The Secrets of Life and Death (13 page)

‘They are Nádasdy’s own elite troops.’ The female voice, in slow German, was unexpected and I jumped.

I turned to see the fox-haired woman from the yard. The voice was warm and low, and sounded as if it promised caresses to follow. I am not a carnal man, and my wife cannot complain that I intrude upon her rest, but the witch’s voice stirred me. She was of my own height, strongly built, and I guessed of mine own age.

‘The soldiers are here to take my mistress home, when your Dee has cured her with your old books.’ Her voice was sharp with sarcasm, even in German. She was wrapped in a dark red cloak, fashioned from rich fabrics.

‘You think he cannot do it?’ I was genuinely surprised. I could scarcely compare the superstitions of a handful of heretics to Dee’s theosophical investigations and research.

‘This is women’s work, the giving and … what word is it … the
preserving
of life.’ She allowed her cloak to fall open, revealing her close-fitting gown beneath. As she stepped nearer, looking on the men below, I caught the scent of a perfume that made my head spin. ‘We must call upon ancient wisdoms, known only to women. My mother had power drawn from the mountains themselves, from the forests that cradled my people.’

‘You are the witch.’

‘I am Zsófia Draskovich, the countess’s healer. And you are the poor adventurer Eduárd Kelley, with his sorcerer master.’

‘Doctor Dee is a natural philosopher, and has been consulted on matters of state by kings. He even cast your emperor’s horoscope on the occasion of his coronation.’

She smiled, her teeth very even and white against her tanned skin. ‘Stars and charts? He thinks to reduce a man to numbers?’

I was entranced by the scent coming off her clothes and hair. Her eyes glowed, and I was filled with the wish to please her. As she turned towards me, I leaned, intoxicated, as if to kiss her. She divined it, and pulled away with a low laugh.

‘You think to tumble me like a drab?’

I stepped back, my face heating up my fair complexion in a boyish blush. ‘No, of course not …’

She leaned forward again, and this time, put her lips to my ear. ‘Why would I want you, the sorcerer’s assistant, when I could have
royalty
?’

I recoiled, and turned to leave the way I had come, my thoughts in disorder.

Zsófia called out to me before I reached the door back to the tower. ‘I am bidden to invite you to the countess’s private rooms. Tonight, after sunset, with your master. She will show him the marks.’

I walked away, trying not to let it seem like flight.

After the late meal, we were taken through the keep to the Nádasdys’ private rooms, and to the countess’s chamber.

The lady looked even thinner in her shift, like the pole in the centre of a tent. Many yards of fine linen fell to the floor from her shoulders. She leaned heavily upon the arm of Zsófia, who was dressed in velvet. I nodded to the witch, my eyes on her heavy red hair twisted at the nape of her neck, then to her green eyes. Her lips curved into a smile, and warmth curled low in my belly.

The countess whispered something, then repeated it in Latin. ‘Show them.’

A heavyset serving woman curtsied before the lady and started unlacing the neck of her shift. Zsófia steadied her mistress, breathing such life into the scene that the countess looked even less vital.

‘Zsófia …’ The countess put out a hand to the taller woman, who took her fingers tenderly, and lifted them to kiss.

‘Is this the witch?’ Dee asked me in English. Zsófia narrowed her eyes for a moment, and a half smile curved her lips again.

‘This is Zsófia Draskovich, who calls herself a healing woman,’ I replied, but I resisted the urge to cross myself nevertheless. ‘Some call her witch.’

Zsófia crooked a finger and we moved a little closer. As she eased the countess’s linens from her throat and chest we began to see red marks, in patterns not unlike some of the angelic symbols we had been given. There were weeping sores on each thin shoulder, and as the shift was lowered more appeared. The fabric had to be peeled from many wounds. The young woman whimpered, and the pain must have been severe, but she spoke no words. The lacerations continued over her small breasts and onto her hollow belly. Zsófia snapped out a command and the shift was pulled up, giving the poor lady her modesty back.

‘How are these patterns made?’ Dee’s voice was shaking. ‘They look like burns.’

The countess was draped in a velvet gown, and helped to a chair by Zsófia.

