by M. J. Trow
‘And is it seemly for you to strip him naked as a cuckoo and put him to bed?’
The girl giggled, a hand to her mouth. ‘I’ve seen you to bed, sir, often as not,’ she said, laughing.
Watson stepped out into the corridor. ‘Oh, ho, my girl,’ he said, stepping high and slow towards her. ‘What do bad girls get for cheeking their masters?’
‘Ooh, sir!’ the girl shrieked, cowering in the doorway but still laughing. ‘I have no idea!’
‘Then let me teach you,’ Watson said, pouncing like a cat on a mouse. ‘But tell me,’ he said, kissing her and making her squirm. ‘How is Master Marlowe made?’
‘Oh, sir,’ she said, smacking him lightly. ‘You make me blush!’
‘Is he …?’ But the girl stopped him with her mouth on his and her hand inside his codpiece. There were some things that had to remain a secret between a maid and her master and this was one.
Marlowe stepped out into the street and stopped for a moment to breathe in the fresh evening air. The pieman was packing up and so he turned to catch him before he was gone. The squeals from inside the house stopped him briefly but then he remembered Tom Watson and a member of the opposite sex were both under his roof, so he ignored it. He had bigger fish to fry this evening and Tom Watson and his peccadilloes would have to wait until another day. Although if he carried on getting through maidservants like this, they may have to come to some other arrangement. ‘Ho! Pieman!’ he called and broke into a trot.
The pie lasted him until he was nearly at the corner of Godliman Street. He threw the casing to a mangy dog that lurked in the shadows and wiped his fingers on the inside of his cloak before rapping smartly on the door. He seemed doomed to knock at empty houses today; the knocking echoed and he could picture the room beyond the door: the stuffed cockatrice looking down with a jaundiced eye; the lump of amber propping open the door of a cabinet, inside which was kept a mermaid, small but perfect. There would be a ball of clearest crystal, lying on a velvet cushion and inside the ball, for those with eyes to see, would be another perfect world, like this one, but upside down. In front of the fire, which was not allowed to go out, would lie a deerhound that could smell out demons. By his side would be a black cat which could divine the future, if only its language could be determined. Marlowe smiled to think of all these things. He was a pragmatist, plain and simple. No God and so no Devil. No Heaven and so no Hell. No Angels; no Demons. Life should be simple in his non-believing world and yet somehow, it seemed, it was more difficult still. He stood in a reverie and was surprised therefore to realize that not only had the aged oak of the door disappeared, but someone was speaking from the level of his waist.
‘Yes?’ The voice sounded testy at best. He looked down and found him gazing into the steel grey eyes of the smallest woman he had ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than a yard high, but was in perfect proportion. Looking down at her as he was made Marlowe almost giddy, as though he were standing on a height and she was very far away.
‘I said, “Yes?”’ She was far beyond testy now and Marlowe noticed she was preparing to close the door.
‘I beg your pardon, madam,’ he said, sweeping a low bow. ‘I was lost in thought.’
‘State your business!’ She didn’t waste words, this one.
‘I wish to see Doctor John Dee.’
‘Well, that is a surprise,’ she said, waspishly. ‘Not many people ever come to this door and want to see Doctor Dee. They mostly come for the pleasure of my company.’
‘And that is, of course, a very special addition to the pleasure of the visit,’ Marlowe said. His well-renowned honeyed tongue wouldn’t get him far here, he was sure, but it was still well worth a try. ‘And perhaps when I have spoken to Doctor Dee you and I could spend some time, some sack and a sweet biscuit, our feet up on stools, chatting away like old friends. But for now, I really must see Doctor Dee.’
‘Minima!’ a voice called from a distant room. ‘Minima! Is that someone at the door?’
The rancid tones turned to honey. ‘No, Master. Just a pedlar.’ She looked up at Marlowe. ‘Now, you, just sling your hook, Master Whoever You Are, or it will be the worst for you.’
Marlowe blinked. The waves of animosity coming off this tiny creature were enough to curdle milk. ‘I mean no harm,’ he said, ‘I just want to see Doctor Dee.’
She gritted her perfect little teeth. ‘Are you deaf, lanky?’ she hissed. ‘Go away.’
