City of Dark Magic (34 page)

FIFTY-ONE

N
icolas drove the roadster at top speed, while Max held Sarah and Moritz panted anxiously. The little man was driving fast enough that the pockets of emotion they were driving through existed only as blurry wavy lines of colored light. Sarah went from feeling slightly sick to feeling definitely aroused, and then amused. “This . . . ” she tried to say, “is fun!” And except for the vertigo and the occasional sounds of screaming in different languages, it was actually fun. Max was being a trouper. You had to give the man points for stamina.

Anyone else would be mumbling something about carpal tunnel syndrome by now. Well, he was a musician. Sarah was finding it easier now to divide her attention: part of it with Max and Nico, and part of it with searching and listening through the maze of energies.

“It’s like cables,” she tried to explain to Max. “Lines. All around. Colors. Music. Strings.”

Nico mumbled out loud to himself.

“Are we going to Golden Lane?” Max asked. “I saw you there with Tycho, Nico. You were arranging to ‘borrow’ the Fleece.”

“They moved it right after that,” said Nico. “I think they suspected. And Rudolf’s poor lover was beheaded.”

They were in the city now. Sarah could see Charles Bridge, tourists, the lights of nighttime Prague glittering. She could also see another Pra΀t size="gue, much blacker, with a cloudy moon, rank and putrid smells, torches, horses.

“
Turn here,
” Sarah ordered. Nicolas made a sharp turn.

“Charles Bridge,” Sarah said. “He’s there. Tycho. I can see his . . . strand or whatever now. He’s moving though. Wait. Stop.” The car pulled to a stop at a light. Sarah pressed her face against the glass window and gasped.

A man, dressed in a rough dark cloak. His face was covered by a hood, but underneath it she saw a gleam of copper. Her attention swiveled and locked into the energy of the man, and his outline became sharper, more focused.

“Tycho,” she said, and opened the car door. She heard Max behind her calling her name, but she pushed against an obstacle in front of her—a body? a cart?—and followed the shrouded figure onto the bridge. A part of her knew the bridge was crowded with tourists carrying cameras and backpacks and jabbering in a mixture of languages, but she shoved this aside to find the moonlit night, the dark figure, the deserted bridge.

“Sarah, what is it?” Max, behind her, holding her hand now, guiding her around the people in her path she couldn’t see. Tycho paused in the middle of the bridge, grasped the railing, and looked into the glittering water below. No, he wasn’t alone. There was another man, wearing a long brown cape over a high stiff collar. His curly beard was tucked into his cape; a soft four-cornered cap was drawn low over his forehead. His eyes were worried. Sarah felt his fear.

“You are not thinking of drowning yourself,” said Tycho. Sarah wasn’t sure if she could hear his voice or his thoughts; it was strange. And difficult because Tycho’s tone was mocking and casual, but his emotions were taut, almost manic.

The man with the curly beard responded, “I came to tell you that I am leaving Prague, Brahe.”

“Leaving? Whatever for? Things are only now becoming interesting.”

“I am going back to England.”

“It is that ass, Kelley,” Tycho laughed harshly. “I told you he was after your wife, Dee.”

John Dee
, Sarah thought, looking at the man in the brown cloak.

“I have also come to tell you, to plead with you, to stop,” said Dee.

“I will never stop.”

“My friend, we have come too far—”

“Yes,” Tycho said, pulling the man closer to him, almost in an embrace. “We have come too far. Think of what we are close to, my friend. Think of what we can understand. Only everything.”

“We are not meant to know everything,” Dee said, his voice trembling. “I was wrong to bring it here.”

“You are a coward,” said Brahe, bitterly.

“Yes, I am a coward,” Dee agreed. “But I can only see darkness ahead on the path you are choosing.”

“And you think you will find light in England?” Tycho sneered. “With Elizabeth? The queen is a viper, she will sink her fangs in your flesh soon enough. And what of our work?”

“It is not my work anymore,” Dee said. “I am a mathematician.”

“And what am I? We are men of science, not necromancers. Let Kelley fill the emperor’s ears with angelic babble and potions from his own urine. God is speaking to us in the true language. The language of the elements. The earth, the moon. He is showing us his secrets.”

“It is not God that is speaking,” Dee cried. “It is the Devil!”

“There is no difference at all between them,” laughed Tycho. “I am late to meet Baron Kurz.” He strode off.

“Sarah?”

