Vampire a Go-Go(21)

Dee crossed himself, and Kelley resisted the urge to do the same.

“They brought something back in a large, iron box,” Dee said. “They won’t let anyone near it. I don’t want to go near it. One of the astrologers told me that the three men who handled the object and loaded it into the iron box have taken violently ill. They are not expected to last through the night. All three are delusional and feverish.”

Dear God. This time Kelley did cross himself.

Dee climbed onto the wagon and took the reins. “I’m getting the hell out of here. I’d do the same if I were you, Edward. Farewell.” Dee flicked the reins, and the nag clopped down the lane.

Kelley raised a wan hand and waved, but Dee didn’t look back. Kelley stood watching until the wagon turned a corner, the clip-clops fading away.

He stood long seconds in the empty lane. It had become eerily quiet-no sounds of workmen from the courtyard, no chatter from castle servants. He looked up. Even the wind had died. The flags and banners atop the castle walls hung limp. It was as if the entire world held its breath, waiting to see what doom would fall on top of Kelley’s head.

To hell with this.

Kelley darted for the tower, took the stairs two at a time until he reached his living quarters. He grabbed his cloth bag, tossed in his clothes, a few books. He had a small bag of coins and hoped it would be enough to get him as far as a seaport. He should have lived more frugally these last months. He’d been too free with drink and women. No matter. If he could get to a port, he could work his passage if money ran short.

Kelley took his clothes from the cloth bag, and put them in the footlocker. He put the books back on the shelf over the bed. He was about to stash the cloth bag when he froze. He had just packed all that. What was he doing?

He stuffed the clothes back into the bag, took the books down from the shelf again. He was so rattled and nervous, that he didn’t know what he was doing. He simply hadn’t been paying attention. Really, the thought of all of one’s skin melting off, well, that would distract anyone.

He put the books back on the shelf, looked at them, blinked. What the hell? He grabbed the books again, put the books in his bag. Pay attention to what you’re doing, idiot. He packed his clothes again. He threw the bag over his shoulder, threw the door open, and headed down the stairs.

Kelley paused at Dee’s room, then entered to see if the alchemist had left anything behind. Some of those potion ingredients could fetch pretty prices, especially certain herbs that might be out of season. He searched Dee’s chambers but found nothing worth taking.

He went back upstairs to his room and dumped his clothes out on the bed.

He blinked at the clothes on the bed. What. The. Fuck.

This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he get his possessions packed and get the hell out of this place? He was suddenly, acutely aware of the pulsing dull pain in his ass. What had Edgar told him? The brand had been prepared with spells, magic to make sure Kelley stayed loyal to the Society.

No. It was all too far-fetched. He could walk away any time he wanted.

Kelley left the luggage, jogged down the stairs, and ran out of the tower. He made himself slow to a fast walk through the castle courtyard, kept up the pace toward the gate. He passed through the gate and left the castle behind. Soon he’d reach the Charles Bridge. Along the river he could catch a boat, or maybe he’d simply keep walking south. There was no particular hurry as long as he kept going away from the castle, away from Prague.

This would work. All Kelley needed to do was put one foot in front of the other. Don’t look back. Just keep walking. So long, assholes, you won’t have Edward Kelley to kick around anymore.

He passed back underneath the castle gates, passed through the courtyard. He stopped before entering the White Tower. How had he come back here? He could not remember turning around, returning to the castle.

He tried to leave again, walking fast, determined. He blinked, when he found himself back in his chambers in the White Tower.

“Son of a bitch!”

This time he ran, pumping his legs, his breath coming shallow. He ran and ran until a stitch burned in his side. He stopped, bent over, breathing heavily. He rubbed his side. His clothing was soaked with sweat. Kelley breathed deep, then stood straight.

He stood at the foot of the White Tower.

Kelley sank to his knees. “Oh, no no no no.”

No matter what happened, he could not escape. It was as if his mind got distracted and his feet found their way back to Prague Castle and the White Tower.

Kelley ran in every direction. He walked, jogged, skipped. No matter what, somehow he ended up back at the White Tower.