‘Minima?’ The voice was nearer now. ‘A pedlar at this time of night? We seem to get so many pedlars these days. Perhaps a charm of some kind … something to hang in the window …’ The voice was getting nearer and the little woman darted across the room towards it.
Marlowe took his chance and stepped over the threshold. ‘Doctor!’ he called. ‘It’s Kit!’
‘Kit!’ The old man was suddenly in the doorway, his housekeeper batted aside like an annoying pet. ‘Minima!’ He turned on her. ‘How could you mistake Kit for a pedlar? We must see if we can arrange something to help you see more clearly. Some tiny lenses, that’s the thing.’ He remained sunk in thought for a moment, then remembered his visitor. ‘But … Kit, it is so wonderful to see you. Come, sit and tell me all your doings.’ He dropped his voice, ‘such as you can, of course.’
The little woman stamped her foot in annoyance and flounced out of the room. The two men watched her go.
‘She’s a fiery one,’ Marlowe remarked as the door slammed behind her. ‘Is she all you have looking after you? Wherever did you find her?’
Dee was also looking over his shoulder at the door, still quivering on its hinges. ‘I won’t be here long this time. It is a flying visit. She usually looks after the house without me in it – she means well. I … I am a little embarrassed to say this, but I bought her from a sailor. He had plans for her and … she didn’t deserve that. She has set herself up as my guardian. The only way she can say thank you, or perhaps I should say, it is the only way that I can accept.’ He turned round with eyes twinkling and smiled at Marlowe, pressing one hand between both of his own. ‘Tell me what brings you here.’
‘A problem, as always,’ Marlowe said, ruefully.
Dee rubbed his hands together, with a sound like leaves rustling. ‘A problem. Just what I like to hear. Does it concern conjuring of spirits at all? I ask because Minima is an expert at divination. What she can do with a pouch full of rabbit bones would astound you.’
Marlowe didn’t doubt it.
‘Or demons? I almost have that one off pat. Just a few slight adjustments and I believe I could have Beelzebub in my grasp.’ The old magus raised a choppy finger in the air and Marlowe could almost feel the flames of Hell hot on his face.
‘I am sorry, Doctor,’ Marlowe said, ‘but I don’t think we will need demons to solve my little mystery. Perhaps another time.’
Dee looked crestfallen. ‘That is a shame. But no matter – tell me your problem.’
‘It concerns the world,’ Marlowe said, by way of preamble.
Dee’s eyes widened. ‘My word! That is what I call a problem. What is the matter with it? Is it set to explode? Tumble from its axis and spin off into the vast realms of the Heavens.’ His face shone with excitement. ‘I think I should enjoy that; imagine what creatures we might encounter!’
Marlowe wished he was not in such a hurry. Just spending time with John Dee fired his imagination and his fingers itched for quill and parchment. But that would have to be put aside, for another time. ‘No,’ he said, stopping him in full flow. ‘I mean this world.’ He pulled out the silver Canterbury world from inside his doublet. ‘This one has blood on it, insofar as a woman died protecting it. The other one –’ and he pulled out the Morton jewel – ‘similarly bears the lifeblood of a man, although how much he valued his life, I don’t know. But life is sweet to all who live, or so I am told.’
Dee looked keenly at his friend, then at the worlds, displayed in the palms of his hands. ‘I know these jewels, at least by reputation,�
�� he said, picking up the one with the pinpricks of moonlight captured in its opal. ‘Drake had them made, or have I got that wrong?’
Marlowe was unsurprised. Where there was a mystery, there was often Doctor Dee. ‘There are eight,’ he said. ‘Two I have here, two are missing, stolen or inveigled from their owners. One other is here in London, but not in our hands …’
‘Our hands?’ Dee had spotted the salient word at once. ‘This has Walsingham’s hand in it, then?’
Marlowe acknowledged the truth of that with an inclination of his head. ‘The other three,’ he continued, ‘we know nothing of as yet. Sir Francis has his men looking for them. Or, perhaps I should say, had his men looking for them. A Progress is afoot and he has called everyone back to protect the Queen.’
