THIRTY-THREE
"It has to be now," Kelley said heatedly. "I'm cracking up."
Edgar shushed him. "Keep your voice down."
They knelt next to each other on the cold stone floor of St. Vitus Cathedral, hands clasped in prayer. Edgar had snuck in dressed as one of the workers, although there were fewer workers now. In the castle, there was a strange tension, a growing, unspoken sense that something portentous was coming to fruition. There had been fewer and fewer casual visitors to court, little sign of foreign dignitaries and the normal activity of state, almost as if Prague Castle had been quarantined. As if the city held its breath, waiting for something dire and long-anticipated to finally drop its turd of doom right into the soup.
"We're not ready," Edgar whispered. "We're still gathering strength."
"I'm not doing this anymore." Kelley said it with authority. He was putting his foot down. "Do it now, or I quit."
"Are you forgetting?" Edgar asked. "You've sworn allegiance to the Society."
Did the brand on Kelley's ass flare slightly, or was it his imagination?
"I might not be able to escape, but I'll kill myself. I'll drink poison or throw myself off the top of the White Tower. Then you can find yourself another dupe."
"Pull yourself together, Kelley. My God, you're a wreck. I can smell the wine on your breath. It's seven in the morning." He eyed Kelley, a hard appraisal. "You'd do it, wouldn't you? You'd kill yourself."
Probably not. Kelley was too much a coward. "I can't stand the constant horror anymore." This, at least, was the honest truth.
Edgar sighed. "Two days. Give us two more days."
Kelley closed his eyes tight and bowed his head. He couldn't remember how a prayer went, couldn't think of anything that didn't sound like whining, couldn't think of anything to ask that he deserved. To Edgar he said, "Two days. No more."
"We'll need your help from the inside."
"Just tell me what you want."
Roderick had set up a small antechamber near the entrance to the dungeon as a personal study. That's where Kelley found the astrologer, hunched over a table littered with documents and diagrams, small models of the machines and gadgets he'd designed in service of the emperor's mad project.
Roderick muttered to himself. There were bags under his eyes. Kelley thought the man had been looking more fatigued these past few days. They'd all been pushing themselves, but until now, the old man had seemed inexhaustible, buoyed and driven by his singular purpose.
Kelley cleared his throat, not sure if he should enter.
Roderick looked up from some obscure parchment, allowing a moment for his eyes to focus. "Oh, it's you, Kelley. Come in if you like. Have a seat."
Kelley lowered himself into the rickety wooden chair opposite Roderick. He noticed the cup of wine at the astrologer's elbow and could not remember ever seeing the man drink before.
"I'm at an impasse," Roderick said. His voice sounded so tired that Kelley wondered if he might be ill.
Kelley leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands folded.
"Oh?"
"We can make a corpse almost alive," Roderick said. "Almost alive. What the hell good is that? It is merely walking death. But we're so close, Kelley. I know it."
"I thought it was just a matter of finding the right combination of lenses," Kelley said.
Roderick frowned. "I suppose. I mean, that's part of it, certainly." He shook his head and tsked. "I may not have been entirely honest with the emperor. Yes, the lenses. Of course. But so much more. We could experiment for a hundred years, fill the dungeon with zombies and still not stumble upon the exact answer."
He reached below the table, came up with a jug, filled his cup with more wine. He held the jug out to Kelley. "Can I offer you a drink?"
Kelley grinned. "I never touch the stuff."
Roderick sputtered laughter. "Good one." He filled another cup, passed it to Kelley. "The duration we expose our subjects to the stone is likely one of the problems. It's possible we simply haven't allowed the process to complete."
Kelley sipped wine. "Then you're going to have to find somebody bigger and stronger than me to turn that damn crank. I'm wearing myself out. My heart might explode."
"Fret not. We're already in the process of constructing a much more elaborate version of the device we've been using. You won't kill yourself cranking."
Kelley recalled the dammed river and the waterwheel in the caverns beneath St. Vitus Cathedral. He almost commented but remembered he wasn't supposed to know about that. Instead he said, "Is it really corpses you want to bring to life anyway? I thought the emperor's goal was immortality."
"A fair point." Roderick sipped wine, smacked his lips. "There are two ways to go about this. The emperor and I spoke at length about it in the early days of the project. The first option." Roderick held up a finger. "We fashion a device that confers immortality upon the subject. But how would we know if it worked or not? Expose a living man to immortality rays, and what's the difference? Alive is alive."
Kelley admitted he hadn't thought about it like that.
"But the difference between dead and alive-now, that's measurable. This brings us to option number two." Another finger. "We create a device which brings the dead back to life. The emperor could die an infinite number of times, and always he could be brought back. In theory." He sighed, sipped more wine.
Kelley thought about this. "What if he breaks his neck?"
Roderick looked up from his wine. "Eh? What was that?"
"If Rudolph dies from a broken neck, and you bring him back to life, then... what? He's alive with a broken neck?"
"Oh." Roderick scratched his beard. "Yes, I see what you mean."
"Or if he dies of old age," Kelley said. "You might bring him to life and then he just dies again five minutes later because he's so old."
