Deborah Harkness - Shadow of Night

“And I suppose you’ll want me to find you a tent,” Gallowglass said, thundering down the stairs.

“And some sheep. Or maybe an astrolabe. Endymion can be either a shepherd or an astronomer,” Matthew said, weighing his options.

“Rudolf’s gamekeeper will never part with one of his strange sheep, so you’re going to have to be an astronomer.”

“Matthew can use my compendium.” I looked around. It was supposed to be on the mantelpiece, out of Jack’s reach. “Where has it gone?”

“Annie and Jack are showing it to Mop. They think it’s enchanted.”

Until then I hadn’t noticed the threads running straight up the stairs from the fireplace—silver, gold, and gray. In my rush to reach the children and find out what was going on with the compendium, I stepped on the hem of my skirt. By the time I reached Annie and Jack, I’d managed to give the bottom a new, scalloped edge.

Annie and Jack had the little brass-and-silver compendium opened up like a book, its inner wings folded out to their full extent. Rudolf’s desire had been to give me something to track the movements of the heavens, and Habermel had outdone himself. The compendium contained a sundial, a compass, a device to compute the length of the hours at different seasons of the year, an intricate lunar volvelle— whose gears could be set to tell the date, time, ruling sign of the zodiac, and phase of the moon—and a latitude chart that included (at my request) the cities of Roanoke, London, Lyon, Prague, and Jerusalem. One of the wings had a spine into which I could fit one of the hottest new technologies: the erasable tablet, which was made of specially treated paper that one could write on and then carefully wipe off to make fresh notes.

“Look, Jack, it’s doing it again,” Annie said, peering down at the instrument. Mop (no one in the house called him Lobero anymore, except for Jack) started barking, wagging his tail with excitement as the lunar volvelle began to spin of its own accord.

“I bet you a penny that the full moon will be in the window when the spinning stops,” Jack said, spitting in his hand and holding it out to Annie.

“No betting,” I said automatically, crouching down next to Jack.

“When did this start, Jack?” Matthew asked, fending off Mop.

Jack shrugged.

“It’s been happening since Herr Habermel sent it,” Annie confessed.

“Does it spin like this all day or only at certain times?” I asked.

“Only once or twice. And the compass just spins once.” Annie looked miserable. “I should have told you. I knew it was magical from the way it feels.”

“It’s all right.” I smiled at her. “No harm done.” With that I put my finger in the center of the volvelle and commanded the thing to stop. It did. As soon as the revolutions ceased, the silver and gold threads around the compendium slowly dissolved, leaving only the gray thread behind. It was quickly lost among the many colorful strands that filled our house.

“What does it mean?” Matthew asked later, when the house was quiet and I had my first opportunity to put the compendium out of the children’s reach. I’d decided to leave it atop the flat canopy over our bed. “By the way, everybody hides things on top of the tester. It will be the first place Jack searches for it.”

“Somebody is looking for us.” I pulled the compendium back down and sought out a new place to conceal it.

“In Prague?” Matthew held out his hand for the small instrument, and when I handed it to him, he slipped it into his doublet.

“No. In time.”

Matthew sat down on the bed with a thunk and swore.

“It’s my fault.” I looked at him sheepishly. “I tried to weave a spell so that the compendium would warn me if somebody was thinking of stealing it. The spell was supposed to keep Jack out of trouble. I guess I need to go back to the drawing board.”

“What makes you think it’s someone in another time?” Matthew asked.

“Because the lunar volvelle is a perpetual calendar. The gears were spinning as though it were trying to input information beyond its technical specifications. It reminds me of the words racing around in Ashmole 782.”

“Maybe the whirring of the compass indicates that whoever is looking for us is in a different place, too. Like the lunar volvelle, the compass can’t find true north because it’s being asked to compute two sets of directions: one for us in Prague and one for someone else.”

“Do you think it’s Ysabeau or Sarah, and they need our help?” It was Ysabeau who had sent Matthew the copy of Doctor Faustus to help us reach 1590.

“No,” Matthew said, his voice sure. “They wouldn’t give us away. It’s someone else.” His gray-green eyes settled on me. The restless, regretful look was back.

“You’re looking at me as though I’ve betrayed you somehow.” I sat next to him on the bed. “If you don’t want me to do the masque, I won’t.”

“It’s not that.” Matthew got up and walked away. “You’re still keeping something from me.”

“We all keep things to ourselves, Matthew,” I said. “Little things that don’t matter. Sometimes big things, say, like being on the Congregation.” His accusations rankled, given all that I still did not know about him.

Matthew’s hands were suddenly on my shoulders, lifting me up. “You will never forgive me for that.” His eyes looked black, and his fingers dug into my arms.

“You promised me you would tolerate my secrets,” I said. “Rabbi Loew is right. Tolerance isn’t enough.”

Matthew released me with a curse. I heard Gallowglass on the steps, Jack’s sleepy murmurs down the hall.

“I’m taking Jack and Annie to Baldwin’s house,” Gallowglass said from the door. “Tereza and Karolína have already gone. Pierre will come with me, and so will the dog.” His voice dropped. “You frighten the boy when you argue, and he’s known enough fear in his short life. Sort yourselves out or I’ll take them back to London and leave the two of you here to shift for yourselves.” Gallowglass’s blue eyes were fierce.

Matthew sat silently by the fire, a cup of wine in his hands and a dark expression on his face as he stared into the flames. As soon as the group departed, he was on his feet and headed to the door.

Without thinking or planning, I released my firedrake. Stop him , I commanded. She covered him in a gray mist as she flew over and around him, took solid form by the door, and dug the spiked edges of her wings onto either side of its frame. When Matthew got too close, a tongue of fire shot out of her mouth in warning.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I said. It took enormous effort to keep my voice from rising. Matthew might be able to overpower me, but I doubted he could successfully wrestle with my familiar. “My firedrake is a bit like Šárka: small but scrappy. I wouldn’t piss her off.”

Matthew turned, his eyes cold.

“If you’re angry with me, say it. If I’ve done something you don’t like, tell me. If you want to end this marriage, have the courage to end it cleanly so that I might—might—be able to recover from it. Because if you keep looking at me as though you wish we weren’t married, you’re going to destroy me.”

“I have no desire to end this marriage,” he said tightly.

“Then be my husband.” I advanced on him. “Do you know what I thought watching those beautiful birds fly today? ‘That’s what Matthew would look like, if only he were free to be himself.’ And when I saw you put on Šárka’s hood, blinding her so that she couldn’t hunt and kill as her instincts tell her to do, I saw the same look of regret in her eyes that I have seen in yours every day since I lost the baby.”