In Which a Coffeehouse Summit Is Convened
A return to the Bone House meant finding a way back to the Stone Age, and Kit was determined to be better prepared for the journey this time around. Knowing what he knew about the conditions to be faced, he determined to outfit himself as best he could and decided a stout pair of shoes was first on the list. He had in mind something sturdy with high tops and heavy soles suitable for rambling. In this the cobblers of Prague were more than happy to oblige; however, as Kit quickly learned, it was not so simple as picking a pair off the rack and popping them on for a waltz around the shop. And while Kit had numerous variations from which to choose—each cobbler had samples and specialties—his purchase would be handmade to order and the finished product would take a few days to manufacture.
In the end he selected an amiable craftsman with a line in hunting boots, allowed his naked foot to be measured, and, stressing through gestures and mangled German the importance of a good thick sole, left the shoemaker to his work. His mission accomplished, Kit was sloping across the square when he thought he heard an all-too-familiar voice calling his name. “Kit! Kit Livingstone!”
The sound brought him to a halt. He looked around, and there stood Haven Fayth sprung, apparently, from the damp brown flagstones of the square.
“Upon my word,” she said, her voice a honeyed purr. “This is an entirely agreeable surprise, I must say.”
“Haven . . .” Kit intoned dully. “Where did you come from?”
“Bless me, Kit, is that how you would greet a friend?”
“I’ll let you know when I see one,” he said, eyes searching reflexively around the square for Burley Men. “What are you doing here?”
“We have only just arrived.”
“We? Is Burleigh with you?” Kit intensified his survey of the square, searching left and right for any sign of a looming dark figure. “Where is he?”
“I honestly cannot say, Kit. The Black Earl and I parted company just after your disappearance.” She gave him a quick glance head to toe. “But look at you, my dear fellow. You appear to be in rude health.”
“No thanks to your friend the earl.”
“Oh, Christopher,” she tutted, adopting the tone of a parent chiding a disobedient child, “you cannot for a moment believe I would wish any harm to come to you. Indeed, when I discovered what Lord Burleigh had done, I did my utmost to thwart any success he might have had in discovering your whereabouts. You may ask Wilhelmina; she knows very well how I flummoxed his plans. Or,” she said, indicating the two figures advancing across the square behind her, “you can ask Giles. He will tell you the same.”
“Giles!” cried Kit, stepping around Haven to greet him. “Giles, you’re here.” Seizing his hand, he shook it with vigour. “How are you? How’s the arm? Are you healed?”
“Hale and hearty, sir,” replied Giles, wincing with pain under Kit’s enthusiastic greeting. As Haven had done, he took in Kit’s altered appearance with approval. “You, sir, have given us some concern. But I see you have fared very well indeed.”
“Fresh air and healthy living, that’s all,” Kit told him. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
Aware that they were being joined by another young woman, Kit turned to the stranger.
A couple inches shorter than Haven, her face half hidden beneath a broad-brimmed hat, she was gazing at him with intense interest in her large dark eyes. “You are Kit Livingstone?”
“I am indeed,” he said. “Have we met?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It is just that we have come here hoping to find you and . . . well, here you are—the first person we meet.”
“Pray allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Miss Cassandra Clarke. I am certain you two are going to get along famously,” gushed Haven. “Cassandra, this is Christopher Livingstone, who much prefers to go by the name of Kit, heaven knows why.”
“Glad to meet you, Kit,” said Cass, extending her hand.
“Charmed,” Kit replied, accepting her hand. “What part of America do you come from?”
“It is that obvious?”
“Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine. An English girl would have offered her cheek,” he told her, then leaned close and gave her a quick peck. “Very happy to meet you, Cassandra.”
In contrast to the willowy Lady Fayth—and judging merely from what he could see beneath her long woollen coat—the newcomer gave the impression of being more substantial somehow. Perhaps it was her compact, athletic body or the no-nonsense cut of her medium-length brown hair or her expressive dark eyes, which hinted at unfathomed depths; none of these attributes was remarkable in itself, but taken together her features combined to form an entirely pleasing whole.
Kit caught himself staring and blurted, “So, how did you happen to fall in with these two?”
Before Cass could reply, Haven interrupted. “All will be revealed in good time. Just now, however, might it not be best to move our glad reunion inside and away from prying eyes?” She gave an involuntary glance around the square. “Marry, do you think we might repair to more convivial surroundings? Somewhere warm, perhaps? We have been travelling a very long time.”
“This way,” said Kit. “Mina will want to know you’re here.”
“One could wish for a more fulsome welcome,” said Haven, taking his arm.
