Chapter 1: Wild Card
London Waterfront. October 1704.
Jack slid onto the bench next to the elderly sailor. "I got the shillings for you," he murmured.
"Well done, Jacko." The man patted his thigh under the table when he slipped him the coins.
Jack was willing to wager that none of the patrons at the Golden Rat, one of the seedier pubs along the quays in London, recognized Isaac Newton, Master of the Royal Mint. Isaac had taken up his post several years ago with a conscientiousness that amazed his friends and dismayed counterfeiters.
Jack thought it was a good joke, even if Father H didn't, that he could now lift coins for Her Majesty, Queen Anne.
Forty years ago, Philippe and Father H had arranged for him to work with Isaac at Cambridge. Philippe had grand designs for him to graduate from the university. They didn't last long. He took a few courses in mathematics, but structured university life wasn't for him. Most of the math he learned was through working with Isaac.
As for Isaac, he was far more interested in his knowledge of Tom Harriot's experiments and Henry Percy's alchemy studies than in what he picked up at university. Many of their experiments were unpublished or had never been written down. He was by no means an expert on them, but he'd retained enough for Isaac to consider him a valued assistant. For once, he didn't need to hide the fact that he was a wearh. Rather than despising him for it, the daemon rejoiced in his longevity.
Much of Isaac's research seemed akin to witchcraft. How else to describe an invisible force that causes objects to fall to the ground? Isaac called it gravity but to Jack, it seemed remarkably similar to the silk cords Goody Alsop used to teach Mistress Roydon knot-making.
He'd maintained his interest in art and music, not that Isaac cared a fig for either. The only drawings Jack did that Isaac liked were for his optics experiments and movements of the planets.
Jack scanned the rowdy patrons warily. Some shifty-eyed lowlifes were eyeing him and Isaac while muttering among themselves.
For the past month, Isaac had been gathering evidence on Thomas Tyler, a counterfeiter in the mold of William Chaloner. That infamous criminal was hanged five years ago based on evidence provided by Isaac. Tyler would likely suffer the same fate. But Chaloner's case had made Isaac, and by association Jack, the enemy of London's street gangs. The counterfeiter had been popular with thieves. He gave lavish gifts to keep them in his pocket. Tyler had been one of his associates, and he'd learned his lessons well.
Jack had lost track of the number of times he'd been waylaid or assaulted, but always he'd managed to keep Isaac safe. Father H had no tolerance for anyone causing locals to suspect wearhs lived in London so he was forced to hide his strength. His preferred tactic was to flee at the first hint of trouble.
Isaac scowled. "I'd hoped we could acquire some guineas as additional proof."
"In this hovel? I was lucky to get shillings. We may have better luck in shops."
Isaac continued to frown but reluctantly stood up after Jack gave him a none-too-subtle nudge. He'd have a much easier time of it if Isaac would stay at home and let him cut purses on his own. But Isaac was adamant that he needed to be present. He claimed that in case of trouble, he'd be able to keep Jack from being arrested. Jack's argument that he wouldn't get caught fell on deaf ears.
So fine. Isaac could come along, but he needed to leave when Jack said so. He wasn't about to let the sixty-year-old mathematician get beaten up on his watch.
"You know you're getting worse than a mother hen," Isaac grumbled as they walked back to his house in Haydon Square. "Daemons are quite capable of defending themselves."
"Is that so? Would you care to prove it by wrestling with me?"
"Maybe tomorrow. Are you sure you have to go back to Hampton Court?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "We've already gone over this. You know I can't refuse a request of the queen. Leonard should be back in town any day now. He can help you."
Isaac's mood changed instantaneously. Jack had grown used to the lightning-quick mood swings of daemons, but recently, Isaac's had grown much worse.
"Did he obtain a copy of The Secret Book of Artephius?" Isaac asked eagerly.
Jack nodded, pleased that he could give Isaac welcome news. "He located one in Paris."
Isaac rubbed his hands gleefully. "Elias was never able to add it to his collection. How I wish he were still alive so I could boast to him about it!"
