In Which Confession Is Good for the Soul
Wilhelmina came to the conclusion that Kit had made good his escape from Burleigh’s murderous clutches, but that something had gone haywire in the leap. Consequently, he had not ended up at the agreed-upon destination. In short, Kit was now lost somewhere in space and time. Fortunately she had thought to retrieve the Skin Map from him before he fled; otherwise that would be lost too. The scrap of human parchment, almost translucent with age, had been recovered by Kit and Thomas Young from the tomb of Anen, High Priest of the Temple of Amun, during the Eighteenth Dynasty. After examining it—she could make nothing of the obscure squiggly symbols scattered across its surface—Mina had wrapped it in a bit of clean linen and hidden it in the iron strongbox bolted to the inside of the clothes chest at the foot of her bed.
Probably, I should have locked Kit in the strongbox as well, she thought sulkily. His disappearance had caused Wilhelmina no end of concern, and now it was causing her sleepless nights as well. What had happened to Kit? She had given him explicit instructions—where to go, what to do—and the River Ley, as she called it, was tried and true. She knew this because she had personally explored it numerous times and found it wholly reliable, boring even. Never had she experienced the slightest difficulty when traversing it. Added to that, the River Ley led to a very stable part of the world—a place she called simply Mill Valley—for the old grain mill in its deep limestone gorge. It was a peaceable, rustic place that, from all that Mina could tell, was inhabited by gentle souls who tended their flocks of geese and sheep and were scrupulous about minding their own business. What could possibly have gone wrong?
Of course, knowing Kit, almost anything was possible. She could not begin to guess what he might have done. True, he had fled Prague on the run, chased by Burleigh and his gang. No doubt that had complicated matters somewhat, but she had covered for him on her end and taken care to arrange a fail-safe hiding place. Trust Kit Livingstone to bollix things up big time.
Even given the fraught situation surrounding his disappearance, she should still have been able to locate him when the heat died down. The fact that after repeated attempts in numerous time periods she had not been able to locate him—and she did keep trying, faithfully, whenever she had a spare moment—was deeply worrying. If Kit had been wounded or worse, killed, she would doubtless have found his body on the trail when she searched the ley on the other side. Dead or injured, his body might have been dragged off somewhere by a wild animal; but there would have been signs of that, and in numerous searches she had turned up nothing to indicate a mauling or a struggle of any kind. Added to this, she had Giles’ eyewitness testimony that Kit got clean away, which she had no reason to doubt—all the more because her sources indicated that Burleigh, for all his trying, had not been able to find Kit alive or dead either. The current report that Kit, in a frantic attempt to escape capture, had leapt into the river and tried to swim to freedom was merely a ruse concocted to hide the fact that he had escaped via Mina’s ley line. And just supposing Kit had panicked and done something so harebrained as jumping into the river and getting himself drowned, his soggy corpse would have fetched up downstream. Just to be sure, she had made discreet inquiries with the local officials in the towns and villages all along the Moldau. No one had found so much as a washed-up shoe.
So now, weeks later, frustrated and perturbed, Wilhelmina was at the end of her expertise. She had one last recourse. If that did not succeed, there was no hope. In the meantime she applied herself to learning the subtleties of the new and improved ley lamp—the upgraded version of the one she had slipped to Kit to aid his escape. The new model, like the first, had been supplied by her friend and co-conspirator Gustavus Rosenkreuz, a young alchemist in the emperor’s court. Rudolf II maintained a cabal of palace alchemists charged with the duty of lifting the veil on various mysteries of the universe, chief among them immortality and how to achieve it. This august and imposing work was led by Herr Doctor Bazalgette, one of the emperor’s favourites, and Gustavus was his much put-upon personal assistant.
Naturally, such blindingly arcane labour necessitated regular refreshment, which the alchemists took at the Grand Imperial; the weirdly cloaked-and-hatted coterie maintained a ready presence in the Kaffeehaus, and Wilhelmina made certain they always had a good table and the best of Etzel’s sweet pastries. Through Gustavus she supplied the alchemists with the “bitter earth”—spent coffee grounds—that they valued so highly for their obscure experiments. By way of reciprocation, if not revenge for his neglect at the hands of his superiors, young Rosenkreuz supplied her with useful information and, happily, another illicit copy of Burleigh’s latest ley-finding instrument. If his lordship ever found out that Mina had a spy inside the palace—the same person, in fact, seconded to fashion the earl’s special devices for him—the full extent of Wilhelmina’s deception would be revealed and her life would be forfeit. She shuddered to think what the Earl of Sutherland would do if he ever found out she possessed copies of his gizmos. Whatever form it took, she had no doubt his revenge would be complete, and deeply unpleasant.
