The curfew bell tolled as Clara hurried home, cursing her preoccupation. Her father would be frantic—or furious. Probably both. The streets had emptied quickly after the bell; only the occasional watchman with his lantern disrupted the growing darkness.
Cutting through a narrow alley to save time, Clara heard footsteps behind her. She quickened her pace, clutching Ruysch's book to her chest. The footsteps accelerated to match.
"Student Jansen, is it not?" called a familiar voice.
Clara turned to find Rector Vanderhooven approaching, his thin face illuminated by his lantern.
"Y-yes, Rector," she replied, deepening her voice despite her alarm.
"Curious. I know every scholarship student at this university, yet your name appears on no register." The rector stepped closer. "More curious still, I observed you working with Professor Ruysch today. A professor known for... unconventional ideas."
Clara backed away. "I was merely assisting for the day, sir. I'm newly arrived from Amsterdam."
"Amsterdam?" Vanderhooven raised an eyebrow. "Yet your accent is distinctly Leiden." He raised his lantern higher, studying her face. "Remove your cap, young man."
Clara's heart pounded against her bound chest. "Sir, I must return home—"
"Your cap," Vanderhooven insisted, his voice hardening. "Now."
For a moment, Clara considered running, but the narrow alley offered no escape. Slowly, she reached up and removed the woolen cap. Her auburn hair, damp with sweat, tumbled past her shoulders.
The rector's face registered shock, then disgust, then a calculating interest. "A woman," he hissed. "Masquerading as a student. Infiltrating a male domain. Accessing forbidden knowledge."
"I've done nothing wrong," Clara said, abandoning her masculine pretense. "I only wish to learn."
"Nothing wrong?" Vanderhooven laughed coldly. "Impersonation. Deception. Possibly witchcraft, given your unnatural interests."
"That's absurd!"
"Is it? A woman with unusual knowledge of human anatomy, disguising herself among men, assisting a professor suspected of heretical ideas..." The rector smiled thinly. "The magistrate will find it compelling. As will Professor Ruysch, when he learns his assistant is a fraud."
Clara felt her blood run cold. "You would destroy Ruysch's reputation for harboring radical ideas, using me as evidence."
"Clever girl. His manuscript questioning Galenic principles would complete the case nicely. I'm certain the university governors would allow me to search his laboratory... given the seriousness of the situation."
"You know about the manuscript?" Clara whispered.
"I suspected. You've just confirmed it." Vanderhooven's smile widened. "Thank you for that."
Desperation drove Clara's next words. "What do you want?"
"Bring me Ruysch's manuscript. Tonight. Do this, and perhaps your transgression becomes merely a foolish girl's prank, not a serious crime."
"And Professor Ruysch?"
Vanderhooven shrugged. "He'll face scrutiny, certainly. But without his most damning evidence in hand, he might retain his position—if not his reputation."
Clara's mind raced. Either choice was terrible. Betray Ruysch by stealing his life's work, or refuse and face charges that could lead to imprisonment or worse—and still result in Ruysch's downfall when his laboratory was searched.
"How would I even access the laboratory at night?" she asked, playing for time.
"The same way you entered the university—deception. The night watchman is easily distracted by a flask of gin." Vanderhooven pressed a small key into her palm. "This opens the rear entrance to the medical building. You have until midnight. Meet me at St. Peter's Church with the manuscript."
Before Clara could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps sent the rector retreating into the shadows with a final warning look.
Moments later, a city watchman rounded the corner, holding his lantern high. "You there! Curfew has rung!"
"Forgive me, sir," Clara said quickly, tucking her hair back under her cap. "My father is ill, and I was fetching medicine." She held up Ruysch's book as if it were proof.
The watchman grunted, but gestured for her to move along. "Get home quickly, boy. Streets aren't safe after dark."
Clara hurried away, her mind spinning with impossible choices. When she finally reached her father's house, she found Pieter pacing the small front room, his face lined with worry.
"Clara!" he exclaimed as she entered. "I was about to search for you. What happened? Why are you so late?"
The whole story poured out of her—Ruysch's laboratory, the revolutionary manuscript, and finally, her encounter with Vanderhooven.
Pieter sank into a chair, his face ashen. "This is a disaster. We must leave Leiden immediately."
"And go where? Vanderhooven would only send word to other cities. We'd be found eventually." Clara paced the room. "And what of Professor Ruysch? His work would be destroyed, his reputation ruined."
"That is not our concern," Pieter insisted. "Your safety is all that matters to me."
Clara stopped pacing. "What if there's another way? What if I could protect both Ruysch's work and myself?"
"How?"
"I need to warn him first," Clara said, determination replacing fear. "He deserves to know the danger."
Despite her father's protests, Clara changed into a simple dress, covering her distinctive hair with a modest cap and shawl. As a young woman walking purposefully at night, she would attract less attention than she would as Claes after curfew.
"I'm coming with you," Pieter insisted, grabbing his cloak.
