The Bone House

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Once in the city square, they disembarked. Wilhelmina paid the farmer a few small coins and thanked him. Then, gathering her charges, she said, “This is known as the Old Square. It is the main market square of the city and, in my opinion, the best place in the city to live.”

  “You live here?” wondered Kit. There was no market in progress, but the wide paved expanse was full of people plying their trades from small carts and otherwise going about their business.

  “I do,” she said, leading them across the square. “In fact, I have a partner and a shop.” She pointed to the bank of handsome buildings lining the northern side of the square. “There”—she indicated one of them—“the green one with the sign in gold lettering. That one is mine.”

  “Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus,” said Kit, reading the sign. “Mina, are you telling me you have a coffeehouse?”

  “Coffeehouse and bakery,” she replied. “The best in the city—the best in Bohemia, actually. We’re unique.”

  “Crikey,” murmured Kit, shaking his head in disbelief. “So this is how you have survived all this time—as a baker in a coffee shop?”

  “Kit, I own the shop.”

  “You said you had a partner?”

  “A business partner, yes,” she added by way of clarification. She pushed open the door and beckoned them in. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to him.”

  They stepped over the threshold and into a convivial room filled with cloth-covered tables where customers were being served by white-aproned waitresses in green dresses and little green bonnets. The travellers passed among the tables, and some of the shop’s patrons recognised their hostess and greeted her politely. A counter separated the dining area from the kitchen, from which emanated the mouthwatering smell of fresh-roasted coffee and warm pastry.

  “This way.” She led them around the counter and back into the inner kitchen where the ovens were located. “Etzel, ich bin zurlück!” she called, and a large, soft bear of a man wearing a flour-dusted apron and floppy green hat turned red-faced from bending over the oven.

  “Oh! Mein Schatz! ” he said, holding out thick arms for a hug. He all but buried Wilhelmina in his embrace. “I thought you would be gone all day, no?”

  “I guess the journey did not take as long as I expected,” she said. “Come, I’ve brought some friends. I want you to meet them.”

  He glanced up and saw the visitors for the first time. “Das würde mich freuen,” he gasped, and swept off his hat. He ran a chubby hand through his pale blond hair in an effort to make himself presentable—a gesture of such affable humility that Kit liked him instantly.

  “Kit, Giles, this is my friend and partner, Engelbert Stiffelbeam,” she said, repeating it in German for the baker, then adding for his benefit, “the best man I know.”

  “Oh, you flatterer,” said Etzel, blushing at the compliment. He patted her with obvious affection, and she bussed his doughy cheek. Then, turning back, the baker held out his hand to his guests, who shook it in turn. “Welcome, my friends,” he said, offering a little bow. “I am honoured.”

  “Glad to meet you,” said Kit, and Mina echoed, “Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen.”

  “Jawohl!” replied Etzel. “I hope you have had a good journey?” Mina translated, but before either of them could reply, he said, “What am I thinking? You must be starving. Sit down, sit down. You must have some of my fresh apple strudel. It will revive you.”

  While Etzel busied himself with the strudel, Mina donned a crisp, clean apron and began preparing coffee. Kit watched the efficient operation with interest verging on admiration; he could not get over the transformation he saw in Wilhelmina as she directed her staff and took charge of the kitchen, displaying an easy authority he had never before seen in her. Nor was that all: her hair was longer, more luxuriant somehow; her long, lithe form had filled out a little, giving her a trim figure. The dark circles, a perennial part of her appearance, were gone; she radiated a vitality and energy Kit had never witnessed. She was, he decided, a woman who had come into her own, and he liked what he saw.

  Shortly, Etzel called for one of his helpers to bring plates and directed his guests to sit down. “Setzen Sie sich, bitte.”

  “Just find a table,” Mina told them, “and I will bring the coffee.”

  Kit and Giles returned to the dining room; evening was drawing in, but there were still a few people in the house. They chose a table in a far corner so they could talk without disturbing the others. In a moment Etzel appeared, humming to himself as he placed thick slices of warm strudel on plates before them and daintily laying a small spoon beside each plate. Satisfied that all was in order, the big baker urged them on, saying, “Mahlzeit! Guten Appetit!”

