The landlord of the Three Horseshoes proved far cheaper to get information out of. He described the two men who came with a wagon to collect Shawe’s goods, but did not know where they came from, only that they left by the Great Cambridge Road. That left the whole of East Anglia as a hunting-ground, but on the other hand if Northumberland had another shipment on its way, perhaps Mal would not have to wait too long to follow it to its destination. He left the landlord under the misapprehension that he worked for Northumberland himself and was looking into an alleged misuse of funds, and swore the man to secrecy in the matter.
With naught else to do until that ship came in, he made his way to court. There was still the issue of Jathekkil’s amayi to deal with: Lady Derby might have been eliminated from the running, and young Howard’s continuing absence told against him, but that still left Rutland and Percy. He could not afford to seek them out too directly, however, in case they became suspicious. He therefore resigned himself to a tedious afternoon of drifting around Whitehall Palace, from bowling green to tennis court to hall and back, until he fell into suitable company.
As the day wore on, the skies darkened and Mal’s humour with them. So far there had been no sign of either Rutland or Percy, and all he had to show for his afternoon’s labour was a full bladder and a light head from too much drinking. Only the thought of the coldness of his empty bed kept him from going straight home to Southwark and leaving his quest until the morrow. He paused in the shadow of a doorway to take a piss and tried to decide where to go next. He could visit Prince Arthur’s lodgings, but if he got sucked into another game of cards with Southampton he’d be lucky to still have an estate in the morning.
“And that was when I realised she was his sister!”
Raucous laughter echoed down a nearby passageway. Mal halted mid-stream, hardly able to believe his luck. Judging by the accents, the men heading this way were none other than Josceline Percy and his northern cronies. He began fastening up his breeches.
“Not putting you off your stroke, are we?” one of them shouted at Mal as they drew nearer.
Mal turned and made a clumsy bow, as if rather drunker than he felt. In truth it made his head spin a little, so that his queasy grin was not entirely feigned.
“No, sirs, I was quite done.”
The men stepped out of the passage entrance into the light of a lantern. Their leader was indeed Jos Percy, little changed from the pale-faced youth Mal remembered, apart from a creditable attempt at a beard. His companions were other younger sons of noblemen, by the look of them poorer even than Mal but no doubt boasting an ancient lineage he could never match.
“Why, if it isn’t Sir Maliverny Catlyn, toast of the court.” The way Percy emphasised the word “toast”, it was all Mal could do not to challenge him to a duel on the spot. The burning of Rushdale Hall had no doubt given Mal’s enemies a good deal of amusing gossip behind his back.
“You are too kind, sir,” he said through gritted teeth. Unable to resist, he added, “I see you have a new pomander.”
Percy frowned down at the silver bauble pinned to his doublet. Mal had thrown its predecessor into the muck of a London gutter during their last encounter.
“Do you know, I’d forgotten all about that…”
For a moment Mal feared Percy would order his companions to take the price of the old one out of his hide, then the earl’s brother laughed, a girlish giggle that grated on Mal’s already jittery nerves.
“But that was long ago, when we were both young and foolish, eh, Catlyn?”
“You were young, sir,” Mal slurred, “and mayhap I was foolish.”
“There you go!” Percy slapped him on the arm. “Come, we’re off to Bankside. What say you join us? It’s on your way home, is it not?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Where is it you’re lodging these days, Catlyn?” one of Percy’s companions asked. “In the George?”
“Not far away. Off Long Southwark, behind a printer’s shop. The Sign of the Parley.”
Was that a flicker of guilt in Percy’s eyes? Hard to tell in this light.
“Splendid!” Percy said, throwing his arms around two of his companions’ shoulders. “To Bankside!”
Mal followed in the younger men’s wake with only half an ear to their chatter. If this lot were heading for Bankside at this time of night, it meant only one thing: he was faced with a choice between abandoning a perfect opportunity to get close to Jos Percy, or spending the evening at a brothel. Even if he somehow managed to avoid sampling the services on offer, his wife would never forgive him. He cursed Percy silently and hurried after the Northumbrians towards Westminster Pier.
“Where are we going?” Mal said as they disembarked at Falcon Stairs. “The Rose?”
“Somewhere far more select,” Percy told him, taking Mal’s arm in his.
