The statue, poised as it was directly over the palace entrance, made Mina shiver as a pang of foreboding shot through her. She looked away. The feeling passed in an instant as footmen sprang to attend them, opened the carriage compartment, and placed steps beneath the door so that the occupants could climb down easily. Meanwhile, from out of the palace emerged a man in gleaming royal livery, his plump, red-stockinged legs bearing him forward with all speed.
“Welcome, subjects,” he intoned in a perfunctory voice. “The emperor bids his honoured guests to attend him. He awaits you in the Grand Ludovic Hall.” He made the briefest gesture of a bow. “I am to lead you to him. If you will follow me?”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started back to the palace.
“Sir! We have baggage to carry,” Englebert called after him.
Without pausing, the official tossed a command to the footmen. Englebert indicated the box in the coach, and the first lackey took it up; the other footman reached for the smaller box in Englebert’s hands, but the big man shook his head. “This one, I carry myself.”
The party processed through the door and into a spacious vestibule painted red and white and filled with marble busts of illustrious men, most of them royal and all of them dead. Two more soldiers stood guard either side of the door, and the royal usher-for such he was-whisked them through and into the main hall: a gargantuan room with vaulted ceilings from which hung no fewer than eight four-tiered chandeliers. Enormous glass windows pierced the walls on either hand, allowing a tide of sunlight to wash through the room; from them the entire city of Prague spread out below, the rooftops of the houses making a chequered patchwork in various shades of red, green, and brown. Here they were met by another official: the master of audiences, a dour and imposing man in a long robe of deep green velvet. Without a word, he marched them through the hall, heels clicking on the polished inlaid floor; a few clumps of people stood huddled around the large gilt doors at the far end of the room awaiting their turn to be called. Englebert and Wilhelmina were led directly to the golden doors, past the envious stares of the loiterers, and into a seemingly endless corridor lined with mirrors. Tiny oval windows allowed light to spill along the length of the passageway, and they passed door after door until arriving at one that was larger than the others and whose frame was carved with laurel leaves and ivy. Here the master of audiences paused, and taking a short knob-topped rod from a hidden holder at his side, he gave three short, sharp raps, then opened the door.
They heard a muffled voice from inside, and then the senior court official summoned them through and into the presence of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf, sitting in a grand throne of ebony lined with red satin, his chin in his hand, shoulders hunched, looking bored. A man in a long blue robe with an odd conical hat stood nearby with a roll of parchment in his hands. A few paces to one side stood a large easel and canvas, behind which an artist darted a glance before disappearing behind his work.
At the appearance of the two coffeehouse proprietors, the emperor smiled, straightened, and clapped his hands. “Splendid!” he said, then waved the other man aside. “Come! Come! We are delighted to meet you at last.”
“My lord and king,” intoned the master of audiences, “I present to you Englebert of Bavaria, and Wilhelmina of England.”
This last caused the man in the blue robe to turn and stare at the young woman who was just then making a low and elaborate curtsy to the emperor. He pulled on his grey beard and watched her with interest.
Rudolf extended his hand to his subjects, allowing them to kiss the imperial ring, and said, “We do hope you have brought this liquor with you, this Kaffee. We are eager to taste it.”
Englebert glanced at the master of audiences, who whispered, “You may address him when spoken to.”
The big baker swallowed and cleared his throat. “Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, somewhat shakily. “We have brought everything we need to make it for you especially.”
“To make it?” wondered the emperor.
“Yes, Majesty. We will make it for you.”
Wilhelmina saw the misunderstanding and offered, “It is a hot drink, Your Majesty. It must be prepared freshly and drunk from special cups while it is still warm.”
“Mind your place!” the audience master hissed. “You will speak only when spoken to!”
“We permit it,” sighed Rudolf, forgiving the breach in protocol. “You may go, Ruprecht.” He waved the courtier away. The man in the blue robe and curious hat started backing away too. “No-stay, Bazalgette, stay. We will all partake of this beverage together.”
“Thank you, Sire,” replied the man.
