my place opposite him, kneeling, and opened the original scroll with its painted illustrations, weighting it carefully at the corners. "You think there is merit in it, father?"
"Merit, of a surety. It is a tale, is it not?" He shrugged. "You ask if it is true. Who can say? You must go and see for yourself."
"But you think it may be so."
Eleazar ben Enokh paused, then nodded. "I think it may be so, at least in part. Trade and war alike existed between the Habiru nation and Jebe-Barkal in the old days. This Queen, Makeda— " he pointed at the parchment, " —it is not impossible. Shalomon had many wives, including Pharaoh's daughter. The ring ..." He tapped his lower teeth in absent thought. "Folklore says it bore the Name of God, and with it Shalomon commanded demons to build the Temple. What is the grain of truth at the heart of that pearl, eh? Perhaps with the ring of his father's authority, Melek al'Hakim commanded the architect Khiram, whose father was of the Tribe of Dân. His mother . . . ah!" His brown