All villains do, to some extent; I don’t want my own Ferrari, I want yours. And if I get it, peace upon you – from a great height.
The trouble was that here I couldn’t quite summon up the old cynical grin. I liked Dee, arrogant old twit that he was. And I recognised Kelley’s brand of twinkly charm, all too well. Some things don’t change. It was the kind that turns up on an old lady’s doorstep, claiming he’s come to fix the phone or get his parakeet off the roof. It’s the kind of charm that not only persuades a girl out on to the street, but gets her back to give him the proceeds. On me it was already wearing thin. I knew patter and lines when I heard them; I had quite a few myself.
And what about Jane Dee? She looked, well, nice. Not just to slaver over – nice. A foul word, OK, but the best I could manage. Nice, it suited her. What about her? Not a scrap of expression on her face; that said quite a lot in itself. I was beginning to get highly pissed off again.
Suddenly’s Dee’s lump of chalk screeched across the slate, with cringe-making effect. The sudden booming had made us all jump.
‘What the devil?’ demanded Kelley, his eyes flickering from side to side in the familiar con-man’s reflex, acquired in years of looking for the exits. Maybe mine were doing the same. It was Dee who strode to the door and down the archway steps, to where the servants were already pulling back the bars. Padding along behind, I made a note of that; there was somebody they’d open up to without waiting to ask the master, and I could guess who. They were locals. I could practically feel my eyeballs swivelling madly.
Outside the gate there were only glitters in the grey light, vague clonks and clinks and the thump of heavy feet on cobbles. Only one figure marched in. He was so thoroughly swathed in armour, head to foot, that they might as well have included an opening ring. No mistaking what he was, all the same. The Universal Sergeant turned to us as we came out of the hall door, clanked gauntlet to helmet, and spat a stream of German at Kelley. Kelley spread his arms helplessly, and pointed to Dee. So Kelley didn’t speak German? But Dee did, very well. They pitched it back and forth for a minute, then the old man turned to us. ‘It seems we are greatly honoured,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The Emperor himself requires our presence at his levee – with our new guest.’
‘And just how’s he know of that?’ demanded Kelley, while I struggled not to start whimpering.
Dee shrugged, unconcerned, but I was surprised Kelley had to ask. There’d be a servant in the house, maybe all the servants, well paid or terrorised to send word to the blackened ramparts so close above.
I fought down the urge to scream and run. The swiftest way into the Imperial poky, that. So far Dee and Kelley had managed to stay out of one. Better rely on them – or if pushed, sell them as far down the river as I could. They’d got me into this, after all.
‘You cannot go thus meanly attired!’ Dee was exclaiming.
‘Meanly? This get-up cost me a fortune – and the ride hasn’t done it much good, either! And what’s His Nibs going to want with me, anyhow?’
Dee, as usual, wasn’t listening. ‘No robe of mine would be to your measure. Ah, brother Edward, a gown of yours, the green one perhaps. And a cap—’
To my surprise the outfit fitted me pretty well, probably better than it did bulky brother Edward, a rich affair heavily embroidered in gold thread. ‘Tell him not I told you this much,’ chuckled Dee in an undertone as he helped me into an incredibly scratchy ruff, ‘but Edward purchas’d it from the players.’
‘The players?’
‘Aye, the King’s Men! You see, men of quality oft-times bequeath their best apparel not to their fellows, who would scorn to wear it, but to their servants, whom it would scarcely become. So they sell it to the players for a shilling or two, for their stage dress. But sometimes, when times grow hard and the theatres close, they’ll sell it again to gentlemen of lesser means! So step proudly, for you may perhaps wear Julius Caesar’s gown! Or King Herod’s!’ It was a harmless little joke, and Dee enjoyed it hugely – so much so I suspected it was his way of letting off unconscious steam at ‘brother Edward’. And perhaps of encouraging me, too.
As we passed the table on our way out I saw the slate lying there, with one great scratch of chalk across it. Evidently as far as the stars were concerned, all bets were off.
Sergeant Sardine bowed, then snapped to attention. ‘Ve goh! I lead!’
