The Cabinet of Curiosities

by Paul Dowswell

  .

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The potion that had rendered him unconscious the previous evening still lingered in Lukas’s body and he slept heavily. He woke later than intended and left his companions still snoring. By the time he reached the city gates the morning sun had already brought a warmth to the day. In the square the market was busy with customers.

  Lukas ran as fast as he could to the Castle. His uncle rarely left his quarters before ten so Lukas was alarmed to discover he was not at home. He went to Anselmus’s friend Doktor Grunewald’s chambers and banged on his door. Grunewald looked most displeased to see him.

  ‘What has happened?’ said Lukas. ‘Do you know where my uncle is?’

  ‘What has happened?’ echoed Grunewald coldly. ‘I’ll put ten gold crowns on your having something to do with it.’

  Grunewald used to be so pleasant with him. Lukas supposed Anselmus had confided in his friend when he discovered his nephew had stolen the timepiece from the Cabinet.

  Grunewald reluctantly ushered him in. The man looked sick with worry. ‘I was disturbed early this morning – before first light – by cries in the Castle courtyard,’ he said in a clipped, angry voice. ‘I looked out to see several of the guards struggling with Anselmus. Now I hear he has been sent to Daliborka Tower, accused of trying to kill His Excellency. That cannot be true. No one is more devoted to the well-being of the Emperor.’

  He looked at Lukas with an accusatory glare. ‘Is this your doing? Is your misbehaviour bringing further grief to your uncle?’

  ‘He’s accused of plotting to kill the Emperor?’ Lukas could not believe his ears. ‘Your Eminence. I am desperate to assist my uncle as best I can,’ he blurted, ‘but I have only hearsay and supposition to help me –’

  ‘You have caused enough trouble to last a lifetime,’ interrupted Grunewald.

  There was a loud banging at the door. ‘Only the palace guard knock like that,’ said Grunewald. ‘I’m surprised they did not arrest you at the Castle gates. Anselmus’s acquaintances are being questioned. Is it you they seek? I shall be happy to present you to them.’ He turned towards the door.

  ‘Please,’ Lukas begged, grabbing the physician’s arm. ‘I have information that could help my uncle. If they take me, then I will not be able to do so.’

  Grunewald paused and frowned. Then he beckoned Lukas to another room in his quarters. ‘Go quickly into my bedchamber and hide,’ he whispered. ‘When they have gone you must tell me everything.’ Lukas dived under the bed and listened.

  He heard the door creak open. ‘Your Eminence,’ said a commanding voice, ‘we search for Lukas Declercq, apprentice to the assassin Anselmus Declercq. Do you know of his whereabouts?’

  Grunewald shook his head and assured the guards he would let them know if he saw the boy. Lukas heard the door close and the physician came at once to the bedroom.

  ‘Now tell me what you know,’ he said brusquely.

  Lukas’s head was spinning. ‘I know of people in the taverns,’ he said, ‘who have sold Anselmus a strange machine. I think this machine might have caused the trouble.’

  ‘These people – did you tell them about your uncle?’ Grunewald was simmering with suppressed anger.

  ‘No! Never!’ Now Lukas was angry. ‘I have done selfish, stupid things, but I would never betray my uncle. I knew nothing of this until it was too late to warn him,’ he pleaded. ‘This has nothing to do with me and I need to find out more. What can I do? I’ve got to get my uncle out of the tower.’

  ‘For now, I choose to believe you,’ said Grunewald. ‘Who sold the machine to your uncle?’

  ‘Strom, he’s called, but I think he’s dead. I’m sure the man who made it murdered him. His name is Hrusosky Hlava.’

  Grunewald looked appalled. ‘And how do you know such people?’

  ‘I go to a tavern in Mala Strana. I overhear things.’

  ‘You must find this man Hlava and bring his whereabouts to the attention of the guards. Perhaps this will help your uncle,’ said Grunewald. ‘I have done what I could. I went at first light to the tower. When they would not let me see Anselmus, I protested until the officer of the watch accused me of being an accomplice. He even threatened to arrest me. Everyone is certain something terrible has occurred. Now you must go. If you are found here, my life will be ruined.’

