Alchemy, page 18
He nodded a curt farewell and hurried away through the gate, into the maze of back streets. I wondered if the man in the cloak was waiting for him somewhere. If not for Sukie and the promise of whatever Ziggi Bartos had left in her keeping, I would have been tempted to follow him.
Instead I returned to the tap-room to find Sukie gone and the table wiped clean.
TWELVE
‘Merda.’ I kicked the table leg, looking around the tavern, furious with myself for allowing the girl to slip away; I should have realised her acquiescence had come too easily. The other drinkers were busy talking or occupied with their food. ‘Where did the child go?’ I asked a couple of men in shabby smocks at the bench closest to us. ‘The girl who was sitting here?’ They paused long enough to give me a cursory glance, before shrugging and resuming their conversation in Czech. I swore again under my breath and crossed the room to bang on the serving hatch until Magda appeared.
‘What now?’ she asked, glaring at me. Definitely Greta’s sister, I thought, seeing her expression.
‘Where did Sukie go?’
‘How should I know?’
‘I was only outside for five minutes. You shouldn’t have let a young girl like that leave on her own.’
‘What am I, her nursemaid?’ She pushed her sleeves up with a combative air and I noticed a dark bruise around her left wrist. ‘That child’s more than capable of looking after herself – she’s had no choice, poor little cow. So if she’s slipped away when your back’s turned, I’d say that’s because she didn’t care for your company any longer.’ She caught me looking at her arm and tugged her tunic down again. ‘Now – do you want to order something else?’
I shook my head. She was right; Sukie had evidently had second thoughts about the terms of our agreement, despite her handshake. Her loyalty to Ziggi Bartos – or perhaps her faith in his mysterious discovery to change her family’s fortunes – was clearly greater than her desire for a new book. Maybe it was simply that she didn’t trust me, for which I could hardly blame her. But although I had exaggerated the threat to press her into confiding in me, I now found myself concerned that she might genuinely be in danger if she was holding on to Bartos’s secret elixir.
I returned to Golden Lane without much hope of finding her home, though I hammered on the door until a middle-aged woman in a white coif stuck her head out of the next house and barked something in Czech.
‘Goodwife Huss? I’m looking for Sukie,’ I said in German. ‘I was supposed to meet her here.’
‘My arse you were,’ she said, folding her arms beneath her formidable bosom. ‘Haven’t you people any shame? They’ve barely anything left for you to take. Have a scrap of Christian charity.’
‘Oh – no, I’m not here for money,’ I said quickly. ‘I specifically wanted Sukie. We had an arrangement.’ The goodwife looked like the kind of neighbour who didn’t miss a thing that went on in her street; I was fairly sure she would have watched me and Sukie leave together earlier. She gave me a long look and her eyes narrowed further.
‘She’s eleven years of age,’ she said with undisguised contempt. ‘Do you know what her father would do to you if he found out about your arrangement? I ought to report you to the castle guard.’
‘Please don’t,’ I said hastily. ‘It’s nothing like that. Although maybe her father could try staying home with her more often if he’s worried about her safety,’ I added under my breath.
Goodwife Huss sniffed loudly. ‘Well, you’ll have no disagreement from me on that point,’ she said, surveying the lane. ‘Though he’s not a bad fellow underneath, you know, Erik Moller, whatever they say. Head in the stars, but he loves that girl more than his own life. And if she doesn’t want to be found, there’s no point you looking. She’s run from you for a reason.’
I peered up at the dark windows of Sukie’s house, clenching my fists in frustration. It would have been no trouble to pick the lock on the front door or force one of the windows open, but I could hardly do that with the goodwife standing over me.
‘Sukie’s father is protective of her, then?’ I asked as a thought occurred.
‘Well, he’s not a fool, whatever else he may be,’ said Goodwife Huss, leaning against the frame of her door as if we were settling in for a chat. ‘He knows as well as anyone what can befall young girls, and she’s too trusting, Sukie, with no mother to advise her. So I’ve taken it upon myself to tell her what’s what when it comes to men and their ways.’ She looked me up and down as she said this, as if I were giving off a bad smell.
