The Secrets of Life and Death

by Rebecca Alexander

  Charley put her head around the door. ‘Can we have some of that hot chocolate you make? You know, with the real chocolate and the whippy cream on top?’

  Jack smiled at her. ‘What are you, twelve?’

  Charley laughed. ‘Thanks, Grandma.’

  ‘I’m nine years older than you. Do you want it, or not?’ Jack’s pretended outrage made Charley laugh, and Jack thought she could hear a weak snort of laughter from Sadie as well.

  She made three mugs of frothy hot chocolate, topped with a Flake as well as cream. The girl could use the calories, assuming she kept it down. She carried them in on a tray.

  ‘… and she’s got this amazing tattoo. So she can go out, away from the house. The car’s got all these charms as well.’ Charley’s voice was animated. ‘When you get better you’ll have a lot more freedom.’

  Sadie sat up when Jack came in, refolded her arms, and scowled.

  ‘Hot chocolate.’ Jack offered it, and for a moment she wondered whether Sadie would take it. Then one thin hand reached out, and retreated with the cup. She watched Charley slurp hers before she bent her head for a small sip.

  ‘She won’t help me escape,’ Sadie said, while Charley was drinking.

  ‘Charley understands borrowed time,’ Jack replied. ‘She knows what would happen to you if she did.’

  The dog padded over to Jack, who was perched on the arm of the other sofa, and leaned against her, resting his head on her knee. Jack couldn’t resist his pleading eyes. She dipped her finger in the cream, and smeared it on his nose. ‘It’s bad for you, you silly animal.’

  Sadie waved a hand. ‘She – Charley – says you have a tattoo. So you can go outside.’

  Jack put the mug on the bookcase and rolled up her sweater and T-shirt a few inches, turning her back on the girl. She assumed from the silence that they were both impressed by the circle of sigils, inscribed in four colours.

  ‘There’s more up here.’ Holding her hair aside, she showed them the symbols tracing up her neck onto her scalp. ‘They shaved part of my head to do it.’

  ‘And that means you can go out of the circle?’ said Sadie. ‘Did it hurt?’

  Jack straightened her clothes and turned back to Sadie.

  ‘It was painful, and they had to go over it several times. But it does mean I can go anywhere I want, for a few hours anyway.’ She pulled down the neck of her shirt to show the beginning of the tattoo on her chest. ‘The one on the front is smaller.’

  Sadie leaned forward, cupping the hot drink as if she was still cold. ‘My mum would kill me if I got a tattoo.’

  ‘Well, now it might kill you if you don’t. You can just draw them on all the time, that works as well. The sigils we drew on your back seemed to help when you were … at your worst.’

  Jack remembered the box on the kitchen table and brought it into the front room. It seemed very light. ‘This is the hedgehog?’

  Charley drained her chocolate with vigorous slurping. She looked across at Sadie. ‘Jack’s really good with sick animals. We’ve got two other hedgehogs, eating their heads off in the corner of our kitchen. But this one’s bad.’

  Jack knelt by the fire and opened the box. The hedgehog was on its side, curved loosely, panting. It looked very thin. Jack grimaced. ‘It doesn’t look hopeful.’

  ‘Can I see?’ Sadie was standing, swaying but upright, the empty mug hanging from one hand.

  Jack moved the box and showed Sadie. ‘Sometimes they are too small to hibernate, and too cold to find anything to eat. I’ll put him on the floor by the fire, while we get him some warm food. You can help, if you like.’ The girl sank to her knees beside it.

  She watched Sadie put her fingers in, brush the spines. They tightened a little as her hand passed over the skin.

  ‘It’s still alive. Can you save it?’ asked Sadie.

  ‘We’ll do our best.’

  Jack filled a hot-water bottle from the kettle in the kitchen, and mixed some dog food into a sloppy paste. Returning to Sadie, she lifted the hedgehog with both hands, feeling its cold belly, the hard prickles slack against her fingers.

  ‘Slide that bottle in the box. That’s it, put a bit of that hay over the top.’

  The girl hesitated for a second. ‘Are those fleas?’