“Wish away,” replied Kit, gently but firmly removing her hand.
Lady Fayth drew breath to speak, but thought better of it and held her tongue, allowing Kit to lead them to the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus and usher them inside. “After you,” said Kit, holding open the door. Giles was last and Kit snagged his arm; leaning close, he said, “What is Haven up to?”
“Sir?” wondered Giles.
“Is it true she has split with Burleigh?”
“Indeed, sir. To the best of my knowledge, she has escaped his clutches—much as yourself, sir. My lady returned to London and has been very beneficial to my convalescence.”
“Do you believe she is sincere?”
“She has given me no cause for doubt,” replied Giles.
Kit nodded. “Well, I want us both to keep an eye on her anyway—just in case.”
“I understand, sir,” Giles assented. “You are rightly chary, but I cannot think there is any cause for concern.”
“All the same,” said Kit. “After what happened, I don’t want to take any chances where Her Ladyship is concerned. Just promise me you’ll keep an eye on her, okay?”
“I will make it my special concern,” Giles assured him.
They entered the coffeehouse, where Wilhelmina was already greeting the new arrivals. After the introductions were made all around and a table requisitioned for a chat over coffee and cheese sandwiches, it was decided that a proper discussion of the state of affairs should take place as soon as possible.
“Since we are all together for the first time,” Wilhelmina announced, “I propose that we hold a council so everyone can meet everyone else and we can all get better acquainted. A few things have lately come to light that the rest of you should know. I suggest we meet tonight after the shop is closed.”
“A coffeehouse summit,” said Kit. “I like it.”
There were nods of agreement all around.
“I must consult Engelbert, of course,” continued Mina, “but I think we can close the coffeehouse a little early in order to have plenty of time for discussion. I’ll arrange to have some food brought in and we’ll make a night of it. Okay?”
Again there was general agreement and no dissenting voices.
“Then it is decided,” said Kit. “I want to hear what some of you others have been up to while we were apart.” He looked narrowly at Lady Fayth.
Wilhelmina then busied herself with making arrangements for housing the newcomers. The inn on the square was thought to be too risky in light of Burleigh’s penchant for holing up there when visiting Prague. “The last thing we need is tripping over Burley Men while we’re here,” was how Kit put it.
“There are other places,” Mina told him. “Leave it with me.”
Once the doors were closed, the curtains drawn and windows shuttered, and the serving staff sent home, Etzel and his helpers busied themselves in the kitchen, and Kit and Gianni cleared a space at the far end of the dining room. They pulled the largest of the round tables into the space and dragged chairs around for everyone. As it was her venue, Wilhelmina undertook to preside over the gathering, assuming a formal style she thought suited the occasion.
“I declare this meeting open,” she began as soon as everyone was seated. “To begin, I want to say you are all welcome here. I expect this will be a long night, as we all have a lot to share and there is much to discuss. If no one objects, I will act as chairman to keep things on an even keel.” Mina passed her gaze around the table. “No objections? Good.” Putting out a hand towards Cass, she said, “I see that most of us know most of us, but some don’t know others, and others probably know hardly anyone at all.”
“Try saying that ten times real fast,” whispered Kit to Giles, and received a disapproving look from Mina. “Don’t mind me,” he told her. “You’re doing fine.”
“As I was saying . . . Since new members have been added to our group, I think it will save time in the long run if we take a moment to go around the table and introduce ourselves. Since Kit seems to have a lot to say, we’ll start with him.” She gave him a sour smile. “Tell us how you came to be here.”
“Right.” He nodded, thought a moment, then gave his full name and a brief-to-the-point-of-brusque report of his experience of meeting his long-lost great-grandfather in a London alley, and how Cosimo introduced him to ley travel and told him about the Skin Map and the race to find it.
Lady Fayth spoke next, offering a precise and forthright account of her tutelage under her uncle, Sir Henry Fayth; she was followed by Giles who, clearly uncomfortable, gave only the barest explanation of his experience.
Cassandra came next and told about her accidental introduction to ley travel while working in the Arizona desert, getting lost, and, providentially, making contact with the Zetetic Society. The mere mention of the society pricked everyone’s curiosity and there were lots of questions, but before the meeting could be derailed, Mina intervened, saying, “I’m sure we all want to hear more about that—and we will come back to it shortly. But for now, let’s move on.”
Then all eyes turned to Gianni.
Folding his hands on the table, he leaned forward slightly and began. “My name is Giambattista Beccaria—Gianni, if you will—and let me say what an honour it is to be included in such a delightful company,” he said, natural charm warming his Italian tones. “I am a priest of the Ordo Sancti Benedicti, beginning in Sant’Antimo and later at the Abadia de Montserrat in Spain. Although a priest, my vocation has been that of astronomer.” He smiled, his round glasses glinting. “Thus, in more ways than one, a man with his head in heaven.”
