The Alchemist's Door

by Lisa Goldstein

  King István gave him a generous allowance. He kept enough to live on and sent the rest back to Jane. The first thing he would buy, he decided, was warmer clothing, so when he finished with his workshop he set out from the castle.

  He found a market in a square; it was something like the Cattle Market in Prague but much smaller. Vendors displayed the usual Czech glassware and German Bibles, but there was also merchandise from the east that Dee had never seen before, turquoise and ivory and silk and coffeepots. Men argued the merits of cattle and horseflesh; fishwives shouted into the din. Someone was scolding a man trying to sell a cookpot.

  He found a woman displaying coats, picked out one made of fur, and indicated he wanted to buy it. The woman spoke rapidly and loudly in Hungarian, none of which he understood, and at the end of it he found himself the owner of the coat. He had no idea if the price he had paid for it was fair or not.

  On his way out he passed a jeweler and saw a silver brooch in the shape of a sleeping dog. The dog was stretched out full length, its head resting between its paws. He and Jane had had a dog like that once, back in England, before they had started all this traveling … . Without stopping to think he bought the brooch for her, paying the first price asked for it.

  A week later he received a letter from Rabbi Loew. “I thank you for the letters you sent,” Loew wrote. “As you indicated in the first one, though, the lists are frustratingly vague. The man described as Traveler—Jewish Quarter’ could be any one of a number of people. Travelers come here from all over the world, from Egypt, Turkey and Spain. Caravans come through, too, from Trebizond and Samarkand, and our friends stop to visit us then. I will see what I can discover, however.”

  He wrote back to Loew, working until late in the afternoon. The light through the windows began to fail and he stood to get some candles. He felt lightheaded and sat down quickly, and it was only then that he realized he had had nothing to eat that day, that Judit had not come to bring him breakfast and clean out his rooms.

  He straightened carefully and went out to the hallway. Erzsébet and her women were returning to their rooms. “Excuse me,” he said.

  The countess turned to him. Her mouth looked unnaturally red. He thought of baths of blood, then told himself sternly not to let his imagination run wild.

  “Szervusz,” Erzsébet said. He had heard the word before; it seemed to be corrupted Latin and to mean “at your service.”

  “My servant is missing,” Dee said. “I don’t wish to bother your cousin over something so trifling, but I was wondering if you might know where I could find his chamberlain … .”

  He trailed off. There was no expression at all on her face, and he wondered if she had understood anything he had said. Then she said in perfect German, “Judit, yes. She is my servant now.”

  “Your—”

  She seemed to enjoy his discomfiture. “Yes, I had my cousin István assign her to me.”

  “But what do I do? Where do I find a new servant?”

  She shrugged and opened her door. One of the women—Anna? Marie?—turned and looked back at him, smiling her cold malignant smile.

  He shrugged and headed down the stairs, looking for István or his chamberlain. He kept close track of the rooms he had gone through, but after a while he found himself thoroughly lost, as confused as he had been in King Rudolfs castle. He remembered the feeling he had had then, that the world and everything in it was just a extension of Rudolf’s Cabinet of Curiosities, and once again he wondered if he had ever truly left the emperor’s castle, or if he had merely found himself in some neglected corner of it.

  People passed him in the corridors, chattering in Hungarian, but no one stopped when he tried to speak to them; no one seemed to understand German or Latin or, when he tried it in desperation, English. A group of servants brushed by him carrying dishes of what smelled like mutton, and his stomach clenched in hunger.

  He stared after them, wondering where the kitchen was, and if he could find some food there. Someone behind him spoke his name.

  He whirled around. He could see no one he recognized. He had probably imagined hearing anything; hunger had confused him, along with the strangeness of the castle. Then someone came toward him out of the gloom.

  “Hello, Doctor Dee,” Magdalena said. Her features were blurred in the dim light of the corridor, but there was no mistaking her bent outline, or her odor.

  “What—what are you doing here?” he asked. “I say that a lot to you, don’t I? But this—how did you get here? Surely you didn’t follow me into Hungary.”

  He was babbling, relieved to find someone, even Magdalena, that he knew. “I didn’t have to follow you,” she said. “Al Salah told me where you were going.”

  “But what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Following you.” She grinned, showing her few teeth. “Al Salah suggested it, actually. He was worried about you. Hungary is a dangerous place, just as dangerous as Prague, though in different ways.”

  “And he thought you could protect me?”

  “Why not?” She grinned again. “He knows a great deal, does Al Salah. And he thought you might be a good teacher for me.”

  “I told you before—I will not be your teacher. I hardly know anything myself.” Though he could, he thought, teach her a simple shape-changing spell. Perhaps if she didn’t look so monstrous she would have an easier time of it. But no—it was dangerous to teach women magic; nothing good could come of it.

  “People who are still learning make the best teachers, Al Salah says. They have not become set in their ways—they do not think that what they believe is the only true way.”

  “He seems to have said a good many things. Does he have any idea what I should do next?”

  “He’s gone back home, to Constantinople. But I have an idea. I could pose as your servant—that way I could stay in the castle and keep an eye on you. And I could tell you everything I overhear, all the rumors and gossip.”

