Perfect Shadows

chapter 8

The late night air was cool, as I made my way back to Blackavar House, enjoying the quiet power of the stallion I rode across the fields and delighting in jumping the small streams and stiles. I had been warned of the dangers inherent in so approaching Tom, but Geoffrey had not thought of the most perilous: even though Tom was the author of my murder, I found that I loved him yet; even though he was aging, I desired him yet.

Upon my return I found Geoffrey practicing sword in the candlelit Hall. Invigorated by the ride, I plucked a bated blade from the rack near the door, pausing only long enough to rack my own rapier out of the way before falling to. It was a good bout, almost seven minutes passed before I stood with Geoffrey’s slender blade at my throat, my own held carefully in surrender. At least, I thought ruefully, I can hold onto it now.

Geoffrey smiled, showing his sharp white teeth, and said, “Come, let us rest and speak for a time,” indicating the chairs pulled up to the hearth. “Did it go as you thought? Good.” He poured two cups of the white Rhennish wine and passed one to me. Even though it was neither nourishing nor intoxicating, I found the flavor refreshing after the recent exercise. I shifted a bit, stretching my boots out to the fire.

“Frizer’s blackmailing him, of course, which has interesting possibilities,” I reported. “I will have to pay a call on that one soon, I think, after I see how things are running with Tom. He, Tom, I mean, knew that I cannot read, so someone at Cecil’s is less circumspect than his master might wish, or he has bruited it about himself.” It had been less than a week since the letter had summoned us to the Lord Secretary’s.

I yawned, and rose to go to my bed, but a sudden thought turned me back at the threshold. “Have you heard the latest prattle concerning us?” Geoffrey shook his head. He had shown an interest in the rumors flying about us, and had managed to turn more than one to our advantage. It had been speculated, among other things, that I had lost my eye dueling, or that it had happened while I had been fighting as a mercenary, that I was not Geoffrey’s brother, but his hired assassin, his bodyguard, his lover or his victim, depending upon the inclinations and imaginations of those telling the tales.

“Well,” I continued, “now it seems that you forbade me to learn to read, hoping thereby to curb those ambitions that come so naturally to younger princes. When I defied you, you had my eye putout, or even did it yourself depending upon who tells it, promising the other would follow if I did not abide in my ignorance, and that I am not loyal to you, but obedient only out of fear.” I stopped to swallow before going on. There was an uncomfortable amount of truth in that last conjecture. I forced a smile. “Truly, I could not have written a better scene myself in the old days!” As I departed with Geoffrey’s sardonic laugh ringing in my ears, I could not help but reflect that these rumors were milk and water compared with some of the tales told of Geoffrey and his family in his breathing days.



It was hot in the banqueting hall at Nonsuch, and I found that the habit of using perfumes as a substitute for bathing a less than endearing one among some of the English aristocracy.

We were dancing, and I, in the somber black Geoffrey had chosen for me, must have appeared as a raven among the brilliantly colored and bejeweled tropical birds of the court, darker even than the occasional Spaniard or puritan found there. My partner, all in white and dripping pearls, vaulted towards me, proud of her skillful control in the Volta’s high leaps, but I saw that she had misjudged the last one and was coming down hard upon her ankle. Without thinking I caught her up in my arms, and the music staggered to a halt, the other dancers standing around me as if turned to stone. Ignoring the building hum of outrage and menace, I carried her to her place under the canopy at the end of the room. “Are you injured, Majesty?” I asked her quietly, setting her gently down.

“Call me cousin, Prince Kryštof, for you are no idle flatterer, or at least not so by nature, and I shall name you my Shadow,” she replied in equally soft tones, laying her long fingers on my dark doublet. “And, my thanks to you, my ankle is but a little jolted, not broken.” She swept a keen glance over the room, then rapped my arm smartly with her flat Italian fan, scolding me loudly. “You forget yourself, Sir Shadow! I am not one of your rustic maids to be whisked away at your whim!”

“I crave your pardon, cousin! I was carried away, and thought that action might win you, where diplomacy has so often failed,” I answered smoothly, equaling her volume and dropping to one knee.” Eastern barbarian I may be, but wild horses would not induce me to act to your dishonor.” I had soon learned to play this flirting game to her great satisfaction, and to my own considerable advantage, as did any man who wished to find advancement at Elizabeth’s court.