  ‘They won’t bite you.’ Jack watched the girl pad the box. ‘Now, get that teaspoon and dip the handle into the food. When I open his mouth, just put a tiny bit in, on his tongue. We don’t want to choke him.’

  Jack stroked the dished snout, pulling back the skin towards its half-closed eyes. The upper lip slid back, showing four sharp yellow teeth and a small pink tongue. Sadie slid the meaty spoon just inside. It slowly shut its mouth.

  The creature felt limp in Jack’s hands. ‘He’s very cold.’

  As if in slow motion, the pink tongue swept around the paste on its lips.

  ‘Try again,’ Jack said.

  Sadie loaded up another spoon handle and dabbed it on the creature’s teeth and tongue.

  Jack laid the creature on its stomach in the warm hay. ‘On the other hand … young animals are resilient, like teenagers, apparently. You have a go, every mouthful helps.’

  She beckoned to Charley to join her in the kitchen.

  ‘If the police are in the village, they’ll come here,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I cleaned the car, but I’m worried they’ll want to come into the house to look around. How do I keep Sadie quiet?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she cooperates. She seems bright and I think she’s coming round. Now, tell me about this woman in your car.’

  Jack wrapped her arms around herself. ‘A witch, I think, much more powerful than anyone I’ve met. She wants Sadie.’ She sighed, reached for her coat. ‘Everyone wants Sadie. Pierce offered me big bucks for a new borrowed timer.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? Does he know anything?’

  Jack considered the question for a moment. ‘I think it might be worth finding out. I’ll arrange to meet him, somewhere neutral. In the meantime, I need to go and talk to the vicar, and get the garage to tow the car. Can you keep an eye on Sadie and the hedgehog for me?’

  ‘Sure.’ Charley reached up for the biscuit tin, rattled it. ‘I like her. She reminds me of you.’ She bit into a digestive, spilling crumbs down her top. ‘Grumpy, difficult, opinionated.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jack wound a scarf around her neck and shrugged a warm jacket on. ‘I won’t be long.’ She opened the door, looking out into the yard, grey under a blanket of cloud, and pressed her hand to the protective charm carved into the plaster. ‘Keep her safe.’

  Chapter 19

  ‘Everyone knows that women are filled with original sin, yet I have known virtuous ones. Doctor Dee’s wife, Jane, for example, is a pattern of purity and womanly goodness. But there are other women, who spread great wickedness in the world. Who are witches, and demons in human form.’

  Edward Kelley

  22 November 1585

  Niepolomice

  Late in the afternoon, I heard the rumble of horses’ hooves pounding over the drawbridge, then clattering over the cobbles in the yard. Shouts, in the dialect I now recognised as Magyar, were answered with what sounded like abuse in Polish. Then the name Báthory, over and over, like a battle cry.

  As Dee was in consultation elsewhere, with the king’s advisers, our guards were absent. I walked down the corridors, through the small door at the end, which led to the minstrels’ gallery I had observed over the main feasting hall. The door at the other end, I had discovered with smiles and a few Polish pennies, led directly to the outside stairs, to the vast stableyard. Here men were dismounting, dressed in bearskin jackets over split riding cloaks, the dark fur silvered with dew. Officers in jaunty hats and the ubiquitous red boots strutted around, calling out jibes, which were met with laughter from the men. Many faces and hands were scarred, some men limped.

  ‘They are Nádasdy’s own elite troops.’ The female voice, in slow German, was u
nexpected and I jumped.

  I turned to see the fox-haired woman from the yard. The voice was warm and low, and sounded as if it promised caresses to follow. I am not a carnal man, and my wife cannot complain that I intrude upon her rest, but the witch’s voice stirred me. She was of my own height, strongly built, and I guessed of mine own age.

  ‘The soldiers are here to take my mistress home, when your Dee has cured her with your old books.’ Her voice was sharp with sarcasm, even in German. She was wrapped in a dark red cloak, fashioned from rich fabrics.

  ‘You think he cannot do it?’ I was genuinely surprised. I could scarcely compare the superstitions of a handful of heretics to Dee’s theosophical investigations and research.

