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them.”
    As he said this, one of the king’s ministers bent over the man closest to him, marveling at the foam-flecked chin that rubbed against the ground, the body buried deep into the packed earth. He brought a pair of spectacles to his eyes, studying the talking head at closer range.
    The head swiveled futilely, dirty teeth snapping.
    “Get back!” shouted the director. He circled behind and yanked the buried man’s head back by a shank of his greasy hair, as his teeth gnashed the air. An attendant sloshed a bucket of water full in the man’s face, causing the snapping head to gag and cough.
    The king’s attendant screamed in terror.
    The small entourage circled the king and pulled him away from the heads that now laughed in unison, their breath raising dust in small puffs around them. They coughed and spat viciously at the monarch and his men, hissing a litany of profanity in labored gasps.
    “Come away from here,” motioned the director. “Let me show you what you have come to see, Your Majesty.”
    The king, wide-eyed, let himself be led away.
    Across the courtyard, there was an empty cell. The director held the torch high so that king could see the straw mat and chamber pot. A rat scuttled out of the straw, startled by the sudden light. It bared reddish-yellow teeth at the intruders.
    “This is where we mean to keep him, Your Majesty. He can have his own furnishings, of course, tapestries, and wardrobe. Meals prepared in the castle kitchens can be brought here and served on linen and silver plates. He would be treated as—royalty, of course.”
    King Rudolf stared at the dark cell, his nostrils quivering at the stench of old urine.
    “No,” he muttered. “No son of mine will be fettered in such squalor!”
    “But, Your Majesty!” protested his advisor, Herr Rumpf. “Don Julius cannot remain in the streets of Prague. He shall be imprisoned if he commits another crime. The magistrate has said as much, and the Bohemian lords will insist upon it. The municipal dungeons are as dark and the prisoners more savage than this! He will end up on the gallows if we do not intervene now.”
    The king turned to his minister.
    “That is why I have brought him with me to Vienna. A new start in a city that he does not know so well as fair Prague—that’s all the boy needs. Let the wretched Viennese deal with him.”
    “Your Majesty, I beseech you! His conduct will lead him to death even as it sullies the Hapsburg name and endangers your empire. Your brother Matthias is waiting eagerly for such an opportunity to seize the throne!”
    “Vienna is a new start for the boy.”
    “Vienna will have far less tolerance than Prague for his conduct, I promise you.”
    King Rudolf set his jaw in anger, a scowl contorting his face. Rumpf retreated a few steps, bowing his head.
    “No! Never!” roared the king. “No seed of mine shall come to such an end. He has my blood, even if he is a bastard. No Hapsburg shall ever live in such debased conditions. He shall not share his bread with rats, I swear it!”
    The king swept his cape around him in an angry gesture and walked quickly toward the street where the royal coach stood waiting.
    A cacophony of raucous laughter chased him out as the great door slammed shut, leaving the director alone holding the single torch in the cold blackness of the stone hall.

 

CHAPTER 3
     
    A NNABELLA AND THE M AGIC P EARL
     
    The rash began the night after Marketa’s first service to Pan Brewer. A bright red blush appeared around her mouth, and when she undressed, she saw the rash staining her breasts and between her thighs. Wherever he had touched her, her flesh was inflamed and the heat burned her from inside, making her thrash on her straw bed and whimper in pain.
    Marketa’s mother caught her by the chin when she came to eat her soup for breakfast.
    “What is this?”
    Marketa pulled her face away from her mother’s hands.
    “Probably a disease I caught from the