Tag Archives: Dr Dee

Hopeless Tales, Tales from the Squid and Teapot

A Remarkable Resemblance

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Nothing stays secret on Hopeless, Maine, for very long. News that a visitor from the sixteenth century was staying in The Squid and Teapot had caused ripples of surprise all over the island, almost before he had been offered a room at the inn. While others only marvelled that their little island home should be graced by a traveller of such antiquity, Durosimi O’Stoat was excited beyond words, although, of course, he would never admit to entertaining such a vulgar emotion. What had captured Durosimi’s undivided attention was the fact that he had heard the name ‘John Dee’ being bandied around. While no one else on Hopeless had any idea who John Dee was, or had been, Durosimi knew him to be the Astrologer Royal to Queen Elizabeth of England, an alchemist and scholar, respectable occupations for a man of his era. Durosimi, however, was also aware of Dee’s reputation as a necromancer and a magician. Here was a man after his own heart, someone unafraid to open forbidden doors to dangerous secrets. And John Dee was now residing in The Squid and Teapot!

Durosimi was not known for being attracted to such common places, but for the chance of meeting John Dee, he would have happily taken tea in the Night-Soil Man’s front parlour.

“Might I be of some assistance?” he had asked innocently, from his seat in the corner of the snug. Bartholomew and Ariadne Middlestreet, Philomena Bucket and Norbert Gannicox turned their heads as one at the sound of his voice. They had no idea that anyone else was in the room while they were discussing the strange events that had brought Dee to the island.

“John Dee. I understand that he is a guest here. I may be able to help in returning him to…” Durosimi paused, searching for the right words. Finding nothing appropriate he added “… returning him to his loved ones.”

Philomena shuddered involuntarily. Although the voice was full of charm, she imagined it was how a particularly well-mannered spider might sound as it invited you into its web.

“That would be up to Doctor Dee,” said Bartholomew, coldly. He had never liked, or trusted Durosimi.

“Indeed,” replied Durosimi. “But I am keen to speak to the good doctor. I have always been a great admirer of his work. Please be good enough to give him an invitation to my home, at his convenience, of course.”

With that he stood up, gave them a stiff nod of his head, and stalked out. There was, for a few seconds, a stunned silence.

“Always been an admirer of his work?” said Ariadne scornfully. “What a load of rubbish. Why, the doctor hasn’t been on the island for five minutes.”

“I’m not so sure it’s rubbish,” said Norbert. “Dee’s a rum character, and no mistake. You should have seen the room we first met him in. O’Stoat would have given an eye to have some of the playthings we saw there. I reckon our Doctor Dee is more famous than any of us know.”  

“That’s as maybe,” said Philomena, “but an invitation is an invitation. We’ll have to tell him.”

It was over a pint of Old Colonel and a hefty slice of Starry-Grabby pie that Doctor Dee learned of Durosimi’s invitation.

“O’Stoat,” he said, ruminatively chewing a particularly tough bit of tentacle. “Yes… O’Stoat. Of course… Melusine O’Stoat! That’s who she reminds me of.”

“Sorry… who reminds you of Mellers.. Melons… whatever her name was?” asked Bartholomew, pouring him another drink.

“Melusine? Oh, Mistress Bucket looks very much like her. In fact, the resemblance is remarkable.”

“I don’t think that Philomena is related to the O’Stoats,” said Bartholomew. “This Melus… woman, is she a friend of yours?”

“She was, many years ago, yes,” said Dee, sadly. “Burned for heresy, I regret to say, during Mary’s reign, as I almost was myself. But I am positive that Mistress Bucket must be her descendant.”

Bartholomew said nothing. He was by no means sure how pleased – or otherwise – Philomena might be to hear that she was possibly related to the O’Stoats.

John Dee downed his second pint of Old Colonel, smacked his lips and said,

“But yes, I’ll meet with this O’Stoat fellow. They were a family famous for their dabbling in all sorts of magical arts, not all of them safe, in my day. It will be interesting to see how their line has progressed.”