‘Some are made with a caustic powder,’ the countess said. ‘Is that how you say it? Lye, painted on the skin. Others have been incised with a knife and herbs rubbed in to create a scar. If they start to heal, I become weaker.’ She was shivering, and the women helped her into a chair by the fire. ‘Tell me, are these the same symbols the angels gave you?’

‘They are very like them.’ Dee bowed low again. ‘If I might ask your lady-in-waiting to draw the shapes, I can make further comparisons. May I ask, where did you get the symbols from?’

The countess turned her head towards Zsófia and spoke in some local language. The woman stepped forward and answered in German.

‘These signs have been used by my people for centuries, to heal the sick. They healed the Lady Anna, and her mother Lady Katalin.’ She reached into her kirtle and withdrew a folded package. ‘You have the parchment from the priest. This is my mother’s own copy.’

Dee spread the page upon the table.

‘These are much finer than the notes drawn by the priest, Edward,’ he murmured.

‘We call them dragon marks.’ The countess sighed again. Each breath seemed an effort for her. ‘The gypsies brought them, and inscribed them on stones and trees. Zsófia …’

The woman lifted a goblet and held it to the girl’s lips.

‘Take the parchment,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘I must tend to my lady.’ She set the goblet down and turned. Then with a peculiar strength and ease, she lifted the countess in her arms like a child. The tirewoman opened a door and then stood back, her face set in something that looked like mingled respect and fear. As the women vanished, I heard the witch hiss something, and the servant closed the door between us.

Dee was already lost in the analysis of the symbols, his lips moving as he made mental notes. I looked around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I picked up the countess’s goblet and sniffed it cautiously. Not wine, but a bitter herbal brew perhaps. I detected the scents of wormwood, maybe valerian. I dipped my finger in it, and it glowed ruby dark and thick, sticky on my fingertip. A careful taste, which I expected to be sweet with honey or some other flavour, was salty.

I realised, with a surge of nausea, that it had been thickened with blood.

‘Professor.’ Soames clasped Felix’s hand, and waved him to a chair. ‘This is Stephen McNamara, an investigator from the Art and Antiques unit. Professor Felix Guichard is an expert on the symbols we found … the ones on the dead girl.’

Felix turned to see someone seated, a thin man who looked familiar, who nodded to him. ‘Professor.’

‘Mr McNamara.’

Soames sat down, and leaned back. ‘So, what can you tell us about these shapes?’

‘As I said on the phone, I’ve found something very similar inscribed on two medals, presently in the British Museum.’ Felix spread prints of the images on the desk.

‘These are almost identical to the ones on the body.’ Soames looked up. ‘Who else would know about this?’

‘Well, I don’t know that these figures are unique. I’ve been looking through the literature. A number of different circles of sigils appear in Dee’s own books and pamphlets. Others are mentioned in books of his that no longer exist, but are quoted in books by his contemporaries.’

‘Exactly like the ones on the body?’

‘No. Most of the symbols he used were either characters from medieval astrology or his own Enochian alphabet. The ones on the medal include many new figures, as far as I can tell.’

McNamara leaned forward. ‘So it might be reasonable to assume that someone must have seen these medals, and copied the symbols?’

Felix glanced at the grey man.
He was at the pub
. ‘These medals were in the attic of a woman in Devon, before they were put up for sale in an open auction. Where anyone could have seen them, they may even have been pictured in the catalogue.’

Soames tapped the image. ‘Why? What are they for?’

Felix folded his arms. ‘They were prescribed for ailments, to bring good luck, that sort of thing. People drew them on vellum or scratched them on metal discs to make charms.’

‘And this was widespread?’ asked Soames.

Felix shrugged. ‘In the absence of a systematic scientific explanation, people would try anything to heal or protect themselves. These were superstitious times.’

‘Have you ever heard of drawing the symbols on a person?’ said Soames.

‘No. That’s new.’

McNamara spoke. ‘So, this attic in Devon. Who owned the medals?’ He had a notepad open on his knee. ‘And did you keep copies of the associated documents?’

Felix found himself reluctant to involve Jack. ‘The medals were sold more than two years ago. A woman, by the name of Slee, sold them at auction. She also put the bundle of papers and letters in the auction. She may not have realised how valuable the documents were, but the medals fetched very little money. And, no, I didn’t keep copies,’ he lied, uncomfortable with the questioning.