‘A churl of some wit,’ commented Dee quietly, as he wheeled about and clanked out of the gate. ‘I warn you, few speak any English here, the Emperor included. The soldiers often do, though, from having Scotch mercenaries in their ranks.’
With the women watching anxiously we were politely escorted out of the gate and into the street. I would have expected horses, but apparently going on foot was usual, with the castle so close. Our procession turned heads as it passed, one tinned lobster in front with a torch and the rest clonking along behind. Dee led the way with immense and leisurely dignity, magnificent in black fur-trimmed college robes, skullcap and wide-brimmed cap, leaning on his silver-topped staff. Was I imagining the glow that seemed to come and go beneath his fingers?
Even before sunrise the streets were getting busy, and the coal-smoke was growing from a tang to an eyewatering cloud that could equal any modern rush-hour. I looked around curiously, but I’d have seen more if Kelley’s cap hadn’t kept falling over my eyes. The torch wasn’t ceremonial; you’d have missed potholes without it, and worse. Still and all, the streets were cleaner than you’d expect from the history books – though this was the better part of town, of course – and the people, on the whole, well fed and healthy-looking. The horses were pretty well fed, too, hence the street problem. And they had better teeth.
All in all, apart from a slight lack of wheels to lift – and I could always turn to horses – it didn’t feel nearly as outlandish as you might expect, not much more so than any foreign city. People were people, anywhere, anytime. But it did feel like a hell of a long way from home.
Never more so than when we marched up a long flight of steps towards the castle gate, with an oily great portcullis dangling overhead and what looked like rows of shrivelled turnips on spikes around the top. It took me just about this long to realise what they really were.
‘Fear not!’ Kelley hissed encouragingly in my ear. ‘The Emperor’ll not bite your head off. The mannikin’s monstrously athirst for aught with magic or alchemy in it, and liberal to those who wield such skills! Even to shielding the damned Jews, would you credit it? Why, they are let free to leave their own filthy quarter and wander around like Christian souls in the city, the court even, during daylight hours! All for their blaspheming rabbis and their Kabala, God’s wounds!’
‘Amazing,’ I said carefully. ‘Need shielding, do they?’
‘Need it?’ Kelley chuckled. ‘If it wasn’t for him there’s stout fellows in this city would sweep it clean in a night, bitches and brats and all! ’Twould be a pity to foul the good river Moldau, and that’s all!’
‘I guess it would be,’ I said, still very carefully. Making all the allowances you like for his time, I was still getting just a bit tired of brother Edward. At least I forgot to be scared, though.
Until we got into the castle, anyhow.
It was huge. Not just a single building, but a sort of miniature town occupying a whole rocky plateau, with that cathedral down one end but maybe four or five palaces surrounding it, plus a gaggle of smaller buildings from convents, barracks and stable-blocks right down to streets of cottages, all hemmed in by grim towered walls. There was just as much bustle as down below, but more purposeful, with soldiers everywhere you looked. This place spelt power, a kind of power no king or president could have in my world. The Kremlin might have been like this before I was born, maybe, but nowhere else. You couldn’t forget there was one man at the head of all this; and we were off to see him now.
I’d have taken the Wizard any day. The Wicked Witch of the West, even.
‘His Majesty receives in the
Vladislav Hall today,’ said Dee, as we headed into a huge, echoing stone-flagged corridor, and climbed a great flight of stone steps. ‘Were the weather more clement, it might have been in his summer palace or even his gardens, which are among the most pleasant in the world. Although I will allow the roaring of beasts in his Menagerie can be a trifle daunting …’
‘He keeps them hungry,’ said Kelley wryly. We were brought up short on a high landing, a sort of antechamber with hot and cold running lackeys. It was clearly designed to impress, this chamber. Probably not the way I was impressed, though. Rich bullion-embroidered hangings, carved furniture, silver lamps dangling from the high ceiling, paintings – it started the old saliva running again. If I could only get one small furniture truck up here – well, forget Petticoat Lane market, you could take on Sotheby’s with this stuff.
Clearly he knew how to live, this Rudolph. Just a couple of these chairs would have set me up pretty well – after a little guy I know had worked them up into four more ‘restorations’, anyhow. Or any of the paintings, though they were definitely not for the Impressionist punters. The style of the times seemed to be anything from the highly artificial to the downright weird, as witness a couple of smallish portraits that flanked the high inner doors.
