Uncia or Precious Nothing

Chapter 3. Jeronimus Nogus

Chapter 3

Jeronimus Nogus

While the guardians were dealing with local miracles at the palace, a magical event of international scale took place right outside its walls. The world-famous illusionist Jeronimus Nogus arrived at the Native Island.

This cane-thin gentleman with an aquiline nose was considered a gatherer of all things unusual and was also known in narrow circles as the ‘collector of muses’. The magician's undisputed talent was to find them in various places, where an ordinary man would not even think to look. Large muses were commonly extracted from architectural compositions, panoramic landscapes and oratorios, and small ones – from miniatures, etudes, sketches and even epigrams.

For instance, while visiting an art museum, Nogus walked with his eyes closed and nostrils flaring, and it could seem that the guest was enjoying the smell of oil but not the paintings, though some people do find the aroma very pleasant. After wandering in this manner for half an hour, maestro would stop by a painting, perhaps of a blooming pond. And the pond seemed to be an ordinary one, but he definitely knew that beneath the duckweed and water lilies someone he needed was hiding, and indeed, leveling his nostrils with the painting, he would fish out a reckless muse.

Or at a violin concerto – he pretended to be listening with his eyes closed, all the while aiming his nose at the soloist. The music sounded true to the score, but the performer would suddenly be shocked, realizing that his violin was no longer crying and laughing sincerely, but aping and inventing everything. The impression was that the precious ‘Italian’ had been replaced by a fake right during the performance, and Jeronimus would already be hiding the stolen muse at a place known only to him.

With equal ease he procured them from trumpets and French horns, flutes and clarinets, violas and double basses. Only the percussions remained intact: crashes, kettledrums and timpani kept on rumbling with heart and soul.

Not that the magician was going to open his own Museum, – muses were needed for a short while to quench his thirst and hunger: Jeronimus fed on their invisible glow. He did it without the need for a fork or a knife, devouring them by some mysterious means, so that after dinner in the charmer's company the beauties would lose their magic powers, literally drained like squeezed lemons. Flattened pimpled fruits dropped out of his sleeves and trousers of their own accord, and the fact that he could not stand sour taste changed nothing – the muses refused to turn into something at least sour-sweet like a grapefruit.

A long time ago, when Jerome Nogus was not that rich and famous, maestro used to throw the wretched fruits down the drain. But, having made a handsome fortune, he decided not to squander anything, and put them to use. At a winery owned by the artist, lemon peel was removed and used to prepare a tincture called “Jeronimus Nogus’ Musical Liqueur”. The drink was bottled into small flasks like those used for Cologne water, and, as per maestro's assurances, was able to relieve various illnesses and misfortunes like colic, adultery and tone-deafness.

There was a considerable demand for the potion, despite its even more considerable price, though some caustic tongues said that the enterprising illusionist had vast citrus plantations hidden in tropical countries, as if in a false-bottom hat. However, people believed that the tincture was ‘infused with genuine muses’, as was stated in the annotation, and would buy several flasks at a time.

Hocus-pocus with the signature drink has provided Nogus with a stable income, but his usual trick was undoubtedly one with his personal dirigible – the bulky and cumbersome object evaporated as if by magic. Indeed, the mandatory condition was for the audience to close their eyes for a time. A special stopwatch with a buzzer would give a signal, and then another one, allowing to open their eyes, sounded three seconds later. And everybody was profoundly surprised, because even a rocket wouldn’t have dropped out of sight that quickly. Maestro always disappeared along with the airship, making people applaud the stopwatch, which was also buzzing out of a void.

All those armed in advance with binoculars and telescopes just clicked their tongues: the sky was clear and no secret places to be found nearby.

But once a curious thing happened: a retired detective brought a police dog with him and made her furtively sniff the dirigible before the performance. Following the successful disappearance, the dog, for no apparent reason at all, started to bark at a corpulent gentleman with a cane standing to the side. The dog was calmed down with some difficulty, and it took time to apologize to the gentleman, who turned out his pockets proving that he had no airship on him.

