Maxie’s Demon (19 page)

‘True, true, brother!’ agreed Dee. He sat
back and smoothed out his beard, which was rapidly recovering from its forcible curling. Not surprising, really; that sewer air would have straightened out anything, except possibly me.

‘We have had a sleepless night and a trying journey; but it will not pain me, I think, to draw a nativity now. Is that the astrolabe I see over by your hand, brother? And a slate and chalk – we shall pen it out
fair later on. Now, young sir, to commence with, your natal date, and perhaps also the time of day, if you are – what? Why, bless my soul! No easy task casting the nativity for a man born some four hundred years hence, eh, hah-hah? But the motions of the heavens do not change, the mighty clockwork is ever wound, hah? And the place of birth? I see, I see …’

He was
worse than a station sergeant
with a charge sheet. Not just your usual Gypsy Lee’s The Stars & Your Sex Life sort of routine, but enough dates to choke a camel.

Date of birth – place – family – father’s and mother’s birthdates and death dates – grandparents likewise – you name it, in it went, into a sort of stellar Irish stew, with Dee muttering and screeching away with the chalk in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
It was like being back in kindergarten.

Kelley bustled about, fetching and carrying books and weird instruments. I wasn’t bored; I sat and salivated. I could have shifted that gear for a small fortune down Petticoat Lane. What he was thinking, there was as usual no telling, but he seemed to be in a good mood again. Maybe he thought I’d missed the point of Dee’s revelation, or had just taken it
for a formality; but I knew better.

Suddenly the frenzied chalking stopped dead. ‘I’faith muttered Dee. ‘Mercury in the houses of Jupiter and Venus? An ill marriage, that mingles thiefdom and whoredom at the behest of lust!’

Oops. I’ve never
had any time for astrology, but somebody up there had me pretty well to rights.

‘Read rather,’ said Kelley hastily, ‘that wit is at the service of power
and beauty – no bad thing in a young fellow, after all.’ He grinned at me over the top of Dee’s dome.

‘True, true,’ said the old man. ‘One must make allowances. But how then would one read Mars opposing, in the sign of the Crab? And eke Saturn, standing today by the Goat? Does that not mark valour and wisdom in great part confounded?’

Oh, bugger. That’s Maxie you’re talking about, lads.

‘A
man of peace, shall we say?’ intoned Kelley solemnly. ‘Although not fated to be a scholar?’

Dee looked ready to shed a tear over such a sad trick of fate. ‘And in the sign of the Water-Bearer, yes, the impatience, with authority—’

And so it went on. You could have called it a sort of piecemeal character assassination, except that my character was terminated with extreme prejudice long ago.

Kelley kept on twisting the readings round to a better interpretation, so obviously anyone less brilliant than Dee would have cottoned on. Evidently he thought he was doing me a favour; actually he was getting on my wick, and other areas. I know I’m a toerag, but at least that’s me and not some assemblage of excuses. What’s more, I’d got a pretty clear idea of what he was, too. And I didn’t like the
way he was trying to rope me in.

Mentally I took my hat off to the clever bastard, of course. Not much mystery about how it had happened. Old Dee hanging on every word from his angelic sponsors, the luscious Jane within reach – just too good an opportunity. Con artists always try something like that, pushing their marks to new limits. Something to do with keeping their contempt alive, maybe,
because contempt is what they’re really feeding on.

All villains do, to some
extent; I don’t want my own Ferrari, I want
yours
. And if I get it, peace upon you – from a great height.

The trouble was that here I couldn’t quite summon up the old cynical grin. I liked Dee, arrogant old twit that he was. And I recognised Kelley’s brand of twinkly charm, all too well. Some things don’t change. It
was the kind that turns up on an old lady’s doorstep, claiming he’s come to fix the phone or get his parakeet off the roof. It’s the kind of charm that not only persuades a girl out on to the street, but gets her back to give
him
the proceeds. On me it was already wearing thin. I knew patter and lines when I heard them; I had quite a few myself.

And what about Jane Dee? She looked, well, nice.
Not just to slaver over – nice. A foul word, OK, but the best I could manage. Nice, it suited her. What about her? Not a scrap of expression on her face; that said quite a lot in itself. I was beginning to get highly pissed off again.

Suddenly’s Dee’s lump of chalk screeched across the slate, with cringe-making effect. The sudden booming had made us all jump.

