“Stop wiggling, little worm, or I’ll conk you one on the noggin.” British. Strong Yorkshire accent.
Edward Kelley stopped wiggling, let them carry him into the pitch black. Three minutes later, they set him gently on the rough cavern floor, the hand still over his mouth.
“How about a light, Edgar?” Another voice in English but a light Czech accent.
“Righto.”
A spark and a flash. The man kneeling over him held a candle. A narrow passage, looked like a natural cavern. The man above him had an enormous brown beard, wore a dark green cloak with the hood up, black clothing beneath. Ruddy, full cheeks. A big man, broad through the chest.
The man behind him said, “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. Let’s keep it quiet, eh?”
Kelley nodded.
The man with the Czech accent took his hand away, and Kelley turned to look at him. Bald. Gray beard. Big, alert eyes.
“We’ve been watching you, Edward Kelley.”
Kelley smiled weakly. “How flattering.”
“Let me show you something.” The Yorkshireman-Edgar-handed the candle to the Czech. He rolled up his sleeve, showed a tattoo on his upper arm to Kelley. “Do you recognize that?”
Kelley squinted at the tattoo, immediately recognizing the square and compass formed into the shape of a quadrilateral. “Freemasons.”
“Look closer.”
Kelley leaned in to examine the tattoo in the dim candlelight. In the dead center of the quadrilateral was the sign of the pentagram. Kelley resisted the urge to genuflect.
“The square represents matter, the solid known tangible things of our world,” Edgar said as he rolled his sleeve down again. “The compass stands for the spirit or mind.”
“And the pentagram stands for evil,” Kelley said.
A tolerant smile. “You know better than that. Alchemists are often accused of dark things, are they not?”
True enough. He’d seen some of the older, more superstitious serving women in the castle shy away whenever he or Dr. Dee passed. People feared the unknown. Peasants especially disliked change or anything strange. Kelley had known an old woman back in Ireland who hadn’t come out of her cottage for a week because she’d seen a raven with a bit of string in its beak on a dead tree branch. She’d insisted the string had looked like a hangman’s noose.
“The pentagram represents something in between mind and matter,” Edgar explained. “Truths that are difficult to hold and know but nevertheless govern our universe. Powers that control a balance so precarious that the slightest cosmic sneeze could plunge us all into oblivion.”
“I’d like to go home now, please,” Kelley said.
“There are things afoot in Prague Castle that would chill you to the marrow if you knew their full extent,” Edgar said. “We need your help.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“You want Dr. Dee. He’s your man. To be honest, I’m not a very good alchemist. I can barely brew up a good laxative.”
“Even now forces work to drive Dee away. He will flee Prague this very night. I have foreseen it.”
“He didn’t mention anything about leaving to me.”
“This is perhaps not the best place for this discussion,” the Czech said.
“Come.” Edgar took Kelley’s hand, pulled him to his feet. “This is a lot of strange news to drop on a man’s head all at once. I know where we can talk, and there’s a bottle of good brandy there.” He slapped Kelley on the back. “Perhaps a drink would help fortify you, friend.”
“Yes, please.”
I can’t possibly explain how time works for a ghost. Or, at the very least, how it works for this ghost. Sometimes I feel like I exist outside of time. Or perhaps I exist in all times at once. Or maybe I don’t exist at all, and therefore time is meaningless. I’m not flowing in it, or maybe it doesn’t flow around me. Are we each on a little raft, flowing in the river of time, or do we stand on the bank and watch it wind its way under our noses?
I’ve had nothing but time to think about it.
Intellectually, I know that the walk with Edgar through the tunnels beneath Prague Castle took perhaps twenty minutes, but in that deeper way we sense things, some peculiar machination of memory that mixes up duration and importance, the tunnels seemed like one lifetime. As I came out of the cave in the woods behind the castle, emerging into the daylight, I felt myself entering another lifetime.
I remembered the short hike to the little shepherd’s shack not at all.
The brandy perhaps had something to do with this.
