“God willing,” added Gianni.
Wilhelmina noticed Cass’ wrinkled brow. “Don’t worry. You’ll have Kit if you get into difficulty.” She pressed Cass’ hand in a sisterly gesture. “You’ll be all right.” Then, turning to Gianni, she said, “We’d best be on our way. Our jump-off point is a mile or so farther along the line.” She gave Kit and Cass a wave and, taking Gianni’s arm, started walking along the crease between the hills.
“See ya,” called Kit. “Bring us back a bag of magic pixie dust.”
“Good luck, you two.”
“Vaya con Dios!” added Gianni.
Kit and Cass watched the two moonlit shapes fade into the night, then turned to one another. “We might as well find a place to sit down and make ourselves comfortable,” said Kit. “We’ve got a few hours yet.”
“Will you know when the ley is active?” wondered Cass, rubbing her arms.
“Yeah, I can most often feel it—like a tingle on the skin. Are you cold?” He moved to the well and sat down, patting the ground beside him. “Here, sit next to me and we’ll keep each other warm—like they do in the Stone Age.”
Cass eased herself down beside him, and Kit put his arm around her and pulled her close. “You can sleep if you want. I’ll keep watch and wake you when it’s time to go.”
“I couldn’t sleep if you paid me,” she said, snuggling in a little closer. “Tell me about the Stone Age people you were with. I want to meet them in person when . . .” She paused. “I guess, when all this is over. You promised, remember—and I mean to hold you to it.”
“Of course. We have a solemn, sacred deal.”
“A sacred, solemn deal,” she corrected.
Huddled together at the base of the well, they talked until the stars began to fade, watching the sky slowly brighten. When at last the eastern horizon showed a blush of pink, Kit determined the time was drawing near.
“It won’t be long now,” he said, rising. “I’ll measure off the steps and mark the spot so we can judge the jump more accurately. Mina didn’t allow us much margin for error.”
Cass scraped up a suitable rock and followed Kit to the place where he stopped counting his strides. She placed the rock at the spot he indicated, then looked around for two more stones to add to the pile for good measure. “There. We won’t misjudge that.”
Walking back to the well, she asked, “Do you feel anything?”
“Hunger. We seem to have skipped supper last night. I could do with some breakfast. How about you?”
“Now that you mention it—absolutely.”
“We’ll get something as soon as we get to London. I know this excellent little place . . .” He paused, remembering. “Oh, it won’t be open yet.”
“At six in the morning?”
“Not in 1666. We’ll have to wait a few hundred years maybe.”
Cass frowned. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“Then we’ll grab a pie on the street. That’ll hold us until we get to Clarimond House. We’ll tell Villiers to have the cook whip up a full English breakfast—eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, black pudding, toast—the works.”
Upon reaching the well, Kit turned and held out his hand. “It’s best if you hold on to me. That little mistake cost me one girlfriend; I don’t want to lose another.”
Cass took the offered hand. “Am I your girlfriend now?”
Smiling, Kit started down the centre of the ley.
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 28
In Which Trust Is Cruelly Tested
Archelaeus Burleigh stood outside the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus, gazing through the steamy windows at the activity within. The shop was quiet; only a few remaining customers lingered over their cups. He could see the serving girls in their green-and-white uniforms bearing trays of cups and pots and plates to the kitchen. Business was winding down for the evening.
Outwardly innocent and inviting—a simple coffee shop with a line of tasty pastries. What could be more innocuous? But that was the genius of it, decided the earl. That inoffensive appearance was itself a facçade of falsehood. The Grand Imperial was, the earl now believed, a veritable hotbed of plots and subterfuge.
Loitering in the wide-open plaza, Burleigh took the opportunity for a good long look around. He would miss Prague. Despite the language limitations and its pokey, straight-laced Bohemian ways, he had grown quite fond of the stately old dame. Nevertheless, he had leeched all he needed from the place, and it was time to move on.