Together they made their way through back streets to Ruysch's modest home near the university. A servant answered their knock, surprised by late visitors but fetching his master at Clara's insistence that the matter was urgent.
Ruysch appeared in his dressing gown, confusion turning to recognition as he looked at Clara's face.
"Jansen?" he asked incredulously.
"Clara Jansen, Professor," she corrected, dropping a small curtsy. "Forgive my deception. I needed to explain myself and warn you of immediate danger."
Inside Ruysch's study, Clara quickly explained everything—her disguise, her passion for anatomy, and most urgently, Vanderhooven's threats and demands.
Rather than anger, Ruysch showed only thoughtful concern. "So my manuscript is the target. I've suspected Vanderhooven's spies for months." He studied Clara with new eyes. "You risked much to learn. And more to warn me."
"The manuscript must be protected," Clara urged. "Your work is too important to be destroyed by politics."
Ruysch nodded slowly. "Indeed. But not in the way Vanderhooven expects." He turned to Pieter. "Your daughter has an extraordinary mind, sir. A mind that should not be wasted."
Pieter looked startled but nodded. "I have always known this."
"Then perhaps you'll both assist me in a rather unorthodox solution."
An hour before midnight, Rector Vanderhooven waited impatiently in the shadows of St. Peter's Church. When a cloaked figure approached, he stepped forward eagerly.
"You have it?" he demanded.
Clara lowered her hood. "Not exactly."
Before Vanderhooven could respond, two city guards emerged from the darkness, accompanied by a distinguished older gentleman—Leiden's chief magistrate.
"Rector Vanderhooven," the magistrate said formally. "These guards will escort you to my chambers, where we will discuss charges of extortion and conspiracy against a university professor."
"This is absurd!" Vanderhooven spluttered. "This girl has broken university law by impersonating a student! She conspired with Ruysch to spread heretical ideas!"
The magistrate looked unimpressed. "According to Professor Ruysch, she is his legitimate research assistant—a young woman with exceptional talent who helps prepare his specimens, as is permitted for female relatives of physicians and anatomists."
"She is no relation to Ruysch!"
"Actually," Clara interjected calmly, "as of this evening, I am Professor Ruysch's formally contracted apprentice, with my father's blessing. A arrangement uncommon but not unprecedented for young women in medical households."
Vanderhooven's face contorted with rage. "And what of Ruysch's heretical manuscript? Will you deny that exists?"
Clara produced a bound volume from beneath her cloak. "You mean this public record of Professor Ruysch's observations, which he discussed with his colleague William Harvey during Harvey's visit last year? The same observations Harvey intends to publish with full credit to Professor Ruysch?"
She handed the manuscript to the magistrate, who flipped through it with interest.
"These appear to be scientific observations, not religious commentaries," the magistrate noted. "The university charter explicitly protects academic inquiry, Rector. Your attempt to characterize this as heresy seems... politically motivated."
As the guards led a protesting Vanderhooven away, the magistrate turned to Clara.
"An unusual situation, young woman. Professor Ruysch speaks highly of your abilities. He believes you have much to contribute to medical science."
"Thank you, sir," Clara replied, uncertainly.
"The professor has also explained that your assistance will be primarily in preparation and documentation—activities suitable for a woman with proper supervision." The magistrate smiled slightly. "How you choose to dress while working in his private laboratory is, I suppose, between you and your employer."
Clara could scarcely believe what she was hearing. "You mean...?"
"I mean that Leiden prides itself on progressive thinking, within reasonable boundaries. Professor Ruysch has arranged a legitimate position for you that does not overtly challenge convention. I suggest you accept it gratefully and work... discreetly."
Three days later, Clara stood beside Professor Ruysch in his laboratory, no longer disguised as Claes but dressed in a simple gown with her hair tied back practically. On the workbench before them lay the actual manuscript—the one shown to the magistrate had been a decoy, a less controversial version prepared hastily that night.
"Harvey's book will be published next year," Ruysch said, carefully packing the real manuscript for transport. "Once his work gains acceptance, we can gradually introduce our more detailed findings."
"And until then?" Clara asked.
"Until then, we continue our observations. We document everything meticulously. And you, my apprentice, learn everything I can teach you." Ruysch smiled. "Perhaps someday you'll continue this work in your own name."
Clara glanced at her father, who watched from nearby with a mixture of concern and pride.
"It won't be easy," Pieter warned. "The world changes slowly."
"Then we must be patient," Clara replied, turning back to the dissection table. "After all, understanding the human body has taken centuries. Understanding the human mind may take longer still."
She picked up a scalpel, its weight now familiar in her hand. Today they would examine the structure of the lungs—another system whose true function remained mysterious. One more secret waiting to be uncovered, one careful cut at a time.
Ruysch nodded approvingly as Clara made the first precise incision, revealing the hidden pathways beneath the surface—pathways that had always existed, waiting only for someone bold enough to look.
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