  “I just lost my servant, actually. I was going in search of another one.”

  “There you are, then. No one will notice another servant in the castle.”

  “Do you speak Hungarian?”

  “A little.”

  “And a little English, and probably Czech—”

  “A little.”

  “Where did you learn all this? What happened to your husband—is he dead? Why aren’t you sitting by some fireside, with all your grandchildren taking care of you?”

  “It’s a long story, Doctor Dee. I’ll tell you someday, if you truly want to hear it. Right now, though, I should get you some food. You look as if you’re about to die of hunger.”

  “I might be, actually. Do you know where the kitchen is?”

  Magdalena nodded. He realized he had come full circle to the castle’s main entrance, and that he could find his way back to his rooms from here. He gave Magdalena directions, told her to watch out for Countess Erzsébet, and went back upstairs.

  She appeared half an hour later, with some of the mutton he had coveted earlier, some stuffed cabbage, and, amazingly, a mug of good Czech beer. “I’ve discovered a few things,” she said.

  He nodded, too busy eating to answer her.

  “They’re all terrified of Erzsébet in the kitchen,” Magdalena said. “While I was there two of her women came down for her supper, and everyone served them as quickly as possible to get rid of them. Then when the women left they all started talking.”

  “What did they say? Why are they so afraid of her?”

  “You heard the stories at the alchemists’ tavern. They think she kills virgin girls and bathes in their blood to keep herself young.”

  “And does she?”

  “No one’s disappeared from the castle since she got here, if that’s what you mean. Some of the servants thought she might have taken someone from the town below, but no one’s been reported missing.”

  “Did the kitchen staff say anything else?”

  “Everyone was complaining a
bout her serving women. They think that they’re too good for us, they never mix with any of the other servants. One of them, Anna, is Hungarian—she comes from Sarvar, Erzsébet’s estate. The other one is French.”

  “Marie?”

  “Yes. She’s a Protestant, apparently, a Huguenot. She fled here to escape persecution by the Catholics. King István believes in religious freedom, did you know that? He’s Catholic himself, but he allows Protestants to worship here, and even Jews.”

  Dee wondered if Rabbi Loew knew that. Probably he did. But Magdalena was saying something.

  “The countess and her retinue will only be here for another month,” she said. “They’re all looking forward to the day she leaves.”

  “Good. Maybe I’ll be able to get my old servant back. Did you see her? Judit?”

  “No.”

  Dee frowned. Magdalena raised her eyes to meet his. Suddenly Dee felt certain they were both thinking the same thing. Where had Judit gone?

  MAGDALENA TOOK HIS DIRTY DISHES TO THE SCULLERY AND did not return that night. He wondered where she was bedding down, if she had found the servants’ quarters. For the first time he marveled at her resourcefulness, her ability to find a place for herself in any situation.

  Another week passed. One day he heard voices outside his door and opened it to see Magdalena talking to one of Erzsebet’s women. “This is Marie,” Magdalena said. “I was just asking her if she had seen Judit lately.”

  “Yes, please,” Dee said. “How is she?”

  “No good,” Marie said. Her German was overlaid with a thick French accent. Her face was wide and very pale, her hair and eyes light brown. She had compressed her mouth into a thin line and Dee realized that she was smiling, that she had learned to imitate Anna’s expression, or that Anna had imitated her. Both her hands held a fragrant-smelling covered bowl. “Sick. Sick, yes?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Dee asked.

  Marie shrugged; either she didn’t understand the question or didn’t know. She lifted the bowl. “I take. Take for Judit.”

  Now Dee saw that underneath the bowl Marie carried a worn black book. “What are you reading?” he asked, not expecting her to understand.

  She drew her lips into a line again. “Bible,” she said.

  “Do you read the Bible a lot, then?” Dee asked.

  “Must to go,” she said. “Szervusz.”

  She turned and headed toward Erzsébet’s suite. To Dee’s surprise Magdalena hurried forward and opened the door for her.

  “The Bible, my ass,” Magdalena said, coming back to Dee.

  “Hush,” Dee said.

  Magdalena pulled him inside his rooms and closed the door. “I’ll wager it’s a book of poisons, complete with pictures,” she said.

  “Is that why you opened the door for her? To get a closer look?”

  Magdalena grinned and nodded. “I couldn’t see anything, though. She kept it under that bowl she was carrying. Suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. How else would you carry it?”

  “And what about the way she hurried away from us? Obviously she didn’t want us to ask any more questions.”

  “She had to get to Judit. The woman is sick, after all.”

  “She has that look, you know. The same as that other one, Anna. As if she knows all about you, all your secrets and everything. As if she’s disgusted by you, and she’s certain everyone else would be too, if only they knew what she does. I feel like dirt every time I see either one of them.”

  “She can’t help how she looks,” Dee said, though he too had felt discomfited by her smile.

  Magdalena didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m thinking of going into their rooms and looking around. Checking on that book, for one thing.”

  “You can’t do that—it’s far too dangerous.”

