Authors: Stephen R. Lawhead
Around the margins of these more distinct groups were others who came and went, floating easily amongst the various tiers and strata, but not wholly part of any one faction or another: certain professional men—physicians and lawyers, for example—who mixed with any of several groups. There were also a variety of minor court officials, among whom Wilhelmina noticed an odd coterie she could not readily identify. They came dressed in vaguely academic garb complete with silly hats—bizarre shapes and unusual fabrics—long stoles, and fur-trimmed hooded gowns. Closer inspection revealed that their robes were invariably threadbare, the furs moth-eaten, the hats soiled, the stoles exhibiting a variety of stains. They kept mainly to themselves, their company exuding an air of benign secrecy. They came late and huddled head-to-head over their cups, speaking in low, earnest voices, often consulting books and scraps of parchment that they brought with them; and though they dressed as impecunious eccentrics, they paid in good new silver.
Intrigued by their mysterious presence, Mina determined to find out who they might be. One evening, after the main group had come and gone, she approached one of the younger men who remained behind, nursing his coffee at the table recently abandoned by his fellows. “Would you like another cup?” asked Mina, brandishing her pewter pot. She liked walking through the room, meeting her customers, and refilling their cups. “No charge,” she said, smiling.
“Please,” said the fellow. He looked a little lost in his big dark robe and squirrel-fur collar. His hat was two sizes too big and sat on his head like a limp rhubarb leaf. “My thanks, good woman.”
“Your friends had to leave,” she observed, raising the pot. She poured and discovered that the vessel was all but empty. The last splosh came out in a gush along with some of the grounds—she had yet to devise a completely satisfactory filtering system. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “You’ve got the dregs. Don’t drink that—it will be too bitter. I’ll bring you some more.”
“It is not necessary,” said the young man, but she was already gone.
When she returned with a fresh pot, she found him gazing into the murky liquid at the bottom of his cup. “Here, I brought you a clean cup too,” she said, and made to take the old one from his hand.
“Please,” he said, still clutching the crockery with a tenacity that surprised Mina. “This sediment—this bitter earth . . .” He indicated the mud awash in the bottom of his cup. “What do you call it?”
“Um . . .” Wilhelmina thought of the proper German word. “Grounds,” she said with a shrug. “We call them
Kaffee
grounds.”
“If I may be so bold,” he said, “what do you do with them?”
“
Do
with them?” She gave him a puzzled look and sat down at the table. “Why do you ask?”
“Believe me when I tell you that I mean neither disrespect nor malice in any conceivable form,” he replied. “Indeed, I not only understand, but commend your instinctive reluctance. You wish to protect this unique and marvellous—some might even say
exotic—
creation. This I can well understand, as anyone might. . . .”
The young scholar’s articulate yet circuitous mode of expression made Mina smile.
“It is not too much to say that I possess the utmost esteem, reverence even, for your industry and acumen in bringing such an invention to its obvious fruition—”
“It isn’t that,” Mina interrupted. “I merely wondered why you might want my
Kaffee
grounds.”
“Ah! If you will, allow me to enlighten you, good lady,” replied the young man. “Nothing less than the advancement of the scientific arts compels me to ask.”
“I see,” answered Mina, suppressing a laugh.
Nevertheless, the young man noticed the mirth dancing in her eyes. “I discern full well that you are not wholly convinced of my veracity.” He sniffed a little haughtily. “Even so, if you will indulge me yet a moment longer, I believe I have within my grasp the power to allay your disbelief and assuage any doubts that may still linger in your mind.”
“Do,” said Mina, growing more fascinated by the moment, “by all means, continue.”
“Good lady,” he said, drawing himself up, “you are addressing a member of His Highness Emperor Rudolf ’s court. My name is Gustavus Rosenkreuz, and I am chief assistant to the Lord High Alchemist.” He dipped his head in a courtly bow. “I am at your service, good lady.”
“The men who were with you this evening,” ventured Mina, “are they alchemists too?”
“They are members of what the common rabble of this city, in their vulgar way, have named the Magick Circle, yes,” he answered stiffly. “But not all are alchemists. We have astrologers, physicians, prognosticators, kabbalists, diviners, and other scientists among the members of our eminent fraternity.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the common rabble,” she said. “You are all more than welcome here.”