“A certain Wild Horse would be more than happy to see you dragged away at his heels were he here tonight,” a broad Devon voice behind me drawled sarcastically. I rose and whirled to face the man, but relaxed when I saw who stood there.

“How-now, my Ocean-water? I did not think you so fond of my lord Essex that you would be pining for him,” Elizabeth said, her coquette’s tone at once dismissing me and enticing Ralegh closer. I bowed to the Queen, and gave Sir Walter a slight nod, which was returned along with a piercing blue stare, then wandered out into the moonlit grounds. The day had been hot and airless, the evening only now beginning to cool. I had walked for some time away from the palace when my enhanced sight told me that someone was lurking in the shadow of the little wood just ahead of me. I gave no sign that I had spotted the man and a few steps further on I recognized him. Tom.

As I passed the spot he drew himself a little deeper into the shadows, a small sigh escaping him when I passed by, apparently without seeing him, then a gasp of terror as my hand shot from behind him and closed over his mouth.

“Well, Tommy, waiting for me?” I said with no little malice. “How flattering, just when I had thought that you were avoiding me.” My hand dropped to his shoulder and Tom sagged against me, shuddering at my touch, as if fighting back a sob. “Why not try telling me the truth, Tommy. It would be such a novel deed for you.” Tom’s pale blue eyes stared up, reflecting a stray beam of moonlight in tears of impotent dread. “Stop it, Tom. I told you before that I’m not going to hurt you—or at least, not very much. Let us find some spot where we may talk.” I gave him a little shake, suddenly irritated by his abnormal timidity. Eventually we made our way to the carefully tended “Wilderness” and I dropped down into the sweet smelling grass, pulling Tom down beside me. “Now, isn’t this pleasant?” Still holding him by the wrist, I reached over and stroked his hair, smiling at the shivering reaction. “You cannot decide, can you, whether you desire me more than you fear and despise me, or if it’s the other way about,” I continued in the darkness, amusement and disdain equally combined in the quiet tones of my voice.

“I could never hate you . . . I was waiting for you,” Tom extemporized. I could almost hear his thoughts clacking along: If I was Kit a little flattery should do the trick. His Kit had always doted pathetically on admiration, and if I were only a feigned Kit, well, then I was mad, and what harm could it do? “I wanted to see you again, as we were, uh, in my chamber. I—I need you,” he let his voiced break off in a ardent sigh, reaching his free hand up to touch my face, wondering if his design was working. I could read his every thought as easily as I once read books. I plainly saw that part of him wanted it to work, wanted me to be as besotted with him as his lost Kit had been, wanted to manipulate me as he had the others, while at the same time another part of him wanted to grovel at my feet and beg for favor.

“God’s Teeth, Tom, but what a tawdry little whore you’ve become! You should have trod the boards: even the Rose has never seen a performance like this. Do you think you’re still seventeen and the prettiest boy in England? Think again,” I purred, the words as cruel as knives, as cruel as I could make them. He tried futilely to wrench away from my restraining hand only to have his wrist twisted viciously. My lazy inspection of his person must have left him horribly aware of his thinning hair and the beginnings of the paunch that he had tried to hide with the stuffed peascod belly of his doublet. A red flood of hatred washed over his face, hatred for me, a handsome, elegant, and above all, much younger man.

“I will see you destroyed, dishonored, and begging for deliverance, and I shall spurn you and walk on,” he raged and I laughed.

“It won’t work, Tom, whatever petty little plans for revenge you devise. Now, what were you really trying to seduce me into, killing Frizer for you?” He lurched away, and this time I let him go, amused by his tumble back into the long grass.

“Well-a-day, Tom! It would seem that shot hit in the gold,” I chuckled and stood up, brushing the leaves from my clothing, offering my hand to help him up. He ignored me, scrambled to his feet and began to back away. “Not that way, Tom. The Wilderness verges on the duck pond just over there and I am quite certain you would find the water disagreeable,” I laughed. Moving far too quickly for him to see, I crossed the space between us to grasp his elbow, pinching a nerve and numbing his arm when he tried to jerk away. “Don’t be recalcitrant, Tommy. Remember, I’ll not hurt you, not seriously, if I can help it. But tell me about Frizer. Where is he now?”

“In Eltham. He’s running a tavern there. But you must not kill him! It would all come out then—I’d be ruined!”

“Perhaps I desire that. You could come crawling to me for favor and patronage, then.”

