Breath and Bones by Susann Cokal Page A

Famke did not complain: She felt they were as happy as they could be.

    One night near suppertime, when the streetlamps had long been lit, Albert returned sweating and full of ideas. “I ran all the way from Carlsberg brewery,” he panted, unfastening her hair. “I’ve solved the problem of the ice!” He seemed inordinately pleased as he turned to her bodice buttons.
    â€œWhy were you to the brewery?” she asked, shrugging docilely out of thesleeves. She did not allow herself to glance at the fried fish congealing on its plate; art would always take precedence.
    â€œI watched the workers as they left for the day,” Albert said, tugging on her skirt. “All those faces, so tired, so cold, under that harsh light”—the brewery had gone to electric power that spring—“and I realized Nimue must have
faces
in her ice blocks. Her early victims. Isn’t it brilliant?” As the skirt came down, he looked up at her with the bright eyes of a schoolboy.
    Famke hesitated, holding the string of her bloomers. The hair on her body was already standing stiff in the cold. “Did you not say your Nimue must be virgin?” she asked.
    â€œYes . . .”
    â€œSo if Merlin is her first lover, should—shouldn’t—he be her first . . . victim . . . as well?”
    She saw immediately that she’d said the wrong thing. Albert’s face fell, and he himself dropped to the floor, where he sat bent-legged and plainly miserable. Famke cursed herself and then, to distract Albert, ripped away the cord of her bloomers and stepped out of them.
    He noticed nothing.
    â€œI think Nimue is beginning to bore me,” he mumbled into his lap. “I’ve nearly finished painting you, and the thought of rendering all that ice . . . Some faces inside would make it more interesting.”
    â€œBut then the painting would be . . .” Famke hesitated; she was not used to speaking in conditional tenses, any more than she was used to voicing opinions on matters of art—“. . . less good. For those who see it, I mean to say. In your first plan, as you have said, they will see the moment of Nimue’s transforming into a villain, as well as the transforming she makes for Merlin. If you put in other men, she is not a virgin, and she is not changing.”
    In his glum silence, she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. During several long minutes, Albert continued to stare down at himself, until finally he drew himself up and said, “I am going out again.”

    When Famke opened her eyes the next morning, the sun was already shining with a bright yellow light. One golden ray picked out a small silver box, slightly battered but gleaming, lying forgotten on the mantel.
    â€œChristiansborg,” she said without thinking.
    Her voice woke Albert up. He smelled sour as he yawned and stretched, reaching for her as if he’d forgotten their last conversations; perhaps he had drowned his frustrations more deeply than she had thought when he came home. He spoke as if he had a headache. “What was that, darling?”
    â€œI want to go to Christiansborg,” she blurted.
    â€œIn the daytime? With all the guards about?”
    â€œI am going,” she said, knowing she sounded childish. “And you may come. I have an idea.”
    To her surprise, Albert yielded. Perhaps he knew she couldn’t be pushed too far this day, or perhaps aquavit (that was what she decided it had been, rather than the more prosaic beer) had set carpenters pounding in his head too hard for him to work. The two of them dressed and went out, breakfasting on fresh bakery bread.
    It was a short walk, accomplished in silence. In an unexpected thaw, much of the recent snow had melted, and most of the slush was gone from the roads. Famke held her skirts up but sank to her ankles in mud. Albert’s boots were already dirty, and he didn’t seem to notice they were getting