“This is Herr Doktor Bazalgette,” the emperor said, introducing his companion. “He is Lord High Alchemist to the royal court.”
“At your service, my friends,” replied the man of science, doffing his cap.
“Can you produce enough liquor for two?” asked Rudolf.
“We have enough for ten, Your Majesty,” answered Etzel, delighted with the prospect of serving such esteemed courtiers.
“What do you require to facilitate your production?” asked the court alchemist. “Perhaps I can aid your preparation.”
“Only a small fire,” answered Wilhelmina. “We have brought everything else. It is in a chest outside.”
“Shall I have it brought in, Your Majesty?” offered Bazalgette.
“Yes, and tell Ruprecht that we will require a fire to be lit in the hearth. Have him inform the chamberlain that we want it at once.” To his visitors, he said, “Is this agreeable to you?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” ventured Wilhelmina. “But perhaps it would be easier and quicker for me to simply go to the kitchen and prepare the Kaffee there. I will bring it to you when it is ready.”
“Excellent!” cried Rudolf. His excitement was dashed the very next instant when he considered what this meant. “However, we were hoping to watch you prepare it.” He frowned.
“Then, if you would allow me to suggest,” said Wilhelmina, “perhaps Your Majesty might accompany us to the royal kitchen and Your Highness will be able to observe everything we do.”
The King of Christendom started and stared, jolted by this revolutionary idea. “We do not believe we have ever been to the royal kitchens,” he considered, his brow creasing deeply at the thought.
Lord High Alchemist Bazalgette rescued the imperial dignity by an apt recommendation. “Might we repair to my laboratory instead, Majesty?” he proposed delicately. “There is a fire in the hearth, and it is in this very wing of the palace.”
“Yes,” allowed Rudolf with some relief, “perhaps that would be best. And we will taste this Kaffee liquor that much sooner.”
It was thus agreed. The emperor rose from his chair and, escorted by his chief alchemist and followed by his guests, moved to the door.
“Exalted Majesty…?” called a voice from the far end of the room.
“Ah, yes, Signore Arcimboldo,” said Rudolf, remembering himself. “We are finished for the day. But do come along and join us if you like. We are going to partake of a new potion. You may find it inspiring to your work.”
“Your servant would be honoured, Majesty.” The artist put aside his palette and brushes, quickly doffed his smock, and joined the party, following them into the long corridor, to a stairway leading up to the next floor, and down another mirror-lined corridor to a suite of rooms at the far end of the passageway.
“Here we are, Highness, friends,” said Bazalgette, pushing open the heavily carved door. “Please, come in and feel free to amuse yourselves. If you will excuse me, Majesty, I will see to the necessaries.”
The apartment was as big as a ballroom, but every square inch of available space was packed with all manner of gear and equipment: tables crowded with jars, pots, and jugs, each labelled with its contents; counters lined with a formidable array of bulbous decanters filled with murky liquids; mortars and pestles in a range of sizes and made of porcelai
n, glass, marble, and granite; crucibles, beakers, and bowls of lead and copper and zinc and bronze; pottery and glassware articles in bizarre organic shapes; bundles of raw materials, from dried herbs to animal fur; iron tools of many kinds. And if there were mortars and pestles in sizes a giant might find useful, there were hammers and tongs a fairy sprite would covet. Marking the perimeter of the room on three sides, floor to ceiling, stood great hulking bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes and parchment rolls.
Wilhelmina felt as if she had entered an Aladdin’s cave where, instead of gold and jewel-crusted treasure, the thieves specialized in chem-lab equipment and biological specimens. Everywhere one looked, the eye was arrested by some oddity or other-desiccated cats, stuffed birds, unborn pigs in brine, fully articulated lizard skeletons, and prehistoric insects in lambent lumps of Baltic amber.