‘What the devil?’ demanded Kelley,
his eyes flickering from side to side in the familiar con-man’s reflex, acquired in years of looking for the exits. Maybe mine were doing the same. It was Dee who strode to the door and down the archway steps, to where the servants were already pulling back the bars. Padding along behind, I made a note of that; there was somebody they’d open up to without waiting to ask the master, and I could
guess who. They were locals. I could practically feel my eyeballs swivelling madly.

Outside the gate there were
only glitters in the grey light, vague clonks and clinks and the thump of heavy feet on cobbles. Only one figure marched in. He was so thoroughly swathed in armour, head to foot, that they might as well have included an opening ring. No mistaking what he was, all the same. The Universal
Sergeant turned to us as we came out of the hall door, clanked gauntlet to helmet, and spat a stream of German at Kelley. Kelley spread his arms helplessly, and pointed to Dee. So Kelley didn’t speak German? But Dee did, very well. They pitched it back and forth for a minute, then the old man turned to us. ‘It seems we are greatly honoured,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The Emperor himself requires our
presence at his levee – with our new guest.’

‘And just how’s he know of
that
?’ demanded Kelley, while I struggled not to start whimpering.

Dee shrugged, unconcerned, but I was surprised Kelley had to ask. There’d be a servant in the house, maybe all the servants, well paid or terrorised to send word to the blackened ramparts so close above.

I fought down the
urge to scream and run. The swiftest
way into the Imperial poky, that. So far Dee and Kelley had managed to stay out of one. Better rely on them – or if pushed, sell them as far down the river as I could. They’d got me into this, after all.

‘You cannot go thus meanly attired!’ Dee was exclaiming.

‘Meanly? This get-up cost me a fortune – and the ride hasn’t done it much good, either! And what’s His Nibs going to want with me, anyhow?’

Dee, as usual, wasn’t listening. ‘No robe of mine would be to your measure. Ah, brother Edward, a gown of yours, the green one perhaps. And a cap—’

To my surprise the outfit fitted me pretty well, probably better than it did bulky brother Edward, a rich affair heavily embroidered in gold thread. ‘Tell him not I told you this much,’ chuckled Dee in an undertone as he helped me into an incredibly
scratchy ruff, ‘but Edward purchas’d it from the players.’

‘The players?’

‘Aye, the King’s Men! You see, men of quality oft-times bequeath their best apparel not to their fellows, who would scorn to wear it, but to their servants, whom it would scarcely become. So they sell it to the players for a shilling or two, for their stage dress. But sometimes, when times grow hard and the theatres close,
they’ll sell it again to gentlemen of lesser means! So step proudly, for you may perhaps wear Julius Caesar’s gown! Or King Herod’s!’ It was a harmless little joke, and Dee enjoyed it hugely – so much so I suspected it was his way of letting off unconscious steam at ‘brother Edward’. And perhaps of encouraging me, too.

As we passed the table
on our way out I saw the slate lying there, with one
great scratch of chalk across it. Evidently as far as the stars were concerned, all bets were off.

Sergeant Sardine bowed, then snapped to attention. ‘Ve goh! I lead!’

‘A churl of some wit,’ commented Dee quietly, as he wheeled about and clanked out of the gate. ‘I warn you, few speak any English here, the Emperor included. The soldiers often do, though, from having Scotch mercenaries in their
ranks.’

With the women watching anxiously we were politely escorted out of the gate and into the street. I would have expected horses, but apparently going on foot was usual, with the castle so close. Our procession turned heads as it passed, one tinned lobster in front with a torch and the rest clonking along behind. Dee led the way with immense and leisurely dignity, magnificent in black fur-trimmed
college robes, skullcap and wide-brimmed cap, leaning on his silver-topped staff. Was I imagining the glow that seemed to come and go beneath his fingers?

Even before sunrise the streets were getting busy, and the coal-smoke was growing from a tang to an eyewatering cloud that could equal any modern rush-hour. I looked around curiously, but I’d have seen more if Kelley’s cap hadn’t kept falling
over my eyes. The torch wasn’t ceremonial; you’d have missed potholes without it, and worse. Still and all, the streets were cleaner than you’d expect from the history books – though this was the better part of town, of course – and the people, on the whole, well fed and healthy-looking. The horses were pretty well fed, too, hence the street problem. And they had better teeth.