‘Ah, yes,’ nodded Dee, seeing me boggle. ‘By Messer Arcimboldo, one of His Majesty’s favourite court limners, though why I confess escapes me. Those are his likenesses of their Imperial Majesties.’
‘Likenesses? They’re made of bloody fruit and vegetables!’ Apples for the cheeks, a melon for the forehead, bunches of grapes and asparagus for the hair, peapod eyelids, cherries, plums, eggplants, gherkins, you name it. The more you stared, though, the clearer the faces became. I’d know Rudolph from that, and a cheery son of a bitch he looked with those bulging apple cheeks; but they also narrowed the eyes above, and about those I wasn’t so sure.
‘Just as well they aren’t full length,’ I remarked. Kelley almost doubled up; Dee looked puzzled.
‘There’s another less often seen,’ whispered Kelley, tapping his nose with a finger. ‘Shown me in secret by a chamberlain. Arcimboldo used not fruit, but the bodies of fair women – reclining for the brows, one bent for the nose, so, with the buttocks – you follow?’ He chuckled. ‘A living likeness, indeed!’
The doors boomed back. A lackey bellowed something in my ear, and we were being more or less shoved forward into the open space beyond.
It was enormous, bigger than the huge hallway, built of some warm yellowish stone with a high, rib-vaulted ceiling, the kind you expect clouds to form in, and vast areas of glass to light it. The sound of our steps on the heavy flagstones echoed away into the distance. All it needed was a voice announcing the departure of the 8.15 to Philadelphia Suburban. With courtiers, lackeys, ladies and hangers-on, including the local equivalent of peanut and popcorn vendors, it was just about as crowded as Grand Central Station or St Pancras. Probably not a lot safer, either.
But here the crowds parted swiftly before us, and fell in behind. They gave the impression that they weren’t paying any particular attention to us, or to the great carved and canopied chair beneath the tall window at the end. But the moment I saw its occupant I knew they were faking it. Or rather, the moment he saw me.
It was about then I remembered to be scared again. Funny how it all comes flooding back.
It was quite a tribute to this Arcimboldo citizen. For a moment I almost did see a heap of greengrocery, he’d caught the look so exactly. Even without the portrait, though, I’d have known who it was sitting there, or rather perching. No crown, no jewels, nothing ceremonial; in fact he was the only person there who hadn’t even bothered to get dressed. He was a short-arse, maybe a little taller than me, wearing a grey robe whose gold embroidery was at war with a subtle pattern of food and grease-stains. The heavy silk nightshirt beneath, also stained, was escaping in all directions, and I didn’t blame it. Unkempt sandy-grey hair stuck out from beneath a purple silk nightcap, and his bushy beard and bristling moustaches were stained purple with wine, to match his pendulous lower lip. He sprawled comfortably across the throne cushions, with one leg draped over the arm, leaning on one hand, scratching bits of himself with the other, and surveying the world through those pouchy, alert eyes.
His actual expression was like the portrait, genial, jolly even. It looked as if his barometer was set to mildly manic today, no worse; but it was the eyes that pinned me. There was nothing very penetrating about that look, but it still put the fear of God into me about as surely as the magistrate in my first juvenile court. It was sussing me up, not as a human being but a potential receiving end – what of, would come later.
Dee and Kelley went into a sort of contortionist act. I managed a pretty reasonable bow, and left it at that. Rudolph acknowledged Dee with a polite nod, but he had an altogether different sort of look for Kelley, less respectful, more interested. He rubbed his thin hands over the carvings on the chair, caressing their curves.
‘Also, Magister! Ihr ist ein neuer Gast gekommen! Mach’ihn dann mir bekannt! ’
Dee did the bobbing and twisting bit again. ‘My noble and most puissant lord, permit your humble servant to make known to you my esteemed colleague the Master Maxie, a young but accomplished student of philosophy who is but this morning arrived from England to assist us in our labours on your behalf!’
At least that’s the gist; German is even better for gassing than English, and Dee just ran away with the ball. Rudolph listened the way you would to a football commentary, absent-mindedly caressing the carvings in a clutching sort of way. They were the only part of the chair polished bright.
