P. Chisholm - A Plague of Angels

‘Do you know what this is?’

The apothecary looked at the bead of bright silver, his nostrils flaring a little. ‘Certainly I do, sir,’ he said. ‘It is Mercury.’

‘What?’

‘In the art and science of alchemy we have various materials that partake of certain qualities: there is Venus, Mars, Saturn-and this is Mercury, the messenger and facilitator of the chemical wedding. It is a great mystery, for how can metal be a liquid? Some call it quicksilver. And so indeed it is, for after any reaction concerning it, you may find little dewdrops of it in your clothes, in your pockets, brought there too quickly to see.’

‘Could Mercury have anything to do with the Philosopher’s Stone?’

‘Certainly it is one of the principals in the search. Do you have any understanding of the great quest, sir?’

Carey smiled. ‘None at all. What can you tell me?’

‘The Philosopher’s Stone and also its liquid equivalent, the Elixir of Life, hath the great quality of turning that which is base-such as metal or flesh-into gold, the highest form matter can take. By means of repeatedly wedding Venus to Mars, with the intervention of Mercury, by the transitions through the many stages, it is certain that we shall achieve the transmutation of matter.’

‘How d’ye do that then?’ asked Dodd with interest. ‘How can ye change a thing to gold?’

Cheke’s eyes lit up. ‘Change is unnatural and stability natural. Whatever changes is at a lower state than that which always remains the same. Yes? But change is itself not merely unnatural but also wearisome. Therefore, if we force base matter through enough changes it will eventually in exhaustion revert to its natural state, which is gold for metals. The Philosopher’s Stone shortens the process much as bone ash aids in lead refining. It is actually a powder, of course, but I have seen such a powder, dissolved in boiling Mercury, change pewter to gold. I myself have seen it, with my own eyes.’

‘Where?’ asked Carey intently.

Cheke smiled. ‘I am sorry, sir, I gave my word not to reveal where and exactly what I saw.’

‘Who else was there?’

‘The master alchemist that performed the reaction. Also a gentleman that was investing in the process.’

‘What did he look like, this gentleman?’

‘Reddish brown hair, a little the look of yourself, sir, but stockier.’

‘What was his name?’

Cheke shook his head. ‘We did not exchange names.’

‘Who was the master alchemist?’

‘A most worshipful gentleman, a Dr Jenkins, though not previously known to me.’

‘How come you were there then?’

‘As an assistant, to grind the powder and assist with firing the furnace. I am not one of the cognoscenti , you understand, I must study and work a great deal more.’

‘No, I meant-who introduced you?’

‘Why, a poet, a scholar from Cambridge.’

‘Mr Greene?’

‘No, a Mr Marlowe.’

Carey compressed his lips and leaned back a little on the bench. ‘Hmm,’ he said, his eyes narrow. ‘How well do you know Marlowe?’

‘Not well, but he too is a seeker after truth and the Stone.’

‘Oh, is he?’ muttered Barnabus. ‘Well, fancy.’

‘When did you see this demonstration, Mr Cheke?’

‘It was a while ago. Last month. I was greatly inspired in my own labours by it-to see base pewter discs smeared with the Stone’s matrix, and sealed in the pelican, heated in the furnace and then to see them come out transformed, transmutated into gold-wonderful. Truly wonderful. It seems to me that we are living in a new Golden Age, sir, when the mysteries of God’s creation shall be unwound, when we shall truly understand how the world is made, what drives the crystal spheres, the nature of matter itself, all is within our grasp and from that wisdom we shall know the mind of God Himself.’

More mad blasphemy, thought Dodd, full of gloom, no doubt the apothecary would be dead of plague by tomorrow. And me too, perhaps, added the voice of terror inside, I’ve still got that headache.

‘Then the reaction did not take place here?’

Cheke smiled again. ‘I promised I would not tell where it happened. I brought some of my equipment, that’s all, and some poor skill with the furnace.’

‘What was the gentleman wearing?’

‘He was very well-dressed, sir, black Lucca velvet embroidered with pearls and slashed with oyster satin.’

‘And he looked like me?’

‘A little, sir. Redder in the face as well as wider in the body.’

Carey nodded. ‘Mr Cheke, you have been very kind and very helpful. Are you sure I cannot…er…pay you for your treatment?’

‘With the Philosopher’s Stone available, why would I need any gold in the world?’ asked Cheke rhetorically and smiled like a child. Carey smiled back, rose and went into the shop. Barnabus hesitated and then spoke to the apothecary quietly and urgently.

Dodd came back to fetch him.

‘I make no guarantees,’ Cheke was saying. ‘If I knew of anything that was sovereign against the plague, I would publish a book about it.’

Barnabus actually had hold of the man’s sleeve. ‘My sister’s family got it and half of them are dead,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you give me anything? You could let my blood, couldn’t you?’

‘But I don’t think it works.’

‘Doctors do it against the plague.’

‘If the doctors knew of a remedy, why would any of them catch it?’

Dodd thought the man had a good point there, but Barnabus wasn’t paying attention.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay you. But you’ve got to give me something, or do something.’

Cheke sighed. ‘Sit down,’ he said, digging in his bag again. ‘I’ll let your blood against infection and give you the best charms I can.’

Dodd waited patiently while Barnabus sat on a stool and proffered his left arm for Cheke to open a vein. The dark blood oozed out into the basin and Dodd wondered about it: men’s bodies were filled with blood. When you let some of it out, how did you know which would be the bad stuff and which would be the good? It took only a short time, for Cheke refused to let more than three ounces and he bandaged Barnabus’s arm up again and carefully wiped off his knife with a cloth. ‘Do you want to be treated too?’ he asked Dodd while Barnabus put a silver shilling down on the table which the apothecary ignored.

‘Nay,’ said Dodd, thinking about it. ‘Ah spend too much time trying to avoid losing blood.’

Cheke smiled. ‘Both of you should take posies to counteract the miasmas.’ He handed them more bunches of wormwood and rue and told them to put them inside their clothes.

‘We’d best be getting along,’ said Barnabus, rubbing his arm and looking pleased. ‘My master was talking about going up to the Theatre or the Curtain to see a play this afternoon.’

‘The playhouses should all be closed down until the plague has abated,’ said the apothecary, putting his instruments back in his bag.

‘What’s the point of that?’ demanded Barnabus. ‘You’ll be saying the cockpits and bull-baiting should be shut too, like the Corporation.’

‘They should. Wherever men gather closely together the plague miasma forms and strikes.’

It was a horrible picture: Dodd could see it as a demon, now forever in his mind with a long brass beak, hovering over a crowd of men looking for places to strike. The thought made his bowels loosen just by itself.

‘Bah,’ sniffed Barnabus. ‘Never heard such nonsense in my life. If that’s true, why don’t people get plague from going to church, eh? Or walking up and down St Paul’s, eh? Come on, Sergeant, let’s go or we’ll be late.’

Perhaps only Dodd heard the alchemist answer Barnabus softly. ‘But they do. St Paul’s is where the plague always starts.’