LOEW THOUGHT HE KNEW ALL THE PEOPLE IN the Jewish Quarter, but he could not remember anyone called Samuel son of Abraham. But one evening he mentioned the name to a friend, and the friend reminded him that there used to be a Samuel who made furniture, and that his father’s name had been Abraham.
“Is he still alive?” Loew asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen him for five years, but I’m certain I would have heard if he died.”
“I don’t know,” the friend said. “You might ask his sister Rachel. I heard something about him, though—that he never leaves his workshop, that he’s working on something, I can’t remember what. The person who told me this seemed to think that Samuel had gone quite mad.”
The next day Loew set out for Rachel’s house, remembering what his friend had told him. Could a madman be righteous? Or was it simply that a righteous man would appear mad to other people?
Rachel answered the door, careful not to look directly at Loew. “Yes, Samuel is still alive,” she said. “He lives in the workshop behind my house.”
“Can I see him?”
Rachel hesitated for a long time. Loew was about to repeat his question when she finally nodded and led him through the house and into the back.
Light poured into the workshop from several windows and lit the single piece of furniture in the room. Loew stopped and stared.
It was a chair, and yet like no chair Loew had ever seen. It was fashioned of cherrywood that had been polished until it nearly glowed. A green stone shone in the center of the back and a shimmering mass of white coruscated out from it; it looked like an emerald surrounded by diamonds, although Samuel couldn’t possibly have afforded so many precious stones. Gold and silver filigree twined around other jewels, glittering red and blue and yellow.
Samuel had been polishing the chair as they came in. Suddenly he stepped back, sat on the floor, and began sketching frantically, ignoring his visitors. Rachel said, “Samuel, Rabbi Loew is here to see you.”
Samuel looked up, making an effort to come back from wherever he had been. “Good day, Rabbi Loew,” Samuel said. “Is he here yet?”
“Who?” Loew asked, taken aback.
“You’ve come to tell me he’s returned, isn’t that right? That my task here is almost finished.”
“I’m sorry—I don’t understand.”
“Elijah the prophet. He’s coming. This time he will bring the Messiah, and all our suffering will be at an end. And this—this is his chair. The Messiah’s chair.”
Rachel looked at Loew, an expression of hopelessness on her face. He saw what she had had to endure for the past five years, saw that her brother had quietly gone mad without anyone in the Quarter realizing. Now he noticed that her clothes and Samuel’s were very nearly rags, that they both had the gaunt look of someone on the verge of starvation, that their roof—which he could see from the open door of the workshop—needed fixing, and that several of their windows had
been covered by wooden boards. But the roof of the workshop was sturdy and all its windows were glass.
“Other people are preparing for him as well,” Samuel said, not noticing Loew’s horrified expression. “There is a man making his shoes, of the softest leather. And another who is making his cup out of solid emerald.”
Loew had never believed that the Messiah would come in his own lifetime. Perhaps he had been wrong, though; after all, why would someone devote his life to such an improbable task if it wasn’t true?
The chair blazed in the center of the room, a green and red and blue fire. Loew shook his head. No, the Messiah would not come; none of the signs pointed to it. Samuel was mad, as his friend had said. And it appeared that others in the Quarter had caught his madness as well. They should be found, and helped. Samuel should be helped. And his poor sister …
“Who are these other people?” Loew asked.
Samuel went back to his sketching and did not answer. “Can you give me money to continue my work?” he asked, not looking up. “Thirty-six pennies, perhaps?”
DEE SAT IN HIS ROOM AND READ LOEW’S ACCOUNT OF HIS adventure. Spring had turned into summer but he could not get warm; he kept the furnace going at all times and wrapped himself in his fur while he worked.
Countess Erzsébet had not left after the month was up but had stayed on with her retinue. Magdalena said that the rumors about her were growing more and more lurid, and Dee noticed that the household staff tiptoed past her room, casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they went.
“Should we cross Samuel off the list?” Loew had written. “Is he mad? It all depends, I suppose, on whether the Messiah
comes or not. For myself, I have gone to the Chief Rabbi to ask if anything could be done for them—so, as you can see, I am not expecting any supernatural aid. The rabbi will make certain that they get alms—though I am afraid Samuel will simply use the money to continue his work.