“Or not,” thought Bartholomew, but was wise enough to keep his own counsel.

“I’ll ask Philomena to take you along to Durosimi’s home tomorrow,” he said, instead. “It will be a chance for you to see some of the island… and maybe you can tell her about Melons.”

“Melusine,” corrected Dee.

It had taken Doctor Dee half of the following morning to be convinced that Drury was not a Hell-Hound. Having been confronted by an irate spoonwalker, felt the gaze of the eyes in the sky, and then embarrassingly surprised by Lady Margaret D’Avening, the Headless Lady who haunted the privy of The Squid and Teapot, he decided that a skeletal dog was not that unusual after all, and the pair became quite friendly. This was just as well, for whenever Philomena went for a walk, Drury insisted on tagging along.

Philomena found the doctor to be both attentive and interesting company, and easy to talk to. She found herself telling him about her childhood in Ireland and her voyage, stowing-away on the ship that brought her to Hopeless. She even burst into a few verses of ‘Molly Malone.’ Like Drury, Dee was particularly taken with the chorus of ‘Alive, alive-oh’, joining in enthusiastically.

“That’s a good song,” he said. “I must tell young Will Kempe. He’s one of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, Master Shakespeare’s company of actors. You’ve heard of Master Shakespeare?”

“Oh yes,” said Philomena, “but not Will Kempe.”

“That surprises me,” said Dee. “He is as famous as Will Shakespeare in my time. Do you know, he danced all the way from London to Norwich. One hundred and twenty-five difficult miles. It took him nine days. The Nine Days’ Wonder, they called it… and you, dear Mistress Bucket, you too are a wonder, do you not know?”

Philomena’s pale face reddened slightly,

“Doctor Dee, I believe that you are a married man… “ she began nervously, but before she could say any more,  Dee interrupted.

“My dear young lady, please do not misunderstand me. All I meant was that you are someone who possesses great power, though you may not know it. I recognised you as being a descendant of Mistress Melusine O’Stoat, a wise woman and seer, and I see in you even greater abilities than were hers.”

Philomena’s face reddened even deeper.

“I’m nothing to do with the O’Stoats,” she said, defensively. “Surely you must be mistaking me with someone else.”

John Dee took Philomena by the shoulders and allowed his fierce blue eyes to bore into hers.

“No. Believe me, Mistress Bucket, I know power when I see it, and yours is greater than mine will ever be. It is like a wild horse, just waiting to be set free. If you are not her descendant, then I honestly believe you to be Melusine O’Stoat reborn.”

Philomena gulped.

“I can’t believe that. I don’t feel very powerful” she said. “Please, Doctor Dee, don’t tell this to anyone else… especially Durosimi O’Stoat.”

Dee smiled. “If that is your wish,” he said. “Why, I believe that is Master O’Stoats abode ahead. I will leave you now, Mistress Bucket. Do not ignore what I have told you. Magical power such as yours will find its way out eventually.”

Just then Durosimi appeared at his door and strode down the pathway, greeting John Dee and totally ignoring Philomena.

“There is no way on this earth that I am an O’Stoat,” she thought to herself grimly.

Somewhere, in the far recesses of her mind, she could hear Granny Bucket chuckling.

Hopeless Tales, Tales from the Squid and Teapot

Just One Thing After Another…

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Doctor John Dee, Astrologer Royal, alchemist and occasional necromancer, still cut a handsome figure, despite his years.

