The Secret Key of Pythagorum Read online

  Such wallopings were not unusual for Savaric. He had long given up hoping to prove his innocence to his mother in any of the petty matters and unusual events that took place in the village. More and more, he spent his time invisible with a pine needle tucked in a special pocket he had made in his shirt that assured the needle stayed in contact with his skin. It did not do to have the needle suddenly fall away from his skin and into his shirt when he stood somewhere that he wasn’t supposed to be. That had happened once when he watched two young lovers kissing on a riverbank. After he got a solid thrashing from the young man, he made sure that wouldn’t happen again. He also got better at defending himself, since he seemed to be a target for fights.

  After a while, Nicola couldn’t beat him anymore. She resorted to longer and larger weapons, but he became bigger and better at disarming her. Soon enough, she could only screech at him, and for that assault he just left.

  His sojourns away from his horrible mother, nightly and otherwise, helped to break the boredom of his daily life and eased the pain of his family’s ostracism from the village society. Savaric became quite well versed in all the private affairs of the village. He lost no opportunity to listen to the private conversations of his neighbors. He grew very skilled at controlling his breathing and moving his body without sound so that he could stand undetected in a room of any house of the village. He rarely used his ability to steal anything more than a hunk of bread off a kitchen table. But he did know plenty about every fight, bad crop, stolen virtue, and mundane detail for every household for miles around.

  When Warin began to act oddly, and ponder over his strip of odd-looking paper for hours on end in the evenings, Savaric noticed. He noticed when Warin made his trek to Snowdonia, stole the key as soon as Warin left it in the hollow of the tree, and listened to the empty-headed lout as he slobbered his secret out in the tavern. He also followed Warin home and discovered the hiding place for his map—and promptly stole it the next day when Warin worked out in the fields.

  For many weeks after that, Savaric took his turn bending over the strip of papyrus for hours on end. Every chance he got to be alone, he pulled it out of another special hidey pocket he had created in the small of his back for the map and the key, and examined it, turning it this way and that, looking through it up at the sky. But for a young man who had never left his village and never seen a map, the efforts were futile. He had only places he had heard spoken of to refer to, and they did little to help him make sense of what lay before him.

  Probably nothing would have ever happened to Savaric, or the map and key, if his Nana hadn’t caught him poring over it one day.

  He sat in the shadow of the shed one drowsy afternoon, sound asleep with his mouth hanging open. She came around the corner without waking him, since she always moved quietly. When she saw him asleep, she almost woke him immediately, but seeing what lay in his hand, she stopped. She inched forward stealthily, then leaned over to see what she could of the papyrus. Turning her head to the side to try and decipher it, she stifled a gasp when she realized it was a map. She backed away from him and sat down on the hill across from where he sat. She plucked a blade of grass and picked it apart, thinking deeply. After a while, she spoke out loud.

  “Savaric.”

  He didn’t stir.

  “Savaric, wake up,” she said louder and more forcefully. This time Savaric grunted, then came to consciousness quickly, grabbing for the map to try, much too late, to hide it.

  “Don’t bother. I’ve already seen it. Where did you get it?”

  “Uh. Found it in…a meadow,” he said through his sleepy fog.

  “Come on, boy. This kind of thing isn’t just left out in the open. Where did you steal it from?”

  He knew he didn’t have the mental or physical capacity at that moment to defend against his grandmother. He also knew that she wouldn’t beat him, so he gave up. “I stole it from Warin.”

  “Warin!” she said. “What was that useless goat doing with it?”

  “By his own account, his family had the map in his cottage and knew the rhyme, then he followed the rhyme to the key.”

  “Key, what key?”

  Savaric sighed, then reached into his hidey pocket and produced the key. He looked around to make sure no one lurked nearby, and held it up to her. It flashed in the sunlight, the scrolls on its overly large bow dazzling in the light. He tossed it to her, and she turned it over in her hand, marveling at the elaborate design.

  “So beautiful,” she breathed.

  “Yes, lovely, isn’t it? For a key that wonderful, the treasure it opens must be worth a kingdom.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Surely it must. Does the map show where the treasure lies?”

  “The map could be the guide to find a donkey’s ass for all I know,” he snapped back. “I can’t make it out from ships or sails.”

  “Let me eye it.” She leaned forward, and he handed the rolled map over to her.

  She unrolled the map and bent over to look at it closely. “Hmmm. I wonder what this long line is. All these other things, the tree, the mountain, the cave, I know nothing about. These could be anywhere in this land.”

  He sighed and reached for the map. “Yes, well, then you see my problem. I have pondered the thing until I felt my ears would start to bleed from all the ponderin’. And I am no closer than when—”

  At that moment, Nicola screeched from nearby, “Where are you two lazy pigs?” Nana got up in a flash, tossed the key to him, and quickly walked around the shed toward Nicola’s voice. “Do I have to do every scrap of work about this farm?”

  “You would love to claim that, wouldn’t you?” Nana fired back. “It would give you so much more to grouse about. Though I don’t know how you’d find the time for any more grousing and complaining then ye already do.”

