(PRAGUE 1599)
I am the ghost of Edward Kelley.
I am-was-an alchemist at the court of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II.
Impressed yet? Wait until you hear the rest of the story.
Okay, let me slow down lest I get ahead of myself. One thing at a time.
First let us address this idea of a “team” of alchemists mentioned by Basil Worshamn. There was no team. There was only me. I suppose if you count the maid who emptied our chamber pots every day and the young girl who brought us refreshment in the afternoons, you might consider we were all part of a team. But mixing just the exact right amount of milk and sugar into a cup of tea hardly counts as alchemy.
No, the entire team was yours truly, good old long-suffering Edward Kelley.
Man, did I hate being the team.
Dee was the worst sort of boss. Any dim-witted peasant girl could have cleaned the glassware and equipment every night, but Dee insisted that I do it. He trusted almost no one to handle his precious equipment. Make sure those herbs are put up just right, Edward. Don’t heat the mixture in that beaker too long, Edward. Hurry with the monkwort, Edward, we’re losing the moonlight. Measure that sulfur into exact portions, Edward.
Fuck you, Dr. John Dee.
So I was Rudolph’s other alchemist. I mean, I never get any credit. You always hear about Dee. At best, old Edward Kelley is an afterthought. A minor blip in minor historical texts.
And I hate the picture they have of me in the Wikipedia entry. It’s one of those generic old man pictures with some fucked-up hat like I’m half wizard and half Oxford professor. One of those long Gandalf beards. As if.
Look, there I am now. Young and strong and up to no good. Zoom in there at that window in the White Tower where my room is. Come have a look.
Come hear my story.
Kelley had the dress bunched up around her hips.
“Hurry,” said the serving girl.
He was naked, climbed between her legs and put himself inside. She gasped, wrapped her legs around him, the heels of her shoes digging into his bare ass cheeks.
“Oh, Edward.” She threw her head back, arched against him. “Oh, my Edward.”
Kelley thrust, felt the heat building in his groin. He’d come to rely on these daily visits with the serving wench to break the relentless tedium of castle life. What was her name again? Brianna or something, wasn’t it? Something with a B.
The serving wench’s climax started as a low moan and built into a banshee scream as Kelley grunted with his own orgasm. He thrust three more times as his climax subsided. He sighed and rolled off her. She leaped off the bed, smoothing her dress down.
“I’ve got to hurry, my lord,” she said. Now that the passion had passed, she no longer called him Edward. “Those great sweaty men in the courtyard will be wanting biscuits and grog, and it’s all me and Miss Sarah can do to keep up with them. I don’t know what sort of infernal machine they’re building out there, but they work up a terrible thirst doing it.”
“It’s a moon machine,” Kelley said. “When they’re done, they’ll shoot a man all the way to the moon. Straight through the air and past the stars.”
The wench stood up straight, eyes wide. “Really?”
“No,” Kelley chuckled. “I’m having fun with you.” In fact, Kelley had heard vague rumors about the construction in the courtyard but nothing that made any real sense.
She rushed to the edge of the bed, grabbed Kelley’s face in her hands, and planted a wet kiss on his lips. “I can’t bear to be away from you, my lord. Until tomorrow.”
“See you then, sweet.” Kelley slapped her butt as she departed.
Red hair and skin so white it might have been milk. Already Kelley looked forward to tomorrow’s visit.
He climbed out of bed and went to the window. The White Tower afforded a good view of the lane below, where a number of Rudolph’s goldsmiths labored day in and day out. Kelley couldn’t quite see the courtyard where the men labored, but the clank and hammer noise of work in progress drifted clearly up to the tower. Kelley was sure Dr. Dee knew what was going on, but so far the old alchemist had been as tight-lipped as a monk.
Kelley put on a shirt, slipped into a plain doublet and breeches. He hated the billowing slops Dee and the other fancy men wore around court. It made them seem preening and slightly feminine. He stepped into his shoes, sighed, and sipped the now tepid tea left behind by the serving wench. He winced. The primary failure of this tea was primarily that it refused to be wine.
Kelley chuckled. Some alchemist’s trick, turning tea into wine. Then he remembered his New Testament and frowned. A similar trick, but it was water turned to wine, not tea. No, that was something beyond mere alchemy.
Not for the first time or the last, Kelley wondered if his work here at Rudolph’s court wasn’t in fact a terrible, terrible idea.
