Читать книгу Will Shakespeare and the Pirate’s Fire - Robert J. Harris - Страница 12

At last Dee found the correct door. It opened on to a cavernous dark so immense that the lantern seemed to shrink before it in fear. The doctor plucked a taper out of a nearby vase and lit it. As they walked deeper into the library he used it to ignite a series of lamps that were placed strategically throughout the vast room. With each new flare of light more and more bookcases became visible, each ten or twelve feet high. They formed crooked passages that zigzagged this way and that from one end of the room to the other, turning the library into a gigantic maze. Crammed on to each shelf were volumes of every imaginable size, shape and colour.

“There must be thousands of books here,” Will gasped.

“I dare say there are,” said Dee, “though I’ve never found time to count them.”

The doctor strode on, lighting lamps as he went with scarcely a pause. Will stumbled along after, unable to tear his gaze away from this wondrous array of books. He had not imagined there were this many in the whole world. Running his eyes over the titles on the bindings, he saw that there were volumes on mathematics, astronomy, logic, mythology, saints, falconry and magic. Surely everything that could be known was contained in this library.

“Keep up! Keep up!” Dee’s voice prompted him.

Will looked around and realised he had lost sight of the doctor. “I can’t see you!” he called back.

“Well, keep looking!” came the response. “I must be around here somewhere!”

Will headed left, then right, straight into a dead end. He resisted the impulse to call out for help. This was only one room after all: he could surely find a way through it.

Then he spotted a ladder set at a steep angle upon a wedge-shaped wooden frame. Obviously it was designed for reaching the upper shelves, but if he climbed to the very top he might be able to spot the doctor over the tops of the bookcases.

Darting over to the ladder, he jumped on to the bottommost rung. To his shock the apparatus shot off sideways on unseen wheels. Rows of books flashed by in a giddy rush and a wall loomed suddenly ahead. Will shut his eyes tight and braced himself.

With a jolt, the framework crashed into the wall, knocking loose two rows of books. Opening his eyes with a sigh of relief, Will carefully dismounted. He began to wonder if this entire house was one huge death-trap.

He knelt to replace the fallen books.

“Ah, there you are!” came a voice from above.

Will looked up and saw Dee’s face peering down at him through a gap in one of the upper shelves. “I’ve warned Caleb not to oil the wheels so freely. One day there might be a serious accident.”

The face vanished and a moment later Dee appeared by Will’s side. He led the way to the centre of the library, which was lit by three separate lamps. There was a large table here, strewn with books, papers, pieces of crystal and mathematical instruments.

“With all this,” said Will, staring about him, “how do you find the books you want?”

“This library is arranged according to a thematic system of my own devising,” Dee explained. “It would take a very long time to explain.”

“I’m sure it’s very clever,” said Will.

He peered at one particular book that lay on top of a sheet of incomprehensible calculations. It’s green cover looked new, though the title made it sound very old: A True Treatise on the Construction of the Labyrinth of King Minos.

He was about to open it when Dee whipped it out from under his nose and set it to one side. “I can’t think what that’s doing here,” he murmured distractedly.

“Dr Dee?” called a familiar voice from somewhere in the direction of door.

“Beeston, is that you?” Dee responded.

“Right here, doctor. Is my boy Will with you?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Will interposed, “wherever here is.”

A few moments later Caleb appeared with Henry Beeston at his shoulder.

“No matter how many times I’ve been here,” said Beeston with a shake of his head, “I’m sure I would still get lost in this room without a guide.”

“Lost? Not a bit of it!” said Dee. “You simply have to remember to always take the left turn. Or is it the right? Anyway, it’s the simplest thing.” His eye lighted on the box Beeston was carrying. “So what’s this you’ve got for me?”

“A few volumes I know will interest you.”

“Excellent!” Dee enthused. “Drinks, Caleb!”

“What sort of drinks?” Caleb asked dully.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Dee. “Something hot. Isn’t there any of that apple punch left?”

“I’ll see if I can find some,” said Caleb, shuffling off.

Beeston gazed after him. “I can’t think why you keep such a surly servant about the place.”

“He’s my assistant, actually,” said Dee. “There are servants too, but they come and go. None of them stays for long. I can’t think why.”

Beeston set the box down on the table. As soon as he opened it, Dee reached inside, clearly delighted. He lifted the books out one by one, handling them as carefully as if they were made of eggshells and gossamer.

“Tully’s translation of the Cyropaedia! Splendid! And what’s this? The Voyage of Prince Madoc. This is treasure indeed! I’ll be sure to pay you double the usual fee, Master Beeston, as soon as I am in funds.”

“In funds?” Beeston’s smile drooped. “Not now?”

“Sadly my finances are at a low ebb,” said Dee absently, leafing through one of the books. “But even now I am taking steps to improve my situation.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Beeston, “but perhaps in the meantime…”

“Where’s the rest of your company?” Dee asked. “Not abandoned you, I hope?”

“The wagons were bogged down in the mud,” Beeston retorted stiffly. “They’ll be here presently.”

“In that case, Master Beeston, it’s not chance that brought you here but the guiding hand of all-seeing providence.” Dee set the book aside and looked up with a broad grin. “I am laying on a very special entertainment in two weeks time and the centrepiece of this revelry requires a troupe of players. I had thought of hiring Worcester’s Men, but—”

“Worcester’s Men?” Beeston cut in. “You can’t be serious! Tunstall can barely speak two lines without spraying the audience in spittle. And as for Dick Andrews, I’ve seen baboons that could pass for a woman better than he, no matter how much makeup they cake on him.”