A rough wooden table, two chairs, a bedroll in the corner. A window. Thin beams of daylight slicing through the thatched roof. Dirt floor. Edgar built a fire in the small, stone fireplace in spite of the fact that it was damn hot enough already. All in all, the shack was a pretty miserable affair. Kelley had gotten used to life at the castle.
But the brandy was good. Edgar refilled the wooden cups again, and Kelley sipped. Very good indeed, better than Kelley could usually afford. It warmed his belly, made his head feel pleasantly light.
“Your friend doesn’t want to join us?”
“He’s keeping watch,” Edgar said. “We should be safe here, but it pays to be careful.”
Kelley paused, the cup halfway to his lips. “It has always been my impression that the Freemasons were influential people with powerful friends, yet I get the impression that you’re hiding.”
“Yes, I suppose I should explain,” Edgar said. “Our Czech friend-never mind his name-is watching for Templars. The Society is, or was, a secret order of the Freemasons. We have broken from them, and now they hunt us. We have become an embarrassment to them, but they don’t realize that only we stand between chaos and order. So we have been shunned and driven underground, but we hold fast to our mission still.”
“How does your mission bring you to Prague?” Kelley gulped the brandy. The pleasure was almost sexual. The warmth spread to his limbs, the lingering remains of his hangover drifting away like smoke.
“Rudolph the Second.” Edgar sipped at his own brandy more slowly. “The Holy Roman Emperor is delving into the arcane. Astrologers and wizards from the four corners of the earth have descended upon the emperor’s court.”
“And alchemists,” Kelley hiccoughed.
“Indeed.” Edgar topped off Kelley’s cup. “Let me ask you this, Master Kelley. Can I call you Edward?”
“Please do.”
“Let me ask you this, Edward. Would you take immortality if it were offered to you? Would you choose to live forever?”
“I suppose that might be useful.”
“Would you trade your soul for this immortality?”
Kelley frowned, shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Edgar said. “But that’s what Rudolph would do. More than that, he’d trade the soul of the whole world. He thinks he can live forever, and he’s not stopping to consider the power he will unleash in his blind quest to achieve his goals. That’s why we of the Society must stand against such blind insanity. No one else can do it.”
Kelley sipped the brandy and recalled his brief meeting with the emperor. The man had not been raving, had not outwardly seemed crazy. Kelley had to ask himself what was more likely. Was it reasonable to think the leader of the empire a lunatic bent on using arcane powers to achieve immortality? Or was it more likely that the man sitting across from him, in a shabby shack in the woods, who believed that only he and his Society could change the world, was in fact the one who might not be in full possession of his faculties?
On the other hand, Kelley could not deny the influx of strange scholars and astrologers into the castle. Dr. Dee himself had hinted at odd happenings at court. Kelley thought it quite possible that he had madmen on all sides of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late for Sicily. Istanbul! Perhaps he could go east.
He saw that Edgar was awaiting some kind of response. He took one more sip of brandy to stall and gather himself. “What do you want from me?” The words were beginning to slur, but he didn’t care. He held out the cup for more brandy.
Edgar filled it. “Information. You’re on the inside. We need to know what’s happening. Something is coming from the north. I have foreseen this as well, but the picture is unclear. You must tell us when things change. We must know when to move.”
Kelley didn’t want any part of this. He calculated a high probability of getting his ass thrown into the dungeon or getting his head chopped off or worse. He had a little money stashed away. He could buy a horse. Well, probably not a very good horse, but some nag to get him downriver and then maybe he’d trade the nag for passage on one of the boats. If he could get to the Mediterranean, the world would be open to him.
In the meantime, Edgar was watching him expectantly. Turning down the big man’s request might have unfortunate consequences. Fanatics often seemed reasonable at first, but they could turn dangerous if thwarted. Best to play along.
“I suppose I can keep my ears and eyes open,” Kelley said.
“Then you’ll join our cause?”
“Yes.” And I’ll unjoin two seconds after I leave town.
A smile split Edgar’s wide face. “Let’s drink to it.”
