While the company waited for the water to come to a boil, the chief alchemist offered a small tour of his laboratory and Wilhelmina sidled up beside Lord Burleigh. She caught his attention. “Guten Tag, mein Herr,” she said, speaking low. “Ich bin Wilhelmina. But perhaps we can speak English?”
“Delighted to meet you, my dear,” he replied smoothly, his manner at odds with his old-fashioned demeanour.
“When Herr Bazalgette introduced you just now, I was a little surprised. I’ve not met many Englishmen in Prague.”
“Nor will you, I imagine,” he replied, offering her an ingratiating smile. “But, please, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be here?”
“Here in the palace? Or here in Prague?”
“Either,” he said, laughing politely. “Both.”
Before she could answer, Bazalgette called to them, “May I direct your attention to this-our latest discovery!” He lofted a large jug of green glass half full of a cloudy whitish liquid. “Come close, everyone.”
“Another time, perhaps,” said the earl, directing his steps to rejoin the others, who were now gathered around a table heaped high with books and racks of glass vials and porcelain jars.
“Come to my coffeehouse tomorrow,” invited Wilhelmina, falling into step beside him. “I’ll give you a cup of coffee, and we can talk then without interruption.”
“I’d be delighted,” replied the nobleman with a bow of his head. “But, tell me-which Kaffeehaus is it?”
“There is only one.”
CHAPTER 30
In Which a Mystery Is Confronted
The screech of the wind seared through his skull and the world spun around him, but Cosimo, fighting with a skill born of long experience, ignored the discomfort, gritted his teeth, and clung doggedly to the fast-fraying strands of his concentration. Eyes straining into the seething black void before him, he gathered his strength and the instant he felt solid ground beneath his feet once more, gave out a tremendous push with both hands. Solid muscle and bone met his fists. The Burley Man, momentarily disoriented by the crossing, was flung sprawling to the ground.
Spinning around, he glimpsed the ruined temple at the far end of the long avenue of sphinxes and knew they had successfully completed the leap from Black Mixen Tump to Egypt. Unfortunately, the Burley Men had made the jump too.
He heard a shout and turned to see Sir Henry down on all fours, struggling to rise-an attempt made the more difficult by the Burley Man clinging to his back.
Three quick strides carried Cosimo to his side, and two swift kicks to the groin and instep of the thug freed his friend. “Run!” he shouted, pulling Sir Henry to his feet. “This way!”
Without waiting for a reply, Cosimo put down his head and raced for the temple.
He did not get far.
Cosimo, in full flight, felt his foot caught from behind and yanked out from under him. The broken pavement beneath his feet came up fast and smacked him on the chin. He rolled onto his back, lashing out with his legs as the Burley Man descended on him. One of his wild kicks connected, knocking his black-coated assailant back a pace or two.
Scrambling to his feet, Cosimo dove into the fight, fists swinging. He managed to land a punch or two before being seized from behind and pulled off. Thrashing this way and that, Cosimo tried to shake off the steely grip. He sensed rather than saw a movement to his side, and heard a thin whistling sound. He ducked just as the silver knob of Sir Henry Fayth’s walking stick flashed by his ear, striking the Burley Man squarely in the centre of the forehead. The man gave out a yelp, released his grasp, and sank cursing to his knees, arms flung over his head.
“Enough!” The shout was like the clap of a rifle shot in the still air. “It’s over.”
Cosimo glanced back over his shoulder to see three more Burley Men standing in the centre of the avenue; one of the men held tightly to a chain, on the end of which strained the great brindled brown shape of the cave lion. Muscles bunched, head low, the great cat watched them with evil interest as it ran its red velvet tongue around its daggerlike teeth. Rattling along the rough-paved avenue behind them came a wagon drawn by a team of mules driven by a fourth Burley Man with a rifle across his lap.
“Mal, Dex-stand down. Con, get the gear from the wagon,” commanded the man who was clearly the leader of the gang. Dressed in a loose white shirt, tall boots, and wide-brimmed straw hat with a red handkerchief knotted around his throat, he looked more like a simple farmhand than the sadist that he was. The face beneath the hat was impassive as the stone statues around them. He strode forward to address his captives. “I’m Tav,” he said. “Which one of you is Cosimo?”
Cosimo and Sir Henry exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.
“Baby is hungry,” said Tav. “I have half a mind to let her feed. If you’d rather not be on the menu, you’ll answer me when I speak to you-and no delay. I ask you again, which one of you is Cosimo?”
“I do not deal with thugs, sir,” replied Cosimo.
The Burley Man’s hand snapped out so quickly Cosimo did not see it coming. The blow snapped his head back, and a moment later he tasted blood on his tongue. “Mind your manners, friend,” Tav warned. “We’re going to take a little walk, and you’re coming along whether you like it or not. Now, you can make things easy on yourself, or difficult-it’s up to you. I don’t give a tinker’s either way.”
The wagon came rattling up, and the one called Con hurried over, returning with two coils of rawhide rope.
“What do you want with us?” demanded Cosimo, rubbing his lip.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” replied Tav. He signalled to his thuggish crew, who began shedding their coats, throwing them into the back of the wagon, and withdrawing bundles of lighter-weight clothing. “You two want to change into something more comfortable?” he asked. “It’s going to get hot.”
“We’re fine as we are,” replied Cosimo with sullen resolve.
Tav nodded and called to his men. “Ready, lads?” Turning away from the temple, he started back down the long avenue lined with sphinxes either side. Some had lost heads or feet; others had crumbled, their features eroded by wind and sand over time; but a good many were whole and in place, still guarding the pathway to the temple. When Cosimo and Sir Henry failed to fall into step behind him, he said, “This way, gents.”
“I protest this treatment most strenuously, sir. I am not going anywhere with you,” Sir Henry declared.
“I think you’ll find that you are,” replied the Burley Man. He gave a nod to Con, who advanced with the ropes. The one called Dex fetched two burlap bags from the wagon. Before either Cosimo or Sir Henry could protest further, the coils of rope were around their waists, their wrists were tied, and the burlap bags whipped over their heads. Thus bound and blinded, they were led away. The Burley Men with their wagon and cave cat fell in behind them, and the party moved off down the rough-paved road.
Cosimo and Sir Henry shuffled along. A little light came through the uneven weave of the burlap, and they could see their feet and the patch of ground on which they walked, but no more than that. They could hear the heavy footfall of the men, the creak of the wagon wheels, and the low, breathy rumble of the cat padding dangerously close behind them. At the end of the avenue, Sir Henry and Cosimo stepped off the ancient pavement and into the desert, where they were led in a more-or-less southerly direction toward a range of low dun-coloured hills. It was a thirsty region-a wasteland of shattered rock, dust, and sand in more or less equal measure-ruled by the sun and inhabited only by scorpions and lizards. The ground was rough and uneven, treacherous underfoot-like traversing an endless field of potsherds and broken brick.