The Serpent Mage by Greg Bear Read Free Book Online Page A

with what appeared to be letters. A small wine rack with three dusty bottles had been jammed in the lower corner.
    Michael swore under his breath and ascended the stairs to get a flashlight. Returning, he played the beam over the contents of the armoire, seeing that most of the papers were letters, and most of the letters were in German. Curious, he removed a bottle from the rack and read the label, with some difficulty deciphering the fraktur lettering.
    Sappelsonnenuhr
    Feinste Teisenbeerenauslese
    1921
    The label carried a sundial, the gnomon casting two shadows. Beneath the lettering was a rose and a cluster of red grapes. He replaced the bottle carefully.
    On an upper shelf above the drawers, he spotted a black looseleaf notebook, its spine rippled. The heavy sweet odor…
    (And he remembered what that fragrance reminded him of — himself, whenever he had touched water in the Realm — the odor of the bearer of a Song of Power.)
    … intensified as he opened the notebook. The paper within seemed to squirm under the flashlight beam, shimmering like a film of oil on water, the writing surrounded by warped dimples of oily red, purple and green.
    It was a music manuscript. Holding his finger under the title on the first page, he was able to still the play of light enough to read :

    Das Unendlichkeit Konzert
    Opus 45
    von Arno Waltiri

    Each turned page exuded a stronger, more clearly defined perfume, until Michael could stand no more. The cubicle seemed to close down around him, oppressing him with the mixed smells of sweet rain, decaying flowers, dust and endless abandonment. He closed the notebook and shook his head, snorting.
    He doubted the notebook and the manuscript within had had these peculiar qualities when the music was first penned. Since that time, something had altered the very material on which the concerto had been written.
    He shuddered and replaced the manuscript, closing the ar-moire doors.
    In the clear April afternoon light in the back yard, Michael squatted on the grass and picked at a few blades, face crossed with intense thought.
    Everything was laid out before him; he had only to choose what to investigate first. Which gate to take.
    He did not have the luxury of not choosing.
----

Chapter Five
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    Robert invited Michael in and introduced his mother.
    Mrs. Dopso was in her mid-sixties, sandy hair frosted with grey, frame small and delicate.
    " I'm so glad we're finally getting a chance to meet!" she enthused, fluttering one hand as if shooing away moths.
    One of her blue eyes canted upward with perpetual concern, and a blissful smile lighted on her face frequently as she spoke.
    They sat down to dinner within minutes of six o'clock, shadows lying deep in the old house, which was much smaller than the Waltiri home. Robert explained that his mother's favorite hobby was saving electricity. She lighted candles in brass holders on the table, her expression grave as she applied match to wick, then grateful as the flame grew.
    "I'd rather let others have the electricity, those who need it more," she said. "Improve our country's productivity, pump it into big factories."
    "She's a bit hazy on how the power net operates," Robert explained.
    "Perhaps, perhaps," Mrs. Dopso said lightly. "I'm just so pleased to have Michael as a guest. We have so much to talk about."
    "Perhaps not all at once," Robert suggested.
    "My son. Have you ever heard such a son?" She hurried into the kitchen, hands twisting slowly back and forth at her sides, and returned with a bowl heaped high with steamed vegetables. Next came a cheese and tuna casserole, followed by a plate heaped high with uniformly sliced bread of virginal whiteness. "It's not a feast," she said. "It's just food , but the talk is more important than the dinner."
    "Mother knows you're the caretaker for the Waltiri estate." Robert scooped vegetables onto his plate. He handed the casserole to Michael, who took a generous portion. Thanks to his