He filled both cups, and they drank. Kelley could really feel it now. He might need a quick nap before walking back to the castle. No, he’d stumbled home drunk before. He wasn’t going to hang around with this man one second longer than necessary. He’d bandy a few friendly words, make Edgar think he was enthusiastic about the cause, and then he’d leave this shack and get back to the castle as fast as possible.
Edgar smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “This is a great day to welcome you into the Society, Edward Kelley. Now let us brand you to seal the deal and show your loyalty.”
One of Kelley’s eyebrows went up. “What?”
“I don’t have the materials for a proper tattoo, but a brand is perfectly acceptable. Some of the younger men actually see it as a right of manhood, so you’ll be able to brag about it to the ladies.”
“I don’t want a brand.”
“Well, as I’ve told you, I don’t have the ink for a tattoo. It’ll have to be a brand. Don’t worry-it only really hurts for a second.”
Kelley stood, knees watery, pushed away from the table. “Uh… I think I’m going to go now.”
“You’re a member of the Society, Kelley.” Edgar latched onto Kelley’s arm with a meaty hand. “You’ve got to show it.”
“No!”
Kelley tried to twist away, but Edgar pulled him across the table and turned him over. He pulled down Kelley’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Kelley squirmed, but the big man held him easily.
Edgar reached for an iron that had apparently been in the fire the whole time. He brought out the branding iron, the square and compass symbol with the pentagram in the center glowing white hot. Kelley glanced over his shoulder, eyes shooting wide.
“No, wait,” Kelley said. “Don’t! Let’s talk about-”
Edgar pressed the iron hard into Kelley’s ass cheek. It sizzled and hissed. Kelley screamed. The smell of scorched hair and flesh. Edgar pulled the iron away, tossed it back into the fire.
“There,” said the big man. “You’re one of us now officially.”
Kelley lay facedown on the table and groaned. “You son of a bitch.” His ass throbbed fire.
“Now don’t be that way,” Edgar said. “We’re brothers in the Society now.”
“Sweet merciful God, that hurts. Why did you have to do that?”
“We prepared the branding iron ahead of time,” Edgar admitted. “There is a spell binding you to the will of the Society. You cannot act against us now, and you will seek to keep our best interest at heart.”
“That’s some good crazy talk, but right now my ass is on fire. Hell and damnation.” Kelley reached for the bottle of brandy, drained the last drop.
“I have a salve,” Edgar said. “It’ll soothe you somewhat and prevent infection.”
A second later, Kelley felt Edgar smear something cool and greasy over his new brand. The hot sting subsided slightly. Kelley sighed. He slid off the table, pulled up his pants, not able to look Edgar in the eye.
“You should get back to the castle now,” Edgar said. “We’ll be in contact.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Kelley didn’t need to be told twice.
He left the shack, limped along the narrow game trail back toward the castle, feeling vaguely ashamed.
Kelley went up to his room in the White Tower and flopped face-first onto the bed. The cool sheets soothed him. He let his eyes close. Yes, if sweet sleep would come to him, he could forget all about dark tunnels and secret societies and the deep burning throb in his backside. Sleep, Edward Kelley. Sleep and dream of plump white serving wenches.
“Oh, there you are, Edward,” came Dee’s voice from the doorway. “Come help me with something. There’s a good fellow.”
Kelley’s eyes popped open. Bastard.
He pushed himself up from the bed, groaned. He followed Dr. Dee downstairs and out of the tower, to where a wagon waited in the lane. It was hitched to a tired-looking gray horse with drooping ears. Dee stood next to a stack of chests and trunks and other packages.
“Get on the other end of this, will you, Edward?” Dee bent, took one end of a long chest.
Kelley helped him slide it into the back of the wagon. He helped load the trunks and other items until the tiny wagon was overflowing. The effort made Kelley break out in a cold, slick sweat. Any good feeling he’d had from the brandy had faded. All he wanted to do was go back into the tower and flop into bed again.
“Thank you.” Dee was panting too. “I had a young lad from the stables helping me, but the little scamp has run off.”