“On behalf of the Learned Fellowship, I thank you.” He swirled the dregs in his cup. “And I hasten to assure you, by whatever means you will accept, that my interest in this substance is purely scientific. One of my duties is to determine the properties of various materials and explore their potential usefulness for alchemical purposes. It is work of great consequence to our aims.”
“Oh, yes? That would explain it, I suppose.”
“It has occurred to me that this elixir, this
Kaffee
, is a most potent and particular concoction. No doubt we are only on the cusp of discovering its manifold uses. Further, the potency of this elixir must derive from the primary body with which you formulate the liquid.”
“That is true,” Mina granted. “You are very perceptive,
mein Herr
.”
“Seeing that you agree with my basic premise,” Gustavus continued, watching her closely, “it follows that a closer examination of the prime essence would be in order—would you agree?” Mina nodded. “Therefore, I would like to obtain a quantity of this bitter earth with which to perform experiments.” Noticing what he imagined to be a hesitation, he quickly added, “You will be well remunerated, of course.”
“You want to
buy
my
Kaffee
grounds?”
“Realizing the value of such a rare commodity, it is only appropriate.” The young alchemist, anxious to secure her agreement, said, “Your cooperation would be a most valuable contribution to the advancement of science and knowledge.”
“Since you put it that way, I don’t see how I can refuse,” she told him. “Would a pound or two be enough to begin?”
The young man, unable to conceal his glee, leapt from his chair, swept off his curious hat, and bowed low. “Good lady, I salute you. When would it be convenient to collect the material?”
“Wait here but a moment, and I will have a package prepared for you at once. You can take it away with you now.”
The alchemist rubbed his hands with eager delight and returned to his seat to finish his coffee while Wilhelmina proceeded to the kitchen to fetch some spent grounds. She returned bearing a fair-size bundle. “Accept these as a gift of the Grand Kaffeehaus,” she said. “Use them, with my blessing, for the advancement of science.”
The young man stared at the package. “Your generosity overwhelms me,” he said, glancing from the bundle to Wilhelmina. He licked his lips.
“Think nothing of it,” she said, adding under her breath, “I think little enough of it myself.”
“The gift will be reckoned, you may rest assured,” he declared. “All at court will hear of your unbounded munificence.”
“Tell them also about Etzel’s fine cakes and pastries,” replied Wilhelmina.
“Indeed, I will,” said Gustavus. He dipped his head again and took up the bundle in both hands. “And now I will wish you a good evening.” He all but bolted for the door.
“Good night,” Mina called after him.
A short while later, when the shutters closed on another day, she told Etzel about the exchange with the young alchemist. “It was good of you to give him the grounds,” he said. “It cost nothing to make him happy. We should all practice this more, I think.”
“Happy? He was ecstatic. You should have seen his face when I gave him the bundle,” she said. “I could not bring myself to tell him that ordinarily we just throw them away.”
“One good deed breeds others,” Englebert declared. “Good will come of it.”
And he was right. The next day just before closing time, a message came to Wilhelmina from her young alchemist. It was delivered by a liveried servant of the court, who said, “I am to await your reply.”
Wilhelmina accepted the parcel—a small square of parchment tied with red ribbon and sealed with wax.
“I wonder what it can be,” she said, turning the square in her hands and studying the seal carefully.
“Open it and find out!” urged Englebert, eyes glinting merrily.
She broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment, scanning the flowing script there. “I can’t follow it,” she said, handing the message to Etzel. “You read it.”
The big man grasped the parchment and, holding it close to his face, began to read it out aloud, pausing to exclaim, “It is from the master of royal audiences!” He gazed at the parchment, his eyes growing large. “Did you hear? We are summoned to the palace tomorrow to receive the thanks of the emperor’s Lord High Alchemist. We are to be granted an honour.”
Mina expressed her amazement at the summons and asked, “What kind of honour?”
Etzel scanned the page again, very carefully. “It does not say.” He glanced at the waiting messenger, then at Mina. “What should we tell them?”
“Tell them that, of course, we would be delighted to attend,” she said.