‘That’s very neighbourly of you,’ I said, and she allowed a grudging nod. I gestured to the house opposite. ‘Did the man who lived there keep an eye on her too?’
‘Ziggi Bartos?’ She made a noise that could have meant any number of things, none of them complimentary. ‘I suppose you might call it that.’
My stomach clenched. ‘He didn’t – you don’t mean to say there was something improper in their friendship?’
‘Oh no, not in that way,’ the goodwife said, looking across at Bartos’s house. ‘He treated her like his apprentice. Had her running errands all over the place, fetching and carrying materials, using her pretty smile to beg extra credit with the apothecaries when he’d used up his own.’ She tutted in disapproval. ‘She’d come back stinking of sulphur and smoke, her hands all discoloured from whatever muck he’d had her mixing up for him. I’d hear Erik giving her an earful about meddling with people like him, but it didn’t deter her. Never saw the child happier than when she came out of that house.’
‘People like him? Erik disliked alchemists?’
‘Well, he disliked that one,’ she said darkly, with a meaningful look at Bartos’s door.
‘Why?’ I asked, but she was prevented from answering by a loud bellowing from somewhere inside her own house.
‘Now there’s my husband waking up,’ she said, making a face. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
‘If you see Sukie,’ I said quickly, ‘tell her I’ll be back with her book. Remind her we had a deal.’
Goodwife Huss gave me a pitying chuckle. ‘Good luck making a deal with a Moller,’ she said, and closed the door.
I made my way back up Golden Lane plagued by a sense of frustration; I had come so close to finding something useful and instead was left to fill in the gaps with guesswork. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that at least I knew more than I did this morning: it seemed likely from what I had seen at the Winged Horse that David Maier was one of the spies Rabbi Loew had mentioned, informing on his own community. I wondered what his motive could be. Perhaps it was no more complex than a need for coin, but I suspected there was more to it; information is currency, as Ottavio had said earlier. David had struck me as an upright man, but a man of strong principle might stoop to underhand means if he could convince himself that he was acting for a greater good. I wondered who, among the competing factions at court, would pay for David’s secrets, and whether Rabbi Loew had any inkling. Either way, it seemed that David had had a fit of remorse over his actions. I kicked at a loose stone, muttering a string of reliable Neapolitan curses to myself; if I had known Sukie was planning to run out on me, I would have followed David to find the man in the cloak. It might be useful to know who was paying him, and for what. But then, I reflected, if I had known Sukie was going to renege on our agreement, I would not have left her in the tavern in the first place. It was a much greater frustration that I had not been able to get my hands on whatever Ziggi Bartos had entrusted to her; surely this elixir he had been finessing held the key to his murder. I determined to call on her first thing the next morning.
I was crossing the courtyard beyond the convent of St George, brooding on the evening’s failures, when I heard the ripple of girlish laughter nearby. I turned to look and, on the far side, in the shadow of the private residences that lined the southern perimeter of the castle precinct, I made out a couple standing close together, murmuring softly, their silhouettes outlined in the flickering light of a wall-mounted torch. Though I couldn’t see their faces, the young man’s stance – awkward, lanky, trying too hard to look casual – struck me as familiar. I took a step towards them, peering into the gloom.
‘Besler?’
He started as if he had been poked with a stick and peeled himself hurriedly away from the wall.
‘Maestro! I was just looking for you. Where have you been?’ His tone was overly bright; he was clearly embarrassed to have been caught dallying. I moved closer and took a look at the girl beside him. She was about his age, small and sharp-featured, with fair hair piled in an elaborate braid under a jewelled hood. A fur-trimmed cape hung around her shoulders, over a gown cut low in the bodice. I surmised, from the knowing way she let her gaze roam over me from head to foot, that she was probably a courtesan. The obvious quality of her clothes and the large pearls in her ears suggested she was a woman of means; perhaps the mistress of some nobleman. If that were the case, I needed to get Besler away as quickly as possible, before he made a fool of himself. She cocked her head to one side and regarded me with a pert smile.