One bright day in early winter, a month or so after Kit’s disappearance, Wilhelmina pulled on her coat and shawl and took the mule and wagon out into the countryside to experiment with the new and improved ley lamp. Despite repeated efforts, she had yet to discover the extent of its alleged enhancements. She did not doubt improvements had been made; according to Rosenkreuz, Lord Burleigh’s investment in the new device had been considerable. Everything from the rare elements that powered the lamp—including gold, platinum, and other precious metals, and more exotic earths like radium, lithium, phosphorus, and some even the alchemists had never seen—had been obtained by the earl at great expense. Presumably, the increased benefit was thought to be worth the high price paid to realise it. The improvements were there, waiting to be discovered. Mina just did not know what they were.
Upon reaching the River Ley, she turned the mule onto the narrow path that ran between a double row of beech trees, arrow straight—its end, if there was one, lost in the shadowed distance. She tethered the mule and fitted the sturdy animal with a nosebag so it could eat while she was gone. Then, tying her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she pulled the new ley lamp from her skirt pocket. The basic size and shape was much the same as the original—the one she had sent away with Kit: made of brass, burnished with a swirling filigree of swooping lines connecting tiny holes. It was bluntly rounded, like a water-smoothed river stone, and big enough to fit comfortably in the palm of the hand but, unlike a stone, heavier for its size. The new version had more holes and a series of small nubby protrusions—for grip? Controls of some sort? Wilhelmina could not say.
She began walking at a slow, steady pace, holding the lamp comfortably before her. She had taken but a few steps when, as expected, the little row of holes along the curved side began to glow with the distinctive indigo light. This, Mina knew, indicated the presence of a ley. She felt the small hairs on the nape of her neck prickle to the energy around her. Not wishing to make a jump just yet, she stopped in the path.
While she waited for the energy to dissipate, she found herself thinking about Etzel back at the Kaffeehaus and what a patient, understanding man he was—a random thought, for no apparent reason. The new ley lamp flickered to life. A heretofore unrecognised row of tiny holes lit up with a pale yellowish glow. On closer examination, Mina saw that the series of holes in the brass carapace ran completely around the perimeter of the instrument. The light was weak, and would have been almost imperceptible in stronger sunlight, but in amongst the trees she could make it out well enough.
Even as the thought passed through her mind, the little yellow lights faded and died.
She stared at the thing, resisting the urge to shake it gently, and instead began walking again to see if that would bring them back. It did not. Motion, then, was not the trigger. She then began to try out various combinations in walking, touching, and direction as they occurred to her. This went on for a fair amount of time, but produced no result at all; the perimeter holes resisted any attempt on her part to coax them back into life.
Finally frustration got the better of her and, fed up, she turned around and started back to retrieve the mule and wagon. “Gus,” she muttered aloud, “what have you given me?”
At the mention of the alchemist’s name, the yellow lights sparked with a faint gleam. The effect was so quick and so definite she did not fail to discern the connection. She stopped and took a deep breath, clearing her mind of all thought. Then, very deliberately, she brought the image of Kit to mind and held it.
The pale yellow glow faded and the tiny holes went dark.
“That’s it!” cried Wilhelmina. “It works on sound.”
Gazing at the device, she raised it before her face and, speaking slowly and clearly, said, “Kit.”
But the holes remained unlit. “Kit,” she said again, but to no avail.
“Bother,” she grumped. “Just when I thought . . . ”
On a sudden inspiration, she brought an image of Etzel to mind once more—Etzel as she had last seen him working in the kitchen. Immediately, the row of lights took on the looked-for gleam.
Wilhelmina stared at the instrument in amazement. “Not sound, but thought,” she whispered. Still holding Etzel’s pleasant round face before her mind’s eye, she turned in the general direction of the city, and the row of lights grew gently brighter, with those pointed more directly towards the city taking on a deeper, warmer hue. Then, as a test, she switched the mental image back to Kit, and the little lights immediately dimmed and went out.
“I am gobsmacked.” She raised the ley lamp and pressed it to her lips. “You clever little thing.”