“I also found Anna, the wife of Václav the cobbler. Rather, I found out what has become of her—she died of a fever last winter. Everyone I talked to could not speak highly enough of her—she was a saint, a kind caring woman who helped everyone she could. Even I, who never knew her, have begun to think we have lost something very precious now that she is gone. But she cannot be the thirty-sixth, then, can she? The thirty-six are the pillars upholding the world, or so I understand it; if one of them topples the world falls, and Rudolf, or anyone, is free to remake it any way he wants.
“There is one more interesting thing about Anna, though—she lived at 36 Karlova Street.
“You ask me how I am. We have not been bothered by Rudolf since that last time. I think he fears my power, fears what I could do if he sends more men against me. Fortunately, he does not know how small my protection is, that it consists of one man.
“I say ‘man,’ yet of course I know Yossel is not a man, that he lacks a soul, which can only come from God. But we have been talking, Yossel and I, and I have been amazed by his intelligence. Amazed and disturbed, sometimes, because he asks me questions I have not been able to answer. Why can’t he pray with the rest of the town? Why can’t he study with us?
“But I was telling you about Rudolf. He has always been curious about my knowledge of Kabbalah, and now rumors are reaching him that I have managed to make a man of clay. He is not finished with us here—he will try again, and when he does I do not know what will happen. Sometimes I feel I
should return to Poland, and yet I know I must stay here: I have been charged—by God?—to find the thirty-sixth and I must not leave until I do. Your friend, JL.”
Dee shook his head. The Messiah would not come, of course. He had already come, and the Jews had not recognized him. It was odd, Dee thought, that he had almost forgotten Loew’s false beliefs. Yet if Loew was in England he would be tortured or even burned if he expressed them aloud.
He dipped his pen in the inkwell and crossed off Anna, and Samuel son of Abraham.
A knock came at his door. He opened it to find Magdalena standing there, a tray of food in her hands. She looked, once again, like an old crone, and he wondered if he had imagined seeing her change from a young woman, if Magdalena had been right and he had simply confused her with someone else.
“I must tell you something about Erzsébet,” she said, pushing past him into the room. She put the tray on his table and sat down without waiting to be asked. “I was right about that woman, that Marie. She’s a poisoner. They all are.”
He sat opposite her. His heart was pounding loudly. How did she know so much about Erzsébet? He lifted a piece of bread, then realized he could not possibly eat it and set it back down. He watched her carefully. Would she change shape before his eyes?
She did not seem to notice his discomfort. “I went back into Erzsébet’s rooms and started dusting,” she said. “Someone isn’t cleaning those rooms right—there’s an odd smell in there. I don’t know what all those women do all day. Anyway, I cleaned Anna’s room, and then went into Marie’s. She’d left her book, that book she said was a Bible. So I opened it, and the first thing I saw was the words ‘pain and poison’”
“Pain and poison? That’s what the book said? Could you read anything else?”
“No, unfortunately. Just as I was looking at it I heard
someone come in. I closed the book and went out quickly, and there were Erzsébet and Anna and Marie. Erzsébet asked me what I was doing there. I said I’d been sent to clean the rooms. Erszébet said that I must be mistaken, that her own servants took care of that. She was smiling. I hate her smile. I curtseyed and said that I must have gotten confused and gone to the wrong rooms. And then I ran down to the kitchen and got your supper, and came back up when I was sure they’d all be back in their rooms.”
“Did you see Judit?”
“No.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Marie knows you, doesn’t she? We talked to her once, remember? And Erzsébet must have seen you in the hallways. Didn’t they think it was strange that you’d gotten confused after you’d been here all this time?”
“I don’t think they recognized me.”
“How could they not recognize you? You’re very memorable. Or did you change shape again? Did you do something in Erzsébet’s rooms, take some potion that made you younger?”
“I would never take any potion of theirs. I told you—they poison people.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you change shape again? Is that why they didn’t recognize you?”
She said nothing for a long time. She sat up straighter, preparing, Dee thought, to lie again. Then he noticed that her hair was turning darker, that her blurred features were becoming clearer, her skin tauter. The foul odor around her had disappeared; now he could smell only the light sweat of a healthy young woman in the midst of her chores. She stared at him from clear blue eyes.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I’m Magdalena,” she said. “I’m twenty years old. I’ve had to disguise myself to be able to live on the streets. Before I learned what simple magic I know, I—well, terrible things
happened to me.” She shook her head, put her head in her hands. Her hair fell, shining like gold, over her fingers.
