The Merry Devils

Doctor John Mordrake was one of the few scientists whose record was blameless. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, he never tried to mislead or bamboozle his clients. Indeed, he often bent his extraordinary energies to unmasking fraudulent practices among his rival magicians. He never made extravagant claims for what alchemy might do, only for what it could do.

His furnace was kept on the ground floor of his house in Knightrider Street and its fumes were often seeking out the nostrils of an}' passers-by. As he stood beside it now, Mordrake watched his assistant stoke up the fire to increase the heat. The customer, an obese man in brown satin, rubbed his hands with glee.

'When will my gold be ready, Doctor Mordrake?'

'Do not be hasty, sir," warned the other. 'There are twelve stages in the alchemical process and none of them can be rushed. The first six are devoted to the making of the White Stone.'

'And then? And then?' asked the man eagerly.

'Six more long and careful stages.'

The assistant raked the coals again and sparks filled the room. While the customer stepped back in alarm, Mordrake held his ground and let the fiery atoms of light fall around him.

'How does it work?' said the customer.

"We are not sure that it will, sir.'

'But if my metal is refined into gold...'

Mordrake tossed his silver locks and gave a lecture.

'All substances are composed of four elements,' he began. 'By which, I mean earth, air, fire and water. In most things, those elements are not equally balanced. It is only in gold that they may be found in their perfect proportion. That is why we prize gold above all else. It is eternal, it is indestructible.'

'It is the source of true wealth,' noted the customer.

'My friend, my friend,' said Mordrake sadly. 'Do not be moved by a sordid desire for gain. Learn from Cicero--O fallacem hominem spem! Oh how deceitful is the hope of man! Remember Seneca--Magna servitus est magna fortuna. A great fortune is a great slavery. I do not work to satisfy the greed of men. That is ignoble and not the true end of alchemical inquiry. I seek perfection.'

'Does that not involve gold?'

'Only in the initial stage of the search.' He indicated the furnace with a blue-veined hand. 'In my raging fire here, I try to bring metals to their highest state, which is gold, but I would learn the science of applying the same principle to everything in life and--yes, sir--to life itself. Do you comprehend?'

'No,' said the man dully.

'I want to clothe all creation in perfection!' ; There was a long pause as the visitor assimilated the idea.

Can we make a start with my gold?'

Mordrake patted him on the shoulder then led him to the front door. When he had shown the man out, he padded upstairs to return to his work. As the old man entered the room, an elegant figure looked up from the massive book over which he was poring.

'Have you found what you were after, sir?' asked Mordrake.

'Indeed.'

'I would not show Malleus Maleficarum to many eyes.'

'That is why I am so grateful to you, Doctor Mordrake.'

'We'll set a price on that gratitude later,' said the other with a scholarly grin. 'Did the book enlighten you?'

"Wonderfully, sir. It made me think.'

'Vivere est cogitare.'

'To live is to think. We learned that tag at Cambridge.'

'From whom?

'Horace.'

'Cicero,' said Mordrake. You should have gone to Oxford.'

'Neither place could help me fulfil my destiny,' said the young man wistfully. 'I was born to serve other imperatives.'

'I am pleased that the book has been a help to you.'

'Much more than a help, sir. It has pointed out my way for me.'

*

Edmund Hoode was transported by delight. His performance in Love and Fortune had won plaudits from Grace Napier that thrilled him and congratulations from Isobel Drewry that he did not even hear. The play had been well-received by an audience who knew it for one of the staples of the company's repertoire. There had been nothing to dim the pleasure of the afternoon. Though everyone was on the alert for trouble, none came and none even threatened. Hoode's cup of joy overflowed when Grace acceded to his request.

'Yes, sir, I would like to dine with you.'

'We'll arrange a place and time to suit your convenience.'

'It will have to be after my return from the country.'

'You are leaving London?' His stomach revolved.

'At the end of the week,' she explained. 'But I will not be away for long, Master Hoode, and then we shall certainly dine together.'

'I will count the hours until that blessed time.'

'Do not wave me off so soon,' she chided with a smile. 'I do not leave for a few days yet. I will be here at the Queen's Head again tomorrow to watch Vincentio's Revenge.'

'And so will I,' piped Isobel.

Hoode shifted his feet. 'I am not well-cast in this tragedy.'

'It is no matter, sir,' said Grace pleasantly. 'I would watch you if you played but the meanest servant. It is Edmund Hoode that I come to see and not the part he plays.'

He kissed her hand on impulse. Isobel giggled inappropriately.

When the two of them left, he shuttled between happiness and misery. Grace Napier had agreed to dine with him but she had first to go away. Before he could be really close to her, they would have to be far apart. The thought that she might stir outside London filled him with dread. He wanted her to be in the same city as himself, if not in the same ward, the same house, the same chamber, the same bed and the same love affair. After full consideration, he dismissed the pangs of remorse and decided that he was entitled to feel triumphant. He had got his response at last. His plays, his performances and his poems had won a promise from his beloved.

It was a triumph that merited a small celebration.

*

'More ale, Nick?'

'I have had my fill, I think.'

'A cup of wine to see you on your way?' It would detain me in this chair all night.'

They were sitting together in Hoode's lodging. Desperate to tell of his good fortune, the playwright had pressed his friend to come back for an hour that had somehow matured into four. Nicholas Bracewell drank, listened, nodded at intervals and threw in words of encouragement whenever a small gap appeared in the narrative. He tried to leave more than once but was restrained by his host. Grace Napier was the centre of Hoode's world and he went round and round her with repetitious zeal.

Nicholas eventually got to his feet and contrived a farewell. Another burst of memoirs held him on the doorstep for five minutes then he broke free. Hoode went back inside to marvel at his luck and to pen another sonnet to its source. If Grace could tolerate him as a venal Duke in Vincentio's Revenge, she must indeed be smitten.

It was a fine night. Nicholas ambled along a street with a sense of having done an important favour to his friend. It did not hurt him to listen to the amorous outpourings of Edmund Hoode and his presence had clearly meant so much to his host. The playwright would do as much for Nicholas. Not that he would ever lend himself to such a situation. Affairs of the heart were matters of discretion to him and no man had ever heard him boast or sigh. It was one of the qualities in him that most attracted Anne Hendrik.