The man’s hands were backwards, the thumbs on the outside. Someone screamed. Someone else shouted something in Latin. Several men jumped up with their hands at their swords; the bench clattered behind them to the floor.
Dee began to recite the psalm against demons. The man ran for the door, drawing the tatters of his cloak around him. Kelley tried to follow, but Al Salah held him fast, his sword at Kelley’s throat.
“Next time you visit us come without your demon,” Al Salah said. “And tell the emperor we know nothing about the thirty-sixth man.”
Kelley pulled away and hurried outside.
The alchemists looked around them, scarcely breathing. “Did you know what that man was all along?” Dee asked Al Salah.
“I suspected,” Al Salah said. “Dogs can usually tell when something is amiss. And look at these—” He reached down to scratch the three-legged dog. “See the brown spot above their eyes? That means they can see into the spirit worlds.”
Mamugna looked surprised; Dee thought that he hadn’t known what his dogs were capable of.
The alchemists began to leave, glancing nervously about them. No one, it seemed, wanted to stay in a room where a demon had been present. Dee followed Al Salah and Magdalena out the door.
“Seton and Kelley are working together, of course,” Al Salah said.
“What?” Dee said. “No—they can’t be.”
“They already had that list. They were hoping to draw you out, to get you and Rabbi Loew to add names to it.”
“But I was there when Seton wrote it. He went into some sort of trance—”
“You were duped, I’m afraid. Seton put on a show for your benefit. They probably used a scrying glass to get the names originally.”
“But it’s much too dangerous to use a glass now. Our world and the demons’ world are far too close.” Dee shivered. “Oh, my God. So that was where this—this thing came from. Kelley’s companion.”
“Yes. It must have stepped across the threshold into our world when they used the glass. You mentioned something once about calling up a demon. Is this the same one that visited you before?”
“No. No, the other one—my demon—cannot assume human form. I think it’s jealous of us—of our joys, our loves, even of the fact that we live and breathe. It’s waiting for a body to inhabit.” Dee shivered again. “For my body, I think. Why on earth would Kelley and Seton use the glass again? Kelley’s seen how dangerous it is.”
“You know why. They will do anything for riches, for the emperor’s favor. They are desperate to find out what you know.”
“But I don’t know anything!” Dee said in frustration. “I have no idea who this thirty-sixth man is. My best guess so far is that it’s you.”
Al Salah laughed. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“How do you know?”
He laughed again. “It’s true—I wouldn’t know it if I were. Isn’t that what the legend says? But I think I would have guessed. I, too, have heard this legend, and have wondered who the man might be.”
“Have you learned anything? Do you know who he is?”
“No, though I have a list of possibilities myself.”
Al Salah handed Dee a sheet of paper. “How did you get this?” Dee asked.
“Don’t worry—it wasn’t by supernatural means. I asked questions, talked to people, kept my eyes open.”
Dee took his own list from his purse and compared it to Al Salah’s. Al Salah, like Seton, had written six names, but two of them were different. In his confused state Dee thought that the numbers must be significant—six times six, after all, made thirty-six.
“Listen,” Al Salah said gravely. He studied Dee in the dim light. “There are a great many dangers surrounding you. Not just your demon, and this man Kelley … . The king, it seems, is interested in you as well.”
Dee laughed harshly. “You could say that,” he said. “I spent a few nights in his jail.”
“He must be trying subtler methods now. I’m certain he told Kelley to gain your trust, to say that he had repented.” Al Salah was silent a moment. “You must leave Prague immediately.”
“I know. But where should I go?”
“Not Poland this time, I think.”
“How—how did you know where I was?”
Al Salah ignored Dee’s question. “King Rudolf knows that you have met Prince Laski, and that Laski would give you a place to stay. What about Hungary? Do you have friends there?”
Dee shook his head. “I wrote a letter to King Stephen once, asking for patronage. He seemed interested, but then, well, we got caught up in all this … .”
“Good. Perfect. Go to Hungary.”
