Rene Daniel's Blog, page 2

Homunculus Chapter 9

DESERT DWELLERS

 

 

Bo was tireless. He ran through the desert for hours. My body hurt and just when I thought I could not hold on anymore, Bo yawned and slowed down.

“I am sleepy,” he said and stopped near a large rock. I slid off. Bo turned away and vigorously started to dig.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“A den,” he growled as he disappeared behind and below a growing mound of sand. I crawled in behind him. It was cold down there. I curled next to his body, took a sip of water from my skin, and fell asleep. When we woke up, it was dusk again.

 “So you are a night animal,” I commented. He shook himself off and yawned.

“I am hungry,” he said. “I need to hunt for a while.” Once he left, I climbed out and looked around. There was no sign of life. Almost. I saw vague white shapes dancing near the horizon. Were they sand grains stilled by night? A noise interrupted my musings. I heard a horse. I slowly crawled back. The priest said he knew where I was going. Were they chasing us? Bo showed up in a couple of hours, his fur glossy and he looked smug.

“We can go on,” he said in a voice of someone who feasted well.

“Did you see any people?” I asked. “They have a camp near us,” he said. “I can outrun them easily.”

This time I felt good enough to look around me as I rode Bo through the night desert. It was a bare place with sands and grey rocks. My eyes searched in vain for anything green. I calculated when we get to Babylon. At this pace it should take about three to four days. A yell woke me up from my complacency. I looked back. There was a dark cloud behind us, and it was coming fast. I recognized a bunch of horse riders.

“They cannot see us, can they?” I turned to Bo.

“No worries,” he barked. “We can always dig in.” Sure we could if they don’t see us doing that.

“Go this way,” I screamed. There were two large rocks with a little valley between. We could hide there and perhaps dig that hole Bo was longing for. The rocks loomed above us as we approached and entered the pass. They must have been at least forty feet high and formed two long walls. The pass was narrow and straight. Two men of horses next to each other could pass, but that was about it. I wildly looked around for a hole, anything. There were none. We fled through the passage. The riders were coming. I could hear them. Hell, I could feel them. I gritted my teeth. If they see us, they will capture us. If they don’t see us, they will just ride over us. Where is the exit? I could not see it. I turned back. They were only two hundred feet behind us. One of them yelled in triumph. They saw us! At that moment, rocks began to fall. Horses screamed and fell. Riders tumbled down on the ground and were buried by huge blacks that kept falling from the top of the valley’s stone walls. Bo whined and sped up. I held on for dear life. The screams of dying were left behind us.

“Stop,” I whispered into Bo’s ear. “We are not attacked. He slowed down and turned his head to look behind him.

“We are not,” he conceded.

“We are too small to be noticed,” I said.

“Not really,” said a rough voice and someone picked up Bo behind his neck and lifted him off the ground. I found myself staring into a wide mouth full of rotting, blackened teeth. Its owner had deeply sunken eyes and yellowish, pitted skin. His head was covered by a few long grayish strands of long hair.

“What are you?” He asked.

“I am A-alex,” I managed.

“Are you a dwarf?” He asked. “You don’t really look like one, but you are not human either.” Bo turned around and tried to bite his hand. He evaded it easily.

“Don’t eat me,” he reprimanded Bo. “You know we don’t eat you either.”

“Do you know him?” I asked Bo.

“He is a man-eater,” Bo blurted out.

“I don’t know what you two talk about, but I can guess,” the creature said calmly. “I am a ghoul. My name is Kabu.” A ghoul!

”Are you, uh, going to eat me?” I asked.

“No, A-alex,” he said, “for one thing, you are too small, just about one bite. For another, you are too alive. We prefer to eat your pursuers, after a suitable period of time. Fresh meat doesn’t taste good.”

I did a quick survey of my new captor. He was pot-belied, but his legs and feet were very skinny. He was also naked. He carried me up the valley’s wall. It seemed almost vertical to me, but he quickly climbed up following marks that were obvious only to him. Once up there, he put Bo down.

“Don’t run away yet,” he said. “We don’t get many interesting visitors. I want to know who you are, not just your name.”

We were surrounded by a ghoul camp. I saw more of the creatures including some women and children. They were all naked, but the males carried spears and swords which appeared to be captured from their victims.

“We move around,” Kabu said as he followed my gaze. “One day here, another day somewhere else. It is safer this way.”

“Are you human?” I asked.

“We were human once, long time ago,” he said. “Then people expelled us because of the customs of our tribe. Now we are one with the desert. We have freedom and we have food too. People provide with their silly wars.”

“You killed those back there,” I pointed out.

“It was an opportunity,” he shrugged. “We were hungry for a while. Soon we will eat like kings. Would you prefer we let them to catch you?”

“E-no,” I said.

 “Now, answer my question. Who are you?”

I told him.

“So you want to go to Babylon,” he concluded. “If you stay with us a couple days until the meat is ripe and we eat and resupply our larder, we can take you there. It is not far and we will need to travel in that direction anyway, away from human settlements before they found out about our successful hunt in the valley.”

A white mist began to settle above the valley and then slowly descended as it was being sucked in. I again recognized vague shapes in the mist. There were hands and arms coming out and sometimes I caught a flash of an eye on a misty face. Some were more animal like resembling giant hyenas and antelopes.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“These are Jinns,” Kabu explained. “They feed on the life force and there is plenty of freely available life force down below as it seeps from the dead and dying bodies.”

Our ghouls called themselves the Free People, I found the next day. They were just one of the ghoul tribes roaming the deserts of Asia and Africa.

“We have been here forever,” Kabu explained to me, “but we really multiplied since the time of the Great Flood when there was suddenly so much food for us. We had difficulties in ancient Egypt because their mummies were not edible the way they prepared them, but now at this age, there is again an unlimited supply of food.”

“Don’t they kill you if they catch you?” I asked. He grinned.

“We fight back. Besides, they are too superstitious to chase us too deeply into the desert.”

I dug in my bag for something to eat.

“Would you like to share our feast?” Kabu asked.

“No, uh, I will eat whatever Bo brings,” I said nervously.

“As you wish,” Kabu shrugged. “Our food will be ready by tomorrow. Then we eat, and leave.”

Just as he said, two days later, ghouls broke the camp. It was not difficult, really. Women picked up the little children and men their weapons and all of them filled their leather bags, which they carried on their hips with remains of the soldiers of Father Angelico. I spent the last day secretly looking for him among the dead. I did not find him. However, many bodies were crushed by rocks so heavy that they were unrecognizable. Finally, I ran across a red hat, which I remembered I saw on his head the last time we met. He must have been buried to deeply here even for ghouls to dig him out. We set on our way.

I accepted Kabu’s offer and rode on his shoulder, so Bo could have a break. Ghouls move only during the night, when the air is cold enough. We marched toward the east at a steady pace.

 “We can go on the whole night,” Kabu explained. “Even riders have a problem to keep with us and we don’t leave many traces for them to follow.”

The desert was flat, but every so often we passed a regular-shaped hill looking like a miniature volcano rising straight in the middle of a great plain.

“What are these?” I asked.

“These were great cities of the past,” Kabu said. “Now they turned into the dust.”

 I saw another of the misty shapes dancing on the top of the hill.

“A Jinn?” I guessed.

“A Jinn,” Kabu confirmed. “There is always some residual life force for a Jinn to feed on. Sometimes plenty.”

We soon approach another hill, this one large.

“Observe,” Kabu said. From behind the fill peeked a head of a giant snake. He slowly crawled around the hill’s side. It must have been at least half mile long and as tall as a house. It encircled the hill.

“This was a big city and its life force was enough to feed this one for millennia,” Kabu said. He looked at me curiously.

“Humans usually cannot see Jinns. How come you can? Did it happen when you shrunk?”

 “Sometime later,” I said. He did not press for an answer and I closed my finger around the cross from the Crusader. I still had it after all the events. We slept during the day. Ghouls do not put up tents. Instead, they take advantage of the terrain and find caves and deep burrows. Their life in the desert taught them how to find them even in most unlikely places. The next day, around midnight, I noticed a black line separating the sky and the high desert.

“Babylon,” Kabu answered my questioning look. “We stop here. You will have to continue there on your own.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Babylon was a great city,” Kabu said. “A million people lived there at times. There is a huge life force left. Many Jinns fed on it for centuries. Over time, they became too much like people.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“They are too dangerous,” Kabu said. “They plot and fight among themselves, just like people do. It is not a place for a ghoul. Besides, they try to feed on us and take what little life force we have. No other Jinns do that. We avoid Babylon.” He took me off his shoulder and set me down. Bo trotted over and sniffed at me.

“Can you carry me?” I asked. He stretched.

“I had two days off,” he said. “Hop on.”

“Would you like some food ?” Kabu asked with a smile. “We would be happy to share. You could even join us, if you wish.”

“Perhaps some other time,” I said and mounted Bo.

“Go with peace,” Kabu said seriously. “If you get out of there alive, you can look for us there,” he waved toward the north. “We can take you back to Jerusalem.”

Homunculus - Chapter 8

 

                     IN THE DESERT

 

 

I spent the night in my new friend’s study. Arrow took off, going to do whatever falcons do when they don’t deliver homunculi to strange places. I shared a breakfast with the Rabbi. I have to say that Kelley’s approach to food was more to my liking, since it involved a lot of roasted meat. These vegetables I was served were surely healthy, but almost inedible, as far as I was concerned. I quietly hoped it will get better as the day moves along.

“We will need to get you ready,” Rabbi said after we finished. I got some more cloths for you. I skeptically observed the white robes he presented.

“Do you think they will make me blend in?” I asked.

“Probably not,” he smiled, “but they are practical. You will feel less hot in the desert. Meantime, I will get the cook to prepare you some food, and here is a skin with water.” He produced a small leather baggie. I lifted it.

“It is heavy,” I said doubtfully. “The more water the better,” Rabbi said. “Now, the promised gift.” He produced a papyrus and rolled it open.

“A spell?” I asked. “What is it going to do?”

“Not a spell,” he corrected me. “I am just making sure it is right. Eat this.” He picked up a small vial and dripped some liquid on a spoon. I eyed it suspiciously.

“It is not a poison, is it?” I attempted a joke.

“Certainly not,” he said. “You will sleep a little, though.”

I sighed and then opened my mouth and drank. My last thought was a feeling I was falling down into a black abyss.

When I woke up, Rabbi stood at the window.

“The caravan will be leaving in one hour,” he remarked. “I talked to my friend and he will take a package for me to Baghdad. It is a small chest containing some precious fabrics for my beloved niece. Here.”

I checked out the box. It was made of wood and free of ornaments. He opened it. I caught a glimpse of silk.

“It is from the East,” Rabbi said by way of explanation. Extremely rare. Nobody knows how they make it.

“They use worms,” I said.

“Surely not!” He exclaimed in surprise. “How can a worm make this beauty? Perhaps spiders?”

“Worms,” I confirmed.

“If you say so,” he gave up. “I wish I could see the process. But now, hop in. I made holes in the sides, so you can breathe. I also made sure that one of the sides comes off easily when you push on its side. You can get out anytime you wish.”

“What about the gift?” I remembered.

“Listen,” he said.  

“All I can hear is some arguing of your servants outside on the roof,” I said.

“I have no servants,” he said mildly.

“Well, someone is arguing,” I said.

“Why don’t you have a look?” He proposed with a little smile. “Here, I will help you.”

He put me up on the windowsill. I looked out. The roof was empty, except for a pair of raven ladies. How did I know they were ladies? I had been a witness to a female row only once, but it left an unforgettable impression. Now I heard it again, except it was produced by a different species.

“It is mine,” screeched the bigger one.

“It is my roof,” objected the small of the ravens just as loudly. “I have come here earlier.”

“I was here last year, you little ***,” the bigger yelled back. “Before you were even born.”

“So?” The younger one said. “You moved out and now it is mine…”

The battle cry of the big raven announced that the little discussion was over. I thoughtfully turned away from the flying feathers.

“Do I understand only birds or does it work for any other animals?” I asked.

“For all of them,” Rabbi said seriously. “It will help you on your way and will compensate for your small size.  Now, let me put you in box. I can hear the messenger coming. He is a Christian by the way. My friend, Hadji Nassreddin, is a Muslim, a Turk. I cannot send one of my servants to take you over there because he would not want to be seen to be friends with Jews. His Muslim servants may object coming to my house. So we use a Christian servant of his as a go-between."

He gently lifted me up and placed me onto the layer of silk. The lid closed, and I was left alone in a semidarkness of the box. I checked out the holes. They were big enough to see outside, although they were too small for me to climb through. I attached myself to one of them and observed the new visitor.

"Take this to your Master," Rabbi ordered. He did not respond and studiously ignored Rabbi. He wordlessly picked the box, placed it on his shoulder and extended one hand. Rabbi gave him a few coins. I was carried away and the movements of the box made me feel queasy. I hope I don’t get sick. I cannot imagine how I would survive the trip in such a smell – before I finished the thought, we stopped and I heard snorting from camels. The box was attached to a side of one of the animals. The camel rose to its feet amid general groaning these desert chariots produce when they are about to start a journey. Amid the shouting and yelling of the riders, we set off.

The caravan passed out of the Jerusalem in a few minutes. It was not a large town. I buried myself in my silky prison and made myself so comfortable that I could even enjoy my dinner. I chewed on the date Rabbi gave me and settled for a long wait.