Tom’s anger choked him into silence. As we stepped into the lamplit stable-yard, he stopped, looking with horror at the stable cat. It had caught a mouse and was toying with it, letting it appear to escape; only to snare it again and drag it back. He glanced sidelong at me, and gasped at the smile playing over my face. “I’m the mouse to your cat, aren’t I,” he said wildly, “and for a cat-caught mouse there can be only one outcome.” I loosed my grip and turned an amused glance on him, but he seized his chance and fled. A second later, as he ran, I watched him shudder at my sudden laugh. The mouse had met its fate.

“My lord,” Jehan spoke softly from the shadows. “Prince Geofri wishes that you return to Blackavar at once.” I nodded, and went for my cloak, but I was no sooner inside than Ambrose Willoughby, her majesty’s Squire of the Body, pounced on me, saying that the Queen wished to speak with me at once. I followed the callow young man back into the hall, and approached the elderly woman under the canopy. “God’s Blood, cousin! An unfaithful Shadow you are, to so wander away; I vow I sent the man after you fully half an hour ago. Now, come sit here, that we may converse.” She nudged a cushion at her feet, seemingly unaware of the glares many in the crowd were turning on me. I bowed low then went down on one knee. “How now, you do not sit, my lord?”

“I fear I must ask your leave to attend upon my brother, who has summoned me to him, Majesty,” I began, but she interrupted me. “You must call me cousin, my Shadow, as I instructed you. And if your brother, your sovereign lord, as we are well aware, requires your presence, well, then you must away, and our discourse must wait for another time. I would that all my subjects showed such devotion to their sovereign as you to yours.”

“Maj—cousin,” I smiled at the shrewd old woman before me with an affection as genuine as it had been unexpected, “no people love their sovereign as your people love you.”

“Flatterer! Be off with you!” She smacked me with her fan again; I caught her hand and pressed my lips briefly to her slender fingers, heavy with jewels, then swept to my feet and backed away.

The hostile stares had not abated as I took my leave, and so I was not as surprised as some might have wished when I found the road blocked against me about a half-mile from the palace; they had easily got ahead of me by crossing the fields while I had kept to the road. There were four or five mounted young gallants and maybe twice as many bravos and underlings afoot. They had their faces covered, but not their clothing. I laughed aloud as I recognized Tom among them.

“I fear this is no laughing matter for you, my lord,” the foremost sneered.” Now, dismount.” The gallants slid off their horses, standing ready.

“I think not,” I said, noting the wooden clubs that many of them held, and belatedly realizing that I could be badly, maybe fatally, hurt. “Jehan!” I called, and the big wolf sprang from nowhere, causing the horses to rear in panic. I spurred my own horse through the confusion, the war-trained stallion lashing out with teeth and hooves at anything in range, while I sat the plunging back like the shadow Elizabeth named me. Within seconds we were free of the press and I kneed the stallion, causing him to half turn and rear, slashing the air with his hooves. As coolly as if I were sitting on a garden bench, reveling in my vampire prowess, I drew a brace of long barreled pistols from the saddle holsters, and discharged one into the air. The night erupted with a deafening clap and sudden glare; immediately I rested the left-hand pistol upon my right forearm, sighted down the barrel, and fired at the leader, noting with satisfaction my target’s dropped sword and crumpling form. Before the wounded man could even scream, I had wheeled the horse and was flying down the road away from my would-be assailants.

I heard Tom cry out just as a burning agony lanced through me, and I looked down to see an arrowhead protruding wetly from my left shoulder. The wooden shaft felt like a fire in my flesh, running along my nerves and through my veins, the pain eating away at my consciousness until I felt myself swaying in the saddle. I dared not stop, and fought against the faintness threatening to overwhelm me. Carefully sheathing the pistols first, I gave the horse his head. I know not how long I rode, but finally I became aware of the wolf running beside me and reined in the stallion. The horse was well acquainted with his lupine companion, and they touched noses before Jehan stood off a pace and resumed his human shape.

“We’re safe for now Master,” Jehan said, and stepped forward to help me dismount. He perceived the situation at a glance and quickly eased me to the ground, under the shelter of a hedgerow. “Bite on this, my lord, for I’m going to have to hurt you,” he said, gently filling my mouth with a fold of my cloak. Then, so swiftly that it was virtually one motion, he snapped the head off the arrow and pulled the shaft from the wound. There was the crack of the breaking arrow, the white wave of agony, then nothing.