Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [162]
“The captain of Haddington,” wrote the Protector, “is to train as many hackbutters as he can, to do all he can to get Sir George in his hands, and having him, keep him. And notwithstanding any treaty, to destroy the country as he may.”
Lord Grey took the necessary steps. He did more. Without consulting Somerset or Palmer or his own staff, he sent for Samuel Harvey.
2. The Pinning Move
It was Sybilla who, mistrusting the apathetic security of the convent, installed her daughter-in-law, in Richard’s permanent absence, at Midculter.
There, she found herself in the embarrassing position of the social suicide who wakes up after the laudanum: the skies had fallen and had done nothing but add to the general obscurity. The Dowager, wishing strongly that Christian Stewart was with her instead of staying with the Maxwells, did her best to amuse; but all that could stir Mariotta to the mildest interest was the alchemy experiment.
In recent months, the laboratory which Sybilla had equipped for Johnnie Bullo had glowed with strange lights of an evening, and bad smells infiltrated lovingly into the fabric of the house. Johnnie explained, frequently, what he was doing, but so far little was visible save a sticky and unsavoury residue in blackened retorts.
On a mild, sunny afternoon at the end of May, however, encouraged perhaps by the presence of Janet Buccleuch as well as the two Lady Culters, he had gone further. Standing by the odorous furnace and tapping a dirty copper he intoned.
“Calcination, dissolution, separation, conjunction, putrefaction, congelation, cibation, sublimation, fermentation, exaltation, multiplication and projection,” chanted Johnnie, his dark face ferociously solemn. “These and none others are the twelve processes.”
There was a respectful silence. “Twelve processes of what?” demanded Janet, who liked to have things straight.
The bright, mystagogue’s eyes appealed for sympathy to the intellectual Culters. He explained. At the end—
“Yes. I see all that,” said Janet. “Go on to the bit about the Paradisiacal fruit.”
“Yes. Well,” said Johnnie, who was not overfond of being quoted. “The fruit has ripened. If it’s dry, you add mercury until silver Luna rises. In time, that yields to the Sun. Then the phial is sealed and put in the furnace: mine went in a month ago as I showed you—white fumes with a black residue as I showed you also—perfect putrefaction of the seed.” His eyes shone.
“Now I shall increase the heat, and you shall see the glorious colour changes—green to whiter—the White Tincture. If we troubled with it, we should find it transmutes metal to silver.”
“Aren’t we going to trouble with it?” asked Mariotta.
He shook his black head. “We wait until the furnace becomes hotter still—yellow, orange—citron—and finally, blood red.” He paused weightily. “And that day, Lady Culter, will be very soon now.”
“And what,” asked Sybilla, the blue eyes shining, “happens then, Mr. Bullo?”
His expression altered from the grave to the bonzelike. “Cooled and powdered, what is left has become heavier than gold, dissolvable in any liquid, a panacea for all diseases, and a transmuter of lead into gold.”
A breathless silence, fraught with fat visions, stretched on and was broken by Janet. “There is someone,” said Lady Buccleuch in annoyance, “at the door.”
It was a travel-stained man from Ballaggan with a letter for the Dowager.
The reek of the furnace and the dirty crucibles rolled out into the courtyard as she read it; Johnnie’s words vanished; the litter and alembics became commonplace. “What is it?” exclaimed Janet.
Sybilla spoke to the messenger, her voice flat. “Tell Sir Andrew that Lord Culter is not here; but Sir Wat will come as soon as we can reach him. And tell him we suggest he takes his prisoner to Threave. That will save troubling Lady Hunter while