The Fatal Tree (16 page)

The servant made a perfunctory sweep of the rooms to see that all was as it should be, then retreated, saying, “This is where you will live. Whatever you lack will be provided by the underchamberlain.”

With no more explanation than that, the fellow closed the door on them, leaving the two to their own devices. Haven cast a quick glance around the apartment. The rooms were large enough and pleasant in a spare, uncluttered way; and the bedchamber seemed ample and well supplied with cushions and a padded pallet. “I believe,” she said, biting her lower lip, “they must think we are married.”

“That would be a useful expedient,” suggested Giles.

“Expedient?” She reared back. “You do quite forget yourself, Mr. Standfast. Expedient!”

“Do not gainsay it just yet,” said Giles quickly. “Think on it a little. If we were indeed married, it might make things easier for both of us so long as we are here.”

“Or make things more difficult,” countered Haven. She frowned and shook her head. “No, it is out of the question,” she decided firmly. “I will not hear it.”

“My lady, I – ”

She raised her hand to halt further discussion. “We will not speak of this again.”

I
t was that awkward time of the day: lunch was but a vague memory and dinner yet a distant promise. Even so, Emperor Rudolf, King of Bohemia and Hungary,Archduke of Austria and King of the Romans, while trying to concentrate on the abstruse astrology text before him, found his thoughts bending toward what his kitchen might produce for his evening meal. He was on the point of summoning his chamberlain to send for the Chief Cook and Master of the Imperial Kitchen to discuss the matter when there was a knock on the door of the library, and the Master of Royal Audiences stepped quietly into the emperor’s private book-lined sanctum.

“Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” said the official, “but Herr Stiffelbeam is requesting an audience with Your Majesty. What is your pleasure?”

“Our pleasure is to be left alone in peace to read for two minutes at a time without interruption,” grumped the emperor. He raised his head from the obscure but highly decorated text before him and fixed the courtier with a disgruntled stare. “That is our pleasure.”

“To be sure, Highness. I shall send him away.”

“Do that – and see that we are not disturbed again.” The emperor licked his finger and turned another page, then stopped. “Did you say Stiffelbeam? Engelbert Stiffelbeam the baker?”

“The very man, Highness,” confirmed the Master of Audiences.

The emperor twisted around in his chair. “Why did you not tell us this in the beginning, you ninny? Why must we always guess these things for ourselves?”

“I humbly beg your pardon, Majesty. I assumed the man was known to you.”

“Do you think us mad? Of course the man is known to us! For a certainty he is known to us! Do not keep him waiting. Send him in at once!”

“Here, Majesty?”

“Where else?”

“One of the royal audience chambers, perhaps?”

“No. Here – in the library. We want to see him at once, and we do not care to go chasing through half the palace to do so. Bring him here, and be quick about it.”

The Master of Audiences withdrew, leaving the emperor in blissful solitude for at least ten minutes, after which time he returned with the emperor’s guest in tow. He entered the library with a knock, threw open the door, and announced, “Herr Engelbert Stiffelbeam of the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus.”

Rudolf rose and turned to greet his guest who, he was pleased to see, was carrying a small box wrapped in checked cloth and tied with a satin ribbon. Rudolf knew that good things came in such boxes. “Welcome! Welcome, Herr Stiffelbeam,” he said, starting forth. “We are heartily glad to see you. Come in. Business is good, we trust? Your health remains robust?”

Engelbert bowed low and greeted His Imperial Highness with good grace, then replied, “I am well and business could not be better. I am truly blessed, Highness.”

“Splendid!” The emperor resumed his seat. “Your presence is most fortuitous, Baker Stiffelbeam. Just this very moment we were remembering your inestimable pastries with great fondness – particularly your extraordinary strudel!
Ach
, the strudel.”

“Your Highness is very kind,” replied Engelbert simply. “Perhaps you will look with favour upon my humble gift.” He lifted the gaily wrapped parcel and extended it toward Rudolf. “For you, Majesty.”

“Oh! What have we here?” Rudolf relieved the bearer of his package and, placing it on the library table before him, proceeded to unwrap it forthwith. “
Wunderbar!
” he exclaimed as he lifted off the lid and peered inside.

“I made this one especially for you,” Engelbert told him. “It is a new recipe, sire, plum with raisin.” Lowering his voice, he added, “The plums are soaked in rum.” He bowed again. “With my compliments, Your Highness. I hope you enjoy it.”

