a kerchief to his mouth, afraid he might choke to death, coming last as they continued through several such chambers which opened out eventually into a vault so filled with curling copper tubing that it seemed they inhabited the guts of some extinct leviathan. Through this rococo maze they could see a bench on which retorts belched and, on the far side of the bench, a small, sharp-featured man with a fixed, unnatural grin, who sat watching the retorts and saying not a word.
Master Tolcharde appeared from behind a great copper sphere on which he had been hammering. “With this machine, Hermiston, I intend to send you off through Time!”
“Not today, I hope, Master Tolcharde.”
“Not for months. There is still a great deal to do, both theoretically and mechanically. Doctor Dee is aiding me. He’s not with you?” Master Tolcharde’s fanatical and friendly eyes rolled this way and that. He exposed his broken teeth in an enquiring grin. He wiped his bald head, on which sweat gathered.
The Thane shook bonneted locks. “But who’s this?” A thumb for the little man on the other side of the bench.
“A traveller. He came here not long since, by means of a glowing pyramid which dissolved and stranded him.”
Master Wheldrake turned away, studying his own features in the gleaming copper of the globe. “So there’s an exchange between the worlds?”
“Aye,” Master Tolcharde innocently responded. “The Thane brings many back-but many are taken, too. And some come and go without help of either the Thane or myself. If you would see some of the creatures…”
Master Wheldrake raised a wing. “On another day, sir. I would not waste your time.”
“But I am always willing to instruct those whose search for Truth is genuine.”
“Instruct me later, Master Tolcharde. You were telling us about your visitor.”
“His name is Calhoun and he claims to be from the White Hall-to be a Baron, indeed. He understands much of my scientific philosophy, but little of ought else. He’s sympathetic enough, however, of the same kidney as myself. But mad, d’you see? Aha! Here comes Doctor Dee.”
In brown, with white points jutting from chin and neck, the great sage strode, greeting all with some gusto until his eye fell upon Lady Lyst and he became embarrassed. “Very pleasant…I regret I did not…?”
Lady Lyst drew her brows together. She could think of no explanation for this display. “You promised me something, Doctor Dee?”
“Oh, madam, I beg thee…” He cringed. “I beg thee!”
Lady Lyst’s great eyes grew rounder still. “I’m at a loss, sir, but if my presence is unwelcome to you, I’d be pleased to leave.”
“No, no. It is an honour to have so famous an intellect among us. Indeed, there is someone'-he looked behind him, through the curling tubes-'there he is-you must meet, if you have not already.” Doctor Dee appeared to turn purple for a few seconds. He pushed an index finger between ruff and throat. “Harumph! Your Majesty!” In the darkness a voice cried:
“Here, Dee!” In a strong accent.
“King Rudolf. We are gathered near the sphere.”
It was the young Scientist King of Bohemia, strolling enthusiastically towards the bench to peer upon the retorts, his hands behind his back, clad in hunting green; doublet and britches and peaked cap. “What’s this?”
“I would introduce you to Lady Lyst.”
King Rudolf looked up with a smile. “We are old friends. We corresponded some years ago, when Lady Lyst’s first treatise was published in Prague. And we have spoken once or twice since I’ve been visiting the Court. I am most flattered to be in such company. And we have met, also, I believe, Master Wheldrake. I admired your poems. Though lately, I’ve seen little-”
“I am dead!” pronounced the miniature poet. “That is why. I have been dead for a long while.”
“Then you have come to Doctor Dee for resurrection?”
Doctor Dee smiled. “My reputation is a burden, Your Majesty. Many come with just that request-on behalf of relatives and loved ones, of course. But if you are right, then Master Wheldrake’s the first who’s asked in person.”
Wheldrake leaned his stiffening body against the curve of the globe.
“Perhaps you should ask Master Wheldrake to attend the Court of Bohemia,” suggested Lady Lyst. “He claims we’re Philistines here. And it’s well known that the Elfbergs are great artists in their own right-and scientists.”
Doctor Dee clapped the King on the back. “And this is the finest Elfberg of them all. Soldier, poet, scientist!”
“And I fear, a dreadful dilettante.” The Bohemian King was charming. (He had published three excellent books of verse, two scientific treatises and a work on natural history, and had led the successful Macedonian campaign against the Tatar Empire some five years before.) Wheldrake loathed him mightily and consoled himself with a brooding line or two
“Not as a scientist,” said Wheldrake aloud.
Lady Lyst looked about the laboratory. “Perhaps we should offer the King hospitality, Master Tolcharde?”
“Eh?”
“A drink of wine, perhaps?” said Lady Lyst. “Have you some?” She added: “Or anything?” She picked up a large phial. “This?”
“That’s the urine of a pregnant toad,” Master Tolcharde said. “I don’t think it’s alcoholic.”
Doctor Dee was helpfully knowledgeable. “Not urine, no. There are few kinds of urine which are.”
Lady Lyst had moved away from the bench, into the shadows, peering into alcoves. “What are these?”
“They are some of my mechanical comedians. I’m intending to make a whole set, then present them to the Queen.”
The metal figures, life-size, swung like corpses on a gibbet, and clanked a little: Columbine, Pierro, Captain Fracasse, Scaramouche-the latest costumes, the figures of the fashionable Comedie Parisienne, in bright brass, silver and glowing enamels.
“Excellent,” murmured Lady Lyst. She bent and picked up a dusty flask from the floor. “How do you give them life?”
“Cogs and springs, Lady Lyst, according to my own design.” He patted a dangling leg, which seemed to twitch. He reached up to turn the elaborate puppet; it stared, with an impression of dignity, into the space above his head. “There are rods, yet, to be positioned-and a mainspring-otherwise I would demonstrate.”
The Thane of Hermiston had flung an arm around King Rudolf’s shoulders and was pointing out some of the features of a baroque iron carriage on the far side of the vault, while Colvin kindly helped the senile Baron Calhoun from his chair and away into an ante-chamber. Doctor Dee joined Lady Lyst and Master Tolcharde to stare up at a silver-skirted Columbine as yet lacking hair, pirouetting, as if on an invisible surface.
“And who can say, Master Tolcharde, when your work is finished, whether these creatures are any less alive than we, of fresh and blood?” Doctor Dee became momentarily introspective. “Flesh and blood.”
“Ah,” said Master Tolcharde. “Indeed.” He rubbed, in a perplexed way, at his glinting head.
Doctor Dee cocked a significant eye. “And how goes your
“The sphere?”
“No, no. The work you do for me.”
“Of course!” Master Tolcharde exposed his potion-stained teeth. “Almost ready, Doctor Dee. The final stages, however, must be left to you.”
“I understand that.” Doctor Dee brightened. “So it goes well?”
“Modestly, I must say that it is probably my finest creation. My skills, my ideas, seem at their peak. Inspiration comes, as ever, fast and furious, but increasingly I have the means of translating that inspiration into disciplined, practical invention. The Queen’s praise, as always, spurs me. She was very pleased with the little falcon, so I heard, Lady Lyst.”
“I heard the same. A pity you gave it no homing instinct. It flew off, over Norbury Woods, in pursuit of a plover, and never returned.”
“They are easily made. I’ll produce another soon.” Contentedly Master Tolcharde turned back towards his
