Quintessence Sky (28 page)

PRINCESS ELIZABETH huddled wretchedly in a
corner of her cell, her face drawn and pale. This time, she had not
been allowed to bring her ladies-in-waiting into captivity with
her, so she was alone. The cell, if it could be called that, was
comfortable, with a large fireplace, windows looking out on the
keep, a large bed, two chairs, a table, and a writing desk.

"Why does she look like this?" Ramos asked
her jailor. "I thought the king ordered that she be given food from
his own table."

"Indeed he has," replied the jailor, an old
veteran soldier. "But she will not eat it. She will take only water
and bread, and the meats and dainties lie spoiled on her tray."

Ramos asked to be left alone with her, and
the jailor retreated, locking and barring the door behind him.

"Your Grace?" Ramos said.

A pair of brown eyes peered out at him from
the corner. Ramos felt awkward. This was, after all, a princess, a
woman of royal blood. He didn't know how to address her in this
circumstance. 'My child' seemed too intimate.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Your Grace," he
said.

"It is no intrusion, Señor Ramos de Tavera,"
Elizabeth said. Her voice was soft, but clear.

"You know my name?"

"And your trade, Master Astrologer."

"Then we are on even ground," Ramos said.
"For your name and title is all I know of you."

She chuckled softly. "But this is marvelous.
Are you the equal, then, of a princess?"

Ramos blushed. "You know I am not, Your
Grace. I meant only—"

"I see. You meant only that your knowledge is
equal to mine."

"Not at all. I meant only that I know little
of you."

"And you presumed that I share the same
ignorance."

Ramos shut his mouth, exasperated. Finally,
he said, "My apologies, Your Grace."

"I accept your apologies, and forgive you
gladly. Why have you come?"

Ramos took a deep breath. "To hear your
confession. To allow you to unburden yourself before God."

"Do they plan to strike off my head, then?"
Her voice wavered at this, and Ramos thought she truly was afraid
to die. As well she might be, since she had chosen a path of heresy
and rebellion. Elizabeth must know where it could lead; her own
mother had lost her head not far from where they were sitting.

"I don't know their plans for you," Ramos
said. "I'm a priest, not a politician. But should not your heart be
prepared for that possibility? It is a dreadful thing to enter the
presence of God with the black of sin still on your soul."

Elizabeth's mouth curved in an almost
imperceptible smile. "And who will hear
your
confession,
Master Astrologer? Are you not the murderer of Charles
Shiveley?"

Ramos gasped. "Surely not, my Lady. Shiveley
was executed by the will of the king and queen."

"Did you not create the foul device that
deceived my people and blasphemed God? There is no need to reply. I
see by your face that my information is correct."

Now it was Ramos who was afraid. How did she
know these things? "My sins are not at question here," he said. "I
am come to hear yours."

"Hear mine then: I conspired to wrest the
kingdom from the control of evil rulers who will drain her treasury
and enslave her people in fear." Elizabeth emerged from the corner,
the light catching her fiery hair as her voice grew louder and more
confident. "I plotted to free my people from the abuse of wealth
and power, from religious prejudice and hypocrisy. I schemed to
make England independent and strong instead of vassals of the Pope
and the King of Spain. Do you absolve me of these sins, my
father?"

"These are sins indeed. King Philip and Queen
Mary are granted their authority by God. To defy them is to defy
God."

Her brown eyes were pitying. "Good Father,"
she said. "Do you not fear what Philip will do with your latest
discovery? Will he not use it again to crush the people through
deception and terror, the way he did with your first?"

His
latest
discovery? How did she know
these things? Was she truly a witch? Could she read his mind? "The
king is the arm of God to dispense justice and chastisement," he
said. "It is right for him to punish where necessary, and wrong for
us to judge him false."

"And Antonia?" Elizabeth almost whispered it.
"How long before the chastisement of the king's justice falls on
her?"

"No more," Ramos said. The woman knew
everything about him. "We are talking of you, not me."

"But what if she is not demon-possessed, as
the Roman Church would have you believe? What if there is a natural
explanation for her condition?"

"The Holy Father has already spoken on this
subject. The mad are under the judgment of God for harboring secret
heresies in their hearts." The words tasted like mud in his mouth,
and he knew, even as he said them, that he did not believe them,
and Elizabeth knew it.

A profound look of disappointment came over
Elizabeth's face. Ramos squirmed under her gaze, which seemed to
see right through him to the uncertainty inside. He had come to
instill doubts in her mind, but it was happening the other way
around. The walls he had so carefully constructed around his
misgivings were crumbling, and he was finding them grown even
larger than before.

"There is a man I trust," she said, "a
mathematician and philosopher like yourself, who believes that the
spirits of the mad were caught up in the novas, that they still
live, and with enough knowledge about the stars and the deeper
mysteries, we might return them to themselves again."

Despite himself, Ramos was interested. It was
the very hope he had harbored through all his investigation of
quintessence, despite what the Pope said. He knew he should not
agree to this meeting. It would be a betrayal of his allegiance to
the king. It would be admitting the possibility that the Pope could
be wrong, just because his heart desired it to be so. And yet, even
as he argued with himself, he knew that he would meet the man,
whatever the risk.

"I will not tell you his name," Elizabeth
said. "If he deems it safe, he will find you."

THE NEXT morning, an elegantly folded and
sealed note was slipped under Ramos's chamber door. The message was
brief, written in red ink in a precise hand.

Meet me in the old library. D.

