possibility nonetheless. Once she felt secure in using the leys she knew, she would push the boat out a little, so to speak, with her experiments.
Very occasionally she thought about returning to her home in London—if only to reassure anyone who might be concerned about her disappearance, and to wrap up her affairs. However, that would obviously mean returning to the ley that had brought her to this dimension, and that was several long days’ journey away from Prague. When it came down to it, the prospect always seemed like a huge bother for such a piddling payoff. Then, too, she was not at all certain she could return to the same London she had left. What if she got the time horribly wrong? There was no guarantee she could even get back to the twenty-first century anyway.
The plain truth was she missed nothing about London or her mundane, drudging life there—not when set against the possibility of roaming a multidimensional universe with its offer of infinite worlds awaiting her discovery. That being the case, she could effortlessly think up a thousand more exciting things than returning to her flat to examine the mound of junk mail piling up on the doormat.
Chocolate, for one.
Wilhelmina was ever mindful of the fact that she had, quite unwittingly, introduced coffee to Prague, and was now reaping enormous benefit from that happy accident. Not only was she half owner of the first coffee shop in Bohemia, she was also a partner in an increasingly successful shipping company that supplied her coffee beans. Lately she had begun to think of importing beans of another sort: cocoa. It was only a matter of persuading Herr Arnostovi, her principal partner, to expand their import business to other commodities—specifically sugar and cocoa beans—and if that likewise proved successful, her future would be secured. For if she could secure sufficient quantities of those two items, she could make chocolate, a luxury as yet unknown in this Europe. The main problem with the scheme was getting her hands on a ready supply of the raw materials, which meant forging a partnership with a Spanish shipping company. Tricky, but not impossible, and well worth attempting. When she considered the rewards that would flow from that revelatory introduction, even her most modestly placed estimate was well nigh astronomical.
There was simply no telling how rich she could become from a venture like that. And once loosed from the constraints of having to work to earn a living, she would be free to travel and explore. Plus, of course, she would have chocolate.
These thoughts were in her mind as she placed the fresh-baked muffins on a cooling rack. As she finished, she turned just at the moment that her accomplice entered the shop. The emperor’s assistant chief alchemist was wearing his customary green robe with purple stole and fox trim, and his hat shaped like a collapsed bag with a brim. He took a seat in his usual place—the farthest corner of the room near the Kachelofen—and folded his hands on the table. In a moment one of the serving girls hurried to take his order, and Wilhelmina, placing a fresh muffin on a plate, went to greet her friend.
“Greetings, mein Herr,” she said, perching on the edge of the chair next to him. “Here, I want you to try something.” She pushed the plate in front of him. “It is a new kind of pastry we are thinking of introducing—one that has never been seen before in Prague.”
“Grüss Gott, Fräulein Wilhelmina.” He smiled wanly at her, swiped off his hat, and dipped his head in a polite bow. “Very interesting,” he said, peering at the speckled little cake. He prodded one of the tiny black specks with a fingertip.
“Those are poppy seeds,” she informed him. “They’re good. You’ll like them.”
“I have no doubt whatsoever that it is very nice,” he said, looking at the plate doubtfully.
“What is wrong, mein Fruend? Is something the matter at the palace?”
“Oh, nothing of consequence,” he answered quickly. “I am very busy just now, and—” He hesitated.
“And?” she prodded. “Go on, we are friends. You can tell me. What’s wrong?”
“It is that man—that Engländer!” he blurted, as if releasing a pressure valve.
It took a moment for Wilhelmina to think whom he was talking about. “Lord Burleigh, you mean?” she guessed.
“The English earl, ja. He is insufferable!”
“No doubt,” conceded Wilhelmina mildly. “But why do you trouble about him?”
“He has returned!”
“Has he, indeed?”
“Ja, he has returned with even greater demands—impossible