‘You must be the famous Dr Bruno,’ she said. ‘Your friend here has been telling me how you have won the Emperor’s favour.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, bowing as I shot a stern glance at Besler; I would speak to him later about proclaiming our business to any pretty girl who simpered at him. There was a good reason why Catherine de Medici of France employed a bevy of young women as spies at the Parisian court: some men will say anything to impress if they think there might be a tumble in it. More than one courtier in Paris had literally lost his head over Catherine’s girls. I saw from Besler’s expression that he had registered my annoyance.
‘I was only saying, Maestro, that His Majesty has already sent for you to ask your counsel, such is his esteem,’ he blustered, unwittingly making it worse.
‘On what matters does the Holy Roman Emperor seek the counsel of a renowned thinker like yourself?’ the girl asked, coiling a strand of hair around her finger.
I straightened. I had more practice than she could know at resisting the tricks of women like her. ‘Oh, dull philosophical matters,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure a young lady can have little interest in the affairs of a couple of travelling scholars. Come, Besler – we must go. Madam. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ I nodded a polite end to the conversation and turned away; she responded with a fluttering laugh as she laid a hand on my sleeve.
‘But you have not, yet,’ she said, the tips of her fingers lingering on my wrist. ‘Made my acquaintance, I mean. Will you not ask your friend to introduce us?’
I moved my arm away, though not so abruptly that it would look like a rejection. ‘Besler?’ I said reluctantly.
‘Oh – Dr Bruno, this lady is Polyxena von Rozmberk,’ he said hastily.
The girl held out her skirts and executed a slow curtsy, not taking her pale blue eyes off mine. ‘You can call me Xena,’ she said.
‘Rozmberk?’ I took a step back. Not a courtesan, then. ‘Are you perhaps Count Vilem’s daughter?’
Xena laughed. ‘I’m his wife,’ she said with a hint of reproach.
‘My apologies, my lady – I had not thought—’
‘No need, it’s a common mistake – there are more than thirty years between us. I’m the fourth. No doubt the fifth is not yet born.’ She let out another peal of laughter, but I caught a forced note in it. ‘I’m joking, of course. There will not be a fifth, because I will be the one to give him an heir where all the others failed.’ She smiled briskly. ‘My husband will be so jealous when I tell him of our encounter – he has been longing to meet you.’
‘Has he?’ I wondered how the highest noble in Bohemia had heard of me, and what he might want.
‘Oh yes. John Dee has sung your praises to the count since he arrived. Oh, I know!’ She clapped her hands together suddenly, as if she had just alighted on an idea. ‘You must come and dine with us. Both of you.’ She gestured to the elegant building behind her, one of a row that lined the south wall of the castle precinct. ‘This is our palace. I will send a messenger – Besler tells me you lodge with Dr Hajek?’
‘That’s right. You know John Dee, then?’ I asked.
‘The count does. He has been a guest at our table on occasion, though I must say I find his manners unrefined.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He talks with his mouth full and sprays half-chewed meat over the board.’
I smiled; she was not wrong. ‘He feels he must express an idea the minute it strikes, lest it slip his grasp. Have you seen him recently?’
‘Not for some time. I don’t know if the count has – he has not spoken of him lately, at any rate.’ She sounded as if the topic hardly concerned her. ‘Come tomorrow for supper, then. It is so nice to have some new blood in this town – I grow tired of the same old faces.’ She pouted prettily, making sure to meet my gaze as she held out her hand for me to kiss. I took it warily, my lips barely brushing her skin, careful to be neither too enthusiastic nor too cold. I had some knowledge, as Besler did not, of what could happen when bored noblewomen set their sights on a man as a distraction from the tedium of having everything they could want except their husband’s attention, and I could see from the way Xena von Rozmberk was looking at me that she had already decided I might provide amusement. I did not flatter myself that this was on account of my personal charms; it was more probable that, like the Emperor, she simply craved novelty. Either that, or she had a more subtle motive; it was not impossible that, like everyone else at Rudolf’s court, she was trading in information. For her husband, the second-most powerful man in Bohemia? It would be unwise, I thought, to accept her invitation, though perhaps equally undiplomatic to refuse. Her reference to us as ‘new blood’ was not reassuring.
