Free The Astrologer by Scott G.F. Bailey Page B

the baron?”
    The king’s eyes grew wide and then narrowed and he laughed, throwing back his head. The coarse noise of his mirth filled the hall and silenced the others at the table. At length the king had done with laughing, wiped tears from his eyes, and took a deep drink of wine.
    “You do amuse me,” he said. “Bring you into battle? Nay, Soren. Not this time. There will be no safe encampment where you may remain whilst Denmark’s men are at play.”
    “I confess myself relieved, my lord.”
    “I doubt it nothing. You will cast horoscopes for me, and for the prince my son, and also for Jaaperson. Lord Ulfeldt can provide you with those facts pertaining to the baron’s nativity that you require. You will give me these horoscopes for two, three, and four days hence.”
    “My lord, you shall have them before you ride for Copenhagen.”
    “I shall have them tomorrow, in the morning, I think.”
    He had just informed me that I would have no sleep that night. I nodded and looked into his eyes, hating him.
    “The heavens may not be friendly to your intent,” Kirsten said. “What will you do then, my lord?”
    The king looked at Kirsten out of one eye and then turned to study Prince Christian’s profile a moment.
    “Soren will tell me aught I need know about the inclination of the stars,” he said. “And then we ride for Copenhagen and victory, my lady. Fret not.”
    “I pray my lord Christian will be proved lucky by theheavens,” Vibeke said. She stared wide-eyed past my left shoulder.
    “The sons of Rorik have ever fared lucky with the angels,” the king said, smiling broadly. The queen coughed, a sharp barking noise from behind her delicate fist, and the king’s smile disappeared.
    “Father,” Christian said. “You have not told good Soren the new duties he is to enjoy while we are about crushing your enemies. I know that a great curiosity eats at him.”
    “Night and day, my lord,” I said. “Merely command me to my employment and I will gladly serve.” I would gladly serve him a tray of poisoned eels were I able. I would stuff them with hebona and the king could stuff them down his toothy maw and perish upon his favorite delicacy.
    “You know that Brahe left a dungeon full of rubbish out on my island,” the king said.
    I nodded. He had given the island as a personal fief to Tycho twenty-five years earlier to use as a private observatory. Had the king not been a liar, a barbarian, and a thief, my master would yet be alive on Hven, studying the motion of stars and planets. Were Tycho still alive I would be dining joyfully with him, not in Kronberg. I nodded at his Majesty and smiled upon the king’s rich clothes, his jewels, his broad chest and thick beard and large, flat teeth that he picked with a thumbnail. I wondered how God could allow such a beast to extinguish the greatest light of the age. To look from Tycho Brahe to Christian son of Rorik was to compare a saint to a toad. Denmark would see the scales balanced.
    “My lord,” I said. “I am aware that Tycho’s stationary implements remain out at Uraniborg. My lord forbade Tycho from removing them to Prague.”
    “Prague.” The king made a face as if the word tasted bitter on his tongue. “These tools were built with my gold.”
    Tycho had constructed the observatory with his own money and what sums the king had supplied him—and I know there were large sums of gold over the years—was money givenafter Uraniborg was built, granted supposedly in good faith and in furtherance of science. The island, the observatory, and the instruments all were Tycho’s personal property before the king stole them away.
    “All these marvelous inventions belong to my king,” I said. “Monarchs of any sort of learning must envy you, my lord.”
    “I care not for the envy of other monarchs.”
    “Nay, sir, not a whit.” Kirsten smiled at the king and placed her right hand atop his left. “Not a jot. Not an iota, sir.”
    “Not a speck,” the