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

Brahe’s now.’
    Kepler chewed on, picking his morsels carefully, his mood unimproved . At the top table, Tycho conversed and laughed with his assistants.
    As the meal entered its second hour, a dark form banged on the table in front of Kepler, bouncing the tableware. An unmistakable jingling followed.
    â€˜Does the Master’s food not suit your genteel palate?’ Jepp was standing astride the platters, bulbous head cocked. His piggy eyes were fogged and his breath stank of wine.
    The room was suddenly quiet. Kepler knew Tycho was watching, a leer on his greasy lips.
    â€˜Are you used to finer things in Graaaaaz ?’ Jepp drew out the last word into a song of ridicule.
    â€˜Forgive me, I am not myself today,’ said Kepler, addressing the top table.
    â€˜Who are you then?’ Jepp squeaked. ‘Copernicus perhaps?’
    â€˜Enough Jepp, leave him be,’ called Tycho.
    After a moment, the dwarf’s posture relaxed and he retreated to the edge of the table. But at the last moment, he lunged back in Kepler’s direction. Instinctively Kepler pushed himself away. The rear legs of his chair caught on the lip of a flagstone, and Kepler tipped over, cracking his head. Jepp perched on the edge of the table, watching his victim.
    The guests roared with laughter. Jepp somersaulted from the table into the middle of the room and bowed, drawing more howls of delight from the onlookers. Shaking with humiliation, Kepler turned towards his host. The great Tycho Brahe was looking back, roaring with laughter.
    *
    Each evening, the assistants met to discuss the coming night’s work. They stood in a huddle and listened as Tycho informed them of their priorities and the division of labour. Once the programme of work was clear to everyone, they wrapped themselves in heavy capes and set off up the staircase. Their robes bestowed the illusion of priests ascending to worship the heavens.
    Kepler stayed on the outskirts of the discussion and was assigned to help Longomontanus. ‘I had not anticipated taking part in the observing,’ he whispered to his room-mate. ‘I’m inadequately clothed.’
    â€˜I have a spare cloak you may borrow.’ They detached themselves from the procession and headed for their room. Once there, Longomontanus opened a cupboard and handed over a musty-smelling garment. Kepler swung it around himself. A clear foot of material pooled on the floor.
    â€˜You will be the warmest of us all,’ grinned Longomontanus.
    When they arrived on the roof, the great nocturnal beast of the observatory was stirring into action. A dozen shadowy figures moved between the silhouettes of the instruments, preparing them for the night’s observing. During the day, the devices had been clamped rigid; now they were set free with the turn of fist-sized screws. Agog, Kepler watched the shadowplay; it was as beautiful as a dance. The operators merged with their mechanisms, each contributing to the choreography . An armature glided up a curving frame; a semicircular framework rotated into place; a triangular chassis tilted like an eagle catching an updraft. He followed the line of the instrument upwards, marvelling at the glittering stars.
    Kepler thought briefly of his own hopeless attempts at coaxing the sky out of its secrets back in Graz. He had built a mound of earth on which to rest a lashed-up cross-staff of wood – and he had dreamed of measuring the parallax like that. What a fool he had been.
    Below the insulation of the night sky, all dreams seemed real but all fears were magnified too. ‘I have something else to tell you,’ he said to Longomontanus’s shadowy face. ‘I’m not a good observer. I have tried, but my eyes are weak; the result of smallpox when I was a child.’
    Longomontanus handed him the observing logbook. ‘Then you will be my amanuensis, and no one need know.’
    The Dane unlocked the giant sextant and swung it