THEY REACHED FRAUENBURG BY MIDAFTERNOON. The rain had largely ceased, although the east wind was still sufficient to make their eyes water and their sodden cloaks flap about their legs. Their destination had been visible for miles, a hill atop which sat a large cathedral with an even taller belfry nearby. As they drew nearer, they saw that the cathedral was on the north wall of a fortified complex of buildings and towers. It faced the bay, what the man at the inn had called the Frisches Haff.Thc belfry was at the southwest corner. The entire castle, walls, buildings, cathedral, and belfry were fashioned of red brick with roofs of terracotta tiles. Somewhere inside was either the astronomer or his corpse.
The main entrance was on the south wall, a gate that passed through the center of a four-story building with turrets on either side. There was no portcullis, or even a door, but merely a passage under an archway that led into a large courtyard. Amaury and Hélène rode over the bridge that spanned a deep ditch and requested entrance from an acolyte of perhaps fifteen who was posted at the entrance.
The boy asked their business, speaking in German. Amaury told him in Latin that they had come to see Canon Copernici. The boy told them the canon went by his Latinized name, Copernicus, and asked if they were expected. Amaury replied that they were not but had arrived bearing an urgent message from Paris.
The boy directed them across the courtyard to a three-story tower at the northwest corner of the castle and informed them that the canon lived there. Amaury asked if anyone else had visited the canon in the past day. The boy replied that no one had. Of course, the assassins might have come and gone without alerting anyone to their presence.
They rode across the courtyard, the wind whistling within the enclosed space and sending ripples across the puddles. The oaken door to the tower was old and the metalwork pitted with rust. Forcing the door open with a metal bar would not be difficult.
Amaury rapped twice with the large knocker. At first there was no sign that anyone had heard, but eventually the door was swung partially open by a grizzled old man with a few straggly white hairs growing out of an otherwise bare pate. He looked them up and down and asked what they were doing there. He spoke in Latin. His manner was anything but cordial.
“We have come to see the canon,” Amaury replied, hoping desperately that this crusty old curmudgeon was not himself the object of their quest.
“Canon Copernicus sees no one after the dinner hour,” the servant grunted and began to close the door.
Amaury shot his hand to the door to hold it open. The ancien was not capable of exerting much pressure, and so released his grip. “Our message is quite urgent,” Amaury said coldly. “If you don’t let us in, you might not much longer have a canon to serve.”
The servant considered this for a moment, then told them to wait while he checked. He did not invite them inside to escape the wind. Amaury and Hélène entered anyway. The old man trudged up a stairway set against the wall. He turned back for a moment, then frowned, shrugged, and kept going until he disappeared around a corner. Eventually, there was the sound of a knock at a door, then the creak of metal hinges. A few minutes later, the man reappeared around the corner of the staircase. Refusing to move any further down the stairs, he bade them come up with one contemptuous flick of his wrist.
Hélène and Amaury looked at one another as they went up the stairs. It had not occurred to either of them that, on an errand to save a man’s life, they would be unwelcome when they arrived.
They reached the landing on the second floor, but the old man was already halfway to the third and beckoned them to continue. At the top of the stairs the old man stopped at a partly opened door. Amaury hesitated, but the man nodded and cocked his head toward the room. It seemed only yesterday that Amaury had been similarly poised on the threshold of Beda’s rooms at Montaigu. But it was a lifetime ago.
The man pushed the door open and walked in. Amaury and Hélène followed. Rather than the ascetic cavern of the Montaigu syndic, this room was open, inviting, and, from the first glance, utterly thrilling. The workplace of a scientist. An eight-foot triquetrum stood in one corner; an armillary, a series of concentric, graduated spheres used for astronomical calculations, in another. A bookshelf stood against the far wall; Amaury wanted to rush across and examine its contents.
A brightly polished trestle desk sat in front of the bookshelf, facing the door, flanked by two of the windows that ringed the room. Behind the desk sat another old man. He had an elongated face dominated by a large nose and even larger chin. His mouth was taut and straight, his hair gray and uncombed. Bushy white eyebrows overhung tired, deep-set eyes. He slouched in the seat; his breathing was deep and labored. He regarded his two visitors with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.
“To what do I owe this intrusion?” he asked in Latin, without pleasantries, his voice even and cold.
“You are Canon Copernicus?”
The man continued to regard them evenly. “I am Copernicus.”
“I have read your work,” Amaury said. “Briefly. By candlelight. At the risk of my life. I was stunned and exhilarated.”
Copernicus tilted his head sideways, unmoved by the flattery. “You are competent to judge?” It was more an accusation than a question.
“I am”
“And you are?”
Amaury told Copernicus his name. The old man responded with a shrug and a shake of the head.
“And you have come here to praise me, Amaury de Faverges? Challenge me? Bring my work to the world?”
“No. I have come here to ensure that you are not lost to the world.” Amaury glanced to the man who had let them in.
“Leave us, Anton,” Copernicus said. “Leave me with these two.” When the door closed, he said to Amaury, “Don’t mind Anton. He sees very well to my needs but has little use for visitors. Nor, I confess, do I.”
“I would not have come if it were not necessary.”
“I thought you were thrilled by my work. And exhilarated. Not so thrilled and exhilarated to trudge willingly on to Frauenburg, though, eh? I don’t blame you.”
“I’m honored to meet you,” Amaury offered.
Copernicus gestured to Hélène. “And her?”
“Without her, I would already be dead, and you would be as well, within a day.”
“All right, young man. I’ll hear your tale, melodramatic though it promises to be.”
“I will be happy to provide whatever detail you require, but later. For now, suffice to say that a team of assassins has been dispatched from Paris to murder you and destroy your work. They will arrive by boat at any time. I am only grateful that I arrived first.”
“Assassins? From Paris? You mean Rome, don’t you?”
“No. Paris.”
Dispatched by whom?”
“The Inquisition.”
“Does the Holy Father know of this supposed plot?”
“No. Mathieu Ory, the French Inquisitor, acted on his own.”
Copernicus leaned his elbows on the desk and placed his fingertips together. He spoke patiently, as if addressing a lunatic. “And you came to this information by . . . ”
“Cardinal d’Aubuisson. Do you know him?”
“I know the name.”
“Canon Copernicus, I realize that this all sounds preposterous—”
“At least you realize it.”
“—but we’ve been traveling three weeks to warn you. Matters are quite urgent, I can assure you.”
“Young man, I have been working on my theory for more than twenty years. Our definitions of urgency may well differ.”
“At least take steps to protect yourself.”
“Very well. I see there is no dissuading you. I’ll have Anton ride to Elbing in the morning to fetch someone.”
Amaury walked to the window that faced north over the bay. Three men were moving up the hill from the quay. One small and thin, two large and hulking. They walked astride one another, not speaking. A boat was moored at the end of the quay, larger than the fishing boats that dominated the harbor. Inside the boat, in a darkened cabin, awaiting news of the death of the astronomer, most certainly sat the twisted, charred figure of Johan Liebfreund.
“There’s no time,” Amaury said to Copernicus. “They’re here.”