All in all, apart
from a
slight lack of wheels to lift – and I could always turn to horses – it didn’t feel nearly as outlandish as you might expect, not much more so than any foreign city. People were people, anywhere, anytime. But it did feel like a hell of a long way from home.

Never more so than when we marched up a long flight of steps towards the castle gate, with an oily great portcullis dangling overhead
and what looked like rows of shrivelled turnips on spikes around the top. It took me just about this long to realise what they really were.

‘Fear not!’ Kelley hissed encouragingly in my ear. ‘The Emperor’ll not bite your head off. The mannikin’s monstrously athirst for aught with magic or alchemy in it, and liberal to those who wield such skills! Even to shielding the damned Jews, would you credit
it? Why, they are let free to leave their own filthy quarter and wander around like Christian souls in the city, the court even, during daylight hours! All for their blaspheming rabbis and their Kabala, God’s wounds!’

‘Amazing,’ I said carefully. ‘Need shielding, do they?’

‘Need it?’ Kelley chuckled. ‘If it wasn’t for him there’s stout fellows in this city would sweep it clean in a night, bitches
and brats and all! ’Twould be a pity to foul the good river Moldau, and that’s all!’

‘I guess
it would be,’ I said, still very carefully. Making all the allowances you like for his time, I was still getting just a bit tired of brother Edward. At least I forgot to be scared, though.

Until we got into the castle, anyhow.

It was huge. Not just a single building, but a sort of miniature town occupying
a whole rocky plateau, with that cathedral down one end but maybe four or five palaces surrounding it, plus a gaggle of smaller buildings from convents, barracks and stable-blocks right down to streets of cottages, all hemmed in by grim towered walls. There was just as much bustle as down below, but more purposeful, with soldiers everywhere you looked. This place spelt power, a kind of power
no king or president could have in my world. The Kremlin might have been like this before I was born, maybe, but nowhere else. You couldn’t forget there was one man at the head of all this; and we were off to see him now.

I’d have taken the Wizard any day. The Wicked Witch of the West, even.

‘His Majesty receives in the Vladislav Hall today,’ said Dee, as we headed into a huge, echoing stone-flagged
corridor, and climbed a great flight of stone steps. ‘Were the weather more clement, it might have been in his summer palace or even his gardens, which are among the most pleasant in the world. Although I will allow the roaring of beasts in his Menagerie can be a trifle daunting …’

‘He keeps them hungry,’ said Kelley wryly. We were brought up short on a high landing, a sort of antechamber with
hot and cold running lackeys. It was clearly designed to impress, this chamber. Probably not the way I was impressed, though. Rich bullion-embroidered hangings, carved furniture, silver lamps dangling from the high ceiling, paintings – it started the old saliva running again. If I could only get one small furniture truck up here – well, forget Petticoat Lane market, you could take on Sotheby’s with
this stuff.

Clearly he knew how
to live, this Rudolph. Just a couple of these chairs would have set me up pretty well – after a little guy I know had worked them up into four more ‘restorations’, anyhow. Or any of the paintings, though they were definitely not for the Impressionist punters. The style of the times seemed to be anything from the highly artificial to the downright weird, as witness
a couple of smallish portraits that flanked the high inner doors.

‘Ah, yes,’ nodded Dee, seeing me boggle. ‘By Messer Arcimboldo, one of His Majesty’s favourite court limners, though why I confess escapes me. Those are his likenesses of their Imperial Majesties.’

‘Likenesses? They’re made of bloody fruit and vegetables!’ Apples for the cheeks, a melon for the forehead, bunches of grapes and
asparagus for the hair, peapod eyelids, cherries, plums, eggplants, gherkins, you name it. The more you stared, though, the clearer the faces became. I’d know Rudolph from that, and a cheery son of a bitch he looked with those bulging apple cheeks; but they also narrowed the eyes above, and about those I wasn’t so sure.

‘Just as well they aren’t full length,’ I remarked. Kelley almost doubled
up; Dee looked puzzled.

‘There’s another
less often seen,’ whispered Kelley, tapping his nose with a finger. ‘Shown me in secret by a chamberlain. Arcimboldo used not fruit, but the bodies of fair women – reclining for the brows, one bent for the nose, so, with the buttocks – you follow?’ He chuckled. ‘A living likeness, indeed!’