  Kit and Giles took up their spoons and simultaneously took an exploratory bite. “Sehr gut!” Kit said, making a pantomime expression of pleasure.

  “Very good,” said Giles, descending to his plate. He began spooning up strudel like the hungry man he was.

  Kit’s polite restraint lasted another two bites, and then he, too, began scooping for all he was worth and murmuring heartfelt appreciation between mouthfuls. Etzel beamed at them and chuckled, his hands folded across his stomach.

  Wilhelmina returned with a tray full of small pots of coffee and cups. “Well, that’s going down a treat,” she observed. To Etzel, she said, “Your strudel will be world famous.”

  “It is that spice you have brought us,” he replied knowingly.

  “The cinnamon,” she said, pleased that he was using this unfamiliar spice. “Do you think so?”

  “Ja, that makes the difference.” Seeing that the men had all but finished their portions, he said, “I will bring some more.”

  “I didn’t know I was so hungry,” Kit remarked. Giles nodded in full-mouthed agreement.

  “We’ll have a nice dinner after we’ve closed the shop—if you two can hold out that long.” Wilhelmina set down the tray and took up a pot. She was pouring the first cups when she glanced towards the shop’s front door at some customers just entering. “It looks like closing time will have to wait a little while. I’ll seat these last customers and put up the shutters.”

  “Don’t mind us,” said Kit, taking up his coffee. “We’re happy as clams in clover,” he said expansively, sipping the rich dark bitter liquid. “Well, Giles, old buddy, it looks like we landed on our feet this time. Who’d have thought it, eh?”

  As the newcomers passed behind Kit, he saw Giles’ eyes flick their way. The young man’s features froze in an odd expression—something halfway between disbelief and horror.

  “What?” asked Kit.

  “What is she doing here?” hissed Giles.

  “She?” wondered Kit, swivelling in his chair.

  “Don’t turn around!”

  He sensed a presence behind him, and then the last voice he expected to hear spoke his name: “Kit? Giles? Upon my soul—it is you!”

  And then she was at their table, standing over them.

  Kit looked up into the face he thought never to see again—as lovely as ever, but now contorted in anguish and fear.

  “Hello, Haven,” said Kit, voice husky, his skin tingling with instant revulsion. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “You must leave at once!” she urged. Eyes wide, she stole a swift glance towards the shop entrance where another party of customers was just entering. “Quick!” Her manner became frantic. She clutched at Kit’s arm as if to pull him bodily from his chair. “Flee! You must not let him see you. He thinks you dead.”

  “Who?”

  Across the table, Giles, watching the entrance, let out a low growl of contempt as he spat out the name. “Burleigh!”

  CHAPTER 26

  In Which the Question of What to Do Is Asked and Answered—Twice

  Is there a problem here?” asked Wilhelmina. She put down the plates she was holding and turned to confront the russet-haired beauty standing over Kit.

  “Mina,” said Kit, “meet Haven Fayth. No
time to explain. Burleigh’s here.”

  “Bloody great,” muttered Wilhelmina, glancing at the party just entering the shop.

  “Is anyone with him?”

  “Help them, I pray you,” said Lady Fayth, appealing to Mina. “They are in danger. You must help them flee this place at once.”

  “Right.” Wilhelmina fixed a smile on her face as she observed the newcomers just then trooping into the coffeehouse. “I see Bazalgette . . . and now . . . yes, Rosenkruez is here too.”

  “Who are they? Do you know them?”

  “Alchemists at the emperor’s court,” explained Wilhelmina. “I know them.”

  “All haste, I urge you,” said Haven.

  “Is there another way out of this building?” asked Kit.

  “Through the kitchen. My apartment is upstairs. Go up there and wait for me,” replied Wilhelmina, already moving to greet the newcomers. “You come with me,” she added to Lady Fayth.

  “Wait!” Kit said, leaping up. He snatched Haven by the arm. “The green book.” He stretched out his hand. “Sir Henry’s book. I want it.”