Did Kelley even believe in all that trumped-up mumbo jumbo? Basic mind tricks and sleight of hand to dupe the simpleminded rabble. Wasn’t it? And anyway, it was better than pushing his mystic heal-all and bowel remedy back in Ireland, wandering from village to village, putting on his wizard act. Not that he’d actually been swindling anyone. Not really. Fish oil and beet juice and a few other special ingredients. It really had been quite a good remedy for constipation. It just hadn’t been what anyone would normally have thought of as alchemy.
So when Dr. Dee had said he’d needed a pair of good hands for something special in Prague, well, the offer had been timely, seeing as there had been this pregnant farm girl in Cork, and, well, it had been a fine time to take a long, long trip.
Kelley choked down two more sips of tea, then gave up. After sundown he’d trot to the bottom of the castle steps and settle into his favorite pub. Sometimes he’d get too potted to make it back up again. There were quite a few steps, and it was steep going.
He opened his chest, wondering if he still had a flask hidden somewhere. He’d all but given up when a knock at the door startled him.
“Yes?”
The door creaked open, and Dr. Dee entered. He wore a ridiculously ornate doublet, and the sleeves of his shirt sported intricate braiding. His shoes were so shiny that they hurt Kelley’s eyes. The expression on Dee’s face was the worst-sort of a tight, haughty, contemptuous snarl. Dee could definitely benefit from some fish oil and beet juice.
“Good God, Edward, it smells like ass in here.”
Kelley admitted to himself he was overdue for a bath, and the room was lousy with his dirty laundry. Still, Dee needn’t have been so rude. More than anything, Kelley wanted to ball up his fist and punch all of Dee’s teeth down his throat. He settled for saying the following:
“Fornicate with yourself.”
“Yes, very amusing,” Dee said, unperturbed. “If you can make yourself halfway presentable, we have an audience with His Highness in twenty minutes.”
Kelley’s eyes went wide. “Rudolph?”
“No,” Dee said. “Another Highness. The king of the pixies has summoned us to a banquet. Of course Rudolph, you fool.”
“But why?” Kelley had only met Rudolph once, when he’d come with Dee to Prague. Kelley had stood behind Dee, saying nothing and trying to appear intelligent. There had been no need to meet with the Holy Roman Emperor since then, and that had suited Kelley just fine.
“He’s calling a number of his scientists and scholars together for a counsel,” Dee said. “This might be the big one.”
“You go,” Kelley said. “Tell me what happens.”
“You are summoned as well.”
“I don’t want to go. Tell him I’m ill.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Dee said. “There will be a number of engineers and astrologers. We’re the only two alchemists in the castle, and I intend for us to make a good showing. Comb your hair, for the love of God.”
“The love of God has nothing to do with any of this,” Kelley said.
Dee rolled his eyes. “Spare me your squeamishness. I am not afraid to reach into the abyss where other men fear to look.”
“I hate it when you talk like that.”
“Nevertheless.” Dee sniffed. “I am an expert in my field. And I won’t let peasant religion or any other superstition stem my quest for knowledge. And I will stay on the path for answers… wherever that path might lead.”
“And what if it leads us to hell, Dr. Dee?”
“Then we shall see what we shall see. But I’d be less worried about hell if I were you and far more concerned with a proper doublet. You look like a common tinker. My tailor dresses better than you. Where’s the doublet I had made for you? The one for formal occasions.”
“I’m not wearing that ridiculous costume.”
“Wear it, damn you.”
Kelley sighed, went into the wardrobe across the room, and came out with a doublet of fine material. It was deep blue, embroidered with yellow moons and stars. Kelley shook his head as he put it on. He stood in front of Dee, spread his arms. “Happy?”
“Placated,” Dee said. “Follow me.”
They spiraled down the stairs and out of the White Tower, Kelley following behind Dee reluctantly as they went down the Golden Lane and through the archway into the main courtyard, where dozens of men labored.
A monstrous construction of gears and flywheels caught Kelley’s attention. “What is that supposed to be?”
“All will be revealed in time,” Dee said.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Uh… no, actually. Not a clue.”
They strode across the courtyard and into the castle proper. Various dignitaries and lords scurried to and fro. The castle hummed with activity, dozens and dozens of independent projects going like mad, all presumed to come together sooner or later in some kind of grand scheme.
Only a select few knew the ultimate goal of this scheme.
Kelley was in no way one of the select few.
Frankly, he was starting to wish he’d been back in Ireland selling constipation remedy. Spain. He’d always thought about Spain. Maybe Kelley could ply his trade in some of the warmer towns and villages along the Mediterranean. Ah, sun and sea. Kelley shuddered at the thought of winter just a few weeks away. Prague would become white and dead, bitter heavy snow sealing him into the castle for a month at a time.