  Savaric hastily rolled the map, then sat frozen to the back of the shed and listened as their voices faded away. He breathed a big sigh of relief and started walking straight up the hill, keeping out of sight from the cottage. The last thing he needed was for Nicola to think that he and Nana were up to something. Though he would never admit it, he was relieved that Nana now knew about the map and key. He was sure that gray old head would come up with more than he had.

  The door to the cottage slammed shut, the cool spring air sweeping into the small room with earthen floors. With an authoritative snap, Nana pulled the thin curtains across the tiny windows. It had taken a few days, but she had finally dropped enough subtle clues to persuade Nicola that she deserved an evening at the alehouse. Nana and Savaric exchanged a look of relief. He quickly barred the door with a thick, roughly hewn piece of wood.

  “Finally, she’s gone,” Savaric said. “I’ll stoke the fire.”

  “Good. I’ll gather the extra lanterns. We need all the light we can muster to make sense of this curious thing.”

  They unrolled the map and spread it across the wooden table, weighting the corners with the heavy crocks they used for cooking.

  The map measured about a foot across with rough edges. They could easily make out the individual pieces of papyrus that had been pressed together to somehow make the sheet. The black ink showed a large block of land, and lines of the northern portion of the island incomplete. On a narrower part of the island, a long thick line had been drawn that nearly traversed the width of the island.

  “Here. This line,” she said. “I remember hearing about the Wall of Aelian when I was a girl. But I’ve never seen it. That is what this line could be.”

  “But what about these mountains?” he replied. “And the cave? How does one find those?”

  “Knowing Warin’s family lore would be handy right now.” she paused for a moment. “Maybe these words here are directions about those drawings. But they aren’t written in the King’s English or Latin, of that I can be sure.”

  “But what language would it be in if this is a map of Britannia?”

  “It could have been written by someone who spoke anot
her language that wanted to make a map of a place foreign to him,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, embarrassed. “Of course.”

  Not wanting to embarrass him further, Nana turned back to the map. “There are symbols here as well. This one is very strange. A cross with a circle on top. I’ve never seen that before.”

  “No, don’t see that in church on Sunday, do you?” he replied. The fire sparked loudly and glowed brighter for a moment. They exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  “I wish I could divine more, Savaric. I just haven’t seen that many maps in my life, and I don’t have one to compare this to. There really is only one thing to do.” She paused for a long time. “And it will be dangerous.”

  Savaric’s head snapped up to look at her, though his elbows remained planted on the table. “Dangerous?” he repeated.

  She nodded ruefully.

  “What would I have to do?”

  “You are not required to do anything. You can hide this map and key and never look at them again. You’ll never know anything about them. We will probably be safe, at least until someone comes looking for them.”

  He swallowed hard and said nothing.

  She continued. “Or you can journey to Deva and find the scribe that lives there. He has seen many maps and might be able to decipher something.” She paused. “But who knows if he is trustworthy and wouldn’t try to steal the map from you,” she said dejectedly.

  “But I have never traveled to Deva. Or anywhere else, for that matter. How would I find it?”

  “I can tell you how to get there,” she said evenly, staring at him. The fire glowing in the hearth cast moving shadows over her deeply wrinkled face.

  He stared back at her hard, then looked down at the table.

  “What about Mother? She would never let me go.” He shot a quick glance up at her. Nana thought for a moment.

  “We can get her to think that your taking leave is her idea. Leave it to me; I know how to handle that daughter of mine.”

  “I know,” he replied wryly. She laughed gently. For a moment, the mood stayed light. “Dangerous, eh? Can I use my invisible needles somehow to make it safer?”

  “Yes!” she replied, excitedly. “But the needles die after a time. You may be gone for a long time. What will happen then?”

  “I don’t know.” He said slowly. He thought for a while, staring across the table. “Yes, I do know. Maybe I can make a crock to hold the leaves, just like this crock holds water for flowers from the fields.” He tapped one of the crocks stationed on a corner of the map.

  “Yes, that could work, if it was shaped the right way,” she said thoughtfully, pausing for a few moments. “Do you think you want to try to go?”

  He turned his body and leaned toward the fire, thinking hard. “I’ve been looking at this map for weeks. I am burning with curiosity about what it means and where it leads to. I don’t think I could ever hide it, forget it, and be satisfied with my life hereafter. Especially as horrible as Mother has become.” He paused. “I’m going,” he said forcefully as he stood up.

  “Good boy,” Nana said, clapping her hands. “We have a lot of work to do to get you ready to go. And it all has to be done without Nicola. She’s going to have to be at the alehouse like a rooster on a post!”

  And with that, they pressed closer to the table and began to hatch their plan.

  CHAPTER 7

  “The sharpest sword is a word spoken in wrath.”

  - Buddha

  Two nights later, Nicola came into the cottage and collapsed onto the bench by the table. She had been threshing grain in the heat of the day and felt wilted by the sun, and her neck dripped with sweat. “Bring me some water—quickly! I feel faint.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Nicola. Here. Drink, drink. This should be nice and cool. Why are you so hot?”

