‘Take care, dear heart!’
‘I will.’
‘Give Anne my love.’
Nicholas nodded, then went swiftly out through the door.
***
The Town Square was enormous. Tall, proud, well-maintained burghers’ houses ran along all four sides of it, each house given colour and individuality by its elaborate decorations. The Town Hall itself lent civic authority, while the Church of Saint Nicholas and two monasteries showed the spiritual face of the city. Looming over one side of the square were the massive twin towers and the arresting facade of the Týn Church. Power and prosperity were reflected in the square, which lay on the eastern bank at the very centre of Prague. Hundreds of people were abroad, standing in small groups or crossing in all directions, but there was no sense of clutter or discomfort. The Town Square seemed big enough to accommodate the entire population of the city.
Nicholas arrived well before the stipulated time and strolled around the perimeter of the square to show that he was completely alone. That he was under observation was quite certain but he could not begin to guess from where. Countless windows looked down on the square and there was an endless choice of streets, lanes and alleys in which to lurk unseen. His enemy might be any one of the dozens of people whose shoulders brushed him in the great market-place of Prague.
As the hour approached, Nicholas walked across to the huge tower crowning the Town Hall. The astronomical clock was one of the most celebrated sights in the city, and visitors came from far and wide to view the extraordinary and complex device. It consisted of three distinct parts. The large calendar dial was flanked by statues of the philosopher and the angel on the left side and the astronomer and the chronicler on the right. At its centre was the Prague coat of arms.
Even though he was there on such a grim errand, Nicholas was struck by the twelve turning circles around the edge of the dial. The astronomical clock above was even more intricate. Flanked by figures of the Miser, Vanity, Death and a lute-carrying Turk, it consisted of a series of rings, the outer one bearing Arab numerals, and the inner ones, the signs of the zodiac.
Nicholas was not alone. A small crowd gathered to hear the clock strike and to watch figures emerge from the two doors above the clock. At the first stroke, Nicholas swung round to look more closely at his companions. Some were local inhabitants who stopped out of habit but most were curious visitors. None even spared him a glance. He could not compete with the horological masterpiece.
Detaching himself from them, he scanned the square for a sign that did not come. As the astronomical clock finished its performance, the crowd drifted away and Nicholas was left alone beneath the tower. When fifteen minutes had rolled past, he began to wonder if he was the object of some unkind jest. Had someone brought him there simply to mock him? Another fifteen minutes sapped his patience.
He was about to move away when a figure appeared in a corner of the square diagonally opposite. Clad in a dark gown and a large hat, the man was unidentifiable at that distance but he was able to send a clear message. He put a hand to his breast and brought it away again, as if removing something from inside his doublet. Nicholas understood. He took out the pouch from inside his own doublet and held it up. The man beckoned him forward, watching carefully to make sure that nobody was with him.
As Nicholas got closer, the man slipped into a lane and gestured for him to follow. Their transaction would clearly take place in a more private venue. Walking with a steady gait, Nicholas kept one hand close to his dagger. He left the bustle of the crowd and plunged into the lane. Three people were strolling towards him. Over their shoulders, he could see the man waiting for him some thirty yards away. Nicholas continued to follow him until his guide turned down a narrow alley-way. Instinct made Nicholas slow down and slip the dagger into his palm.
He put his head cautiously around the corner and saw two figures waiting for him now. One was the man who had led him there and the other was a woman, wearing a cloak with its hood up. From the grip which the man had on her wrist, Nicholas decided that it was Anne. The bargain had been kept. He hurried forward with the pouch held high, eager to trade it for her safe return. But he never got anywhere near her. As he went past a shop doorway, someone stepped out behind him and clubbed him to the ground with a heavy stone.
Nicholas sank into oblivion. The man who had enticed him into the alley-way paid the woman for her help before sending her quickly on her way. Then he sauntered towards the inert body of Nicholas Bracewell and, with a grin of triumph, took the pouch from the hands of his accomplice.
***
Anne Hendrik sat in a high-backed chair with her hands tied to its arms and her feet to its legs. A blindfold blocked out all vision and a gag prevented her from calling out for help. She had no idea where she was but the room felt large and warm. Distant voices drifted up to her but she could not pick out what they were saying. For the first few hours, her main problem had been to fight off hysteria.
At least, they had now left her alone. She was no longer being looked at and gloated over by the two men who had brought her there. They had said nothing but she could sense their eyes caressing her. Anne could still feel the hot breath of the one as he had bent over her to check her bonds before quitting the room. When the key had turned in the lock, she had felt a measure of relief for the first time. But she knew that it was only temporary. They would be back.
Her chances of rescue depended entirely on Nicholas Bracewell. She could imagine how disturbed he would be by her abduction and how determined to track her down, but the city was a complete enigma to him. Nicholas would not know where to begin. Anne had no doubts about why she had been kidnapped. She was the weak point in his armour. Unable to wrest the documents from him directly, they had opted for a different means. Fear for her would persuade him to hand over the secret pouch, but what would happen then? Hysteria threatened again and she shook her head vigorously. For her own sake, she had to remain calm.