"Uh-huh."
"Then you have to consider that maybe nobody will want to bring him back," Kelley said. "I mean, his heirs might want the throne someday, and if the man is dead, he won't be able to bring himself back, will he?"
"Okay, now you're just being annoying," Roderick said. "I admit there are some minor details to work out."
A protracted moment of silence, both men sipping wine.
"I wasn't trying to be negative," Kelley finally said.
"Never mind," Roderick said.
"You know, you could probably make a fortune curing hangovers," Kelley said.
Roderick said nothing, looked at Kelley as if he'd been examining a dog or an especially stupid child.
"That first day I met you," Kelley explained, "you zapped me with that sunbeam through the lens. I never felt better in my life. You could go from tavern to tavern. Charge a copper a piece to put all the drunks back into shape. Probably better money than the immortality racket."
Roderick sat straight in his chair, his eyes round and suddenly alert. "What did you say?"
"I said you could probably make better money than-"
Roderick stood abruptly, walked quickly from the room.
Kelley frowned. "Well, what the hell?"
When the astrologer failed to return, Kelley finished the jug of wine.
Kelley shrugged into his clothes the next morning and slouched toward the dungeon entrance. What would Roderick have for him today? No doubt something menial or horrifying.
Inside the castle, Kelley ran smack into a crowd of gawkers, all looking up at one of the big windows. Roderick was there, directing two workmen who stood in the window's frame, trying to put one of the astrologer's big lenses into place.
"Be careful, damn you!" shouted Roderick. "Put even a scratch on that, and I'll see you hung from Powder Tower."
"What's all this?" Kelley gawked with the rest of them.
"I've been at it since dawn, Kelley," said Roderick. "All thanks to you, don't you know?"
"Me?"
"You reminded me about the power of sunlight," Roderick said. "I'd been operating under the misapprehension that the stone was a chunk of the same cosmic stuff as our sun. Not at all! It is the opposite. A reflection almost."
"I don't understand."
"I think we can use the stone and the sun together." The excitement in the astrologer's voice was barely contained. "We have to bring yin and yang together."
"I still don't understand."
"Notions I brought back with me from my travels in the east," Roderick said. "The upshot is that two sources of contradicting-yet complementary-energies must collide to create the effect we're after. Some say the origins of the universe were created through such an act of creative violence."
Kelley tried to keep his face neutral. "I thought God created the universe."
Roderick cleared his throat. "Yes, of course." He looked back up at the workmen standing in the big window. "Be ready with that lens. The sun will be right soon." He gave Kelley a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Follow me, and I'll demonstrate what I've been telling you."
Kelley followed Roderick down the stairs into the dungeon. At the bottom of the stairs, another lens with a highly polished mirror behind it stood on an iron stand. Down the corridor where they turned the corner was yet another lens.
"These have all been placed at just the right angle," Roderick explained.
They passed three more lenses before arriving at the room that housed the stone. A few more of Roderick's assistants stood waiting for him, one holding a small wicker cage with a small bird flitting around inside.
Roderick took the cage, reached inside, and brought out the bird. It looked small and fragile in his fist. He handed the cage back to his assistant, then closed his other hand over the bird's head. The bird began to twitch, its wings flailing.
Kelley flinched. "What are you doing?"
"A quick suffocation does the least damage to the body."
At last the bird went still. Roderick took it into the stone chamber, placed it on a stool near the closed iron box. He returned, told his other assistants to get back down the hall and prepare to relay his commands. They left at a jog.
"I'll need you on the crank, Kelley."
Kelley pointed. "But the door's still open."
"Never mind that," Roderick said. "Just make sure not to stand directly in front of the doorway. You won't get any direct rays if you're off to the side."
Kelley remained dubious, but he manned the crank and waited for Roderick's command. Nervous.
"Angle the sun lens!" Roderick shouted.
The command was relayed back down the line, loud voices echoing in the dungeon halls. There was a long pause, and then the hallway filled with light. A blue-white beam flashed past and into the chamber room. Kelley yelled and jumped back.
"Back on the crank, Kelley," Roderick shouted. "Get to it."
Kelley cranked, the lenses spinning within the chamber. Roderick pulled the lever, opening the iron box. An electrical crack deafened Kelley. He winced but kept cranking. Rainbow lights washed through the hall, blinked and shimmered. Kelley felt nauseous and dizzy. His teeth hummed with a sharp vibration. The dungeon had become a blinding, deafening hell.
Kelley screamed but kept cranking.
Roderick pulled the lever again to close the box. He shouted back up the hall. "Finished!"
The sunbeam cut off. The hall went dead silent.
Kelley fell backward, landed hard on his ass. He was drenched in his own sweat, panting.
"Stay here," the astrologer said.
Roderick entered the chamber. He didn't come back right away. Kelley stayed on the floor. His shoulders ached from cranking at such high speed. He wished somebody bright and young and pretty would rub his shoulders. He wished he was back in Ireland, wished he'd never met Dee or Roderick or come to this place. How might his life have been different if he'd really studied the sciences, gone to the university? Instead he'd picked up dribs and drabs of knowledge, bits of science and the occult. This is where it had landed him. A sad little con man turning a crank for lunatics.