Will I ever come back? Possibly, he decided, but unlikely. The city had been useful to him, there was no denying that; his contacts among the alchemists had proven invaluable. But the place was also a source of continuing irritation, and he itched to be able to concentrate his full attention on the quest for the Skin Map. Before leaving Prague, however, he had a conspiracy to crush.
He heard a dog bark across the square and the fluttery chatter of folk as they hurried home for the night. Down at the far end of the square the clock tower chimed the quarter hour. Burleigh breathed in the cool evening air tinged with the rich scent of woodsmoke. Yes, he would miss the old girl. Once the quest was completed, however, and everything had changed, perhaps he would come back and take over the palace—make it one of his summer homes, or revive the old empire. He could become Emperor Archelaeus I. The thought made him smile.
He was still smiling when three customers emerged from the coffeehouse. Tav appeared in the doorway a few moments later; he raised a hand and tapped his nose with a forefinger.
As Burleigh proceeded towards the door, Con and Mal, who had been watching from another corner of the square, came running to meet him. “All clear, Boss,” said Con.
“Good. You go ’round the back and watch the door. I don’t want anyone running off.”
The thin-faced man nodded and darted away again.
“Mal, you watch the front door. Don’t let anyone into the shop.”
“What if somebody comes along?” asked Mal.
“Just say, ‘Kaffeehaus geschlossen’—got it?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Upon reaching the Grand Imperial, Burleigh pulled Tav to him and, in a low voice, said, “Come with me—in case our friend needs a little persuading.”
Putting his hand to the door, Burleigh pushed it open and stepped into the shop. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee. He made a swift survey of the large room; as he expected all the tables were empty . . . save one in the far corner at which two men still sat head to head in close conversation over their cups. The earl cast a sharp, disapproving look at Tav.
“Sorry, Boss, I thought they left.” Glancing at the two dawdlers—businessmen of middling age and little consequence—he said, “Want me to get rid of them?”
“Too late now. Just keep an eye on them.” Burleigh moved towards the counter separating the main room from the kitchen behind. He moved quickly around the counter and into the work area. There at the oven was the baker, stooping to tend the fire, banking the coals for the night. Burleigh gave a silent nod to Tav, who took up his position, and stepping around the end of the counter entered the kitchen.
“Entschuldigen Sie mich,” he said softly. “Ein Wort, bitte.”
Engelbert turned and straightened, his pleasant round face red from the heat of the oven. “Hallo,” he replied with a smile. “Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?”
“Sprechen Sie Englisch?”
“Nein,” replied the baker. He smiled and shrugged. “Es tut mir leid.”
Burleigh nodded. He disliked this Old Deutsche and always struggled to make himself understood when forced, as now, to use it. “No matter,” he said, mentally adjusting to the language, “I will not trouble you. I have only a question.”
“Please,” said the baker; he closed the door of the oven and then turned to his visitor. “My name is Engelbert. How can I help?”
“Your partner—Wilhelmina, is that her name?—I would please to speak
to her.”
“I am sorry, she is not here.”
“No? I thought I saw her earlier this evening.” Actually, it was Tav who thought he had seen her, but lost her in the crowd coming from church.
“Yes, she was here. But she had to go away,” explained Engelbert.
“That was sudden,” observed Burleigh. “Where did she go?”
“She should return in a day or two. You could speak to her then.”
“That is not what I asked.” Burleigh moved a step closer. “I must to know where she went.”
The baker stared at his visitor for a long moment, then said, “She has gone away on business of her own.”
“I understand that. I must know where Wilhelmina has gone.”
“Why should this concern you?”
“I have information for her,” Burleigh lied. “It is important that I find her.” He patted the breast pocket of his coat as if it might contain something of value. “It is a message that will be of great benefit to her. Please to tell me where is she?”
“Perhaps if you tell me this information, I will be able to assist you,” suggested the baker.
“It is a simple question,” said Burleigh. “Why do you refuse to answer?”
