Page 57 of The Swordmaster's Daughter

Chapter fifteen

Truth Will Out

Itwasabalmy June afternoon and the Thames was like a millpond, in complete contrast to the storm that lay ahead. McCrae sat at the stern of the boat facing forward, his expression stony and bleak. Part of her wanted to comfort him, but part of her could not forgive him. How could he allow this to happen to the sister he swore to protect? Lucinda sat on the seat opposite, facing backward, looking back at the roofline of Whitefriars and the familiar skyline of the city beyond, the squat cut-off spire of Saint Paul’s, long-ago downed by lightning, the rows of dark brick warehouses that lined the riverbank along Cheapside, and the ominous Tower of London in the distance, home to so much misery and pain.

For the entire duration of the eerily calm floating journey, McCrae was sullen and silent, a silence perfectly aligned with her own mood. She took his arm when they alighted. His body was stiff and unyielding, a fortress with the drawbridge pulled up. It was not until the boatmen was out of sight that he finally said what was on his mind.

“You know I have no appetite for this. I only consented because it might help to hunt this evil man down.” He could justify it all he liked, but it was still indefensible. Hadn’t Rosalind been put through enough? Recounting it all over again would be akin to flaying a fresh wound. She compressed her lips into a seal of disapproval but let the matter rest. Saying nothing, was sometimes more potent than words.

Cavendish met them at the appointed place in Whitehall. Rosalind stood behind him as if she was his shadow. Cavendish nodded at his nephew, ignored Lucinda, and physically handed Rosalind over to her brother, making Lucinda bridle further. Much as she tried to hide her thoughts, she doubted she was in the least successful.

“Browning will be here soon, and he will take you to the man who is expert in these techniques.”

It was all very furtive and tense. Rosalind rolled a kerchief in her hand. McRae’s stony-faced expression did not alter. Cavendish left, and as he departed, the man Browning suddenly appeared in the room, though from the opposite side to the entrance. Without saying a word he led them to a curtain, pressed on a panel, waited for a click, and pushed open a secret door. He led them up a steep winding stone staircase, down a narrow passage, up yet another tight winding stairwell eventually to come to another door. On the door there was a strange symbol that looked like a star within a star made up of interlocking triangles but when you tried to trace the outline of each triangle, the shape seemed to twist and distort.

“I leave you here,” Browning said. “I am to collect you in two hours.”

McCrae led the way, pushing open the final door, followed by Rosalind and Lucinda bringing up the rear.

It was one of the strangest rooms she had ever seen. On the walls were many maps, charts and symbols, mathematical and alchemical in style. Some of the symbols she had seen in Grandma’s book of cures, but the rest were like a foreign language or secret code. In the middle of the room was a circular table with a crystal at its center aligned to pick up the light that streamed in from the windows that surrounded each side of the octagonal room. The room was like a glasshouse, designed to be a catcher of light. The crystal on the table seemed vested with magical properties. The light entered as ordinary sunlight, only for rainbows to be created within its core, which then shot out as shards of color to all corners of the room. Underneath the crystal prism, the same symbol as that on the door was carved into the wood. Four chairs were set around the table.

A tall, slim, white-haired man stood at a window with his back to them. His back was stooped along the line of his ribcage, with a sideways twist that often accompanied great age. He wore a long black robe with trailing sleeves and a small black skull cap set toward the back of his head. When he turned around, she had to stifle a gasp. Rumor had it this man was long-dead. His beard was so long and white it beckoned you to touch it and lent him an other-worldly air. Once celebrated for his knowledge of mathematics and alchemy, he was more famous for having been astrologer to Queen Elizabeth for most of her reign. When he introduced himself, it confirmed her belief. It was indeed the infamous John Dee. Holding his arms wide he welcomed them and invited “his guests“ to sit down.

“Which of you fair ladies is Rosalind?”

“I am.” Rosalind lowered her head. Her hair had been intricately braided so not a wisp of her long gold locks was out of place. He turned to Lucinda next, effusing an air of grandfatherly concern. “So you must be the young woman who helped her, and you the brother. I have been briefed on the circumstances a little. Enough that I may know what questions to pursue though not too much that prior knowledge could mislead.”