‘My lady. Come, Besler.’ I turned to him; he was still gazing at her as if he would scale the cathedral spire if she asked him to. I wished again that I had persuaded him to return to the German lands with Overton.
‘Xena is excessively beautiful, is she not?’ Besler said as we waited at the gatehouse for the boy to bring the horses.
I gave him a sidelong look as I strapped my knife back on to my belt; its reassuring weight at my side immediately put me in a better humour. ‘Have you forgotten Esther Loew already? I thought you were besotted with her this morning. The affections of youth are so fickle.’
He blushed. ‘Go ahead and laugh at my expense. But I do not have the chance to meet many women at the university, as you know, and I feel the lack. Besides, Esther is too old for me.’
‘And the Countess von Rozmberk is too married,’ I said pointedly. ‘Do not even think of her. How did you come to be in conversation with her, anyway?’
‘She was in the Kunstkammer looking at the curios when I came out of the library with Ottavio Strada. He introduced us. Xena said the Emperor allows her to visit on occasion, to pass the time. Then she asked me to walk her through the castle grounds to her own house as she doesn’t like to be out in the dark, and I thought it would be unchivalrous to refuse.’
‘Hm. If you should find yourself in that situation again, set your gallantry aside. You must not be seen alone with her, Besler – do you understand? Her husband is an important man, and the last thing we need is for him to challenge you to a duel in defence of his wife’s honour.’ He looked suitably horrified, and I judged that the threat had hit home. ‘Tell me of your afternoon, then,’ I said, more gently. ‘Did you see everything you’d hoped?’
He nodded, ducking his head with a bashful smile. ‘The door knocker is quite realistic. I will draw it for you from memory when we get home. And’ – he continued, before I could tell him there was no need for a sketch – ‘Ottavio allowed me to see the Emperor’s private collection of books, that are kept in a secret part of the library. I never would have thought—’ He broke off, and even in the dusk shadow I could see that his face had turned fiery red.
‘What?’ I asked, tamping down a smile. He put me in mind of me and my fellow novices when I had first joined the Dominican order, the way anything to do with women was an inexhaustible topic of fascination and guilt – though we at least had the excuse of being barely seventeen at the time.
‘That there were so many ways to go to it,’ he said with an expression that suggested he could not decide whether this was wonderful or terrifying. ‘Do you think Rudolf has tried them all?’
‘I have honestly not considered the matter,’ I said, though now he had put the image in my head, it was hard to imagine the lugubrious little man summoning the energy for any contortions of that nature. ‘It may be one of the perks of being an Emperor.’
‘No wonder Ottavio’s sister looks so worn out,’ Besler said, his frown deepening. ‘But, Maestro – do all women expect such things? I mean, that you would turn them every which way on your yard? Upside down and backwards and I don’t know what? Because, some of those pictures, I can’t imagine how you are supposed to keep your balance. But I would not like to disappoint – what?’
I had surrendered all pretence of suppressing my laughter; I had to lean against the wall to hold myself up. This was not the kind of counsel I had pictured myself dispensing when I took Besler on as my student. For a moment he looked offended, before he began to laugh himself.
‘I’m sure you will work out the logistics when the time comes,’ I said, clapping him on the shoulder when I had recovered enough to speak. ‘What the devil have they done with our horses? I’m beginning to think they must have stabled them in Vienna.’
As we looked across the courtyard in the vain hope of seeing the animals appear around a corner, a sudden commotion broke out; a group of armed guards came running through the gatehouse and passed us in haste, heading in the direction of the cathedral court. A woman’s scream carried through the air, joined by others until the sound rose like the chorus of a Greek play. The men on duty at the gate called out to the soldiers as they rushed past; one barked a terse response over his shoulder. I looked to Besler for a translation.