She was beautiful, he realized. And yet he was used to speaking to her as if she were sexless, almost as if she were a colleague. To his embarrassment he felt himself growing aroused by her nearness.
She was looking at him, her eyes wide with fear. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please keep my secret. I couldn’t—I couldn’t bear—”
No. He had to banish these dreadful thoughts, had to prove to her that she could trust him even if she trusted no one else. He was old enough that she could have been one of his children. That was how he had to think of her, as a daughter. “Of course I will,” he said.
“Thank you. You’re—you’re very kind—”
“Not so kind. I was cruel to you, several times, wasn’t I? So that’s why you—” Why you used such foul language, he thought. And why there was always such a terrible smell around you, and why I could never manage to see you clearly. You’ve learned to keep people at a distance.
“You know what frightens me?” she said. “My magic doesn’t work in Erzsébet’s rooms. She has some sort of opposing spell, some evil magic … . I need your help, Doctor Dee. I need to learn more to stay alive.”
He remembered his passing thought, that he could teach her a simple shape-changing spell. “I would imagine you know as much as I do,” he said. “But what happened to you? Why are you living on the streets? Where’s your family?”
She shrugged. “My mother died, my father put me out. It’s a common story.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
He drew a breath. His daughter Katherine was nearly four. In seven short years … No. It would never happen, he vowed
that on everything precious to him. He would care for her from beyond the grave if he had to.
“What are we going to do about Erzsébet and her women?” she asked.
“Nothing. You can’t risk going into her rooms again. What she does is her cousin István’s business, not ours. And we haven’t actually seen her poison anyone.”
“István doesn’t want to know what she does. Everyone in the kitchens says so.”
“Still. There’s nothing we can do—we’re in danger ourselves. We can only protect ourselves, and trust in God, and hope that everything works out for the best.”
She nodded doubtfully and left. But that night he woke from a troubled sleep and thought he heard loud sobs from across the hall. He stood and went to the door, but either the sound had stopped, or it had been part of a malign dream.
SUMMER PASSED INTO FALL. DEE MISSED HIS FAMILY MORE than ever, missed Jane’s cheerful common sense and the children’s noisy games. At odd times he would remember Arthur saying, “Stick your finger down your throat,” and he would smile softly. A letter from Jane would be cherished and read over and over again.
He found himself, almost against his will, becoming interested in the work of alchemy. He had always understood that the goal of the work was not riches or immortality but the creation of a perfect Stone, a mineral forged from the union of opposites. That the Stone, being perfect, could change ordinary metal to gold, or restore a sick man to health, was an added benefit, but not what the true alchemist sought.
King István, he found, had a well-stocked library, and Dee spent a part of every day there, studying the alchemists who had gone before him. They spoke of many different unities: of
mercury and sulphur, man and woman, sun and moon, sperm and blood. He began to understand that these were not allegories, or that if they were they pointed to something beyond the creation of a Philosopher’s Stone. There was more here than Kelley, with his desire for riches, had realized.
So he puttered around his laboratory, pouring and heating and cooling various substances. Sometimes he ventured out into the town to find the things he needed. And always, as he worked, he felt he was growing closer to something, something that lay just beyond his grasp.
The only thing to break his loneliness was his suppers with Magdalena. She kept the shape of the crone; it took too much effort, she said, to change back and forth. Dee could not help but feel relieved at this; he found it much easier to talk to her when she looked like an old woman.
He asked her, a few times, about her time on the streets, but she would not discuss it except to say that her life had been in danger more than once. So they talked about the letters he had received from Loew, about what made a righteous man or woman, about the town and the people in the castle.
“Do you remember Zoltán and László at the alchemists’ tavern?” he asked. “One of them—I could never tell them apart—had jewels braided in his beard. I thought that was a Hungarian fashion, but I don’t see anyone doing it here.”
“László, yes,” she said. “It was a fashion, but hundreds of years ago. They were always very pretentious, those alchemists.”
“And yet they had some knowledge, even some wisdom.”
“That’s true,” she said. She studied him a moment. He could still not see her features clearly; he knew now that that was part of her magic. “You’ve changed since you got here,” she said finally. “Once you would have scoffed at the idea that these men had any wisdom at all.”