She turned and saw Max beside her, Nico panting at his side. Moritz was guarding the car. Behind them she could make out a group of Korean tourists. When she turned back, Brahe and Dee were gone.

“Dee,” she whispered.

“John Dee?” Nicolas said. “It can’t be later than 1589, then. I think you need to move ahead a few years.”

“They were arguing,” Sarah explained. “And saying good-bye.”

“Did he have the key?” Max asked. “Did he say anything about the Fleece?”

“It wasn’t clear. He said something about Baron Kurz.”

“Kurz Summer Palace.” Nico nodded. “Yes. A good place to look. Rudolf had brought us from Benátky because he wanted us closer. But the master needed more room and privacy. We need to go to Kurz Summer Palace. This was our last residence in Prague before the master died.”

“I’ve never heard of Kurz Summer Palace,” Max said doubtfully.

“At Pohorelec,” Nicolas said. “Just behind Cernin Palace.”

•   •  
 •

I
t was very dark now. Sarah knew roughly where they were in the city: west of the castle grounds, near the Loreto and Cernin Palace. With concentration she could make out what Max and Nico were looking at, but there wasn’t much to see. Streetlights illuminated tram tracks and what seemed like, especially for Prague, some very ordinary industrial buildings. A row of parking spaces. A giant monument in front of them. Two men standing on a stone plinth, one of them with the bulging forehead, long mustache, and lace ruff that characterized all depictions of the Danish astrologer. Tycho Brahe carried a giant sextant. Next to him, Johannes Kepler, a scroll tucked under his arm, gazed at the heavens.

“Where’s this summer palace?” Max asked.

“It was torn down quite a long time ago,” Nico said. “They built this on top of it. Another palimpsest, of sorts. This is a grammar school. The Gymnázium Jana Keplera. Their motto is:
Per aspera ad astra.
I think the master would be a little annoyed it’s not the Gymnázium Tycho Brahe, but he does have the very nice tomb at Týn and—”

Per aspera ad astra. From hardship to the stars.

“I see a palace,” Sarah said, pointing.

“Excellent,” said Nico. “Let us proceed. I will have to pick a lock or two.”

FIFTY-TWO

F
or Max and Nico it was just a school—there were children’s drawings pinned to the walls, and the usual rows of lockers. Lockers that Sarah immediately slammed into, since she was operating on a completely different floor plan.

“A little help here,” she called out. As she oriented on the energy of the palace, the functionalist four-story white school building with blue window frames disappeared and she saw only a lovely Renaissance palace, freshly constructed and beautifully furnished. And here was Baron Kurz himself, talking to masons and artists who were working on a series of frescos.

“Baron Kurz,” she said to Max and Nico.

“Oh, we needn’t bother with him,” the little man said. “He was a very nice man, incredibly generous, but not so precise in his mathematics. He sent the master a drawing of an alidade that was clever but erroneous. But he managed to procure figs just for me even in winter, so I will forever remember him fondly.”

Max and Nico helped her climb a set of stairs she couldn’t see, which made it feel like flying, and she found herself in a waiting room with large, graciously arched windows. Outside the street scene was bizarre. The lanes were thronged with people. It was a winter day, and she could hear the wind rattling the windowpanes. Soldiers on horseback in strange uniforms with breastplates and pikes galloped through the streets, where people were setting fire to buildings and throwing rocks. And yet the people were also wearing masks and costumes, and drinking, as if a party had gone horribly wrong.

Sarah could hear screams. She watched a priest run under the window, chased by a man in full harlequin costume carrying an ax.

“Something very weird.” Sarah did her best to explain what she was seeing.

“Ah yes,” said Nico. “You need to go back another decade. That sounds like February 1611. That old crank the Bishop of Passau decided to invade the city on Mardi Gras. It was confusing even if you weren’t on drugs.”

Sarah shook her head to clear the vision and replaced it with the image of Tycho Brahe.
Where are you?
she thought. Suddenly she was moving quickly, Nico and Max helping when the current utilitarian design of the building impeded her progress. But here it was, a lavishly decorated bedroom, a blond man with a bushy russet beard and long mustache seated in a chair. A piece of copper was fixed across the bridge of his nose, though Sarah couldn’t tell how it was attached exactly, and at his feet . . .

The little man at Brahe’s feet was wearing yellow stockings and bright green slippers. A pink smock shirt decorated with bells and ribbons. A skull cap in blue covered his head. But he was unmistakable.