‘The Progress, yes,’ Dee said. ‘That is why you find me here in London. Her Majesty wanted me to divine if the stars were propitious for her journey.’
‘And are they?’
‘No, not so you would notice,’ Dee said with a smile. ‘In fact, the conjunction of Aries with Scorpio would seem to suggest that she would be better staying at home, but you know the Queen – once she has her mind set on something, all the demons in Hell could not dissuade her. But she likes to make it look as though she has taken advice. But between us, Kit, I think it really would be best if she did not venture too far afield.’
‘Because of Aries and Scorpio?’ Marlowe’s voice was dripping with scepticism.
The magus laughed. ‘No, not because of that. Because … it’s silly, really. I just have a bad feeling about this Progress. I can’t define it, try though I might.’
‘By the pricking of your thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’
‘Yes. That covers it very well. That sounds like a quotation, Kit – from one of your plays?’
‘No, no – these lines just pop into my head sometimes. Then they are mostly forgotten.’
‘The Muses can be fickle,’ Dee said, ‘even with you. But –’ and he clapped his hands together – ‘back to these little jewels of yours. I fear I don’t know why Drake had them made. He isn’t known for his generosity.’
‘That’s true. He isn’t as mean as Frobisher, by all accounts, but he doesn’t exactly shower his friends with gifts. And as far as we can tell, most of the recipients of these little things were not close to him.’
Dee fished out a lens from the recesses of his robe and peered at the diamond-studded world that had cost Jane Benchkyne her life. ‘I can’t quite understand why these worlds were made,’ he said, half to himself. ‘The workmanship is adequate, but nothing special. The gem is small and not particularly well cut.’ He looked up at Marlowe. ‘May I see the other?’ Marlowe handed it over and again the magician bent over it with his lens. ‘The opal on this one is full of fire, but very small. Opals are prized because they are rare – apparently.’ He dropped the lens into his lap as he prepared to share his knowledge. ‘Where they are found, in Abyssinia, a man can pick them up by the side of his path and they are as common as grains of sand in some parts. But bringing them back is hazardous, with pirates and others in the way. Some say they are the moon’s tears. Others that they will confer invisibility.’
‘Yes! Leonard Morton, the previous owner, said that too. He said it involved bay leaves and other ingredients.’
Dee perked up. ‘Had he made the spell work?’
‘I didn’t get that impression.’
‘Ah. Never mind. Invisibility is a hard trick to achieve and although I have had limited success myself, I find it tiring. However, my comments stand. These little jewels seem like trinkets with no value and yet you say people have died because of them.’
‘So far, two that we know of. But two men have also left home and disappeared because of them, one woman has been disgraced and one man robbed. As for the others, until the news comes back, we don’t know.’
Dee weighed the globes in his hand and held them side by side, peering at them closely. ‘Do you know the other gems? Are they all different?’
Marlowe pulled out the list. ‘Here they are,’ he said. ‘It is the silversmith’s order, from Drake, by way of Mercator.’
‘Mercator?’ Dee took the paper from Marlowe. ‘That explains the quality of the map, then. Let me see. Hmm …’ He muttered to himself as he ran his eye down the list. ‘With the exceptions of Walter Mildmay and Sir Oliver Starkey, I don’t know any of these men.’ He tapped the parchment. ‘Someone in Canterbury, I see. Do you know the gentleman?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Marlowe said casually. ‘It is a common enough name.’
‘Yes, then,’ Dee said, perspicacious as ever. ‘What gems do we have? Hmm … they seem to be an odd collection. Could it be from a single piece, broken down?’
‘Joshua the silversmith wondered the same,’ Marlowe said. ‘He was given the designs and the stones and told what to do with them.’
‘Designs?’ Dee looked at the trinkets again. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said at length. ‘The opal and the diamond are not in quite the same place.’
‘No,’ Marlowe said. ‘That is deliberate.’
‘I wonder …’ Dee muttered and, turning the globes to face each other, he turned them round clockwise and counter-clockwise. He scuttled off out of the room and Marlowe, knowing what a labyrinth the man lived in, set off in hot pursuit. To lose yourself in Doctor Dee’s house might mean you would never be seen again. And that was without the added risk of encountering Minima around a dark corner.