He shrugged. “I’ve become like Rabbi Loew, I suppose. Anyone might turn out to be the thirty-sixth, anyone at all. Everyone is worth listening to.”
“Except Erzsébet,” she said, grinning.
“Even Erzsébet. We don’t know that she’s done anything wrong.”
“Oh, come—you can’t believe that. I hear things, coming from her rooms … .”
He remembered the screams, the sobs. “I do, too,” he said uncomfortably.
“There, you see. I have to go back in there, have to find out what she’s up to.”
“You can’t. It’s far too dangerous. She’s already seen you once. And you’ll change shape there, you know that. You can’t risk anyone seeing that happen.”
“But what if she’s torturing people, or poisoning them? What happened to Judit?”
“It’s not our business—”
“You’ve said that. But I think it is. It’s my business, anyway. I know what it’s like to be terrified, to be at someone’s mercy. I’m going in there.”
“You can’t—”
“Why not? Are you saying you’ll stop me?”
“No,” he said miserably. “I can’t stop you—I know that. I’m just saying that you should think about it, you should be careful.”
“I have thought about it, and I will be careful. There’s been some talk in the kitchens about Erzsébet and her party going hunting. I’ll wait until then, and then slip inside. It’ll be perfectly safe.”
“When are they going?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll find out.”
He sighed. “I’ll have to go with you, then.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do. I don’t like thinking of anything happening to you. You’re far too impulsive. I used to wonder why, when I thought you were an old woman. And anyway—” He raised his hand to forestall argument. “—I want a look at that book of Marie’s.”
LOEW BORROWED A HORSE AND RODE SOUTH TO TREBONA to the estate of Count Vilém of Rosenberg. The estate spread out before him for miles; he saw breweries, sheep farms, workshops and outbuildings and artificial ponds. He had been able to get away from his teaching duties for two days, but he did not see how he could find Vilém’s servant in such a short time. He tied his horse to a tree and set off.
In the first workshop he came to he saw a group of women making soap. He asked if they knew Petr, but they shook their heads and went back to their work.
The second outbuilding contained a huge table holding alembics and pipes and minerals and vials of various-colored liquids. A furnace huffed softly in the corner. So Vilém, like Rudolf, was an alchemist. Somehow this did not surprise him; a great many noblemen had caught the desire to find the Philosopher’s Stone from the emperor.
“Hey!” someone said behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Loew turned, startled. The man was tall and well-dressed and carried a clear glass bottle; probably he did experiments for Vilém in the workshop.
“I’m looking for one of Count Vilém’s servants. A man named Petr.”
For a moment he hoped that this man would be Petr, that the thirty-sixth would turn out to be a scholar after all. “Don’t know him,” the man said. He studied Loew suspiciously, taking
in the unfashionable clothes and the yellow circle. “Did Rudolf send you?”
“What? No, I’m here on my own.”
“Because Rudolf wants milord’s secrets, I know that much. And he’s been known to consort with Jews, to study Kabbalah. Back away from the door, please. Milord doesn’t let anyone in here but me.”
Loew moved away cautiously. “I’m looking for Petr,” he said. “That’s all.”
“I’ve already told you I don’t know him. If you don’t leave now I’ll call the guards.”
Loew set off again. Fortunately the man entered the workshop and did not see Loew head farther into the estate.
Several hours later he was no wiser. A number of people thought they had heard of Petr, but they could not agree on whether he worked in the main house or the stables or on the sheep farm. He saw another alchemical workshop, this one with nobody in it, and wondered how many alchemists Vilém thought he needed. Once a couple of guard dogs chased him from a building, tails wagging, mad with delight at being called upon to do their job.
Evening came on. He headed back through the estate to where he had left his horse, and rode to his lodgings.
He had no better luck when he returned to the estate the next day, though he did catch a glimpse of Count Vilém and his wife Polyxena riding through their lands. Polyxena was far younger than her husband; one of the people Loew had talked to had said that she was his fourth wife, the daughter of Spanish nobility.
Discouraged, he rode back to Prague. Petr did not seem to work anywhere on the land. He was probably a servant in the manor house, but Loew could not think of a credible reason
for presenting himself at the door. Perhaps if he said he was an alchemist … .