Anne went back over the series of events that brought her to the room, searching for any clue that might give her some indication of where she was and who was holding her captive. Were the voices coming up from a street or from the river? How far had they brought her from the Black Eagle? Why had she been foolish enough to open the door of her chamber to them? As she assailed herself with questions over and over again, one came to dominate all the rest.
Where was Nicholas Bracewell?
The sound of a key in the lock banished all other thoughts from her mind. She heard the door open, shut and get locked again. Only one man had come this time. Anne counted his footsteps as he walked towards her. The door was at least fifteen yards away. He tested her bonds and adjusted her blindfold. His breath was hotter than ever but he had not come to gloat over her this time.
Something far more important claimed his attention. She heard him sit down and unfold some parchment. He gave a low chuckle and talked to himself in German.
‘Now, then. Let’s see what we have here, shall we?’
Anne’s blood congealed. It was the voice she had heard on the Peppercorn. She was held captive by a murderer.
Chapter Ten
Nicholas Bracewell slowly regained consciousness to find that he was surrounded by a clutch of sympathetic faces. Someone had propped him up in a sitting position and was dabbing at the wound on the back of his head with a damp cloth. A blood-stained cap lay on the ground beside him and it took him a moment to realise that it was his. The pain then hit him with the force of a blow and he reeled. His kind surgeon steadied him with both hands.
Memory gradually returned. He recalled looking up at the astronomical clock, waiting for half an hour, responding to the signal from the man across the square, following him down a lane, seeing Anne in the man’s grasp. Beyond that, there was nothing, though the seriousness of the wound and his position on the ground told him what must have happened. He did not need to feel for the pouch or for the dagger. Both had obviously gone. Along with the woman h
e had foolishly taken for Anne Hendrik.
He had been duped. A stage manager had himself been tricked by some adroit stage management. Nicholas had lost the documents and gained nothing in return apart from scuffed apparel and a throbbing headache. The sense of failure was excruciating. Anne was still captive. The only consolation he could take was the fact that he had simply been knocked unconscious when he might just as easily have been killed. Adrian Smallwood had been bludgeoned, then daggered. There had to be a reason why Nicholas had been spared.
The man who had been bathing his wound sent his wife back into the house for more water and some fresh linen. The circle of onlookers showed great concern for the stranger and offered their solace in Czech or German. Most lived in the alley-way or the adjacent lane. The others were passers-by. When fresh water arrived, the man cleaned the wound more carefully, then put a pad against it to stem any further bleeding. His wife tore the linen for him to bind around Nicholas’s head. When the bandage was tied, the injured man struggled to his feet with the aid of several hands. He rocked unsteadily.
A man handed him his cap. A woman seemed to be asking if they could take him anywhere. The amateur surgeon was gesturing an invitation for the patient to go into the tiny house to rest. Nicholas thanked them all with a weary smile, then dipped his hand into his purse to take out money. But his self-appointed physician waved it away. He had been only too glad to tend the wound. Nicholas looked around and tried to take his bearings. He was about to stagger off when two figures came running down the alley-way towards him.
‘Nick!’ yelled Lawrence Firethorn.
‘We searched for you everywhere,’ said Owen Elias.
‘What happened to you, man?’
‘Look at the state you are in!’
‘I am fine now,’ said Nicholas. ‘Thanks to these kind people. They must have found me lying there.’
‘Who hit you?’ asked Elias, eyeing the bandage and the sodden cap. ‘He all but took your head off.’
Nicholas did not want to talk to them in front of the curious audience. He waved a general farewell to them and went off down the alley-way with his two friends. Only when they had entered the square did he feel ready to explain what he felt had happened. They listened with a mixture of concern and irritation. Firethorn put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘I told you to let me guard your back,’ he reminded.
‘You would have been seen.’
‘I was the man for this task, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘I know how to hug the shadows and melt into walls. That is how I come to be here. I trailed Lawrence from the inn because I knew that he must be looking for you. He had no idea that I was on his heels. I only revealed myself when I saw him searching the square.’
‘True, Nick,’ confirmed Firethorn. ‘I did not seek Owen’s help. He sensed that you were in trouble.’
‘Why did you not use my skills to protect you?’ said Owen.
‘This was something I had to do on my own,’ replied Nick.
‘With what dire result?’ said the Welshman with a surge of emotion. ‘It grieves me that you did not confide in me, Nick. We are friends. We have been through so much together. I have always been ready to share my troubles with you-and there have been plenty of those to share. Why do you lock me out when you need help? What is going on here?’
Nicholas traded a glance with Firethorn, then sighed.
‘We sought to keep the matter between us, Owen,’ he said. ‘We did not want the company to become unduly alarmed.’
Elias was incredulous. ‘Anne disappears and you think that nobody will notice? She is one of us, man. If she is in danger, we are entitled to know how and why. We have grown to love Anne. Trust your fellows.’ He was hurt. ‘At least trust me.’
‘You have earned the right to know what is happening.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘I will.’
