Free Sky's Dark Labyrinth by Stuart Clark Page B

befitting a man of twice his age. ‘Progress?’ he asked flatly.
    â€˜Some,’ said Kepler. ‘I need a full set of observations, from one opposition to another.’
    Longomontanus rolled his eyes. ‘How many times must I say this? I can show you only what the Master has allowed. Now I must sleep.’ He closed the wooden shutters over the window, encasing the apartment in gloom, and then dropped to his bed where he was soon breathing evenly.
    Kepler retreated to his own bed, frustrated and annoyed. It set the pattern for the rest of the week.

8
    The noises started early as the servants rose to light fires and begin the breakfast preparations. A little later, the sounds of the other assistants rousing themselves after too little sleep would come from the neighbouring rooms. What began as soft voices and footsteps on the stone would inevitably rise into the occasional shout or burst of laughter. Sooner or later, someone would drop something, and Kepler would wake up.
    But on this particular day, sleep gripped him more tenaciously than usual.
    â€˜Johannes, you’ve overslept.’ Longomontanus was rocking his shoulder.
    â€˜I cannot …’
    â€˜You must get up. The Master is asking for you.’
    â€˜What can he be thinking? I was up again all night working for him.’
    â€˜There are strict timetables here, you know that.’
    Kepler managed to hoist himself to a sitting position. He was hot and shivery, his face swollen with phlegm. Longomontanus stepped back from the stale air that escaped the bed.
    â€˜I’m unwell,’ said Kepler.
    â€˜It makes no difference.’
    Struggling for breath, Kepler pushed himself to his feet and reached for his clothes. He fumbled a few buttons shut on his jacket but left the doublet on the chair. He still wore yesterday’s hose, so had only to slide his breeches up his legs. He teetered to his feet.
    Tycho was waiting for him downstairs, in conversation with Tengnagel. As Kepler approached, they stopped talking.
    â€˜It has been eight days, Johannes. You owe me an orbit of Mars.’
    â€˜You raise me from my sickbed to mock me?’
    â€˜It was you who made the wager.’
    It took Kepler a moment to realise that Tycho was walking away. He forced his aching legs to follow. Tengnagel brought up the rear, making his presence felt only by the confident rhythm of his footsteps.
    They reached Tycho’s study and went inside. It was a messy place with piles of letters abandoned on the desk and burned-out candle stubs on the mantelpiece, their spent wax hanging like stalactites above the hearth. Tycho reached for a metal pitcher on a table and sloshed wine into three silver goblets. ‘You look dreadful, drink something .’
    It was not until Kepler raised the goblet to his lips that he realised how thirsty he was. He drank deeply, comprehending too late that this was not the watered-down stuff usually served at breakfast.
    â€˜Remember, I talked to you of trust.’
    Kepler set down the goblet, nodded stiffly.
    â€˜Tengnagel tells me that you met with The Bear in Prague.’
    â€˜He accosted me.’
    â€˜Quite.’
    Kepler glanced at Tengnagel, then back at Tycho. ‘Sir, you must not confuse a chance encounter with sympathy.’
    â€˜You have been a supporter of his in the past,’ said Tycho.
    â€˜How I regret the inane letter I once wrote. Sir, you must forgive me for my naivety.’
    â€˜I wonder if the same thinking applies to me?’
    Kepler fought a surge of annoyance. ‘There is no one I hold in higher esteem. If you are the king of astronomy, I would willingly be your knight, to stand and serve beside you.’
    â€˜Yet you distance yourself from the work here, preferring to isolate yourself in private studies.’
    â€˜I work on Mars, the task you set me. We both know I am the one to fashion your harvest into a feast.’
    â€˜The task of which you speak