Etzel relayed this reply to the messenger, who made a small bow and informed them that a carriage would call for them at this time tomorrow, and that they should array themselves appropriately, for they could expect to dine with the emperor’s retinue.
“This is because of your gift,” Etzel said when the messenger had gone. “You have made friends at court—friends in high places.”
“Do you think so?” she wondered, flattered and impressed.
“In truth,” replied Etzel solemnly. “What else can it mean?”
CHAPTER 26
In Which a Sealed Tomb Gives Up Its Secrets
S
unrise was still some while off, but Burleigh could feel the coolness of night wilting and the day’s heat beginning to build—as if an oven had been lit and was being stoked somewhere beyond the horizon. It would be another scorcher, no surprise there, but he had prepared himself as best he could and was determined to enjoy the day. He had purchased a suit of loose, camel-coloured linen, complete with pith helmet, and a white kaffiyeh to keep the sun off his neck. Now, as he sat in the back of Lord Carnarvon’s customised touring car, jouncing along an unmarked path, watching the pale arid hills undulate past his open window, he wondered what the day would bring. Certainly, his host was in exceptionally high spirits.
The location of the tomb was being kept a close secret. Although rumours were rife, and many knew that excavation was taking place, only four people in the world knew where to find the site. Despite this, it had proved no great difficulty to a man of Burleigh’s skill and power of persuasion to wangle an invitation to attend the opening. His own knowledge and appreciation of Egyptian history and artefacts no doubt played a major part in convincing Carnarvon that he was genuinely interested in supporting the nascent science of archaeology; nor did his charm and good looks hurt his case where Lady Evelyn, Carnarvon’s daughter, was concerned. After drinks and dinner on the terrace at the hotel, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to invite him, a fellow countryman of one’s own class, to accompany them and witness what was surely going to be a monumental occasion.
“Have you visited excavations before, Lord Burleigh?” asked Evelyn. Dressed in a loose linen shirt and trousers, her hair hidden beneath a scarf, she sat in the jump seat of the jouncing sedan facing her father and his guest.
“Once or twice,” Burleigh replied, forgoing mention of the fact that his visits tended to be after midnight when the site guards had been bribed to look the other way. “I find it all endlessly fascinating, of course, but I never seem to be in the right place at the right time, if you see what I mean.”
“Today will be the exception,” Carnarvon informed him grandly. “I anticipate great things. Great things! I don’t mind telling you I scarcely slept a wink last night. I rarely do on such occasions.”
“Father is like a fretful child on Christmas Day,” Evelyn confided lightly. “He always feels someone else will get there before him and steal all his presents from under the tree. I myself slept like a baby.”
“This tomb,” said Carnarvon, “is thought to be a royal tomb. Very rare. Although we cannot be completely sure until we open it, Carter is convinced—at least, as convinced as one can be at this stage of the dig—that we have found something very special.” He tapped his knee lightly with his fingertips. “Very special indeed.”
“And I must thank you again for allowing me to be a witness to this historic occasion,” Burleigh volunteered. “Incredibly generous of you.”
“Nonsense!” bluffed Lord Carnarvon. “I won’t hear of it. Your presence falls in with my purposes admirably well. We want credible corroboration for our finds, you know—even as we desire secrecy right up until the moment the grave is opened.”
“Publicity, in other words,” Lady Evelyn added in a lightly mocking tone. “Father is never averse to a little publicity for his activities. It’s the thrill-seeker in him. He used to race cars, you know, for the same reason.”
“Now, now,” chided her father, “we’ll not bore our guest with that old chestnut.” Glancing at the earl, he asked, “Have you ever raced?”
“Horses, yes,” he replied, the lie slipping easily off his tongue. “As a lad—until I grew too big. Cars? Never—though I’ve often wondered if I might like to try. I suspect I’m a bit too long in the tooth now.”
“Pish-tosh,” scoffed Lady Evelyn. “You’re never too old to race automobiles. Father only gave it up because he injured himself in a crash. Otherwise, I harbour not the slightest doubt you’d find him in a grease pit at Brooklands right this very moment.” She nudged her father’s shin with the toe of her shoe. “Admit it, Daddy,” she said, “if not for the crash, we wouldn’t be in Egypt now.”