“We must try it at once!” cried the emperor. Turning to the door, he shouted for one of the pages on duty outside. “Plates! Spoons! A knife!” he shouted at the youth who appeared in the doorway. “Bring these utensils at once. Hurry, now! There is strudel to be eaten!”

The page darted away, and the emperor gazed on the perfectly formed golden-crusted delicacy lightly dusted with that sweetest of confections, powdered sugar. “A masterpiece, Baker Stiffelbeam,” declared the emperor, lifting the pastry from the box and placing it ceremoniously on the table.

“My customers have been very generous with their praise, Majesty. I am thinking that it should become a celebration strudel – Christmas, maybe, or Easter.”

“A worthy thought, to be sure,” agreed Rudolf. “All the same, seeing as there are already a great many delicacies commemorating those hallowed and festive seasons, might another holy day be chosen?”

“Of course, Highness. I had not considered that. Perhaps Your Majesty has a special occasion to suggest?”

The emperor’s broad face assumed a studious aspect, and after a moment’s consideration he replied, “Now that we come to examine the matter closely, it would seem to us that the emperor’s name day is singularly lacking in the way of celebratory pastries. This has always seemed a lamentable oversight to us.”

“Your Majesty, it would be a very great honour if my strudel could be considered worthy to supply that lack.” Engelbert bowed slightly in recognition of this distinction and suggested, “But before making such a judgement, perhaps Your Highness would like to taste the pastry to be certain it will be acceptable.”

“An excellent suggestion!” cried Rudolf. “Taste it we shall. We shall!” He turned a stern gaze upon the door. “Just as soon as that blasted page returns with the cutlery, we shall by all means taste it.”

Presently, the page and one of the scullion boys returned bearing plates and knifes and spoons for the emperor and his guest. Engelbert sliced the delicate, paper-thin leaves of golden pastry and served Rudolf a healthy slab. Seated at the library table, spoon at the ready, the plate before him, the Emperor of the Romans took an exploratory bite. He rolled the purple sweetness around in his mouth and then sighed, “Ah, it is divine!” He took another bite and declared, “Baker Stiffelbeam, this is without a doubt the best strudel ever to reach the royal mouth. You are to be congratulated. Henceforth, you shall be called a Master Baker.”

“You do your servant a very great honour, Your Majesty.”

Rudolf took another bite of the celebratory plum strudel and sighed again, this time somewhat wistfully. Engelbert asked, “Is something amiss, Your Highness?”

“If there was anything that could make my pleasure complete, it would be the merest sip of your wonderful kaffee.”

Engelbert inclined his head and replied, “Forgive me, Highness, but there is no need to wish for such a thing when it is yours to command. If you will permit me, Your Majesty…” He moved to the door and stepped into the corridor, returning a moment later with a young lad carrying a tray, which was covered by a heavy cloth. Placing the tray on the table, the boy removed the cloth to reveal two porcelain cups, a pot of cream, and a tin box containing a copper pitcher nestled in a bed of glowing embers. At a nod from Engelbert, the lad took a fold of the cloth and, wrapping it around the handle of the pitcher, poured coffee into a cup, added a touch of cream, and placed the cup before the emperor.

“Such foresight, such thoughtfulness,” extolled the emperor. “We would that all our subjects possessed such presence of mind.” He took another big bite and a long drink of coffee and pronounced himself well satisfied with his new name day confection. “Master Baker Stiffelbeam, you have earned the gratitude of Your Imperial Majesty,” he said. “If there is anything we can do for you, name it and we shall make it our command.”

Engelbert bowed low, accepting his monarch’s praise. Then, rising, he said, “There is one thing that has been on my mind. And it troubles me greatly.”

“You have but to speak it out,” replied Rudolf around another bite of strudel. “And if it be in our power, that thing shall trouble you no more. What is it? You wish a royal warrant for your bakery? A knighthood? Ask and it is yours.”

“I seek nothing for myself, Your Majesty, but for another. There is a man languishing in prison for a crime he committed against me. I have forgiven him completely and ask for his pardon and release.”

“We commend you for your humility and compassion, Herr Stiffelbeam.” The emperor nodded thoughtfully. “What is the name of this unfortunate?”

“He is a nobleman by the name of Burleigh, Highness. I know him only as Lord Burleigh.”

“Burleigh?” The Emperor of the Romans frowned. “Burleigh? Do not speak to me of that rogue.”

“I beg your indulgence, sire, but you did ask me to make my request.”

