Read Online Doctor Illuminatus by Martin Booth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martin Booth
Tags: JUV001000
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the cap, shook the bottle vigorously and said, “Now I must prepare my
sauvegarde
.”
“Sauvegarde?”
Tim repeated.
“I think you would call it your safety net,” Sebastian replied, shaking the bottle again and setting off towards the edge of the copse.
They returned across the field of rank grass, passing the pool and entering the ruined coach house by squeezing through a half-open door, hanging awkwardly by one hinge. The walls were stained with patches of damp while the upper floor looked unsafe, with gaps where planks had rotted through. The wooden staircase lacked a number of steps and the banister was hanging awry. The flagstoned floor, upon which carriages and dog carts had once stood, was covered in debris, drifts of leaves that had blown in and, against one corner, three or four huge barrels, their bands rusting and their ends staved in. The air smelled of dampness, mold and decaying wood.
Sebastian moved to the middle of the floor and stood upon a large flagstone that seemed more or less devoid of rubbish, beckoning to the others to stand with him. As soon as the three of them were on the stone together, he tapped his foot on two other flags. Immediately, the stone they were standing on appeared to sink into the ground. As it moved downwards, the sides of the shaft sped by. It reminded Tim of being in an old-fashioned elevator where you could see through the bars of the door.
After at least twenty seconds, the feeling of motion ceased and a door opened into Sebastian’s underground chamber. Without further ado, he walked straight to the table and poured the contents of the vodka bottle into a glass retort, which he began to connect to a copper distillation tower.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Pip ventured. “Nothing,” Sebastian replied, “but thank you.” He finished setting up his equipment and, with a match-box, struck a spark and lit a small spirit burner beneath the retort. “And now, I must tell you that I am going away for a few days. You shall not see me, but you need fear not. I shall return before long. In my absence, I must request that you not try to come to this place, for it is protected and those who venture here may only do so in my presence. This is the only means by which I may protect myself whilst I sleep.”
“Haven’t you ever worried that someone might have found the panel in my bedroom?” Pip asked.
“Or the flagstone in the coach house?” Tim added. “You’ve been incredibly lucky the builders renovating the house didn’t find anything.”
“And,” Pip added, “if our father decides to convert the coach house into an office, which he is planning to do . . .”
“There is no need to be concerned,” Sebastian said. “Were they to dig up the flagstones, they would not find their way here.”
“But the shaft . . .” Tim began.
“There is no shaft,” Sebastian declared.
“But we just came down it,” Tim replied.
“You think you just came down it.”
“If there’s no shaft,” Pip pondered, “where are we? Aren’t we under Rawne Barton?”
Sebastian made no answer, but turned his attention to the retort which was now bubbling. The contents were swirling around like vegetables cooking in a boiling saucepan, and steam rose from the surface of the liquid to waft along the tube to the condenser. He watched as a colorless liquid started to drip from the spout into a ceramic dish with a pouring lip on it. He counted the drops. When there were thirty, he extinguished the flame on the burner by covering it with a snuffer and poured the liquid into a dark-blue vial the size of a perfume bottle, which he corked. For a short while, the condenser continued to drip. This liquid he allowed to collect in a small, delicate china vessel rather like an after-dinner coffee cup but with an alchemical symbol drawn on the glaze.
“Now,” he said, “I must go.”
“Where are you going?” Tim asked.
“I am going,” Sebastian said gravely, “in
sauvegarde
.”
“Sauvegarde?”
Tim repeated.
“I think you would call it your safety net,” Sebastian replied, shaking the bottle again and setting off towards the edge of the copse.
They returned across the field of rank grass, passing the pool and entering the ruined coach house by squeezing through a half-open door, hanging awkwardly by one hinge. The walls were stained with patches of damp while the upper floor looked unsafe, with gaps where planks had rotted through. The wooden staircase lacked a number of steps and the banister was hanging awry. The flagstoned floor, upon which carriages and dog carts had once stood, was covered in debris, drifts of leaves that had blown in and, against one corner, three or four huge barrels, their bands rusting and their ends staved in. The air smelled of dampness, mold and decaying wood.
Sebastian moved to the middle of the floor and stood upon a large flagstone that seemed more or less devoid of rubbish, beckoning to the others to stand with him. As soon as the three of them were on the stone together, he tapped his foot on two other flags. Immediately, the stone they were standing on appeared to sink into the ground. As it moved downwards, the sides of the shaft sped by. It reminded Tim of being in an old-fashioned elevator where you could see through the bars of the door.
After at least twenty seconds, the feeling of motion ceased and a door opened into Sebastian’s underground chamber. Without further ado, he walked straight to the table and poured the contents of the vodka bottle into a glass retort, which he began to connect to a copper distillation tower.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Pip ventured. “Nothing,” Sebastian replied, “but thank you.” He finished setting up his equipment and, with a match-box, struck a spark and lit a small spirit burner beneath the retort. “And now, I must tell you that I am going away for a few days. You shall not see me, but you need fear not. I shall return before long. In my absence, I must request that you not try to come to this place, for it is protected and those who venture here may only do so in my presence. This is the only means by which I may protect myself whilst I sleep.”
“Haven’t you ever worried that someone might have found the panel in my bedroom?” Pip asked.
“Or the flagstone in the coach house?” Tim added. “You’ve been incredibly lucky the builders renovating the house didn’t find anything.”
“And,” Pip added, “if our father decides to convert the coach house into an office, which he is planning to do . . .”
“There is no need to be concerned,” Sebastian said. “Were they to dig up the flagstones, they would not find their way here.”
“But the shaft . . .” Tim began.
“There is no shaft,” Sebastian declared.
“But we just came down it,” Tim replied.
“You think you just came down it.”
“If there’s no shaft,” Pip pondered, “where are we? Aren’t we under Rawne Barton?”
Sebastian made no answer, but turned his attention to the retort which was now bubbling. The contents were swirling around like vegetables cooking in a boiling saucepan, and steam rose from the surface of the liquid to waft along the tube to the condenser. He watched as a colorless liquid started to drip from the spout into a ceramic dish with a pouring lip on it. He counted the drops. When there were thirty, he extinguished the flame on the burner by covering it with a snuffer and poured the liquid into a dark-blue vial the size of a perfume bottle, which he corked. For a short while, the condenser continued to drip. This liquid he allowed to collect in a small, delicate china vessel rather like an after-dinner coffee cup but with an alchemical symbol drawn on the glaze.
“Now,” he said, “I must go.”
“Where are you going?” Tim asked.
“I am going,” Sebastian said gravely, “in
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