“I tell you she has gone away on business. She sometimes does this. What more can I say?”
Burleigh’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “But that will not do, my friend,” he said, his voice taking on an edge. “You must try harder.” He moved into the room and lowered his voice. “Your associate has involved herself in my business and I want to know why. I want to know everything.”
Concern wrinkled the baker’s placid brow. “I do not understand.”
“My German is not so good.” Burleigh stepped closer. “I will try to explain. The Fräulein is interfering in my affairs. I want to know why. In fact, I want to know everything.”
“I think you should go now,” replied Engelbert, crossing his arms across his massive chest. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.”
“We are not finished,” said Burleigh. He called to Tav, who stepped around the counter and into the kitchen. “He refuses to talk. See if you can loosen his tongue.”
“Right, Boss.” Tav quickly took up a position in front of Etzel. He cocked his head to one side and then glanced away. With cat-like quickness, his hand flashed out, seizing his victim by the throat. “Listen, you ignorant oaf,” he said, his voice a grating whisper in the startled baker’s ear. “My boss here asked you a question. I suggest you tell him what he wants to know. Or this could get messy.”
“He doesn’t speak English,” Burleigh observed mildly, leaning back against the table.
“Oh, I think he got the message,” replied Tav, releasing his grip.
Engelbert fell back, rubbing his neck. “I will tell you nothing,” he said. “You must leave now.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Tav’s fist smashed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
“As I have explained,” said Burleigh, “you will tell me what I want to know.”
The baker, glaring at his attackers from below lowered brows, rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “I will tell you nothing.”
“We shall see.” Burleigh nodded at Tav, who reached into a coat pocket and produced a set of brass knuckles, making a show of fitting them to his hand and making a fist.
“You think to hurt me?” said Engelbert. “You think maybe that if you hurt me this will make me tell you something? Is this what you are thinking?”
“I give you one last chance,” said Burleigh.
Tav slammed his armoured fist down on the wooden tabletop beside him. The resulting crack sounded like bones breaking.
“Shame on you,” said Engelbert, with a defiant thrust of his chin. “I will tell you nothing.”
Tav lunged forward, plunging his fist into the big man’s stomach. Engelbert staggered back, hit the oven, and fell onto his hands and knees. The Burley Man lashed out with his boot, striking again at the baker’s round stomach.
Etzel loosed a gasp of pain. He gulped air and held his side. “Yes, you can hurt me,” he said, his voice tight and strained. “Still, I say nothing.”
“We’re just getting started, you and me,” Tav told him. His next blow caught the baker on the side of the head, opening a gash above his eye. Blood spurted from the cut and splashed down the baker’s round, cherubic face.
Engelbert, gasping in pain, shook his head from side to side to clear his vision.
“Get up,” snarled Burleigh. “On your feet.”
“You can knock me down until I get up no more,” Etzel said, dragging himself upright. “But still I tell you nothing.”
By way of reply, Tav threw a vicious uppercut, catching the baker on the chin and opening another deep cut. Blood flowed down his white shirt and onto his apron. “Anything to say yet?” demanded Tav.
Glaring defiantly at his attackers, Etzel declared, “As Wilhelmina has placed her trust in me, I place my trust in God.” He cupped his broken chin. “God is my refuge and my strength.”
“God?” snarled Burleigh. Rage shot through him. “You dare speak to me of God? Blind, stupid fool! There is no God!”
The baker just stared at him with a pitying expression.
“Did you hear me?” shouted Burleigh. “There is no God!”
Tav swung his fist again, catching the big man on the jaw; the brass knuckles sliced into the soft flesh. There was a crack as teeth and bone gave way.
Engelbert moaned and sank once more to his knees.
“Where is this God of yours?” Burleigh sneered savagely. He put out a hand to stay Tav and, standing over his groaning victim, shouted, “Where is your mighty refuge now?”