When I woke up, the caravan stood still. I felt a little cold too. Peeking from one of my peepholes, I discovered that we stopped for the night. Tents rose around us. I smelled food being cooked on open fires. I felt hungry again. Everything was quiet, though. The travelers must have already settled for the night and all that was left out there were their dinner leftovers. That would be enough for me. I carefully pushed on the side of the box which the Rabbi said was loose. It noiselessly opened. I tried to close it again. It worked. Satisfied, I climbed out. My camel lay down on the desert sand and slightly turned my head to me.

“Just going for a walk,” I mumbled.

“As you wish,” he responded. Startled, I waved at him and sneaked around his side toward a nearby dying fire. There was a large pot out of which emanated the delicious smell of cooked meat. Now, how do I get in? There was another one nearby, turned upside down. If I could only push it over, I could climb on top of it and perhaps get some food from the first pot. I pushed on the rough metal side of the overturned vessel.

“Help!” A tiny voice cried out. I stepped back. Something was in there. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Bo,” it said in a tiny voice. That did not help much. I picked up a stone and fit it under the edge of the pot. It slightly rose leaving a tiny space under it. I found a bigger stone and widened the hole. After a few trips, there were perhaps two inches high opening under the pot. I squatted. Two yellow eyes stared back at me and a reddish snout stuck out from under the pot. I patted it. It was cold.

“Help,” it said.

“OK,” I worked for a while until the owner of the nose finally crawled out. It shook itself. It looked like a tiny fox with huge ears. A fennec, I remembered.  It was but a baby.

“Hello, Bo.” I said. At this time I got used to my new ability to switch to whatever animal language was used at the moment.

“Hi,” it said. A girl, I decided. She looked delicate.

“What are you doing here? Where is your Mom?”

“I don’t need my Mom around,” it objected vigorously. “I am a big guy now.” So a boy after all.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I am Alex,” I said. “I am a man, only a little one for now.”

“Will you grow up?” He asked.

“I hope so,” I said. “Were you looking for food?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It turned over.” He added unnecessarily.

“OK,” I said. “Now run around, so your Mom doesn’t miss you.” He considered it briefly, then he reached for me, licked me noisily and disappeared in the dark desert. I turned back to my dinner. Finally, I picked a piece of meat of the remaining pot and dragged it out. I chewed as I went back. The camel observed me calmly as I climbed back into my temporary home.

“Good night,” I said.

“Peace be with you,” it answered.

                I woke up with a start. Shrieks, yells and shouts permeated the air. Where was I? It was still dark. Then I remembered. My box shook as the camel rose to its feet. I rolled to a peephole. There was light outside, so it must be morning. What was this about? Then a man stumbled by, holding with both hands an arrow, which stuck out of his chest. I heard the unmistakable ringing of swords and sabers. We were attacked! Don’t we have a guard to protect us against bandits?

The noise of the battle slowly died down and my camel snorted as someone passed by that I could not see. “Questo è,” said a rough voice. This was not Arabic! What happened over there? Were we attacked by Crusaders? No, Crusades happened hundreds of years ago. I decided to wait. If I don’t make any noises, I will not be noticed. I buried myself under the silk. They will not be able to see me even if they open the box. This theory was tested soon enough. I felt the box being removed from the camel’s side and carried away by a heavily breathing man. Finally, they dropped me down on the ground. I braced myself for the investigation and slid all way to the bottom. The lid squeaked and let in daylight. “La Seta,” someone said, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

“Apage,” someone said roughly. Hands buried inside the silk, I frantically crawled into a corner.

“Where are you?” I heard a growl in Arabic. He tossed out the top layers of silk revealing my minute self. I looked up to the face of the Father Angelico. He grabbed me and brought me up closely to his face.

“So? You thought you got away my pretty?” He turned around and shouted: “We have what we wanted. Bring me the cage.” One of his servants – an Arab! – ran toward him. He was carrying a small bird cage.

“You will be safe there,” Father Angelico told me. “You will not get away until I say so.”

When the evening came, my captor settled in a tent fit for Arabian nights. The walls were red and a thick carpet covered the ground. My cage hung from one of the supports, about four feet above the ground. I was not alone as there was another cage holding a sad-looking parrot. Father Angelico said in a lushly padded chair. Next to him stood a little stand covered with a red cloth.  He observed me with an unpleasant grin.

“You are even smaller than Pope here,” he told me and nodded to the parrot. “I wonder if he would eat you if I put you guys together?”

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Let me show you,” he said. He picked up a glass of water and patted on its edge a large ring he wore on his right hand. A tiny lid opened in the ring and a purple powder fell into the water. He stirred it, opened the door of the Pope’s cage and filled the parrot’s bowl.

“Observe,” he said. Pope studiously ignored the purplish water.

“He knows if he drinks it, he dies. This is the problem with the real Pope as well. No matter what I do, he avoids all my gentle nudges that should send him on his way to heaven.”

“So you want to kill the Pope?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he agreed amicably. “It is time for a new Lord of Christendom. Even Muslims agree with me as you could see. They helped me to hunt you down. Them and my spies, of course, including those in the house of your friend the Rabbi. I know where you were going.”

“Why are they helping you?” I asked.

“I offered them a few gifts,” he said vaguely. “Sicily, Venice…, places like that. Nothing of interest to you. What is important for you is that you will help me to do what I did. You will deliver to Pope a little gift from me. Secretly, of course. Big men failed. It is time to try a homunculus.”

 “I can help you here,” I said cautiously. If he wants me to do it, he has to let me out of his sight. Let him think I will do it.

 “So agreeable, aren’t we?” He grinned. “You must think I am an idiot and probably think you will run away once I let you out. I got a little insurance to make sure you do exactly what I want you to do.”  He turned to the little table next to him and pulled off its red cover. I stifled a scream. On the stand sat a head of a blond-haired woman. Its eyes were closed, but its face was that of Marie.

“See?” Father Angelico said triumphantly. “I know who you are. That sorcerer, Kelley, is watched by my spies. You will do what I want if you want to go back to your time.”

You will never let me, I thought to myself glumly, as I observed him to leave the tent.

He ignored me for the rest of the day which his little army spent looting the caravan treasures. When the dusk settled down, I was still alone. Not completely alone, though. I looked at Pope. He was quiet all day.

“Hi there,” I said. “Can you talk?”

“You bet,” he answered promptly. I thought parrot don’t really know what they are saying? Then I realized we spoke in, well, Parrotian.

“Don’t drink that stuff,” I told him.

“I know,” he said irritably. “Have not you noticed?”

“How did you know it is a poison?” I asked.

“He tried it once before,” he said. “I was sick all day.” A scratchy noise from below attracted my attention. I looked around the tent. A pair of enormous ears stuck from under the chair.

“Bo!” I called gently.

“A friend of yours?” Pope observed.

“Yeah,” I said. “Bo!” He came out.

“I cannot reach you,” he said. “I cannot jump that high.” I hesitated, then I turned to Pope.

“You know, we could get out if you help.”

“I thought you would never ask,” Pope retorted. “If we just swing those cages, we could catch each other’s door and work on the lock.”

“Let’s try that,” I said. A few seconds of hard work did the trick. Pope held the bars of my cage in his beak and I feverishly worked on the cute little metal bar which kept Pope’s cage closed. I lifted it up and the cage’s door swung open.

 “I could do it myself,” Pope said, “except I could not reach the bar from inside.”

“Can you stop it and open mine?” I demanded. Finally, my door was open. I listened to outside noises. They were having dinner out there, and a hell of a time. That was fine with me. I jumped. The carpet softened my fall. Bo came and sniffed me over.

“I am fine,” I said.

I turned to Pope. “How will you get out?”

“I will just wait when he comes in and opens the flap. Then I fly out before he knows what happens,” he said. I waved at him and dived under the tent’s edge, where Bo dug a hole to get in. I took a deep breath of the desert air once I got out. Now, which way to Babylon? I found the North Star. Babylon must be toward East. I hesitated, then I asked Bo: “Are you coming with me?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Does your Mom know about it?”

“I am big…,” he started indignantly.

“Yes,  I know,” I quickly agreed. “In this case, do you think you could carry me?”

“Like a horse?”

“Like a horse,” I agreed. He pulled himself taller.

“Hop on,” he said. I mounted my new ride.

“This way,” I said. We were off.

Homunculus Chapter 7

                          JERUSALEM

 

  The desert was deep below us. Arrow, perhaps happy that he regained his strength, kept climbing up and up.  The sun rays beat on my hair. I felt somewhat like Ikaros. I was pretty sure we cannot get close enough to the sun to burn us, but it was beginning to feel that way. Arrow flew south again. The desert sprung spots of dark green here and there. Then a flash of blue announced a major lake. Was it a lake? It was long and narrow and there were no boats on it. When we passed its northern edge, I saw dark shadows under the still water. They were regular and formed lines almost like streets. The only large volume of water in the Holy Land was held by the Dead Sea. If this were the Dead Sea, those shadows are the sunken cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. I shook my head. How long until Jerusalem? Not long.

Arrow, honoring his name, flew fast. A few hours later I saw an edge of a large town. The edge was formed by tall walls. Beyond it sparkled the golden dome of the Al-Aqsa mosque. We were almost there. I gave up all attempts to give Arrow directions. Now it was up to him. He made a slow circle over the ancient churches in the center. Golgotha stood out in the sun like it did 2,000 years ago. 1,600 years ago, I corrected myself. The town was small and did not look much enlarged beyond its walls from the times of Christ. The streets were busy and the cries of sellers rose all way to me. There were carts passing through the narrow streets and men. Only men, that is. I had a hard time trying to find a woman. We were after all in the Islam’s third most important city and this was the height of the Ottoman Empire. Kelly said his friend was a Rabbi,  where were his people?

Arrow banked to the right and quickly descended toward a flat-roofed house in the center of the town. A flash of green announced there was a garden behind it – certainly a rare sight in this crowded place. The owner must have been rich. Arrow flew toward a window which sat in a little room that was built on the roof and settled on the windowsill. I could not see anything inside; my eyes, full of the brightness of the sun took some time to adjust. A hand reached toward Arrow from the room. I saw the wrinkles and hair on the large knuckles. Arrow hopped on the old man’s arm and let himself to be carried inside.

“Oy!” a gruff voice exclaimed in surprise. He must have seen me.

“Hello!” I said. “Good morning!” I corrected myself. That was probably not going to work either.

“”Assalamu aleikum,” I offered.

“Peace be with you too,” said someone. My eyes have gotten used to the darkness inside and I surveyed my host. He did the same on his part.

“A homunculus!” He exclaimed. “So Kelley spoke the truth!”

“What truth?” I asked while slowly releasing my belts. He looked friendly, but I stayed wary. Call it the effect of experience. He had a long white beard, a skull cap which as far as I could tell covered a bald head, a long red nose and friendly eyes, which watched me from a field of wrinkles. He was dressed in a long brown robe. The room itself looked very much like the Kelley’s study, but it had in a corner a long brass tube in a tripod. Its mouth cases the window and the sky. He had a telescope! In this day and age? Did Galileo invent it yet and my host heard of it or was he a middle east Galileo himself?

“What truth?” I asked cautiously.

“He always said he had a spell to make a homunculus,” Explained the old man. “Mind you, I always thought he is a braggart. Talented, yes, but always prone to stretch the truth and cut corners. Are not you a homunculus?”

”I am,” I conceded reluctantly.

“Did he make you out of clay?”

“No,” I said. “I accidentally discovered the spell and it threw me from my time to this century and shrank me on the way.”

“Really?” He said. He nervously and somewhat eagerly rubbed his hands.

“I cannot wait to hear about it. Can I offer you something?”

I slid off Arrow’s back onto the windowsill.

“Oh, how thoughtless of me! May I carry you over? You cannot just stay there.”

I shrugged. He flitted around and suddenly produced a little chair which he placed on a table.

“This is a toy of my granddaughter,” he said proudly. He picked me up gently and placed me into the chair. It WAS comfortable.

“I will feed your feathery friend and will be right here. He promised. He slipped out of the room and returned promptly with a dead rat.

 “We have these in house from time to time,” he said apologetically. “The streets are full of them and sometimes they get in.”

He placed it on the windowsill and Arrow immediately began to feed himself. I turned away my eyes. His table manners left something to be desired.

“So tell me, my little friend, what is your name?” Said the Rabbi as he pulled a chair to the table. “Wait, I did not introduce myself I am Rabbi Loew? This is my house. My dear old wife lives with me. Alas,” he made a face, “My children have grown up and set up their own households. So I amuse myself by studying nature.” He spread his hands.

“My name is Alex Khyan,” I said. “I am a student too. I live in America. The Land of Amerigo, as you call it now, I understand. I live in the twenty first century. I lived there until I performed my little experiment and got pulled over.”

“You are from the future,” the Rabbi whispered. “You must tell me about it. Is everybody as small as that in America?”

“No,” I growled. “That spell did that.”

“This is not the right way to make a homunculus,” Rabbi sighed. “Now, I wonder why Edward sent you?”

“He wants me to bring him the Seal of Solomon. He will then send me back home,” I said.

 Rabbi watched me for  a moment in silence. “The Seal of Solomon? Why does he want that?”

“Demons are chasing him,” I said.

“Do they? I thought they may do so,” he smiled sadly. “So he thinks the Seal of Solomon will help him? How Edwardian. Of course, if he does not get it, he will keep you here as a slave, will not he?”

“Do you know how to send me back?” I asked hopefully. He shook his head. “Kelley has that special Emerald Tablet,” he said.