When Dee ran down, he simply said, ‘Ach so! ’ in such a dry voice the contrast was hysterical. He hoisted himself on the throne and gave his backside a long and loving scratch, with grunting. Then he turned to me. ‘Sei gegrusst, im Gottes Name!’
I bowed again. ‘Ich danke Sie, Durchlaucht! Es ist mir der grosseste Ehre, in ihre Dienst zu eintreten! ’
Kelley had been standing there like a dumb animal, but now I saw him really taken aback. Dee beamed. The Emperor’s eyes opened a little wider; they were a kind of cold green, and bloodshot. He smacked his full lips. ‘Gut, gut! Not yet perfect, though. You have the strangest accent – like a Netherlander or a Frisian, almost.’
He was hearing the twenty-first century. ‘I hope to improve it by acquaintance, Highness,’ I said, gravely.
He nodded, chasing an itch around the neck of his robe. ‘You’re welcome, and not only as these learned fellows’ colleague.’ He was still squinting at me. ‘You are nobly born? You have the look. But no title?’
I was impressed. My grandmother was a Bavarian countess. ‘A younger son, Highness. In England we inherit nothing, neither land nor title.’
He sniffed petulantly, and wiped his nose with a thumb. ‘Would that it were so here. I would not have so many princelings under my feet! So you have become a scholar. But you are yet young. Do you in truth have the art to assist these gentlemen in their magnum operem?’
Testing my Latin? But Maxie’s still the lad. I was quite enjoying myself. I’d been taught court manners as a child, but you don’t get that many chances to use them, even in modern prisons. I bowed again. ‘A great work indeed, Highness. But few could say more truly than I that I have looked upon another world.’
He snorted evilly and clawed at his groin. ‘Ach, the speaking to angels! All very well, no doubt! But have they told you aught more of worth to Ritter Edward’s project? Have they taught you the device of mating the Red Man with the Fair White Woman?’
My jaw dropped, but not, for once, because I didn’t understand. I understood only too well, and not from my days down at the peepshow, either. The old swine hadn’t been talking about just any great work – it was the Great Work. Alchemy – and I could guess just what kind would interest him most. And that, of course, explained Kelley’s Heath Robinson machine.
‘Indeed, I know of a certain technique for
its success, Highness.’ All you’re going to need is a small particle accelerator …
That bastard Kelley had promised to make him gold.
Dee was looking at me in restrained surprise; Kelley’s face was poker-blank but tense. I ignored them, and coughed deprecatingly. ‘The, er, achievement is making it in viable quantities.’
The fleshy cheeks puffed out. ‘Hmph! Exactly what Master Kelley is forever telling me. Still, I must say he has kept his word, and given me ample proof of his ability.’
Proof?
Those chilly eyes gleamed. ‘I could hardly have believed it, if I had not operated the engine myself. If I had not passed in those lumps of base metal with my own hands! And to see the precious particles appear within the cauldron of water—’ He gave a luxurious little shiver. It didn’t stop him taking a second to scratch one armpit. Then those eyes nailed me again, and the manic needle began to climb.
‘Perfect me that process, whether by the angelic wits or any’s, and you will not lack for any reward I can provide! I have estates and provinces enough in my gift already, but with such a resource I shall be able to dispose of thrones, if I wish. Remember that! And remember something else. Another learned alchemist, a man of Greece, swore he would make me the elixir of life. What he offered me, I put to the test – upon his own young daughter. The maid fell into an envenomed fever, from which she is unlikely to wake. He is presently reconsidering his studies within a private apartment with few if any distractions. Remember that also!’ He fumbled obscenely inside his robe a moment. He had me worried, but what he pulled out was a small purse.
He tossed it to me. ‘An earnest of what is to come! Now go about your business, and fail not!’
Getting out involved infinite bowing and scraping, but if I’d had any choice they wouldn’t have seen my arse for dust.
Proof! I glared at Kelley’s backside as he bobbed up and down in front of me, restraining the urge to boot it, hard. Just one more little game he was playing – and he’d sucked me into this one, too.
Maxie’s Demon Page 15