Sky's Dark Labyrinth by Stuart Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

bed.’
    In the dusty far corner was a smaller cot, topped with greying blankets and pillows.
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    Kepler found Tycho in an antechamber, surrounded by assistants. Tengnagel hovered near the periphery, chin in the air, nodding enthusiastically whenever the Master spoke in his direction but at other times letting his eyes wander.
    Kepler’s hurried footsteps drew their attention.
    â€˜My lodgings are unacceptable,’ he declared. ‘I have a wife and stepdaughter , we cannot be expected to share …’
    Tycho lifted his hand. ‘Did you smuggle them in with your packing?’
    Tengnagel guffawed. The others swapped sidelong glances. Regardless, it inflamed Kepler more.
    â€˜They will be here with me. I will need somewhere quiet – and uninterrupted time to perform my calculations.’
    Tycho reached into a pocket and removed a snuffbox. He tipped the lid and dipped a finger into the waxy substance inside, then smeared it around his metal nose. With his hand in front of his face, he mumbled, ‘And you will get them.’
    Heads turned towards the Master.
    â€˜Come, let us eat.’ Tycho lurched into motion. The assistants shrugged to each other and eyed Kepler, who dropped to the rear of the group. Tengnagel barged past to take up a position at Tycho’s side.
    The dining hall was still being set when the entourage swept into the room, sending the servants into a frenzy. Their activity set the wall hangings swaying, bringing a strange animation to the mythological depictions.
    The tables were arranged as three sides of a square. Tycho indicated a chair on the left-hand table, nearly fifteen places away from the ornate seat at the centre of the top table. ‘Herr Kepler, please be seated.’
    The other assistants were taking their positions nearer the top table, and Tengnagel rattled a chair within three of the central seat. Kepler looked up to query the placement, but there was a warning in Tycho’s eyes.
    â€˜You are most kind,’ said Kepler, shrinking into his place. He watched sullenly as Tycho’s wife and eldest daughter took their places at the top table, exchanging greetings with the observatory assistants. Around them clustered some of his host’s other sons and daughters, each displaying the Tychonic red hair. When late guests hurried in to take seats next to Kepler, he favoured them with only the briefest of acknowledgements .
    The room hushed as Tengnagel stood to say grace. It proved to be a ponderous monologue.
    â€˜Oh, do hurry up, my insides are screaming with hunger,’ Tycho said during a particularly grandiose passage.
    The room roared approval. Only Longomontanus continued to pray, Kepler noticed.
    The servants appeared and piled plate after plate onto the long tables. Kepler watched Tycho hoist a roasted woodpigeon from a platter and rip it to pieces before chucking the carcass onto the floor. No, not the floor!
    Underneath the table, dressed in the garb of a court jester, Jepp crouched at his Master’s toes and feasted on the leftovers. When waiting for another carcass to fall, he shook the bells on his costumes in some childish rhythm.
    â€˜Ooh, do try the tansy,’ urged one of Kepler’s neighbours, indicating an omelette with edges as grey and ragged as old lace.
    Kepler took some just to appear polite. He had always been of the opinion that food exerted a powerful influence over its consumer. If something looked bad from the outside, it probably did something bad on the inside too, but the tansy pleasantly surprised him. It tasted much better than it looked, so he took a little more. Soon afterwards another course was paraded around the tables: a predictable boar’s head made up the centrepiece and was placed before Tycho.
    â€˜What is the special occasion?’ asked Kepler.
    His neighbour laughed raucously, jowls quivering and spilling his wine. ‘Special occasion? Nothing. You’re at Tycho