is a seer, she gets visions. She saw you, dying, in the city centre and told me to find you. To try and save you.’
‘But I didn’t die …’ Sadie’s voice was hard. She leaned back on her cushions, and looked around the room, gaze darting over the wall of bookcases, and the doors into the hall and kitchen. ‘When will I get better, then? When can I go home?’
Jack stood up, opened a door on a cupboard, the top piled with papers. She took out a dog brush. ‘I never went home.’ She started grooming the dog’s thick pelt.
The words seemed to hang in the air, over the sound of the crackling of the fire and the bristles sweeping through the dog’s coat.
‘You can’t keep me here for ever. I’ll get out.’
‘You’ll understand with time.’ Jack turned back to the girl, seeing her blue eyes staring at her, but brimming with tears.
Sadie dashed her sleeve over her face and sniffed. ‘You have to let me go. If you don’t, I’ll get out, I’ll tell the police.’
Jack felt a lurch in her chest at the memory of Carla saying much the same thing.
‘I can’t let that happen again.’
‘Again?’ The girl was sharp, jumping on every snippet of information.
‘The last girl here, was like you and me. The same sickness. She … bolted, she escaped. She didn’t understand, she wouldn’t listen. She died a few minutes after leaving the cottage.’ Her throat tightened, roughening her voice. ‘That was after months here. All you would have to do is step into the kitchen and your lungs will fill up and your heart will stop. It’s the way you were supposed to have died. Choking on your own vomit.’
There was a long silence, then the girl broke it. ‘I’ve never even been drunk before.’
‘It doesn’t matter now, that was your old life. Now you have a new one. You’re on “borrowed time”. If we get one herb wrong, leave one sigil out or let you go out of the circle, you will choke to death.’
Chapter 10
‘The lands of Europe are scourged by the Inquisition, at the expense of many a fine English or Dutch sailor or anyone who espouses the Protestant creed. Konrad von Schönborn, a knight of the Holy Roman Empire, is an inquisitor with the ear of cardinals. Yet no one who has met him could doubt that he wields a sword with as much force as his crucifix, and carries the authority of the Pope himself.’
Edward Kelley
16 November 1585
Niepolomice
In these barbaric lands, it was customary for travellers to share beds. Climbing between coarse sheets, next to my mentor, I had not expected to sleep well. I was grateful to be given a bed at all. My head was full of tales of English sailors tortured by the Inquisition. But the mattress was well stuffed with bracken and soon Dee’s soft breaths soothed me into sleep.
I awoke to the scraping of the door over dry rushes. The fire’s embers still smouldered, the light glowing on a yard of steel advancing towards my nose. It is these moments when your body freezes, even as your mind races for your dagger. Another man followed the first, carrying a shuttered lantern.
The form behind the broadsword was stocky and concealed within a cloak, and he stepped towards me on quiet soles. My horrified eyes were drawn to them, mud-stained calfskin riding boots, laced up the front. I was about to die as I had lived, the son of a shoemaker.
I then realised that Dee too had woken. I pushed myself to sitting and flattened myself against the wall, away from the tip of the advancing blade. My fingers fumbled beneath the blanket for my stiletto.
‘How may we help you?’ Dee said, in courteous Latin.
‘ Exsisto silens .’ Be silent. Something in the words froze any movement and the sound in my throat. It was the tone of command, coupled with the touch of the sword tip nudging my throat under my chin. It gleamed, the cold burning my skin like ice.
‘Put the dagger away.’ The other man spoke in a soft voice. Even as my trembling hand dropped the few inches of
‘But I didn’t die …’ Sadie’s voice was hard. She leaned back on her cushions, and looked around the room, gaze darting over the wall of bookcases, and the doors into the hall and kitchen. ‘When will I get better, then? When can I go home?’
Jack stood up, opened a door on a cupboard, the top piled with papers. She took out a dog brush. ‘I never went home.’ She started grooming the dog’s thick pelt.
The words seemed to hang in the air, over the sound of the crackling of the fire and the bristles sweeping through the dog’s coat.
‘You can’t keep me here for ever. I’ll get out.’
‘You’ll understand with time.’ Jack turned back to the girl, seeing her blue eyes staring at her, but brimming with tears.
Sadie dashed her sleeve over her face and sniffed. ‘You have to let me go. If you don’t, I’ll get out, I’ll tell the police.’
Jack felt a lurch in her chest at the memory of Carla saying much the same thing.
‘I can’t let that happen again.’
‘Again?’ The girl was sharp, jumping on every snippet of information.
‘The last girl here, was like you and me. The same sickness. She … bolted, she escaped. She didn’t understand, she wouldn’t listen. She died a few minutes after leaving the cottage.’ Her throat tightened, roughening her voice. ‘That was after months here. All you would have to do is step into the kitchen and your lungs will fill up and your heart will stop. It’s the way you were supposed to have died. Choking on your own vomit.’
There was a long silence, then the girl broke it. ‘I’ve never even been drunk before.’
‘It doesn’t matter now, that was your old life. Now you have a new one. You’re on “borrowed time”. If we get one herb wrong, leave one sigil out or let you go out of the circle, you will choke to death.’
Chapter 10
‘The lands of Europe are scourged by the Inquisition, at the expense of many a fine English or Dutch sailor or anyone who espouses the Protestant creed. Konrad von Schönborn, a knight of the Holy Roman Empire, is an inquisitor with the ear of cardinals. Yet no one who has met him could doubt that he wields a sword with as much force as his crucifix, and carries the authority of the Pope himself.’
Edward Kelley
16 November 1585
Niepolomice
In these barbaric lands, it was customary for travellers to share beds. Climbing between coarse sheets, next to my mentor, I had not expected to sleep well. I was grateful to be given a bed at all. My head was full of tales of English sailors tortured by the Inquisition. But the mattress was well stuffed with bracken and soon Dee’s soft breaths soothed me into sleep.
I awoke to the scraping of the door over dry rushes. The fire’s embers still smouldered, the light glowing on a yard of steel advancing towards my nose. It is these moments when your body freezes, even as your mind races for your dagger. Another man followed the first, carrying a shuttered lantern.
The form behind the broadsword was stocky and concealed within a cloak, and he stepped towards me on quiet soles. My horrified eyes were drawn to them, mud-stained calfskin riding boots, laced up the front. I was about to die as I had lived, the son of a shoemaker.
I then realised that Dee too had woken. I pushed myself to sitting and flattened myself against the wall, away from the tip of the advancing blade. My fingers fumbled beneath the blanket for my stiletto.
‘How may we help you?’ Dee said, in courteous Latin.
‘ Exsisto silens .’ Be silent. Something in the words froze any movement and the sound in my throat. It was the tone of command, coupled with the touch of the sword tip nudging my throat under my chin. It gleamed, the cold burning my skin like ice.
‘Put the dagger away.’ The other man spoke in a soft voice. Even as my trembling hand dropped the few inches of
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