Tonight. Kelley had a little money stashed away. He’d pack a small bag and slip out of the castle tonight, maybe sweet-talk a fisherman into taking him down the Vltava. He tried to calculate how long it would take him to make his way to Spain. His Spanish was weak, but it would get better living in the place. Kelley had a knack for languages. Already his Czech was passable, and if he did stay, it would be as fluent as a native’s in another three months.
On the other hand, Spain might not be the best place for an alchemist. He’d heard the Inquisition had eased a bit in the last few years, but the thought of getting burned to a crisp as a heretic was enough to put him off Spain.
Sicily. He’d always wanted to see Sicily.
Kelley followed Dee into Vladislav Hall and abandoned all thoughts of sneaking away into the night.
The grand hall was alive with activity, the vaulted ceiling echoing with animated conversation and debate. A line of iron chandeliers hung low, with hundreds of candles spreading warm light. Men stood in groups of twos and threes. Some stood at tables, zealously pouring over elaborate drawings and design plans. A small group of men crowded an alcove, holding a thick, curved disc of glass as big as a dinner plate. Sunlight streamed in through an open window. The beams hit the glass disc, distorted, and splashed the men with rays of color, blue, red, green, yellow.
No, Kelley wasn’t going anywhere. Something amazing was going to happen at Rudolph’s court, and Kelley admitted he was eager to understand. Edward Kelley had been called a swindler, a cheat, a womanizer, and a drunkard. But the small part of him that was the alchemist could not bear the thought that something historical would happen here in Prague and he wouldn’t be a part of it.
So Kelley kept his mouth shut and followed Dee the length of the hall.
The small audience chamber off the far end of the great hall was crowded with dour-faced men. But this was no audience, no diplomatic meeting of politicians and emissaries. This was a working meeting, men with sleeves rolled up, parchments, maps, and drawings spread across the table.
At the far end of the table sat Rudolph II, emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.
There was nothing remarkable about the emperor. Short, slightly pudgy, bland eyes. He sat with his shirt open, doublet unbuttoned, listening intently to an old, old man in monk’s robes and a skullcap discuss the problems involved in removing tons of rock and dirt. Two men at the other end of the table, close to where Dee and Kelley stood in the open doorway, debated the best way to feed and house the hundreds of laborers who had descended upon the castle. There were other conversations that Kelley couldn’t follow.
Rudolph spotted Dee and raised a hand. The din ceased abruptly.
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I need the room,” the emperor said. “If you could excuse us.”
They stood, gathering parchments as they went.
“Stay just a moment, Hans,” the emperor said.
A gaunt, pale man in his fifties nodded and resumed his seat.
Kelley followed Dee into the room after the others departed.
“Your Highness.” Dee bowed slightly.
Kelley hastened to mimic the gesture.
“Gentlemen, be seated,” Rudolph said. “Dr. Dee, I want you and your associate to make the acquaintance of Hans Vredeman de Vries.”
The men nodded to one another.
“Hans has been designing fountains for the palace grounds,” Rudolph explained. “He can work miracles with water flow and drainage. We’ve recently put him on to something a little more ambitious. Some of my scientists have suggested a new way of generating power, something that might aid your own research. I simply wanted you to meet. I think in the future you might be working closely together. Hans, excuse us, won’t you?”
Hans stood, nodded again, and left.
The emperor turned to Dee. “Progress remains slow?”
Dee’s smile was painful, embarrassed. “Highness, considering the difficulty of the task, a slow approach is certainly to be expected.”
The emperor pursed his lips, nodded. Kelley detected no signs of emotion either way. Had Dee and Kelley been summoned to a dressing down? Were they to be chastised for slow progress, or was Rudolph simply after a routine progress report? Kelley had been relegated to cleaning beakers and checking measurements, but it was his firm opinion they would never turn lead into gold. Not if they kept at it for a thousand years.
Sicily. Definitely Sicily.
“What do you see as the key to success?” Rudolph asked. “On a fundamental level.”
“It concerns the manipulation of matter on a level of pure essence, Highness,” Dee said. “I’ve tried a number of chemical compounds in an attempt to sunder the cosmic energies that hold an essence in place.”
A brief pause.
Then Rudolph said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Neither did Kelley.
Dee cleared his throat, squirmed in his seat. “It is a difficult concept to communicate clearly, Highness.”
