CHAPTER 1:

HRADCANY CASTLE

Mikulás Visser, senior field agent for the near east and Mongol territories, preferred not to sit. He had been confined to saddles for nearly two days straight, and was greatly enjoying the quiet and stillness of the castle night. His inner thighs had been rubbed almost hairless, sore as though tattooed; his shoulder blades complained mightily.

Home was some balm, however. The cobbles of the Charles Bridge, the lamplight, the smell of tainted river water. And though doused in the greasiest rainfall, the eye of the city, Hradcany castle, its windows aglow with desert morning colours, welcomed him. 

His latest horse, collected at a waystation just past the foothills of the Italian Alps, was alternately taking the weight off each heel, as Visser held its reins. The head stableman arrived at a jog, bowed, then relieved Visser of his charge. He headed through the East wing arch into the reception chambers, overhearing the tail-end of a tense conversation from within.

“…I am terribly sorry, ambassador, but the Emperor is most busy with official business. However, I will make enquiries of His Highness as soon as I am able, on your behalf.”  

Head Emissary Köstner bowed, and turned towards the passageway, acknowledging Visser with a brief exchange on his way out of the room. His heels clicked arrhythmically. A tall man, Köstner was mostly elegant of gait, despite suffering the misfortune of being born with legs of slightly irregular length and oddly wide shoulders. His heel insert could conceal one problem, but the other was not so easily overcome. He strode as determinedly as he was able towards the grand staircase leading to the Emperor’s private study.

Köstner had never been late to any form of official engagement, however minor, and prided himself on it. He even liked to think he was renowned for it in Royal Court circles here in Hradcany castle. The diplomat he had just been reassuring on behalf of His Majesty the Holy Roman Emperor was not quite so foolish as to engage in a show of impatience at the interminable delay he was suffering, but was clearly growing exasperated. This upset the punctual Emissary perhaps more than the Ambassador himself.

The Emperor, Rudolf II, was not much of a ruler to be involved in the minutiae of governing, but his reluctance to engage with diplomats of respectable countries – in this case, France – was testing for his chief Emissary, always tasked with the act of placation. Being a sensitive man, Köstner could empathise all too keenly with these regularly frustrated visitors and found their judiciously withheld anger contagious. He took on too much, his wife always said. He watched the evening darken through the grand galleries of the Spanish Hall. 

 The Imperial guards clicked heels and tapped spears to attention as Köstner approached. He bowed gently in the direction of the guards, two stationed at the door ahead, and two to his flanks. Their polished silver helmets warped the candlelight magnificently. This eased the tension the Emissary felt, creating a sense of refinement and beauty and material wealth that he enjoyed. He felt bad for those less fortunate than he.  

The two guards at the door to the Emperor’s private study edged aside in trained symmetry, turning to face each other. Bowing, he rapped the door with a fine-gloved knuckle, staying bent until the Emperor, Rudolf II, indicated his assent. The guards duly opened the low door, the thickness of which had always impressed. Köstner imagined them crafted from a single, regal Oak.  

“Your Highness, the representative of the Kingdom of France remains present, and is awaiting your instruction as to when he will be given the pleasure of your company. Shall I give him any specific message?”  

The Emperor sat stiffly in a low leather seat, unsuited to his rank. The only flesh visible, in his pale hands and face, appeared to be slightly overfull, fattened during a pampered childhood into permanence. He regarded the bent figure of his chief Emissary with interest, studying the fine embroidery on his headwear. He touched a reddish whisker.

“Were we not expecting another arrival?”  

His voice was quiet, almost effeminate. 

“Yes, your Majesty. As I was attending to the French Ambassador, our field agent from Antioch arrived.”  

“I see, bring him in immediately. I wonder what took him so long.” 

“As I understand it, your Majesty, the delay was explained in terms of a troublesome sea crossing from the Levante and some diplomatic strife with the Venetians. He has offered his profoundest apologies, and assures you his cargo was not affected”

At this, Rudolf perked up, his whiskers meeting briefly.