Jack smiled ruefully. He did too. Then he wouldn't have to sneak inside the Bodleian Library to "borrow" books for Isaac. Elias Ashmole had been almost as interested in alchemy as Isaac, and his collection of manuscripts was unparalleled. Isaac had been a frequent visitor to Ashmole's house in London when Jack first started working for him. He remembered vividly how excited Isaac had been the first time he created the alchemical tree. Henry Percy called it Diana's Tree and Jack always associated it with Mistress Roydon even though Sir Henry insisted the name referred to the goddess.
Elias died twelve years ago. His collection of manuscripts and books was now stored in the Bodleian. Even though alchemists weren't persecuted like they were when Sir Henry was alive, Isaac still needed to be careful. It simply wouldn't do for the Master of the Royal Mint to be seen consulting works on alchemy. Many continued to study the art, believing they'd be able to turn common metals into gold. Isaac himself had dabbled in alchemy although he claimed it was simply to better understand the counterfeiting process.
After seeing Isaac safely home, Jack headed for the Dog and Whistle. The Normans needed to be warned about Tyler's gang. Rachel and her husband currently ran the inn. Jack had played with her when she was a young girl. Now her mother Annie was the senior Norman witch, and Rachel would soon be a grandmother.
At this hour, the tavern would already be closed, but Jack didn't plan to speak with the current Normans. Soon it would be All Hallows' Eve, the time of year when ghosts were particularly responsive. When Jack returned to London in 1666, Annick disclosed that the faint scents he caught of Susanna Norman and Goody Alsop weren't simply the products of his imagination. Their ghosts resided at the Dog and Whistle along with the spirits of many other departed witches of the St. James Garlickhythe gathering.
Supposedly very few who weren't witches could detect ghosts. Annick suspected that one of Jack's ancestors was a witch. Now Annick was a ghost too. And although Jack wouldn't be able to see her, he hoped to smell her distinctive rose and sage scent.
He took a seat in the darkened courtyard behind the tavern and gazed up at the stars. The constellation Draco was low on the northern horizon. The dragon reminded him of Corra. What he would give to see the firedrake flying overhead once more. And as long as he was daydreaming, he wished Master and Mistress Roydon were sitting on the bench next to him.
He took a slow breath, breathing in the night air. A hint of sage and roses—that was Annick. He also smelled Susanna's lavender and bay leaf as well as Goody's yarrow and foxglove.
"I came to warn you," he said. "Thomas Tyler is passing counterfeit coins. His gang is hitting establishments in central London." He pulled out a drawing from his waistcoat. "Thomas is the one at the top. The others are the gang members I've identified. I remember how Goody could ward a house against unwelcome visitors. I hope you can do the same."
He lingered for several minutes, savoring the scents of his old friends. He planned to return the next day to alert Rachel and her family. Locals claimed the Dog and Whistle was unusually lucky to escape the robberies and other crimes businesses experienced in the neighborhood. Jack didn't call it luck, not when such powerful witches called the inn home.
He glanced around the seemingly empty courtyard. On All Hallows' Eve, a bonfire would be lit in the center. Chestnuts would be roasted to predict who would get married in the following year. He knew it wouldn't be him. He smiled as he thought about William bobbing for apples. The boy looked just like Susanna's son John when Jack first met them. Jack wished he could conjure a firedrake to entertain them. Instead, he'd make a banner so Corra could fly in the sky.
After one last sniff, he stood up. Father H would wonder what mischief he'd gotten into if he didn't return soon. Whenever he was in London, he stayed in the bell tower with his sire.
Father H often grumbled about the wisdom of placing Jack with Isaac. He blamed Philippe for having promoted it. He said if he'd known how much time Jack would spend on stealing books and coins, he never would have sanctioned it. Jack didn't use to believe that Father H would ever be glad for him to be at court, but that day had come.
Jack silently slipped out of the courtyard. Even at night, the streets of London were lively. Many strolled along the river. When he was jostled by a passerby, he didn't think anything of it. Not until he felt the tip of a dagger pierce his side. Already a trickle of blood was escaping.