This was not the first thought that entered Philomena Bucket’s head as she looked about her. When she had embarked upon a stroll through the tunnels, deep beneath The Squid and Teapot, with Norbert Gannicox, Bartholomew Middlestreet and the now-absent Drury, the osseous hound, she little thought that she would find herself in Tudor England before the day was out. But here they were, and standing before them was the man who had introduced himself as Doctor John Dee. Famous as Dee had become, however, none of the tunnel-explorers had heard his name before, but the décor of the room in which they stood gave every clue as to his many interests.  His shelves were filled with a variety of impressive-looking instruments, which had they known it, could have been identified as astrolabes, armillary spheres, quadrants and sextants, to name but a few. Skeletons of various birds and animals hung from the rafters (Philomena half-expected to see Drury amongst them) while malformed foetuses, preserved reptiles and human brains lurked worryingly in heavy glass jars. Every wall was festooned with a series of anatomical, astrological, alchemical and nautical charts, whilst books from his large library were piled on every available surface. Here was clutter indeed, but clutter of an infinitely superior nature to any found on the island of Hopeless, Maine.

If the three had found the contents of Dee’s study to be strange, they found his accent stranger, though perfectly intelligible. After all, he was a highly educated man who spoke the English of Shakespeare (although, I suspect he never knowingly conversed in iambic pentameters). Above all, John Dee was courteous to his unexpected visitors.

“Welcome to my humble home,” he said, spreading his arms expansively. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, than the fabric of the room seemed to dissolve around them, with Dee looking even more surprised than the others. They were falling, falling through a kaleidoscope of people and places, light and darkness, until things began to slow and gloom gave way to brilliant sunshine…

“Stowaways in the jolly boat” cried a harsh voice, and Philomena found herself being dragged by the arms on to the deck of a large sailing ship. A throng of rough and unkempt men had gathered about them.  

“What have we here then? Who’s the geezer in the frock?”  

Philomena thought the speaker was referring to her, but realised that everyone’s attention was focussed on John Dee, tall, bearded and stately in his long velvet robe. Despite his discomfort at being addressed so, the alchemist managed to remain dignified.

“Never mind him,” said another voice, “look what I’ve found!”

Now it was Philomena’s turn to be the centre of attention. She spun around and, with her free hand, hit her captor hard in the face. The experiences of the day so far had given her a sense of unreality, and so she was surprised when he hit her back, and it hurt.

“Tricky little vixen,” said a cultured British voice. “I think I had best take charge now, don’t you bosun?”

The newcomer, obviously the captain, took hold of Philomena, securing both of her arms in his firm hands.

“What about the others, Cap’n Vane,” asked the bosun, still hoping that the woman might be passed around after the captain had finished with her.

“Fish food. That’s all they’re good for,” Charles Vane replied, with a dismissive gesture

A cheer went up, and Bartholomew, Norbert and Doctor Dee found themselves being pushed towards the side of the ship.

“This can’t be happening,” thought Philomena, somewhat prophetically, for it suddenly was not happening. The astonished captives saw the ship and its crew disappear before their very eyes, and once more they were falling through time and space into a field of smoke and noise…

Captain Louis Nolan could not believe his eyes.  He was leading a hare-brained cavalry dash into the jaws of death, and four civilians had suddenly appeared in their way, as if from nowhere. It would take the horsemen very little time to cover the mile-and-a-half to reach their objective, and these four, if they didn’t get blown to bits by cannon-fire, would be trampled underfoot in less than a minute.

John Dee could only think that he had died and gone to Hell. The previous episode had been bad enough, but now he appeared to be witnessing warfare between two sets of demons. The ones on horseback would soon be upon them, with their brazen hooves and flashing swords and spears. He closed his eyes and wished that he had spent his life dabbling in less heretical pursuits.

Was there a man dismayed? I’ll say there was. And a woman. Philomena, Norbert and Bartholomew stood huddled and totally bewildered by their predicament. There were cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, and hundreds of stampeding horses with armed soldiers on their backs bearing down at great speed. Taking Dee’s lead, they closed their eyes and prayed to who – or whatever might be listening.

Captain Nolan, still leading the charge, veered his horse to the left in a noble attempt to avoid careering into the four. He paid for this manoeuvre by catching a Russian bullet in the neck. As he fell, dying, from his steed it crossed his mind that he had been mistaken. The way ahead was clear. The four had disappeared. No one had been impeding charge of the Light Brigade.