“Try.”
That nervous laugh again. Dee wiped his brow with a handkerchief. Kelley had to admit he enjoyed Dee’s discomfort. On the other hand, anything that happened to Dee would surely also affect Kelley. Like it or not, he and Dee were a team. Come on, Dr. Dee. Let’s see some smooth talk, and make it fast.
Dee grabbed a silver cup from across the table, set it in front of him. “Consider this silver goblet, Highness.”
Rudolph leaned forward, looked at the cup.
“If you broke it in half, each piece would be smaller,” Dee said. “But both pieces would still be silver.”
“Obviously,” Rudolph said.
“Uh… yes. And if you kept breaking the goblet into smaller and smaller pieces, each piece would still be silver. Now imagine you break it into a thousand pieces. Ten thousand pieces. Ten thousand times ten thousand individual pieces.”
“That would be impossible.”
“In theory, Highness.”
Rudolph shrugged. “In theory then.”
“Your Highness is most patient,” Dee said. “Imagine you’ve somehow broken the goblet into as many pieces as you can possibly break it. Pieces so small they cannot even be seen. Now take one of these pieces-a piece that cannot be broken any further-and break it again. You are now breaking it past the point where it continues to be silver. Break it any more, and it will no longer be silver.”
Rudolph considered a moment, then asked, “Then, if not silver, what is it?”
“Ah.” Dee thrust a finger in the air. “Therein lies the mystery, Highness. What, indeed? But a more pertinent question, I would contend, is, once having deprived this infinitely small piece of matter of its innate… silverness, what then can be done to change it, manipulate it into something else? Could we not build it back as something different? What I am attempting to do with our experiments is to attack the very force that holds the silver together.”
The pause this time was much longer. Kelley would not ask Dee to come to Sicily with him. The deranged alchemist was on his own.
“I do not fully understand what you say,” Rudolph admitted. “But I sense you have an understanding of this matter that is simply beyond me, and I am intrigued. The lodestones you asked for. I take it they are another attempt to manipulate these energies you speak of?”
“Your Highness is most insightful,” Dee said.
Rudolph said, “What if I were to tell you that my astrologers might have discovered another possible way for you to address these energies?”
Dee spread his hands. “I would naturally be most grateful for any additional tools that would aid in the pursuit of Your Highness’s ultimate goal.”
Rudolph nodded. “Stand ready, then. It could happen at any time. Thank you, gentlemen, that will be all.”
They stood, bowed, and left. On the way out, Kelley became determined to make Dee talk. What in blazes was this ultimate goal? No, Kelley was tired of being in the dark. He’d need to figure some way to loosen Dee’s tongue.
He put his hand on Dee’s back, an uncharacteristically friendly gesture. “Well done, Dr. Dee. I think the emperor was impressed with your explanation. How about a quick drink to celebrate?”
Dr. Dee might have been a gigantic prick, but I had to give him credit. I’d had no idea at the time that he’d been speculating about the nature of matter on an atomic level. Nobody had had the vocabulary. Protons and electrons and so forth had been centuries away.
And then there had been the darker forces, which science has yet to explain.
I should have gone to Sicily.
It’s true that I have a facility for languages. In the hundreds of years I’ve haunted Prague Castle and its environs, I’ve become more fluent in Czech than any Czech. I’ve learned German and Russian. Even a smattering of Japanese. The castle draws tourists from all four corners of the globe. My French is good, but even now, my Spanish is still weak.
There is a room behind one of the gift shops where the cleaning staff can lounge and have a smoke. They have a TV in the lounge. I’ve seen every episode of Hogan’s Heroes dubbed into German. Prague gets German TV. It’s easier to spy on TV than it is to read a book over somebody’s shoulder, but I’ve done that too.
The problem is that I can’t touch anything, so it’s hard to turn pages. I can float through walls and doors, drift the night gardens, haunt the tombs beneath St. Vitus Cathedral. There is no nook or cranny of this place I haven’t seen a hundred times. But I can’t turn pages. I still haven’t made it through all the Harry Potter books. For the first three volumes, I stood over the shoulder of this nice woman who worked in the kitchens. She’d take her break on a bench outside and read while taking a quick lunch. She was a slow reader. But she got married and moved away, so I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to read the rest. I think Harry and Hermione will get together. I just have a feeling.
I am confined-mostly-to the castle and its grounds. I experimented with this quite a bit the first few decades. With great effort, I can make it to the little pub I loved so much at the bottom of the castle steps. On certain nights, when the moon and stars align just perfectly, I’ll feel the cosmic energies stir. On these occasions I can make it into the tourist areas below the castle.