There was no time specified. Ramos could only
assume he meant at once. He also had no idea where the "old
library" was, and didn't dare ask anyone, since he didn't know what
he would find when he got there. Not even counting the mysterious
agent of Princess Elizabeth he was supposed to meet, an old library
might contain books of a politically questionable nature, or hold a
significance of which he was unaware.

The queen had a library, mostly religious,
with a handful of rare illuminated manuscripts, but it wasn't
available for common use, and could hardly be the location the
letter had meant. Ramos wandered through the acres of Whitehall
Palace's many rooms, hesitant to ask anyone for help, but afraid of
wandering through the wrong door. Whole wings of the palace were
given over to be used by various of the great families, guarded by
their own soldiers, and staffed with their own liveried servants.
He didn't want to find himself in an awkward situation.

What kind of a man was this he was meeting,
who would send him on such a chase? An educated man, Elizabeth had
made clear, and one who had the freedom of the palace. A brave man,
who would swear fealty to Mary and yet consort with Elizabeth.
Ramos wondered if he was being foolish, stumbling blindly into a
situation that could get him executed. But his devotion to King
Philip was faltering, and even—could he say it?—to the Church. He
had thought the king the very definition of what was moral and
just, and the Church the definition of what was true, but his
doubts about both had grown too strong to be ignored. He had
questions he needed answered—about the novas, about human souls,
about the way the universe worked—and the answers that Church
doctrine constrained him to did not satisfy.

Perhaps the doctrine was all true, and it was
his understanding that was faulty. But he couldn't live with the
uncertainty. He had to know.

Finally, with the aid of an elderly serving
man, he found the room. It was more like a dusty closet with walls
lined with cubby holes stacked with old scrolls. There was barely
room for two people to sit down, and in any event, there were no
chairs. The mysterious agent stood inside, holding a manuscript
close to a candle flame, the point of his long, white beard resting
on the yellowed parchment. Just as he had been when Ramos first
cast the queen's horoscope, the man was wearing a long artist's
gown with sleeves that hung down over his wrists, and a black cap
on his head. It was John Dee, the queen's astrologer.

"Come in and close the door," Dee said.

Ramos did so. It left them standing close
together in the musty dimness. It was a meeting place unlikely to
be discovered by anyone, and no wonder. Dee held a trusted position
in Mary's court, privy to many of her secrets. If he was passing
information to Elizabeth, he was risking torture and death. But
then, why was he talking to Ramos? Ramos was a Spaniard, after all,
and a Jesuit, loyal to the king. Wasn't Dee afraid he would reveal
his duplicity?

"The question to consider," Dee said, not
looking up from the manuscript, "is why does the position of the
stars at the moment of a person's birth affect his future? The
stars are distant, and the moment fleeting."

Ramos's head spun at the sudden launch into
metaphysics. "You're asking if horoscopes work?"

"Certainly they do," Dee said, setting down
the paper. "It's the basis of astrology. Someone born in March
under Saturn has different loves, different strivings, and a
different future than someone born in July under Mars. But why?
What is the connection between a person and a star?"

"First things first," Ramos said. He held up
the folded note. "Did you send me this letter?"

Dee pursed his lips, annoyed. "Of course I
did."

"But you are loyal to the queen."

"I'm loyal to the truth. A mutual friend told
me you were as well. Is that not so?"

"Yes. But I wish to know what kind of
conspiracy I'm getting involved with."

"No conspiracy. No plot. I seek only to learn
the truth of matters kept hidden by the strictures of
politics."

"Or of religion."

Dee cocked his head. "Is there a
difference?"

"Why didn't Mary ask you to cast her
horoscope instead of me?"

"She did. She didn't like the result."

"And Philip doesn't trust you."

Dee sighed. "I have a cousin, Blanche Parry,
who is a maid to the Princess Elizabeth."

"Leading Philip to doubt your total devotion
to Mary."

"Quite."

"So despite the fact that the king's fears
were well-founded, and you are passing information to the princess,
you want me to believe that this conversation has nothing to do
with Elizabeth's desire to take the throne from her sister?"

"It may have everything to do with it, but we
must set aside such questions and consider only what is true.
Enough of politics. My question?"

Ramos wasn't accustomed to being treated as a
pupil, but he hid his irritation. "The connection between a person
and a star? Perhaps there is none at all. Perhaps each heavenly
body emits rays of force which influence a spirit at the moment it
comes into the world, more or less, depending on its place in the
sky. The nature of that spirit is permanently set by that initial
influence."

Dee carefully rolled the manuscript he had
been reading into a tight cylinder. "But can the spirit not change?
Is its essence fixed?" He held the manuscript near the candle. "Can
I not change this parchment into ash, and thus change its
essence?"

"The essence of a soul must be
immutable."

Dee nodded. "I used to think so. But my
thoughts were overturned by recent events."

"You mean the novas."

"Of course."

Ramos considered before answering. "The
appearance of a nova in that constellation affected the people born
under that constellation. So you are right; there must still be a
continuing connection between the people and the stars."

"Yes. This is the crux of the matter. The
nature of a soul may, in fact, change, but no matter how much it
changes, the connection of force still remains."

Ramos felt something click in his brain, like
a padlock opening. The bell-boxes connected to each other invisibly
across great distances as well. Just as the spirits of the mad must
somehow have been connected to their constellations. Were the two
types of connections the same? The stars were in the heavens; the
boxes on Earth. Could they really be driven by the same rules? And
yet, quintessence had come from Horizon, where the heavens and the
earth almost met.