“Very well, send him in” 

“Yes, your majesty. As for the…”  Emperor Rudolph interrupted him with an impatient waft of a hand, turned away.

 The Emissary retreated, still bent double, tapped the door with his heel, and was let out. 

—

Visser stood near the French Ambassador in the reception chamber, trying to trick the riding soreness from his attention by studying decorative patterns. The room did not wont for them. He had initially given great respects to the diplomat, surmising that the Frenchman would not necessarily be aware of his rank due to his rather scruffy attire. Now, however, they had both tired of idle pleasantries and were settled into a respectable truce of appearing to be lost in thought.

Leaning against Visser’s thigh was a long package, roughly cylindrical, as though a rug had been rolled and bound especially tightly. The material was a coarse hemp, sand coloured, but ornately tied. The Ambassador assumed it was a weapon of some sort. Being the son of a court cobbler at Luxembourg Palace, he also recognised the quality of Visser’s boots, despite their imperfect condition. He was impressed by the man, and becoming curious as to his purpose.  

A clicking of heels in the expansive passage leading to the Spanish Hall alerted them, and they straightened in anticipation. Köstner and a subordinate flicked into view.  

“Gentlemen” he purred exquisitely, giving each man a glance and a nod, “our Emperor is quite taken with some pressing matters, but wishes to take delivery of the goods that you have brought, Mr. Visser. If you would come at once, on His Majesty’s instruction.”

“Mr. Ambassador, please accept my sincere apologies once again. I will have my senior footman direct you to your guest quarters.”

They waited respectfully while the Frenchman departed, then began the walk to the Emperor’s chambers, Köstner setting a pace that the exhausted traveller found difficult.

“How long has the Ambassador been waiting, may I ask?”  

The emissary’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t look back.

“Since Thursday last.”  

In reply, Visser merely sucked air in through his teeth.

The apparent urgency of the pair brought the guards to full attention much earlier than usual. The low-ceilinged passageway reverberated with their footsteps, Visser’s almost a half jog, as the full darkness of a Prague night looked in, quiet with the threat of storm. For Köstner, at times like this, the castle was more at ease with the world outside, the unflickering candles protected by great walls that faced down cold, wind, rain and the like. He felt small enjoying this vast shelter, its opulence, and was keenly aware of his place as a man of the here and now, a proud descendant of his cave dwelling forebears.  

Visser, however, knew more directly of the power of certain weathers to overwhelm, he had suffered near death under a desert sun, then frost on the same sand before daybreak. He had seen lightning turn a tree from one part to a hundred, close enough to make his long beard click from some elemental friction he could not comprehend. 

As they arrived at the antechamber, Köstner turned to face the field agent, regarded him from head to toe, sighed a touch.

“Are you carrying any side-arms perchance?”

“Yes, of course” replied Visser, removed from his tunic a pair of silver pistols and began to unbuckle his sword belt.  

“Just the side-arms please”  

He handed the two ornate pistols to the nearest guard, who gazed at them, exchanging glances with his colleague. The emissary hid his impatience, turned and bowed, then repeated his soft, gloved knock at the door of the Emperor’s private study.

—

Emperor Rudolph leaned on the wall at the edge of the window alcove, watching each raindrop slide its weird way down. He remembered Madrid in Autumn, as a boy, when the first real downpours came – it was a memory of comfort, of finely carved stone. Ever since, he’d recalled the warmth with the rain. Even in a Prague November. The drops rapped the glass like lead on lead.

It was late. A few inns let their candles burn for the remaining poor, the travellers – including perhaps some of the French Ambassador’s retinue – whiling away the hours and days in these places, far from the fine wines of home, while the rest of the city slept.                                                                    

The Emperor turned, slowly, to face the desk of dark wood in the centre of the room, wheezing a little. A cough followed and he reached for the neck of his dolman to adjust the fabric under his weighty chins.