An alchemist. Yes. When he reached his house he went straight to his study and began to write to Dee, summarizing what he had learned in Trebona. Then he added:
“It occurs to me that you might have better luck. Perhaps you could pose as a scholar of the occult (this would be no pose, really) and spend a few days on the estate. Count Vilém would certainly be interested in meeting someone with your knowledge. I don’t know if he would keep your visit secret from Rudolf, but considering his rivalry with the king I think it’s possible that he might.
“The names left on the list are: traveler, Jewish Quarter; beggar, Town Square; and Wolfgang, counselor to the king. I have been unable to discover who the first two are, and as for the third, I have been staying out of the king’s sight, for reasons you well know. But I will, of course, continue to work on this puzzle.”
A FEW DAYS LATER. DEE AND MAGDALENA STOOD BY DEE’S slightly-open door and watched as Countess Erzsébet and her party filed by. When the last woman passed down the stairs they waited a moment and then crossed the hall and let themselves into Erzsébet’s rooms.
The rooms were dim; both Dee and Magdalena carried candles. As they entered Magdalena’s shape blurred and shifted. Although Dee was waiting for it he still startled at the change. In a moment a young woman stood before him, her posture straight, her eyes blue as the base of the candle flame.
The transformation had absorbed him so strongly that he had not noticed anything else about his surroundings. Now he
could smell the bad odor Magdalena had told him about, like something stale and decaying. He scowled, and Magdalena, catching his thought, whispered, “What is it, do you think?”
“Rotting food?” he said, whispering as well. “You’re right—they certainly don’t do a good job of cleaning here.”
“Marie’s room is this way,” she said, leading him down a corridor and through one of the doors.
As soon as he stepped inside he saw the book, which she had left on a table by her bed. He held his candle over it and saw the word “Bible” printed on the cover. “Look,” he said, pointing to it.
“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s a book of poisons, like I told you. Open it up.”
He did. At first he was confused, not able to make sense of the words. Then he realized the book was in French.
“What does it say?” Magdalena asked impatiently.
“Don’t you read French?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how did you read the part about the poisons?”
“It’s in there, trust me.”
Suddenly Dee understood. He laughed.
“What is so amusing?” Magdalena asked, scowling.
“Look.” He turned the pages until he came to the Book of Matthew. “It’s a Bible, just as it says. Look here, it says ‘pain et poissons.’” He laughed again, louder this time.
“Quiet. See, it’s a book of poisons. Why are you laughing?”
“It’s in French. Marie is from France, remember. This means ‘loaves and fishes.’ It’s the fifteenth chapter of Matthew, where Jesus feeds the multitude with seven loaves of bread and some fishes.”
“It means—it’s really a Bible?”
“Yes. They’re not poisoning anyone, or torturing them. Marie is a genuinely religious person, and all those screams we
heard came from someone who was really ill. There’s nothing at all suspicious here.”
“What happened to the person who was ill, then?”
“She recovered, I suppose. Come—we’d better leave before someone finds us.”
They went out into the corridor, Magdalena leading. Just then they heard the sound of a door opening, and voices coming into the rooms. Dee stepped back into the room but it was too late—they had already seen Magdalena.
“Who are you?” someone asked. That was Erzsébet, Dee thought. “What are you doing here?”
“Weren’t you in our rooms before?” an unfamiliar voice said, probably Anna. “What are you doing, spying on us?”
“My, she’s a young one, isn’t she?” Erzsébet said.
Dee stood, irresolute, wondering if he should reveal himself or stay where he was. Nothing bad would happen to Magdalena, though; the countess and her women were innocent, they had proved that much. And he would not like to explain to King István what he was doing in Erzsébet’s rooms.
He raised his candle, trying to penetrate the shadows around him. There was an open door in front of him; he went through it as quietly as he could.
“Young and healthy looking,” he heard Anna say from the front room.
“I think she’ll do fine,” Erzsébet said. “What’s that light out there? Is someone else here with you? Another young one like yourself?”
They were coming toward him. He lifted the bed covering, blew out his candle and dove underneath. The smell was much stronger here.
He felt something clammy under the bed with him. He turned, reached out to touch it. It was skin, but cold, very cold. He moved his hand, felt long strands of hair.