This time the travellers knew what to expect, and gave in with grace to the sensation of falling. Whatever was causing these things seemed to be kind enough to remove them, in the nick of time, from the scrape they found themselves in, but the trepidation of not knowing what horrors awaited was still unnerving.

The auditorium of Ford’s Theatre, in Washington was hushed, the lights dimmed and the orchestra struck up ‘Hail to the Chief’, a tune unfamiliar to the party of four who found themselves in very plush and comfortable surroundings for once.

“There must be someone important watching this play tonight,” said Norbert, as the audience burst into cheers and applause as the final strains died away. They craned their heads to see who the ovation might be for, when the spotlight fell upon a box at the side of the auditorium, where a tall, spare-framed man had got to his feet, his hand raised in acknowledgement. Philomena thought dimly that she recognised the lean, bearded face.

The play was fairly tedious, but when the heroine of the piece asked for a seat, away from the draught, and the hero responded, to a certain amount of polite laughter,

“The draft has already been stopped, by orders of the president.”

The President! Philomena sat up straight, and realised, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, exactly where they were.

“We need to be out of here,” she said to the others, urgently. “There will be trouble before long, and with the way things have been going, we’ll be drawn into it.”

“That will make a change,” said Norbert drily. “Where’s the exit?”

Just then they heard a bark.

“Since when do they allow dogs in theatres?” asked Bartholomew, then turned to see a familiar bony figure standing in the corner.

“Drury!” exclaimed Philomena.

“It’s the Hell-Hound,” wailed Dee, shrinking back into his seat and receiving some irate ‘shushes’ for his trouble.

“Grab him and let’s go” said Philomena.

Norbert and Bartholomew took the reluctant alchemist by the armpits and manhandled him to the back of the theatre, where Drury was waiting.

“Quick,” hissed Philomena, and they fled through a curtained opening, Dee still complaining about Hell-Hounds, just as a shot was fired.

The air behind the curtain was cold but welcoming.

“We’re back in the tunnels,” said Norbert, relief in his voice.

“Come on, our lanterns are still over there and they’re alight. It’s as though we have not been away for more than a minute or two,” said Bartholomew.

The journey back seemed to pass surprisingly quickly. They walked again through the great chamber, where the sconces on the walls still flared brightly. Then they came to the staircase, long and steep, which led to the cellar of The Squid and Teapot.

“So this is the enchanted isle of which Saint Brendan wrote,” said Dee, looking about him. “Might I find lodgings here, Master Middlestreet?”

Bartholomew liked the sound of ‘Master Middlestreet’.

“By all means Doctor Dee. Stay as long as you will.”

“Welcome to Hopeless, Maine” said Philomena. “And you may call me Mistress Bucket!”

An hour or so later, after a somewhat bewildered, but unaccountably happy, Doctor Dee had retired to one of the guest-rooms of inn, Bartholomew, Norbert and Philomena sat, with Bartholomew’s wife, Ariadne, in the snug of The Squid and Teapot, trying to make sense of all that had happened.

“It was as though we were being dropped through history,” said Bartholomew, thoughtfully.

“Or maybe it was all no more than an illusion,” offered Ariadne.

“None of that felt like an illusion,” said Philomena, recalling the blow that the pirate had dealt her. “And Doctor Dee is real enough. Maybe he might have some idea what happened to us.”

“Don’t bank on it,” laughed Ariadne. “He looked more confused than the rest of you put together.”

“I can see why Sebastian Lypiatt wanted to get rid of the key to the tunnels,” said Norbert, sipping his sarsaparilla, referring to the old key that had been sent to his grandfather, a century before.

“Yes,” said Bartholomew, “That passage should be locked forever, and the key put where no one will ever find it. Maybe Doctor Dee can take it back to his own time – if he can ever get there, that is.”

