The Skin Map be-1 Page 19

  “What is the rush?” Mina asked, catching up with him a few steps later. His heels clicked along at a fair pace, making the long white plume in his green hat ripple in the breeze of his passing.

  “There are people coming to meet me at the property,” he told her. “They will have it, unless you take it first.”

  “Oh,” replied Mina, not quite understanding. “I see.”

  They proceeded at pace to the Old Town Square. “There!” declared Arnostovi, pointing across the market area to the north side and a row of fine shops that shared a copper-faced awning that shielded the doorways to the shops from wind and rain. The shops were south-facing and fronted with large glass windows the likes of which were enjoyed by very few buildings on the square. “That one,” he said, indicating the rank of shops with the point of his spade-shaped beard.

  “Which one?”

  “The one on the end nearest the clock tower.”

  Wilhelmina’s eyes widened at the sight. “That one?”

  “Yes.” He bent his head around to look at her, slowing his pace only slightly. “What is the matter?”

  “Nothing! It is… the best property on the square!”

  “So some would say.” He started away again.

  “And you are giving it to us?” she asked, scrambling to catch up with him again,

  “I am giving you nothing, Fraulein. I am offering it to you for rent, as we agreed.” Once across the square, he moved quickly to the door of the shop and withdrew a large iron key from the leather satchel at his side. “Come. Hurry. We have not much time.”

  As if to lend urgency to his words, the clock in the great stone tower began to chime the hour. Herr Arnostovi unlocked the door of the shop and opened it wide for Mina to enter. She stepped in.

  The single large room was bare of furnishings, but what she could see spoke of luxury and quality-all brass and crystal, with white marble on the floors, and walnut wainscoting on the walls, and rows of expensive blue tiles around the windows and door. A three-tiered chandelier hung from a painted ceiling over the centre of the room, and the eastern wall featured an ornate Kachelofen, a ceramic stove of glittering white and blue tiles.

  “Well?” said Arnostovi. “What do you think?”

  “It is beautiful!”

  “Good. Then it is settled, yes?”

  “I’d love to have it, of course, but how much is it?”

  He took out his book and began flicking through the pages. “The men who are coming have offered twenty-five Guldiners a month in rent. You will agree to thirty.”

  “Oh, Herr Arnostovi,” said Mina, “it is too much. We will never be able to afford that.”

  “Maybe not today,” he allowed. “But you will-and very soon.”

  “But how-?”

  “On the increase of business this place will bring. Also, you will raise your prices. You charge too little.”

  Wilhelmina bit her lip. She looked around doubtfully. “I cannot think what Englebert would say.”

  “He said he trusted you to make the decision,” replied the shrewd man of business. “Now I ask you to trust me.” He fixed her with a fierce, demanding stare.

  “What about storerooms and apartments?” she wondered. “What about a kitchen?”

  “On the floors above,” answered Arnostovi, “you will find everything you need. I will build and furnish any kitchen you desire.”

  Wilhelmina looked around, a frown of concentration creasing her forehead. Did she dare risk so much?

  “My dear girl,” said the landlord gently. “Think what I am offering you. This place will be the talk of all Prague. The best people will come. Your clientele will pay any price to be seen here. It will be an unrivalled success, but please hear me when I say you must agree at once.”

  Gazing around the empty space, Mina could see it filled with gleaming, polished tables where fine ladies and gentlemen sat, conversing and laughing, drinking coffee and eating Etzel’s fine pastries. It was an attractive picture the landlord was painting, and she wanted it. “I agree.”

  Arnostovi closed his book with a snap. “Good.”

  A shadow darkened the doorway. “They are here. Go in the back and decide where you wish the kitchen to be. Say nothing. These men will be disappointed and angry. I will deal with them.”