“Listen, I’m not feeling all that well,” Kelley said. “So if we’re finished loading all of your worldly possessions, I’d like to get back to bed and-” Kelley blinked at the wagon as if seeing it for the first time. “Where are you going?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m leaving. Back to England.”
“You sure as hell did not tell me.”
Dee wrung his hands, had trouble looking Kelley in the face. “Well, yes. I’ve… been recalled by the Queen… uh… yes. Some sort of trouble at court that… uh… requires my expertise.”
“Oh, pig shit, Dee!” Kelley suddenly remembered Edgar saying he’d foreseen Dee’s departure. “What’s happened?”
Dee’s eyes darted nervously up and down the quiet lane. “Happened? Whatever are you talking about?”
“Damn you, don’t act stupid. Is it Rudolph? Has he done something insane?”
“Fool,” hissed Dee. He stepped right up next to Kelley and whispered, “Do you want to put us on the chopping block? Keep your voice down.”
“Talk to me, Dee.”
“Okay,” whispered Dee. “Okay, fine. Listen. There are strange things happening. Trust me, you don’t want to be involved. If I were you, I’d pack and leave tonight.”
“What strange things? Tell me.”
Dee sighed, looked suddenly so weary. “Edward, I can’t begin to explain. The complexities of-”
“Does Rudolph want to live forever?”
Dee froze, then slowly lifted his chin and looked Kelley square in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
Dee cursed, took Kelley by the elbow, and leaned in to whisper even more quietly into Kelley’s ear. “The astrologers returned from their trip to the north. There were tales, villagers with wild stories about strange lights and the sky splitting open and the Heavens crumbling to earth. They found a village with a smoking crater in the center, every villager dead, their skin melted from their bodies.”
Dee crossed himself, and Kelley resisted the urge to do the same.
“They brought something back in a large, iron box,” Dee said. “They won’t let anyone near it. I don’t want to go near it. One of the astrologers told me that the three men who handled the object and loaded it into the iron box have taken violently ill. They are not expected to last through the night. All three are delusional and feverish.”
Dear God. This time Kelley did cross himself.
Dee climbed onto the wagon and took the reins. “I’m getting the hell out of here. I’d do the same if I were you, Edward. Farewell.” Dee flicked the reins, and the nag clopped down the lane.
Kelley raised a wan hand and waved, but Dee didn’t look back. Kelley stood watching until the wagon turned a corner, the clip-clops fading away.
He stood long seconds in the empty lane. It had become eerily quiet-no sounds of workmen from the courtyard, no chatter from castle servants. He looked up. Even the wind had died. The flags and banners atop the castle walls hung limp. It was as if the entire world held its breath, waiting to see what doom would fall on top of Kelley’s head.
To hell with this.
Kelley darted for the tower, took the stairs two at a time until he reached his living quarters. He grabbed his cloth bag, tossed in his clothes, a few books. He had a small bag of coins and hoped it would be enough to get him as far as a seaport. He should have lived more frugally these last months. He’d been too free with drink and women. No matter. If he could get to a port, he could work his passage if money ran short.
Kelley took his clothes from the cloth bag, and put them in the footlocker. He put the books back on the shelf over the bed. He was about to stash the cloth bag when he froze. He had just packed all that. What was he doing?
He stuffed the clothes back into the bag, took the books down from the shelf again. He was so rattled and nervous, that he didn’t know what he was doing. He simply hadn’t been paying attention. Really, the thought of all of one’s skin melting off, well, that would distract anyone.
He put the books back on the shelf, looked at them, blinked. What the hell? He grabbed the books again, put the books in his bag. Pay attention to what you’re doing, idiot. He packed his clothes again. He threw the bag over his shoulder, threw the door open, and headed down the stairs.
Kelley paused at Dee’s room, then entered to see if the alchemist had left anything behind. Some of those potion ingredients could fetch pretty prices, especially certain herbs that might be out of season. He searched Dee’s chambers but found nothing worth taking.
He went back upstairs to his room and dumped his clothes out on the bed.
He blinked at the clothes on the bed. What. The. Fuck.