Another journey, Dee thought. Well, it could not be helped. “Could you send your list to Rabbi Loew?” he asked Al Salah. “Judah Loew, in the Jewish Quarter. I’ve sent him mine as well. Maybe he can find out who this man is.”
“Of course. I’ll be leaving Prague next week—there’s some business I have to attend to at home—but I’ll send the letter before I go.”
What had he heard recently about Hungary, about King Stephen? The Báthorys, that was it. Elizabeth Báthory, who was said to bathe in the blood of virgins to keep herself young. Was she Stephen’s sister? His cousin? Every ruler within a hundred miles seemed to be going mad. He thanked God that Queen Elizabeth of England was far away enough to escape the contagion, that she at least was still sane. When would he see her again?
8
BEFORE THEY PARTED FOR THE NIGHT AL SALAH told Dee a little about Hungary. It had been divided into three parts: one part under Turkish rule; one under King Rudolf and the Habsburg empire; and one ruled by King Stephen, though Stephen had to swear fealty to the Turks and pay them tribute. Stephen had married into the royal Polish family and had become king of Poland as well.
Dee tried to enter the house and go up the stairs quietly, but Jane must have heard him, because she was sitting up in bed as he came into the bedroom. He climbed into bed and drew her down next to him, holding her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you again,” he said.
She stirred and sighed; her breath was warm against his neck. “You’re always leaving us,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“Hungary.”
She sighed again. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“I’m in danger here—”
“I know. It’s that man Kelley, isn’t it? Didn’t I warn you about him?”
“Kelley, yes, and Rudolf too. Remember when I told you about the thirty-sixth man? Rudolf thinks I know who he is.”
“Let’s go back to England,” Jane said suddenly. “Let’s get away from Rudolf, away from this crazy country.”
“I wish we could, sweetling. I can’t afford to take all of us to England. I have to find patronage from someone. Maybe King Stephen—”
“Maybe. It’s just—I miss you when you’re gone. I feel lost here—I don’t know the language, the customs. I want to go back to England.”
“I’ll get us all back,” Dee said. “I promise.”
The next day he booked passage on a coach to Stephen’s province, which was called Transylvania. The coach drove south and east, passing Vienna, and Dee wondered if it was true that Rudolf had moved the capital from that city to Prague in order to be closer to the spirits.
They left the city behind them and entered a wood. As they continued the trees crowded closer and closer around them, blocking out the sun, turning everything gray and vague. The road they followed grew narrower, nearly disappearing in places in all the vegetation. Squirrels leapt to the top of the coach and ran along the roof, their steps loud in the silence. Other animals cried or chittered within the dense forest.
One evening he heard a pack of wolves howl in the distance. “Here we are—we are here. Here we are—we are here,” they seemed to sing in their thin weird voices; their howls ascending and descending like a scale. The hair on his forearms stood up; it seemed to him that they were declaring their mast
ery of the forest, reminding them that humans had only managed to carve out a pitiably small realm of order and light.
At the taverns where they stopped for the night he began to hear more Hungarian, and another language spoken by dark bearded men that he assumed was Turkish. He had not realized that these infidels pushed so far westward, so close to the capital cities of Prague and Vienna, and it made him apprehensive about the fate of Christendom. Then he remembered Al Salah; he had almost forgotten that the man was a heathen.
Someone who spoke German told him about the Turkish sultan, Murad III. “They say that he has forty concubines, and that he spends all his time with them and neglects his duties to his country. They say he has a hundred and thirty sons. Nothing at all like his grandfather, Suleiman the Magnificent, the man who conquered Hungary. They called Murad’s father ‘the sot,’ and it looks as if Murad is no better.”
Another mad ruler, Dee thought, but he said nothing of his suspicions to the other man.
They traveled on. The forest gave way to flat green fields. They passed flocks of hundreds of sheep, and twice Dee caught a glimpse of a huge white fleecy dog, something like an enormous sheep itself, driving the herds.