At the far end of the room, the original hearth and fireplace had been extensively modified to accommodate a large stove with several apertures on top, two ovens below, and, to one side, an open-flame bed something like a forge. Beside the stove, using its light to examine a diagram on parchment, stood two men whose presence Wilhelmina had not marked when entering. She did so now. One of the men was a tall, well-muscled fellow with striking good looks and a regal bearing; the other was the chief under-alchemist whom she had met at the coffeehouse.
“Ah! Here you are!” cried Bazalgette, hurrying towards the men. “We have the honour of receiving the emperor.”
The two turned from their study of the diagram, and the younger man bowed; the stranger merely stood and waited for the imperial party to approach, whereupon Bazalgette made the introductions. “Your Highness, allow me to present my esteemed visitor, Lord Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland, newly arrived from England.”
Lord Burleigh put his heels together and made a crisp, elegant bow. “Your devoted servant, Majesty,” he said in a full, resonant voice.
“We welcome you, my Lord Earl,” said Rudolf. “Is this your first visit to Prague?”
“It is, Majesty,” replied Burleigh, his German flawless. “But I assure you, it will not be my last.”
Other introductions were made then, which Mina ignored, finding herself wholly unable to take her eyes from the darkly handsome earl. What luck! she thought. A fellow countryman.
The formalities observed, the chief alchemist turned to his assistant. “Rosenkreuz, clear away a space for the use of our friends here,” he commanded. “They are here to produce an elixir of Kaffee for the emperor. Have chairs brought in.”
“At once, Herr Doktor,” replied the young alchemist, handing the parchment diagram back to the earl. With a nod and smile of acknowledgement to Etzel and Mina, the young man began moving beakers and pots, making room for Englebert and Mina’s simple equipment. The box was brought in and unpacked. Working quickly together, fresh water was soon on the fire, the beans ground, and the pot and cups prepared. At each stage of the operation, Englebert with enormous gravity explained what they were doing.
While the company waited for the water to come to a boil, the chief alchemist offered a small tour of his laboratory and Wilhelmina sidled up beside Lord Burleigh. She caught his attention. “Guten Tag, mein Herr,” she said, speaking low. “Ich bin Wilhelmina. But perhaps we can speak English?”
“Delighted to meet you, my dear,” he replied smoothly, his manner at odds with his old-fashioned demeanour.
“When Herr Bazalgette introduced you just now, I was a little surprised. I’ve not met many Englishmen in Prague.”
“Nor will you, I imagine,” he replied, offering her an ingratiating smile. “But, please, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be here?”
“Here in the palace? Or here in Prague?”
“Either,” he said, laughing politely. “Both.”
Before she could answer, Bazalgette called to them, “May I direct your attention to this-our latest discovery!” He lofted a large jug of green glass half full of a cloudy whitish liquid. “Come close, everyone.”
“Another time, perhaps,” said the earl, directing his steps to rejoin the others, who were now gathered around a table heaped high with books and racks of glass vials and porcelain jars.
“Come to my coffeehouse tomorrow,” invited Wilhelmina, falling into step beside him. “I’ll give you a cup of coffee, and we can talk then without interruption.”
“I’d be delighted,” replied the nobleman with a bow of his head. “But, tell me-which Kaffeehaus is it?”
“There is only one.”
CHAPTER 30
In Which a Mystery Is Confronted
The screech of the wind seared through his skull and the world spun around him, but Cosimo, fighting with a skill born of long experience, ignored the discomfort, gritted his teeth, and clung doggedly to the fast-fraying strands of his concentration. Eyes straining into the seething black void before him, he gathered his strength and the instant he felt solid ground beneath his feet once more, gave out a tremendous push with both hands. Solid muscle and bone met his fists. The Burley Man, momentarily disoriented by the crossing, was flung sprawling to the ground.
Spinning around, he glimpsed the ruined temple at the far end of the long avenue of sphinxes and knew they had successfully completed the leap from Black Mixen Tump to Egypt. Unfortunately, the Burley Men had made the jump too.
He heard a shout and turned to see Sir Henry down on all fours, struggling to rise-an attempt made the more difficult by the Burley Man clinging to his back.
