The Cabinet of Curiosities
Page 20
Hlava got up and left. He knew in his heart that the Spaniards were not going to pay him and it was all he could do not to slay them on the spot.
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Chapter Thirty-Seven
Celestina Dorantes had not visited the city since that day with Lukas Declercq. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and she and Perpetua were enjoying exploring the shops. Celestina had grown so bored of her lace-making and the four walls of her quarters. She missed Lukas. He had been amusing company. Now he had served his purpose her father had forbidden her to see him.
They went looking for silk and silver thread and also to see what they might find for supper. Having made this trip many times, Perpetua was not greatly concerned for her mistress’s safety, especially at this time of day. The men would be meeting them soon, and they would all return to the Castle well before dusk.
It was Celestina’s great ill fortune that she and Perpetua were walking past the Town Hall and back towards the market stalls of the square, just as Hrusosky Hlava was returning to his home. He recognised Celestina at once, of course. Who would not remember a girl who looked like that? She had been there, somewhere in the background, on the few occasions he had visited Dorantes at his Castle quarters. He weighed up the consequences of his actions and decided in an instant what to do.
He bowed low when he saw her, and gave a little nod of his head to Perpetua. Celestina recognised him too. ‘My dear, I am so glad to have seen you,’ he said. ‘I have come direct from the Castle. I hear there are assassins at large – men in the pay of heretics who are determined to kill the Spanish ambassadors at court and all their associates. You must come at once to a safe place and I will arrange for soldiers from the Castle to escort you home.’
‘My father is close by, sir,’ said Celestina, who had no reason to trust this man. ‘We will find him and tell him.’
‘There is not a moment to lose,’ said Hlava. ‘They may be watching you even now.’
‘But where would you take us, sir?’ asked Celestina.
‘Come,’ he said and grabbed her arm tightly.
Dorantes and Aguilar had stayed a few more minutes in the Stone Table, pondering their next move. They would have to speak to the Grand Inquisitor, they decided. Monsignor Gerwald Mach lived on the other side of the square. He had introduced them to Hlava; he would know how best to handle him. They turned into the square to see Hlava on the other side, his hand on Celestina’s arm. She seemed to be struggling to get away.
‘Unhand my daughter!’ shouted Dorantes.
Hlava paid him no heed and began to hurry the girl towards a narrow side street.
Perpetua leaped upon him, beating his head with her clenched fists, but he swept her away with his other hand, knocking her to the floor, and drew a pistol. Celestina screamed and bit his hand. He clubbed her with the pistol, then moved his hand around her neck. The few passers-by close to the scene stood motionless, too frightened to intervene.
Hlava pointed the pistol at Perpetua’s head, but she had fallen hard and lay writhing in pain, clutching her ankle. She was no longer a threat. Instead he turned to Dorantes and Aguilar, who were now running towards him. He fired, and Dorantes dropped to the ground, clutching his chest. There were screams among the crowd, who scattered like frightened lambs before a wolf.
Aguilar momentarily stopped to help Dorantes, who waved him away. ‘Save my daughter,’ he gasped. Aguilar ran on, only for Hlava to draw another pistol from his belt and fire a shot which hit him in the forehead. He fell straight back, as though his head had hit an invisible wooden beam, and lay face up on the ground, his dead eyes staring at the sky.
Dorantes struggled to sit up, but his arms would not support his weight. Hlava dragged Celestina into the narrow passage, thinking fast. There was a house close to here where he could hide – he had provided the owner with favours in the past – and send word to the Spanish party for ransom. Then he would have to leave the city.
First, though, Dorantes must be silenced. It would be best for Hlava if the other Spaniards did not know who they were dealing with. Warily he walked out again into the Old Town Square, which was now all but deserted. Everyone had fled or was hiding behind stalls and carts. He dragged Celestina with him, one arm clutched so tightly around her throat she could barely breathe, let alone cry out. Approaching the wounded Dorantes, he paused to wrench Aguilar’s pistol from the dead man’s hand.
‘Let my daughter go,’ pleaded Dorantes.
