Ulrika still did not know what the Divining was, the nature of her special gift. But because her visions consisted mostly of people—of all ages and walks of life—she assumed she was able to speak to the dead. She assumed also that they, sensing that this living human was a conduit to their world, were trying make contact with loved ones through her.
She watched the young man, who had long hair and wore a plain tunic, as he gazed at the innkeeper with soulful eyes. A son, perhaps? "Tell me your message," she said silently, but the youth did not acknowledge her and, like the previous visions, finally faded away.
Ulrika sighed in frustration. Although she was able to hold the visions longer, and in some way make them appear more solid and detailed, they still disappeared. She had also discovered, to her frustration, that while she had made progress with the visions when they came, she still could not bid visions to come to her, she still had no control over when or where one might materialize.
In the Rhineland, the keeper of the sacred groves had told her she would never know who her teachers would be until she looked back. Ulrika saw only Minerva. And the Egyptian seer had told her to accept a key when offered. Their rooms above this tavern had doors that locked, but the innkeeper offered them no keys. Who would her next teacher be? And when would she receive a key—to what?
While Timonides and Nestor, who shared her table, consumed their meal of oily fish and stewed leeks, oblivious to Ulrika's brief withdrawal from the moment, she turned her attention to the tavern's entrance, where the closed door kept out the cold and the rain.
Where was Sebastianus? He had gone out into the city earlier that day. Had he gotten lost?
The inn was located north of the Jewish Quarter in Antioch, on a narrow, hilly lane called Green Wizard Street for reasons no one knew, since no wizards lived there, nor were there any trees or shrubs or greenery of any kind. But it was in a maze where a man could easily lose his way. And as it was nearly midnight, the weather outside inclement, Ulrika was worried that he had gotten lost, or worse.
She tried not to worry, but the tavern was quiet and filled with shadows. No one had come through the front door in the past hour, and few patrons lingered in the smoky atmosphere. Two very drunk carpenters, complaining about lack of employment, leaned on the counter with beer mugs in their hands, and three tables accommodated patrons quietly snoozing in their cups. The innkeeper was a portly jolly man who was himself tipsy from sampling his own wares.
Ulrika felt her heart begin to gallop, and her respirations quicken. She had discovered that, in her conscious-breathing, not only did she have a stronger hold on her visions, a side benefit was a great inner calming for herself. And so she slowed her breathing now, reminding herself that Sebastianus left the inn every morning and always managed to find his way back through the warren of twisting, winding streets. The caravan to China was going to be the largest he had ever handled and so he had much to organize and see to.
And once again, Ulrika was impressed by Sebastianus's network of friends and connections. Even in a city so far from Rome, he seemed to know many men who owed him favors or who were simply happy to be of help.
However, the man he had gone out to meet with tonight had nothing to do with the caravan. He was helping Ulrika in her quest. She had not found her mother in Antioch. And so she decided to see if anyone in this port town had heard of the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar. Sebastianus had asked about and learned of a hermit living in the wilderness of Daphne outside Antioch, a foreigner named Bessas who had come to this Syrian city long ago, and who, it was said, possessed knowledge of rare and esoteric places. But Ulrika had been cautioned that no one had ever been able to get such information out of the old hermit. Nothing had worked, everyone said. Bribery, reasoning, pleading, even threats.
Sebastianus had said that he could get the information from the old man, and Ulrika half believed he would, for Sebastianus Gallus could be a very persuasive man. He was visiting the hermit at that moment, and Ulrika prayed that he would be successful.
The clock in the corner of the room—a stone urn marked with hours, and from which water dripped, lowering the level each hour—now indicated that it was past midnight.
Feeling a tug on her arm, Ulrika turned to see Nestor offering her a plump peach. Ulrika thanked him and bit into the juicy fruit. Ever since the episode with the false blind beggar in Pisa, Nestor had followed her about like a puppy, smiling adoringly and giving her gifts. She did not mind. His childlike innocence, in the body of so large a grown man, and his guileless nature, touched her.
Ulrika suspected that Nestor had a poor grasp of time and distance and that, most likely, the attack by the beggar seemed to him to have occurred only yesterday, and in this city. Because of this, unlike most people, his memory of it would never fade, nor would his gratitude to her for saving him.
She turned toward the tavern's entrance, where she hoped Sebastianus would soon appear, and felt her heart flutter. Sebastianus had taken residence there, she carried him day and night in her breast and in her thoughts. When she was in his presence, her body grew warm and she ached for his touch. She had never known such desire. Once, during the voyage from Rome, a storm had struck and Sebastianus had held her and comforted her as the ship was tossed mercilessly on high seas. Ulrika had thought they would kiss, that they would make love. But he never took that crucial step.
She had seen the way Sebastianus looked at her when he thought she was unaware, and knew that he welcomed her touch. They both found ways and excuses to be in each other's company. But neither had dared utter words that could not be called back. She knew it was because neither was free. Both were committed to separate destinies.
As she finished the peach, a rare fruit that had been brought, over many years and by many brave caravans, from China, she saw its presence in this particular tavern on this particular night as a sign that Sebastianus was on the right road.
Her eyes strayed again to the clock, and her worry grew.
"I pray that my master is successful," Timonides said as he, too, noted the hour and wondered where Sebastianus was. Had he been able to find the hermit Bessas? Was he successful in obtaining the location of the Crystal Pools? Timonides had no idea what ploy Sebastianus was going to use, or why his stubborn young master thought it would work where others had failed, but he hoped Sebastianus was successful.
"If not," Timonides muttered as he ran his bread around his greasy plate, catching fried onion and the last bits of fish, "my master should just pluck the bastard's head from his neck and scoop the information out!"
The fire cracked and sparks flew upward. Nestor smiled and giggled. His chin was greasy from dinner, his tunic spotted and stained, but Timonides would take care of those things later, as he always did. Nestor had earlier astonished the innkeeper by replicating one of the man's own specialty dishes—a delicacy made of chopped nuts and honey. Over the years, innkeepers and wealthy housewives had tried to buy Timonides's son—with his talent, one could steal the secret recipes of Rome's renowned chefs and serve them at one's own table. But Timonides would never sell Nestor, and it wasn't just because he himself enjoyed his son's unique skills. Nestor was the center of the old Greek's universe, and to Timonides Nestor wasn't simple minded, he was just a very sweet boy. It didn't matter that Nestor had no idea where they were at that moment or where they were going. Even the ocean voyage hadn't fazed him, as he had stood at the ship's railing, smiling at the sea. And soon, they would be seeing yet new and different sights to delight the child-man.