So intent had the four been on their conversation that they had not noticed the lone figure who had wandered in, and settled himself quietly in the corner.

“Might I be of some assistance?” he asked.

To be continued…

Hopeless Tales, Tales from the Squid and Teapot

The Obsidian Cliff

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Doctor John Dee, alchemist and Court Astrologer to Good Queen Bess, was seeking, through the medium of his scrying-bowl, visions of lands and events far away in time and space. When the clouds had cleared from the dark waters of the bowl, several things had been revealed to the doctor, a few of which he actually understood. Most exciting, however, was the glimpse of three figures exploring the tunnels that wound beneath a mysterious island. This particular vision was especially enthralling, as Dee was convinced that here was the island mentioned by the legendary navigator, Saint Brendan, as being a portal to other worlds. Unfortunately for Doctor Dee his viewing was ruined when the antics of a skeletal dog, or ‘Hell Hound’ as he described it, upset him to such a degree that he had to stop watching.

You will have gathered, by now of course, that the island in question was Hopeless Maine, and the old Elizabethan’s Hell Hound was none other than dear old Drury, the dog who refused to acknowledge that he had died. It took the good doctor some hours to recover, but eventually he boldly decided to light a candle and fill the bowl once more, in the hope that he could find once again this strange land that he one day planned to visit.

Norbert Gannicox, Bartholomew Middlestreet and Philomena Bucket had been concerned that their candle-lanterns would expire before they could get out of the tunnels. It was with some relief, therefore, when they spotted daylight ahead. Upon closer inspection Philomena declared that she could see fog swirling some yards away at the tunnel’s mouth.

“Good old Hopeless Fog,” she had said and, after hours of darkness, it filled their hearts with cheer. Then Norbert had a thought.

“Be careful, Philomena,” he cautioned, “don’t go dashing outside. We must have descended a good two hundred feet or more before getting into the main cavern, and I can’t say we’ve climbed a lot since then. If we’re that far down, this must be an entrance from the cliff-face. All you’ll find on the other side of that hole is fresh air and the Atlantic Ocean.”

The faces of the other two fell, and they regarded the spluttering and stunted candles in their lanterns with some consternation.

“We’d best turn around now, and hope for the best,” said Bartholomew.

They turned to leave, when out of the darkness bounded Drury. He was about to throw his bony frame on to Philomena, as was his wont, when he spotted the foggy tunnel mouth ahead. With a cheerful bark he galloped through the gap before anyone could stop him.

“Drury…” yelled Philomena, her voice filled with panic. Even if Drury was seemingly immortal, a long drop into a raging ocean would carry him far from Hopeless, where his undead status might have little meaning.

After a second or two the dog’s inquisitive skull poked through the mist at the tunnel’s mouth, as if to say, “You called?”

Philomena regarded her friend with some surprise, and then it occurred to her that if Drury could go through with no mishap, then so could she. Without a word to the others she purposefully strode into the fog.

Bartholomew looked at Norbert with a mixture of dismay and resignation.

“Here we go again,” he said, and, as one, they followed in the barmaid’s footsteps.

It had been Philomena’s resolve to pursue Drury that had drawn the three into the labyrinth, far beneath The Squid and Teapot, in the first place. While, at that point, it would have been easy to have turned back, this latest venture was a definite leap of faith. After all, they were on the island of Hopeless, Maine, and anything was possible.

They appeared to have wandered into a sheltered valley, of sorts. The mist swirled about them, but seemed to be gradually thinning. The ground beneath their feet was smooth and hard, not at all like the usual rocky terrain of the island.

“Look at these cliffs,” said Philomena. “They’re like none that I’ve seen before… almost artificial.”

The others had to agree. For as far as the eye could see, the unbroken line of the cliff face rose smooth and black and totally unclimbable. For a while they followed its curve, but found no way out, and the foggy entrance through which they had entered was nowhere to be found.  A soft yellow light suffused the sky above them, giving a clear view of the featureless and unremitting landscape in which they stood. Then Philomena happened to glance up through the thinning mist, and let out a completely uncharacteristic scream.