“What is this?” Rosalind asked indicating the crystal. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

“It is a crystal for scrying.” They all looked at him blankly. “A portal for communicating with the spirit world and selected angels. Though today I fear it is more the devil’s work where we must delve.” His voice was soothing and gentle and his manner reassuring and calm, and for the first time Lucinda was not fearful for her friend. Perhaps this would be a valuable endeavor after all.

“I have prepared a brew that will help to relax you. Then I shall lead you through some chants and meditations. When you are in a state most receptive to accessing your memory, I shall guide you to recall your difficult experience. The effect of the herbs can be variable, but it should make the process of recall easier to endure. You may find the herbal brew delivers a sense of distance from yourself as if you are detached from your body and looking down. First, we need to join hands and pray.”

McCrae was on her left, John Dee on her right, and she was directly opposite Rosalind. Dee’s hand was cool and dry, McCrae’s hot and slightly trembling, a tremble that took her by surprise.

“I want you all to gaze into the crystal, feel the life force from the hands you are connected to, and concentrate on the lines of light that radiate forth.” He then began to chant in Latin like a Catholic priest in a deep baritone voice, “Spiritus est nobiscum. Spiritus est nobiscum,” letting the last note stretch and linger for a few beats. Rosalind joined in the chant in a high bell-like voice, followed by McCrae’s light tenor, prompting Lucinda to join in in too. As she sang, she could feel her whole body vibrate with the hum of the notes and a strange sensation of lightness and warmth. It was an extraordinary thing. Master Dee suddenly stopped the chant but did not drop the hand connection until the vibration slowly faded away.

“I find it better if we all drink some of the brew. I shall give Rosalind a slightly stronger version as she holds the burden of recollection. If we all partake, the life forces in the room are more matched and in tune.”

“May I inquire what is in the brew?” Lucinda ventured cautiously.

“Ah yes, I recall you have some knowledge of cures.”

“A little,” Lucinda shyly confessed, somewhat in awe of this charismatic man.

“A mix of hemp and poppy with the merest drop of mushroom extract. Too much mushroom is undesirable for our purpose. I aim for a dream-like quality, a sense of well-being and expansion. The exact amount is calculated by estimating your weight.” He then left the table and went to a jug he had pre-filled, pouring portions into a vessel with measurements marked on the side before transferring the measured amount into four separate cups. The first he gave to Rosalind who drank it down hesitantly.

“It is not unpleasant,” she said when she was finished. “How long before the brew takes effect?”

Passing the next two cups to McCrae and Lucinda, Dee replied, “Five or ten minutes perhaps.” Lastly, he drank down his own measured amount, though there was a much smaller portion in his cup. “I want you to gaze at the crystal and simply notice your breath, flowing in, flowing out like the tide.”

Whether it was the monotonous, even cadence of his voice, the spell-binding power of the crystal gazing, or the potent effect of the brew it was not long at all until her head began to feel light, the anchoring weight of her body melting, turning to vapor, then floating away. The light from the crystal took on new forms, coiling and twisting, a magical dance of rainbows, serpents and waves. If Rosalind felt the same way, she would struggle to keep her body on the chair let alone be able to talk.

The initial effect settled after a time leaving in its wake the most wonderful sense of calm. Her chest, her heart, her mind, all were opening and expanding, and it was in this altered state that Master Dee began to ask Rosalind to tell them what had happened on that fateful night eight moons ago. Although Lucinda had already heard the story, had related it to McCrae to record, hearing it again was still distressing and made her long to block her ears. Yet Dee was also right in that it felt as if she was distant, in the room but not a part of it, no longer an unwilling witness to the aftermath of pain and degradation, but someone further removed. She no longer felt the need to wince at the more frightening parts of Rosalind’s tale and could listen with a surprising clarity of thought. This state of heightened awareness she had only encountered in one context before. That was when she was in the midst of fencing, her concentration so fiercely focused the world tapered to reside in the tip of her sword.

Once started Rosalind did not need much prompting or intrusive questioning on Master Dee’s part. She related events almost exactly as she did on the night that she was brutalized in the same sequence, in the same flat voice, controlled and stripped of emotion as if she too was watching herself from the outside. When she reached the part where he took his gloves off, a question jumped into Lucinda’s head. She did not know if she should interrupt but felt so compelled that she went ahead anyway. “Can you see his hands at all?”

“No the blindfold is too tight.”

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