And if you ask whether there was a dodger who feigned closing eyes and peeped, there was one indeed – a correspondent from a popular tabloid. But when the buzzer sounded for the second time, and the honest audience opened their eyes, he was discovered breathless with a grimace of horror on his face. The same newspaper reported that the guy had died of a heart attack. No one dared to peep again since.

And there were no witnesses of how the dirigible materialized again. It was just that after a while the airship with letter ‘N’ in golden palm leaves on the side landed in another city. By the way, the artist travelled only by this personal transport, rejecting airplanes, ocean liners and railways. There was even a standing joke that Nogus was a detail of his dirigible and vice versa – the dirigible was a detail of Nogus, but it wasn't clarified exactly which one.

‘Musical’ hunger made maestro search for all things wonderful, no matter which part of the world they were in, – his agents were everywhere, even on that cast-off piece of soil as the princess' Native Island.

A few years ago, when he first learned of Uncia’s ‘magic flight’, Jeronimus was already headed there, but the infamous events forced him to turn his airship around mid-flight – the artist avoided interfering in politics. Now, when the turmoil had subsided, he decided to try the ‘magic smile’, and at the same time to replenish his account by demonstrating the famous disappearing trick.

At the very same time when maestro was coming down the ladder to meet a noisy crowd of journalists and gapers, the new session of the High Council was underway. The guardians were discussing three possible versions of the princess' future.

The first was to make a mask indistinguishable from the original, but with a false smile and let the girl go on working. The second – to lock the little sorceress up in a tower for a couple of years and see if she loses her powers. And the third idea was to take her as far away from land as possible under the guise of a cruise and throw her overboard.

Each of the options had its ‘pros’ and ‘cons’. The first promised a pretty income because of an influx of tourists, who were coming from countries where monarchy had been overthrown long ago as well as from places where all such attempts had failed. But whether or not this would actually work was hard to predict.

The second way implied inevitable losses, since Nothing had to be supplied with food, water and guards; and no one could foresee when she would lose her magic skills. Though that was an opportunity for the guardians to pick them up.

The third way would obviously spare everyone any troubles, but also promised no profit – either material or mystical.

The arguments were subsiding and exploding again and at some point, in an appeal for silence, chairman Karafa pulled out his revolver and discharged it into the air.

The bang of the shot hadn’t yet faded away when the doors opened, and Doctor of Magic, maestro Jeronimus Nogus entered the Session Hall.

He swept his piercing nostrils over the guardians and proposed a fourth option, namely, to force the princess to cease smiling entirely, since he was ready to buy the ‘magic smile’ immediately.

Let us add that along with the above-mentioned build, Nogus had an unusually rich bass voice. It produced an impression of a contrabass miraculously hidden inside a single long fiddlestick.

The sudden arrival of the international celebrity and his unexpected statement came as a bombshell.

“But the princess is a living creature, for God’s sake!” Hamnet, the chairman’s younger brother, protested fervently, but realized his blunder and effaced himself.

Karafa, on the contrary, expressed his immediate willingness to make a deal and announced the price. But it happened to be much higher than the price of a smile that a troy uncia bestows upon its happy owner. The guest immediately stressed such unfairness.

“You just need the smile, and what should we do with the rest?” Karafa was toying with his revolver. “Nothing without a smile is not worth anything”.

The magician took off his top hat and threw his silk gloves inside it.

“Since the princess is no more Uncia than this ‘Nothing’ of yours, let the price reflect this fact!” he suggested reasonably.

“Then wait till the smile becomes ordinary,” Karafa ejected an empty cartridge-case onto the marble floor.

A piercing clink of brass made Jeronimus wince and cover his nose with the palm of his hand.

“And how long should I wait?”

“We are also clueless.”

“May I get just a glimpse now?” he removed his hand.

“A glimpse of Nothing? For such a ridiculous amount?” Karafa was polishing the diamond star on the jacket with his sleeve. “You and your dirigible above others must know the real price of what one can’t see anymore!”

Medina, Karafa’s first deputy in the High Council, turned towards the guest.

“And what do you think about this smile?” Medina showed her pearly teeth. “The most magical of all!”

