I am confined-mostly-to the castle and its grounds. I experimented with this quite a bit the first few decades. With great effort, I can make it to the little pub I loved so much at the bottom of the castle steps. On certain nights, when the moon and stars align just perfectly, I’ll feel the cosmic energies stir. On these occasions I can make it into the tourist areas below the castle.

I’ve never made it as far as the Charles Bridge.

When I attempt to leave the area the cosmos has approved for me, things go gray. The real world bleeds away, and I feel myself in a fog. I try to trudge forward, but it’s like walking through mud. I feel a tug at my back, like there’s an invisible line hooked to my belt.

I always turn back. I am here. I will be here forever.

The Hapsburgs fell, and I remained. I watched the Nazis come and go. The Communists. The latest invasion has been the tourists, men and women from the UK and the USA. So many students. They all flock to cheap beer and old-world charm. The prices are starting to go up now, and Prague isn’t the bargain it used to be. Travelers are discovering Budapest and Warsaw.

But Prague is mine, or the castle-the symbol of the city-is anyway.

There are other ghosts in Prague Castle. I’ve talked to them. Well, I’ve tried to talk to them. They seem to lack the gift of conversation. These spirits are stuck in some kind of loop, acting in the same play over and over again, saying the same lines. They spend eternity reenacting their unjust murders or roam the halls looking for the road to the afterlife. They’re only half there. Insubstantial even for ghosts.

Only I see all. Only Edward Kelley retains his faculties, listens, learns, grows. I am like some recorder destined to bear witness. What exactly I’m supposed to see or do has been unclear for centuries. I have never tasted a McDonald’s hamburger or Yoplait yogurt. I watch with longing as tourists knock back cold pilsners. I want to cry when I think how long it’s been since I’ve had a glass of wine, but I can’t make tears.

I have not been deprived of human desires. I simply no longer have the means to fulfill them. Nothing physical, I mean. I can’t tell you how long I spent loitering in women’s restrooms, watching ladies take down their pants to pee. That’s pathetic, isn’t it? Like I said, a man with a man’s desires, trapped in the nothingness of my existence.

So, yeah. I get horny.

But since I am utterly deprived of physical sensation, it must all be in my mind, right? I spent a hundred years on that one.

Only recently have I detected some change, a shift in the nature of my own existence. Something is coming. Happening. And it’s all tied up with Allen Cabbot and the strange adventure that he finds himself smack in the middle of at this very moment. But Allen can keep a moment.

First there is the matter of Dr. Dee and a very large pitcher of cheap wine.

Kelley and Dee sat at a rough wooden table in the corner of Kelley’s favorite pub. It was a dark establishment, thick with the smoke of oil lamps and candles. Kelley could barely make out the faces of the other patrons. They’d gone through half a pitcher of wine, and Dee had loosened up a bit.

It helped that the doctor could not hold his liquor.

Kelley told a bawdy joke and Dee laughed. Okay, thought Kelley. He’s ready for more probing questions.

Kelley tilted the pitcher, refilled Dee’s goblet. “I can’t help but wonder what all this secrecy is about, Dee. If I knew what was happening, I could help more.”

Dee’s frown was plain even in the dim candlelight. Instead of talking, he sipped wine.

“Is Rudolph impatient with us?” asked Kelley. “Are we not turning lead into gold fast enough for His Highness? Because I have to tell you, Dee, it’s going to take years. Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible at all.”

“Lower your voice.” Dee looked from side to side, but nobody seemed interested in their conversation. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Supposed to be,” Kelley said, “but everyone knows. People whisper about it all the time, or they used to. It’s sort of old news now, actually. Guess what they call the alleyway outside our workshop. The Golden Lane.”

“I thought they called it that because the soldiers use it as a convenient place to urinate.”

“There’s that too.”

Dee leaned across the table, motioned for Kelley to lean in also. Dee’s hushed whisper was barely audible. “I can tell you this much. Transmuting lead into gold, all that nonsense, it’s a cover story.”

“Then why the hell have I been cleaning beakers and handling toxic chemicals for the past five months? And why the hell would we have a cover story and then act like it’s a secret?”

“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” Dee said. “A couple of alchemists up to God knows what until all hours of the night. People are bound to be curious. They can’t help themselves. So we make up a story and let people discover the secret. Once they think they know what’s going on, they stop asking. The curiosity abates.”

“What about me?” Kelley asked. “My curiosity hasn’t abated.”

“In time, Edward.”

“And if we’re not transmuting lead into gold, then what was all that talk about breaking a silver goblet into thousands of pieces until it’s not silver anymore?”

“We’re not transmuting lead into gold,” Dee said. “But we are transmuting… something.”

“Dee, you must confide in me.”

“I’ve already said too much. This is a dangerous secret, Edward. Rudolph will have both our heads if it gets out, so please ask me no more.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Kelley sipped wine. “At least tell me when I might be able to know more. For pity’s sake, throw me a bone.”

“Rudolph’s astrologers are the key,” Dee said.

“I thought we were the key.”

Dee cleared his throat. “Well, naturally. But next to us the astrologers are the key. Soon they will bring us an object, and then, my dear Edward, then I will most certainly need your assistance. Until that time, I beg you to ask me no more.”

Kelley sat back and nodded. Clearly he would get no more out of Dee until Dee was ready. “Our pitcher is empty. I’ll get us more wine.”

“Please no,” Dee said. “My head is swimming. But I thank you for the drink. I’ve been working so hard lately, I feel like I might come apart.”

Kelley smiled. “I know just the thing to ease your troubles, my friend.”

Kelley’s eyes creaked open at the first hint of sunlight. He sat up in bed, pushing the girl’s naked leg off his chest. The rest of her was hidden beneath the bedcovers. Which one had he ended up with? The one with corn-yellow hair, he hoped. She had big tits. He couldn’t tell from the leg.

He cast about, squinting his eyes, but didn’t immediately see Dee and the other wench. Kelley’s head throbbed. It tasted as if a small, oily creature had defecated in his mouth and then crawled down his throat and died. His skin felt slick and clammy. The first stirrings of something unpleasant were beginning in his belly. It seemed impossible that a man could feel this bad and still live. The entire chamber smelled of sweat and wine.

Kelley crawled out of bed. His legs felt like jelly. He went to the plush sofa and pulled back the heavy quilt. The naked girl underneath whined, curled into a fetal position, flinching from the light. It was the yellow-haired girl with the large breasts. Damn. That meant Kelley had been with the bucktoothed one. He shrugged. No matter.

Kelley found his breeches, slipped into them, and went downstairs.

There was a water trough in the courtyard directly across from the tower door. Dee was on his knees, his head dunked in the water. His white skin glowed a dirty orange in the rays of the rising sun. He wore only his underwear. He lifted his head out of the trough, water streaming and dripping from his hair and beard.