“If anyone can save us from this rat-trap that you have led us into, it is me – is that not so?”
I just nod silently.
“And what reward did you have in mind for ... for the scum the great Doctor Dee picked up from the London gutter?”
“Edward!” I cry, “Edward, are we not blood brothers?! Have I not shared everything, everything with you like a true brother; more – have I not treated you as my own other half?”
“Not everything”, mumbles Kelley.
A shiver runs over me.
“What do you want of me?”
“I? Want from ... you, brother? Nothing, brother...”
“The reward, the reward! – What is the reward, your reward, Edward?”
Kelley leans forward in his chair: “The mysteries of the Angel are unfathomable. I, who am his mouthpiece, know the true awfulness of his power. I have learnt what fate awaits one who has sworn obedience and witholds it. I will not call up the Angel again ...”
“Edward!” – it is a scream of terror that erupts from me.
“... I will not call up the Angel again, John, unless I am assured that his commands will be followed as ineluctably as day follows night. Will you, my brother John Dee, obey all future commands of the Green Angel of the West Window as I obey them?”
“Have I ever done otherwise!?” I object.
Kelley stretches his hand out to me.
“That is as may be. Swear obedience!”
My oath fills the chamber like drifts of smoke, like the whispering of countless demons, like the rustling of green – yes of green angel’s wings.
It is the Lord High Constable, Prince Rosenberg, who is pacing up and down before me, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of apology. – Then I suddenly realise where I am: the coloured half-light around us comes from the tall East window of a church. We are standing behind the high altar of the Cathedral of Saint Vitus in the castle.
Another strange meeting place, such as Emperor Rudolf and his emissaries like to choose to avoid the attentions – real or imagined – and passion for denunciation of the Cardinal Legate’s army of spies. Here, in this majestic cathedral, the Emperor’s confidant believes himself unobserved.
Finally he stops, right in front of me, trying to read my thoughts with his earnest gaze, the gaze of a good man with a tendency to somewhat naive enthusiasms. He says:
“Doctor Dee, I trust you completely. You do not have the look of someone trying to snatch a silver Thaler between the stocks and the gallows, like other rogues and vagabonds. It is a genuine zeal to penetrate the mysteries of God and nature that has brought you to Prague and Emperor Rudolf’s castle – a place not without its dangers, mark you. I repeat: the service of the Emperor is no cushion of ease. Not even for his friends, Sir, as I can confide in you. And least of all for the friends of his great passion, for his fellow ... er ... initiates. – But to get to the point: what have you to tell me about the Emperor’s business?”
My bow is a token of my genuine respect for the Constable.
“The Angel who commands us has unfortunately not yet found us worthy of an answer to our fervent prayers. He remains silent. But he will speak when the time is come. He will permit us to act.”
I am astonished at myself, at how easily the lie trips off my tongue.
“So you want me to try to convince my sovereign that it depends on the permission of the ... of your so-called ‘Angel’ alone, whether you can give His Majesty the book of instructions from Saint Dunstan’s tomb? – So be it. But what guarantee does the Emperor have that your ‘Angel’ will ever grant this permission? I must remind you once more, Doctor Dee: the Emperor will not be trifled with!”
“The Angel will allow it, Count, I am certain; I will vouch for it ...” – Gain time! Gain time, that is all that is left for me.
“Your word of honour as a gentleman?”
“My word of honour as an English gentleman!”
“I think I can do it, Sir. I will make every effort to persuade His Majesty to have patience with you. You must realise that I risk my own position in this as well, Sir. But you and your friend have promised to let me share in the revelations the book will bring. You give me your word on that, too?”
“My word, Count.”
“We will see what can be done. – Hey! You there! –” The Constable swings round. Behind him, from the depths of one of the chapels that surround the chancel, a black figure emerges. A black cassock slips past, bowing as it goes. The Constable pales as he watches the figure recede.
“Vipers, wherever you go! When will they clear out that den of treachery? – The Cardinal will have more matter to report ...”
The night air is still trembling from the booming double strike of two o’clock from the Tyn Church. The house of Doctor Hajek, the Emperor’s personal physician, resounds angrily with the echoes of the brazen monster up in the bell-tower.
We stand together before the heavy trapdoor and Kelley turns the key; his face is empty of expression, as it always is when the Angel is about to appear.
Pine torches in our hands, we clamber down an iron ladder that seems to stretch endlessly into a dreadful, yawning abyss. Kelley ahead; above me my wife, Jane. The ladder is attached to the wall with pins as thick as a man’s arm; there is no masonry in the shaft we are descending, it is a stone cavern, perhaps formed by a rushing whirlpool in primaeval days? Doctor Hajek’s house is built above it. The air is dry, not dank and heavy as is usual in grottos. It is as
