CHAPTER 25

In Which the Alchemy of Coffee Is Discovered

The Grand Kaffeehaus opened on the Old Town Square to such heightened anticipation that a line of patrons stretched from the door out into the busy marketplace. This, of course, drew even more attention, which caused the crowd to swell further. Englebert and Wilhelmina and their four uniformed assistants were very soon overwhelmed by the crowds. All were run off their feet before the day was half through, and the shelves were stripped of pastries, pies, and cakes by midday; after that, they served coffee only until they locked the door at sunset on the first day. Just after they had closed the shutters, Herr Arnostovi appeared bearing a bottle of Riesling wine that he opened in celebration of their triumph.

“You should be proud of yourselves, my friends,” he said, filling the cups and passing them out to Mina, Etzel, and the serving staff. “A successful opening in this city is rare enough to be remarkable. Word will reach the highest levels of society. Even now, the news is spreading through the great houses. You will be famous in Prague.”

“Thank you, Herr Arnostovi,” said Etzel simply. “We know it could not have been achieved without your help.”

“I only looked after my own interests,” replied Arnostovi. “Nothing more.”

“You did far more than that,” Mina chided lightly. “Etzel is right; we could not have come this far this fast without your guidance, Herr Arnostovi. Your help in these past days made all the difference.”

Delighted by this fulsome praise, the tall, thin man made a low, solemn bow, his arm swept wide. “It has been entirely my pleasure,” he replied. Then, raising his cup, he cried, “May God grant you every success!”

Englebert, whose own joy could not easily be confined, joined the salute. “It is right to remember God at this time,” he said when they had drunk the first toast. “For without God, nothing is possible.” Lofting his cup, he said, “To our Wise Provider, Benefactor, and Friend. May all our efforts bring praise and glory to His name!”

Herr Arnostovi smiled. “Although I am a Jew, with this we can all agree, and I say to you, ‘Amen, and amen!’”

They finished the bottle of sweet white wine, and the helpers were dismissed to mix the dough and prepare the oven for the next day’s baking. Wilhelmina and Englebert were treated to a fine dinner by their landlord, who took his partners to an eating house where he often dined with his intimates. There they enjoyed a splendid night’s celebration and the following morning opened their doors to another great crowd of curious and enthusiastic customers. For Wilhelmina, the clamour, though hectic, was most gratifying. Finally, for once in her life, her skills were being rewarded—lauded even—by a business under her complete control, putting into practice her own ideals and being run to her exact specifications. Such, she reasoned, would never have happened back in London.

Thinking of London and of her former life there put her in a melancholy mood—not because she missed it very much . . . but because she did not. At first she had wondered how she would ever survive such a wrenching displacement—being stranded in an antique time and strange, alien place—but the truth as it gradually dawned on her was that she had not only survived, but thrived beyond all reasonable expectation, thanks largely to Englebert, it had to be said, but prospering all the same. Her life before the leap had taken on the quality of a dream and, like a dream, had faded with the passing days, growing increasingly remote; her waking reality was here and now, and she liked it very much indeed. In all honesty, she was forced to conclude that she did not miss twenty-first-century London at all: not her friends, her apartment, her family, or anything else. Not even Kit. She had not spared her miserable boyfriend more than a fleeting thought since arriving in Prague. He, like everything else in her swiftly receding past, had simply relinquished any hold on her heart. Curiously, the thought made her a little sad, though she could not say why.

Perhaps the lack of sentiment revealed the poverty of her former existence, and it was that which cast her into a melancholy mood. In any event, this fit of introspection did not last long. Ever the practical person, Mina viewed such musings as wholly unproductive, and when they threatened to interfere with forward progress, she shoved them firmly behind her. Instead, she got on with business—and what a business to be getting on with! She and Etzel and their new helpers found themselves the centre of a whirlwind of sensation and acclaim. The worthy citizens of Prague simply could not get enough coffee. Every day, Englebert was forced to close the shutters with customers still waiting to get in. Far from discouraging their patrons, this random exclusivity only made them more determined.

The first week passed into the second, and so on, the first month into the next, and still the flood of custom did not subside. It did, however, become slightly more regulated as people began working out when was the best time to arrive for whatever social gathering one hoped to meet. Wilhelmina saw patterns emerging and was fascinated by their relations: businessmen, many of whom were fellow merchants on the square, arrived as soon as the doors opened but did not linger—they ate and drank, conversed quickly, and then hurried off to their affairs. By midmorning society’s aristocrats, would-be aristocrats, and climbers were firmly installed; they dawdled over their steaming cups so that each and all could admire clothes, company, rank, and bearing. The more ordinary worthies and the curious came next, mostly just to exchange gossip and partake of the city’s latest sensation. The next group to colonise the coffeehouse Mina could only describe as the intellectuals and intelligentsia—professors and lecturers from Charles University along with some of the more exalted doctoral candidates and students—finishing their day and mingling with the creative class made up of poets, artists, musicians, and other bright young things whose days were just beginning. Lastly came what Mina considered the radicals: dark and furtive men who gathered to give vent to the dangerous ideas percolating in their fanatic and militant souls.