‘I wouldn’t worry about her, Your Eminence,’ said Hlava. ‘You are in far greater trouble.’ He pointed Aguilar’s pistol at Dorantes’s head.
Dorantes gazed with anguish at the terrified face of his daughter, while muttering a final prayer for his soul. None of them noticed the rapid patter of feet as a huge brown dog launched itself at Hlava. It knocked him and Celestina to the ground and the pistol fell from his hand. Hitting the cobbled square, it discharged its round, which lodged agonisingly in Hlava’s left shoulder.
Lukas, who was so exhausted he had managed to sleep through the previous commotion, now woke with a start. Belphegor was no longer by his side. He looked over and saw the dog on the ground with a bundle of clothes. The bundle got up. It was Hlava and Celestina. Two others lay close by. One was still, the other – Dorantes – was moving. Lukas watched the scene unfold, frozen in horror.
Hlava was not finished yet. He still had Celestina tight by the throat and he turned her body between himself and the slobbering, snarling hound. He cursed his own weakness. He should have killed the wretched cur when he’d done away with Strom.
Belphegor knew that the little man was his intended prey, not the wriggling frightened girl. He held back, ears up, growling angrily.
As Hlava held Celestina in front of him, movement at the edge of the square caught his eye. A detachment of the Castle guard, returning to the palace, had come to investigate the disturbance.
Seeing the guards gave Lukas the courage he needed. He began to run towards Hlava and Celestina. He was unarmed and he hadn’t the first idea what he was going to do, but he could not just stand by and watch.
At the same time Dorantes mustered his strength and called out, ‘Guards, come quickly.’
Seeing a squad of soldiers racing towards him, Hlava panicked. He pulled Celestina through the nearest doorway – the entrance to the great tower which held the Astronomical Clock. Those inside immediately sprang to their feet, and he found himself surrounded. His weakened hand sought out the dagger on his belt and, despite the shooting pain from his wounded shoulder, he held it at Celestina’s throat. His meaning was clear.
Hlava could feel dampness on his sleeve, which was now drenched with blood. He could sense himself weakening. Should he slit her throat now, and be done with it? Dorantes deserved no less. He had got him into this situation.
Belphegor bounded through the open door, growling and dribbling, his body crouched low as if to pounce. Lukas was right behind him. Everyone backed away in terror. Hlava saw Lukas too and cursed him to the lowest depths of hell.
‘Wait,’ Lukas shouted. ‘Stop! Listen to me!’ He was desperate to get Hlava to believe he was not a hunted man. ‘It’s not you they want – it’s Strom.’
Celestina looked at Lukas with baffled astonishment. Then she began to swear at Hlava in Spanish. He did not register what either of them was saying. He was working on pure instinct now, and instinct told him to go up. Higher. It was the only way to get away from the dog. He had been in this building several times before to stargaze. The door to the stairwell was close by. He kicked it open and dragged Celestina through.
Inside the tower well it was clammy and cold. Hlava began to shiver a little as he dragged Celestina up an ascending series of rickety wooden ramps. He released his grip and threw her in front of him. At knifepoint she hurried up the ramps with him, until Belphegor caught up with them again and he once again deployed her as a shield. The snarling hound came several steps behind, Lukas clutching his collar and the soldiers following.
Lukas looked at the frightened, hesitant soldiers behind him. It was just him and Belphegor now.
When Hlava reached the top he slammed the wooden door that led out to the enclosed platform. He and Celestina were both gasping for breath. The platform was surrounded by open arches and a fierce wind howled around their feet. Hlava was finding it difficult to focus. There was a ladder leading to the spire atop the tower. ‘Up,’ he ordered Celestina, and waved his dagger in her face.
The door burst open and Belphegor and Lukas spilled on to the platform. Hlava grabbed Celestina again and held his dagger firmly to her throat. He pulled her out through one of the arches and on to the balcony that ran around the platform. The parapet was precariously low and Celestina almost fainted as she caught a glimpse of the square in the dizzy drop beneath.