  Mina nodded and moved to the rear of the premises, where she did as the landlord had suggested and began planning how best to organise the space to accommodate the ovens and work surfaces she envisioned. At the far front of the shop she heard a rap at the door and Arnostovi answering it. There were voices, greetings exchanged, and then things grew quiet. She allowed herself a glance over her shoulder to see what was happening. Arnostovi and three men in loden cloaks and plumed hats were standing huddled just inside the entrance.

  Then, even as she watched, one of the men gave the floor an angry thump with the end of his walking stick. Words were exchanged. Voices sharpened. Herr Arnostovi spread his hands and shrugged. Holding open the door, he ushered the men from the building, returning a few moments later, smiling and humming to himself.

  “Well, what was that about?” Mina could not help asking.

  “The truth is I do not own this building,” he confessed. “As much as I would love to own such a place, my means do not yet extend to such a height.”

  “Who does it belong to, then?”

  “A building so grand…” He gazed around appreciatively. “It belongs to Archduke Mattias.”

  Wilhelmina took a moment to consider this. In her relatively short time in Prague, she had begun assembling a rough working knowledge of court affairs. “The archduke-you mean the emperor’s brother?”

  “The same,” confirmed Arnostovi. “The archduke owns many properties in the city-in addition to his country estates, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Mina, perplexed. “But if that is so… then how-?”

  “How did I rent it to you just now?” Arnostovi indulged in a crafty, conspiratorial smile. “Naturally, Archduke Mattias does not manage these properties himself. Far from it. He employs ministers for that. Chief of these is one Herr Wolfgang von Rumpf, very high up in court. As it happens, Von Rumpf is a gambler and cardplayer. He spends many an evening at the card tables of the more fashionable houses in the city. I also play cards.”

  “You do surprise me, Herr Arnostovi.” Mina tutted. “Go on.”

  “Do not tell anyone-I am a terrible cardplayer,” admitted Arnostovi cheerfully. “Nevertheless, I am better than Von Rumpf. I have been trying for months, years perhaps, to be invited to his table. Last night, it happened. We were both at dinner together with mutual acquaintances and we played.” His smile spread wide. “I won.”

  Wilhelmina’s eyes grew wide. “You mean…?”

  “No. He may be a bad cardplayer, but he is not a fool.”

  “Then what did you win exactly?”

  “I obtained from him the promise to allow me to manage this property for him-and for the archduke, it must be said-for a small share in the profits.”

  “I see.” Wilhelmina frowned.

  “No, no! It is not like that. For me it is not the money. I want only to use this as a means of gaining access to court. It is all to the benefit of my business interests-yours, too, I might add.”

  “Mine?”

  “Venetian shipping. The archduke owns ships.”

  “Oh, I think I am beginning to understand.”

  “But Von Rumpf did not make it easy for me,” continued Arnostovi, pacing around the room. “The terms of our agreement were such that I had to find a tenant-someone other than myself, understand-and before the others came to take possession this morning-”

  “Those men just now.”

  “The same. Do this, Von Rumpf said, and I would become manager of the property.”

  “Otherwise, it would fall to them,” concluded Mina. She nodded with appreciation. “You used me, Herr Arnostovi.”

  “I did, yes-but you will not find yourself il
l used, Fraulein. This is just the beginning,” he told her, spreading his arms to take in the whole city. “You have helped me, my friend, and you will not regret it. That I promise you. Our fortunes are on the rise.”

  “Well and good,” replied Wilhelmina, casting a more critical eye around the premises. “We will need a fair-size fortune if we are to furnish this place in a suitable manner.”

  “Do not worry,” chortled Arnostovi, delighted with himself and the world. “Leave everything to me.”

  Back in the coffeehouse, Englebert was dubious. “It is a very great sum of money,” he pointed out.

  “Worth every little silver Groschen. Wait ’til you see it, Etzel. We will be the talk of the town. It is truly wunderbar!”

  He nodded, but remained unconvinced.

  She paused, considering how best to reassure him. “Think of it, Etzel-the archduke’s property. It will be the perfect place to show off all the wonderful pastries you shall make. People will come from miles around to see and be seen in our beautiful new Kaffeehaus. And,” she concluded, “they will all leave with a loaf of your heavenly bread.”