Dee turned through several right angles and anyone who had not been to one of his houses before would have expected to come out where they began, but time and space were no longer their usual selves and so they found themselves in a high-ceilinged triangular room, tucked in between here and there. A fire was burning in the narrow fireplace, which was hung with all manner of hooks and chains. Retorts with sullen liquids trembling faintly in the heat were ranged along a rack above the flames but although the fireback, etched with a coiling dragon, was red-hot, the room itself was, if anything, cooler than the night outside.
The magus was standing before a towering stack of bookshelves and was running his finger along the leather spines. Then, with a triumphant little cry, he pulled one out and opened it up on a nearby table. He beckoned to the poet to come and read with him. The words were in a crabbed hand, the ink sepia with age, but Marlowe could make out most of it, once he got his eye in.
‘Read aloud, will you, Kit,’ Dee demanded. ‘Then I can look amongst my potions and see if I have what is needed.’
‘Hmmm … Quod conjugium gemmas,’ he read. ‘The marriage of gemstones. Is that right?’
‘Correct, as I would expect from you, Kit. Continue.’
‘May I paraphrase?’
‘Just don’t miss out any ingredients or change the order of anything. That can have catastrophic effects. I once burned off all my hair by adding water and … well, a secret ingredient … in the wrong order.’
‘But what are we doing?’ Marlowe was running his eye down the page and could not for the life of him see how this was going to help.
‘To cut a long book very short, the anonymous writer believes that certain gems, in conjunction, have properties that many can only dream of. You touched for example on the fact that Leonard Morton believed that opals could make a man invisible. Others have other properties such as the emerald, which can help to contain lust and also make a man more intelligent.’ Dee paused for a moment. ‘Those two attributes either go together like sack and sugar or make no sense, according to your point of view. But the theory of this book is that if you put two gemstones together in the right circumstances, their power is not simply added together but multiplied many times over.’
‘So what you think Drake was trying to do was to multiply the effect of the gems delivered to Joshua. But why do that? Why not just use the gems and the spells without all of the work making the globes?’ Marlowe was frowning down at the book, trying to make sense of it all.
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‘Yes.’ Dee sounded uncertain. ‘Perhaps he was trying to …’ The magus rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I don’t know, Kit, to be truthful. Drake is so tricky, always one jump ahead of everyone. Let’s face it, the man is a pirate, pure and simple. He will get on the wrong side of Her Majesty one of these days and then look out. I wonder if he was trying to simply keep the gems safe until he had perfected the spell. There’s something not quite right about his circumnavigation, you know.’
‘Really?’ Marlowe didn’t know. ‘What?’
‘Well, according to the reports I’ve read, he was at Antigua in the West Indies in June. The next thing we knew he was off Jamaica, except that by now it’s February.’
‘So?’
‘So a sailor of Drake’s ability could do it in two days. Eight months is a little … shall we say, leisurely?’
‘So what do you conclude?’
Dee shrugged. ‘That he either idled his time, soaking up the rays of the sun-kissed beaches or he went somewhere else and didn’t want the rest of us to know about it. However,’ he said and cleared his throat, ‘I digress. The results are patchy at the moment, to say the least. Even the invisibility one, which most people consider the simplest, rarely works.’
Marlowe raised his most sardonic eyebrow but Dee was not to be stopped now he was in full flow.
‘Some of the spells, further into the book, use esoteric gems that no man has ever seen.’
‘Then …?’ Marlowe was sure there was a way of couching the obvious question, but he couldn’t think what it might be. He was fond of this old man and didn’t want to belittle his craft, which he had seen with his own eyes could often achieve results nothing short of miraculous.
Dee flapped a hand at him. ‘Yes, yes, Kit. I know. A theoretical gem is a hard concept to accept, but once you open your mind, the possibilities are literally endless.’ He glanced up at the complex system of gears, cogs and dials that filled the chimney breast and exclaimed, ‘Just look at the time! Minima will be in here soon to ready me for bed.’ He caught the poet’s eye and flushed. ‘Minima is a great believer in routine. She says my humours are out of balance if I am too late going to bed.’