I’ve never made it as far as the Charles Bridge.
When I attempt to leave the area the cosmos has approved for me, things go gray. The real world bleeds away, and I feel myself in a fog. I try to trudge forward, but it’s like walking through mud. I feel a tug at my back, like there’s an invisible line hooked to my belt.
I always turn back. I am here. I will be here forever.
The Hapsburgs fell, and I remained. I watched the Nazis come and go. The Communists. The latest invasion has been the tourists, men and women from the UK and the USA. So many students. They all flock to cheap beer and old-world charm. The prices are starting to go up now, and Prague isn’t the bargain it used to be. Travelers are discovering Budapest and Warsaw.
But Prague is mine, or the castle-the symbol of the city-is anyway.
There are other ghosts in Prague Castle. I’ve talked to them. Well, I’ve tried to talk to them. They seem to lack the gift of conversation. These spirits are stuck in some kind of loop, acting in the same play over and over again, saying the same lines. They spend eternity reenacting their unjust murders or roam the halls looking for the road to the afterlife. They’re only half there. Insubstantial even for ghosts.
Only I see all. Only Edward Kelley retains his faculties, listens, learns, grows. I am like some recorder destined to bear witness. What exactly I’m supposed to see or do has been unclear for centuries. I have never tasted a McDonald’s hamburger or Yoplait yogurt. I watch with longing as tourists knock back cold pilsners. I want to cry when I think how long it’s been since I’ve had a glass of wine, but I can’t make tears.
I have not been deprived of human desires. I simply no longer have the means to fulfill them. Nothing physical, I mean. I can’t tell you how long I spent loitering in women’s restrooms, watching ladies take down their pants to pee. That’s pathetic, isn’t it? Like I said, a man with a man’s desires, trapped in the nothingness of my existence.
So, yeah. I get horny.
But since I am utterly deprived of physical sensation, it must all be in my mind, right? I spent a hundred years on that one.
Only recently have I detected some change, a shift in the nature of my own existence. Something is coming. Happening. And it’s all tied up with Allen Cabbot and the strange adventure that he finds himself smack in the middle of at this very moment. But Allen can keep a moment.
First there is the matter of Dr. Dee and a very large pitcher of cheap wine.
Kelley and Dee sat at a rough wooden table in the corner of Kelley’s favorite pub. It was a dark establishment, thick with the smoke of oil lamps and candles. Kelley could barely make out the faces of the other patrons. They’d gone through half a pitcher of wine, and Dee had loosened up a bit.
It helped that the doctor could not hold his liquor.
Kelley told a bawdy joke and Dee laughed. Okay, thought Kelley. He’s ready for more probing questions.
Kelley tilted the pitcher, refilled Dee’s goblet. “I can’t help but wonder what all this secrecy is about, Dee. If I knew what was happening, I could help more.”
Dee’s frown was plain even in the dim candlelight. Instead of talking, he sipped wine.
“Is Rudolph impatient with us?” asked Kelley. “Are we not turning lead into gold fast enough for His Highness? Because I have to tell you, Dee, it’s going to take years. Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible at all.”
“Lower your voice.” Dee looked from side to side, but nobody seemed interested in their conversation. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Supposed to be,” Kelley said, “but everyone knows. People whisper about it all the time, or they used to. It’s sort of old news now, actually. Guess what they call the alleyway outside our workshop. The Golden Lane.”
“I thought they called it that because the soldiers use it as a convenient place to urinate.”
“There’s that too.”
Dee leaned across the table, motioned for Kelley to lean in also. Dee’s hushed whisper was barely audible. “I can tell you this much. Transmuting lead into gold, all that nonsense, it’s a cover story.”
“Then why the hell have I been cleaning beakers and handling toxic chemicals for the past five months? And why the hell would we have a cover story and then act like it’s a secret?”
“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” Dee said. “A couple of alchemists up to God knows what until all hours of the night. People are bound to be curious. They can’t help themselves. So we make up a story and let people discover the secret. Once they think they know what’s going on, they stop asking. The curiosity abates.”
“What about me?” Kelley asked. “My curiosity hasn’t abated.”
“In time, Edward.”
“And if we’re not transmuting lead into gold, then what was all that talk about breaking a silver goblet into thousands of pieces until it’s not silver anymore?”
“We’re not transmuting lead into gold,” Dee said. “But we are transmuting… something.”