At twilight the coachman announced that they had reached Stephen’s capital, the town that had become the seat of government after the Turks occupied Budapest. Gyulafehérvár, the town was called, and Dee’s heart sank when he heard the coachman speak the name; he would never get used to these long unpronounceable Hungarian words.
Exhausted, he made his way to an inn Al Salah had recommended. He climbed the stairs to his room, dropped his bags to the floor, and slept until morning.
The next day he sent a request for an audience to the king, then studied his two lists and began a letter to Rabbi Loew. “A man at the alchemists’ tavern named Al Salah has given me a list of people, one of whom might be the man we seek. He claims he did not acquire this list by supernatural means, and I believe him. I asked him to send it on to you, but in case you do not receive it I will tell you that it is similar to ours, though it does not have Wolfgang the counselor or the beggar in the town square, and does include two others: Jaroslav, a stable-owner near Cattle Market, and Samuel son of Abraham, in the Jewish Quarter. If you look for these people please be careful—Al Salah suspects that Seton is working with Kelley, and I have to say I agree with him.”
As he had done in Prague, he explored the city while waiting for Stephen’s answer, but the town proved to be a drab backwater, nothing like Rudolfs glittering capital. There were few parks and statues, no magnificent houses or great carriages or elaborately costumed courtiers. The only languages he heard were Hungarian and Turkish. And he felt none of the excitement of Prague, the sense he had had there of being at the center of things. No one stopped to speak to him, or even met his eye; they seemed sullen, filled with frustrated anger. Well, he thought, they lived in what was practically a conquered country after all, forced to pay tribute to the Turks.
Several times he heard an eerie, insinuating melody float out over the town: the Moslem call to prayer. He watched, fascinated, as turbaned men from all over stopped what they were doing and made their way to a mosque.
At last a letter came from Stephen’s chamberlain granting him an audience. Like King Rudolf, Stephen had built his castle on top of a hill for defense, but as Dee climbed upward he saw that the resemblance ended there. In front of him was what looked like a pile of gray stone; grim turrets stood out along the walls and a great iron gate guarded the entrance.
He presented his letter to one of the guards, who opened a small rusty door in the gate and motioned him inside.
Stephen’s castle was so dimly lit he could barely see the guard in front of him. He followed the man through a series of vast, drafty rooms made of gray and blood red stone. Tarnished swords and shields hung on the walls. There were no rushes or tapestries to soften the chill, and no chimneys for ventilation; several times he smelled a thin, acrid smoke that made his eyes water. Furry gray-green moss grew underfoot.
They climbed a stone staircase that seemed to have been built for giants, then headed down a wide corridor. Portraits lined the walls, the first paintings Dee had seen in the castle. Stern, judgmental-looking people in dark colors stared down at him as he hurried past.
Finally the guard stopped. Ahead of them was a knot of people, a group of men talking to a group of women. A man in a coat made of a patchwork of fur bent his head over the hand of one of the women. The woman nodded back to him coldly.
Dee noticed, surprised, that his guard had backed away, a look almost of terror on his face. The man in fur took no notice. “I assume you are Doctor Dee,” the man said in passable German. He had dark, nearly black hair, and unexpected green eyes under black eyebrows. His features were almost delicate, his cheekbones high and sharp, like Zoltan and László’s. “Welcome, welcome. I am István, king of Hungary and Poland. I hope you have had a safe and pleasant journey.”
István? thought Dee. Probably Stephen in Hungarian. He nodded politely.
The king turned to the woman whose hand he had kissed. “This is my royal cousin, the Countess Erzsébet,” he said. She had the same startling coloring as her cousin, dark hair and green eyes, but her face was rounder and her mouth was fuller and redder. She looked very young, around twenty or so. “She is visiting me for the present. But come, let us find somewhere to talk.”
He led the party through one of the doors off the corridor. The room they came to was startlingly cold; it was no wonder, Dee thought, that King István dressed in furs. He wished he had some furs of his own. And yet it was May twenty-third, nearly summer. He wondered if summer ever came to this place.
“You wrote in your letter to us that you speak to angels,” István said. He took a chair and motioned Dee to a rough wooden stool opposite him. He wore silver and iron rings on every finger, each with a different colored jewel.