“Can you give me the Seal of Solomon then ?” I asked. He shook his head.

”I don’t have it, of course. I think Edward overestimates my humble powers.” My heart sank.

“Where could I get it then?”

“Do you know what is the Seal of Solomon?” He asked instead. It was my turn to say no.

 “Do you know of King Solomon?” He asked doubtfully.

“I do.”

“Excellent. So his fame lasts. So what did King Solomon do?”

“He judged those two women who were arguing over a child,” I remembered. “He offered to cut it into two parts and…”

“Yes,” Rabbi lifted his hands. “People always remember that story. So let me ask you something else. What did he build?” OK, I was not that much into the bible. In fact, I read the story I brought up on the internet somewhere That said, this should be easy, since Kelley already told me.

“The Temple?” I offered.

“Exactly, young man,” Rabbi cried. “You know your history.”  If he only knew the truth.

“He built the Temple,” Rabbi continued. “Not the Temple you see today or whatever is left of it, naturally. That was the Temple before that. It was a magnificent one. It was so great that he needed the help of Demons. He was a also great magician and had a Ring that controlled them. The Ring with the Seal of Solomon. Once the demon, Sakhr, stole the Ring and ruled in the place of Solomon for forty days, Solomon was thrown into poverty. Sakhr then threw the Ring into the sea, where it was swallowed by a fish. A fisherman caught it and the fish was served to Solomon, who thus retrieved the Ring.”

“And Kelley wants the Ring,” I finished. “So where is it? Did Solomon give it to someone?”

 “No,” Rabbi shook his head.

“So it is in his grave?” I asked. Where is he buried?”

“So you would desecrate his grave?” Rabbi asked. I would, but I did not say anything.

“Someone already did,” Rabbi continued. “There was a group of knights, I am sure you never heard of them and they are long gone. They dug under the Temple and found the grave. Few people knew. They found a treasure, which made them rich. They did not find the Ring, though, as far as I know. Anyway, they are long gone.”

“Do you mean Templars?” He raised his eyebrows.

“You know about them? The things people remember.”

“Where is the Ring then?” I asked. Rabbi sighed.

“This is only a conjecture, of course. I thought about it for years and there could be only one place. Long after Solomon, the Jewish Nation was taken to the captivity. They took their treasures with them.”

“Babylon?” I asked.

“Babylon,” he nodded seriously.

“Can you take me to Babylon?” I asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I am, as a leader of our community, under observation by our current rulers.” I snapped my fingers:

“Of course, it should be easy anyway. I will take Arrow.” Rabbi shook his head.

“He is a smart bird, but only a bird. He is trained to fly to Jerusalem and back to Kelley. He will not go somewhere else.”

“So what am I going to do then?” I asked.

“You will need to go yourself,” Rabbi said.

“How can I ?” I said. “In this body?”

“The small size can be an advantage,” Rabbi said seriously. “You can hide. I will hide you with a friend, but I will not show you even to him. His caravan is going to Baghdad tomorrow. I will send you as a package. At the right moment, you will get out. They will be passing Babylon fairly close, although not that close. People are afraid of the place. They say it is haunted.”

“Is it?” I asked. Rabbi spread his hands.

“I don’t know. People always imagine things. I will give you something to help. Kelley has one Emerald Tablet, but I have others.”

Homunculus - Chapter 6

                            THE CASTLE

 

 

The castle walls blocked out the sun. We were in a corner of what was once a courtyard. I checked Arrow. His breathing was fast and shallow. He needed water. I looked around me. The walls were dark and contrasted with the yellow desert sand. There should be a well somewhere. After a moment of hesitation, I decided to climb the huge tower across the courtyard. Its top was missing, but it was still the highest point of the castle.

The stairs in the tower were crumbling which as usual was an advantage in my current diminutive from. As I climbed, I saw carved crosses in every wall and niche. I frowned. We were in the lands of the prophet, Ottomans and Islam. This castle must be from the time of Crusades. Finally, I reached the top. There! I found the well! It was in a second courtyard behind a wall. However, I could get there if I exited the tower at its opposite side. I got down as quickly as I could because Arrow must have been getting worse. I reached the well, but how was I going to get the water out? Was there water? I picked a stone and tossed it in. It landed with a thud. Dismayed, I turned away. What are we going to do?

I raced back to Arrow. He was still breathing with his eyes closed. I leaned against him and awkwardly patted his head. He did not respond. The night descended.

Did I close my eyes? I did not think so. Yet, perhaps after one hour, the darkness suddenly metamorphosed in to a day. A roar penetrated the silence. I was surrounded by a gaggle of knights, resplendent in their white cloaks with a red cross, fielding huge swords. They fought something outside my sight. I rose and peered between their legs. I spotted the white robes of the desert warriors whose faces reddened as they fought the heavily armed Crusaders.

The battle rolled around me. The waves of white robes came and broke on the heavy crusader armor. I cautiously rose and shuffled out of the way, close to the wall. This was all the more necessary since I was back to my normal size.  The swords rung when they met each other and muffled cries announced deaths of the attackers. The knights were holding out for a long time, but they too fell, one by one. I made it past a corner and almost stumbled on a fallen Crusader. He laid down, his white robe stained red, around him bodies of his enemies. He watched me through the narrow slit in his helmet and asked:

“Who are you?”

“I am Alex,” I said, startled.

“You are not Death?”

“No, why should you think so?”

“I can see the wall behind you through your body.” Oh.

“I think perhaps we do not come from the same time,” I said. “Perhaps I am dreaming of you.”

“I am dying and I am not dreaming. I don't see how you could dream of me,” he said and fell silent for a minute.

“What are you doing here? You can not beat the Saracens. I tried, but there are just too many of them. You will follow me and die.”

“I don't want to beat them. I don't know how I can see you, but I really come from a different time. I came here by an accident and just want to go home.”

“A good idea,” he said and smiled weakly. “I would like to ask you something. Do you know where Chartres is?”

“ I do.”

He reached to his neck and pulled at a chain around it. From behind his armor came a diminutive cross who wore next to his skin. He kissed it. My wife gave it to me. My name is Geoffrey de Chartres. Can you take it back to Chartres and give it to her?” He frowned.

“Did you say you are from a different time?”

“The 21st century,” I confirmed.

“In this case, please burry it at the grave of my wife and children. Please?”

“Of course,” I said, choking back my tears. He slid his chain off his neck. I reached for it. The moment I touched it, the world changed. I stood in a dusty corridor in a ruined castle, was six inches tall, and I realized I must have been sleepwalking.

I turned and stumbled over something. I looked down. At my feet lay a skeleton of a man, half-encased in an ancient armor. There were remnants of a cloak too and without much difficulty, I recognized the Crusader. Did I imagine in my sleep that I talked to him? He was surrounded by other skeletons, unarmored and having in their bony hands and under their bodies ancient sabres.   Just like my dream.

I nervously squeezed the cross – wait – what? I held the Crusader’s cross that he gave me. He wanted me to give it to his wife, I remembered. I placed it gently in my pocket. Then I recalled Arrow. Was he still alive? I must check on him. I turned to leave when I caught a glimpse of metal among the dead bones of one of the Islamic warriors. I bent down and picked a brass long-necked bottle. So he took something to drink with him into the battle? Would there be something after all those centuries? What a silly idea, I told myself. You must be losing it, I kept arguing, as I went ahead and opened the bottle. I turned it upside down. Nothing. What did you expect? Then the air in front of me moved. It was still transparent, but somehow it changed and twisted the shape of bricks behind it like a mirror in a funhouse. I closed my eyes to make it go away. When I opened them, the air…thing was still there, but now it grew a pair of eyes. They were human-like, if I discount their yellow color. I suppressed a shudder and an urge to pee. Yet I could not move away. I stood absolutely still, as if I encountered a wild tiger. Will it go away? Perhaps I have just gone mad?

“You know the rules,” it spoke in Arabic which happened to be my mother tongue.

“What rules?” My teeth chattered. I hoped it did not notice.

“Your teeth chatter,” it observed. “That’s not part of the rules, although I notice humans do that in my presence. The rules are as follows: You release a Jinn and have three wishes. Except I am a lazy Jinn and I was locked up only for a few hundred years, so you get only one wish.”

“What kind of wish?” I asked. The eyes rolled up.

“Whatever you most desire at this moment.”

“Water for my hawk?” I croaked.

“Is that so? Usually people wish riches or something.”

“Water for my hawk,” I repeated.

“Why?” it asked.

“It is hurt and it would help.”

“How about I fix it?” It offered.  “Water could be a bonus. It is really easy.”

“OK,” I agreed.

“You know, you are very small,” observed the Jinn critically, apparently unwilling to let go an opportunity to have a chat after the time spent in his bottle.

 “I am a homunculus,” I explained. “If I bring back to the alchemist who made me the Seal of Solomon, he will let me go back to my time and grow to my old size.”

“Nasty,” the Jinn clucked his tongue or whatever it had in place of his tongue. “The Seal of Solomon? That’s some demand. I think it will be a bit easier on you if I give you the ability to see more of the spirits of the desert.”

“I would like to know why it would make it easier?” I asked. “This question amounts to a fourth wish,” the Jinn said and I had a distinct feeling he grinned. “I think I already fulfilled three wishes and I only promised one. I think I am getting soft in my old age. If you want to make the spirits disappear, though, just say ‘Enlil’.” 

A screech startled me.

“I think your mighty steed is here,” the Jinn said. I spun around. Behind me stood Arrow with spread wings and screeched more threats at the Jinn.

 “He does not mean it,” I turned back to Jinn, but there was only more air, this time of the untwisted type. I sighed.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Arrow and carefully checked him out. Where was the wound was only an unbroken glossy feather coat, and he jumped around on the wounded leg as if it never got attention from a bunch of pirates.

“You are fine,” I told him. How about the water the Jinn promised? I mounted him and patted him trying to get back to his old resting site. Perhaps something was left there? Instead, he made a line for the old empty well. Even from the distance,I heard the sound of bubbling water. It spilled over the well’s edge and watered the arid sand. I fell to my knees and stuck my head under its surface. The life was good. Then I remembered who I was. Still a homunculus. Jerusalem should be close, though. I climbed on Arrow’s back.

“Shall we go?”

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Homunculus - Chapter 5

            ON THE HAWK’S WINGS

 

 

The hunter showed up. He was dressed in a leather shirt this time, and on his shoulder sat a huge bird. It was a hawk. The raptor did not have on his head the little cap I remembered falconers use to cover its eyes. Instead, it observed the room, turning its head slightly back and forth. Then our eyes met. For a second, it stared at me, but then it spread its wings and was on me in a flash. I was petrified and could not move. A huge claw closed on me.

“No! Stop!” I heard Jakub’s shout. The hawk did not release its grip, but instead it watched me carefully. It looked…puzzled. Can birds be puzzled? Does not puzzlement require a certain level of intelligence?

“Let him go,” Jakub ordered. The hawk released its grip and flapped its wings. It landed again in Jakub’s shoulder.

“If he is not good for anything else, we could always use him to feed Arrow,” Kelley observed.

“What did you wish from me, Milord?” Jakub asked.

“So how is Arrow these days?” Kelley answered with a question.

“He is in great shape, Milord,” Jakub said enthusiastically. “Why, even yesterday, he hunted down a fox.”

“Glad to hear that,” Kelley mumbled, clearly thinking already about something else. “Does he still remember the Way?”

“He made it there and back again only two years ago, Milord,” Jakub said. “I would wage he remembers it just fine.”

“I have a new package for him,” Kelley said and nodded toward me.

“Him, Milord?” Jakub asked hesitantly. “Do you wish that little thing to get there dead or alive?”

“Alive, of course,” Kelley said. “What is the problem? Are you afraid Arrow will eat our Homunculus on the way?”

“Not only that, Milord,” Jakub said with refreshing honesty. “Arrow flies fast and high.  That little thing may not be able to take it.”

“Nonsense,” Kelley said. “We just wrap tie him up well and he will be fine. It takes only several days, doesn’t it?”

“Who knows, Milord,” Jakub shrugged. “Arrow will not tell me.” Kelley tuned to me.

“You will fly on the wings of a hawk,” he observed. “Is not it a mankind’s dream?”

“Not mine,” I said and continued since I did not have a choice, did I:

“Where do you want me to fly?”

“To the Holy land,” he answered. “To Jerusalem.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Jakub bring the harness,” Kelley turned to his servant. “Also, bring some food for him and tell Marie to come.” He waited until the door closed after Jakub and then he turned to me:

“You will visit my friend, Rabbi Loew. Those Mohammedans still let Jews live in Jerusalem. You will bring him my greetings and bring something back to me. Don’t come back without it. I will not let you go back to your time unless you bring it.”

“Bring what?” I asked.

“The Seal of Solomon,” he said and waited for an effect. When he saw my blank look, he sighed.

“You are not big on Bible, are you,” he said conversationally.

“I know of Solomon,” I objected. “Do you mean that Jewish King?”

“Yes, that one,” Kelley shook his head. “I think I may have to refresh your memory. I am not sure if it is still in the Bible anyway. Solomon built the Temple, right?”

“Right,” I agreed.

“When he did it, he used the help of Demons,” Kelley continued.  “To command them, he had a ring. Like this.” He rose from his chair and stumbled over to a bookshelf. I guessed he has been drinking since he woke up. He caught the bookshelf and muttering to himself, pulled off a book. He dropped it on the table, missing me by an inch, and opened the heavy parchment pages.