‘What do you know about these papers?’ Felix watched McNamara write notes, record the name Slee.

‘I’m afraid they went to a university in the States. Harvard, I believe.’ Felix shrugged, and looked at McNamara’s bent head. ‘What’s your interest, Mr McNamara?’

‘I am investigating a number of forged documents, ascribed to John Dee.’

‘I am certain none of the documents I examined were forgeries.’

‘You authenticated the Dee papers for the auction house,’ McNamara said. ‘A simple examination.’

Felix kept his shoulders loose, his expression open. ‘I did. They were on display at the auction house for some weeks, then off to the States. I didn’t know they were going to be significant, so I just confirmed the notes were by Dee.’

McNamara leaned in. ‘And that some of the items described as letters were by Edward Kelley?’

‘They appeared to be some sort of journal, but in a very poor state. They were written on paper, which doesn’t do well in damp attics.’ Felix turned back to Soames. ‘So, have you concluded this was a suspicious death?’

The inspector grimaced. ‘No. In fact, we can’t even confirm an actual cause. That’s not the problem.’

‘Oh?’

‘A fourteen-year-old disappeared last week. Her mother swears her kid would never run away and must have been abducted.’ He shrugged. ‘My instincts tell me these girls may have been targeted for something. Perhaps the sex trade, maybe some weird cult. I’d appreciate it if you could track those papers down. They might explain why a dead girl was covered with four-hundred-year-old designs. It might give us a starting point for finding this Sadie Williams.’ Soames sighed. ‘Let me know if you find anything new, but I’m not sure we’ll be taking this forward if it proves to be a natural death.’

McNamara held out a card. ‘I would like to speak to you further, Professor Guichard. We have found similar documents in private sales, and are looking into the case of the other letters attributed to Dee that appear to be clever fakes. They could only have been made by someone with a lot of knowledge about Dee.’

‘A Dee scholar?’ Felix was intrigued, in spite of himself. ‘I’ll be interested in his knowledge, if you find him. But I’m certain these letters and documents were authentic.’

‘Please keep me informed of any new developments. I’ll be in touch.’ The man rose, nodded to Soames, and walked out of the room.

Back at his office, Felix hesitated before calling Jack’s number. There was something about her that made him uncomfortable and attracted him at the same time.

She answered promptly. ‘Felix.’ Her voice was less hostile than the first time, at least, and he became aware of a warmth spreading through him. He could instantly conjure up her face, her watchful expression.

‘I need to talk to you about the documents you sold. The police have a special investigator looking into their provenance, who claims they might be forgeries.’

‘They can’t be, I’m certain of it. Anyway, why would someone forge the pages then virtually obliterate them, reducing their value? My whole childhood, they were stuck up in the attic.’

Felix pulled up the image of the medals on his laptop. ‘And no one is disputing the authenticity of the medals.’

‘Exactly.’ Her voice changed. ‘Did you know you were followed by the man from the pub last night? He drove after your car.’

‘Well, I met that man at the police station this morning. His name is McNamara, he’s an investigator with the Art and Antiques squad.’

‘He suspects you?’

‘Well, maybe not me, but certainly the letters. And I am an expert on Dee.’

She hesitated for a long moment, he could hear the hiss of her breathing. ‘After you drove off, I got into my car. There was someone on the back seat, a woman.’

He rocked back in his chair, hearing a note of tension in the flatness of her voice. ‘Who was it? Are you all right?’

‘I don’t really know … I ended up hitting a wall.’

He leaned forward. ‘Are you OK? What happened?’

‘There was something strange about her. I just found myself doing exactly what she said. I could hardly resist – until I crashed.’

‘But you’re all right?’ He was concerned. Despite her attitude, there was something fragile about Jack.

‘A few bruises. I’ll mend, but the car’s at the garage. Anyway, how can I help you with the letters?’

He pulled out the folder of images he had printed from the British Museum’s email. ‘I have copies of the documents you sold. One was a folded package of papers, written by Dee’s assistant. Do you remember it?’

‘If it was that scruffy story with long sections in other languages, yes, I remember it. I even tried to read bits of it when I was younger.’