Mirror Sight
Page 49
As she soaked, her cast-bound wrist safely on the edge of the tub, she heard a flurry of movement in the hallway. A furious sounding Arhys proclaimed, “I want a horse, too! If she gets one, I get one, too!” This was followed by stomping and the slamming of a door, and an exasperated cry of, “Arhys!” that sounded like it came from Lorine. Karigan winced. She was sorry that by rescuing Raven she caused Arhys to become even more jealous and difficult, but better that than allowing the stallion to be given over to the knackers.
Afterward, attired in a “day dress” of creamy yellow, she joined the professor in the parlor for tea and the midday meal. The professor had changed as well, into less formal tweed and boots.
“I must check on the dig,” he explained, “and make sure the boys are not slacking off.”
“What are you digging up?” Karigan asked, looking over a cranberry-nut muffin before taking a bite.
“We’ve come upon the ruins of a modest house in the lower regions of the Old City. Nothing we haven’t seen before—shards of crockery, buttons, clay pipes, and the like. Gives us a good idea of how people lived.”
Karigan yearned to discuss what had become of her city, but though she sat with her back to the doorway she observed the professor’s eyes tracking the comings and goings of servants. They could not speak freely.
“Have you ever found remains? Human?” she asked.
“Not much were left behind, though a few of my colleagues have uncovered cemeteries. Unfortunately, the sites are usually quickly looted for burial goods. People back then placed valuables like amulets and coins and jewelry with the dead.”
Karigan nodded. She knew, for she was from back then. It was the custom to bury the dead with something to offer the gods for safe deliverance into the heavens. Even the poor usually managed a coin or two. The professor grimaced. He must have forgotten her origins and just realized what he’d said.
He cleared his throat. “After a while the graves weren’t looted solely for burial goods, but entire caskets with their remains inside started disappearing, and sometimes whole sarcophagi from wealthier sites.” He snorted. “I’d like to see how the Ghouls manage that. The best sarcophagi are made of stone! What a job it would be to remove one of those from the Old City.” Then he sighed. “But they’ve managed it somehow.
“Usually the remains have been sold to that despicable circus, or to the Preferred set for parties. Remove the shroud and see what’s inside.” He shook his head. “A shame we’ll never know what valuable pieces of the historical record have been lost as a result, not to mention the distasteful desecration of the dead.” He leaned forward over his tea and said in conspiratorial tones, “When I die, I aim to be cremated. No digging up my old bones!”
Karigan thought it a curious sentiment from an archeologist who reveled in finding clues to the past. Wouldn’t he rather be exhumed with all kinds of objects that would benefit future archeologists?
She didn’t have the opportunity to ask more because he then said in a very low voice, “Meet me in the library tonight once the household is abed.” He set his teacup aside and rose. Without another word to her, he strode from the parlor calling for Grott to bring him his hat and coat. “It is time I checked on those sluggard students of mine,” he declared.
Karigan contemplated her muffin once more. She had to admit the professor had a point about the desecration aspect of being buried as opposed to cremated. She had been, after all, revealed in a tomb before a large audience at the circus. Happily, she was alive when it occurred, but she would have hated for her own Earthly remains to have become part of some macabre entertainment to be stared at and giggled over. Violated.
Tombs, burials, and cremations aside, it was not going to be easy to remain patient until late night when she was to meet the professor in the library. He must be planning to take her to the old mill to answer her questions.
The afternoon did draw long for Karigan, forbidden as she was to go to the stables and visit Raven. That was something else she needed to address with the professor—how she was going to get to spend time with the stallion. So, she did as she was accustomed. She returned to her room where she worked with her bonewood, fully extended to staff length, to practice forms and keep herself limber. It was not so easy in her dress, but she considered it useful practice, too. Chances were, if she needed to fight with the staff in this world, she’d be in a dress, not her more practical Rider uniform.
Sometime later she spilled onto her bed puffing and sweating. Her left arm was getting a good amount of work, but when the cast came off her right wrist, it would be alarmingly weak. Well, she’d just have to work it till it was back to its old strength. That’s what Arms Master Drent would make her do.
Arms Master Drent. She was riddled with sudden pangs of homesickness.
Of all the people to miss. She shook her head.
Yes, she actually missed Drent with his abrasive manner and the abuse he heaped on his trainees. She would welcome seeing even a glimpse of him in her shard of the looking mask.
Thinking of it, she sprang from the bed and retrieved it from its hiding place behind the headboard. Sitting once more on the bed, with pillows propped up behind her, she unwrapped the mirror fragment and gazed into it. When no visions immediately appeared, she flipped it over, but saw only her own reflection.