Three quick strides carried Cosimo to his side, and two swift kicks to the groin and instep of the thug freed his friend. “Run!” he shouted, pulling Sir Henry to his feet. “This way!”
Without waiting for a reply, Cosimo put down his head and raced for the temple.
He did not get far.
Cosimo, in full flight, felt his foot caught from behind and yanked out from under him. The broken pavement beneath his feet came up fast and smacked him on the chin. He rolled onto his back, lashing out with his legs as the Burley Man descended on him. One of his wild kicks connected, knocking his black-coated assailant back a pace or two.
Scrambling to his feet, Cosimo dove into the fight, fists swinging. He managed to land a punch or two before being seized from behind and pulled off. Thrashing this way and that, Cosimo tried to shake off the steely grip. He sensed rather than saw a movement to his side, and heard a thin whistling sound. He ducked just as the silver knob of Sir Henry Fayth’s walking stick flashed by his ear, striking the Burley Man squarely in the centre of the forehead. The man gave out a yelp, released his grasp, and sank cursing to his knees, arms flung over his head.
“Enough!” The shout was like the clap of a rifle shot in the still air. “It’s over.”
Cosimo glanced back over his shoulder to see three more Burley Men standing in the centre of the avenue; one of the men held tightly to a chain, on the end of which strained the great brindled brown shape of the cave lion. Muscles bunched, head low, the great cat watched them with evil interest as it ran its red velvet tongue around its daggerlike teeth. Rattling along the rough-paved avenue behind them came a wagon drawn by a team of mules driven by a fourth Burley Man with a rifle across his lap.
“Mal, Dex-stand down. Con, get the gear from the wagon,” commanded the man who was clearly the leader of the gang. Dressed in a loose white shirt, tall boots, and wide-brimmed straw hat with a red handkerchief knotted around his throat, he looked more like a simple farmhand than the sadist that he was. The face beneath the hat was impassive as the stone statues around them. He strode forward to address his captives. “I’m Tav,” he said. “Which one of you is Cosimo?”
Cosimo and Sir Henry exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.
“Baby is hungry,” said Tav. “I have half a mind to let her feed. If you’d rather not be on the menu, you’ll answer me when I speak to you-and no delay. I ask you again, which one of you is Cosimo?”
“I do not deal with thugs, sir,�
� replied Cosimo.
The Burley Man’s hand snapped out so quickly Cosimo did not see it coming. The blow snapped his head back, and a moment later he tasted blood on his tongue. “Mind your manners, friend,” Tav warned. “We’re going to take a little walk, and you’re coming along whether you like it or not. Now, you can make things easy on yourself, or difficult-it’s up to you. I don’t give a tinker’s either way.”
The wagon came rattling up, and the one called Con hurried over, returning with two coils of rawhide rope.
“What do you want with us?” demanded Cosimo, rubbing his lip.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” replied Tav. He signalled to his thuggish crew, who began shedding their coats, throwing them into the back of the wagon, and withdrawing bundles of lighter-weight clothing. “You two want to change into something more comfortable?” he asked. “It’s going to get hot.”
“We’re fine as we are,” replied Cosimo with sullen resolve.
Tav nodded and called to his men. “Ready, lads?” Turning away from the temple, he started back down the long avenue lined with sphinxes either side. Some had lost heads or feet; others had crumbled, their features eroded by wind and sand over time; but a good many were whole and in place, still guarding the pathway to the temple. When Cosimo and Sir Henry failed to fall into step behind him, he said, “This way, gents.”
“I protest this treatment most strenuously, sir. I am not going anywhere with you,” Sir Henry declared.
“I think you’ll find that you are,” replied the Burley Man. He gave a nod to Con, who advanced with the ropes. The one called Dex fetched two burlap bags from the wagon. Before either Cosimo or Sir Henry could protest further, the coils of rope were around their waists, their wrists were tied, and the burlap bags whipped over their heads. Thus bound and blinded, they were led away. The Burley Men with their wagon and cave cat fell in behind them, and the party moved off down the rough-paved road.
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