“I wrote that letter a long time ago,” Dee said cautiously. “Since then I have learned how dangerous it is to summon spirits, especially now. I have had to abandon my experiments.”
Isrván looked puzzled. “Then I do not understand why you are here, Doctor Dee,” he said.
“I have—I have made other experiments as well,” Dee said quickly. “Alchemy, for example. I believe I am close to learning the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.” Dee swallowed, feeling wretched. He had no interest in riches and knew very little about the Philosopher’s Stone; Kelley had been the one who had pursued experiments with lead and gold and mercury and sulphur. And yet here he was, claiming mastery of the subject. How was he different from Kelley and all the other mountebanks at the tavern? But he had to live, had to find a safe haven away from Rudolf.
Almost as if he had read his mind, Isrván said, “And why didn’t you give this knowledge to Emperor Rudolf?”
“Rudolf and I have had our differences.”
István sat back, a pleased expression on his face. “Good,” he said. “Rudolf occupies a third of Hungary, land he has no right to whatsoever. And here we are, caught between the Turks and the Holy Roman Empire, doing our best to see that the infidels do not overrun western Europe, and where is our thanks for it? What has Rudolf ever done for us? Or the pope, for that matter, or anyone? But as long as I wear the iron crown of Hungary I will see to it that this land, at least, stays free of foreign influence. We can use all the gold you can make for us.”
He motioned to one of his men, his rings a dull glimmer in the gloom. “See that Doctor Dee is settled comfortably in the castle. Make sure he has everything he asks for. What sort of equipment do you need, Doctor?”
What did he need? He tried to remember what Kelley had ordered back in England, things Dee had had to pay for. Absurdly, the only thing that came to mind was Mamugna saying, “A mandrake root, gathered under a gallows at midnight …” He tried to concentrate.
“An athenor,” he said. “Vari
ous containers, mercury, sulphur, other things … . I’ll write you a list.”
“Good, good. Let me show you to your rooms, then.”
“I have to go back to my lodgings and get my bags—”
István waved his hand. “I’ll send someone for them. Follow me.”
They retraced their steps down the corridor, passing the room he had seen Countess Erzsébet and her retinue going into. Two women were heading toward Erzsébet’s door; neither of them, Dee noticed, was the countess herself. István nodded. “Good day, Anna, Marie,” he said.
“Good day, King István,” the women said, bowing slightly. They smiled and continued on.
István ushered him into rooms on the other side of the corridor. The guard, who had followed them, looked fearfully over his shoulder at Erzsébet’s rooms as though he expected a hideous monster to emerge at any second.
Dee’s rooms were as large as the others he had seen, and fashioned of the same cold stone. There was no fireplace. “I’ll need a furnace,” Dee said.
“Of course, of course. A furnace for Doctor Dee,” István said to one of his men. “And paper, a pen, an inkwell. And a servant or two. And now I’m afraid I’ll have to say farewell. Affairs of state.”
The king and his men left. Dee took one of the rough wooden chairs and sat, feeling cold and alone and miserably homesick. He wished he had his bags, so that he could pile on layers and layers of clothing. He wished he had a companion, someone to talk with, Jane or Loew or Al Salah. He wished that Kelley … But it didn’t do to think of that.
He walked to the door and looked out cautiously. The two women, Marie and Anna, were leaving Erzsébet’s rooms again. They nodded to him; this time he thought their smiles seemed almost mocking, as though they knew an embarrassing secret about him. He inclined his head toward them and they continued down the corridor, laughing softly.
Finally a servant arrived with paper and a pen, and another came a few moments later with his bags, and he was able to set to work.
He spent the next few days in his rooms, setting up an alchemical workshop. For most of that time he saw no one except the servant assigned to clean his rooms and bring him food, a young woman named Judit. She spoke only Hungarian, but he found himself looking forward to her visits, the way she would put her head around the door and say cheerfully, “Jó napot kívánok,” which meant something like “good day.”
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