“Dee, you must confide in me.”
“I’ve already said too much. This is a dangerous secret, Edward. Rudolph will have both our heads if it gets out, so please ask me no more.”
“I’m just trying to help.” Kelley sipped wine. “At least tell me when I might be able to know more. For pity’s sake, throw me a bone.”
“Rudolph’s astrologers are the key,” Dee said.
“I thought we were the key.”
Dee cleared his throat. “Well, naturally. But next to us the astrologers are the key. Soon they will bring us an object, and then, my dear Edward, then I will most certainly need your assistance. Until that time, I beg you to ask me no more.”
Kelley sat back and nodded. Clearly he would get no more out of Dee until Dee was ready. “Our pitcher is empty. I’ll get us more wine.”
“Please no,” Dee said. “My head is swimming. But I thank you for the drink. I’ve been working so hard lately, I feel like I might come apart.”
Kelley smiled. “I know just the thing to ease your troubles, my friend.”
Kelley’s eyes creaked open at the first hint of sunlight. He sat up in bed, pushing the girl’s naked leg off his chest. The rest of her was hidden beneath the bedcovers. Which one had he ended up with? The one with corn-yellow hair, he hoped. She had big tits. He couldn’t tell from the leg.
He cast about, squinting his eyes, but didn’t immediately see Dee and the other wench. Kelley’s head throbbed. It tasted as if a small, oily creature had defecated in his mouth and then crawled down his throat and died. His skin felt slick and clammy. The first stirrings of something unpleasant were beginning in his belly. It seemed impossible that a man could feel this bad and still live. The entire chamber smelled of sweat and wine.
Kelley crawled out of bed. His legs felt like jelly. He went to the plush sofa and pulled back the heavy quilt. The naked girl underneath whined, curled into a fetal position, flinching from the light. It was the yellow-haired girl with the large breasts. Damn. That meant Kelley had been with the bucktoothed one. He shrugged. No matter.
Kelley found his breeches, slipped into them, and went downstairs.
There was a water trough in the courtyard directly across from the tower door. Dee was on his knees, his head dunked in the water. His white skin glowed a dirty orange in the rays of the rising sun. He wore only his underwear. He lifted his head out of the trough, water streaming and dripping from his hair and beard.
“You okay, Dee?”
“You did this to me, you evil bastard.” Dee wiped water from his eyes. “What infernal scheme led man to invent wine?”
Kelley knelt next to Dee at the trough and splashed water into his face. “At least you hit it off well with Natasha.”
“Who the hell is Natasha?”
“The young naked wench asleep in your chamber.”
“Oh, God. My wife.”
“She’s back in England.”
“Praise the Lord for small mercies.” Dee suddenly grabbed his stomach, his pale skin fading to green. “Oh… no.”
Kelley backed away.
Dee convulsed and heaved, spewed acidic, partly digested wine into a puddle to the side of the trough. “Oh, God.” Dee shuddered and puked a second time.
“You should feel better now.” Kelley didn’t think Dee would recover quickly. With a little luck, the doctor would be out of commission all day and into the night.
Dee was stuck in a kneeling position, hunched over his own puddle of puke, a gooey strand of spittle still clinging to his beard. “I can’t move. This is disgraceful. I have several experiments to see to today. I feel like there are tiny devils with pitchforks in my head, stabbing the backs of my eyes.”
“I can’t help but feel partly to blame,” Kelley said.
“You are entirely to blame.”
“I understand,” Kelley said. “In that case, let me shoulder the burden today. You get back up to your bed and rest. I’ll check in on the experiments.”
Dee cast a sideways glance at Kelley. Kelley knew what the doctor was thinking. Did he really trust Kelley to handle his delicate experiments? In truth, nothing very important was happening in the laboratory, but Dee was obnoxiously fussy about his boiling pots and beakers.
“What will you tell people?” Dee asked.
“Anything you like.”
“I command a certain amount of respect at court,” Dee said, “and I would hate to see that respect tarnished.”
“Of course.”
“Tell everyone I’ve eaten bad goat cheese, and that I’m waiting for some digestion issues to resolve themselves.”
“No problem.”
Dee sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Edward. I think I will stay here and vomit a little more before crawling back up to bed.”
“Take your time.”
“One more favor, if you please,” Dee said. “Can you please tell those women to leave? I don’t think I can bring myself to look them in the eye, especially the blonde. Not after the unspeakable things I asked her to do.”
Kelley didn’t ask.