Nicholas gave him a brief account of all that had taken place since the discovery of Anne’s disappearance. Firethorn added his comments. As the pain from his wound eased, Nicholas was able to think more clearly. Action was needed. He first retraced his steps to the alley-way and searched with his companions for any clues as to the direction in which his attacker and his accomplice had fled. They found none. The alley-way led to a street off which there were several other streets and lanes, each one of them a possible escape route.
The search was not entirely fruitless. Close to the spot where he fell, Nicholas found the stone which had been smashed against his skull. When he picked it up, his fingers only covered half of it. His attacker must have had a broad hand. But it was the shape and colour of the stone which interested Nicholas. He had seen something very similar before.
‘Where do we go from here, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.
‘I am not sure.’
‘I am,’ said Elias. ‘We press the whole company into service and let them join the hunt for Anne.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘A hundred people could search and we would still find nothing in this rabbit warren of a city. We are strangers here, Owen. The men who hold Anne are not. They know where to hide.’
‘Close to the inn,’ argued Firethorn. ‘They could not have taken her far. She would have put up a struggle and attracted too much attention. You saw how she must have fought back in her chamber.’
Nicholas shook his head. ‘We saw what they wished us to see. A stark warning, left to frighten us. I do not believe there was any struggle, or it would certainly have been heard by someone. That bedchamber was arranged as carefully as any setting in a play,’ he said. ‘My guess is that Anne had already been taken away.’
‘She is a woman of spirit,’ said Elias. ‘She would fight.’
‘With a knife at her throat?’
‘Nicholas is right,’ agreed Firethorn, mulling it over. ‘She went quietly. That must be how it happened.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘Where does that leave us? We have nothing.’
‘We do,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘We have the most important clue of all. A copy of those documents. They at least will tell us what lies behind all this. Stakes must be high if murder and kidnap are used. The documents will be our guide.’
‘Then are we completely lost,’ cried Firethorn. ‘Those documents are nothing but inane scribble. How can we be guided by something we do not understand?’
‘The code must be used to unlock the meaning.’
‘But we do not know what that code might be.’
‘Then we must turn to the one man who can help us.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Doctor Talbot Royden.’
***
Royden smiled for the first time since the nightmare of imprisonment had begun. Caspar Hilliard had not been idle. By writing a letter of supplication to the Emperor, and by speaking persuasively to the Chamberlain, he had won some important concessions for his master. Fresh straw was put in the cell and several candles were supplied. By their light, Royden was able to study the books he was now allowed to have. Reunited with some of his beloved tomes, he could continue his scientific research. He was still incarcerated, but the loss of freedom was now more tolerable.
‘I cannot thank you enough, Caspar,’ he said.
‘Would that I could have done more!’
‘These are wonderful improvements.’
‘Your release is the improvement I work for,’ said his assistant earnestly. ‘Then we may resume our work in the laboratory. I keep it in good order.’
‘Simply to have a book in my hands again is a joy,’ said Royden, holding a volume on alchemy. ‘How on earth did you wrest these mercies out of our mad Emperor?’
‘My letter explained how close we had been to success and how unjustly I felt you had been treated. The argument that swayed him was this, Master. That news of your imprisonment would make other scholars and scientists think twice about coming to Prague. If they know they may be locked away in the dark of a stinking dungeon, they may offer their services elsewhere.�
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‘If only I had, Caspar.’
‘That point, too, was made,’ said the other. ‘The Emperor is proud of his reputation as a generous patron. It brings in the finest minds in Europe. But that reputation will be badly sullied if he is known to deal so callously with his guests.’
‘You are a cunning advocate.’
‘All I am I have learned from you.’
‘Your loyalty has kept me sane down here.’
‘That contents me.’
Royden opened the book to flick through the pages. When he closed it, he hugged it to him with a cry of pleasure. Caspar smiled fondly. His master’s spirits had been revived.
‘What is happening up there?’ asked Royden.
‘Wedding preparations continue. Guests are pouring in at the castle every day. The bridegroom himself is due to arrive later today. The wedding will be a magnificent occasion.’
‘I was to have been there to share in it.’
‘That is no longer possible, alas.’
‘What of the players from England?’
‘They are closely involved,’ said the other. ‘Westfield’s Men are to perform a play at the wedding banquet itself. I am told that they are actors of high quality.’
‘And this book-holder you mentioned?’
‘Nicholas Bracewell?’
‘He was asking after me, you said.’
‘That is so. To what end, I do not know. But I believe he has a message from Doctor Mordrake.’
‘Mordrake!’ echoed the other with a shudder. ‘I wish I had never met that sorcerer. He was the one who brought me to this Bohemian bedlam, and look how it has ended. But for John Mordrake, I would be free to do my work. Not caged down here like some wild beast in the Emperor’s menagerie.’ He put his book aside. ‘What business can Mordrake have with me?’
‘We may never find out,’ said Caspar sadly. ‘No visitors are permitted down here. Even I could not worm that concession out of the Emperor. There is no means by which this Nicholas Bracewell can reach you. Whatever message he carried to Prague will have to return to England with him.’
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