Lukas held Belphegor tightly by the collar, hoping he would not leap up and send all of them to their death. Hlava looked at Lukas with boiling rage. ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Hlava – listen to me. The soldiers are hunting Strom, not you,’ Lukas lied.
Celestina unleashed another blistering tirade. Hlava tightened his grip around her neck, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Down in the square an officer with the soldiers shouted up. He recognised Hlava from his visits to the Castle as a guest of the Spanish ambassador. ‘Give yourself up, sir, for the love of God.’
Hlava laughed. Lukas was a poor liar. He could see it in his stupid, pleading face. He also knew that what he had done merited nothing less than the wheel. He would kill the girl with the last of his strength and then throw himself from the top of the tower. He tightened his grip around Celestina’s throat, lifting her neck taut for the killing stroke. ‘The Devil take you all,’ he said, and readied his dagger.
There was a strange whistling sound, like air being torn apart. Celestina screamed in pain and Hlava stood bolt upright, a look of agonised surprise on his face. He swayed on the parapet and his dagger clattered to the floor. Feeling herself falling backwards, Celestina screamed again. Lukas leaped forward and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, almost tottering over the parapet. If he had not had Belphegor’s extra weight to anchor him in this terrifying tug of war the three of them would have fallen into the void.
Hlava’s limp arm fell away and Lukas pulled Celestina towards him. As Hlava’s legs buckled and he toppled over, Lukas could see the tip of the crossbow bolt that had penetrated his chest. It had pierced Celestina’s back too, and a small bloody stain began to spread over her dress.
Lukas lowered her carefully to the floor and cradled her in his arms as she started to sob. An officer and a soldier hurried on to the platform. The officer signalled to the two crossbow archers he had sent to the Tyn church tower directly opposite. Lukas helped Celestina to her feet, then peered over the edge of the parapet. Hlava lay, impaled and twitching, on the metal spike of a pointed tower at the base of the clock.
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Chapter Thirty-Eight
The officer turned to Lukas and told him he had orders to bring him back to the Castle. He was courteous, there was to be no manhandling, but there were questions to be asked.
Lukas held open his arms to show he was willing to come without a struggle. For now he was too happy to be alive to appreciate the consequences of what had just happened.
Lukas emerged into the square, with Celestina holding tightly to his arm. Unsteady on her feet and weak with shock, she still managed to dash to her father’s side. He was conscious. Perpetua held his hand and he was wrapped in a cloak belonging to one of the soldiers. Four of them used it as a makeshift stretcher to lift him up and the whole party headed back to the Castle. One of the bigger soldiers picked up Aguilar’s body and draped it over his shoulders.
Lukas walked alongside the Spaniards. ‘You have saved my daughter’s life,’ Dorantes managed to say as he struggled to breathe. ‘I thank you.’ His face was a ghastly white and beads of sweat lined his brow.
‘What else could I do?’ said Lukas distractedly. The excitement of the moment had passed. Now he was wondering, with Hlava dead, how he could possibly save Anselmus.
Celestina squeezed his arm. Her strength was returning. ‘Lukas, you are the hero of the hour. Why do you look so troubled?’
Lukas spilled out his fears. ‘My uncle is imprisoned in Daliborka Tower, accused of trying to murder the Emperor. Hlava – the man who was killed just now – I think he’s behind it. What can I do now he’s dead?’
Dorantes was in great pain. ‘You have an impossible task . . .’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Pray for guidance.’
Celestina struggled for a comforting word. She knew Hlava had been an accomplice to her father. Now she was beginning to wonder what role he had played in these dreadful events. ‘You must tell them all you know,’ she said plainly, then regretted it as she caught her father’s reproachful eye.
Lukas noticed. Now, away from the terror and the tumult of the chase up the tower, he was beginning to think more clearly. Why had Dorantes and Celestina been there with Hlava? The rest of the journey home passed in grim silence.
As soon as Lukas reached the Castle he was seized. He could see Celestina watching him until he was out of view. He wondered again how much of the conspiracy she and her father were aware of.
