London - Edward Rutherfurd [266]
Half an hour passed. An hour. And then, just as he had entered a small yard, he heard a shutter bang open, looked up, and saw a face framed for a moment in a lighted window.
Fleming watched the glowing fire with mounting excitement. This time, he thought, it is going to happen.
It had to happen. In another month it would be his daughter’s wedding. And what had he to give her? Nothing. He thought of his wife. How long was it since she had had a good opinion of him? Only money would solve it. So, once again, he had taken all the spare money he had in the box and brought it to Silversleeves. The alchemist had seemed confident too.
“This will be the last time I do this,” he had informed the grocer. “I shall not need to any more.” And seeing the grocer wondering if this meant they would make gold, he smiled. “Yes, my friend,” he said, sending up a secret prayer of thanks for Tiffany and her wealth, “soon I shall be very rich indeed.”
It was hot in the room. Silversleeves, dressed in his magic cloak, bent over his work. Slowly he mixed the ingredients of the Elixir, adding for good measure a little salt and garlic. Time passed. The atmosphere in the room grew closer, the fire hissed, while outside the rain lashed the shutters. At last he was ready. “Stoke the fire,” he ordered the grocer.
It was while Fleming was doing so that the wind burst open the shutter. With an impatient gesture, Silversleeves had motioned him to fasten it, which had caused Fleming to lean out of the window. Then his eyes had been drawn back to the fire.
Already the crucible was bubbling. “Do you think . . .” Fleming began; but Silversleeves raised his finger to his lips. Longing to say something, the grocer stood on tiptoe with anticipation as he watched the crucible trembling on the coals. The rain roared on the shutters. He was vaguely aware of a creaking sound near the door. The crucible hissed.
But then something strange began to happen. He felt the movement clearly, and so did Silversleeves, who looked up in surprise: not only was the crucible bubbling furiously and shaking, but now the beakers and bowls on the table were starting to tremble too. The door and window began to rattle; the crucible jumped. The floor itself was moving in a giddy fashion. The walls, the whole house, amazingly, started to sway.
“Dear God,” he cried in ecstasy, “this is it!” This must be what happened when the miracle of alchemy was accomplished. Why, for all he knew, the planets might be whirling wildly too, the celestial spheres themselves be shaking as madly as the house. Perhaps – a thought terrible, yet sublime – Silversleeves had just caused the world to end. Certainly the alchemist was looking alarmed.
And then the door opened.
Ducket stared open-mouthed. The last few moments had been strange indeed. First he had dived across the courtyard, up a rickety outside staircase and on to a landing, groping his way in the blackness. Then the whole house, and all the houses round, had started shaking.
Ducket had never been in an earthquake before, nor had he ever heard of such a thing – which was hardly surprising. The great earth tremor of May 1382 was one of the very few recorded in London’s history, and, though it did no serious damage, it frightened the Londoners very much indeed. But he had no time even to consider the earthquake as he gazed in. This was not a prostitutes’ quarter, but he had supposed his master might be with a woman of some kind. Or perhaps a circle of men playing dice, or some game that might have caused the grocer to lose money. He had meant to open the door very cautiously, hoping to get a glimpse of what was going on and then, if necessary, beat a hasty retreat. But the sudden movement of the earthquake had caused him almost to fall against the door just as he lifted the latch. It