WITH BARON MORESBY’S letter as his passport, Dr. Thatcher was given a small room to himself in Edinburgh Castle for sleeping. At Leveret’s suggestion he also requested and was granted a second room to work in, to be useful, to serve as an apothecary of sorts, cut and cook his herbs, offer such medicine as he could to other members of the household. A kindly under-steward saw the logic in this request, even took pity on the man, sent here to be a doctor, unrequested, unexpected, likely undesired, surely never to be welcome.
When Thatcher had laid his few possessions upon a low bed in his room of stone, as inhospitable as the sky and air of Scotland, he inspected his chamber according to Leveret and Gideon’s instructions.
You will assume in solitude that you are at all times regarded.
He had already been in this castle for some time, forgetting that he was being invisibly observed. He wondered if he had done or said something foolish in his inattention. Leveret had taught him to stand upon a table and touch the highest board of the wall and the ceiling, to lie down upon the floor and peer against the boards that touch it. Have you a lens?
There was a table by the narrow window and three chairs of three different designs, as if he might have companions come to visit. He considered moving the table into the corner, standing upon it, and examining the ceiling and walls as he was taught, but surely if he was observed as closely as Leveret had predicted, what possible explanation could he have for standing on movables, feeling the walls, using a lens to find the listening holes? Let them listen, let them watch. Let them observe all his normal behavior while he seemed inattentive; that at least appealed to his true nature.
Even if James should embrace you as his brother or confessor, there are embassies and legates from Catholic lands, and they will be watching you. There will be other English there, but they are not your friends, nor are they to be trusted. They will have already decided to support James in his expectations, no matter his heart, or have chosen someone else and will view you as a threat to their ambitions, even if you show yourself to be entirely without interest in any matter but plants and animals and ointments, as you naturally seem. Mr. Nicolson, Mr. Villiers, Mr. Green, Mr. Byam, and Mr. Shaw—all of these Englishmen will watch you and test you and lie to you. Your only friends are those who speak our watchwords to you.
Thatcher labored to perform as Leveret instructed. But days passed and he was ignored: fed, left in peace, ignored. He inquired when he might be introduced to the king and was daily ignored.
“Dr. Craig will take you in hand,” said a steward when the nature of Thatcher’s existence became clear to someone higher in authority. But John Craig, physician to King James and Queen Anna, was unable to pronounce even a single word to Thatcher when they met. Thatcher’s politeness—“Dr. Craig, sir, I am honored to assist you however I might”—was met with a mere squinting of one eye and silent motion of lips. Thatcher feared the man was on the threshold of a tremendous apoplexy; his face’s contortions resembled one of Baron Moresby’s preambles. Craig nodded several times, too many times to signify any assent to anything, just a speechless furious attack. And then he turned and walked slowly off. There would be no collegial sharing of herbs and medicaments, no exchanges in Latin or shy invitations to draw astrological charts.
Thatcher laid himself upon the bed, the effort to pull his legs up off the floor almost overwhelming, almost audible. The strain upon his limbs and veins to be alert at all times, to be careful of every word and every glance, left him with scarcely the vigor to rise from sleep or lower himself into it. He must collect the information, make his crucial diagnosis at once. The urgency cannot be overstated, Matt. His eyes closing for just a moment, he recalled: All of your correspondence will be read.
There were spoken codes painstakingly taught behind the fishmonger’s, above the baker’s, ciphers he was meant to commit to memory, but he was sleepy now: If you bring books, on nature, or of a religious sort, or of anything else, they will be read.
He would go into the fields and write about what he found in Scottish nature, cleverly hiding his observations of the unnatural Scottish king within them. If you make notes, your observations of plants will be read.
He was very tired. There was a task he was to perform according to Leveret’s specifications before he slept, though he had said nobody’s name was certain or meant to last an entire lifetime anymore. James VI wished to change his name to James I. That was a jest, Matt. Someone was to be observed and communicated to, they would announce themselves, if they said Mr. Thatcher then they were Leveret’s friend if they said Dr. Thatcher if they said Dr. Ezzedine, but this friend must be met as quickly—
If you walk alone, you will be observed. If you speak with the king, you will be observed. You will not know if someone is observing you. You will not know if someone is following in your steps.
Thatcher had asked: “Then how are we to come to our much-desired Clarity? Is the king not also aware of this? Will he not reply to my questions with the knowledge that others are listening, so that he may be addressing a lie to them while I believe he is responding to me truthfully?”
Had Thatcher spoken aloud? He opened his eyes; his eyes opened. He attempted to sit up in the wooden bed but felt himself unable to. He was sweating despite the cold draft from the closed pane. Had he shouted? Had he revealed himself already, in these first days? Matt, I want you to think about succeeding. About what you might ask of me. About what the queen might grant you in her generosity and gratitude. About what our men in Constantinople might be able to discover on your behalf. Give free rein to your natural curiosity.
Suddenly he was able to move quickly, like a younger man, like a man who would fight for his own cause and fate: He floated to the ceiling without having to move the table and without being seen. He found eyes peering at him and quickly hid from them any sign of his false intentions. He found ears beneath the floorboards and filled them with lies. Mr. Leveret and his dwarf appeared and told him again that there is no instant in which he is not observed. “But remind me, please, Mr. Leveret: This idea that we are always observed—this is what Catholics believe or English Protestants?” Thatcher asked. “It is what the spy who will live another day believes,” said Leveret.
As he floated above the table and chairs, Thatcher used a lens and found a section of ceiling through which he could propel himself, as if swimming through the baths in the New Palace, and so with a deep inhalation Ezzedine swam through the ceiling and emerged wet and warm in those very baths. It was the matter of a moment to leap from the baths and dry himself, pay his obeisance to the sultan and Allah, and fly to his home, to his wife and son. One was older than when he had left for England; one younger. This was to be expected, considering the number of years he had been stranded, but he was surprised to find that both were blind, with milky eyes, unmoving clouds behind rapid lashes. The pounding of his heart, of thunder, and then of Christian cannon against the city walls startled him, but he recovered himself and led his stumbling family to safety, a few miles ahead of David Leveret and the Queen of England.