The guards took him straight to Daliborka Tower, where he was thrown into a small wooden cell. Sitting in there, his back resting against the wall, was his uncle. ‘I was hoping you might rescue me,’ said Anselmus in a sad little voice.
‘Uncle, what happened?’ whispered Lukas.
‘I hope this has nothing to do with you,’ said Anselmus, suddenly angry.
‘Why are you in here?’ Lukas asked his uncle.
‘The Emperor and I tried that time machine I told you of. When I brought it to life it sent the two of us into a deep sleep. I woke with a violent headache and a horrible metallic taste in my mouth. The Emperor had fallen off his seat and was lying face down on the floor. I went over to him at once. He was still breathing, although his skin had gone white.
‘The room had a horrible stale smell about it. I could hardly breathe. So I flung open the windows and my head began to clear. I wondered at once what the machine had done to us. Then His Highness began to cough and splutter.
‘“Your Excellency,” I said, “that machine – it poisoned us. It rendered us both unconscious.”
‘“But we felt so peaceful,” he said. “We could have slept for a week.”’
Lukas had never heard his uncle mimic the Emperor before. And he had never spoken of him with such contempt.
‘He looked like a sad little boy, and tears were falling down his cheeks. So I said he should let me take the machine to my quarters and examine it. And I foolishly confessed that I might have been at fault bringing it to the palace. There is clearly something in its mechanism that made us both very unwell.
‘And what does he do to his loyal servant?’ Anselmus had gone almost puce with indignation. ‘He roars for his palace guard and three of them rush in. “This man has placed our life in grave danger,” he says. Me – his physician! And I had done my best to discourage him from believing that infernal machine would work at all. Then he says, “Take him to Daliborka Tower.” And here I am. And that’s the thanks I get for twenty years of loyal service. If I ever get out of here, I am never going to work for that . . . imbecile . . . ever again.’
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Doktor Grunewald was summoned to attend to the injured. Celestina had a flesh wound from the arrow and a bump on the head where Hlava hit her with
his pistol, Perpetua a twisted ankle. Dorantes was dying.
Dorantes had hoped he would survive his injury. He was doing God’s work, after all. Surely it was not unreasonable of him to hope for a miracle. Now he contemplated his death with remorse. He thought back to the time in his life when he had been happiest – close to the sea in the Low Countries with his family, before Peru. He thought of the simple things in life and how they were often the most beautiful: the flowers in a hedgerow or foamy waves on a shallow beach.
In his final hours he came to realise that nothing was more precious than life itself. He thought especially of Anselmus Declercq, imprisoned and facing torture, and his nephew Lukas, also sent to the Tower. Anselmus had been gracious to him, and the boy had brought some happiness into his daughter’s life. And she had told him Lukas had saved her from falling from the tower.
Despite his pain, and the awful gurgling of his lungs as he tried to breathe, his mind was as clear as bright autumn sunshine. He thought of all he had strived to do at the Castle and whether it had been right. The certainties that had moulded his life now seemed flawed. Despite their beliefs, these people, his enemies, were good at heart. It would be wrong to leave them to the torturers. Perhaps he could redeem himself a little, if he could help them.
Celestina asked for a priest. Father Johannes Pistorius, confessor to the Emperor himself, arrived at Dorantes’s bedside.
‘I understand the physician Anselmus Declercq is held,’ he whispered to Pistorius before the priest began the ritual of last rites. ‘And his nephew. Accused of attempting to kill the Emperor. Please tell the court they are innocent. The Emperor’s machine was devised by an . . . acquaintance . . . of mine –’ he could barely bring himself to speak the name – ‘. . . Hrusosky Hlava. It was he who perished this afternoon in the fall from the tower . . . and it was I who plotted with him to kill the Emperor. Just he and I. No one else.’
Pistorius went through his devotions as Dorantes faded in and out of consciousness. He was puzzled by Dorantes’s admission. But Doktor Grunewald understood. Together with what Lukas had told him that morning, the story made perfect sense.