I was born on the thirteenth day of July in the eighteenth year of the reign of His Glorious Majesty Henry VIII, in the one thousand five hundred and twenty-seventh year after our Lord's death. I had the great good fortune to be born an Englishman, and when I came of age in both knowledge and reason, I served my country and my queen, Elizabeth Regina. Trapped by the Medici, I was condemned as a heretic and a spy, walled up alive, condemned to die for queen and country. Instead the hand of Fortune swept me up and I was spared.
It is now the eighteenth day of March in the year 2101, and I am as trapped as I was in Venice. Fortune's servant, Dyckon, a creature called the Roc -- who by his very countenance calls forth the living visage of the Dark Ones -- swears he will find a way to send me home, to my time, my place, my queen. But the forces of this time and place rage against me as surely as did the Medicis. Others of Dyckon's race even now look to wipe clean the face of the planet of every human. The powers of this time plot to subjugate me with their horrible machine -- an identity chip. And if these powers were to find out that I was in league with the Roc, I would be condemned.
It will take all the skills I learned as a spymaster to keep me free, to stop the Roc, and set me on the path to home.
THE SPELLBINDING CONCLUSION OF THE SAGA OF THE MERCHANT PRINCE, DOCTOR JOHN DEE.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
October 01, 2002
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Capital Offense by Armin Shimerman
Unhappy, John Dee sat in his straight-backed wooden chair on a terrace of his upper-floor bedroom. He marveled at the view: a vast panorama of Metropolitan London. The city was unrecognizable to him. It had grown so tall and so uninviting. The sun turned the clouds the color of diseased fruit, and the pall the light cast over the smoking expanse of buildings was enough to sour anyone. That, Dee supposed, included him. He had stayed in his hilltop aerie at St. Albans for three months, but he knew that he was not accomplishing half of what he had set out to do. He needed to find the other Roc to put an end to any threat of worldwide plague. The Roc might also be the key to Dee's going home. Back to a time when London was manageable. He ached to go home. The village of Mortlake was only six kilometers away, but it was no longer a village and it was no longer home.
"Doctor," called Kelly Edwards from the kitchen. "Do you want some lunch " Under the guise of providing him protection, she had shared living quarters with him since he had arrived in London, and their relationship was developing into something more than either of them had expected -- not a romance so much as a fond symbiosis.
"What are you offering " he asked as he came in off the enclosed terrace, one brow raised suggestively. The terrace was shielded by spiderglass; it was impenetrable.
"Sprouts and technomeat in basil sauce," she said, smiling at him. She was dressed in a neat jumpsuit with three weapons clipped to the belt. A year ago, Dee would have found this military mien unfeminine and off-putting, but now he saw her as attractive and wholly female. His redheaded Br ' nnhilde. He came up to her and kissed her cheek. "What's news from d'Winter "
"Nothing today. He's still looking for the Roc you think must still be here," she said. "But even though Rocs work in groups, isn't it possible that the Yeshua Roc was some kind of loner "
"Dyckon was not of that mind," said Dee. "He is as certain as I that an attendant Roc must be in hiding on this planet. Waiting." Dee remarked as he took the plate and sat down on the kitchen stool in front of the counter. "Is there naught to drink "
"Tea and wine. The wine's Romanian." She had gotten down glasses. "I'm having the wine."
"As shall I," declared Dee, and accepted a glass filled with a pinot noir. He lifted this in toast to her and began to eat.
Kelly took the stool opposite his and launched into her lunch. "Anything planned for this morning "
"I am to be engaged in diverse research," he said obliquely.
"Can I help you with it " She waited a moment, then added, "I'll have to stay with you, in any case. You might as well keep me busy."
"Marry, then," said Dee. "You will needs come with me to the British Museum at its Montague Street entrance. The museum guard will bar your coming unless you accompany me. I am possessed of a research pass which will grant admittance to me and my assistant, but only if we arrive at the scholars' door at the same time."