He nearly screamed. Magdalena did scream, loudly. “Help
me!” she called. “Help!” Her cries became muffled, as though someone had clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Marie, help me get her into the bath,” Erzsébet said. “And you, Anna, go see where that light came from. She seems to expect someone to rescue her.”
Footsteps came toward the door. Quickly, he clambered out from under the bed. Before Anna’s eyes could grow accustomed to the dim light he grabbed the nearest thing to hand—a fireplace poker—and swung it at her head.
The poker glanced off her forehead. She swayed a moment and then came on. He had hit her far too lightly, he realized; he had been horrified at the idea of striking a woman.
She screamed and launched herself at him, punching and scratching. He pushed back. She stumbled. Her head struck the corner of a table and she fell to the floor.
He felt her throat to make certain she was still breathing and then hurried out into the corridor, following the sounds of the screams.
In another room Erzsébet had Magdalena bent over a round iron tub. She held a long knife in her hand. Marie stood next to her, her hands to her mouth.
“Marie!” Erzsébet said. “Stop standing there like a fool and help me.”
“What—what you do?” Marie said.
Magdalena screamed again and tried to squirm out of Erzsébet’s grasp. Erzsébet hit her hard with the hilt of the knife. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting her in the tub so I can cut her open and let her blood run out.”
“You—it is true, then?” Marie asked. “The stories—they are true?”
“Don’t be such an innocent. You knew what I do here ever since you joined my service. How could you not? You’ve seen the blood in the tub, heard the screams. You knew all the time.”
“No,” Marie said, backing away, horrified. She said something rapidly in French; Dee thought it might be a prayer.
“Well, you know now, so help me.”
Magdalena twisted and managed to free her head. She bit down hard on Erzsébet’s arm. “Ow!” Erzsébet cried. “You little monster!” She brought down the hilt of the knife again.
Dee moved forward. Marie saw him and her eyes widened. He motioned for her to leave the room but she stood there stunned, unable to move.
He slipped in past her, grabbed Erzsébet’s wrist and twisted hard. Magdalena bit Erzsébet’s other arm, and Erzsébet, distracted by the pain, opened her hand and dropped the knife to the floor. Dee jerked her arm behind her back.
“I’ve got the knife,” he said, though he was having a good deal of trouble picking it up and holding Erzsébet’s arm at the same time. “Stay still. You, Marie—go bring me some rope.”
Marie stood, uncomprehending.
“Rope,” Dee said harshly. “Hurry. Rope, to—to tie—”
Magdalena slid from Erzsébet’s grasp, grabbed the knife from Dee, and held it to Erzsébet’s throat. Dee pantomimed tying a knot. Marie nodded and ran from the room.
She returned with rope, and the three of them worked to tie her hands and feet. “You truly didn’t know,” Dee asked Marie.
She shook her head.
“What about the screams?”
She shook her head again. “No—no there.”
“What do you mean? You weren’t there?” She nodded eagerly. “They waited until you were gone?”
“You knew, you stupid cow,” Erzsébet said, struggling against her bindings. “What about all the blood?” Marie said nothing, and she repeated the question in French.
Marie answered her in the same language, speaking for a long time. Dee could make out some of it: that Erzsébet had
told her that someone had been ill, that she thought a doctor had come to bleed the patient.
“And you believed me?” Erzsébet asked in French, jeering.
Once again Marie answered in French. Of course she had believed her, she said; she could not conceive that someone would do these things.
“Why did you come back?” Dee asked Marie. “I thought you had gone hunting for the day.”
Marie said nothing, but to his surprise Erzsébet answered. “I forgot my favorite hunting knife,” she said. “The knife I’ll use on you, as soon as I’m free.”
“What do we do now?” Magdalena asked.
“Now we go to King István and tell him what his cousin has been up to,” Dee said.
“Don’t you think he knows?” Erzsébet asked. “He lets me do what I want. He can’t afford a family scandal.”
“I wonder,” Dee said. “We’ll tell him anyway, and see what he says. There’s a body under one of the beds—maybe he’d like to know about that. Is it Judit?”
“Of course not. Judit was a long time ago—she’s dead and buried by now. Though I have to say I miss her—she had such beautiful skin, nothing like that coarse peasant under the bed.”
Dee pulled tightly on one of the knots and Erzsébet cried out. “Forgive me,” he said. He sounded insincere even to himself.