The emperor’s frown deepened. “The man is a low criminal,” he declared. “In addition to crimes against this court, he has committed gross felonies against your good self. I remember clearly now. Perhaps you wish to exact a more fitting punishment, eh? The lash – or even the rope? Hanging would not be too good for him. Is that it, Baker Stiffelbeam?”

“Oh no, sire! On the contrary. I wish to see him released. He has been in prison these many months, Majesty. It is time to grant him pardon and set him free, I think.”

The emperor gazed at his petitioner for a long moment, considering the implications of his decision. “We would be better pleased if you had asked anything but that,” he concluded. “This earl is nefarious. Not only has he greatly impeded the important work of this court, he has betrayed the royal trust and abused the goodwill of the emperor himself. Justice will not be mocked. Thus, we regret that we cannot grant the remedy you seek.” He regarded Engelbert sympathetically. “We hope you understand. Is there another boon you might ask?”

Engelbert thought for a moment, then said, “I beg your pardon, Majesty, but if Lord Burleigh cannot be pardoned, may he at least be tried? Might the magistrate be instructed to hear the case without further delay? That in itself would be a mercy.”

Rudolf, King and Emperor, weighed the implications of this request and said, “Your suggestion has merit, Master Stiffelbeam. Moreover, we are inspired by your compassion – misguided though it may be.” He tapped his fingers on the table and regarded the delicious plum strudel and made up his mind. He called for his Minister of Domestic Affairs and, while he waited, finished his celebratory strudel and coffee, and was coaxed into indulging in a second piece of the rich plum dessert.

Rudolf was just brushing the last crumbs from his lips when there came a rap on the door, and the minister slipped quietly into the room. “There you are, Knoblauch. Where have you been hiding?”

“Your servant awaits His Majesty’s pleasure.” He bowed unctuously and low.

“There is a fellow in prison awaiting a hearing,” began the emperor. “We are persuaded to allow the case against him to proceed without further delay. See to it.”

“Your command will be expedited through the proper channels, sire,” replied the minister. “Pray, Highness, how is this man to be identified?”

“Oh, you know the one we mean,” answered Rudolf irritably. “It is that earl – that Burleigh fellow. The one who subverted the energies of our court and betrayed our trust and friendship.”

“I recall the case, sire. Chief Magistrate Richter will be informed at once.”

“There now,” said the emperor when the minister had departed. “The case will be called, and we are satisfied that justice shall prevail.” He turned the imperial gaze upon the pastry plate. “Yet there is still one oversight that cries out to be corrected.”

“What is that, Your Highness?” wondered Engelbert.

“Nothing less than the sad neglect of your wonderful strudel! See here, the remedy must be applied forthwith.”

“Allow me to serve you another slice, Majesty,” offered Engelbert. “And I believe there is yet a little more kaffee in the jar.”

T
he leaps were getting harder. No doubt about that. In Wilhelmina’s estimation, the dimensional crossings were not only more unpredictable, they were less comfortable by a clear margin. Though long ago inured to the nausea and disorientation, she now experienced both – with a vengeance. Each leap took a greater toll. She felt sorry for Dr.Young. Having promised him wonders beyond imagining, all he had experienced so far were vomiting, dizziness, and migraine headaches – which was a shame, because in most other ways the Egyptologist was the perfect candidate for the study and practice of ley travel. Blessed with a hardy constitution and an inexhaustible enthusiasm for science, as well as an encyclopaedic knowledge of cultures and languages ancient and modern, Thomas Young was a seasoned explorer – a quality that, as it turned out, he very much needed, because the journey from the wadi of the tomb in Egypt was anything but smooth.

Their first leap nearly ended in disaster when the connecting ley deposited them, not in the hills outside of Prague, but in the middle of a forested hunting run between a fleeing stag and mounted hunters with a pack of hounds in full cry. Fortunately, thanks to some quick thinking by Wilhelmina, they were able to scurry into the underbrush at the side of the run and avoid being trampled by the horses. Two more leaps followed before they reached Prague and the River Ley.

As soon as her eyesight returned to normal, she raised her head and looked around. They seemed to have landed on the path leading down into the gorge she knew as Big Valley. The right place at last – was it also the right time?

But what had become of Dr. Young?

She had held his hand, literally, through the leap, but they had become separated upon landing. She heard a strangled sound and turned to find him on the path behind her, down on all fours, gagging with dry heaves. She hurried to him and put her hand on his back. “Dr. Young, are you all right?”