Jeronimus aimed his nostrils at the smile, but not even a lemon segment dropped out of his sleeve. Instead, he realized that the young lady could easily bite off a good few of his plantations. The man liked it and rendered a small bow.

However, none of the coaxing and hypnotic powers of the magician had any effect on the chairman, who obviously possessed a revolutionary endurance. Nogus ended up returning to the dirigible later on in the evening and disappearing from the Island. But he wasn’t the only one who disappeared – the swarthy gypsy-eyed beauty was waiting for him in the cabin.

So, inadvertently, the guardians spared the princess’ smile from turning into a squeezed lemon. The princess herself was moved to a deserted watchtower on the shore of the bay.

The building stood alone, its foundation washed by ocean waves, and was known as the Green tower because of the dense vegetation rooted between its stones. Several years earlier the books from the banned royal library had been piled up there (their charms also happened to be a mystery to the guardians).

The new disposition became a true gift for Uncia. An ancient treasury of knowledge, the library had been founded with boarding of the Byzantine ships and numbered thousands of rare and wonderful books. Scrolls, papyruses, volumes, tomes and folios occupied the entire space, leaving a narrow passage to the spiral ladder leading up to the observation chamber, where Uncia arranged her quarters.

Located above the book mountain peak, this place seemed to symbolize the loftiness that self-education could elevate a person to.

For lack of furniture, the resourceful tenant used the books to make her bed, table and chairs – everything except for a throne, which aroused very unpleasant reminiscences. She decorated the walls with illustrations from The Oxford Zoological Encyclopedia and hung a color picture of a rainbow-billed toucan by the bed head. Without further ado, her evening conversation companion was named Oxford.

The princess slept on books, ate on books, talked to books, promenaded amidst books. Once the bed was read from back to back and all her favorite characters moved into the shell where she was hiding from annoying museum visitors, the ‘furniture’ was replaced.

Owing to the height of her quarters or perhaps to the company of book sages, who went to heavens long time ago, her verse shelter acquired a celestial, moonlike, opalescent tint. The shell sparkled with every color of the rainbow and sometimes sang with them. Like a gramophone twisted into a long spiral, it receded into a mysterious depth affecting none of her vital organs. The lowest coil completely isolated the girl from the outside world.

Anyway, the only living person who could see her up close was a weak-sighted old man who brought her food and water. He was always accompanied by a sentry, who, according to orders, blindfolded himself as he approached the tower in case Nothing would take it to her head to smile from a distance. This is how they walked the last portion of the way: the old man with a tray in front, and the soldier with a rifle – behind him, holding onto his shoulder.

After a snack, having gained some energy, Uncia would go back to reading. She read everything indiscriminately, alternating poems and novels with alchemical treatises. Some instrument inside, having grown strong from the frequent appeals to a miracle, let her understand the writings by just touching the pages with her palm. And once in a while somebody’s winding idea, slipping lizard-like through her fingers, made her freeze agape with wonder.

From time to time the mistress of the book mountain fought pelicans, who considered the tower their territory. For many years they built nests and laid eggs in the loopholes. She gathered the birds' feathers to construct mechanical wings, according to a draft found along with a map of Atlantis, which served her as a blanket.

Although it was unclear how soon she'd be able to fly the wings, in her dreams Uncia flew regularly, as all teenagers do.

It usually started with her sitting on top of the mountain and peacefully chattering with the books. But, little by little, they behaved more and more discourteously, climbed on her shoulders and tried to push her down, and she would jump up and soar in the air. Then the books assumed formation as per the rules of military science and threw at her the cannon balls of periods, boomerangs of commas, arrows of words and spires of sentences, which she had to – literally, although only verbally – dodge. But that would not be enough either, and volumes formed into siege catapults, flinging whole paragraphs at her.

It repeated time and time again, and the poor soul swam inside the tower like a fish in an aquarium, unable to break free, and eventually plunged into an abyss swarming with letters. But once something happened to her familiar dream.

That night the princess as usual talked to the books and then fled from them. And suddenly someone’s invisible hand caught and lifted her, and the feeling of a dream stayed far beneath, squeezed between the pages, beyond the ceiling girders.