“Here,” he said triumphantly.  I ambled over. The book was thick and reached up to my waist even when opened in the middle. I pulled myself up.

“You are about as big as the big letters,” Kelley observed. Indeed. Some of the colorful letters were pretty big.

“Look here.” I walked over to where Kelley laid his dirty finger. There was a drawing. It looked a lot like a Star of David.

“This is the Seal of Solomon,” Kelley said reverently. “If you have it, or if you even seal something with a wax and push it into it, you can lock a Demon away.”

“So you know how it looks like,” I said. “Why don’t you make your own?” Kelley frowned.

 “You are not as stupid as you look.” Thanks for the compliment, I thought to myself.

“I tried to make it, but it did not work. There must be some charm on the original seal. It cannot be just the picture.” 

“You could just send a letter,” I said. “You don’t need me to go there.”

“I could,” Kelley agreed, “but I figure that it will be better if I send you. For one thing, you can plead my case. The Rabbi’s weakness is that he is too soft. He will be more inclined to listen to you since you really want to go home. For another thing, he is a great scholar. He is not as good alchemist as me though, and he will be impressed when he sees you. Now, where are my lazy servants?”

Marie was the first of the “lazy servants” to show up.

“Can I have him back?” She asked when she entered the room.

“We are having a party. I want him to dance with Elizabeth.”

“Your doll party can wait,” Kelley said. Her face fell.

“You can have him back,“ he said, when he saw it, “but first I need to play him a hero…yes, hero, that’s it.”

“A hero?” Marie repeated. My little George will be a hero?” She clapped her hands. “This will be wonderful.” She picked me up lovingly.

“You will be a hero, Georgie. It is just like you.”

It was exactly not like me.

“His name is Alex,” Kelley said. “But never mind. I would like George to go do something for me, something like slaying a dragon. I don’t want him to be cold. Do you have some clothes he could wear?”

“Of course,” Marie said happily. “We will have a dress up party, Georgie, won’t we?”

 “Sure,” I said. This just could not get more embarrassing.

Marie kept her word and before I knew it, I was dressed up in a long furry coat. It reached all way to my knees. If nothing else, her dolls had a great wardrobe. Jakub meantime showed up, was sent away again, and soon I was tied up in a harness on Arrows back. The bird tolerates it well.

“I thought you use pigeons to carry messages,” I told Kelley. “I heard they do it in the East,” he agreed. “That’s why I trained the falcon. If pigeons can do it, why not big birds?” “

Did you give him some food” He asked Jakub. “I gave him a bag of meat and bread crumbs, Milord,” Jakub said and patted a little bag that was tied next to me. It must have been originally used to carry coins.

“Are any peasants still out there?” Kelley asked. “No? Let’s release Arrow, then.”

Jakub carried me to the tower of the castle. I looked down at the forest below. It looked far away and I hoped Arrow did not fly any higher than that.

“Forward!” Jakub barked. The mighty wings spread and the trees below fell away. I turned my head and saw rapidly diminishing figures of Kelley and Jakub. Arrow rose in circles and finally turned to South to where I guessed lay the Holy Land. We were off.

 

                                                                    ***

Arrow rose and rose. The air became cold and wind slashed at my face. My eyes teared up. How am I going to make it all the way to Jerusalem? I snuggled into Arrow’s feathers. The hawk was huge and its wings spanned at least two feet. We must have stayed high in the air for hours. Then I felt Arrow slowing down. I dared to look up from my nest. He turned to the left and started to circle down. What was it looking for? I looked down. There was a forest still, but now I recognized a clearing here and there. We were going down. Then Arrow turned its head down and fell like a rock. I held on for dear life. What was it doing? We sped down toward the mighty trees which never met an axe of a lumberjack nor human beings at all. Arrow slashed through the branches and just when I thought we are going to die, it spread its wings to slow down the fall, and I saw something brown down in the clearing. It moved fast, turning left and right, but Arrow was faster. Its claws caught the furry back of the creature and the mighty beak struck and struck again.  I sported the long ears and realized we caught a rabbit. It screamed briefly and stopped to struggle. Arrow settled down and started to tear it apart with its beak. Blood splashed over me, pushing away any idea that it was time to have dinner.

Arrow happily engorged himself completely ignoring his sickened cargo (I have decided to call Arrow HE at this point due to his table manners).  Then the spectacle was finally over and Arrow flapped his wings and settled on a branch of an ancient pine. I waited until he fell asleep and then I quietly loosened my harness. I needed to eat something. I almost woke up Arrow and stopped myself from cursing loudly by sheer power of will. My bag was empty! It got loose at one point or another and all my food fell out. I slipped off the Arrow’s back. I remembered distinctly that that I saw some berries down there.  I climbed down the tree which reminded me of a mountain and found raspberries at its bottom. They were huge, each one was the size of two watermelons. Or perhaps it was the other way down and I was a bit small? No matter. I buried myself inside one of them. They were sweet and grant. I sighed in satisfaction, just when a claw squeezed me. Arrow found me. I turned my head in terror. What was he going to do here when he didn’t have a falconer to control him? His grip loosened and I crawled from under his claw. I tried to move away, and he leaned forward and screeched.

“Nice birdie,” I tried. That did not seem to mollify him. I moved toward him. He did not mind that. I touched his feathers – nothing. I tried to climb on his back. He was fine with it. So that was it? He was going to deliver me to Jerusalem whether I liked it or not. I turned back under his watchful eye, picked up one rather heavy raspberry and put it into my pack. That should be good enough for another day at least. Arrow waited until I settled down and then he took off again. It was going to be a long flight.

We stayed over the forest for another day, but it slowly gave way to fields. Arrow liked to fly during the day, sleep during the night, and hunted in the morning. He circled a few times today, looking for food, but the fields seemed strangely empty. It was spring and one would think that farmers would be about and mice would look for seeds farmers thoughtfully provided. Instead, the fields were desolate. Arrow apparently decided that no breakfast was running about here and continued south. Before long I saw a vast blue expanse, sparkling in the sun. Sea! But which one? I guessed we must have reached Mediterranean. There was even a town. No, not a town. It was a large city built on the sea shore. In fact the sea reached in, winding among the houses while forming sea lanes and streets. I realized it must be Venice. 

Arrow did not seem to be eager to make friends with citizens on La Serenissima, and instead made a beeline for a dead horse which lay right before the gates. He landed on the body and the smell almost suffocated me. I coughed.

“Why did you do it?” I asked my feathered friend querulously, but of course it was pointless. He was hungry and that was it. I climbed down deciding to wait nearby for Arrow to finish his breakfast. I was stopped by another body; this time it was a human. I looked it over carefully. The horse had an arrow in him, but the man did not seem to be hurt. Instead he had a blackened face and a protruding tongue. My heart jumped when I realized the truth. He was killed by plague and the horse was shot to prevent him from entering the city and spreading the disease.

“La Diablo!” I heard a scream behind me. I turned around and cursed. There was a cart approaching, protected by several armed soldiers. A black-clothed person rose in the cart and I recognized a priest. His smooth-shaven face contorted in terror and hatred and he screamed again. A spear hit the ground near me. I did not wait. I ran toward Arrow, but he already took off in an alarm. I panicked. If I can only make it to the forest, I would be safe. There was something on the horizon to my left. I just needed to cross the road. I darted across the dusty line, but I forgot my size. A soldier took a few steps and a hand closed around me. I was lifted up and brought to the priest. He made a sign of the cross over me. That made no difference, of course. He leaned his face to me:

 “Cosa sei?” He asked.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Inglese!” the priest exclaimed, looking surprised. “Giovanni!” He turned to a soldier.

After a short exchange, another soldier was brought out of the retinue. He looked at me fearfully. I was still held by my original captor. Nobody seemed very eager to take over.

“Father Angelico wants to know what are you,” he said. There was an accent…where did I hear it before?

“I am a homunculus,” I explained. “Not a Devil. An alchemist made me. He wanted me to go to Jerusalem to bring a holy relic.” I decided to keep it simple.

“I am John,” he said.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“I had to leave once the English turned to the Devil,” he spat out. “I am a good Christian.  Obey Pope.” “Oh. I recalled that the English Church just split from the Catholic Church.

“Are you a heretic?” He asked.

“No,” I said.

He turned to the priest, jabbering quickly in what must have been Latin or Italian.

“A homunculus,” Father Angelico repeated thoughtfully. Then he asked something.

“Monsignor wants to know if you speak another language.”

“Arabic,” I said and instantly regretted it. This cannot go over well at this time and age.

“Surprisingly,” the priest said, “so do I.” He reached for me.

“We will talk, you and I. You can be useful. You will be useful,” he said and squeezed me. “You will be my tool to the Pope’s throne.  If you help, I will let you go. If not, I will have you burnt at stake like the Devil you likely are. Understood?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

 “Nobody can understand us, so here is what you will do,” he said and climbed back on his cart. He barked an order and we moved on. “You will go to Rome and give Pope a gift from me. Do you agree?”

“I do,” I said. He released his grip a bit. That was all I needed. I bent down and bit his thumb. He yelped and dropped me. I landed well, jumped off the cart and I ran into the field.  I have to find some hiding place. There! I spotted a mouse hole. Or perhaps rabbit? I jumped in. I heard steps moving around. They were looking for me. Finally, the noise of pursuit and loud argument receded. I decided to wait.

Arrow did not return the whole day. I was hungry and there was a city nearby. I had to get some food. If you can avoid the plague, a little voice whispered in my head. I walked through the night. By morning I finally made it inside. I sneaked past the streets moving toward the center. Where could I get some food? At last morning came and with it carts of the street vendors. The noise of the morning Venice was overwhelming. So was the bustle, but I easily hid in the many holes in the facades of Venetian palazzos. My small size had some advantages.

Finally, I spotted a fruit stand. The vendor was dressed in tatters, in contrast to his gleaming peaches and oranges. It was early spring. Where did he get them? There must be a lot of trade between Venice and South. The thought of food pushed everything else out of my head. I crept to the stand which required passing a few feet of pavement between the wall and the water on whose edge the stand rested. I negotiated the obstacle successfully, stealthy and unseen, and sidled toward a pile of peaches. I could not resist and bit into one right there. I could not carry it away anyway, could I?

The taste was heavenly. I stuffed myself for a few moments never noticing the face above. Then I was lifted into the air and placed on a little table.

“Cosa sei?” Said the vendor, whose dirty face with a stubble leaned toward me.

“I don’t understand,” I said. This was getting repetitive.

 “Huh?” He scratched his head.

“Homunculus,” I offered, looking for an exit.

“Homunculus,” he brightened in understanding.

“Homunculus, venite a guardare,” he screamed.

A stampede answered. A gaggle of Venetians, excited and gesticulating, surrounded me. There were ladies dressed as peacocks and wore beautiful masks. There were black clad nobles, also wearing masks. Was it time for the Venice Festival? And, of course, commoners whose faces were mercifully all human. Multitude of faces and masks leaned over me.

“Cedere,” I heard an authoritative voice. The crowd split. Walking toward me, I saw to my horror the priest I encountered in the morning. Our eyes met. For a second he looked stunned, and then he screamed.

“Diablo!”

 I ran. I ran among the legs stumbling over some and finally being kicked by one of them. I sailed through the air passing over a smelly strip of water and before I had time to think, landed on a gondola. Its cargo consisted of bales of cloth and I landed safely. The owner, a grubby looking guy with bulging muscles made a grab for me. I dived between the bales and scrambled away toward the front of the boat. The screams from the bank continued. The gondola turned toward them. I realized he is going to land! I had to get off before the crowd and the priest arrived. I scrambled onto the tip of the bow and looked for the dry land. It was only a few feet away, but to me in the homunculus shape it looked like a mile of water to cross. Should I try to jump regardless? I know I can move relatively fast for the size of my body and perhaps  could make it. The gondola moved closer, perhaps only four feet from the bank. I jumped. Still in the air, I realized I was not going to make. Just then, something grabbed the back of my shirt, and I quickly rose up away from the water and the mad mob. I turned my head slightly. The Arrow’s beak firmly held onto me and it carried me away from the danger towards the land outside the city.

                                                          ***

We continued our trip for two more days. This time, I was glad Arrow avoided the vicinity of cities. I had no wish for my “Diablo” reputation to follow me. We skirted the Adriatic coast, until the vast vista of Meditteranean opened in front of us. Arrow flied straight to the south. It took many hours before I saw a hazy shore of an island. There were small harbors, filled with boats and ships of all sizes. A few times I spotted a large ship with rows of oars periodically rising and falling at her sides. I fished in my memory – these must be galleys, the principal fighting ships of late Middle ages. I saw something else, too. Their flags sported the familiar half moon emblem. We have crossed into the realm of the Ottoman Empire. The island we ultimately landed on thus must be Cyprus, the land of Aphrodite.

We were getting close. Arrow landed on a secluded beach and I checked my bag. There were still some berries I picked up during the last time we stopped in a forest. I also had some meat, which was a courtesy of a careless merchant who decided to stop for a night in a roadside inn near our night camp and forgot to tie up the bag with his lunch. Come to think of it, it would not help if he tied it up anyway. I became rather adept at getting into places I was not wanted in. Necessity is a great teacher.

When I had my lunch, Arrow went away to get his own. I settled down. The Holy Land is just across a stretch of sea. Once Arrow finds the Rabbi’s house, I am going to plead my case. We just have to be careful on the way back and avoid cities.