  “A good location makes all the difference,” Englebert conceded, warming to the idea.

  “And this is the best location in the whole city-better even than the palace.”

  “You have done well for us, Liebchen.”

  The word made Mina’s heart swell; it seemed a lifetime since she’d heard it. She smiled all day.

  At the end of the week, they closed the little shop on the narrow side street, telling their increasingly loyal clientele that they would reopen very soon in a splendid new shop on the square. The next morning, a messenger from the shipping company came to say that the delivery of coffee beans was secured and the ship was on its way home. Upon receiving this news, Englebert and Wilhelmina sat down and, over steaming cups of coffee, began planning their new coffeehouse and bakery.

  There would be round tables of three sizes, and a generous Eckbank in one corner near the Kachelofen; the chairs would be well made and comfortable to allow patrons to linger and enjoy their daily cup-which would be served up in pewter pots with polished wooden handles and drunk from cups of the finest crockery they could find. In addition to coffee there would be a new line in pastries and cakes specially created by Wilhelmina for the new shop, and never before seen in Bohemia. “Don’t worry,” she told Etzel when he wondered where they would find the recipes for these new pastries. “I have enough for three or four new shops right here,” she said, tapping her temple with a finger. Then she added in a slightly wistful tone, “If we only had chocolate… but never mind. We’ll make do with almond paste and kirsch.”

  “What about the kitchen help?” he asked.

  “We will have four extra staff to begin,” she decided. “Two to work the tables-serving and clearing the dishes and making the coffee-and two to help you in the kitchen with the baking. And they shall all wear matching uniforms-green jackets and aprons, and little white caps.”

  Englebert was thrilled with the idea. “Like servants in the fine houses.”

  “Yes, just like servants in the great houses. We want our customers to feel like highborn lords and ladies-as if they have arrived at the emperor’s court.”

  “Maybe Archduke Mattias will come, ja?”

  “I would not be at all surprised if Emperor Rudolf himself comes to buy Englebert’s Special Stollen.”

  Etzel beamed at the thought. “Do you think so?”

  Wilhelmina nodded solemnly. “Why not? We are climbing up in the world, Etzel. Things are going to change.”

  CHAPTER 22

  In Which Confidences Are Frankly Exchanged

  Why did you not tell me at once?” demanded Lady Fayth. “Did you not think that a most necessary and pertinent detail to have omitted?”

  “I do assure you I am sorry, my lady-most heartily sorry,” answered Kit. “But you must concede that I was not afforded ample opportunity to explain until just this moment. Even so, the fault, I own, is entirely mine.”

  The revelation that Kit was the grandson of Cosimo Livingstone had thawed the frosty opinion of Lady Fayth somewhat, but she was still wary, and far from mollified. “It would have saved me considerable distress, I do assure you.”

  “Again, I can but throw myself on the mercy of the court,” he told her.

  “The mercy of the court?” She smiled suddenly, brightening the room and Kit’s heart with a glow of happiness. “I do like that. Did you invent it?”

  “Alas, no. It is a well-known saying where I come from.”

  “Oh. I see.” She frowned, and the glad radiance vanished. “Now you are mocking me.”

  “Not at all.” Eager to change the subject, Kit glanced down at his soup plate. “This broth looks good.” He pulled his apostle spoon from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Shall we dig in?”

  “How oddly you speak,” she observed, picking up her spoon.

  They ladled savoury beef broth into their mouths, and Kit was glad for a moment’s respite from the task of having to converse in the obtuse tongue of the seventeenth century-difficult enough at the best of times. And tilting with Lady Fayth was demanding and exhausting; he was happy for a chance to regroup. Silence, broken only by the occasional slurp, stretched between them. When the extended pause began to grow awkward, Kit entered the lists once more. “Do you live in London?” he asked.