From the dining room came the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. A moment later a sharp-featured man with a pointed beard and green hat appeared at the end of the counter. “What is going on here?” he demanded.
“None of your business,” snapped Burleigh without looking around. “The baker and I are having a discussion.”
“Etzel?” asked the man. “Is this so?” Glancing around, he found Engelbert on the floor, took one look at the baker’s bloody face, and gasped. “Etzel! Look at you!”
“Stay back!” growled Burleigh, turning on the man. “I told you this is none of your business.”
“I make it my business,” countered the man, moving around the counter and into the room. “I am Herr Arnostovi and I own this building.” He stepped quickly to Engelbert’s side and turned to face Burleigh. “You, on the other hand, are a ruffian and a criminal.”
“Tell me what I want to know,” shouted Burleigh, ignoring the landlord. “Tell me—and it is finished. I will leave you alone.”
“Tell him nothing, Etzel,” said the landlord. “He now has Jakub Arnostovi with whom to deal.”
“Keep your big nose out of it, Jew!” snapped Burleigh. Tav adjusted the brass knuckles on his fist and prepared to swing again. “Talk, baker, or this time we break your skull.”
Arnostovi drew a deep breath and shouted into the dining room. “Ruprecht!” he cried, calling for the man who had been sitting with him. A face appeared at the counter. “Trouble!” cried the landlord. “Run for the Wachtmeister!”
“Jawohl!” came the reply. Before anyone could move, he disappeared and the door slammed from the dining room.
“Now we see who will be talking,” sneered Arnostovi. He put a protective hand on Engelbert’s shoulder and passed him a large linen handkerchief. “Put this on your eye to stop the blood. I will send Ruprecht for the doctor as soon as he returns.” To Burleigh he said, “I have powerful friends. You will be arrested.”
“Take them down,” Burleigh instructed. Tav stepped forward, readying himself to strike.
Just then the front door slammed and another voice called from the dining room, “Boss! Better hurry!” It was Mal. “They’ve called out the guard!”
Though he spoke in
English, there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice. Arnostovi smiled. “Eh? See? You will spend the night in irons.”
Burleigh backed away. Tav turned and followed, snatching a cloth from a serving tray as he passed; he rubbed the blood from the brass knuckles, removed the weapon, and stuffed it back into his pocket.
With a last defiant snarl, he threw the cloth at Etzel, then hurried after Burleigh and out the door.
Burleigh grabbed Tav and Mal in the doorway. “Where is Baby?”
“In her cage behind the stable,” answered Mal.
“Get her and meet us at the gates.” Burleigh pushed his henchman away. “Go.” He glanced out across the square to see armed men running towards them. To Tav he said, “Go get Con and Dex, but stay out of sight. Head for the gate and wait for me outside the walls. I’ll collect my things and meet you there.”
“What’s happening, Boss?”
Moving into the shadows, Burleigh said, “We’re leaving.”
Burleigh put his head down and started walking, quickly passing the three guardsmen running for the coffeehouse. Two of the soldiers wore steel helmets and carried short pikes with hooked blades. Burleigh turned his face away and melted into the darkness of the empty city square.
PART FIVE
The End of Everything
CHAPTER 29
In Which There Is No Smoke Without Fire
It was difficult to know how much time was passing. Each day was so very much the same as the one before, they bled into one another, piling up in an undifferentiated accumulation. They began with ablutions and a simple breakfast of rusks, watered wine, and fruit; this was followed by the appearance of the royal scribe who served as their language instructor. Douglas would then devote the next several hours to the study and application of the mind-numbingly intricate Etruscan language, which, so far as he could tell, was a mix of proto-Latin and Phrygian, or Persian, or something equally baffling. For Douglas, who had learned passable medieval Latin, it might as well have been proto-Eskimo or Venusian. The language of Etruria was slippery and obtuse, complicated and unyielding to rational expectation. Some might have found it inspiring—if what one was seeking to inspire was despair.
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