Arrow returned with his belly full. I mounted my faithful steed and we took off. The sun was high and the air ambrosial. I felt I could sing. We flew for hours. I figured we will be there soon. Then, deep down, I saw a ship. It sported a flag I saw in Venice. Curiosity seized me. Were they merchants? I patted Arrow on his neck. At this time, we developed an understanding, which meant he listened to my signals whenever he pleased. He did this time and descended toward the ship. I saw men spotted us and gesticulated toward us. That was strange. So much attention to a single bird? Did they see me on the Arrow’s back? I saw a priest pointing toward us. Another one? There was an awful lot of priests in Venice for my comfort. I decided that prudency was the best policy and urged Arrow forward. He did not need my encouragement and his strong wings flapped fast. However, it was too late, and a dozen of arrows raced toward us. Did they see me or did they do it for sport? Perhaps they regarded the hawk to be a bad omen? Arrow banked to the right and then resumed southwest course. Suddenly, he shuddered and we fell down a hundred feet. He then flapped his wings again, but with a visible struggle. I leaned cautiously and looked down – there was an arrow hanging from his right thigh. It did not go deep and the falcon struggled on. I loosened my belt and climbed down to his leg. I hesitated for a moment, then I tore away a piece of my shirt and gripped with my other hand the arrow’s neck. I held with all my strength on the belt which held me on the bird with my legs and then I pulled on the arrow. It came out. I dropped it, transferred the piece of my shirt from my other hand and stuffed it into the wound. It stained red. Arrow rose up as the loss of the arrowhead clearly relieved him. He was losing blood, though. I scanned the horizon, and to my relief, I saw a dark strip of land in front of us. The bird saw it too. It glided toward it until we were over the rocky and sandy shore. He continued farther inland, carried by winds, until in front of us loomed dark, forbidding walls. He flapped one more time and made it just past it. Then he landed with a thud beyond the wall of a ruined but mighty castle. I got off. Arrow sat down, his eyes closed. We were in the Holy Land. Were we going to die here?

Homunculus - Chapter 4

                              DEMONS

 

 

“Master, Master!” The door burst open, waking me up from the precious sleep. I saw all around me plush velvet and at felt disoriented. Then I recalled the awful reality. I am a homunculus now. Surely it is a dream? A face floated in my sight.

“So here you are, you little shit! What did you do to my Master?” A huge hand reached for me and picked me up before I could think of an escape.

“If I squeeze your bones break, isn’t it true?” Petr asked mockingly.

“I will be my Master’s favorite again, right?” He added triumphantly.

I wriggled in his fist, but it was hopeless. I felt like a hamster. Petr furtively looked around.

“He is not here,” he muttered and turned toward the door.

“I will tell him you ran away, my little one,” he whispered.

“Petr!” Kelley’s voice broke the air. Petr’s face fell. The corners of his mouth turned down. He looked at me angrily and turned around while hiding me at the same time behind his back.

 “What did you call me for?” Kelley entered the room using a door in the back and stared suspiciously at Petr. Petr deeply bowed.

“Master, peasants are revolting again!” He said urgently. “They are coming to the Castle. The village priest instigated it. He says you practice Black Magic.” Kelley frowned.

“I thought the last lesson was enough. I will give them another taste of the wisdom of Hernes Trismegistus.”  Petr bowed again and started to back out of the door.

“What is it behind your back?” Kelley suddenly demanded. Petr slowly brought his hand and me to the front.

“I wanted to give him a bath Master,” he said meekly.

“He wanted to kill me,” I squeaked. I could not breathe.

“Give him to me,” Kelley reached out.

“Leave him alone, you hear?” He ordered Petr. “He is mine until I get tired of him.”

He placed me in a pocket in his robe and I felt I am being carried out of the room. I grabbed the edge of the pocket and peeked out. Kelly marched out of a door into the fresh air of the country. I narrowed my eyes and the sun hit me. I was not out for a long time. Kelly strode toward the castles ramparts and quickly climbed a narrow stone staircase to their top.

I looked down and swallowed. There was a deep rock wall falling all way down to the forested ground. There was a road to the castle on the left and it was not empty. I saw crowds of people dressed in brown and grey clothes. They looked poor, but everyone of them carried something. Pitchforks predominated, but there were torches too. Given that it was morning, I guessed they did not need those to illuminate the road. Kelly frowned. I spotted a man in black cloth in the front.

“He is new, Master,” said Vlasta who suddenly appeared behind Kelley.

“Do you care about your fellow man of cloth Antonio?” Kelley asked over his shoulder.

“He is a fool,” said Antonio’s voice. So the whole crew was here. Almost. I did not see Marie. Kelley lifted his arms, muttering something to himself. A wind arose. First slowly, then faster. The peasant torches blew out and I saw the crowd sway. It was too late. The howling rose in the forest. It was first far away and then it moved closer. Then the forest disgorged a pack of wolves. Packs, not a pack. There must have been at least a hundred. They attacked. The peasants ran, screaming, back from whence they came. The wolves did not chase them. Instead, they attacked the priest. I heard a brief horrible scream and shut my eyes.

Kelley turned back and I felt him descending the staircase when he staggered. I popped my head out of the pocket and looked at him. He covered his face with both hands and moaned. Antonio quickly caught him and supported him until we reached the ground.

“They are back,” Kelley moaned.

“I will make them go away Master,” Vlasta cried. “I will give you my brew, you know you can resist them if you drink it.”

She caught his other arm and together with Antonio they half-carried Kelley and me back to his study. Kelly was led to his chair and sat down. All the time he waved his arms around, his eyes firmly shut.

“Apage!” He screamed. “Apage, Azazel!”

I rolled myself into a ball and hope he is not going to kill me. His arms and hands were huge and if he hit me only once, it may be enough. Petr and Antonio held him firmly in his chair and Vlasta finally appeared with his brew. I allowed myself a quick peek: There was a steaming stone bowl or something in her hands. The smell was sickeningly sweet. Kelley muttered something with his eyes still closed.

“Why do they bother me so?” He asked. Vlasta put the bowel to his lips and he drank. Almost immediately his head fell to the side and he snored. Antonio and Petr released him. I relaxed. Too early. Antonio stuck his hand into my pocket – Kelley’s pocket really, but I came to think of it as mine – and pulled me out.

“What are you going to do with him?” Petr asked, a hope mixing with hatred in his voice.

“Something useful,” Antonio said dryly. He walked out of the room carrying me with him. We walked long, descending deeper and deeper into the castle’s bowels. Finally, we stopped in front of a wooden, iron-covered door. Antonio fished out a large key. The room behind the door was dark and Antonio lighted up a fat candle. I twisted my neck as I tried to look around.

“What do you think?” Antonio asked. The stone chamber had a peaked ceiling. There was a black cloth-covered table in front and a crucifix. A fireplace, plenty of paintings on the walls. Something was off. I frowned.

“The crucifix is upside down!” I blurted out.

“Right,” Antonio said and smiled. Anything else? There were remnants of candles too. The candles used to be black. I studied the paintings. They described scenes from Bible, but these were scenes from hell. Naked bodies writhed in ecstasy, devils were poking people, but they seemed to welcome the pain.

“You serve a Black Mass here,” I told Antonio.

“Indeed, little one,” he agreed.

“Why?” I asked.

“I serve the real Lord,” he said. “The Prince of Darkness. Just look around yourself. Who do you think controls the World?”

“Is Kelley a Satanist?”

“Not really,” Antonio said. “He is too weak. He just wants me to control his Demons.”

 “His Demons?” I repeated.

“Those he sees,” Antonio confirmed. “The trouble is that I cannot do it. Not without an appropriate material. All our dear Master provides is Marie to lay there on the altar,” he jerked his head toward the table, “and a peasant or two. It is not enough to get the Prince of Darkness to listen.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked. “Can’t you guess?” Antonio asked and gave me a wide grin. “You are a magical creature. If we serve you to Satan, he will pay attention.”

“I am too small,” I protested desperately.

“That may be a problem,” Antonio conceded. He reached out and placed me into a glass, which stood on a little table near him. “We have to do the sacrifice in style.”

He went around the room and methodically collected the burn out candles. I watched in horrified fascination as he picked up a bowel from the altar, filled it with the candles and walked over to the fireplace.  He hummed as he lighted up fire.

“What are you doing?” I piped up. He rose up from the crouch and turned to me.

“I am melting the wax, of course,” he said as he brushed off his hands on his robe.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Then I will make a new fat candle,” he told me with a smile. “It will be really a special one. It will have inside a homunculus. This way we can do the sacrifice and Master will never know. He may object to us using his plaything. He can be weak.”

Should I scream? I did not think anybody would hear me. He picked up the bowl from the fireplace and placed it on the table.

“We have to be quick,” he confided. He approached the table and fished in the glass for me. I bit him. He cursed and his fingers closed around me. He started to wrap me in cotton, creating a thick wick. I could only turn my neck. He approached the bowl. I saw the bubbling wax under me. I knew the black liquid would solidify soon around me.

“I will leave you a little hole so you can breathe,” Antonio said. “We need you alive until the Mass.”

“I will scream,” I protested weakly.

“That reminds me,” Antonio said. “I will have to pull out your tongue. But first I will cover you up to your neck to make sure you don’t try to run away.” He leaned over the bowel. The door suddenly creaked and in floated Marie. Her wide open eyes aimlessly wandered around the room until they stopped at me.

“What are you doing with my George?” She cried, bounced ahead and snatched me out of the stunned Antonio’s hand. “I am going to keep him,” she said defiantly. “Nobody bought me another one at the market today.”

She ran out of the room. I was never as happy to be cute and cuddly doll as I was now.

 “What did he do to you?” She asked. “It looks to me that he tried to dress you up.” She quickly unwrapped the cotton off me. “He has no idea how to make proper clothes. These men!” She carried me up. “I am going to tell Edward I am going to keep you.”

***

“Sure,” said Kelley placatingly. “You can keep him.” He was awake now and sat in his favorite chair. He face was pale and wan. “But I am going to ask George to do something for me first. Be a good girl and run along now.”

Marie reluctantly put me on the table. “If I let you play with him, you are going to buy me a new dress, right?” She asked slyly.

 “Whatever you want,” Kelley said impatiently. “Now I have to do some work. I will see you at dinner.” Once the door closed after Marie, he looked at me thoughtfully.

“You had a busy day, haven’t you?” He asked with a hint of amusement.

“Antonio wanted to sacrifice me to Satan,” I said.

“Antonio means well, but does not know what he is doing,” Kelley said lightly not appearing disturbed by Antonio’s intentions.  “The trouble is he really cannot control the Demons. He cannot even see them.”

 He turned his eyes to a corner. “Look there,” he commanded. “What do you see?”

“Some dust,” I said. Kelley nodded tiredly.

“You are magical, yet you don’t see Asmodean, who is crouching there.”

He lowered his voice. “He is quiet now and so are the others. They show up anytime I try to do something great. They fly around me, until I am dizzy. They scream and mock me. Me! The greatest…”

“… alchemist in the world,” I finished for him. He looked at me suspiciously, but let it go.

 “Why do they do it?” I asked.

“My enemies sent them,” he explained.

“I was the favorite alchemist of the emperor. They were jealous. They said I cheated the Emperor and killed other people.”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Perhaps I cheated a little,” he said. “I had to do it, the old man only wanted us to make gold and I could not. I would get there, though. All I needed was more Emerald Tablets.” He frowned.

“I had to kill to get some,” he conceded. “It is rough out there. Kill or be killed. Emperor did not care about it anyway. At the end he locked me up until I make gold. I escaped and have to pretend I died. If I can only get rid of the Demons, though, I will go and find the right Tablet. Then I will make gold. And once I do it – he leaned toward me – I will be the Emperor.”

“You don’t need me,” I said. “I don’t know how to make gold.”

“They still don’t know how to make gold in your time?” He asked with contempt. “I will find out. You will help me, but not by making gold. You will help me to get rid of the Demons.”

“I don’t know how,” I started.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “I know someone who does, though.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” I asked.

“He lives far away,” Kelley said seriously. “I cannot go there. I would be recognized on the way. And even if I were not, it is not a place where Christians can go freely.” Quite likely not even Satanists, I thought, but held my tongue. He pulled on the rope. Petr appeared.

“Get me Jakub,” Kelley ordered. “Tell him to bring Arrow with him.”

Homunculus - Chapter 3

HOMUNCULUS

 

 

I woke up and my right shoulder hurt some. I sat up with my eyes still closed, yawned and moved my right arm. This bed was very hard and uncomfortable. That reminded me. I was not at home, but in the dorm at the Van Senmut College where Mom arranged for me to stay to have the experience as she put it. I bet she did not know about the bed. Which is another point I can use to disabuse her of the idea that I will attend this college.

Pleased with the thought, I opened my eyes and pulled myself up to a standing position. I blinked. Something was wrong with my eyes. The room looked huge and distorted. Not like a dorm room at all. The opposite wall was far away, covered with dark blue fabric and huge red velvet curtains which probably hid a window. The walls were not straight either, but were bent like when I was watching myself through one of those funny mirrors in an amusement park. I rubbed my eyes and nothing changed. I sat on my bed, missed and ended up on the floor. A brief check revealed the truth. There was no bed. I slept on a floor which was strangely transparent and revealed wooden planks beneath it. I ran my hand over it. I would swear it was glass. My eyes fell on a large object, as tall as me, which lay right next to the place where I slept. I frowned. It was an ankh just like the one I played with yesterday, but it was huge. If it was made of gold, it was worth a fortune. It was not distorted like the walls. That means my eyes were OK. What was wrong with the room then?