On the desk sat an elaborately carved silver globe, mounted atop a pegasus, rearing as though affronted by the humiliation of stillness. Occasional surfaces were gilded and on the sphere itself, intricate forms of the classical heavens were carved. On first viewing, in late summer, Rudolph had seen some trouble with so obviously pulling the heavens onto the terrestrial plane, but not being an acutely religious man, considered the matter a private one. Very careful vetting of visitors would be required. 

He ran a fat finger across the belt of Orion, and heard a knock on the door. The knock was soft, and left the Emperor in no doubt as to who made it.

“Enter.”

The heavy door swung outwards, and in strode Visser, coming to a military halt as precise as any that Köstner had witnessed. They both bowed deeply.  

“Senior field agent Visser, Your Majesty.”  

The Emissary backed out once more.   

Rudolph liked his chief field agent. He was quick, efficient, lean. He would always return from his missions with the most unspent currency, always with the most delicious, the most rare finds. He spoke many languages, including Arabic and Persian, even a few words of the tribes from the exotic reaches of the Silk Road. He was a cautious and clever man: rumour spoke of his practice of stuffing his saddle bags and the most obvious travelling cases with middling riches, to tempt any potential ambushers with an obvious find, while the real treasure was stashed in places it is uncomfortable to consider.  

Visser, Rudolph concluded, was a wise man, but one who was not necessarily enamoured with his task. This led him to greater heights than the fanatics, or the daredevils, because he never rushed in, was never fooled. If only one could replicate this man whole, or produce an automaton as coldly brilliant as him, then the world would be a richer place.

“Chief Agent, please, stand at ease. It is late. You’ve travelled many a furlong in my service.”  

Obeying, and raising from his doubled posture, Visser addressed his King.  

“Your Highness, I have returned with the items you requested, within your given parameters of variance, and I beg forgiveness for my tardiness in returning.”  

“What happened?”  

“I had claimed authority in the port at Venice, as is the right that you have bestowed upon me. However, upon showing the relevant papers, the Venetians claimed, with mischief in their eyes, that they couldn’t possibly risk the shame of a false approach in your honourable name, and thus endeavoured to delay the whole mission on the basis of, as they put it, verification.”  

The Emperor was a touch taken aback by Visser’s sarcastic tone, but allowed him more leeway than perhaps any other Court personage. For Rudolph’s own mission relied on him, and his childhood at the Spanish Court had taught him that the indulgence of slight indiscipline by certain key actors in a strange way increased your power over them. 

Broadly speaking, the Emperor sought to possess a complete understanding of the natural world and human potential, and for several years had been sending men such as Visser to the four corners of the known world as contributors to a grand and profound collection to encompass this. Some were incompetent, some never returned. A few were talented. Visser was the best. 

The collection would have equality between art and the natural sciences, and would also display the merger of the two, the highest achievements, the Artificialia. These constructions were the ultimate human achievement, a manifestation of the brilliance of man that pointed towards a transcendent future of new possibilities. The exquisitely expensive celestial globe in the centre of the room was one such item, a combination of sublime aesthetics and scientific exactitude, revealing truths about the heavens and the men beneath.

In this grand project the Emperor was entirely convinced, spending the majority of his treasury funds on the pursuit, employing hundreds of permanent guildsmen and scientists in lavish properties and patronising important artists from across his Empire and beyond.  

He looked at Visser mischievously.  

“Well, this delay by the Venetians – and I shall reward them for their diligence – has merely given the artisans time enough to complete this wonder. You are certainly honoured to be the first guest to observe it.”

“A beautiful object, to be certain, your majesty. May I?”  

Visser turned his shoulders towards the desk a touch, keeping his eyes on the Emperor.  

“Of course. If you guess its purpose, you will receive a handsome reward!”  

“I fear this may be beyond me, your majesty” Visser said, aware that ignorance may be prudent.  