He raised his head, his steel-rimmed glasses askew on his face. “I daresay I shall survive.” He adjusted his glasses and patted his mouth with a folded handkerchief.

“I am so sorry.” She held out a hand to help him to his feet. “That was the worst one yet.”

Thomas nodded but waved aside the offered hand, preferring to remain on the ground for the moment. Still dressed in his desert digging gear – lightweight coat and trousers of unbleached linen and floppy cricket hat – he looked like a jungle explorer down on his luck. For the first time, she began to doubt the wisdom of inflicting the trauma of ley travel upon the kindly doctor.

“Hey!” called a voice from the trail below.

Mina turned to see Kit and Cass walking out of the earlymorning mist to meet them.

“We were just about to give up on you. What took you so long?”

“Don’t ask,” Mina replied darkly, using a tone that told him she was not to be crossed.

“Well, I’m glad you got here anyway.” Kit gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then turned to the stranger. “You brought somebody with you?” He looked again and recognised the newcomer. “Dr. Young?”

He hurried to where the doctor knelt on the path. “It’s me, Kit Livingstone. Good to see you again. We didn’t know you were coming.” Kit stooped and helped him to his feet. “It looks like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

Thomas, swaying slightly, replied, “I once crossed the North Sea during a force eight gale, and it was nothing like this.” He wiped his hands on his coat and then shook hands with Kit. “But all is well that ends well.”

“Here – there’s someone you should meet,” Kit told him, then turned to introduce him to Cass. While they talked, Kit pulled Wilhelmina aside. “Why’d you bring him here?”

“Don’t start, okay?” she warned. “I had a devil of a time getting here at all. The short version is I got stuck in Egypt and thought maybe we could use a little help.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but – ”

“Leave it out. I’m not in the mood,” Mina told him. “Is this dimension stable?”

“So far.” He glanced at Thomas, who seemed to be feeling better. “Shall we head up to the tree?”

“Sole purpose of trip,” she said. “Lead the way.”

They mounted the steep path to the canyon rim and then hiked across the grassy plain to the low, wooded hills, where they paused to drink a little water before entering the forest. A short while later Kit led them into a grove of small beech trees. “Almost there,” he called behind him, and pushing through a dense tangle of branches, they entered the ring-shaped clearing of the great yew tree.

From the elephantine roots to the soaring top, the mighty tree surmounted and dominated the other trees round about. The trunk formed a solid barbican wall beneath massive boughs covered in shaggy bark and tufted with branches bearing thin, needlelike leaves. Here and there red berries glowed among the deep emerald spikes. The wide, outflung branches formed a barren circle around the yew, a dead zone covered in spent, rust-coloured needles that assured the singular tree stood proud as any cathedral on a hill.

“Incredible,” breathed Thomas at first glance. “It must be a thousand years old.”

“If a day,” Kit agreed. He gazed up into the entwining branches. “There’s some powerful energy in this place. Best not touch anything. We got a nasty jolt just sitting here too long.”

“Is it my imagination?” wondered Mina. “Or is this tree even bigger now than last time I saw it?”

“You too? That’s just what I said,” Kit told her. “Listen.”

Wilhelmina and Thomas cocked their heads to one side and listened. A thick, cushioning silence pervaded the clearing.

“Hear that?” said Kit, his voice stark in the unnatural stillness.

“I don’t hear anything,” Mina said after a moment.

“Exactly. It’s like the tree absorbs everything around it – even sound.”

Thomas, standing a little apart, lifted a hand to the tree before them and declared, “‘Behold! The Lord God brought forth out of the earth each tree fair in sight, and sweet to eat. Also He brought forth the Tree of Life in the midst of paradise, and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. And of the many trees in the garden these two were the fairest.’”

Glasses glinting as he raised his face to search the upper branches of the great yew, he continued, “‘So the Lord God took the man that He had made and put him in His Garden of Delight, to cultivate and tend it. And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat, but of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, thou shalt not eat of it – for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.”’” Thomas gazed up at the branches towering above him. “This reminds me of that first tree – that first, fatal tree.”

“Genesis, chapter two,” said Cass, then added, “‘But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, “Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.”’ That’s from Genesis three.” At Kit’s surprised expression, she shrugged. “I paid attention in Sunday school.”