“Don’t be so high and mighty, Doctor Dee,” Erzsébet said. “You call on the same magic I do.”
“Nonsense,” Dee said. He tied the last knot and stood. “Come, let’s find King István.”
“You do, though,” Erzsébet said. “You were the one who told me about the door between the worlds. I summon the powers I use by bloodletting—the blood makes them eager to come through the doorway. And how do you summon them, Doctor Dee?”
“I told you—I’m trying to close the door, not to call upon whatever is behind it.”
“I don’t believe you. There are things you can learn by opening the door wider and letting these powers come through. You could learn all the secrets of alchemy, you could have riches beyond counting. Even you wouldn’t throw away a chance like that.”
“Let’s go,” Dee said roughly. He led Magdalena and Marie out into the corridor and down the stairs. Magdalena had not resumed the crone’s shape, he noticed.
They found the king in the audience room, hearing petitions. He nodded to them but continued to listen to the men and women before him. Dee stood against a wall, trying to control his impatience.
Finally István finished and looked up at them. “Yes, what is it?” he asked.
“I—could you come with us, please?” Dee said. “It concerns your cousin Erzsébet.”
“Erzsébet? She’s not hurt, is she?”
Dee nearly laughed; a combination of horror, tension and relief was hitting him hard. “No, my liege, she’s not,” he said. “Please. This way.”
He allowed István to precede him up the stairs and into Erzsébet’s rooms. With a shock he saw that Erzsébet was sitting on a couch in the front room, looking as fresh as if she had just gotten up. He glanced at her wrist and saw the scoring left by the ropes. How had she escaped? Witchcraft?
Suddenly he remembered Anna. At the same moment Anna came out from one of the inner rooms and sat next to Erzsébet, smiling at them triumphantly. “István,” Erzsébet said. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, my dear cousin?”
“I’m not sure,” István said. “Doctor Dee? Could you explain yourself?”
“This way, King István,” Dee said. He took a candle from the mantelpiece and led the party into the room where he had found the body. The smell had lessened, and suddenly he knew what they would find when they got there. He bent and looked under the bed anyway, but the space was empty.
Dee stood. “I don’t understand,” István said. “Could you explain what you hoped to find here?”
“I—I saw a body, my liege.”
“A body? Do you mean someone was hiding in my cousin’s rooms?”
“A dead body.”
“What?” With a sudden gesture István took the candle and peered under the bed. “Are you mad, man? Why would there be a dead body here? And how did you come to be in my cousin’s rooms, spying under her beds?”
“She had captured my servant, Magdalena,” Dee said stolidly. He was fated to play this game out, he saw, though it could only end in one way, with his defeat. Already Erzsébet was grinning at him smugly.
“And why would she do that?” István asked.
“To drain her blood. The blood calls dark forces from other worlds—she admitted as much to me earlier.”
“He knows a good deal about dark forces, doesn’t he?” Erzsébet said. “Why is that? He looks haunted by something, I think. Ask him what it is—ask him why he had to leave Prague.”
“Where is my servant Judit? Ask her that. She killed her and—and—”
“You go too far, my good doctor. I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave—to leave my house, and leave Transylvania as well. I cannot have you make these wild accusations about my family.”
“They’re not accusations, my liege,” Magdalena said. “She kills people, and bathes in their—”
“Enough!” István said. Was there confusion in his face, just the slightest inkling that Dee and Magdalena might be telling the truth? “You, Marie—what are you doing with these lack-wits?”
“Is—is true, my liege,” Marie said.
“Are you all mad?” István said, staring at Marie. “You—I gave you refuge from religious persecution, allowed you to practice your own faith here in freedom, and this is how you repay me? I want you out of here, all of you.” He glanced at Magdalena and the confusion came over his face again; he was clearly wondering who this beautiful woman was and why he had never seen her in his household before. “You have one hour to pack up your things and go. And be glad I do not have you prosecuted for treason.”
“Yes, my liege,” Dee said.
István strode from Erszébet’s rooms. Dee and the women followed. As they were leaving Erzsébet moved closer to Dee and put her mouth next to his ear.
“It’s so difficult to find burial spots when I travel,” she said. “I hardly know the countryside at all.”
He whirled to look at her, but her face appeared composed, as if she had never said a word.