  “Oh, no. No one ever notices a servant. They’ll just think I’m changing the bed linen or something.”

  “Please don’t do it. You’ve been very helpful so far, very brave. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Magdalena brightened at his praise. She had been eating more at the castle and had filled out, and suddenly Dee realized that she might be younger than he had first thought, perhaps fifty or even forty. Then she looked down and her wiry gray hair fell in front of her face, shadowing her features.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

  THE NEXT DAY, DEE LEFT HIS ROOM AND HEADED TOWARD THE stairs, intending to walk to the marketplace for supplies. The countess Erzsébet came toward him in the gloom.

  He nodded toward her. “Doctor Dee,” she said. “My cousin tells me you’re an alchemist.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” he said cautiously.

  “I thought we might have a talk some day. I myself dabble in certain—disciplines.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Dee said, his curiosity, as always, getting the better of him. “What disciplines are those?”

  “Have you noticed how easy some spells have become? How simple it is to work magic these days? Why is that, do you suppose?”

  “There is a door to other realms, and it is opening wider every day. Various powers are coming through, are seeking our world. But be careful—not all of these things work for good.”

  “Is there any way to open the door still wider?”

  He shook his head. “That would not be wise. You can’t predict what these powers will do if they are let loose on our world. The wise man will seek ways of closing the door.”

  “Ah, but I am not a man, Doctor Dee.” She bit down hard on a fingernail; he noticed now that all her nails had been chewed to the skin, leaving raw-looking scabs.

  “No,” he said. “All the more reason not to attempt to open the door wider. Women’s magic is weak and uncertain, it lacks guidance—”

  She laughed. “Nonsense,” she said. “I see you are no wiser than the rest of the fools my cousin patronizes. Good day, Doctor Dee.” She gathered her skirts in her hands and continued on down the corridor.

  “Wait,” he said. “Be careful!”

  She opened the door to her rooms and closed it behind her, giving no indication she had heard him.

  He stood a moment in the corridor, gazing after her, thinking about their conversation. Her comments had been strange, off the point; she had not answered him but had gone her own way, following her own thoughts. He shook his head uneasily and went downstairs.

  LOEW LEFT THE JEWISH QUARTER AND SET OUT INTO THE streets of Prague, looking for Jan the tavern-keeper. He had had a rare argument with Pearl that morning and felt glad to be away and enjoying the sunshine. Pearl had told him, not for the first time, that she wanted Yossel out of their house.

  “And where would he go?” Loew had asked.

  “I don’t care. Somewhere else. You saw how dangerous he is.”

  “No one would take him, you know that.”

  “Of course they won’t. And you know why. Because they’re all terrified of being murdered in their beds, that’s why. Like we will be, if you keep him here.”

  “I told you—he’s completely harmless—”

  “Harmless!”

  “Yes. It’s true I lost control of him once, but it won’t happen again. I’ll make him sleep when the Sabbath comes, that’s all.”

  Now he thought about his creation. For a while after Yossel’s rampage he had ordered the golem never to leave his room. And to his relief Yossel had obeyed him; whenever Loew passed the room he saw him sitting on the bed, his eyes fixed on nothing. Loew could not help wondering what he thought about. Finally he went inside and spoke to him, but the conversation did nothing to dispel his uneasiness: the golem asked when he would be allowed to study, to pray, to leave the house and take part in the life of the town. “When will I learn to open the box of fire?” Yossel asked, and Loew was puzzled until he realized that that was how the golem referred to reading.

  After these talks Loew tried to find him chores: chopping wood, ha
uling water, moving furniture. He took him to the house whose roof he had wrecked, hoping to make amends by having him do repairs, but the owner had been so terrified he would not let the golem come close.

  Suddenly Loew realized that he was thinking and speaking of Yossel as “he” and not “it.” When had that happened? He shook his head and went into a nearby cookshop.

  No one in the cookshop had heard of Jan the tavern-keeper, and a few of them eyed him warily, wondering, no doubt, what he was doing outside the Quarter.

  He left and continued walking. The hours passed quickly. Morning became afternoon; the shadows stretched out like cats along the cobblestoned streets. He did not wish to be late for evening prayers. In desperation he questioned a few men on the street, but they all shook their heads or brushed past him without speaking.

  Finally one man stopped. “Jan’s tavern, yes, of course,” he said. “Two streets that way, and then turn left.”

  “But I was there already, and I didn’t see—”

  “It’s behind another cookshop, in an alley. You can’t find it by accident—you have to know where it is.”

  This sounded promising. Loew walked back the two streets, saw the alley he had missed, and turned left. There in front of him was a small tavern. The man had been right: he could never have found it on his own.

  It stood in the cookshop’s shadow; even on the sunniest of days, Loew thought, it would not get much light. The roof slanted nearly to the ground; candles inside turned the windows to gold. There was no sign anywhere to suggest what the place might be, or who the owner was.

  Before today Loew had never visited a tavern owned by Christians. He shrugged, said a small prayer, and opened the door.

  He had to duck through the door, and, once inside, saw that the ceiling rose only a few inches above his head. A fat serving man bustled about carrying platters and mugs of beer.