Maybe she just needed to be patient. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time. She’d hours till supper. So she settled in, gazing at the mirror shard, occasionally turning it over to see if it made a difference which side she looked at. It did not. She yawned and nodded off, the piece of looking mask loosely cradled in her hand.
Afterward, attired in a “day dress” of creamy yellow, she joined the professor in the parlor for tea and the midday meal. The professor had changed as well, into less formal tweed and boots.
“I must check on the dig,” he explained, “and make sure the boys are not slacking off.”
“What are you digging up?” Karigan asked, looking over a cranberry-nut muffin before taking a bite.
“We’ve come upon the ruins of a modest house in the lower regions of the Old City. Nothing we haven’t seen before—shards of crockery, buttons, clay pipes, and the like. Gives us a good idea of how people lived.”
Karigan yearned to discuss what had become of her city, but though she sat with her back to the doorway she observed the professor’s eyes tracking the comings and goings of servants. They could not speak freely.
“Have you ever found remains? Human?” she asked.
“Not much were left behind, though a few of my colleagues have uncovered cemeteries. Unfortunately, the sites are usually quickly looted for burial goods. People back then placed valuables like amulets and coins and jewelry with the dead.”
Karigan nodded. She knew, for she was from back then. It was the custom to bury the dead with something to offer the gods for safe deliverance into the heavens. Even the poor usually managed a coin or two. The professor grimaced. He must have forgotten her origins and just realized what he’d said.
He cleared his throat. “After a while the graves weren’t looted solely for burial goods, but entire caskets with their remains inside started disappearing, and sometimes whole sarcophagi from wealthier sites.” He snorted. “I’d like to see how the Ghouls manage that. The best sarcophagi are made of stone! What a job it would be to remove one of those from the Old City.” Then he sighed. “But they’ve managed it somehow.
“Usually the remains have been sold to that despicable circus, or to the Preferred set for parties. Remove the shroud and see what’s inside.” He shook his head. “A shame we’ll never know what valuable pieces of the historical record have been lost as a result, not to mention the distasteful desecration of the dead.” He leaned forward over his tea and said in conspiratorial tones, “When I die, I aim to be cremated. No digging up my old bones!”
Karigan thought it a curious sentiment from an archeologist who reveled in finding clues to the past. Wouldn’t he rather be exhumed with all kinds of objects that would benefit future archeologists?
She didn’t have the opportunity to ask more because he then said in a very low voice, “Meet me in the library tonight once the household is abed.” He set his teacup aside and rose. Without another word to her, he strode from the parlor calling for Grott to bring him his hat and coat. “It is time I checked on those sluggard students of mine,” he declared.
Karigan contemplated her muffin once more. She had to admit the professor had a point about the desecration aspect of being buried as opposed to cremated. She had been, after all, revealed in a tomb before a large audience at the circus. Happily, she was alive when it occurred, but she would have hated for her own Earthly remains to have become part of some macabre entertainment to be stared at and giggled over. Violated.
Tombs, burials, and cremations aside, it was not going to be easy to remain patient until late night when she was to meet the professor in the library. He must be planning to take her to the old mill to answer her questions.
The afternoon did draw long for Karigan, forbidden as she was to go to the stables and visit Raven. That was something else she needed to address with the professor—how she was going to get to spend time with the stallion. So, she did as she was accustomed. She returned to her room where she worked with her bonewood, fully extended to staff length, to practice forms and keep herself limber. It was not so easy in her dress, but she considered it useful practice, too. Chances were, if she needed to fight with the staff in this world, she’d be in a dress, not her more practical Rider uniform.
Sometime later she spilled onto her bed puffing and sweating. Her left arm was getting a good amount of work, but when the cast came off her right wrist, it would be alarmingly weak. Well, she’d just have to work it till it was back to its old strength. That’s what Arms Master Drent would make her do.
Arms Master Drent. She was riddled with sudden pangs of homesickness.
Of all the people to miss. She shook her head.
Yes, she actually missed Drent with his abrasive manner and the abuse he heaped on his trainees. She would welcome seeing even a glimpse of him in her shard of the looking mask.
Thinking of it, she sprang from the bed and retrieved it from its hiding place behind the headboard. Sitting once more on the bed, with pillows propped up behind her, she unwrapped the mirror fragment and gazed into it. When no visions immediately appeared, she flipped it over, but saw only her own reflection.
Maybe she just needed to be patient. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time. She’d hours till supper. So she settled in, gazing at the mirror shard, occasionally turning it over to see if it made a difference which side she looked at. It did not. She yawned and nodded off, the piece of looking mask loosely cradled in her hand.