This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he get his possessions packed and get the hell out of this place? He was suddenly, acutely aware of the pulsing dull pain in his ass. What had Edgar told him? The brand had been prepared with spells, magic to make sure Kelley stayed loyal to the Society.
No. It was all too far-fetched. He could walk away any time he wanted.
Kelley left the luggage, jogged down the stairs, and ran out of the tower. He made himself slow to a fast walk through the castle courtyard, kept up the pace toward the gate. He passed through the gate and left the castle behind. Soon he’d reach the Charles Bridge. Along the river he could catch a boat, or maybe he’d simply keep walking south. There was no particular hurry as long as he kept going away from the castle, away from Prague.
This would work. All Kelley needed to do was put one foot in front of the other. Don’t look back. Just keep walking. So long, assholes, you won’t have Edward Kelley to kick around anymore.
He passed back underneath the castle gates, passed through the courtyard. He stopped before entering the White Tower. How had he come back here? He could not remember turning around, returning to the castle.
He tried to leave again, walking fast, determined. He blinked, when he found himself back in his chambers in the White Tower.
“Son of a bitch!”
This time he ran, pumping his legs, his breath coming shallow. He ran and ran until a stitch burned in his side. He stopped, bent over, breathing heavily. He rubbed his side. His clothing was soaked with sweat. Kelley breathed deep, then stood straight.
He stood at the foot of the White Tower.
Kelley sank to his knees. “Oh, no no no no.”
No matter what happened, he could not escape. It was as if his mind got distracted and his feet found their way back to Prague Castle and the White Tower.
Kelley ran in every direction. He walked, jogged, skipped. No matter what, somehow he ended up back at the White Tower.
The obvious fact that Kelley was now ruled by the Society’s magic weighed on him with grim finality. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was doomed to stay in Prague Castle and do the Society’s bidding. He sighed, flopped into the chair at his small desk in his chamber. Edgar had made it clear that Kelley was to be the Society’s eyes and ears inside. Perhaps that was the key. If Kelley fulfilled his obligation, maybe the spell would be broken. Maybe then he could leave.
That meant he’d have to find out what was in the iron box. Edward Kelley would have to confront the astrologers.
Kelley almost didn’t make the final dozen steps. When he reached the top of the main tower of St. Vitus Cathedral, he collapsed on the stone landing, his chest heaving as he panted for breath. From the courtyard looking up, the tower had seemed only slightly taller than other towers he’d seen, but the arduous climb up the steep, spiral staircase had sapped the strength from his legs and stolen his wind. A sickly sweat broke out on his forehead and down his back. Kelley would have to start taking better care of himself. He drank too much.
“Who are you?”
Kelley rolled over on his back, looked up at the man in the robe. “I’m… looking for… Roderick.” He paused, gulped breath. “I’m… Edward Kelley.”
“I’m Roderick.” The man was older than Kelley, even a few years older than Dee. He had a wild tangle of white hair that stuck out in every direction, a drawn face, and a nose like a beak; topped off by a white moustache and a beard with black streaks. “What do you want? I’m extremely busy.” He had a thick German accent but spoke good English.
“I’m an alchemist at court,” Kelley said. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“One of Dee’s cohorts,” Roderick grunted. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I understand you and your colleagues brought back something from the north. I’m interested to hear about it.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s none of your business,” Roderick said, turning away from Kelley. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Kelley sat up, looked around the top of the tower. The construction was incomplete. At the moment, a crude wooden platform had been built around the stone landing. Roderick had some sort of strange device on top of a tripod. A stool stood right next to it.
“What are you doing up here?” Kelly asked.
“Waiting for sunset.”
“What happens then?”
“The angle of the sun will be right to test this.” Roderick indicated a wooden box at his feet.
Kelley went to the box and looked inside. Nestled in a bed of dry straw, a glass disc the size of a large serving plate glinted in the sun. Rainbow colors swirled in the glass, made Kelley’s eyes cross. He reached for it. “May I?”
“You may not,” snapped Roderick.
Kelley jerked his hands back.