John Dee watched the mists clear from his simple, obsidian scrying-bowl. His mind was quiet as he waited for the visions to materialise, and his heart leapt to see, once more, the three explorers on the mysterious island. The Hell-Hound was nowhere about, thankfully. Maybe it had returned to the infernal pit, where it belonged.

The woman and her male companions seemed to be wandering through some sort of cavern. They looked confused and frightened, running their hands along the dark walls, obviously searching for some point of egress. Something stirred in Dee’s mind, and he allowed himself to look closer at the scene beneath him, being careful not to touch the water. A second later he almost fell off his seat in surprise as the woman peered up from the depths of the bowl, looked him squarely in the eye and, with terror written all over her face, opened her mouth in a silent scream.

“She can see me!” he said aloud to himself.

“Did you see that face?” asked Philomena Bucket, as she sank to the floor, her voice trembling,

The others shook their heads; they had genuinely seen nothing unusual.

“It was awful,” said Philomena, composing herself. “Not an awful face, I don’t mean that. It was just so… so huge. It filled up all of the sky. I can’t believe you didn’t see it.”

The others shook their heads again. They did not disbelieve Philomena. It was well known on the island that she was in receipt of that dubious gift known as ‘The Sight’. If Philomena claimed to have seen something weird, then no one disputed it. 

“Do you think it was God?” she asked nervously, and slightly concerned, as they had not been on speaking terms for some years.

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Bartholomew. “More like the other fellow. Don’t forget, this is Hopeless.”

“He didn’t look particularly good or evil,” reflected Philomena. “Just a bit old, beardy and bewildered.”

“Well, I guess it’s gone now, who or whatever it was,” said Norbert. “Let’s get out of here before it comes back and brings some friends. I don’t like this place. Give me the tunnels any day.”

Doctor Dee pulled off his cap and scratched his head. In all of his years of scrying, he had never been seen by the object of his attentions; it was unheard of. Impossible even. And those people… they appeared to be actually walking in his scrying bowl. He could see its obsidian sides towering above them. That was impossible too. However, impossible or not, if any tiny people were in the bowl they would be placed in a gilded cage and presented as a gift to Her Majesty.

Dee beamed quietly to himself, thinking of the honours and riches such a novelty would reap.

He carried the bowl into a small chamber, annexed to his study. On the floor of the chamber was inscribed a magical diagram, composed of two circles, in which was drawn a pentagram, two heptagons and a heptagram. All around the edges of these symbols could be seen a collection of letters, both Greek and Latin, along with arcane words, said to be the secret name of the God of the Old Testament, and all of his angels. The whole made up the Sigillum Dei, an amulet said to give an initiated magician power over all living things. With care and reverence Dee laid the bowl in its centre and began to chant.

The room grew darker, until all light, except a pale glow emanating from the surface of the scrying-bowl, was extinguished. Then there was a small explosion, and Doctor Dee passed out.

“I have no idea how we get out of here,” said Norbert despairingly. “It was Drury who got us in, he should get us out.”

“There’s no sign of him anywhere,” said Philomena, sadly.

Just then the gentle yellow light that had lit their time beneath the obsidian walls was dimmed, and it was as if the whole world was being turned upside-down. The three of them were thrown roughly off their feet, tumbling over and over through a starless sky.

“Oh, what now?” thought Philomena, testily, just before she drifted into unconsciousness.

Doctor Dee awoke to find the room in chaos. There were scorch marks on the walls, the Sigillum Dei had been wiped clean from the floor and the obsidian bowl upturned. Stranger still, the three explorers were sprawled inelegantly across the floor. They were full-sized, barely conscious and looking not a little bemused. Dee peered across at them and cleared his throat.

“Good morrow,” he said politely, as though all that had occurred was the most natural thing in the world. “Allow me to introduce myself…”

To be continued…