  ‘This is women’s work, the giving and … what word is it … the preserving of life.’ She allowed her cloak to fall open, revealing her close-fitting gown beneath. As she stepped nearer, looking on the men below, I caught the scent of a perfume that made my head spin. ‘We must call upon ancient wisdoms, known only to women. My mother had power drawn from the mountains themselves, from the forests that cradled my people.’

  ‘You are the witch.’

  ‘I am Zsófia Draskovich, the countess’s healer. And you are the poor adventurer Eduárd Kelley, with his sorcerer master.’

  ‘Doctor Dee is a natural philosopher, and has been consulted on matters of state by kings. He even cast your emperor’s horoscope on the occasion of his coronation.’

  She smiled, her teeth very even and white against her tanned skin. ‘Stars and charts? He thinks to reduce a man to numbers?’

  I was entranced by the scent coming off her clothes and hair. Her eyes glowed, and I was filled with the wish to please her. As she turned towards me, I leaned, intoxicated, as if to kiss her. She divined it, and pulled away with a low laugh.

  ‘You think to tumble me like a drab?’

  I stepped back, my face heating up my fair complexion in a boyish blush. ‘No, of course not …’

  She leaned forward again, and this time, put her lips to my ear. ‘Why would I want you, the sorcerer’s assistant, when I could have royalty?’

  I recoiled, and turned to leave the way I had come, my thoughts in disorder.

  Zsófia called out to me before I reached the door back to the tower. ‘I am bidden to invite you to the countess’s private rooms. Tonight, after sunset, with your master. She will show him the marks.’

  I walked away, trying not to let it seem like flight.

  After the late meal, we were taken through the keep to the Nádasdys’ private rooms, and to the countess’s chamber.

  The lady looked even thinner in her shift, like the pole in the centre of a tent. Many yards of fine linen fell to the floor from her shoulders. She leaned heavily upon the arm of Zsófia, who was dressed in velvet. I nodded to the witch, my eyes on her heavy red hair twisted at the nape of her neck, then to her green eyes. Her lips curved into a smile, and warmth curled low in my belly.

  The countess whispered something, then repeated it in Latin. ‘Show them.’

  A heavyset serving woman curtsied before the lady and started unlacing the neck of her shift. Zsófia steadied her mistress, breathing such life into the scene that the countess looked even less vital.

  ‘Zsófia …’ The countess put out a hand to the taller woman, who took her fingers tenderly, and lifted them to kiss.

  ‘Is this the witch?’ Dee asked me in English. Zsófia narrowed her eyes for a moment, and a half smile curved her lips again.

  ‘This is Zsófia Draskovich, who calls herself a healing woman,’ I replied, but I resisted the urge to cross myself nevertheless. ‘Some call her witch.’

  Zsófia crooked a finger and we moved a little closer. As she eased the countess’s linens from her throat and chest we began to see red marks, in patterns not unlike some of the angelic symbols we had been given. There were weeping sores on each thin shoulder, and as the shift was lowered more appeared. The fabric had to be peeled from many wounds. The young woman whimpered, and the pain must have been severe, but she spoke no words. The lacerations continued over her small breasts and onto her hollow belly. Zsófia snapped out a command and the shift was pulled up, giving the poor lady her modesty back.

  ‘How are these patterns made?’ Dee’s voice was shaking. ‘They look like burns.’

  The countess was draped in a velvet gown, and helped to a chair by Zsófia.

  ‘Some are made with a caustic powder,’ the countess said. ‘Is that how you say it? Lye, painted on the skin. Others have been incised with a knife and herbs rubbed in to create a scar. If they start to heal, I become weaker.’ She was shivering, and the women helped her into a chair by the fire. ‘Tell me, are these the same symbols the angels gave you?’

  ‘They are very like them.’ Dee bowed low again. ‘If I might ask your lady-in-waiting to draw the shapes, I can make further comparisons. May I ask, where did you get the symbols from?’

  The countess turned her head towards Zsófia and spoke in some local language. The woman stepped forward and answered in German.

  ‘These signs have been used by my people for centuries, to heal the sick. They healed the Lady Anna, and her mother Lady Katalin.’ She reached into her kirtle and withdrew a folded package. ‘You have the parchment from the priest. This is my mother’s own copy.’