He peered at the globe, hands behind his back, not daring to touch such a wondrous, expensive thing. The polished gold seemed to produce its own light.  

“I am lost, your majesty. My knowledge of astrology is shamefully deficient.” 

“Well my man, rest assured that your ignorance is not reflected in the Heaven’s appreciation of you. And this object gives us an insight into that infinite wisdom.”  

Visser looked suitably awed. He was good at this.

“My finds pale into insignificance, your majesty.”   

“Your mission is as significant as any. Show me.”  

He placed the hardwood chest on the desk and removed the long object from its strap, proffering it to the Emperor.

“First, your majesty, are the silks from the Orient. The negotiation was tense and linguistically difficult, but I did not waver in my pursuit of the finest available. These, I am assured, are fabrics suitable only for yourself, and are unique in the civilised worlds. The race of people producing them use the primitive, pictorial languages of the ancients, and have refined the techniques used in their production ceaselessly for centuries. I present a sample of the ‘Kei-Zhi’ silks, your majesty.”

Inside the long leather case was a roll of gilded, richly decorated silk the likes of which the Emperor had not witnessed before, and his eyes widened at the sight.  

“Extend it a touch”  

Visser gently exposed a foot length. The Emperor nodded.

“When we are finished, take these immediately to the tailor Marasz. He knows what to do. Excellent work. Now you must be exhausted. Leave the rest of your finds until tomorrow. Go and see your wife, you’ve been away for a long time. And, well, I have an urgent mission for you. You will need to tend to your affairs here as quickly as you are able. But first, get some rest”  

The abrupt end to the meeting surprised Visser, who was expecting a long inspection of his cargo. He fought to suppress the slight injury to his pride, but the urgency of the Emperor and the softening of his already light voice reassured him somewhat. Being a travelling man, an adventurer by trade and by heart, he simply endured the lulls between missions. His family was a technicality.   

“Thank you, your majesty, as you wish.”

He placed the silk respectfully on the dark table, taking care not to disturb the celestial globe and snapped to attention, bowed deeply, retreated.  

Emperor Rudolph remained motionless after his senior field agent had left the study, smiling. He rarely did so in company, retaining the stiffness and aloof manners of the Spanish court, ingrained from his childhood. But in solitude, he relaxed, became more recognisably human. Standing, with some effort, he moved towards the celestial globe, admiring it from a few angles, thought of the ancients, then span the thing around. 

Outside the castle walls the rain continued, cleaning the cobbled streets. An occasional drunk stumbled in the treacherous conditions, but precious few cared, least of all the guards on patrol, barely looking up. A couple of them remembered Vienna, and the cloying proximity of the Saracens, the danger implicit in every dark corner, but here, the odd drunk was a mere trifle. 

Off-duty, they would drink together and toast “To Prague!” and the inn owners would join the toast, for their inns were now within a stone’s throw of the Emperor of Christendom.

—

The next morning, an aide came to fetch Visser from his quarters, just after dawn. He was already dressed, and there was no sign of his wife. The dark grey Prague outside was monotone, but held in its lack of beauty a special kind of grandiosity and civility that Visser instinctively welcomed. If he was an artist, he often thought, he would have a lot to express. His life was simply fuller than most, and if experience determined the status of men, he would be the leader of the civilised worlds. So went his appraisal of self each morning. It was a position that became more entrenched each day and would eventually be his undoing.   

The aide spoke.  

“His majesty requires your presence, please come at once”  

Visser observed the slightly pompous and ornately dressed aide with a look of amused contempt, and stepped immediately out of his quarters without replying, setting a pace he hoped the man would find uncomfortable. They arrived at the entrance to the dining chamber of the Emperor both slightly out of breath, but with only one man trying to hide the fact.  

The Emperor spotted them immediately, called out to Visser.

“Visser, come, please.”