The obvious fact that Kelley was now ruled by the Society’s magic weighed on him with grim finality. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was doomed to stay in Prague Castle and do the Society’s bidding. He sighed, flopped into the chair at his small desk in his chamber. Edgar had made it clear that Kelley was to be the Society’s eyes and ears inside. Perhaps that was the key. If Kelley fulfilled his obligation, maybe the spell would be broken. Maybe then he could leave.

That meant he’d have to find out what was in the iron box. Edward Kelley would have to confront the astrologers.





TWENTY-THREE




Kelley almost didn’t make the final dozen steps. When he reached the top of the main tower of St. Vitus Cathedral, he collapsed on the stone landing, his chest heaving as he panted for breath. From the courtyard looking up, the tower had seemed only slightly taller than other towers he’d seen, but the arduous climb up the steep, spiral staircase had sapped the strength from his legs and stolen his wind. A sickly sweat broke out on his forehead and down his back. Kelley would have to start taking better care of himself. He drank too much.

“Who are you?”

Kelley rolled over on his back, looked up at the man in the robe. “I’m… looking for… Roderick.” He paused, gulped breath. “I’m… Edward Kelley.”

“I’m Roderick.” The man was older than Kelley, even a few years older than Dee. He had a wild tangle of white hair that stuck out in every direction, a drawn face, and a nose like a beak; topped off by a white moustache and a beard with black streaks. “What do you want? I’m extremely busy.” He had a thick German accent but spoke good English.

“I’m an alchemist at court,” Kelley said. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“One of Dee’s cohorts,” Roderick grunted. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I understand you and your colleagues brought back something from the north. I’m interested to hear about it.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s none of your business,” Roderick said, turning away from Kelley. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Kelley sat up, looked around the top of the tower. The construction was incomplete. At the moment, a crude wooden platform had been built around the stone landing. Roderick had some sort of strange device on top of a tripod. A stool stood right next to it.

“What are you doing up here?” Kelly asked.

“Waiting for sunset.”

“What happens then?”

“The angle of the sun will be right to test this.” Roderick indicated a wooden box at his feet.

Kelley went to the box and looked inside. Nestled in a bed of dry straw, a glass disc the size of a large serving plate glinted in the sun. Rainbow colors swirled in the glass, made Kelley’s eyes cross. He reached for it. “May I?”

“You may not,” snapped Roderick.

Kelley jerked his hands back.

“The finest glassblowers labored a year under the watchful eye of my best assistant to fashion that lens,” Roderick said. “A single scratch ruins it. Even a greasy smudge from your finger will delay my experiment while the lens is painstakingly cleaned.”

Roderick’s head spun to the horizon as the sun rapidly sank. “Blast. It’s almost time. Stand over there, Kelley. As long as you’ve disturbed my work, you might as well assist me. Over there. Stay still.”

Kelley moved to the spot Roderick indicated, on the other side of the platform from the tripod. He stood still, watched the astrologer.

Roderick donned a pair of white gloves. They looked as if they’d been made of some soft material. Velvet? Very expensive and finely made. Roderick bent, took hold of the glass disc with utmost care, and lifted it slowly from its padded nest in the box. With exaggerated caution, Roderick took one deliberate step at a time. Kelley found he was holding his breath and let it out slowly.

Roderick mounted the lens in a frame atop the tripod, hurried to clamp it into place, twisting knobs and securing latches. He swiveled the lens on the tripod, pointed it at Kelley.

Kelley shuffled his feet. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Keep still,” ordered Roderick. “The sun is nearly at its optimal angle. This probably won’t hurt at all. Much.”

Kelley held up a finger. “You know, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. I’m… uh… concerned that perhaps-”

The rays of the setting sun hit the lens. It flared a blinding blue, and Kelley flinched. It bathed him in soft cool light. Time seemed to slow. He saw the world creeping by, dust motes pausing in midflight. A bird over Roderick’s shoulder wheeled with impossible slowness. His own heart beat a lazy lub-thub. He blinked his eyes, the eyelids falling as slowly as the setting sun itself, rising again like an old man in the morning.