He was quickly surrounded by five thugs, three of whom he recognized as members of Tyler's gang.
"We have a message for your master," the guy with the dagger hissed. His breath reeked of onions and stale beer. "Pretty boy can stay alive for now. But if Newton doesn't lay off, we'll kill you first then him." He twisted the dagger in deeper. "You got that?"
"Hey, Jack! I didn't know you'd invited friends!" Leonard's voice was a bracing tonic and his presence even more so as he raced over. His hand was on the shaft of his dagger. He undoubtedly smelled Jack's blood.
"Nary a word about us, you hear," the thug hissed as he shoved Jack away from them, ripping his dagger free. The gang melted into the crowd.
"How'd you know I was here?" he asked, tearing off his neckcloth to place over the wound.
"Father H told me you were spending the evening with Isaac. I figured that meant you were hitting the taverns. You need help with that?" Leonard added anxiously as Jack pressed the cloth against his side.
"Nay, it's just a surface cut."
Leonard scowled. "Those lowlifes need to be taught a lesson."
"I agree but let's hold off till Isaac arrests the ringleader. We've accumulated enough evidence that Tyler won't be able to escape a conviction this time. I don't want him to flee before he's arrested."
Leonard grabbed his waist as Jack began to sway, suddenly dizzy. "Hey, easy. This is me," he chided, keeping a tight hold around his waist to support him. "You don't have to prove how tough you are. That nick is deeper than you realized. Can you walk?"
"Aye, I'll be fine. I just need to rest for a bit." Jack leaned against him for a moment longer than was necessary. Should he be grateful the injury provided an excuse? "Let's go to the churchyard at St. Paul's."
Leonard arched a brow. "Far enough away that Father H won't smell your blood?"
"He's already angry at Isaac," Jack said ruefully. "He doesn't need more ammunition."
The new cathedral was nearing completion, but he missed the old familiar edifice. Christchurch Greyfriars was also being rebuilt. Father H's tower had miraculously survived the Great Fire of London. Had Corra helped keep it safe? He wouldn't put anything past the firedrake.
"You're being unusually quiet," Leonard remarked. "Is your wound bothering you?"
"Nay, I'm just puzzling over the timing of your arrival. It's like you knew I needed your help."
Leonard's blue eyes appeared dark as midnight as he gazed off into the distance. "Aye, there was something eerie about it. I was heading for the Normans. Suddenly I felt a sense of urgency. It was as if someone gave me a mental shove in your direction."
"They say the spirit world is close to us as we near All Hallows' Eve."
Leonard looked at him in shock. "You think Mistress Roydon prompted it?" He swallowed audibly. "That day you and John fell into the sinkhole when you were kids, I had a premonition something was wrong. This was the same kind of feeling." An undefinable expression crossed his face. "When I saw you surrounded by those thugs . . ." He shook his head and didn't finish the thought. Instead, he briefly clasped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad it wasn't more serious."
"I don't know what I would have done without you." In times like this, it was hard to remember the promise he'd made to himself. Leonard viewed him as his brother. How sick was it that Jack longed to kiss him? Much as he wished they could be something else, Leonard didn't. At least this way, Leonard could remain part of his life. But why was it that every time he returned from a trip he looked more handsome? Did his lovers write sonnets about his blue eyes? If Jack could write poetry, he would.
He tore his mind free from mourning what couldn't be. Had Corra played a role in Leonard's sudden arrival? Maybe she'd also been cut loose when Mistress Roydon timewalked back to the future. Sometimes he fancied she was circling overhead.
"Are you sure we shouldn't go straight to your room?" Leonard asked anxiously.
"Nay, I'm just tired . . . and happy to see you." Jack roused himself to step livelier.
Once they were comfortably sprawled on the grass lawn of the churchyard, his spirits lightened. He and Leonard compared notes on future performances. Comic plays and operas were in vogue, providing them with ready employment. In addition, Leonard picked up the occasional odd job, assisting the dramatists whose plays were being performed by the King's Company. Leonard had entertained him with spoofs of Will Shakespeare and Ben Johnson's plays since Jack was in choir school. Now another Will—Will Congreve—appreciated Leonard's wit.
