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Authors: F E Higgins
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could see a raised platform. On a low table a foot or so from the edge there was
a shallow coffin. It was roughly hewn, with a badly fitting lid, and Pin thought of MrGaufridus with a smile. It wasn’t up to his exacting standards. At the back of the platform was a four-panelled screen and Pin
could see movement behind it.
Suddenly the crowd quietened. A man, dressed from head to toe in a black gown, stepped out from behind the screen. A silver brooch at
his throat pinned in place a dark velvet cloak that fell in folds from his shoulders. The heavy material, beautifully decorated with vines and fruit stitched in amber and gold, flapped around his ankles as he walked to reveal its shimmering scarlet
lining. His shoes, visible under the hem of his gown, were also of a gold fabric with a slight heel and tasselled toes that pointed upwards. With each step he took the tassels rustled quietly.
His face was concealed in the main by a large hood that fell over his forehead, shielding his eyes. His eyebrows were thick and grey
and his pale skin glowed unnaturally. He wore a moustache on his upper lip, each end waxed and carefully arranged on either side of his mouth, and a narrow white beard sprouted from the tip of his chin. His sleeves were so long that when his hands hung
at his sides, his fingernails were barely visible and his slender wrists were seen only when he stretched out his arms.
Then a second person came around the screen, also hooded and cloaked, in a dark cloth of plain weave, its only ornament
being the gold toggles that fastened it. The figure stepped gracefully from the platform and began walking slowly through the audience, swinging a peardrop bottle on a silver chain rhythmically back and forth. A smoky mist of sweet perfume curled upwards
in a lazy spiral from its slender neck. Pin’s heart began to race and his knees began to shake. He knew that smell.
‘Welcome, all,’ said the man finally. ‘My name is Benedict Pantagus and I am the Bone Magician.’
Chapter Thirteen
Pin’s Journal
I sit at this very moment in a dark corner in the Nimble Finger. I have pennies enough for a small ale and I have secured
an uneven table whereupon I am endeavouring to write an account of the night’s entertainment. What a city of trickery this is! Only days ago I thought I had seen the strangest it could offer. I had not considered there could be more. And now, such
a night I’ve had in the Nimble Finger, confronted once more by the people who drugged me and left me insensible in the Cella Moribundi. Can you imagine how I felt when I realized who they were? I should have been riven with fury, but instead, with
every inhalation of the aromas in the room, I was suffused with peace and calm to bear witnessagain, upright and awake this time, to a most intriguing performance. And this is what I saw.
Mr Pantagus, after his introduction, returned to the head of the coffin.
‘My good people,’ he said, ‘a Bone Magician is born, not made. I have inherited my skills with the dead from a long line
of Bone Magicians. I from my father, and he from his, and he from his. And so it goes on through the centuries right back to ancient times. The world might be a different place today, with the advance of philosophies and sciences, but be assured, there
is still room in this day and age for those of us who can bring the dead back to life .’
At this there was a ripple of assenting murmurs. Mr Pantagus gestured towards the coffin .
‘I am a privileged man. I have been charged with the care of this coffin within which lies the skeleton of one Madame Celestine de
Bona. I ask now that you remain silent while I perform the ceremony that will bring about her revitalization.’
Juno, whom I now knew the second figure to be, quenched the candles around the walls, leaving for lightonly the four thick beeswax pillars on tall iron holders, one at each corner of the platform. Mr Pantagus removed the lid of
a shallow coffin. It was roughly hewn, with a badly fitting lid, and Pin thought of MrGaufridus with a smile. It wasn’t up to his exacting standards. At the back of the platform was a four-panelled screen and Pin
could see movement behind it.
Suddenly the crowd quietened. A man, dressed from head to toe in a black gown, stepped out from behind the screen. A silver brooch at
his throat pinned in place a dark velvet cloak that fell in folds from his shoulders. The heavy material, beautifully decorated with vines and fruit stitched in amber and gold, flapped around his ankles as he walked to reveal its shimmering scarlet
lining. His shoes, visible under the hem of his gown, were also of a gold fabric with a slight heel and tasselled toes that pointed upwards. With each step he took the tassels rustled quietly.
His face was concealed in the main by a large hood that fell over his forehead, shielding his eyes. His eyebrows were thick and grey
and his pale skin glowed unnaturally. He wore a moustache on his upper lip, each end waxed and carefully arranged on either side of his mouth, and a narrow white beard sprouted from the tip of his chin. His sleeves were so long that when his hands hung
at his sides, his fingernails were barely visible and his slender wrists were seen only when he stretched out his arms.
Then a second person came around the screen, also hooded and cloaked, in a dark cloth of plain weave, its only ornament
being the gold toggles that fastened it. The figure stepped gracefully from the platform and began walking slowly through the audience, swinging a peardrop bottle on a silver chain rhythmically back and forth. A smoky mist of sweet perfume curled upwards
in a lazy spiral from its slender neck. Pin’s heart began to race and his knees began to shake. He knew that smell.
‘Welcome, all,’ said the man finally. ‘My name is Benedict Pantagus and I am the Bone Magician.’
Chapter Thirteen
Pin’s Journal
I sit at this very moment in a dark corner in the Nimble Finger. I have pennies enough for a small ale and I have secured
an uneven table whereupon I am endeavouring to write an account of the night’s entertainment. What a city of trickery this is! Only days ago I thought I had seen the strangest it could offer. I had not considered there could be more. And now, such
a night I’ve had in the Nimble Finger, confronted once more by the people who drugged me and left me insensible in the Cella Moribundi. Can you imagine how I felt when I realized who they were? I should have been riven with fury, but instead, with
every inhalation of the aromas in the room, I was suffused with peace and calm to bear witnessagain, upright and awake this time, to a most intriguing performance. And this is what I saw.
Mr Pantagus, after his introduction, returned to the head of the coffin.
‘My good people,’ he said, ‘a Bone Magician is born, not made. I have inherited my skills with the dead from a long line
of Bone Magicians. I from my father, and he from his, and he from his. And so it goes on through the centuries right back to ancient times. The world might be a different place today, with the advance of philosophies and sciences, but be assured, there
is still room in this day and age for those of us who can bring the dead back to life .’
At this there was a ripple of assenting murmurs. Mr Pantagus gestured towards the coffin .
‘I am a privileged man. I have been charged with the care of this coffin within which lies the skeleton of one Madame Celestine de
Bona. I ask now that you remain silent while I perform the ceremony that will bring about her revitalization.’
Juno, whom I now knew the second figure to be, quenched the candles around the walls, leaving for lightonly the four thick beeswax pillars on tall iron holders, one at each corner of the platform. Mr Pantagus removed the lid of
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