“I found you, Nico,” said Sarah. “And you look spiffy.”

“Jepp,” Nicolas corrected. “That was my name then.”

“So tell me,” Tycho demanded of the dwarf. “What is the news at court?”

The little man—Jepp—poured a glass of beer from a pitcher on the floor and handed it to his master. He retained the pitcher for himself, drinking deeply from it. Tycho chuckled indulgently.

“The Hungarians are exhausted by this war. They no longer care about fighting the Turks, they just want to be left alone. Can you blame them? Almost eight years they’ve been fighting a war they don’t even understand.” The bassoon voice was the same. Sarah had to fight between the urge to do nothing but compare the two little men.

“What about Mattias?” Brahe inquired. “Is Rudolf’s brother stirring the pot?”

“He is.” Jepp nodded. “Mattias is telling the foreign courtiers that Rudolf is losing his mind, that this war is costing too much, that he buys too much art, that he needs to focus on matters closer to home, the Jews, the Protestants, the merchants, the guilds, the sparring nobles.”

“Those old vultures. And?”

“Rabbi Loew came to plead with the emperor about protection for his people. There is talk of the golem again. People say that a monster lives in the Jewish quarter.”

“Mmph,” Tycho snorted. “And?”

“Apparently the emperor’s new painting is quite scandalous. A nun fainted when it was unveiled.”

“And you saw it?”

Jepp looked insulted. “Of course.”

“Describe it, man!”

“It’s Italian. Someone named Correggio.
Portrait of Danae
it is called. The Italian has painted a woman unclothed with the sheet pulled down to here—” Jepp indicated his crotch and splayed back on his cushion in imitation of the pose, his legs wide open. “Boobies in all directions. Everyone got stiff just looking! And here’s the best part. Jupiter is showing her how much he loves her . . . with a golden rain.” Jepp laughed into his pitcher.

“A golden rain? You mean he’s pissing on her?!” Tycho laughed out loud and clapped Jepp on the back.

“So, Nico, you’ve always been kind of twisted, I see,” Sarah commented.

“What am I missing?” said Max.

“One of the world’s most famous astronomers is talking about golden shower porn,” she said.

“Really? What’s he saying? Can you see it?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. Some things were truly eternal.

Jepp/Nico continued, quaffing his beer. “The court chamberlain von Rumpf is in a snit because Rudy spent the night with that hateful valet Philip Lang again last night.”

“And Rudy’s gay,” said Sarah.

“Oh yes,” said Nico. “Big time.”

“Okay,” said Max. “Not that I’m not enjoying ‘Real World: Rockin’ Prague,’ but the drug won’t last forever and we need to find some clues here. Sarah, do you see a golden key anywhere?”

“I don’t.”

“We’re not far off,” Nicolas said. “A few days. I remember the painting. Soon after that the master gave me the key and told me to take it to the emperor. Rudolf wanted to lock the Fleece away in some kind of safe. The master had designed a special lock that could never be picked and would answer to only one key. But Rudolf didn’t tell the master where he put the safe.”

“And you think Rudolf wanted the key to lock up the Fleece?” Max asked.

“I think it likely. I was bringing the key to the emperor when I was attacked on the way to the castle and the key was stolen. If Sarah can go to this time, perhaps we can trace the key to the Fleece.”

“Just a little bit further,” Max urged Sarah. “Or wait, is that backward for you?”

Sarah took a deep breath, shifted her focus to the window, where she could now see a giant red swastika banner hanging off Cernin Palace.

“Shit, I see Nazis,” she sighed. “I just jumped about four hundred years.”

“Cernin Palace was the headquarters for the SS,” said Max. “My grandfather’s friend Masaryk was defenestrated there.”

A woman with a 1940s updo walked past the window carrying a paper heart. “Valentine’s Day,” Sarah said.

“Oh dear,” said Nico.

A bomb hit the building. Sarah screamed and dropped to the floor.

“It’s not happening,” said Max, grabbing her arm. She could barely see him through the smoke. “Sarah, listen to me, you’re okay, it’s not happening now.”

“February 14, 1945,” said Nico. “Not the best Valentine’s I’ve ever had. But then again, not the worst.”

“I thought the Allies didn’t bomb Prague.” People were screaming, air-raid sirens blaring.

“A couple of American pilots got lost on the way to Dresden.”

