Gloriana

upon her magus. “Do you require assistance with the charts?”

Dee wiped moisture from his brow. The room was heated from pipes below the flagstones, in the Roman manner. “A boy?”

“Lord Ingleborough’s page is here, awaiting his master’s return.” She pointed toward a scarlet curtain half- hiding a polished door. “There.”

The Countess of Scaith rose. “I’ll fetch him.” She crossed to the curtain, pulled open the door. “Ah, it’s Patch.”

A sweet voice from the page. “Good morning, your ladyship.”

“Join us please, Patch.” Una spoke warmly. There were few at Court who were not charmed by Lord Ingleborough’s boy.

In came Patch, elegant and tiny, in a suit of dark green, with ruff and cape, all green; green cap in hand. His curls were cut short and were almost white. He bowed prettily and looked at Doctor Dee with large brown eyes that were courteous and intelligent.

“Master Patch, please aid the Doctor.”

“Sir?” Patch presented himself to Dee and seemed unembarrassed when the magus reached out exceptionally long fingers to pat his head.

“Good boy, Patch.”

Doctor Dee looked about him, sighted a sideboard, and went to place the majority of his charts upon it; he selected one and returned to the foot of the dais. “Take an end, lad. There.” Cheerfully Patch obeyed. “Move away a little. Excellent.” They unrolled the chart and stood with it between them, displaying it to the Queen, who, in concert with the Countess, bent forward, while Lord Montfallcon looked steadily and somewhat longingly at the door to the Privy Chamber.

The Queen’s scent reached Doctor Dee’s nostrils and he felt his old knees tremble. For twelve years he had loved her, lusted after her. There had been hardly a moment, even during his most profound contemplations, when he had not desired her; but he lacked the means to tell her. For so long had he been regarded as a sage, a mentor, a metaphysician, that he had been trapped entirely in his role, did not dare leave it for fear of disappointing her. He loved her too much to risk such disappointment. O, Madam, he thought, if only I could disguise myself one night, as a devil, as a rogue, to creep into your bedchamber and bring you what you yearn for. What we both yearn for, by the gods…. He realised that she was asking a question. “Madam?”

“These spheres?” she said. “All these circles intersecting. There are other worlds, eh?”

He peered upon his own charts. “Yes, madam (why must she rustle so seductively?), the broad diagram-not specific, but to show the theory. The central sphere is ours, though no more central than our own in the universe we know-these others are (those brows!) representative of worlds which exist in parallel to our own (ah, and in one Dee must be the master, you the slave) and mirror our own, perhaps exactly perhaps only in approximate detail, some with continents where our seas are, or with dominant beings descended, perhaps, from apes-anything imaginable…”

“How are these worlds reached, Doctor Dee?” Lord Montfallcon challenged. “Where have you seen them?”

“I have not seen them, my lord.”

“You know travellers who have? Mariners?”

“Not mariners, but perhaps-yes, travellers…”

“They came by ship?”

“Most did not, my lord.”

“By land?” Lord Montfallcon threw back his shoulders, prepared for further conflict.

Queen Gloriana laughed. “Hush, Lord Montfallcon.” She was delighting in this unusual pettiness on the part of her greatest minister. “You are a bad scholar, sir!”

“I wish to know, madam'-heavily, turning to her-'for it is my business to protect your Realm. Therefore I must be wary of all possibilities of attack.”

John Dee smiled. “I think there’s little chance these worlds threaten our security, my lord.”

“In no way at all, Doctor Dee?” Lord Montfallcon glanced significantly at the magus.

“I can think of none.” Innocently.

“You waste your own time and ours, my lord.” Gloriana became gently impatient. “These are but the Doctor’s theories.”

“Based on certain evidence, however, Your Majesty,” muttered Dee.

“Of course…” She picked up her sceptre.

“How do these travellers reach our shores?” Lord Montfallcon became more stubborn as the smiles around him broadened.

“The spheres, I believe, occasionally intersect. When that occurs, they come willy-nilly, through no intention of their own. At least, most of them do. Others, by the practice of certain arts unknown to us, come deliberately, perhaps. But, sir, we move too far from what I present as a pure idea, nought else. Plato himself suggests-”

Lord Montfallcon let a breath loose from between his teeth. He put a hand to his belt. “I am not obtuse, I think. I have studied the classics. I have a reputation, moreover, for subtlety, yet I still do not understand!”

“You do not will it so, that’s all. (Oh, this dolt knows what I am feeling! He is aware that the only knowledge I truly desire is the knowledge of her high-strung flesh….) I suggest, Your Majesty, that we pursue this discussion at another time.”

“No, no, no. On with it, Doctor Dee.” Gloriana tapped with the royal baton.

“Yes, Your Majesty. (On with it, aye. On to your warm bones with mine….) I have another plan, more detailed, of a section of our cosmos.” He moved towards Patch, rolling the chart as he approached, plucked the end from the boy’s soft hand, strode to the sideboard and, selecting another chart, returned. Again the boy and the man moved, as if in a dance, to display the next chart. “Here are familiar constellations, marked in red. Behind these are the same constellations, but at a different angle, in blue-then the constellations again, in black-and again, and again, in these yellows and greens. The constellation in red is the one we observed with the naked eye. The constellations in other colours are those which might exist, but which are separated from our ordinary perception by some means-layers of ether, perhaps, hiding one from the next. (Oh, those fingers! Her hands! Would that they tickled my manhood now….) I have not, Lord Montfallcon, observed such constellations through telescopes. They are theoretical constellations. There have been reports, of course. I am even now, alchemically, devising a means of crossing from one world to another, but so far I have had poor success.”

“You have no need to defend yourself from Lord Montfallcon’s ignorance, Doctor Dee.” Queen Gloriana reached out towards her Chancellor, placating him with a gesture as she placated her Philosopher with a word. “You seem distracted, Doctor Dee.”

He looked up, controlling the fires which sprang behind his eyes. He ignored the enquiry. “Certain persons have been brought to me in the course of the years, gracious Majesty who have seemed mad. These men and women have all claimed to originate upon other worlds. I have found them logical and consistent-sane, save for their single, central delusion, that this world is not their own. I have had them draw their spheres for me. They are all, in basic, the same as our own. The names for nations and continents are sometimes different. The societies described are often alien and barbaric.” He rolled the second chart, moved to the sideboard, came back with a third. “This is one, for instance. Similar to ours, yet not entirely the same.” Patch took the left, Dee the right, to display the detailed map of the globe. “See. The names are not at all like ours, though a few correspondences exist. I had this from a poor lunatic who claimed to have been a king over all the German states, some Emperor Charlemagne, though with considerable magical powers-”

“With designs on Albion?” The grey voice.

Pedantic Lord Montfallcon was ignored. Una, Countess of Scaith, looked with great interest at the map. It was almost as if it was familiar to her. “It is very good.”

“Fanciful, you mean, my lady?” asked Dee.

“If you like.”

“I believe it to be a true representation. This is the only full one I have made. My informant, as it happened,