Read Online Three Emperors (9780062194138) by William Dietrich - Free Book Online Page B

lanterns seemed to dim.
    My boy jumped at the squeal when a heavy wooden door with a small grilled window was hauled open. It had been ages, I guessed, since any prisoner had been housed here. The cell was empty, barren, and cold.
    â€œNo window?”
    â€œMasons filled it in after the explosion.”
    The repair, of different-colored stone, was about six feet in diameter.
    â€œAnd Rosenkreutz left nothing behind?”
    â€œHe took his coffin with him.”
    I tingled at his presence. Yes, centuries had passed, but wisdom had resided in this room. As if by an invisible spirit, my head was turned to gaze upon the opposite wall. “Swing the open door away from the stone there,” I commanded.
    Josef hesitated, then nodded, and a servant complied.
    I took a lantern and studied the wall. There were scratches, so grimed that a quick inspection would miss them. One was a crude drawing of a rose, worked on the stone by a rusty nail or spoon. Below were letters in Latin:
    SICUT IN CAELO ET IN TERRA.
    â€œIt’s a church phrase,” I said. “ ‘As in heaven, so on earth.’ ” An abbreviated version of the Hermetic wisdom, ‘That which is below is as that which is above, and that which is above is as that which is below.’ ”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Josef asked.
    â€œUnity. Our lives are mirrored in the heavens, because in the end heaven and earth are one. We look to the sky for the chart of our hearts.”
    â€œThat’s lovely,” Paulina said.
    â€œPretentious,” said Josef.
    â€œThere’s another mark here. Look.” Above the rose was a single scratched line. It could be described as a very broad U , or a C laid on its side, or a bowl, or a valley. Yet the angle where the base turned upright was angular, not curved. I shivered. “Does this mean anything to you?”
    â€œPrisoners make all kinds of marks,” Josef said. “Most are obscene. Rosenkreutz was simply mad.”
    â€œBut he left signs like bread crumbs in a forest.”
    â€œIf that’s a sign, Madame Witch, you are welcome to it.”
    â€œThe written word has power. Letters have power. Hieroglyphs have power. In ancient Egypt, this hieroglyph symbolized ka, the eternal soul. This could have been a mark of Christian’s union with God, or his expectation of life after death.”
    â€œOr the fact he expected to die in here.”
    â€œAnd yet he didn’t. How far down to the river?”
    â€œA hundred feet, but one could work down the steep cliffs. How he lowered his mysterious box I’ve no idea.”
    I turned to Paulina. “The Goddess meant for us to meet this day, duchess, to teach your husband a lesson and give you warning. Don’t forget it! The world of your theater is a plaything. The world beyond grows dangerous. War is coming, and I and my son must hurry before it arrives.”

Chapter 7
    M y freedom lasted the one exhausting week it took me to flee by coach through the Carinthian Alps to Vienna. It was nearly a year since I had been separated from my wife and son at Notre Dame, and nearly two months since Catherine Marceau had written to warn that they were captive in Bohemia. Each day that dragged as we traveled increased my dread that I would be too late. I didn’t know what had happened to Astiza, and I didn’t know if Baron Richter had any connection to it, but I did know, in my soul, that she and Harry were in grave danger.
    As usual, it was a miserable trip. The autumn disrepair of the roads left my ribs sore, my digestion in turmoil, and my sleep fragmented. Passengers were conscripted eight times to help push the vehicle through mud and snow. My pantaloons were spattered to my waist, my stockings were clotted, and between exertions I had to wrap a scarf around my ears to keep warm. Six men crowded our cab, and I became dizzy from pipe smoke and their breath of salt fish, sausage, and garlic. When they