“The finest glassblowers labored a year under the watchful eye of my best assistant to fashion that lens,” Roderick said. “A single scratch ruins it. Even a greasy smudge from your finger will delay my experiment while the lens is painstakingly cleaned.”
Roderick’s head spun to the horizon as the sun rapidly sank. “Blast. It’s almost time. Stand over there, Kelley. As long as you’ve disturbed my work, you might as well assist me. Over there. Stay still.”
Kelley moved to the spot Roderick indicated, on the other side of the platform from the tripod. He stood still, watched the astrologer.
Roderick donned a pair of white gloves. They looked as if they’d been made of some soft material. Velvet? Very expensive and finely made. Roderick bent, took hold of the glass disc with utmost care, and lifted it slowly from its padded nest in the box. With exaggerated caution, Roderick took one deliberate step at a time. Kelley found he was holding his breath and let it out slowly.
Roderick mounted the lens in a frame atop the tripod, hurried to clamp it into place, twisting knobs and securing latches. He swiveled the lens on the tripod, pointed it at Kelley.
Kelley shuffled his feet. “Uh, what are you doing?”
“Keep still,” ordered Roderick. “The sun is nearly at its optimal angle. This probably won’t hurt at all. Much.”
Kelley held up a finger. “You know, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. I’m… uh… concerned that perhaps-”
The rays of the setting sun hit the lens. It flared a blinding blue, and Kelley flinched. It bathed him in soft cool light. Time seemed to slow. He saw the world creeping by, dust motes pausing in midflight. A bird over Roderick’s shoulder wheeled with impossible slowness. His own heart beat a lazy lub-thub. He blinked his eyes, the eyelids falling as slowly as the setting sun itself, rising again like an old man in the morning.
Kelley’s head grew light, his vision washing out in a hazy blue.
When his eyes popped open again, he was facedown on the platform, Roderick standing over him.
“So,” Roderick began, “how do you feel?” Roderick held a quill poised over a piece of parchment.
Kelley felt strange, but also… rested? He stood. Yes. His aches and pains had vanished, as if he’d had a good night’s sleep. As if he’d never been hungover in his life. He relayed this information to Roderick, who scribbled it on the parchment.
“Good, good.” Roderick nodded, scribbled further notes. “This confirms what we suspected. Excellent.”
“What did you do to me?”
“Nothing you shouldn’t be thankful for, my good man. While you alchemists are mixing your little potions and bowel remedies, the Astrologers’ and Wizards’ Guild is harnessing the power of the cosmos.”
“That’s a good trick. Please explain.”
“What do you know of sunlight?”
“It’s warm and orange.”
“Bah!” Roderick made an impatient face. “You call yourself a man of science. Very well, I’ll try to keep this simple. When the sun comes up, you see its light shining down on the world. Seems simple, doesn’t it? But you are, in fact, seeing millions of things happening at once. Countless elements all coming together in what seems to be the single phenomenon we call light. There are a number of waves, and they span a wide spectrum. But not just waves. Sunlight is actually composed-somewhat-of particles also, millions of them so small they are unobservable by the human eye. You’re understanding all this?”
“Of course,” said Kelley, who understood not one bit of it.
“I have spent a lifetime discovering these secrets and designing the lenses. By filtering out some waves and particles and allowing others to pass through, we can control… well… the full implications have yet to be fathomed. The sun is both the destroyer and creator of all life on Mother Earth. It is the Alpha and the Omega of all existence. Rudolph’s generous support has allowed my work to reach fruition.”
Kelley cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Rudolph has us working on an important project as well. The alchemists are divining the secret process of transmuting lead into gold.”
Roderick paused, looked at Edward Kelley blankly, then burst into uncontrolled laughter. He stopped abruptly upon seeing Kelley’s expression. “Oh, hell, you’re serious, aren’t you? Well… that’s, you know, that’s… uh… that’s a good project too. Yeah.”
Kelley sighed.
Upon seeing the alchemist unplacated, Roderick went on to say, “Listen, Kelley, you’ve been a good sport, letting me blast you with the lens and all. If you still want, I can probably arrange a quick glance at that iron box you’re so curious about.”