Around the margins of these more distinct groups were others who came and went, floating easily amongst the various tiers and strata, but not wholly part of any one faction or another: certain professional men—physicians and lawyers, for example—who mixed with any of several groups. There were also a variety of minor court officials, among whom Wilhelmina noticed an odd coterie she could not readily identify. They came dressed in vaguely academic garb complete with silly hats—bizarre shapes and unusual fabrics—long stoles, and fur-trimmed hooded gowns. Closer inspection revealed that their robes were invariably threadbare, the furs moth-eaten, the hats soiled, the stoles exhibiting a variety of stains. They kept mainly to themselves, their company exuding an air of benign secrecy. They came late and huddled head-to-head over their cups, speaking in low, earnest voices, often consulting books and scraps of parchment that they brought with them; and though they dressed as impecunious eccentrics, they paid in good new silver.

Intrigued by their mysterious presence, Mina determined to find out who they might be. One evening, after the main group had come and gone, she approached one of the younger men who remained behind, nursing his coffee at the table recently abandoned by his fellows. “Would you like another cup?” asked Mina, brandishing her pewter pot. She liked walking through the room, meeting her customers, and refilling their cups. “No charge,” she said, smiling.

“Please,” said the fellow. He looked a little lost in his big dark robe and squirrel-fur collar. His hat was two sizes too big and sat on his head like a limp rhubarb leaf. “My thanks, good woman.”

“Your friends had to leave,” she observed, raising the pot. She poured and discovered that the vessel was all but empty. The last splosh came out in a gush along with some of the grounds—she had yet to devise a completely satisfactory filtering system. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “You’ve got the dregs. Don’t drink that—it will be too bitter. I’ll bring you some more.”

“It is not necessary,” said the young man, but she was already gone.

When she returned with a fresh pot, she found him gazing into the murky liquid at the bottom of his cup. “Here, I brought you a clean cup too,” she said, and made to take the old one from his hand.

“Please,” he said, still clutching the crockery with a tenacity that surprised Mina. “This sediment—this bitter earth . . .” He indicated the mud awash in the bottom of his cup. “What do you call it?”

“Um . . .” Wilhelmina thought of the proper German word. “Grounds,” she said with a shrug. “We call them Kaffee grounds.”

“If I may be so bold,” he said, “what do you do with them?”

“Do with them?” She gave him a puzzled look and sat down at the table. “Why do you ask?”

“Believe me when I tell you that I mean neither disrespect nor malice in any conceivable form,” he replied. “Indeed, I not only understand, but commend your instinctive reluctance. You wish to protect this unique and marvellous—some might even say exotic—creation. This I can well understand, as anyone might. . . .”

The young scholar’s articulate yet circuitous mode of expression made Mina smile.

“It is not too much to say that I possess the utmost esteem, reverence even, for your industry and acumen in bringing such an invention to its obvious fruition—”

“It isn’t that,” Mina interrupted. “I merely wondered why you might want my Kaffee grounds.”

“Ah! If you will, allow me to enlighten you, good lady,” replied the young man. “Nothing less than the advancement of the scientific arts compels me to ask.”

“I see,” answered Mina, suppressing a laugh.

Nevertheless, the young man noticed the mirth dancing in her eyes. “I discern full well that you are not wholly convinced of my veracity.” He sniffed a little haughtily. “Even so, if you will indulge me yet a moment longer, I believe I have within my grasp the power to allay your disbelief and assuage any doubts that may still linger in your mind.”

“Do,” said Mina, growing more fascinated by the moment, “by all means, continue.”

“Good lady,” he said, drawing himself up, “you are addressing a member of His Highness Emperor Rudolf’s court. My name is Gustavus Rosenkreuz, and I am chief assistant to the Lord High Alchemist.” He dipped his head in a courtly bow. “I am at your service, good lady.”

“The men who were with you this evening,” ventured Mina, “are they alchemists too?”

“They are members of what the common rabble of this city, in their vulgar way, have named the Magick Circle, yes,” he answered stiffly. “But not all are alchemists. We have astrologers, physicians, prognosticators, kabbalists, diviners, and other scientists among the members of our eminent fraternity.”