“Hello?” I tried. No response. I strolled toward the wall. I will find out myself. Ouch! My head hit onto something. I stepped back and examined my forehead. Just a bruise. What was the problem? I reached out and my hand touched a smooth, hard and cold surface. It must be glass. My heart began to beat fast and I took a deep breath to stop raising panic. I spun around. The whole room was distorted. I was in a glass bowl.

Was I still dreaming? I pinched myself. I heard it helps. It hurt, but it did not improve anything. The glass walls were all around me. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw a movement in the room outside my glass prison. There was help. I run toward the corner where I saw the move and gulped. Out there stood a giant armchair in which sat a gigantic man. His chest rose and fell and my ears caught a faint sound of snoring. He was dressed in a gold robe that flew all the way to his feet, but could not hide his considerable belly. He had a long beard, once brown but now largely grey. His funny looking tall hat lay on the floor uncovering a bald dome ringed with strands of long hair, uncut and reaching past his ears. There was a bottle on the floor resting directly beneath his hand. I decided that the prudent course of action would be to leave the sleeping drunk alone and try to figure out how to get out of my predicament all by myself.

I stepped back from the glass, sat down and closed my eyes to concentrate. I am locked in a giant room in a glass container and there is a giant outside. First things first. Can I get out of my prison?

I opened my eyes and looked up. The glass walls were coming together over my head, leaving only a narrow round hole. I was inside some sort of a beaker. What did I have with me that could help me? The ankh, of course. Anything else? I checked my pockets. Only, I had no pockets. I was stark naked. Great. It took me about fifteen minutes to realize that. If I don’t get my wits together, it is not going to end up well.

How did I get here? I tried to remember. I was playing with that manuscript. I got it translated. Then I read it and played with the ankh. Then I fell and now I am here. There is a giant outside. Or maybe not. My heart skipped a beat as I finally understood the situation. He is a normal size and I shrunk! This is not possible unless that manuscript was some kind of a magic book. Oh man. This cannot be happening. It must be all in my head. I pinched myself again. If I am not asleep, I am having hallucinations. I touched the glass floor. It did not feel like a padded cell, but how can I tell if I am not crazy? Perhaps that guy is a shrink. Or he is going to eat you, whispered another voice in my head. I pushed it away. A shrink. He can fix the problem. How can I call him?  I tried to pick up the ankh, but it was way too heavy. I could not even move it. Wait. What is the ankh doing here? It looks real and they would not put it in my room if I was in a hospital. I could hurt myself if I was raving mad. Could this whole…thing…be real? I shrunk, courtesy of some black magic? Thanks to Dr. Ramancharan for giving me the book. He did not give it to you, that voice whispered again. No, he didn’t, I admitted to myself. I just had to go and read it because I was bored. I’d better call that magician. Perhaps he will help even, if he does not eat me.

I knocked on the glass. It made a pleasant and above all a loud sound. I gave the sleeper one more glance. He looked harmless. I took a deep breath and hit the glass with knuckles of both hands. The man’s head jerked up and fell back again. I rapped on the glass one more time. He blinked, yawned and clutched his forehead with both hands.

“Uuuu,” he said. A hangover was not a good sign. Perhaps he will change me into a frog or something? Before I managed to scare myself even more, he looked at the beaker. I waved at him and grinned. He stared at me uncomprehendingly for a second, then he jumped up, cursed and winced, cracked his joints and hobbled toward the table. He bent and stared at me face to face. A delighted smile slowly spread over his face.

“Hello,” I said. He frowned.

“Ave, Homunculus,” he said. 

“I am sorry, sir. I do not understand you,” I said politely. His jaw fell open and then he burst out laughing.

“English?” He cried. “You speak English? Are you from good old England?”

“I am an American,” I explained. The magician had a funny accent, but I was glad to understand him. Even his archaic English was not so different from mine as I discovered over time.

“What is an American?” He asked.

“I am from America,” I explained. Was I in some fairy tale land, perhaps in another dimension, where they did not know America?

“You mean the Land of Amerigo,” he said. “Oh.” He pulled up a chair, sat down and placed his chin into his hands. 

“I think you are lying,” he said conversationally. “Only Spanish are there. Them and the Red Indians. How could you learn English?”

“I live there,” I said, “and Mom speaks English.”

“If that is true,” he said, “King will be pleased when he finds out he has subjects there.”

“We are not his subjects,” I said. “We are a Republic.”

“He is not going to like it,” he said. “You will have to listen to him. You are so small, you homunculi and we are big. Guess who will be the boss.”

“I am not small,” I said. “Well, not usually,” I corrected myself. “I fell asleep, shrunk and woke up in this beaker.”

“Really,” the man said. “That actually makes sense. I did this experiment ages ago and that dog shrunk too. I thought it got younger at that time, but now I know.”

“What kind of experiment?” I asked.

 “I was trying out an old magic spell.” He sighed. “Now I apparently made a homunculus. That is a little person in Latin. It is one of the greatest wishes of every alchemist to produce one. I am the greatest alchemist alive and you are the evidence of it. Funny enough, I cannot remember even trying.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “What do you know about how you got here?” He finally asked. “Wait, let me guess. You took an ankh and said the spell, didn’t you?”

I slowly nodded and glanced at the ankh. “Not that one,” He said. “This one is mine. It takes two special ankhs, one at each end, so to speak. And the Hermes Trismegistus spell. Where did you learn it?”

“In a book,” I said.

 “But I cannot remember it now,” I added. Who could remember that mumbo jumbo?

“Can you help me get back?”

He looked at me and grinned. “Not yet,” he said. “Perhaps later after I show you off. Even if I did not make you, strictly speaking, I can still say so and impress those poor dumb bastards who live off me, right?”  

“OK,” I said.

“What does that mean, OK?” He asked.

“All correct,” I said. “I agree with you.”

“You should,” he said. “You are the one in the beaker. Now, what can you do? Can you do magic?”

“No,” I shook my head.

“Hm. What do you do for a living?”

“I am a student,” I said.

“They have schools in America? Interesting. Now, what did you learn best?”

“Programming,” I said. He watched me in silence.

“What year do we have?” He asked at last.

“2006,” I said. He chuckled.

“So this is it.” He put his mouth closer to the glass. I backed off.

“It is the year 1609 of our Lord,” he said wryly. My knees buckled.

“1609!” Four hundred years back in time. I shook my head. I need to pull myself together.

“Who are you?” I asked finally. He stood, wavered a bit and then he bowed.

“Magister Edward Kelley at your service.”

“Am I supposed to know you?” I asked and instantly regretted it. His face flushed.

“They did not teach you about me at school?” He asked angrily.

“I am a lousy student,” I said quickly.

“You should say you were,” he fired back.

“You are not going to let me go?” I asked.

“I may,” he said. “Once I am done with you. Meantime, you better behave.”

He sat down in his armchair.

“Where is it,” he fished behind him with his hand and finally caught a rope hanging from the ceiling. He pulled it and I heard a faint sound of a bell.

“Try to look pretty my little one,” he said.

The door opened in a few seconds and in walked another man. He was old and his back bent with age.  He was dressed in a long black robe, bold and clean shaven, but his chin was so long and pointy that it almost replaced a beard. His eyes were almost hidden by deep wrinkles and spaced closely to a long, bent nose with a drop of something on its tip. They regarded Kelley with a slavish devotion.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“Where is my drink, Petr?” Kelley growled.

“Here Master, I knew you will want a new one,” he said and pulled out a new bottle from the fold of his robe.

“Good, good,” Kelley said, grabbed the flask, pulled out its cork and stuck it into his mouth. For a moment, all I could hear was his deep swallows. Finally, he finished with a satisfied sigh and handed the flask to Petr.

“Look,” he said. “Living evidence that I am the best.” He waved his hand at my beaker.

“There is no need for that Master,” said Petr and bowed deeply. “Everybody knows you are the best one.”

“Everybody knows I am dead,” Kelley said crossly. “Look at the damn beaker.”

Petr turned his eyes toward me.

“What am I supposed to see Master?” He asked uncertainly.

“You fool,” Kelley cried. “Look inside.”

“You,” he addressed me. “Stand up and move.”

I did as asked. Petr’s eyes widened.

“Master,” he cried and his voice skipped an octave. “Is it a homunculus?” He leaned toward me. “How perfect. It looks almost human. Does it talk?”

“Speak,” Kelley ordered.

“I talk,” I said, feeling like an idiot. Is that how animals in zoo feel?

“Master,” Petr rushed back, fell to his knees and tried to kiss a rim of Kelley’s robe. “You are the greatest man alive.”

“I am,” Kelley said and pulled the robe away.

“What are you going to do with it, Master?” Petr asked. Then he bent his head. “Are you going to make it your servant?”

“I will think about it,” Kelley said. “He may be useful.”

“Nobody is as useful to you as me,” Master, Petr said and lifted his head. He turned toward me while kneeling and gave me a look in which was mixed in equal proportion an uncertainty and hatred.

“You are my most important servant Petr,” Kelley said. “Just sometimes I think you could use some help.”

“I don’t need any,” Petr said.

“Just so, just so,” Kelley said. “Dej mu něco na sebe.”

What? Petr understood, though, rose and scurried out of the room, but not before he gave me another look of hatred. Kelley looked at me.

“Not everybody speaks English in this world, my little American. We are in Bohemia now and servants are local. Some learned English from me, but some are just too stupid.”

He walked toward the table and leaned over the beaker while watching me through the hole like I was some exotic specimen.

“What is your name, anyway?”

“Alex,” I said.

“Now Alex, we have to get you out. Don’t think you will escape.” He laughed shortly. “No, I do not think you would. You want to go back, don’t you.”  He fingered his beard. “I should have asked Petr for a hammer.” He stuck his hand into his robe. “I guess this will have to do.” He pulled out a dagger. He turned it around, hill down, and grabbed the throat of the beaker with his other hand. “Stand back,” he said. Then he hit the glass.

At the last second, I turned my back toward him which probably saved my eyes. The little fragments of glass flew all around me and some embedded in my back.

“Come out,” said Kelley. I turned. The beaker did not fell apart, but instead there was a huge hole which I could crawl through. I gingerly stepped over the sharp edges which reached up to my thighs. Kelley tossed me a dirty napkin.

“You want to hide your privates, I am never sure when my lady companion shows up.”

Ugh. I lifted the grayish rag which smelled of whine. I hope he did not sneeze into it recently. I held it in front of me, away from my body as far as I could. Did he ever wash it? The door squeaked and Petr hobbled in, holding in his hands a little doll, about six inches tall. To my relief it was a boy dressed up in red pants and shirt with a red cloak over his shoulders, and a  hat. Peter dropped the doll on the table and eyed me with distaste.

“I got this one from Marie. I hope you don’t mind, Master?”

“No,” Kelley shook his head. “She has too many anyway. She always bugs me to bring more. Did you buy anything at the market last Saturday?”

“No,” Petr shook his head. “People start to notice and asked me what child I want it for.”

 “It is none of their business,” Kelley said and frowned. “What should peasants care what goes on in the chateau?”

“How right you are, Master,” said Petr the Bootlicker. “People are getting uppity. Should we show them their place and put the fear of God into their hearts?”

“Fear of me would be better,” Kelley said dryly. “However, we have to do it indirectly, you are right. Perhaps tonight or tomorrow.”

“Now, get ready the dinner!”

“As you wish, Master,” Petr said and turned to me: “Do not damage the clothes, you hear, you unnatural creature? If you do, I will squash you like a bug.” He glanced at Kelley: “With your permission, Master.”

“With my permission only,” said Kelley coldly.

Peter bent down even more and shuffled out of the room.

“Dress up,” Kelley ordered. “Dinner will be ready soon. Where is that flask?”

He settled back into his armchair. I undressed the ragdoll and dressed up. No underwear. I guess it will have to do. The clothes fit. The pants were a little long, but I stuffed the bottoms into the shoes which reached almost to my knees.

“How cute,” Kelley said and yawned. His nose acquired a bright red color and he had trouble focusing on me. Tingling of a bell reached the room from the depths of the chateau. He did say we were in a chateau, right?

“Come here,” Kelley said and rose from his chair. “I want to show them my newest success.”

“I cannot get off the table,” I said. I leaned over the edge and quickly pulled back. I never liked heights and that was truly an abyss I saw down there. Kelley cursed.

“What am I going to do with you? Petr! No, let me.” He grabbed me with his hand around my waist. “I will carry you. I do not have time to wait for you.” He pulled the door open with his other hand. A corridor, lit up by candles, opened in front of us. The tapestries on the walls somewhat softened the stone walls.

“It looks like a castle,” I said.

“This part,” Kelley growled while navigating the corridor trying to keep a straight line. If he falls on me, he will crush me. “This is the original castle...”

We turned a corner and the corridor brightened. The windows showed only the blackness of a night, but the walls were smooth and painted white and were lined with mirrors.

“Now we are in the new chateau,” Kelley commented.  There were chandeliers above our heads carrying only candles, but many more than the candle holders in the castle.

“Here,” Kelley said and entered a double door on the right. It was open already and revealed a long room. It was two stories high and its windows which lined the left wall reached almost to the ceiling. Right now they were covered by dark velvet curtains which complemented the light blue color or fabric that covered the walls. The right wall was almost fully taken up by a huge tapestry depicting a biblical scene. I did not recognize the guy who was being skinned, but there were enough praying and kneeling people and palm trees to place it in the mythical Holy Land.