Emperor Rudolph II was sat at the head of a table of nearly thirty feet in length, no places laid but his, and surrounded by an array of mostly untouched breakfast foods. He lifted a pristine silk napkin to his lips, made an introductory gesture between the table and Visser.

“Sit.”

Bowing, Visser sat, turned towards the Emperor, attentive. He prided himself on not paying any of that attention to the small banquet on display, despite his hunger. Damn his absent wife, he thought. She had grown unused to task during his last expedition. Some discipline may be in order, once he had located her.

“The heavens” the Emperor intoned weightily, “aside from some enduring alchemical mysteries, are the greatest wonder man is able to witness. All see Gods in them, our ancestors, the world today. But they are not unfathomable. It is not blasphemy to say so.” 

The Emperor raised his eyebrows. Visser nodded gravely.

“I have found men in all disciplines of the natural sciences that are eminently capable and are hard at work, as we speak, on assorted problems.” Rudolph leaned forwards conspiratorially. “However, there is not a man to be found in my immediate kingdom with the requisite expertise in the most important discipline. The discipline that is the quite literal container of all the others.”

The Emperor gestured vaguely upwards. Visser followed.

“Your next mission, and this is an important one, is not to acquire any object, but an intellect. I am assured, through various agents, and our current chief astrologer, of the capabilities of a certain Danish Nobleman, whose knowledge of, and equipment dedicated to, the heavens are of no match in the civilized world.” He sat back, touched his beard, jabbed his finger into the tabletop. 

“This, Visser, is your mission. Bring this noble astrologer into my employ.”

Visser nodded deeply, replied. “I understand, your majesty. I am honoured to be given such a task. If I may ask, are we to offer this man more currency, though his Danish rank indicates he may already be rich?”

“Aha!” the Emperor replied quickly, “this is the central issue. And there are… complications. I have taken it upon myself, though you usually travel alone, to assign you our chief Emissary as a companion. You will be there chiefly to assess his instruments and capabilities. Köstner, I’ve tasked with the financial and persuasive side of things.”

Visser left a little too much of his distasteful reaction to this news in his expression. The Emperor, a more perceptive ruler than most imagined, noticed immediately, and waited for him to speak, preferring always to allow men the opportunity to condemn themselves. Well, in any event, the Emperor thought, Visser would have to wait. He was too important. 

“Of course, your majesty, we are acquainted. I have heard many good things about Emissary Köstner. It will be a pleasure.” He offered. His stomach rumbled.

“Good, good” Rudolph intoned tunefully with a knowing smile “In June of this year, I dispatched an agent to Denmark – our chief mathematician, a rather limited fellow. He informed me that our target is residing in a strange place, a castle with no fortifications, on an isolated island quite far from Copenhagen, with a rather disaffected peasantry. More importantly, he is currently falling rapidly out of favour with our new Danish child king. These minor and fretfully violent nations have once again produced a warmonger instead of an intellectual to lead their foolish campaigns against each-other’s insignificant lands. Therefore, we are to attempt something approaching a rescue of this eminent individual. You will be there to see what form of instrument this man has created. Assess them, decide what can be removed and transported to Prague and obtain complete plans for the rest. Are you clear?”

“Indeed, your majesty. Are we to leave immediately?”  

“Tomorrow at dawn. I will trust you to organise the finer details of travel, and to ensure that your travelling companion is well catered for. Money is no object here. I’ve entrusted Köstner with a token of our appreciation for our target’s scientific wiles. The object is unique and of incredible value, and I can trust only you, of all my field agents, to ensure its safe passage to Denmark.”  

Visser nodded so deeply that his forehead almost touched the table.  

“Of course, your majesty.”

“That is all.”  

“May I enquire as to the name of our target, your highness, before I depart?”  

The Emperor, already turning his attention to the breakfast banquet, looked up, raised a heavily ringed finger to the rising Visser.  

“Ah, yes, of course! His name is Braha, Tyche Braha. You will recognise him instantly, for he has a nose of pure gold!”