Wilhelmina nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the common rabble,” she said. “You are all more than welcome here.”

“On behalf of the Learned Fellowship, I thank you.” He swirled the dregs in his cup. “And I hasten to assure you, by whatever means you will accept, that my interest in this substance is purely scientific. One of my duties is to determine the properties of various materials and explore their potential usefulness for alchemical purposes. It is work of great consequence to our aims.”

“Oh, yes? That would explain it, I suppose.”

“It has occurred to me that this elixir, this Kaffee, is a most potent and particular concoction. No doubt we are only on the cusp of discovering its manifold uses. Further, the potency of this elixir must derive from the primary body with which you formulate the liquid.”

“That is true,” Mina granted. “You are very perceptive, mein Herr.”

“Seeing that you agree with my basic premise,” Gustavus continued, watching her closely, “it follows that a closer examination of the prime essence would be in order—would you agree?” Mina nodded. “Therefore, I would like to obtain a quantity of this bitter earth with which to perform experiments.” Noticing what he imagined to be a hesitation, he quickly added, “You will be well remunerated, of course.”

“You want to buy my Kaffee grounds?”

“Realizing the value of such a rare commodity, it is only appropriate.” The young alchemist, anxious to secure her agreement, said, “Your cooperation would be a most valuable contribution to the advancement of science and knowledge.”

“Since you put it that way, I don’t see how I can refuse,” she told him. “Would a pound or two be enough to begin?”

The young man, unable to conceal his glee, leapt from his chair, swept off his curious hat, and bowed low. “Good lady, I salute you. When would it be convenient to collect the material?”

“Wait here but a moment, and I will have a package prepared for you at once. You can take it away with you now.”

The alchemist rubbed his hands with eager delight and returned to his seat to finish his coffee while Wilhelmina proceeded to the kitchen to fetch some spent grounds. She returned bearing a fair-size bundle. “Accept these as a gift of the Grand Kaffeehaus,” she said. “Use them, with my blessing, for the advancement of science.”

The young man stared at the package. “Your generosity overwhelms me,” he said, glancing from the bundle to Wilhelmina. He licked his lips.

“Think nothing of it,” she said, adding under her breath, “I think little enough of it myself.”

“The gift will be reckoned, you may rest assured,” he declared. “All at court will hear of your unbounded munificence.”

“Tell them also about Etzel’s fine cakes and pastries,” replied Wilhelmina.

“Indeed, I will,” said Gustavus. He dipped his head again and took up the bundle in both hands. “And now I will wish you a good evening.” He all but bolted for the door.

“Good night,” Mina called after him.

A short while later, when the shutters closed on another day, she told Etzel about the exchange with the young alchemist. “It was good of you to give him the grounds,” he said. “It cost nothing to make him happy. We should all practice this more, I think.”

“Happy? He was ecstatic. You should have seen his face when I gave him the bundle,” she said. “I could not bring myself to tell him that ordinarily we just throw them away.”

“One good deed breeds others,” Englebert declared. “Good will come of it.”

And he was right. The next day just before closing time, a message came to Wilhelmina from her young alchemist. It was delivered by a liveried servant of the court, who said, “I am to await your reply.”

Wilhelmina accepted the parcel—a small square of parchment tied with red ribbon and sealed with wax.

“I wonder what it can be,” she said, turning the square in her hands and studying the seal carefully.

“Open it and find out!” urged Englebert, eyes glinting merrily.

She broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment, scanning the flowing script there. “I can’t follow it,” she said, handing the message to Etzel. “You read it.”

The big man grasped the parchment and, holding it close to his face, began to read it out aloud, pausing to exclaim, “It is from the master of royal audiences!” He gazed at the parchment, his eyes growing large. “Did you hear? We are summoned to the palace tomorrow to receive the thanks of the emperor’s Lord High Alchemist. We are to be granted an honour.”

Mina expressed her amazement at the summons and asked, “What kind of honour?”

Etzel scanned the page again, very carefully. “It does not say.” He glanced at the waiting messenger, then at Mina. “What should we tell them?”

“Tell them that, of course, we would be delighted to attend,” she said.

Etzel relayed this reply to the messenger, who made a small bow and informed them that a carriage would call for them at this time tomorrow, and that they should array themselves appropriately, for they could expect to dine with the emperor’s retinue.

“This is because of your gift,” Etzel said when the messenger had gone. “You have made friends at court—friends in high places.”

“Do you think so?” she wondered, flattered and impressed.

“In truth,” replied Etzel solemnly. “What else can it mean?”