Read Online Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 by Melissa Scott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa Scott
Tags: SF
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Which meant Henry probably used this space for his workings as well, which might explain the odd sensation teasing at the back of his mind….
“Have a seat,” Henry said, and reluctantly Jerry lowered himself into the chair that stood waiting at the edge of Henry’s massive desk. Henry turned toward the bookcases — oh, not a secret compartment, Jerry thought, and then saw the locked cabinet set in among the shelves. The doors were glass and the key was in the lock: apparently it was just to keep idle hands away from the old books, or at least that was what one was meant to think. Henry murmured something, and turned the key. The door swung open, and he produced a small package wrapped in burlap, and set it on the desk in front of Jerry.
“Go ahead, open it,” he said, and turned to re-lock the cabinet.
The wrappings were tied with string, none too clean. Jerry plucked it free, and unwrapped the coarse fabric to reveal a bright silk scarf.
“It was what I had,” Henry said, and leaned his hip against the desktop.
Jerry lifted an eyebrow, but folded back the first layer of silk. Power warmed his fingertips, trembled in his hands, old and strong and not unfriendly. He took a sharp breath, peeling back the rest of the layers. The tablet lay revealed in the sunlight, the dull lead stamped with seals that he knew he should recognize. Letters had been dug deep into the surface, familiar Latin ritual phrases mixed with ones he didn’t know, and words, whole lines, in an alphabet he recognized all too well. No, Henry wouldn’t recognize Etruscan, and probably neither would anyone else in his lodge, unless Davenport was still a member. He touched the first seal gently, and the power nipped his finger like a spark.
“What the hell have you got here?” he said, half to himself, and Henry sighed.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Jerry lifted the tablet, careful to keep the silk between his fingers and the metal surface, and turned it over to check the reverse. As he had more than half expected, there were symbols there as well, and another ritual phrase calling down punishment on anyone who disturbed the work — no, on anyone who disturbed the binding. And that was not what he had expected at all. He turned the tablet upright again, frowning, and Henry said, “Well?”
“Where was this found?” Jerry tilted the tablet. The surface was blurred, worn, almost as though it had been exposed to wind or water. Or to something that rubbed constantly against it, trying slowly and without patience but with infinite time to wear away its bonds. The image made him shiver, and he scowled at Henry. “You’re going to have to tell me sometime, you know. If you want me to make a decent job of it.”
Henry made a face. “What I know is what I was told.”
“Yes, all right.” Jerry tilted the tablet again, the power in it strong and cold even through the protecting silk. Its weight seemed to shift with the movement, as though there were a blob of mercury trapped within it, pouring along hidden channels. There were no signs of a plug, or seams; the corner seals were discolored at the center, as though — maybe — something had been pressed into or through the lead, but that would be a visible symbol of the binding, defixio made literal. He checked the back again, but the discoloration didn’t go all the way through. Perhaps not, then, he thought, and became aware that Henry was still silent.
“So what did — he? she? this person — tell you?”
“I was told,” Henry said, carefully, “that it was found in conjunction with the excavations at Lake Nemi.”
Nemi. The Sanctuary of Diana at Aricia, by the lake that had been known to the Romans as Diana’s Mirror. Where fisherman had for centuries dredged up fragments of mysterious ships from the bottom of the lake. Where just last year the Italian government had opened an extremely well-financed and internationally staffed expedition that was not only excavating
“Have a seat,” Henry said, and reluctantly Jerry lowered himself into the chair that stood waiting at the edge of Henry’s massive desk. Henry turned toward the bookcases — oh, not a secret compartment, Jerry thought, and then saw the locked cabinet set in among the shelves. The doors were glass and the key was in the lock: apparently it was just to keep idle hands away from the old books, or at least that was what one was meant to think. Henry murmured something, and turned the key. The door swung open, and he produced a small package wrapped in burlap, and set it on the desk in front of Jerry.
“Go ahead, open it,” he said, and turned to re-lock the cabinet.
The wrappings were tied with string, none too clean. Jerry plucked it free, and unwrapped the coarse fabric to reveal a bright silk scarf.
“It was what I had,” Henry said, and leaned his hip against the desktop.
Jerry lifted an eyebrow, but folded back the first layer of silk. Power warmed his fingertips, trembled in his hands, old and strong and not unfriendly. He took a sharp breath, peeling back the rest of the layers. The tablet lay revealed in the sunlight, the dull lead stamped with seals that he knew he should recognize. Letters had been dug deep into the surface, familiar Latin ritual phrases mixed with ones he didn’t know, and words, whole lines, in an alphabet he recognized all too well. No, Henry wouldn’t recognize Etruscan, and probably neither would anyone else in his lodge, unless Davenport was still a member. He touched the first seal gently, and the power nipped his finger like a spark.
“What the hell have you got here?” he said, half to himself, and Henry sighed.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Jerry lifted the tablet, careful to keep the silk between his fingers and the metal surface, and turned it over to check the reverse. As he had more than half expected, there were symbols there as well, and another ritual phrase calling down punishment on anyone who disturbed the work — no, on anyone who disturbed the binding. And that was not what he had expected at all. He turned the tablet upright again, frowning, and Henry said, “Well?”
“Where was this found?” Jerry tilted the tablet. The surface was blurred, worn, almost as though it had been exposed to wind or water. Or to something that rubbed constantly against it, trying slowly and without patience but with infinite time to wear away its bonds. The image made him shiver, and he scowled at Henry. “You’re going to have to tell me sometime, you know. If you want me to make a decent job of it.”
Henry made a face. “What I know is what I was told.”
“Yes, all right.” Jerry tilted the tablet again, the power in it strong and cold even through the protecting silk. Its weight seemed to shift with the movement, as though there were a blob of mercury trapped within it, pouring along hidden channels. There were no signs of a plug, or seams; the corner seals were discolored at the center, as though — maybe — something had been pressed into or through the lead, but that would be a visible symbol of the binding, defixio made literal. He checked the back again, but the discoloration didn’t go all the way through. Perhaps not, then, he thought, and became aware that Henry was still silent.
“So what did — he? she? this person — tell you?”
“I was told,” Henry said, carefully, “that it was found in conjunction with the excavations at Lake Nemi.”
Nemi. The Sanctuary of Diana at Aricia, by the lake that had been known to the Romans as Diana’s Mirror. Where fisherman had for centuries dredged up fragments of mysterious ships from the bottom of the lake. Where just last year the Italian government had opened an extremely well-financed and internationally staffed expedition that was not only excavating
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