“My friends, we stand in the presence of great mystery,” Thomas declared. “This is an ancient story, and like that tree in Eden, its roots go deep into the fertile imagination of the mind. Its meaning is varied, and though wiser heads may disagree, I believe the tale of Adam and the Fatal Tree is intended to convey something of our origins, yes, the genesis of our place in the world as thinking creatures fit to participate with the Creator in the ongoing work of creation.

“See here,” the doctor continued, gazing up through the overhanging branches of the massive yew, “the story illustrates the double-edged gift of the self-aware creature – that is, the knowledge or awareness of existence itself. One of the consequences of becoming a self-aware moral creature is to be conscious not only of your own living existence, but its opposite as well – ”

“Death,” concluded Kit.

“The Fatal Tree,” mused Cass, nodding in agreement, “because the fruit of self-awareness brought the knowledge of death.”

In the quiet of the clearing, Thomas’ measured voice took on a prophetic note. “Poor old Adam ate from the Fatal Tree, and the universe would never be the same.”

At these words, the travellers fell silent. The sun passed behind a cloud, casting the clearing into a sudden early dusk, imparting the dim tranquillity of a church sanctuary; but the silence of the clearing was now somehow less than the quiet of a cathedral and more like the funereal hush of the crypt.

After a moment, Wilhelmina said, “So, the thing is, Dr. Young, we have to find a way to get around this tree if we hope to get back to the Spirit Well.”

“I do not recall anyone mentioning a Spirit Well.” Thomas looked from Wilhelmina to Kit and back. “Have I failed to grasp the object of our mission?”

Kit explained briefly about the Bone House and how he had discovered what Arthur Flinders-Petrie had termed the Well of Souls. “The tree stands on the spot where the Bone House stood,” he concluded. “I know how the Bone House works, but I don’t have any idea how the tree works. I’m assuming there is a reason why it’s here, and if we could figure out what that reason is, then we just might find a way to get past the tree.”

They discussed various possibilities of circumventing the yew tree – including chain saws and dynamite – and eventually ran out of ideas. “What do you think, Dr. Young?” Kit glanced around. “Where’d he go?”

“Probably gone on a walkabout,” Mina said. “I’ll go check round the other side.”

She moved off, giving the enormous trunk and spreading boughs a wide berth, and quickly passed from sight. A moment later they heard her call, “Found him! He’s over here.”

Kit opened his mouth to shout a warning, but before he could even draw breath he heard Wilhelmina cry out, “Wait! Dr. Young… don’t!”

Kit’s feet were moving before the sound was swallowed by the cushioning quiet. Ducking under the lower branches, he dodged around the trunk of the yew tree and caught sight of Wilhelmina moving toward Thomas Young, who was standing with his hands upraised, a strange smile on his face. “You can literally feel the energy!” he announced. “This is extraordinary!”

“Dr. Young, put your hands down!” shouted Kit. Even as he spoke, Kit felt the energy surge convulse the air with a snap and crackle like that of static electricity arcing across a gap. In the same instant a shimmering blue glow enveloped the doctor and Wilhelmina.

“Mina, watch out!” Cass shouted.

She whirled on Kit and Cass. “Stay back!”

The doctor, his face alight with the fascination of discovery, stretched up and took hold of the nearest branch. A searing crack and a blinding blue-white flash lit up the entire clearing. Thomas was struck and hurled backward by the blast. He landed several meters from the tree in a smouldering heap against the hedge wall. Wilhelmina, standing near him, was knocked sideways and blown back by the force of the discharge. She landed awkwardly on her side with her arm bent into an unnatural position beneath her. The air stank of ozone and singed hair.

Kit ran to her and Cass dashed to where the doctor lay.

“Mina!” Kit shouted. “Mina, are you okay?”

Her eyelids fluttered, showing the whites of her eyes, and she moaned. “Don’t try to move,” he told her. “Here… easy now…” Kit rolled her onto her back and freed her trapped arm. The movement brought an agonised shriek of pain. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! Let me have a look.”

As gently as he could, he examined the injury. Even the slightest touch brought a gasp, and when Kit tried to adjust the arm, Mina screamed in pain and tears welled in her tightly squeezed eyes. “That’s over,” Kit told her. “It could be broken. We’ll have to make you a sling. Just rest easy, okay?”

As the waves of pain subsided, Mina opened her eyes and whispered, “Thomas – where’s Thomas… ?”

Kit turned to where Cass was kneeling beside the doctor. “Cass – how is Dr. Young?”

Cass raised her head. The colour had drained from her face and her hands were shaking. “Kit?” she said, her voice small and hushed. “I think Dr. Young is dead.”