  Lady Fayth hesitated. “Burleigh is here! You must flee at once.”

  “Not without the book,” insisted Kit. “Hand it over.”

  “Oh, very well,” relented Haven. “Take it.” From a fold in her dress she brought out a small cloth-wrapped square and pressed it into Kit’s hand. “Get you hence.”

  Wilhelmina returned and drew the young woman away, throwing a command over her shoulder as she went. “You two get upstairs and keep quiet. Now hurry!”

  Giles and Kit slipped into the kitchen. They heard the other party clumping into the room behind them, the flow of German fast and thick. Etzel was bending over the stove, banking the oven for the night. He smiled when he saw them. Kit nodded and mimed laying his head on a pillow and then pointed towards the ceiling as he headed for the staircase leading to the upper rooms. “Jahwol,” said Etzel. “Schlaft gut.”

  They found Wilhelmina’s room across from the landing, went in, and closed the door. The room was Spartan spare: a high bed, a chair, a small round table, a large and ornately carved chest with a domed top, and in a corner, a tall standing wardrobe. “The bed or the chair,” said Kit. “Which would you prefer?”

  Before Giles could reply, a knock came on the door. They turned as a young woman in green livery entered with a shallow pan of coals. “Ich habe die Glut,” she said, offering the pan.

  “Vielen Dank,” replied Kit, indicating the hearth.

  The maid busied herself at the grated fireplace and soon had a cosy fire going. She rose and, with a pretty curtsey, left, closing the door behind her. Kit lit a candle on the mantel from the fire and set it on the table, then settled on the bed to wait. Giles took the chair. “Some deal, eh?” mused Kit. “The one guy we hope to avoid shows up here first thing. What are the odds?”

  Giles regarded him with a puzzled expression. “Sir?”

  “Burleigh shows up here just as we’re getting settled in,” said Kit. “Some coincidence.”

  “Sir Henry always said there was no such thing as coincidence.”

  “So I hear,” said Kit, sinking back onto the bed. “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  They talked quietly for a while, lamenting the cruel demise of Cosimo and Sir Henry at Burleigh’s hands and allowing themselves the luxury of imagining what they might do to settle the score. “Did you ever see Sir Henry’s book?” asked Kit.

  “No, sir. I was not privy to His Lordship’s papers,” replied Giles.

  Kit pulled the book from where he had stashed it in his belt and began unwrapping it. “Well, he made a careful study of all this ley business and wrote it down in this little book.” He passed the green-bound volume to Giles, who regarded it with interest, cracked open the cover, and thumbed a few pages. “What do you make of it?”

  He closed the cover and returned the book to Kit. “Very interesting, sir.”

  “But?”

  “I cannot read, sir.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a rustle at the door, and Wilhelmina swept in. “They’re gone,” she said. “I told them we were just closing. Burleigh and the others have gone back to the palace. Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here—out of Prague.”

  “We just got here,” complained Kit. “Can’t we stay?”

  “No. It isn’t safe.” She spun on her heel and darted back through the doorway.

  “It’s a big city. We’ll lie low.”

  “Look, Burleigh doesn’t know that I know you. Anyway, he thinks you’re dead. Let’s keep it that way. Now, come on!”

  “My lady is right,” said Giles. “It is best to avoid trouble whenever possible.”

  Kit tucked the green book back into his sash and climbed reluctantly off the bed and back downstairs.

  They passed through the kitchen, now dark save for a faint glow from the ovens. Etzel was gone and the dining room was empty. There was a bit of strudel on a plate on the counter, and Kit helped himself. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to a place I know—not far from here. You can hide out there until Burleigh leaves. He never stays long.”

  The three padded through the darkened coffeehouse, threading among the tables to the front door. Wilhelmina opened it, glanced out, and then beckoned them to follow. She started off across the near-deserted square; Kit and Giles had to scurry to catch up. They crossed the square and headed down a narrow street towards the city gate.

  “This place you’re taking us,” Kit said. “Where is it?”

  “It’s near the river outside the city,” Mina said.