  “Good heavens, no!” she exclaimed. Setting down her bowl, she took a bit of dried bread, crumbled it into what remained in the bottom of the bowl, and began spooning up the sops. “What about yourself?”

  “London born and bred,” he replied, then quickly amended his assertion. “Well, in truth, I was born in Weston-super-Mare. My family has moved around somewhat, but I’ve lived in London a long time.”

  “Weston-super-Mare?” wondered Lady Fayth.

  “It’s in Somerset, I believe.”

  “Is it, indeed?” She sniffed. “My home is in Somerset-Clarivaux, our family’s estate. Do you know it?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “My father is Edward, Henry’s older brother. I had a brother, Richard, who sadly died when he was three. I never knew him.” She nibbled daintily from the edge of the spoon, raising her head slightly. The candlelight caressed the curve of her throat and made her fair skin glow. The sight of such transcendent beauty within stroking distance made Kit feel a little dizzy. “Do you have family?” she asked.

  “Well, there’s Cosimo, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean, you suppose? Either he is your grandfather, as you claim, or he is not. There can be no supposition about it.”

  “We are related,” Kit assured her. “There is no doubt about that. But he is not, strictly speaking, my grandfather.”

  “No?” The spoon halted, hovering in midair. “Then who, pray, is he?”

  “He is my great-grandfather.” At her disbelieving glance he added, “I know, I know-it seems unlikely. In fact, I had trouble believing it myself. But it is the honest truth. Cosimo is my great-grandfather.”

  “Upon my word. You do surprise me.”

  “It’s all to do with their, um-secret experiments.”

  “Leaping.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Ley leaping-that’s what I call it. When one jumps from one place to another…” She favoured him with a superior smile. “Leaping.”

  “A good word for it,” granted Kit. “Anyway, all this leaping about from one place to another seems to interfere with the natural process of aging in some way. Cosimo should be a whole lot older than he seems to be.”

  “Is that so?” She spooned up another sop, then pushed the dish away. “Am I to understand that you have been allowed to leap?”

  “Oh, yes. Several times. And you?”

  “No,” she replied. Servants appeared to clear away the dishes and prepare the table for the main course. “It is thought to be too dangerous-though I cannot imagine why-and so, of course, being a woman, I am not allowed.”

/>   “Well, I’m not very good at it,” Kit said, by way of mitigating her disappointment. “And I don’t pretend to understand much about it. But I do agree it could be very dangerous. I mean, what if you leapt and found yourself in the middle of the sea, or a tiger-infested jungle, or an exploding volcano…”

  “That is why you need the map.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The Skin Map.”

  “You know about that too?” said Kit, wondering what else she knew.

  A platter of sliced mutton in gravy, mashed turnips, and carrots was placed on the table, and china plates efficiently filled. The servants topped up the wineglasses and retreated once more.

  “My uncle trusts very few people with his secrets,” she confided, reaching for a clean spoon. “Happily, I am one of that select number. My father thinks it all wool and nonsense. He refuses to allow even the merest mention of leaping-or any of Henry’s other theories, come to that-in his presence. In consequence, they have not spoken in years. Thus”-her smile turned sweetly satisfied-“I have become the sole repository of my uncle’s scientific investigations.”

  “I see.” Kit took her at her word, but there was something in what she said that niggled even as it sought to explain.

  “Indeed, that is why I have come up to London,” she continued, slicing her meat nicely. “It goes without saying that much of his work is complicated and extremely esoteric. Uncle has promised to show me his journals and teach me some of his more abstruse theories. In time, I may be allowed to make a leap myself.”

  “His journals,” repeated Kit, glancing up from his plate. “Wait! You mean he writes it down!”

  “Certainly, he does. He keeps it all in little books,” she explained. “All his thoughts and theories, and also the results of his various experiments. It all goes into the books. Sir Henry is nothing if not scrupulous.”

  “How very admirable,” declared Kit, “About these journals-I suppose you know where they are?”

  “Where? In his study I should think-where else should they be?”