As he spoke, Kit could feel the group falling under the spell of a man who seemed to exude benevolence and humility mingled with a genuine, unforced grace. It was proof, if any were needed, that Wilhelmina was wise to choose him as her mentor.
“One day, many years ago, I discovered what you all are pleased to call ley travel. At the time I did not know what it was that I had discovered, but being of a scientific mind, I studied it and eventually succeeded in learning how to manipulate it for my own purposes. Never in my studies did I imagine that it might serve some greater goal. In this, Signorina Wilhelmina has been my instructor—for it is she who told me about the Skin Map and its unknown treasure. And now, my friends, I believe we are very close to plumbing the depths of this great and sacred mystery. For, if our suppositions are correct, the object of our quest has been found.”
This declaration caused a small sensation among those at the table who had not yet heard the news. Haven was first to find her voice. “Forgive me, Brother Gianni, but am I to understand that the Skin Map has been found?”
“The Map of Skin, no, signorina,” replied the priest. “That remains beyond our reach at present. I was speaking of the Well of Souls—and my belief that this is the secret that the map conceals.”
“And how, I beg you, was this feat accomplished without the use of the map?”
Extending a hand towards Kit, who was sitting directly across from him, the priest said, “For that, we have Mr. Livingstone to thank. It is he who discovered the way—or, perhaps, one of the ways by which this miraculous place may be reached.”
“By my faith! Kit, is this true?” Haven spun around to regard him with an expression of sceptical appraisal. “Are we to understand that you have found the Spirit Well?”
“I did.” Kit offered a judicious nod. “At least, I think I did. If not, then what I found is something equally amazing. But we cannot be sure it is the Well of Souls until we can return and make a thorough investigation.”
“That is without doubt the best news I have heard,” enthused Lady Fayth. “I fail to see what is preventing us from going there right this instant.” She appeared ready to leap out of her chair and race off in completion of the quest. Sensing the others did not share her joy at this revelation, she added, “Yet there is something preventing us, I fear.” She looked to Kit and Wilhelmina. “Pray, what is it?”
“The problem,” Kit replied slowly, “is the way I discovered it—that is, the means I used to reach the place where I found it.”
“Yes?” demanded Haven. “Speak, sir! What is this fearsome difficulty you are so obviously loath to mention?”
“There’s a problem with the pathway, or portal, or whatever,” replied Kit irritably. “The Bone House is gone.”
“Bone house?” Haven threw herself back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “And what, I implore you, is a bone house?”
“It is a house, a shelter, made of bones, and it—”
“A house made of bones?” She tossed her head in derision, her tone high and haughty. “Do you honestly expect anyone to believe this unabashed claptrap? Or is this merely your lumbering way of discouraging the rest of us from participating in your discovery?”
“Look here,” snapped Kit. “I’m not making this up. It is real, it exists—at least, it did exist. If you don’t believe me—” He glanced at Mina and Brother Gianni, looking for confirmation. “Tell her.”
“Haven, this isn’t helping,” said Wilhelmina. “Kit is telling the truth.”
“My friends,” interposed Gianni smoothly, “if I may be allowed to suggest a simple explanation.” He turned to Haven. “Lady Fayth, it appears that our friend has found a portal that leads directly to a world containing a phenomenon that he has with good reason identified as the Spirit Well, yes? This portal was marked, as is so often the case, by the ancient inhabitants of the region—in this instance not with stone or earthworks, but with an edifice constructed of the bones of deceased creatures. Prego! The Bone House.”
Haven glanced at Kit. “Is that what you were trying to say?”
“More or less,” he allowed.
“Are we all on the same page now?” asked Mina, glancing around the table.
“In future, one could hope for more linguistic precision,” replied Haven, undeterred. “At all events, it would seem the most prudent course would be to return forthwith to what you believe may be the Spirit Well and verify these conjectures of yours. If that is what you propose, then let us be about it at once.”
“That is the proposal on the table,” Kit replied testily. “And if you had only given me half a chance—”
“Not forgetting we have a major complication,” Wilhelmina interrupted, trying to keep the discussion on track. “As Kit has explained, direct access to the portal no longer exists. So the quest has become a little more complicated. We have to find a way back to the Spirit Well without using the Bone House.” Satisfied with her summation, she gave a nod and sat down, adding, “Something tells me it won’t be easy.”
“The best things,” Cassandra observed to herself, “rarely are.”