  “How far?” Kit wanted to know.

  As Wilhelmina turned to answer him she nearly collided with three men approaching from the opposite direction. “Entschuldigung,” she said.

  The three stepped aside and she sailed on, Kit and Giles in her wake. They had gone but a few yards, however, when one of the men called out, “Oi! You there!”

  Kit glanced back over his shoulder to see three Burley Men standing in the street, frozen in momentary indecision.

  “Run!” shouted Kit.

  “Dex! Con! Get after them,” cried the one called Tav. “I’ll fetch the boss. Go! Go!” But Kit and Giles were already streaking away.

  Wilhelmina had disappeared.

  Kit and Giles pounded down the cobbled street. As they passed the corner of a house, a hand snaked out and caught Kit by the sleeve. Mina pulled him into an alcove. “It’s the Burley Men,” Kit told her.

  “You two go on,” she said. “I’ll keep them busy.”

  Kit hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Here, take this.” She fished the ley lamp from a pocket of her apron and shoved it at him.

  Kit looked at the smoothly rounded gismo. “I don’t know how to use it.”

  “It’s simple. It picks up ley activity—anything in the vicinity, and the blue lights shine. The brighter they glow, the closer you are to a line of force.” She dropped the object into his hand. “Head for the river, and follow the road east out of the city. A mile or so outside the walls there’s a little lane running perpendicular to the road. That is a ley line. I’ve used it before. The lamp will light up when you’re there.

  Whatever happens, stick together.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just make the jump and stay put. I’ll come find you.”

  Kit nodded, drew breath, and prepared to make a run for it. “Ready, Giles?”

  “One more thing,” said Mina quickly. “You’d better give me the map. It’ll be safer with me.”

  Kit hesitated, but only for a moment, then yanked the slender package from under his shirt and passed it to her. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” She squeezed his hand and pushed him out into the street. Giles gave her a nod and then darted after Kit.

  “Good luck, you two,” Mina whispered, stepping from the alcove to watch them go.
/>   Kit streaked off, running down a street sinking into evening shadows. The next thing he heard was someone shouting in German: “Halt! Diebe! Halten Sie die Diebe auf!” It was Wilhelmina, calling on passersby to stop the thieves escaping. Kit saw her snag one of the Burley Men and, with much waving and gesturing, begin organising the pursuit in German.

  Kit ran for all he was worth, his shoes slapping hard on the cobblestones, Giles keeping pace right behind. Down the narrow street they flew, running for the city gate, naked fear making them flee. A few dozen yards or so farther on, they came in sight of the gate.

  “It’s still open!” shouted Kit. “We can make it.”

  “Bleiben Sie stehen! Bleiben Sie stehen!” came the shout behind them. Kit glanced back to see that a few idle townsfolk had joined the chase. Wilhelmina was nowhere to be seen.

  The shouting reached the gate ahead of them. The bewildered gatekeeper, pike in hand, stepped into their path just as the two fugitives came pounding up. “Aus dem Weg! Aus dem Weg!” shouted Kit, motioning wildly for the guard to get out of the way. “Schnell!”

  The guard remained planted in the road, throwing his pike sideways to bar their exit. Kit, breaking to the right, hit the shaft of the weapon, tilting it down and leaping over the pole in one smooth motion, even as Giles ducked under the rising end. The flummoxed gatekeeper gave out a startled cry, but they were already past.

  Three running steps carried them under the arch, three more and they were through the gate and out of the city. The gate man was shouting at them to halt, adding his voice to the shouts of the pursuers who had now reached the gatehouse. Twilight was settling quickly on the land, but the sky was still light; Kit caught a glimmer of water.

  “The river is this way!” shouted Kit. “We’ll try to lose them as we go.”

  Even before the words were out of his mouth, he heard another sound: the rhythmic clatter of steel horseshoes on stone paving. He looked back to see a dark figure in the saddle of a pale grey horse. One glimpse of the rider and he knew that Burleigh was in the chase, hurtling down through the streets, scattering the crowd that was now pouring through the gate.