A huge chandelier, carrying hundreds of candles, illuminated the room. The center of the room was taken up by a long table. Although huge, it was dwarfed by the room itself. Three people already sat there, but they jumped up when they saw Kelley. He strolled toward the table  like a sailor on a stormy sea as he tried to keep the balance.

“Stop squirming,” he said staring straight ahead as he tried to reach the table with his dignity intact.

Easy for him to say. I tried to gain some room to breathe as he squeezed his hand without noticing. Finally he made it, he fell heavily onto a high backed chair someone helpfully pulled up, reached forward and dropped me onto the table.

“Behold,” he said. “Homunculus.”

Three huge faces were checking me out. I did my own survey. There. Two uglies. One was a man, smoothly shaven roundish face, but not fat. His bones stood out. He had a sharp outline of his jaws, prominent cheekbones, his eyes hooded by big ledges, but his eyebrows were sparse. He had some wrinkles, but he was probably only around fifty. Some mouse colored hair was still there above his ears, but it was spare and his was mostly bald. His thin colorless lips did not smile and his greyish eyes had a piercing quality around them. His head sat on a scrawny neck which disappeared into a standing white collar. A priest of all people. Was Kelley religious?

I turned to the second ugly. This woman was a dead ringer for the Wicked Witch of the West. A long face, covered with heavy mascara, which failed to hide a wart here and there. She had black eyes. She had some sort of a dark red lipstick – do they have a lipstick in this age? – some red dye anyway – on her lips, which lined a wide mouth. Of course, she would not be complete without a pointy chin. I guessed she was around forty. Her hair was golden and long. Or was it? It was arranged in neat curls, perhaps too neat. There was something black underneath. Oh. She must be wearing a wig. Not that it improved her looks much. She was dressed in a red dress to complement her lipstick I guessed.

I suppressed a shudder and turned to the last admirer. She was young, perhaps twenty, and very pretty. Her lovely face with a small upturned nose was lined this time by natural blond hair. She had large green eyes – but what kind of eyes. They felt empty. She stared at me, unblinking, with her lips slightly parted, frowning for a while. Finally, a smile appeared.

“Edward,” she sang out in a little child voice. “George came alive. You did it, did not you. May I play with him now?”

She reached for me with both hands and pulled me to her chest. She began to rock me, singing something in a strange language. Bohemian, did he say?

“Put him down, Marie,” said Kelley. “You may call him George, if you wish.”

She obeyed. Her shoulders sagged and she placed me gently on the table.

“If I cannot play with him now, you have to buy me another one in Prague,” she said and pouted.

“Sure,” Kelley said tiredly. “Whatever.” Then he spread his hands.

“So what do you say? Who is the greatest alchemist?”

He was beginning to get on my nerves with this ceaseless greatest this and that.

“You, Your Excellency,” said the priest and bowed.

“Thank you, Antonio,” said Kelley regally.

“You are a great magician, Master,” croaked the witch.

“Thank you, Vlasta,” said Kelley. Again.

“You are not so great, if you do not let me play with my dolls,” said Marie.

“I already said I will get you another one and you can play with George later,” Kelley said angrily and she flinched, a glimmer of fear appeared into those otherwise vacant eyes.

“By the way, his real name is Alex.”

“He speaks?” The priest asked.

“In English,” Kelley said. “I made him that way.”

The liar then sat down and looked around.

“Where is the food? Let’s have a feast and celebrate my latest success.”

 The witch clapped and a small door in the far wall opened and a file of servants entered, carrying steaming bowls and plates piled highly with roasted birds and game meat and even a whole piglet. My mouth watered and I remembered I did not eat for, say, four centuries.

“What I am going to do with you” Kelly said. “Why don’t you stay on the table if you are hungry? Do you know how to dance?”

“No,” I said in horror. I hope I am not going to become a dancing doll here.

“No?” Kelley said and reached for a roasted chicken that a servant girl placed in front of him. “Help yourself, then.”

“Perhaps our Lord could use him,” offered Antonio who was watching me thoughtfully from under half-closed lids.

“He is too small to be much of use to him,” Kelley dismissed the idea. What did Antonio want? Was he in need of a new altar boy of something?

“I could use him, Master,” said Vlasta and licked her lips. “He could help me to prepare my potions.”

Antonio frowned. Perhaps he disapproved of the witch. Did not they burn them on stake? Why did he tolerate her around?

“Nah,” Kelley said dismissively. “I will let Marie to play with him for a little while and then I will send him back to hell where he belongs. He is amusing, but not useful.”

I exhaled. Everybody was ready to make me work. It was worse than those college applications. I surveyed the plates on the table. Finally I opted for a slice of the pig which was skillfully being carved by a fat man in a whitish, although dirty, servant garb. He glanced at me fearfully and his unkempt short grey beard shook.

“I am harmless,” I told him. He dropped his knife, quickly crossed himself, mumbled something in Bohemian, picked up his tools and constantly bowing, backed out of the room. They think I am the Devil. What do they think of their Master?

“They are scared of you,” Kelley observed. So he is not as drunk as I thought.

“Having people scared of you is a very useful thing,” he picked a pewter goblet and poured himself more red wine. “They listen and they leave you alone when you want.”

“They are all afraid of you Master,” said the witch eagerly. “The whole village and all your servants.” Kelley bit into his chicken and frowned.

“Not enough,” he said crossly. “Call Jakub. This pheasant is too tough. Does not he know that I prefer young and soft meat? My teeth are not what they were.”

Vlasta rose from the table. Kelley reached and caught her sleeve.

“Tell him to bring Lucky,” he said and glimmering malice appeared in his eyes as he grinned. “I want to have some fun.”

“As you wish Master,” Vlasta said. Then she cackled.

I see. Making fun of his servants must have been a favorite Kelley’s pastime, I reflected, as I chewed my dinner. Why didn’t he go to Prague? Did not they have more entertainment there? Maybe not, I decided. They do not even have TV. This must be a pretty boring century. Vlasta appeared in a few minutes.

“He will be here soon,” she told Kelley apologetically. “He just came back from a hunt.”

“I hope he got something better than this” Kelley said and threw a drumstick across the room. “What do I pay him for?”

The door flew open and in walked a middle aged man dressed in leather jackets and tights. He was accompanied by a black beast, so tall it reached almost to his shoulder. Its jaws were open, revealing an impressive set of huge teeth. It slobbered a little and observed the room from its tiny yellow eyes.

“Jakub,” said Kelley and rose, so quickly that he wavered. He caught the table to steady himself and glowered at Jakub. “What kind of meat did you bring me? Do you want to be punished?”

“No, Milord,” said the hunter and switched into Bohemian, quickly jabbering his explanations and probably apologies. I was more concerned with his doggy. It growled quietly and observed the room. I noticed Vlasta put down nervously her wine and even Antonio watched the dog carefully, although he pretended to be interested in his food. Only Marie was oblivious  humming to herself a lullaby.

“Never mind,” Kelley finally said. “If you do this again, you will regret it.”

Jakub deeply bowed and tried to back out.

“Not so fast”, Kelley said. “Bring Lucky here. I want to show something to my favorite puppy. Come here, you bad dog,” he addressed it fondly and offered the slobbering beast a scrap of meat. Then he suddenly reached behind him, not looking at me and yet knowing exactly where I am, caught my arm, lifted me and put me on the table next to him.

“What do you think of him?” He asked the dog still holding me.

The hound lifted on his rear legs, put the front paws on the table. Then he lunged. I tore myself out of Kelley’s grip and stumbled back. The dog barked, its eyes turning red, and tried to hop on the table. It slipped back and Kelley put a hand on its back to prevent it from doing it again.

“Petr!” He yelled. The servant appeared instantly.

“What do you wish, Master?”

“Take our tiny friend and set him on the floor,” Kelley ordered. Is he nuts? I ran toward the far side of the table, away from Kelley and Petr. The witch sitting there squealed with pleasure and made a grab for me. I jumped away. My small body gave me an agility I did not possess when I was the regular size. Before I stopped congratulating myself on my lucky escape, I felt a hand close around my waist. The priest lifted me up, closer to his face. He studied me with an unreadable expression. Then he touched and felt my forehead. He must not have found what he was looking for since corners of his mouth turned down and an expression of disgust crossed his face. Did he expect me to have horns?

“Useless creature,” he mumbled and then he put me down on the floor. I peered through the forest of legs, both human and wooden, trying to catch a glimpse of the dog. There. He did not see me yet. I sidled toward the long skirt of Marie and caught the hem. I may be able to climb up. She liked me, did not she? She looked down when she felt my pull and screamed. The dog did not need any more hints. It roared and charged. It was about fifteen feet away and I had but a fraction of a second to decide what to do. I dashed toward the nearest door, which was the one servants used to bring it food. The hound had to run around the table to get to me, which gave me a little bit of a head start. When the door was ten feet away, I remembered my size! I cannot open it. Then I spotted a space under the door. Five feet. The dog was coming. Two feet. I threw myself down and made a headlong dash for the hole. I slid under the door and heard a crash as the dog struck the door. I rolled a few times to get away from the door. That was not such a good idea and I fell down a step on a staircase I did not notice. I got up, and sat down again, as my knees shook and my legs were too weak to support me. The dog barked behind the door. So Kelley thinks I am expendable? Perhaps he was drunk. I better wait until he sobers up and the dog leaves. Meantime, I could explore this place.

The staircase was narrow and steep and I felt like I am scaling a rock wall. Still, I made it down in a short time and it led toward a bright opening. Delicious smells hit my nose. I stuck my head out. It was a kitchen. I should have guessed.  My mouth watered. I was still hungry, perhaps more so after the escape. Do I need to eat more than before? I recalled that mice eat more than people compared to their size. No matter the case, I walked out trying to be unnoticeable.

 Several fires lit up the place. There was a blackened opening in the ceiling serving as a chimney. Carcasses turned above the fires and a fat woman supervised them. Her back was toward me. Now, how can  I get my hands on some food? A man appeared from another entrance and asked her something. She pointed to a roasted lamb which hung above embers of a dying fire to keep it warm. It was ready. The man picked up the lamb and disappeared behind a corner to her right. I followed, quiet like a mouse.

The corner had several tables and three servants, two women and one man, quickly preparing the meat to be served. I left them to their business and made a beeline for a dish which lay on the floor due to a lack of space on the tables. It looked like some game meat, perhaps a leg of a deer. I did not really care. I dug my fingers in, pulled out a piece of meat and stuck it into my mouth. It was good! I helped myself gain. And again. Just as I was contemplating if I should not just crawl into the hole I made in the leg, since the meat reminded me of paradise, a high pitched scream interrupted my reverie.

“Satan!” I understood that. Where was he? I lifted my eyes. One of the women stood above me, her mouth open, and her hands rapidly and repeatedly performing the sign of cross. How could I explain her I was her master’s latest experiment? Before I could come up with an idea, she ran to the fire, picked up a stick, and turned toward me. I decided that discretion would be a good policy and looked for an escape path.

I darted toward her, away from the stick though, around her and toward a door I saw half open behind her. Another staircase, this one leading up. Cook’s screams followed me, but she preferred to stay in the kitchen. Good. I pulled up myself on the first step. They were low and worn down by age, but they still reached almost to my waist. If she followed me, I would be trapped. I scaled another step, and another one. That was not going to work. Finally, I gave up and tried the wall instead.

These old castles were built from stones and not neatly shaped ones. I found enough protruding stones and holes to use them as a ladder. I continued my climb. Finally, I reached a landing. The staircase turned, as it was built in a tower. At last I reached a landing. Through an open door on my left I saw a little chamber containing a roughly made bed covered with a furry cover from same large animal and a cross on the wall. I surmised this would be the cook’s room. The staircase continued and I decided to go on. Another hour of hard work brought me up to a narrow landing which had open window holes in all directions. I must be near the top.  I pulled myself up on a windowsill.

Below me lay the castle. It was dark, but guards carrying torches passed along the walls and the moon was full, so I was treated to a rare view. The tower was located almost in its center. There was one huge main building with a pointy roof. Narrow windows in a half of it betrayed their origins as shooting holes for bowmen defending the castle. The other half had its windows enlarged and I guessed that would be the “chateau” that Kelley referred to. If so, he had plenty of space for further home improvements. Or maybe not. There was one more round tower, narrow and lower than the one I was in, and that was it. The towers and the main house were encircled by high ramparts, which seemed to sprout from a vast rock the castle was built onto. There was a single gate leading to a road that was carved into the rock and descended steeply through it until it reached the level of the surrounding forest. It was a deep one, reaching all way to the horizon. Its old fir trees were so tall their tops reached almost to the castle’s foundations.

I jumped down and tried a window on the opposite side. More forest. The village Kelley mentioned must have been far away. The castle brought to my mind a tall ship anchored in a middle of a vast windless ocean, unimaginably far from the nearest human settlement, lonely and waiting for a rescue by a gust of fresh wind before its crew goes mad. Speaking of mad, what should I do now? Reluctantly, I had to admit to myself that an escape was out of question. I needed Kelley to send me back. If he sobers up, he may figure out that feeding me to his puppy is not a good idea. Anyway, I will have to appease him somehow. Now, how do I get back? I left the dining hall a few hours ago. They must be done by now.