Kelley dressed and pulled himself together. Dee’s shadowy, partial revelations had piqued his curiosity. Kelley shooed the wenches out of the White Tower, as he began to see his vague plan coming together. He needed Dee incapacitated and out of his hair for a day.
He looked briefly into Dee’s laboratory. Nothing was exploding, so Kelley closed the door, locked it, and left for the main castle courtyard.
He made his way past the throngs of workers to the entranceway of St. Vitus Cathedral. As planned, he fell into a line of men pushing empty wheelbarrows. He’d intentionally worn his oldest, most threadbare clothing in an attempt to pass for one of the laborers. He still looked a little too clean, but nobody seemed to notice, so he pushed the wheelbarrow inside.
The interior of the cathedral was awe-inspiring, the ceiling arching high above him, dusty light spilling in through the elongated windows. Kelley had not attended mass regularly in years, but the presence of God never impressed him more than when he entered this cathedral. He felt dwarfed by the grandeur. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the line of sweaty men with wheelbarrows.
He dropped off the empty wheelbarrow and followed the line to a wheelbarrow full of dirt. He had only a split second to glance down the rough stone steps into the burial vault before he was swept toward the exit. A glance over his shoulder showed him grimy men coming up from the vault with buckets of earth, filling the empty wheelbarrows. He marched his new wheelbarrow outside, through the courtyard, and up a wooden ramp, where he dumped the dirt into the back of a wagon. Kelley presumed full wagons were driven someplace out of the way to dump the dirt, perhaps to farms that needed rich soil.
Dozens of men were participating in the dirt-moving endeavor. Kelley couldn’t figure out a way to break the line and get down into the vault without drawing attention, so he plodded along, bringing back empty wheelbarrows, getting a load of dirt, dumping it into a wagon. Repeat. It was getting hot, and his hangover weighed him down.
Kelley was about to call it a day and slip away for a bath when a foreman shouted, “Water!”
A dozen boys toted water buckets hanging from ox yokes. The dirty men crowded around, dipping cups into the buckets. Kelley realized just how dry and dusty his mouth and throat were, but he saw his opportunity.
He went to one of the smaller boys, lifted the yoke off his shoulders. “Let me help you with that, little man. I’ll take it inside for the others.”
The flushed boy nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Kelley carried the water into the cathedral, set the buckets at the top of the steps that led down to the vault. He descended, and the temperature cooled. He was greeted by the moist smell of fresh earth.
“Water up top,” Kelley shouted down the passage. “Take a break.”
The clank and scrape of tools. Muttered voices. They came into view, about a dozen of them walking past him. They were caked with dirt from head to foot. They thanked him and trudged up the steps to the water buckets.
Kelley waited ten seconds, then went back down the passage.
He’d never been inside the vault beneath the cathedral, but he’d heard the same as everyone else, knew that dead rulers and bishops were entombed here. The most important figures had been granted tombs inscribed in Latin marking the brief history of the deceased. Lesser nobles had been given more modest accommodations. Skeletal remains, their hands folded over their chests, lined the broad shelves along the passage. Kelley paused to examine one of the hollow-eyed skulls and crossed himself.
He turned the corner and saw that the passage terminated with a hole in the masonry, about two feet wide and four feet tall. There were mounds of dirt on either side. They’d knocked a hole in the wall and had begun a new tunnel.
Kelley edged toward the hole and felt a cool, damp breeze on his face, less musty than among the tombs. He took a flickering torch from a nearby sconce and squeezed through the opening.
The tunnel was narrow; his shoulders scraped both sides in some places. He had to duck as he scooted through. Short beams had been installed haphazardly to discourage cave-ins. He sensed that the tunnel angled slightly downward, but maybe that was just his imagination.
The light from the vault faded behind him, and the darkness all but swallowed the orange light of the small torch. How far did this tunnel go? He was contemplating turning around when a rushing sound caught his attention. He cocked his head, listened a moment. He increased his pace forward, and the sound of rushing water grew with each step.
Abruptly the tunnel opened into a wide cavern. A light spray of cold water hit him suddenly. Kelley held the torch out before him, and the light was barely enough to give him the full picture. A small underground river rushed and foamed in front of him. He swung the torch one way, then another, trying to take in the whole scene.
The river flowed from left to right in front of him, angling down and swirling into a pool about forty feet across. Kelley lowered the torch and saw a muddy, narrow path in front of him, following the flow of the river down to the pool. There seemed to be some sort of construction on the far side of the pool, rough beams across the edge. He’d need to get closer to see.