  Dee spread the page upon the table.

  ‘These are much finer than the notes drawn by the priest, Edward,’ he murmured.

  ‘We call them dragon marks.’ The countess sighed again. Each breath seemed an effort for her. ‘The gypsies brought them, and inscribed them on stones and trees. Zsófia …’

  The woman lifted a goblet and held it to the girl’s lips.

  ‘Take the parchment,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘I must tend to my lady.’ She set the goblet down and turned. Then with a peculiar strength and ease, she lifted the countess in her arms like a child. The tirewoman opened a door and then stood back, her face set in something that looked like mingled respect and fear. As the women vanished, I heard the witch hiss something, and the servant closed the door between us.

  Dee was already lost in the analysis of the symbols, his lips moving as he made mental notes. I looked around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I picked up the countess’s goblet and sniffed it cautiously. Not wine, but a bitter herbal brew perhaps. I detected the scents of wormwood, maybe valerian. I dipped my finger in it, and it glowed ruby dark and thick, sticky on my fingertip. A careful taste, which I expected to be sweet with honey or some other flavour, was salty.

  I realised, with a surge of nausea, that it had been thickened with blood.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Professor.’ Soames clasped Felix’s hand, and waved him to a chair. ‘This is Stephen McNamara, an investigator from the Art and Antiques unit. Professor Felix Guichard is an expert on the symbols we found … the ones on the dead girl.’

  Felix turned to see someone seated, a thin man who looked familiar, who nodded to him. ‘Professor.’

  ‘Mr McNamara.’

  Soames sat down, and leaned back. ‘So, what can you tell us about these shapes?’

  ‘As I said on the phone, I’ve found something very similar inscribed on two medals, presently in the British Museum.’ Felix spread prints of the images on the desk.

  ‘These are almost identical to the ones on the body.’ Soames looked up. ‘Who else would know about this?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that these figures are unique. I’ve been looking through the literature. A number of different circles of sigils appear in Dee’s own books and pamphlets. Others are mentioned in books of his that no longer exist, but are quoted in books by his contemporaries.’

  ‘Exactly like the ones on the body?’

  ‘No. Most of the symbols he used were either characters from medieval astrology or his own Enochian alphabet. The ones on the medal include many new figures, as far as I can tell.’

  McNamara leaned forward.
‘So it might be reasonable to assume that someone must have seen these medals, and copied the symbols?’

  Felix glanced at the grey man. He was at the pub. ‘These medals were in the attic of a woman in Devon, before they were put up for sale in an open auction. Where anyone could have seen them, they may even have been pictured in the catalogue.’

  Soames tapped the image. ‘Why? What are they for?’

  Felix folded his arms. ‘They were prescribed for ailments, to bring good luck, that sort of thing. People drew them on vellum or scratched them on metal discs to make charms.’

  ‘And this was widespread?’ asked Soames.

  Felix shrugged. ‘In the absence of a systematic scientific explanation, people would try anything to heal or protect themselves. These were superstitious times.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of drawing the symbols on a person?’ said Soames.

  ‘No. That’s new.’

  McNamara spoke. ‘So, this attic in Devon. Who owned the medals?’ He had a notepad open on his knee. ‘And did you keep copies of the associated documents?’

  Felix found himself reluctant to involve Jack. ‘The medals were sold more than two years ago. A woman, by the name of Slee, sold them at auction. She also put the bundle of papers and letters in the auction. She may not have realised how valuable the documents were, but the medals fetched very little money. And, no, I didn’t keep copies,’ he lied, uncomfortable with the questioning.

  ‘What do you know about these papers?’ Felix watched McNamara write notes, record the name Slee.

  ‘I’m afraid they went to a university in the States. Harvard, I believe.’ Felix shrugged, and looked at McNamara’s bent head. ‘What’s your interest, Mr McNamara?’

  ‘I am investigating a number of forged documents, ascribed to John Dee.’

  ‘I am certain none of the documents I examined were forgeries.’

  ‘You authenticated the Dee papers for the auction house,’ McNamara said. ‘A simple examination.’