Jack's fortunes were on the rise as well. The queen thought highly of the music of William Croft and Henry Purcell. Luckily for him, both of them composed extensively for the viola da gamba. He'd managed to secure a post in the Chapel Royal.
"I'll leave for Hampton Court next week," he told Leonard. "That's when the queen arrives from Kensington. In a fortnight, there's to be a grand dinner and concert for visiting Habsburg dignitaries. It's called a celebration of the victory at Blenheim."
Leonard nodded knowingly. "They'll probably be celebrating that battle for many years to come. Has the Duke of Marlborough returned from the Continent?"
"Nay, but you can be sure his wife, Lady Sarah, will be there. Queen Anne continues to enjoy playing the harpsichord. She intends to play a piece at the concert. She requested I accompany her. During our last session, she was quite complimentary of a Marin Marais piece I played."
"A bold choice! I wouldn't have thought she'd like anything having to do with the French."
The war over the Spanish succession had been going on for three years, but well before the first battles, relations between England and France had deteriorated badly. Many in England saw Louis as a destabilizing influence since he supported the cause of the Stuart pretender to the throne.
Jack tried to think as little as possible about the seemingly endless battles on the Continent. He'd gone through one civil war. He hoped he'd never have to experience another one.
"Her Majesty has many friends among the French aristocracy," Jack said. "That's partly because of her father having spent so many years there in exile."
Leonard nodded thoughtfully. "The twists and turns of fate. He lived at the palace in Saint-Germain-en-Laye where we played before Louis. I hear the queen is a fine musician."
"She is. In addition to the harpsichord, she also plays the guitar. I warrant she'd like the duets we've worked up. I bet I could arrange permission for you to join me. I could tell the music master you're a sensation at the Italian courts."
Leonard grinned. "I'm told my Italian-accented English is quite authentic. I haven't seen Hampton Court since the queen's renovations. Let's go with my usual alias, Luigi Basaglia."
Jack was excited to hear Leonard wanted to participate. He had few friends at court apart from his fellow musicians. "Where did you find Isaac's book?"
"In a bookshop on the Ile Saint-Louis. It wasn't far from Freyja's house, and before you ask, I didn't see her. Doesn't she ever come to England?"
"Not to my knowledge." Although Leonard continued to spend much of his time in Italy, Jack hadn't returned to France since the 1660s. He thought of France as Philippe's turf—a country he could only visit when summoned.
Leonard winked. "But I have news. I snuck into the kitchen of Philippe's house and managed to speak with both Pierre and Françoise. They send you their regards and hope you're keeping out of trouble."
"You didn't tell them about Isaac, I hope!"
"Not a word."
Jack breathed easier. He suspected Philippe's reaction to his extracurricular activities would be the same as Father H's.
"Freyja's been living in Amsterdam for the past five years," Leonard continued.
"Meaning Bryn is there too?"
"Where else would she be? Françoise said the two seem closer than ever. She'd gone to a play Bryn was in. She said her Dutch is excellent now."
"Any news about . . .?" Jack shrugged, hesitating to say the name aloud.
"Mathieu de Clermont?" Leonard asked, using his current name. Master Roydon was now only a memory. "Pierre said he was an aide for the French commander at Blenheim. He's fine," Leonard quickly added when Jack choked. "He escaped capture and is now serving for the Marquis de Blanzac. The marquis is overseeing the French forces since the former commander is now a prisoner. I expect there's been great rejoicing in England."
Jack nodded. "The victory at Blenheim has made the Duke of Marlborough the most popular man in the kingdom. Particularly among the Whigs. They can't wait to pummel Louis's troops again."
"I don't expect the people feel the same way."
"Nay, they don't. I hear grumblings at court about the cost of the war and the hardships it brings to people's lives."
"War is a bad business," Leonard agreed gloomily. "We best stay far away."