  “That boy who thinks he’s a man but is not left to rest in the shade for a piece and never came back. And I had to finish the whole task by myself in this horrible heat!” she said angrily.

  “What could have happened to him? He didn’t get hurt somehow, did he?” Nana replied, looking alarmed. At that moment, the door swung open and Savaric sauntered in, looking cool, but with suspicious-looking sleep wrinkles on his face.

  “Where have you been?” the two women said simultaneously.

  “Ah, I fell asleep in the orchard,” he said casually, stretching.

  “Asleep! Asleep!” Nicola spat. “I’ve been breaking my back for hours, and you’ve been napping!” She sprang up from her spot at the table and lunged for the pony halter hanging on a peg by the door. Savaric tried to escape, but her approach to the door cut him off. He changed directions quickly toward the fireplace, knocking over the pitcher of water in the process. Nicola spun around, whipping the halter through the air like a whip.

  “I’ll teach you a lesson, you ungrateful sprout.” She lunged around the table, and Savaric predictably went around the other way. She changed directions abruptly, knocking over a wooden chair. She growled in frustration.

  “Stop. Stop! Both of you! This is idiotic. You’ll both destroy the house,” Nana cried out. The two continued to circle. Nana wrung her hands, begging them to stop.

  “Savaric! How much coin do you have?”

  “Coin?” he said incredulously, not taking his eyes off Nicola. Nicola leaned across the table and delivered a sharp blow to his shoulder with the halter. “Blast!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Coin!” she repeated.

  “Probably three coins,” he said hastily.

  “Give them to Nicola. Now!” she shouted. The two began to slow down the dance around the table. Curiosity showed on both their faces.

  “What would I do that for?” Savaric said.

  “She has worked very hard today, and you have done nothing. She deserves a trip or two to the alehouse, and you should pay for it since you are too lazy to work.” The two stopped circling. Seeing an out to his predicament without pain, he reluctantly dug into his pockets, grumbling.

  “Very well,” he said sarcastically. “Here you are, Mother. My gift to you.”

  Nicola looked amazed as he dropped the coins into her palm. “By god’s body, I can’t believe it. Well, I’ll be off then.” She turned and scurried out of the room, not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind.

  The two waited for a few moments after the door had slammed, then burst into laughter.

  “Well played! Well played,” Nana said admiringly. “I can’t believe she didn’t suspect a thing. She just hurried on out!”

  “I can’t either,” he replied.

  “Well, we’ve done it! The first step is finished. Let’s have some stew, then we’ll start making the copies.”

  They tucked into their hearty bowls of beef and vegetable stew, crowing over their success. After their meal, they pulled out pieces of rough paper from a hiding spot behind a cabinet and began to draw incomplete copies of the map, with different parts of the map on each copy. They thought that by only showing parts of the whole to the Deva scribe, they could protect the overall secret, as well as make an inevitable theft easy to recover from.

  Over the next few evenings, Savaric also worked on making several thin vials out of mud, baking them in the sun and then putting them in the fire at night. He scavenged corks from behind the alehouse, using them to stop up the vials along with a thin seal of wax. After a few trials, he found a combination that worked to keep the needles soaking in a bit of water, extending their life.

  A fortnight later, Savaric again went missing for an afternoon, skipping his duties. Nicola, so soon after her previous wretched afternoon, knew his slovenliness was happening again, and wasted no time lighting up her temper. When he sauntered back into the yard looking sleepy, she sat waiting.

  She let him pass her as she hid behind the shed, and then came up behind him, whipping the little riding crop they used with the pony. The whip made a hissing noise that caught Savaric off
guard and snapped the tender edge of his ear. He yelped with pain and turned around to face her. A trickle of blood dripped from his ear. He crouched low and spread his arms wide, ready to wrestle her to the ground.

  “Too good to work, are ye?” she snarled. She snapped the crop at him again. He dodged to the side, easily getting out of the way before the crop came close.

  “And what are you going to do about it, sweet Mother?” he gloated.

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked by the cheekiness, then cracked the whip again, missing him completely. He laughed. She stopped and looked at him again, incredulous at his insolence. She folded her arms and stayed silent for a few moments. Nana, hearing the ruckus, came out of the cottage and watched from the doorway.

  “What I am going to do, sweet child,” she said sarcastically, “is put you out. You are a troublesome whelp, and you’re not working your share on this farm. Be gone!” Her voice gradually rose, ending in a high-pitched shout.

  Savaric’s mouth dropped open. He watched her as she brushed past him, pushing him with her shoulder.

  “But, but…where am I to go? How will I eat?” he stammered.

  “Not my concern any longer,” she retorted.

  “Nicola, be reasonable. He’s your son! You can’t just desert him,” Nana said.

  “Yes, I can. And I just did.”

  Nicola shouldered her way through the doorway.

  “Think about this, daughter. You may never see him again. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Nicola stood defiant. Her lip trembled almost imperceptibly. She crossed her arms. “Yes. I’m sure. He’s insolent and uncontrollable, just like you said. He’s the village thief. I want him gone before anyone figures it all out and brings trouble to this house.”