  ‘But I won’t make it past the guards,’ pleaded Lukas.

  ‘Come,’ said Grunewald, grabbing a bunch of keys and a small lantern. ‘I will help you get out of the Castle.’

  They hurried out. Instead of taking the main stairway, which led out into the square behind the Cathedral, Grunewald took Lukas down a narrow staircase at the rear of the building. Thin arrow strips let in light and air for the first fifty or sixty steps, but these stopped as the staircase continued below ground. It rapidly became too dark to see ahead, and Grunewald began to fumble with his firebox, striking sparks to light his lantern candle.

  A strong smell of damp and mould wafted up from below. ‘Quickly,’ urged Grunewald, who was already out of breath, as they continued their descent into the bowels of the building. ‘There is a tunnel down here, recently built, which takes floodwater away from the Castle. You can follow it down to the banks of the Vltava.’

  They had reached a large vaulted chamber with a slippery flagstone floor. Lukas could not tell how tall the room was as the light from the candle was too dim to reach the ceiling. At the far end was the entrance to a tunnel. From what little Lukas could see in the dim light, the brickwork was new and of a high standard. It was a good size; only the tallest man would not be able to stand upright.

  ‘I am sorry, but you will have to make the journey without light,’ said Grunewald. ‘I need my lantern to return to the staircase.’

  He patted Lukas on the shoulder and gave him a handful of gold and silver crowns from his purse. ‘Prove to me you have some worth, Lukas. I wish you luck.’

  Grunewald dashed off towards the stairwell. The lantern light receded until Lukas was in complete darkness. As Grunewald’s footsteps faded he was left in eerie silence, save for the occasional dripping of water and the squeaking and scurrying of rats.

  .

  At his house near the Old Town Square, Hlava went through the events of the last few days in his mind, too restless to settle. When Strom told him that the boy Lukas had realised it was he who had sold the machine to the palace, he knew they both had to go. Monsignor Mach had agreed to dispose of Lukas. He seemed to find the whole business quite amusing. Hlava wondered what sort of fate the Inquisitor had arranged for the boy. He hoped he had done a proper job.

  Then there was Etienne. Hlava had tried to enlist him in the plot. That had been careless of him. He should have approached Strom alone. If the scheme to kill the Emperor succeeded, there would be an almighty upheaval. There would be arrests and torture and who knows what would come out. Etienne would have to go too. It was a shame. He was a clever boy.

  Now some fool messenger had come from the Spaniards demanding an urgent meeting. He did not say what had happened, but he was deeply agitated – enough to make Hlava suspect something had gone wrong. How many of them would he have to silence to prevent anyone betraying him under torture? This was all becoming very untidy.

  He hurried to the Three Violins. He had to recruit someone to help him, and he thought Oldrich and Karel would be best. They’d done enough of his dirty work over the years. If the price was right they’d betray their own mothers. They’d certainly know where to find Etienne.

  He hurried over. They were there in the tavern. He’d given them enough money to keep them drunk for a week when he’d got them to send Lukas off to ‘Jenka’s’ house.

  Unfortunately for Hlava, Dusan and Radek were there too. He saw them all sitting at a table and immediately turned around before they noticed him. From what he could see, the two big men were very angry. Oldrich and Karel looked terrified. Hlava knew it in his bones – they had found out about him sendin
g Lukas to his death. Hlava suspected his two accomplices might end the day floating face down in the Vltava.

  As he hurried back to the Stone Bridge he spotted Etienne walking towards him. He smiled to himself. Fortune still favoured him. If he was careful and quick, the problem could be easily dealt with. The boy seemed lost in thought. Hlava hid in a doorway and when Etienne walked past he sprang out to greet him with a hug. Etienne had not forgotten Lukas’s warning. Quick on his feet, he deftly sidestepped his assassin. He brushed away the arm that tried to embrace him, but felt a sudden pain in his hand as he made contact with Hlava’s stiletto knife, which clattered to the cobbled street.

  Etienne drew his own knife to defend himself, but a passer-by, thinking he was trying to rob Hlava, grabbed his arm. Etienne and Hlava both looked at the knife on the road.