I jumped of the windowsill. Let’s see if I can get back. It was faster to descend than ascend. I jumped from a step to a step, until I reached the cook’s bedroom. Loud snoring was just what I needed to hear. I sneaked past the temporarily harmless lady and climbed toward the door to the dining room. Were they still there? No, there was only darkness seeping from below the door and my ears caught only scratchy noises which probably came from scuttling rats. That thought gave me a pause – I was not much bigger than a rat, was I? I sighed and flopped down on my belly. I will just deal with this issue if a rat shows any interest in me. The room was black because the curtains blocked the moonlight, so I bumped a few times on the chair and table legs, but finally made it to the double door on the other side. Fortunately, it had a space underneath, so I could crawl beneath it. A few moments later, I was at Kelley’s door. The light was still on. I knocked. A crash almost made me to jump out of my skin. He must have thrown one of his flasks at the door.

 “Leave me, Demon!” A scream penetrated the door.

“It is Alex,” I called. A torrent of curses followed this announcement. Should I run? Before I decided, the door flew open.

“So!” Kelley said and peered at me from his bloodshot eyes. “You decided to come back, you little coward.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, figuring that flattery is the best policy.

“Very well,” said Kelley, somewhat appeased. “I am going to bed now. You stay here in the study and find yourself a place to sleep. Perhaps in a shoe.” He laughed uproariously at his joke. “I will find you there in the morning.”

“Yes, Master,” I agreed. He closed one eye as he tried to focus at me.

“I thought of something,” he announced grandly. “Something you will do for me, since you are so sneaky.”

“I will be happy to,” I said. Anything to get him off my back until he sobers up. A sly smile settled on his face.

“If you don’t do it, I will not let you go back.”

“I will do it,” I said. Will he ever stop?

“You will do what I say,” he repeated, driving the point home. Not waiting for a reply, he staggered out of the room. He did remember to shut the door behind him. I looked around. The candle was burning low and the room smelled of alcohol in addition to the chemical smells it sported before. I guess a chair will have to do. I climbed onto Kelley’s favorite spot and curled up. The only good part of this trip is that it is summer and I do not need any cover. That was my last thought before I fell asleep.

Homunculus - chapter 2

THE COLLEGE VISIT

 

 

“This place sucks!” I whispered.

“You already informed me what you think, Alex,” Mom whispered back.

“Didn’t you see that?” I asked. It was pretty clear that Mom was not getting the point.  She sat in his cheap chair, as provided by the Van Senmut College library and smiled at the librarian, Dr. Ramancharan.

He sat behind his desk, which looked so old they must have forgotten to throw it out. In front of him lay a dirty looking book. Handwritten, too.  The whole library looked much better than the book and the desk. It was wood-paneled, a top notch Apple computer on a mahogany desk, nice paintings, and some antique figurines lounged on the shelves, together with leather bound volumes. The librarian glanced happily at the book, and looked pretty self-satisfied. When I am fifty and have grey hair like him, I will be pretty depressed. That is going to take another 33 years, though, as I quickly calculated. About twice as many years as I lived so far. That is an eternity. Before I get there, though, I guess I should explain what I was doing in this boring place.

My name is Alex Khyan. I am a senior. A high school senior. What did you think? Right now I was doing what everybody else seemed to be doing: sending out my college applications. That was the trouble. Mom – I never met my Dad – had a lot to say about this. We could agree on one thing: the premed major seemed to be a good idea. There was an issue though: helping people sounded like a good goal, but there was not much adventure there. I would like an adventure or two. What if I were bored? Anyway, I went to visit the colleges I applied to and this one, the Van Senmut College, was one of them. Mom had a good friend here, Dr. Ramancharan, which I already mentioned. He was not a medical doctor, but a scientist, a director of the library and a historian of some sort. He seemed to be a good guy and spent a whole afternoon taking me around and enthusiastically explaining everything. Unfortunately, it seemed just like all other colleges. A little small, but otherwise as boring and depressing as the rest of them. So if I am wrong about my major and about the college, I will be double-bored. Finally, we separated and I joined my Mom for a late lunch. Afterwards, we came to the library to say our goodbyes.

So back to Dr. Ramancharan: There were not many wrinkles at his face except for the crow feet around his eyes, and he looked trim. Overall, he did pretty good job covering his decline and advanced age, but there were those little signs like his reading glasses, so I was not fooled. The trouble was, there was a mirror behind him and I caught a sight of myself right next to him. The fact was that I looked just like him: six feet, skinny, angular face, black hair and brown eyes. All I needed were those wrinkles, glasses and gray hair and we could be twins. That made me depressed again.

“So what is your decision?” He asked.

“I am not going to come here. I may not go to a college at all. I think this place is not exciting enough for me.”

Dr. Ramancharan sighed. “You disappoint me,” he said seriously. “I was hoping you will be more mature at your age.”  He looked down at his desk.

That hurt some. Perhaps I should not be that hard on him. He may learn to be more reasonable as he gets older.

“What are you working on?” I asked him. That should appease him a little.

“You don’t like history,” he answered curtly. That was true. Computers were much more fun. For one thing, one could play games. It is even more interesting to play around with programming.

 “Could I help you with the computer?” I proposed.

“Last time someone let you on the computer in your high school, you produced a virus that wiped half of the computers at your school, or so your Mom tells me,” he said. 

That was an exaggeration. They had only twenty computers there and I had to fix only seven of them afterwards. That would be only thirty percent. I did not think Dr. R. would care about this important distinction, though.

“OK,” I said. “I am just curious what is that book you are looking at. Is it some student’s thesis?”

“I don’t know,” Ramancharan said and laughed.

“Can I have a look?” I reached for the manuscript, but he caught my hand and stopped me.

“Careful”, he said. “It is at least four hundred years old.”

“I should have guessed,” I mumbled. “What is so special about it?”

“It is the Voynich manuscript,”  Ramancharan said seriously.

“And?” I asked.

“And,” he said and carefully lifted a page, “it the most mysterious manuscript in the world.”

 “Really?” I said, impressed against my will. “I would have thought something from Babylon or Egypt would be more older and more mysterious.”

“Older, yes,” Ramancharan agreed. “More mysterious? No. Look at it.”

 I bent over the book. “Someone has a lousy handwriting or it is an alphabet I don’'t know.”

“Neither do I,” Ramancharan said.

“So a mystery alphabet?”

 I pulled up a chair and sat down. “There are others like that like Linear B in Crete, are not there?”

“You know about linear B?” Ramancharan said. “There may be a hope for you yet.”

Then he continued: “No, that is not the problem. We have writings in undeciphered alphabets. Bits and pieces of writing, it is not really surprising we cannot break it. The civilizations it came from all but disappeared, so we have nothing to go on. This is different, however.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. This was beginning to get interesting.

“It is called the Voynich manuscript after the dealer who brought it to America,” Ramancharan said.

“Where did it come from?”

“It was tracked down to Prague in 16th century. Before that, we don’t know. Here is the fun part. It is two hundred fifty handwritten pages on vellum with a lot of illustrations. People, mainly women, plants and stars, arranged into constellations. That much is clear. That is also all that is clear.”

I was going through the pages of the book.

 “Nobody tried to decipher it?” I asked. “Surely all alphabets from medieval Europe are known?”

“They are,” Ramancharan agreed. “Not this one. This is what is so strange about it. You have a huge book written in an unknown alphabet and language and it is the only example that exists. Nobody found this type of writing anywhere.”

“It is very curly,” I said, “and even. And lots of symbols repeat. It looks like an alphabet, but if it is not, it could be a code, could not it?”

“That would be the logical conclusion,” Ramancharan agreed. “Except nobody was able to break it.”

I checked it out again. “C’mon,” I said. “What are the computers for? You could give it to military guys. I bet you didn’t. You could start with the most common symbol like Poe described in that story of his.”

“The Purloined letter,” Ramancharan nodded. “Right. Except they ran it through Department of Defense computers, and it didn’t work.”

“I thought they could break even Russian codes?” I said in surprise.

“Probably,” Ramancharan  agreed. “Not this one.”

“Didn’t they try different languages?”

“Of course,” Ramancharan said.

That WAS interesting. “So what did they say?” I asked.

“They said it is probably a hoax.”

 I took a deep breath.

“I know”, Ramancharan said. “It could be an excuse for a failure. On the other hand, it could be true except I don’t really believe that. Two hundred fifty pages is a lot of pages just to cheat someone. Few people have that patience.”

I went through a few more pages. “What about those plants?” I said. “Perhaps they could be matched to words.”

 Ramancharan shook his head: “Nobody managed that and that is not the only problem with those plants. Some, possibly most of them cannot even be identified.”

“Unknown writing, unknown plants?” I raised an eyebrow. “How about the stars?”

“Unknown constellations,” Ramancharan said to complete the mystery triad. I whistled.

“So you are screwed.” Ramancharan winced.

“I mean you cannot break it unless you find something like a Rosetta stone.”

“What do you know about the Rosetta stone?” Ramancharan asked. 

“It is a big stone that helped Champollion to decipher Egyptian hieroglyphs,” I said.

“It had a description of victory of a king over some other king and it was written in hieroglyphs, Greek and Persian.”

“Right,” Rmancharan agreed. “A Rosetta stone would help. I was just wondering if we cannot figure out where it came from using an analysis of the vellum it is written on. If we could track it down to the source, perhaps we could find a translation. I have to ask my friend James if I could somehow acquire a sample.”

He reached for the phone. “Nah,” he pulled his hand back. “I will have to ask him personally. He does not like using phones. In fact, I am pretty sure he dislikes the last two centuries en bloc. I am going to see him. He should be in the library right now. Come with me.”

“Do I have to?” I asked.

“No, of course not,” he stopped in the door. “You can wait here.”

                                                  ***

 I pulled up a chair and turned to the computer. Does he have a password? No. Sometimes I like technophobes. What to do, what to do. World of Warcraft? Not today: I spent the whole last week playing that. Nothing else I could think of held much appeal either. I glanced at the manuscript. Was he right about that or was he exaggerating to attract my interest. A cursory Google search confirmed it was all true. Hm. Now I have it in front of me, but do not see much advantage to it. I could download a copy. I did. So nothing worked, huh? This is a good computer, but it cannot be better than what they have at Pentagon. Of course, it all depends on how you ask the question. No computer will help you there.

I fished in my memory for a precedent. How other people decipher an unknown script? I drew a blank, except for the Rosetta Stone I used to mollify Ramancharan with. Should I have listened more? It was too late to cry over it. I leaned back in my chair. I guess it will remain a mystery, unless Ramancharan succeeds in his quest. The problem was that something was tugging on my mind. Or rather it was floating in there. I didn’t like it much. It was making me uncomfortable. I turned back to the computer and found the World of Warcraft. A few people were online. Who should I play against? Nah. I did not feel like it. Instead, I picked up an artifact Ramancharan had at his desk. I recognized an ankh, an Egyptian symbol of life. These archeologists. This could be easily a few thousand years old and they do not even lock it up in a safe. I put it down, got up and began to pace. The Rosetta Stone. I could not stop thinking about it. Champollion used it to break the code. How did he do it? I felt a familiar rush of excitement. That was it. It was somewhere there. Now if I could only grasp it.

I sat down again. The Rosetta Stone was known before Champollion knew that. The French, who invaded Egypt with Napoleon brought it back. Contemporary archeologists knew it was written in three languages and knew the other languages too. Yet, unbelievably, they could not break the hieroglyphic script. They just could not match Greek and Persian words to corresponding hieroglyphs. What did Champollion know? What was his angle? That was it. He knew the Coptic language which is directly related to the ancient Egyptian. He knew a symbol in an oval, a cartouche, meant a name of a king. What king he did not know. However, one of the drawings inside the oval was a picture of bee. In Coptic, it was ses. In this way he figured that the cartouche was the symbol and name of Ramses. In other words, hieroglyphs were not a simple picture script like, for example, Chinese. Those pictures meant something else: they did not identify an object, but they meant a sound. In other words, hieroglyphs were a semi-phonetic writing.

“That guy had some insight,” I muttered to myself. What did it have to do with what I was looking at, though? “If hieroglyphs are phonetic,” I said loudly, “ this script, which looks like a bunch of letters like the Latin alphabet and thus likely phonetic could be instead a picture script. ”

  I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. What did they know at that time in medieval Europe? Chinese or Japanese language? Hardly. They were big on secrets though, and there were alchemists and they knew about Egypt. So it is back to hieroglyphs. I turned to the computer.

What if I take each individual glyph, or word, from the manuscript and try to assign to it a hieroglyph based on its relative frequency in Egyptian? I quickly checked the library sources, which as usually and equally unbelievably were not protected by a password. Here. I found a file containing studies on hieroglyphs. Now, if I could design a very simple application to do that, I could do the conversion.

It took about half hour, and in front of me was a transcript of the manuscript glyphs into hieroglyphs. I checked the door. Ramancharan was still missing. Good. Now, can I get a translation? I pushed a button. Below the hieroglyphs appeared a translation into the Latin alphabet, but in Egyptian as far as I could tell. What the hell? Oh, the next line was translation into English. I frowned. It did not make much sense. For example, this page: The traveler’s barge will pass the Gate if he know the name of the Gate’s Guardian, and reaches his destiny in the manner of Ra passing the though the Duat, and will be reborn like Ra once he passes the Twelfe Hour of Night. What does that mean? What is the name of the Guardian or whatever? The English version did not say. I glanced at the Egyptian transcript and tossed thoughtfully the ankh up and down. I tried the translator again and entered only the first few words “…the Gate’s Guardian…”. The program spat out several hieroglyphs and their pronunciation in English. 

“,…” I tried it out. And then I was falling through the Night until the darkness overwhelmed my consciousness.