Perfect Shadows

chapter 16

Malvern was dark, except for the kitchens where the servants held their revels. I slid from the saddle, ground-tying the horse near the door to the chapel. The wolves flowed around my feet as I made my way to the massive door. I expected to find it locked, but it swung open silently at a touch. There were sounds in the darkness within.

My vampire’s sight picked out the scene in the middle of the chapel floor as though it were bright moonlight. I recognized the madwoman from the forest, and I crossed the room swiftly and silently, to pluck her from the tormented body she mounted; with a deft twist I broke her neck and let her fall. The wolves were all around now, nuzzling and licking at Richard, who had fainted as his tormentor was pulled free of him. I examined the shackles that held the lad, pleased to see that my strength was more than adequate to free the boy. Jehan and Rhys had assumed their human forms, and Rhys gently gathered his half-brother into his arms, wrapping him in the cloak that I slipped from my shoulders and wordlessly handed over. Sylvie and Eden, with a female’s intuition of what had occurred and its probable effect on Richard, kept to their wolf shapes and took up posts on either side of the door.

Jehan helped me fit the dead girl into shackles, stuffing her slack mouth with the gag taken from Richard, then gathered whatever he could find that would burn, piling the soiled rushes around the body while I made a swift survey of the earl’s library. I could not tell one from another, and though I hated burning books, hated it with a passion that knotted my guts, I knew I must. I could not take both the boy and the books on a single horse. I shrugged and poured the oils and aqua vitae from the worktable liberally over the books and the rushes. I added a trail of black powder from my flask, then pulled the unloaded snaphaunce pistol from my belt and used it to strike a spark. I ran from the chapel, and swung into the saddle, reaching to take the boy from Rhys and arranging the unconscious form in front of me before spurring the agitated horse away into the darkness. Scarcely a minute had passed before the shouts and turmoil behind us told me that the fire had been discovered. I settled the boy more firmly against me and urged the horse on, with the surging shadows of the wolves at our heels.

I had just lowered the unconscious Richard from my horse to the waiting arms of his brother when I stiffened and looked wildly over my shoulder, back toward London. I gave hurried instructions to care for the boy, and turned the horse back the way we had come, but Rhys tangled a hand in the reins, nearly dropping his brother in the process. “You’ll need afresh mount, my lord,” he grunted, and Jehan stepped forward, indicating with a jerk of his head to Rhys that he would see to it. I paced nervously while the fresh horse was readied, swinging into the saddle to spur the animal into a canter before we had cleared the courtyard.

The call was plain, tugging at me, guiding me. It was Hal, of course, and something was wrong, more than just being lied to about my attendance at the Masque. I followed that inner call, not to Whitehall, as I had expected, but to Essex house, in the Strand. There was revelry in the kitchens here, too, and the porter nodded in his cups at his post. I left the horse in the shadow of the wall and slipped past the drunken man like a wraith. The call was plainer inside, and I made my way up the dark stairs and through several rooms to a locked door at the end. The door was made of stout oak panels with a heavy iron lock affixed to it. I was happy to see that I would not have to try my strength against those thick planks—the key was in the lock.

The lock turned easily, but the hinges made a faint protesting squeak as I slowly pushed the door open. There, in the light of a wildly guttering candle, I saw Hal, the lower half of his face muffled by a gag, his eyes nearly starting from his head as he watched the slow swing of the door. He recognized me and sagged against the ropes that held his hands bound over his head to the heavy bedstead. Swiftly crossing the room, I pulled the scarf from his face, plucking the gag from his mouth, and paused a second to kiss his bloodless lips before setting to work on the ropes.

“Thank God you are here, Kit! They took my costume to trap you, Robin and Cecil. Robin said I would come to thank him for his saving of me, when I understood it,” Hal said hoarsely, the words tumbling from him. He was clad only in his shirt and hose, and fumbled around on the floor for the rest of his clothing. “How did you know? Thank God you did not go—did you go to Whitehall? What has happened?” he shrugged into the doublet, ignoring the points that would tie it to the trunk-hose he pulled over his long legs. He stamped his feet into his boots and snatched the cloak that I held out to him.

“It’s rather a long story, I fear, too long to tell you now. We should go.” He nodded, and followed me from the room. The porter still dozed at the door, but as I stepped into the courtyard I saw a groom leading my horse in through the gate. The man had probably stepped out to relieve himself and spotted the animal. I cursed my luck and lunged forward, my fist connecting solidly with the man’s face. I felt bones break beneath my hand, and my opponent slumped to the ground. The porter roused, opening his mouth to cry out, and Hal spun lightly, lashing out and dropping him neatly across the threshold.

He turned back to see me awkwardly trying to tie a kerchief around my bleeding hand while holding the reins of the shying horse. Hal took the cloth, and raised my hand to his lips for a moment, to lick the bittersweet blood from my wound before binding it. I leaned forward to kiss him deeply, tasting my own blood in my lover’s mouth, then mounted and reached down to pull him up pillion behind me. I could hear raucous shouting from the kitchens, rude comments about the size of the missing man’s bladder, as we bounded away into the darkness.