Kelley put one foot on the muddy path. His foot slipped out from under him. He upended, landed hard on his butt, and began sliding, picking up speed and heading for the water. He dug a hand into the mud, felt rock beneath and felt a fingernail rip. But he halted his slide before tumbling into the river.
“Damn it.”
He grunted, got to his feet carefully on the slippery path. His entire back and ass were caked with mud. He steadied himself, held the torch aloft.
He’d slid half the distance down the path and now stood at the pool’s edge. There were beams and sandbags along the edge of the pool. It seemed the river had been dammed. Kelley held up the torch, looked across the pool, and saw a large passage. Not just dammed. Diverted. The small river rushed into the pool, swirled around, and emptied into the passage across the way. The path continued around the pool, narrow and muddy. Kelley had to put his back against the rough, wet stone to scoot sideways. The construction was more elaborate than it had first appeared. There was a drop of nearly twenty feet on the other side of the pool, and there was a sturdy ladder leading down to the floor of the cavern below.
The dam was large, with wooden beams holding rocks and sandbags in place. A lot of manpower had gone into diverting the river into the other passage. Kelley swung his leg over the edge, making sure to keep careful hold on the torch as he climbed down. The temperature dropped another few degrees. He shivered, wet and cold.
Kelley stepped off the last rung of the ladder and landed with a splash, the cold water coming halfway up his shin.
“Hell.”
Kelley’s feet were lumps of frozen meat in a matter of seconds.
He looked back up at the dam. The structure was not performing its task perfectly. Trickles of water spurted through here and there, so there was still a minor stream running along the river’s old course.
Kelley trudged on.
The cavern was much bigger here. He held the torch as high as he could but still wasn’t able to see the ceiling. He wondered why they’d want to dam the river. What was at the end of this passage?
Kelley’s foot caught on something underwater, and he pitched forward. His hands flew out to break his fall, and he landed with a cold splash, the torch hissing out and plunging him into total darkness.
Muttering every curse he could think of, he sat up in the middle of the stream and blinked. That’s a lot of dark.
He thought about feeling his way back up the stream, finding the ladder. If he was extremely careful, he could probably make his way back without falling in the river and drowning himself.
He was wet. He was cold. He was still hungover. This had been a terrible idea.
Kelley grunted, stood, and rubbed his backside where he’d landed on some rocks. Slowly his eyes adjusted. The darkness was not complete after all. Dimly he perceived the dull yellow flickering of torches at the far end of the cavern. There was light far ahead, around a corner.
He went forward, forcing himself to move slowly. This was no time for a sprained ankle. He stumbled a few times but managed to right himself without going into the water again, and soon he was at the bend in the cavern where it made a right turn. There was more light here, and Kelley picked up the pace. Soon the cavern turned again, and he saw a lot more flickering light.
He stood at the corner, peeked around the edge.
A handful of men milled around a construction site. One stood at a small wooden table, looking at an unrolled parchment. The large chamber was well lit by a number of torches and a large brazier. The echoes of a few men working with various tools mixed with the sound of rushing water coming from behind him. There wasn’t much mud here, although the stream still ran through the center of the chamber and left again through a hole on the far side.
A giant waterwheel had been assembled, but they hadn’t yet placed it in position. Kelley imagined the dam had been built to hold back the water for the construction and placement of the waterwheels. Presumably the water-or at least some of it-would be let loose again when the wheels were in place. But why? It was a hell of a place to grind flour.
The man standing over the parchment looked familiar. Yes, Kelley remembered him from the audience with Rudolph. Hans Vredeman de Vries. Rudolph had said something about the man’s working with drainage.
Kelley couldn’t stand it now. He had to find out what was going on. The curiosity burned a hole in his imagination. He waited until most of the workers were in another part of the chamber and the rest had their backs turned. He scooted fast around the edge of the cave, clinging to the shadows, and hunkered down behind a barrel and a pile of thick, coiled rope. He noticed a few narrow openings behind him, more natural tunnels.
There wasn’t much to see from this vantage point, so Kelley moved stealthily toward a pile of lumber. He never made it.
Strong hands grabbed him from behind, one thick hand clapping over his mouth. He was dragged into a tunnel, backward into the long dark beneath the earth.
This isn’t where I die.
I don’t want to mislead you, so I thought it best to assure you now isn’t when I meet my untimely demise. I mean, I’m a ghost, right? So something bad must have happened to put me in this circumstance. Yeah.
But not yet.
In the meantime, you’re probably wondering what happened to Allen.