She tried the same small experiment a few more times, and each time obtained the same result: the lights winked on when thinking of Etzel— whom she knew to be in Prague—and blinked off the moment she shifted her attention to Kit. For a more difficult trial, she thought of Thomas Young, the archaeologist she had sought out to help Kit excavate the tomb containing the Skin Map. Again, the yellow lights came up, fainter this time; the marginally brighter area shifted along the perimeter, pointing vaguely towards the southeast. Directional signs . . . nice touch, she thought.
Instantly, the lights went out.
“Now what?” She stared at the gizmo. What had she done to make it behave that way? She decided to try again and consciously drew up the image of Dr. Young once more; the lights flicked on, as intense as before. Then, on a whim, she dismissed the doctor and thought instead about Giles. Again the little lights flickered slightly, then glowed, but the ring around the edge moved, the brighter lights indicating a different direction. “In-bloody-credible,” Wilhelmina murmured, shaking her head in wonder.
She tested this theory a few more times to be certain—each test with a different person—and it did seem to be the case that whenever she thought of someone she knew, whether in a separate dimension or not, the device reacted. But as soon as the mental link with the desired object of her attention was broken, the lights faded—as if, connection severed, the line went dead.
Head swimming with the implications of her discovery, she stood in the narrow gap between the trees gazing at the device, only stirring from her contemplation when she heard the rooks calling in the trees surrounding the adjacent fields and smelled pungent wood smoke on the air—hearth fires were being lit in nearby farmhouses. The short day was swiftly fading; evening was moving in. Stowing the ley lamp safely in her pocket once more, Wilhelmina hurried back to the mule and wagon and returned to the city, her mind filled with questions and half-formed possibilities. Indeed, it would take her some time to fully appreciate, let alone comprehend, the capabilities of the new instrument and what it all meant.
That could come later. There was something she had to do first. Right away. Before she did another thing.
Mina drove the mule and cart straight back to the city. The torches and smudge pots were being lit for the night as she passed through the gates; with a wave to the gatemen she rambled up the long street that led into the Old Town Square. She left the wagon outside the Kaffeehaus and went inside. The air was warm and full of the yeasty scent of dough on the rise. Mina drew a breath deep into her lungs. A few patrons idled over their coffee and strudel in an atmosphere of peace and calm. The warm scent of fresh coffee and rising dough mingled in the air. I love this place, she thought. Is there anywhere better than this?
She called a breezy greeting to her patrons and staff as she swept through the dining room and headed straight for the kitchen, where Etzel was instructing two of his young helpers about the next day’s preparations.
“We will make braided raisin bread tomorrow,” he was saying. “See that the baking trays are clean and ready before you leave tonight.” He half turned as Wilhelmina entered the room. “Ach, mein Schatz,” he said, breaking into a smile when he saw her. “There you are. Hilda was looking for you.”
“I will see her later.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then turned to one of the assistants. “Hans, the wagon is outside. Take it to the stable, please, and see the mule’s water bucket is full. Give him an extra handful of grain.”
“Jawohl, Fräulein Mina,” replied the young baker smartly.
“Barthelm,” she said to the other helper. “Go with him. I wish to speak to Herr Stiffelbeam alone.”
The two kitchen aides left the room. “Come, Etzel,” she said as soon as they were gone. She took his hand in hers and led him to the worktable. “I want you to sit down.”
“Mina, what is it? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” she assured him. “But I have to tell you something.”
She drew a stool from beneath the table and perched him on it, then paused, thinking how to begin. Concern and curiosity wheeled across his good-natured face. Wilhelmina smiled.
“Dear Etzel,” she sighed. “What will I do without you?”
“I hope you will not have to do without me, Herzerl,” he said.
“But that is what I have to say.” She took his hand again and, clasping it in both of hers, raised it to her lips. “I think I may have to go away for a while, and I want you to know the reason so you won’t worry about me.”
“Go away?” His expression grew puzzled. “Why? Where will you go?”
“I have a confession to make,” she said. “This will not be the first time I have gone away.”
“I know you go out into the country,” he said. “To talk to the farmers and the beekeepers.”
“That is true,” she allowed, “but there is more. I have been travelling to other places too. Many other places.”
He stared at her in baffled silence.
“Etzel,” she said softly, “it is time you knew the whole truth. Some of the places where I go are not of this world.”
He continued to gaze at her until at last the light of understanding shone in his eyes. Nodding slowly, he replied, “Ach, mein Schatz, we are none of us belonging to this world.”