#
Night had fallen by the time Philippe rode into camp. The French forces were camped near Augsburg. Philippe was shocked at how reduced their numbers were. He'd heard reports of over twenty thousand being killed, but he'd dismissed them as fearmongering. No longer.
Discontent was rife among the soldiers huddled around small fires. Many were in desperate need of boots and warm coats. Philippe's first experience with warfare had been the Battle of Marathon when the Persians invaded Greece. That's where he'd learned the morale of the troops was the most significant weapon an army had. Then, the vastly outnumbered Greeks had crushed their opponents. Judging by what he heard tonight, Louis should cut his losses and sue for peace.
Mathieu was alone in his tent. His face looked worn, but his grip was solid as he clasped elbows with Philippe. Pierre remained outside where he'd stand guard. Philippe wasn't concerned about being overheard. Both he and Mathieu would pitch their voices for manjasang ears only.
"I came to see if the reports were true," Philippe said. "Louis is refusing to acknowledge the extent of the loss but rumors are rife at court."
Mathieu pulled up a camp chair for him. He'd been working at his travel desk. The tent also contained a simple bedroll. Only one lantern pierced the gloom.
Mathieu swiped his hand over his unshaven chin. "They're likely worse than what you heard. The backbone of our cavalry is broken. Raw recruits were slaughtered as generals contradicted each other. No one had a winning strategy. I could detail the errors of our commanders, but it would be too depressing."
"What is the situation now?"
"We're been ordered to retain Bavaria, but I predict we'll have to surrender it within a month. Does Louis have any concept of how badly his forces are faring?"
Philippe shook his head. "He's locked in an endless rivalry with the Habsburgs. He refuses to believe Leopold will triumph. You know they've been engaged in a battle of one-upmanship since they were youths. Louis doesn't appear to realize how much he's damaging the country."
"Are the harvests any better than last year?"
"They're worse," Philippe said bluntly. "Peasants are dying by the thousands from lack of food. The famine has grown so severe Louis is contemplating invading Guernsey to steal their provisions. Cooler heads are trying to dissuade him, but I doubt they'll succeed."
Mathieu snorted. "More lives sacrificed pointlessly. The English will make mincemeat of our forces if he attempts it." His expression grew somber. "The king is blind to the harm he's inflicting on France."
"But we're not," Phillipe pointed out calmly.
"You have something in mind?"
He nodded. "The Duke of Marlborough's victory has made him the darling of the Whigs. His wife Sarah is the queen's confidante. They feel secure that they can pursue their advantage."
Mathieu frowned. "That doesn't sound particularly auspicious."
"True, but the queen is concerned about the war's drain on the Treasury. Relations between her and Sarah Churchill have become strained of late."
A smile ghosted across Mathieu's face. "You have an insider at court."
Mathieu looked hopeful but Philippe wasn't about to reveal his source. It had been a rare stroke of luck that Jack and Henry Purcell had become friends. Mary, the former queen, was as fond of music as her sister Anne, and she liked the English composer Purcell. Jack informed him that rumors circulated in court about Mary and Purcell being intimate but he didn't believe they were true. In any case, thanks to Purcell, Jack had secured a position with the Chapel Royal. He continued to serve as a musician for the present queen. Through Jack, Philippe procured inside information about Sarah Churchill and Queen Anne. He was about to put that knowledge to good use.
Notes: A month after the events in this chapter, the French surrendered Bavaria to the English-Habsburg command. As Philippe predicted, Louis tried to invade Guernsey with disastrous consequences for the French.
Isaac Newton's mood swings and irascibility in his later years are well documented. Many historians attribute them to the chemicals he ingested during alchemical experiments. Scientific analysis of his hair detected high levels of mercury and lead.
Elias Ashmole also studied and wrote about alchemy. He donated his collection of books and artifacts, including The Book of Life, to the University of Oxford on the condition they'd be housed in a museum open to the public.
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy.
Visuals and Music on Pinterest: Six-Crossed Knot board on Silbrith's Stories