Roderick emerged from the chamber, cradled something in his hands. He stood without moving, his head upturned toward the ceiling, eyes closed. A wan smile played over his face. He stayed like that for such a long time that Kelley thought there might be something wrong with him.
Roderick turned his head slowly, smiled at Kelley. He walked to the alchemist, paused a second, then sat down on the floor across from him.
"What happened?" Kelley asked.
"Look." Roderick opened his hands.
The bird bounced into Kelley's lap, its head twitching from side to side. It peeped, flapped its wings. Kelley looked closely. It was not a zombie. It was a live, normal bird. Kelley reached for it, but the bird spread its wings, then darted into the air and into the depths of the dungeon. Kelley looked after it, mouth agape.
Roderick the astrologer had done it. He'd taken death and had turned it into life. Impossibly. Against the laws of man and God. The astrologer had done it.
And Kelley was terrified.
THIRTY-FOUR
The daily routine and attention to security within Prague Castle were obnoxiously irregular. On any given day, five guards in light armor might patrol the dungeons, or there might be twenty, depending on whether the emperor was scheduled for an inspection or if additional troops were needed to dispatch a fresh batch of zombies.
There were seven guards on duty the morning of the assault. The one constant was the guard at the main entrance of the dungeon whose job it was to lift the bar from the inside and allow entrance to anyone who spoke the proper password. This guard was Kelley's responsibility.
The guard sat on a stool and watched Kelley approach. Kelley smiled, held up a tankard of mead. He'd stashed a dagger at the small of his back under his clothes, and he shuddered at the thought of using it. Hoped it wouldn't be necessary. Couldn't stand the thought he might have to jam it into this young fellow's throat. Kelley didn't want to kill anyone.
"Looks like a dull job." Kelley had picked up more than enough Czech for casual conversation. "How about some refreshment?" He offered the tankard. Please take it.
The guard smiled crookedly, a tooth missing up front. He was maybe eighteen years old. "Much obliged." He drank, slurped, drained the mug, looked at Kelley with appreciation.
Kelley chatted with him another two minutes. Soon the guard began to sway on the stool. His eyes rolled up and he fell backward, chain mail clinking on the stone floor.
Kelley took some mild satisfaction from knowing that his alchemy skills had not completely atrophied. He could still whip up a sleeping draught from basic ingredients.
He lifted the bar of the door and pulled the iron ring. The heavy door swung inward.
Edgar and a dozen hard-looking men crowded into the dungeon entrance, all carrying short, thick swords and hand axes. They were prepared to hack through chain mail. The men were dressed in the coarse brown clothing of laborers, but they had the broad, powerful builds of fighting men, steely eyes seeking opponents.
"Good work, Kelley." Edgar handed him a sword. "Let's go."
Kelley looked at the blade in his hand. "I don't want this!"
"No time to be squeamish, man. The bloody deeds are at hand!"
"I opened the door. Bloody deeds are your department."
Two more guards appeared at the end of the hall. They drew swords. "Halt!"
"Have at them!" Edgar yelled.
Edgar's mob collided with the guards, blades flashing, axes rising and falling, biting through chain mail. Blood spurted. Screams! An empty helmet flew through the air and clattered at Kelley's feet. The guards were dead meat by the time Kelley caught up.
"There are only three more," Kelley told them. "And Roderick the astrologer. He's an old man, and I don't think he's armed."
"Let's go, then," Edgar said.
"Wait." Kelley grabbed Edgar's tunic. "Don't open the box. Take it out of here. Hide it far away. I don't even want to know where. But don't open it."
"You've told us already," Edgar said. "Now man up, Kelley. Bring that blade and let's finish this."
Kelley sighed. Okay, he could trail behind. No problem, bring the sword and jog along after them. He could hang back and not fight. "Lead on, then. I'll follow."
"Right. Let's go!" Edgar raised his sword. "No prisoners!"
The mob cheered, followed Edgar. Kelley tried to jog after them.
Something tugged at his ankle.
Kelley looked down. One of the hacked guards was not quite dead, and he had latched onto Kelley's ankle.
"Knock it off." Kelley tried to kick free. "Stop that."
The guard spit blood, lay on his back, one eye gouged out, the other fixed on Kelley. He coughed and wheezed, more blood foaming over his lips, but the hold on Kelley's ankle was like iron.
"You've done your part, okay? The fight is over." Kelley lifted the sword. "You want me to hack that hand off?"
No reply. From another part of the dungeon the sound of clashing steel reached him.
"Damn it." He knelt, tried to pry the fingers loose, but they were locked on.
The guard croaked, spit more blood.
"Oh, shut up." Kelley rapped the knuckles with the flat of the sword blade. Hard. He kept hitting until the hand let go. "Finally."
He ran after Edgar's mob and found three more dead guards. One of Edgar's men lay dead as well. Kelley kept running, gripping the sword hilt firmly. He didn't want any part of the violence, but he was determined to be ready.
A dozen steps from the Stone chamber and- an explosion.