  Hlava thought to pick it up and finish the job, but this interloper was a big burly man and now people were watching. ‘Be gone, you rogue,’ said Hlava. ‘Trying to take the purse of an honest merchant.’

  Etienne pleaded in turn. ‘This fellow has just attacked me.’

  The man looked bewildered.

  ‘Look,’ said Etienne, holding up his bleeding hand. ‘And there’s his knife on the ground.’

  They both turned around to see Hlava vanish into the crowd.

  .

  Lukas stood frozen in the pitch darkness, fighting the fear that rose in his guts. He was entangled in a sticky web of his own making. Everything he had – his uncle, the comforts of the Castle, his future – was crumbling to dust. And most of it was his fault.

  The chime of the Cathedral clock, which drifted faintly down through the catacombs of the Castle, had already sounded two of its quarter-hours. Only when he heard the midday chimes did he find the courage to enter the tunnel. With one hand on the wall at his side, and the other held out in front of his face, Lukas lurched blindly into the darkness. It was cold and he was shivering. He could sense the tunnel gradient growing steeper as it led down the hill towards the river. Several times he lost his footing and fell hard on his haunches. Looking round he could see no light at all, neither in front nor behind. Lukas told himself he was lucky. This was, at least, only a floodwater passage rather than one of the Castle’s wastewater drains. His instinct told him to protect his face and he had to constantly battle against a fear that he would walk into a wall or low joist.

  Something ran past his ankles and Lukas let out a frightened cry. It must be a rat. At least it didn’t bite him. He lost track of how long he had been down there and sat down on the damp floor. He had been bad, he knew that, and he had been punished for it. But he had tried to mend his ways. Fighting back his tears he prayed to the God he no longer believed in to help him. And his uncle. The thought of Anselmus held prisoner spurred him on. He had to get out of this mess and find Hlava. Only that would save his uncle from the torturers.

  Gathering his courage, Lukas stumbled on. The gradient had levelled off now to a slight slope and moving forward was easier. He sensed a cool breeze on his face. Ahead he could see a dim glow. Picking up speed, he hurried towards it. It was a ventilation shaft. Way above his head – perhaps the height of a four-storey building – was a circle of light.

  A series of iron hoops driven into the wall led up to the surface. Lukas took a deep breath and began to pull himself upward. The hoops were slippery with moisture, and the higher he climbed the more frightened he felt, but he kept his eyes firmly on the light and when he spotted a bird swooping close to the top of the shaft, he knew he was nearly there.

  The shaft was at the end of a luxuriant walled garden attached to one of the villas at the foot of the Castle. There was a gardener close to the house. When the man turned his back Lukas crept from the tunnel and shinned up a tree overhanging the garden wall. Dropping down to the cobbled street outside, he headed at once for the bridge. He did not know what he was going to do, but thought he would start by looking for Etienne around the Old Town Square. Then the two of them could look for Hlava.

  .

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Dorantes had several paid informants among Rudolph’s inner court and a garbled account of the night’s events had filtered through to him that morning. The Emperor was still alive. The heretic Anselmus Declercq had been with him, but now he had been sent to Daliborka Tower. That was good news at least. The authorities had realised something nefarious was afoot, but Declercq was the chief suspect.

  Dorantes had been deeply uneasy ever since this plan had first been suggested. How could he have let a man like Hlava become his accomplice? He had been a fool to trust him, and the Grand Inquisitor. Now Dorantes would be held to account by the Spanish court. He would have to justify his extravagant expenditure of one thousand ducats on this harebrained venture. He would demand it back – some of it at least. Dorantes had sent one of his subordinates to the Old Town with a message summoning Hlava. The man returned an hour later. ‘He refuses,’ he said. ‘He asks that you meet him instead in the Stone Table tavern. He will be there at two in the afternoon.’

  Perhaps it had been rash of Dorantes to expect the architect of this failed assassination to come to the Castle. He could understand Hlava’s reluctance.

  He then summoned Don Aguilar and told him what had happened. He asked him to come with him into the city. He was certainly not going alone. Aguilar had got him into this mess. Now he could help him out.