“Jesus!” said Sarah as the building collapsed around her. People screamed. The woman with the Valentine reached a bloody hand out of the wreckage. Sarah reached for it, but she was just energy, energy visible across more than sixty years of time. And suddenly the building re-formed underneath her and she was back with Tycho.

But it was fading. “We have to hurry,” said Sarah. “The drug is wearing off.”

Bits of modernity were creeping into the vision. A school desk. A trash can. She must focus. Max was counting on her.

“He’s writing,” said Sarah. “He has . . . I think it’s the journal in his lap. And the key! I see the key!”

“Am I there?” Nico leaned in to see, as if he, too, could see across time.

“You are,” Sarah reported. “He’s giving you the key. Shut up a second.”

“The emperor is becoming paranoid about his treasures,” Tycho was saying. “Deliver this key to him. Assure him that I destroyed the mold to the key. He will not believe you, and he will be right, but where he is wrong is in thinking that Iۀsay do not suspect where he intends to hide his precious Fleece. I have marked the spot.”

“The master is very clever,” said Jepp.

“You will then return to me. Kepler is coming this afternoon and we will be in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Master,” said Jepp. “I will come to you there.”

“Not
there
,” thundered Brahe. “You make Johannes nervous. Wait for me here, later. I have a little something I want you to taste. Something I need to try. An experiment.”

Uh-oh
, thought Sarah. The potion.

Jepp tucked the golden key into his sleeve.

“Nico,” she said. “It happened that night. Tycho poisoned you that night.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” the little man said, sadly. “It is four hundred years too late.”

Getting out of the palace/grammar school was a nightmare, with Sarah running and colliding into walls and Max and Nico shouting at her while Sarah struggled to stay on the heels of the quick-moving Jepp. On the street it was Max and Nico who struggled, as it was now very dark in their Prague, and a brilliant afternoon in Jepp’s.

Sarah watched as the little man was loaded by a servant into the back of a hay cart. “We’re going to have to run,” she shouted.

But the cart had traveled only a few narrow streets when it turned a corner into a tiny alley and stopped. Jepp leapt down from the cart.

“What is this?” he called out. “Your orders were to take me to the castle!”

The driver was very tall and lean. He wore a ragged burlap cloak and a roughly made cap that covered most of his face. He came swiftly around the cart and pulled a large white handkerchief out from his cape and shoved it against the little man’s face. Jepp struggled for a moment, and then fell forward, unconscious. The driver placed Jepp’s body back into the cart with surprising gentleness and began searching his clothes until he found the key, which he tucked under his cape.

“Do you remember this?” Sarah asked Nico, in a whisper.

“Have we stopped in the alley?” Nico asked. “I remember that. Nothing more. Can you describe the driver?”

“Tall and thin, but I can’t see his face,” said Sarah, watching as the man reached under a stack of hay and retrieved a large iron casket. He lifted the lid just slightly and Sarah jumped back. The energy coming from inside the box was like nothing she had ever experienced. The blood raced through her veins, her throat closed up, her eyes swam. She saw her father, an icy road, her mother’s face, her first violin, an explosion in deep space, a star, Beethoven’s hands on the piano, Pols’s arms around her tightly, and through it all, a sudden understanding of how it all
worked
, a system of grids, overlapping, energy transferred; there was no such thing as
time
. She fell to her knees.

The driver slammed the lid shut and slumped over it, breathing hard.

“Yes! Yes! The Fleece! He has it in the cart! I can feel it. He’s leaving you in the alley,” Sarah reported, pantinۀ>

“I didn’t tell the master,” whispered Nico. “I was ashamed at my failure.”

“Max,” Sarah said. “I don’t think we should . . . I think it’s better if we . . .”

Maybe John Dee was right. Maybe there were some things we weren’t meant to know. Sarah thought of Mephistopheles’s lament:
Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.

“Follow the cart,” Max said grimly. “Sarah, we have to finish this.”

•   •   •

T
hey were crossing the river on Jiraskuv Bridge. The cart was just ahead of them. Max and Nico were on either side of her, murmuring in her ear.
There’s a step here. We can’t turn left, we’ll have to walk around. Wait, there’s a car.

Sarah tried to block out the sights and smells of all that was happening around her and concentrate on the cart. At the same time every nerve in her body was fighting to stop, turn back, get away from the power inside that casket. They ran on. They were in Josefov now, and the energy of a population so long persecuted was nearly choking her.