“That would be most gracious,” Kelley said.
The brand on his ass stung briefly.
Roderick led him into the dungeons deep below the castle, past armed guards, through dim passageways illuminated by flickering torches. Kelley had not foreseen, nor desired, being underground again so quickly. He wondered if there were tunnels that connected the dungeons below the castle with the passages below St. Vitus Cathedral.
They finally arrived at a large set of thick, wooden double doors. Kelley counted a dozen guards in heavy armor standing in front of the doors and crowding the passage. They eyed Kelley with grim suspicion but parted to let Roderick enter. Kelley followed the astrologer into a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Braziers in each corner provided enough light for Kelley to clearly see an iron box on the far side of the room, a good hundred feet away.
Kelley also saw the dead bodies.
A half-dozen blackened corpses within ten feet of the iron box, all contorted in various stages of agony. Closer to Kelley were another three bodies, less charred but just as dead. Back another twenty feet was another dead man. The last body was maybe forty feet from where Kelley stood behind a rope that stretched the width of the chamber.
“We’ve been trying to determine the minimum safe distance for examining the object,” Roderick explained. “We open the box and see if a man can live. If he doesn’t, we move back ten or twenty feet and try again.”
“You used live men for this?” Kelley swallowed hard, felt ill.
“Prisoners.” Roderick pointed at the closest body. “That fellow was a horse thief, I think. The object emits some sort of invisible, destructive rays, not completely dissimilar to the sun waves I told you about earlier. Naturally, they called me in to lead the experiments. Rudolph is most excited by the find.”
“This seems too dangerous to fool around with.”
“There is always a certain amount of risk in discovery.” Roderick reached for a thin rope dangling two feet away. “This line is attached to pulleys which will open the lid of the box if I pull on it. That’s how we were able to safely open it when we sent the prisoners out. You can’t see much from here, but would you like a look at the object?”
No. Kelley didn’t want to see it. He wanted to run out as fast as he could, screaming all the way. His ass-brand flared a warning. Kelley winced and said, “Yes. Let me see it.”
Roderick pulled the rope, and the iron box’s lid creaked open.
A rock. That’s all it was, a rock about the size of a dog’s head. It did not glow or pulse. No screaming devils leaped from the box. A rock.
Then something. The room seemed to shimmer, like heat on summer cobblestones. A dark uneasiness crept into Kelley’s gut, a sickly foreboding, the sudden acute certainty that sinister fingers probed him, reached inside his very soul. Any feeling of well-being left by Roderick’s lens was utterly erased, leaving only the sour taste of decay.
“Close it,” Kelley said. “Close it now, please.”
Roderick released the rope, and the lid slammed shut. The sick feeling ceased immediately, like stepping away from a hot cook stove.
“Yes, best to keep it shut,” said the astrologer. “We’re at a safe distance, but better safe than sorry, eh?”
An acidic aftertaste lingered in Kelley’s mouth. He turned away and spit. Rude. “Sorry about that.”
“I did the same thing the first time,” Roderick said.
“It’s…” Kelley shivered. “Evil.”
“Come, come, my good man, no, of course not. Let us conduct ourselves as men of science. Good. Evil. Terms peasants use for things beyond their understanding.”
“Yes. Of course. I think I just need some air. Maybe we could go back now.”
“Understandable. Yes, some fresh air will do you well, my good man.”
Kelley followed Roderick back to the surface, memorizing every twist and turn in the dungeon. He would tell Edgar. The Society must know. This thing must be destroyed or hidden. Kelley was as sure of this as he was of his own existence.
Only a simple lump of rock, yet Kelley felt as if he’d looked into the eyes of hell itself.
I didn’t know at the time, but I was already dead. The dose of radiation I took would eat at me, and in a few short years that would be it. Like John Wayne and those other film stars, who got zapped in the desert without even knowing it, the whole time chasing stuntmen painted up to look like Red Indians.
Anyway, Allen is nearly naked and in the company of an attractive young lady. My guess is you’ll find that much more interesting than my little tale of woe.