The Alchemist's Door Read Free

into the room. “The innkeeper’s wife nearly ordered me out of her kitchen,” she said. “I had to beg her, to tell her our children were sick. And then she thought we carried some contagion and wanted us to leave the inn entirely.” She woke Arthur gently and lifted the broth to his mouth.
    Three days later the children were recovered enough to continue on. At Hamburg, on November sixth, they parted company with Laski and his retinue; Laski needed to attend to some business. Borrowing money, probably, Dee thought. He had learned on the journey that the prince was nearly penniless; it was no wonder he wanted the kingship so badly. They hired wagons and drivers and transferred their household goods, and pushed on by coach to Lübeck.
    There were hills now, and villages nestling among them, nearly hidden by the trees. Churches thrust up steeples sharp as daggers. The roads grew more crowded. They passed soldiers, pilgrims, wandering scholars, merchants with packtrains. Peasants dragged their two-wheeled carts to market. Twice they shared the road with a group of monks, and Dee looked at them in wonder; there had been no monks in England since bloody Queen Mary’s time.
    In the outskirts of Lübeck they passed an orchard, its few leaves flaring gold in the setting sun. “Oh, please, stop the coach!” Jane called out suddenly.
    The driver stopped. “What is it?” Dee asked.

    â€œThere’s an inn behind those trees,” she said. “Let’s stay there tonight.”
    Now he could see a spacious whitewashed building sprouting all manner of turrets and chimneys and gables. Roses climbed trellises halfway up the walls. It was the kind of inn, he knew, that would strain his meager budget. But it would be good for the family to stay somewhere pleasant for a change; they all looked pinched, anxious, even the children. He nodded and they stepped down from the coach, then began the laborious task of carrying the trunks and bundles inside.
    The innkeeper, a widow, led them upstairs to a group of clean, freshly-aired rooms. Jane unpacked a bit and sat down, looking with satisfaction at the plump featherbeds. But Dee’s fears had not left him, not even here. They should be moving, he thought, hurrying without ceasing until they reached their destination.
    They went downstairs to a supper of very good fish pie cooked with ginger, pepper, and cinnamon. “May I speak with you?” Kelley whispered to him.
    â€œCertainly,” Dee said.
    â€œI’m sorry I was so angry earlier,” he said. He was always penitent after an argument; it was as if two angels struggled for his soul, one good and one evil. “I will look in the glass again for you. Tonight might be an auspicious time.”
    They might be able to risk it, Dee thought. He could not imagine a demon haunting them here, in this place that seemed so ordinary, so good. Perhaps if Kelley was truly repentant the good angels would return. And Laski would expect them to resume the experiments sometime; if they started tonight, with Laski gone, at least the prince would not be there if they failed.
    They went up to their rooms after supper, and he saw Jane and the children to bed. Then he took out the red silk cloth embroidered with powerful signs—the Seal of Solomon, the
names of angels, some of the hidden names of God—and spread it on the table. On top of that he set the wax tablet, inscribed with stars and pentagrams and the symbols of the planets, and the stand for the showstone. He moved carefully, aware that one misstep might bring disaster on them all.
    Finally he reached into the gray velvet bag for the showstone, a perfect sphere of transparent crystal about the size of a baby’s head. He peered into the glass, still hoping after all this time to see something. There was only his reflection, upside-down, as though he had drowned. He looked older than he remembered, older than he felt. Others