the rain ceased abruptly. The mist cleared. The hill was gone, the Trolls, the grey English sky—all replaced by the soft warmth and gleaming bright blues and golds of a desert morning. They were standing in the centre of an avenue lined with crouching sphinxes. Benedict, his eyes wide, stared at the long double row of statues and the empty white desert and rock-bare hills beyond.
He gave a cry of delight and darted forward, remembered himself, and halted. Far from being made sick by the experience, the boy positively enjoyed the wild, disorienting leap across the dimensional divide. Here was something new in Arthur’s experience; perhaps the very young did not experience the effects of what was for older folks a most uncomfortable transition. It had taken him a fair few journeys before he finally became inured to the more unpleasant sensations; the minor inconveniences of extreme temporal dislocation no longer bothered him.
“Let’s do it again,” Ben chirped, his earlier anxiety entirely forgotten.
“We will do it again, yes,” replied Arthur. “When it is time to go home. Just now we are going to visit Anen.”
“Is this Egypt? It’s hot!”
“It is very hot.” Arthur opened the satchel and pulled out two lightweight linen cloths. He wrapped one around his son’s head, and then fashioned a turban for himself. “There. That’s better.” He held out his hand. “Come along. We should be on our way before it gets even hotter. When we get there Anen will have a cool drink for us.”
CHAPTER 16
In Which Ruffled Feathers Are Smoothed
Engelbert folded the edge of his apron over the hot baking tray and lifted a fresh batch of muffins from the oven. He turned and closed the oven door with the heel of his shoe—a move both deft and quaint, and which never failed to amuse Wilhelmina. He removed his soft hat and wiped his face with the back of his hand and, glancing up, noticed her watching him.
Etzel smiled, his plump cherubic face flushed from the heat. “These are the best yet, Liebste,” he said, placing the tray on the table. “Our people are going to love them.” He rarely called them customers anymore; he spoke of the Grand Imperial clientele as our people—as if they were tribesmen or family members.
“The muffins smell wonderful,” she assured him. “You have mastered the recipe in no time at all.”
“Jawhohl! ” he agreed, his broad, good-natured face alight. “You have good ideas, Mina.”
Introducing muffins to seventeenth-century Prague was Wilhelmina’s idea, that was true; but the design of the baking trays and the execution of the recipe were all due to Engelbert’s singular expertise. Since opening the coffeehouse, the German baker had gone from strength to strength as his confidence rose, and his skill was rewarded by the success. The shop enjoyed a steady and lucrative trade—enough to keep eight helpers busy: three servers dressed in green livery; two additional bakers to help with roasting the beans, mixing dough, and preparing pastry fillings; a general helper to prepare fuel, feed the ovens, and run errands; a dishwasher; and a cleaner. From the moment the shutters opened at dawn until they closed again at dusk, the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus was heaving with activity.
Wilhelmina had taken the position of chief overseer of the enterprise, maintaining a gentle but firm control over the business. But she also indulged her latest, and necessarily secret, passion: ley exploring. Since making that first successful journey, she had attempted three more using her copy of Burleigh’s device, discovering two new leys in the process: one leading to an arid desert of red earth and towering rocks and cacti, and one to a bleak steppe, treeless and windswept beneath low grey skies. She had also made a second trip using the ley she had discovered previously, which led to that massive limestone gorge. Though she still could not yet fit a name to that destination, nor a time, she had nevertheless begun to nurture a growing insight into ley travel in general, as well as finer points such as how individual lines might be manipulated. For, while she was content with merely mapping the leys and trying to determine how to calibrate her crossings, Wilhelmina had begun to wonder about the incredible possibilities of her new avocation—as well as the inherent implications and problems. For example, what would happen if she attempted a “double cross”—using two ley lines in two separate dimensions to travel to a third? She had no idea, but was intrigued by the