The Scribe(11)

“Tell me, Gorgias—what is this emergency that ails us so?”

At that moment a low, sustained growl interrupted. Gorgias recognized one of Wilfred’s dogs clenching its jaw and advancing toward him, with the other hound close behind. But they were retrained by harnesses that Gorgias saw tighten as they pulled along the familiar but strange contraption that screeched along on its crude wooden wheels. Hearing their master command them to stop, the dogs lay down and the cart came to a standstill.

Gorgias could see Wilfred’s grotesque face cocked awkwardly to one side. The man let go of the reins and held his hands out to the dogs, who rushed over to lick them.

“Every day I find it harder to handle these devils,” said Wilfred, his voice choked with emotion, “but the Lord knows that without them, I would live like a dry old olive tree.”

Despite the years that had gone by, Gorgias was still shocked by the extraordinary appearance of the count. For as long as he’d known him, Wilfred had been a prisoner of that wheeled device—where he’d slept, ate, and emptied his bowels ever since both his legs were amputated as a boy.

Gorgias bowed in greeting.

“Dispense with the formalities and tell me—what has happened?”

The scribe looked from side to side. He had been so anxious to speak with the count, and now he did not know where to start. At that moment a dog moved and the contraption suddenly rolled along. One of the wheels was squeaking and Gorgias went down on his knees to examine it as he tried to find the right words.

“It’s one of the rivets,” Gorgias said. “It must have come out with all the jolting. The boards are misaligned and could come off. You would do well to take the chair to the carpenter.”

“I hope you haven’t woken me to examine my cart.”

When Gorgias lifted his hand apologetically, Wilfred saw the bulky, bloody bandage wrapped around it.

“Good heavens! What have you done to your arm?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! A small incident,” he lied. “On the way to the workshops some poor wretch gave me a scratch or two. They fetched the physician and he insisted on dressing it, but you know these quacks, they’re worried they won’t get paid unless they wrap you in bandages.”

“True, but tell me: Are you able to move your hand?”

“With some difficulty. But a little work will loosen it up.”

“So what was the emergency?”

“Allow me to sit down. It’s about the codex. It’s not progressing as quickly as I would have hoped.”

“Well, aliquando bonus dormitat Deux. It is not a question of going quickly, but of finishing on time. Tell me, what has caused the delay? You haven’t told me anything about it,” he said, trying to conceal his annoyance.

“To be honest I didn’t wish to concern you. I thought I could make do with the pens I have, but I have sharpened them so much I can barely make the ink flow.”

“I fail to understand. You have dozens of quills.”

“Yes, but not of goose feather. And as you know, there are no geese left in Würzburg.”

“Then continue with the ones that you have, I don’t see the issue.”

“The problem lies with the flow. The ink descends too rapidly, and this could cause leaks that would ruin the entire document. Remember that I am using unborn calf’s vellum. The surface is so soft that any mistake handling the pen would have irreparable consequences.”

“Then why don’t you just use another type of parchment?”

“Not possible. At least, not for your purposes.”

Wilfred shifted in his seat. “So what do you propose?”

“My idea is to thicken the ink. Using the right binding agent, I could ensure that it flows more slowly, while maintaining the required glide. I could do it in a couple of weeks, I think.”

“Do what you must, but if you value your head, make sure the codex is ready by the agreed day.”

“I have already begun the preparations, don’t worry.”

“Very well. And since I’m here, I would like to take a look at the parchment. If you would be so kind as to bring it to me.”

Gorgias clenched his teeth. He did not want to explain that he faced a delay because the attacker had stolen a valuable copy and the original was tucked away in the bag that he had left behind in the workshop.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean it’s not possible?”

“I don’t have it here. I left it in Korne’s workshop.”

“And what in hell’s name is it doing there, at the risk that anyone could discover it?” roared the count. The dogs fidgeted restlessly.

“I’m sorry, Father. I know I should have consulted you, but late last night I noticed that one of the pages was starting to peel. I don’t know the cause, but when it happens it is vital that the problem is dealt with immediately. I needed an acid that Korne uses, and knowing how distrustful he is, I thought that it would be best to take the codex there, rather than ask him for the acid. At any rate, aside from Theresa, no one at the workshop can read, and one more parchment among the hundreds they have there would not attract anyone’s attention.”

“I don’t know… that all seems reasonable, but I don’t understand why you are here instead of at the workshop applying that acid. Finish what you have to do and bring the document back to the scriptorium. And for God’s sake, do not call me Father! I haven’t worn a habit for years!”