  Aguilar accepted at once, but he also had a word of caution. ‘Your Eminence, there is much at stake here. The Castle is in turmoil. Rumour and suspicion are endemic. We must be careful that our activities arouse no suspicion. Might I suggest we disguise our purpose?’

  ‘I shall ask my daughter to accompany us,’ said Dorantes. ‘She longs to spend time away from the Castle. We shall accompany her into the city, and she and her maid can entertain themselves in the market square while we meet with Hlava.’

  The two men armed themselves discreetly with pistols and daggers and Dorantes called for his daughter. As he predicted, Celestina and Perpetua were delighted to come with them.

  .

  Across the bridge, Lukas kept to the shadows of side streets and alleys as he made his way to the Old Town Square. Although no one looked twice at him, he felt uncomfortably conspicuous out in the open. All the while he searched for Hlava, hoping to see his enemy before being spotted himself. The thought of coming face to face with the man terrified Lukas. What would he do? He was sure he couldn’t beat him in a fight. He didn’t think Hlava would kill him in the street – although he couldn’t be sure. He was beginning to understand how ruthless he was.

  Lukas bought himself a pie and hid in the shadows to eat it. Some time soon Etienne was bound to cross his path. His old friend, he was sure, would help him find Hlava and somewhere to hide. If Etienne didn’t turn up, Lukas would have to go to the Three Violins that evening. Some of the gang would almost certainly be there. What would he say to Oldrich and Karel? Had they known what they were doing when they sent him to that house?

  Constantly checking ahead and behind, Lukas neared the square. As he paused in a doorway he was alarmed to see Celestina, with her father, Perpetua and another one of the Spaniards, walk straight past him. The two men were deep in serious conversation, while Celestina talked excitedly with her maid. None of them saw him. Instinct told him not to approach them.

  Lukas crouched down and waited for his heartbeat to settle. He was startled by a wet, slobbery sensation. Belphegor was licking the pie crumbs from his greasy hand. Lukas made another visit to the pie shop for him. Then boy and dog settled in the shadows of a boarded-up shop doorway overlooking the square. The sun turned in the sky as the afternoon wore on, and soon both were dozing in a warm pool of light.

  .

  Dorantes and Aguilar told the girls they had business to attend to and said they would meet them at the steps of Our Lady before Tyn later that afternoon. Then they went to the Stone Table and sat in an alcove on the far side of the room, opposite th
e door. It was the perfect spot for a discreet conversation.

  An hour passed. Hlava was late! How dare he be so impudent! Then they began to worry. Perhaps he had been arrested. Perhaps their plot had been discovered. When they heard the chimes of the Astronomical Clock they got up to leave. At that moment Hlava walked through the door.

  Although he smiled as he sat down, Hlava seemed agitated and would not catch their eye. ‘And what news is there of the Emperor?’ he asked.

  Dorantes spoke in a low whisper. ‘He was found insensible in his chambers. There was someone else with him – one of his physicians. The heretic Declercq. Both men have recovered, although Declercq has been sent to Daliborka Tower.’

  Hlava said nothing. His face was impassive. His mind, though, was racing.

  Dorantes had more to say. ‘The money I gave you – the one thousand ducats – I demand you give some of it back, at least five hundred. Your scheme has failed. For now we are lucky not to have been discovered. Who knows how tongues will wag if this goes further and the torture begins?’

  Hlava smiled. ‘And I was going to ask you for the rest of my fee.’

  Aguilar stood up, outraged by Hlava’s audacity. ‘You will pay us back the money we have asked for and you will not get a pfennig more.’ Dorantes bade him sit down. He was being indiscreet.

  Hlava looked disappointed, even a little hurt. He said, ‘I undertook this venture at considerable risk. My plan was perfect. I built a beautiful machine worth well over my original thousand ducats and delivered it to the Emperor. The vapour would have done its work with one person – as my instructions clearly stated. Sharing it between the two of them weakened its effect. I kept my side of the arrangement. I advise you to pay me, Señor Dorantes. You will find I am a poor choice of enemy. I will see you tomorrow. Be here for three o’clock, though I may be late.’