A palm tree on the roof tickled her shoulder blades and moved aside, and she hung still in the air, looking around the unusually vast starry sky.

A full moon illuminated the swaying black water, but even without its glow she could see the mountain peaks on the distant horizon. They shone like mysterious icon-lamps, saying over and over again: “As soon as you cross over the ridge, all your troubles will be gone!” And she darted forward, following the call.

Uncia flew faster than an arrow, more precisely than a bird soaring from the North to the South along the magnetic meridian, but despite all her efforts the peaks remained at a distance as if they were growing out of the sky rather than earth. The shell started to send alarming signals when, her fingers first, and then palms, caught a distant glow of the horizon. Imperceptibly, her sleeves and the hem of her skirt started to smolder, and she felt a burning sensation – not painful, but tantalizing. The strange, pleasant itch was growing stronger, and at some point her dress burst into flames, bathing her in a wave of incomparable bliss.

The space creased like an accordion and then stretched full-width, drawing her inside its transparent, vocal bellows, and music began to sound everywhere, and the peaks became so close that she could reach them with her hand, and she felt somebody watching her from that blinding shine. Neither loneliness nor sorrow – nothing could disturb her at that moment, all the longings came together to be fulfilled at last, as if the heavenly melody allowed her inside its sounds.

Uncia woke up from the sound of her own voice and realized with horror that she was standing on the ledge that encircled the tower, and the dawning horizon had stolen the icon-lamps…

The dream left a mass of questions so huge that she started getting out onto the ledge without fear of being blown off into the sea. Walking a narrow stone strip, the girl hummed the cherished melody as if searching for a path to the shining peaks. Her voice resounded far over the bay, attracting the attention of fishermen, the most superstitious of whom decided that the childish spirit of the Nightingale Queen had settled there. People looked up in anxiety, but the sounds coming from above were so beautiful that they forgot all their worries. Maybe, visiting the unknown expanses in search of shining peaks, her voice brought back something they could not find either in their nets or at the bottom of the ocean.

Every day the melodious vocalisms gathered a bigger audience, mostly young mothers with infants. Having spread their mats, they sat down at the foot of the tower and fed their babies. As long as the voice was sounding, no child cried or was capricious.

Having put their children to sleep, the women made themselves comfortable, and the songs from the top of the tower painted pictures of long-awaited prosperity and happiness.

Although each of the women had her own dreams, everybody saw approximately the same: their husbands would return from the sea with good catch, and would be tender, and brought them presents. They would not stay out till morning with their friends, and their families would live in abundance; the children were all healthy and did not misbehave more than usual.

Once Uncia fell silent, the women huddled together, and the hot air delivered all the latest news and gossip up to the tower, as it rose up from the heated sand. That’s how she knew everything that occurred on the Native Island and around the world.

One day the women started talking about a discovery made by a European mathematician. He had allegedly invented a device capable of seeing such things that at times were better to be ignored.

“Does it really read people’s thoughts?” one of them cried out. “And could I see what's on my husband's mind?”

“Easily!” assured the acquaintance.

“And what my lover thinks?”

“As if it’s spread out on the palm of your hand!”

“So this is cooler than this rascal Nogus' tricks,” said the third one.

“Why ‘a rascal’?” her neighbor stood up for the magician. “The dirigible does disappear!”

“Exactly,” the woman nodded eagerly. “People pay for the thing to disappear, not to appear. And what does this make your Nogus after all?”

But soon they quit arguing and started discussing the unusual invention.

“But the name of the device sounds kind of insignificant,” one of the women doubted. “Who on earth would call a good thing an emptyscope?”

“Well, to me the name makes no difference,” said the other woman. “If the rumors are true, every home needs such a thingummy!”

And they all agreed that the novel device would help prevent their husbands’ inclinations to adultery and stashing money away. Very few words were said about the inventor himself, only that he had failed to be a good husband and father – his wife divorced him and took away their children.

Nearly everything Uncia heard that day was true. We can only add that the inventor of the wonderful device capable of seeing the invisible world, recently a professor at the Royal University of Prague, Jacob Poup could be justifiably considered the genius of his time.