They strolled along Bankside as far as the bull-baiting ring, then turned down a narrow side street. Where gardens and fishponds had once stood, new houses had sprung up, crowding out the diamond-studded sky. Every other building appeared to be a tavern or a brothel – or both. After a while Mal realised they were alone.
“Where are the others?” he asked, letting his free hand drift towards the hilt of his rapier.
Percy looked around. “What? Oh, you know Scrope; can’t pass a pretty girl in the street but he has to stop and talk to her. And then Ewer has to outdo him in boasting…” He sighed theatrically. “They’ll catch us up. Come, it’s just down here.”
He led Mal down a short alley towards the light of a lantern, and a moment later they emerged into an empty courtyard surrounded by closed doors and shuttered windows.
“Well, this can’t be it,” Percy said. “Perhaps it was left, not right…?”
He turned to leave, and yelped as four hooded men stepped out of the shadows around them.
“Going somewhere, gentlemen? Perhaps you’d like to leave those heavy purses. They’ll only weigh you down.”
Mal drew his rapier. “Get behind me, Percy.”
The hooded men drew their own blades: rapiers like Mal’s, flashing bright gold in the lantern light. Not footpads, then, for all their talk of robbery. Had Percy led him into a trap? Mal cursed his foolishness in thinking that the Northumbrians had happened upon him by chance.
He drew his dagger, using the movement as a distraction whilst he engaged the man to his right, slipping his blade beneath the other’s guard. The man cried out and attempted to attack, but Mal leapt to the left, parrying the swordsman’s incoming blade with his dagger. A rapid counterthrust with his rapier and one of the villains lay bleeding on the cobbles.
He heard the clash of blades behind him but had no time to pay further attention as his right-hand foe was joined by another. A left-hander. The two of them fought side by side, so close they were practically arm in arm, weaving a net of steel that threatened to overwhelm Mal in moments. The tip of a blade slipped past his guard and skewered his upper sleeve, slicing the skin just below his armpit. Damn, but they were good! No hired ruffians or idle courtiers, these… What the hell was Percy up to? Mal backed away, expecting to bump into Percy, but found himself alone in the centre of the courtyard.
“Put up your sword, sir.”
The voice came from behind him.
“And if I do not?” Mal called over his shoulder.
“Then the lordling here will be joining his ancestors.”
Mal turned to see Percy held tight by the third remaining man, a glint of steel beneath his too-high chin. The young nobleman was deathly pale, his eyes pleading. Mal laughed.
“You can kill him for all I care.”
He turned back to his two assailants. If this was some scheme of Percy’s, the villains would not kill their master, and there was still a chance he could fight his way out. If it were not, he was rid of one candidate for Jathekkil’s amayi and could focus on the other. He crouched in a fighting stance, daring the hooded men to attack again.
This time they moved apart, trying to engage him from both sides so that he could not choose but to ignore one of them. He backed towards a doorway to limit their angle of attack. The man on the left lunged, overreaching himself. Mal sidestepped again and brought the pommel of his dagger down on the man’s wrist, simultaneously thrusting his rapier through his opponent’s unprotected ribs. The man clutched at his chest as the narrow blade withdrew, blood bubbling from his lips.
A strangled cry from the other side of the courtyard, and the remaining bravo turned tail and fled down the alley. Mal turned to see Percy, a blood-bright dagger in his hand, his former captor sinking to his knees and clutching his side. Percy wiped his blade on the man’s doublet.
“Much use you were!” Percy slammed the blade home in its sheath and grimaced at Mal. “‘Kill him for all I care.’ I should have you arrested, you traitorous cur.”
Mal paused in the act of wiping his own blade clean. The young nobleman looked shaken, though whether through frustration at a thwarted plan or genuine fear of death, it was hard to say. This had been a trap, all right, but not necessarily one of Percy’s making. Perhaps Olivia’s? Dark alleys and assassins were her stock in trade, after all. What better way to get rid of them both at a stroke than to use Percy as her bait and have her hirelings turn on him too when his job was done?
“Come, let’s find your companions,” he said to Percy. “Then I think I shall go home. I’ve had enough entertainment for one night.”
CHAPTER XVII
“The skrayling is here, my lord.”
“About time too.” Grey took up his cane and rose from his seat, face set as if determined to conceal any pain. “We’ll see her in the privy closet. Have a fire laid, and refreshments brought up.”
“Of course, my lord.”
The duke limped over to a bookcase and ran his fingers over the spines of a row at eye height. Mal suspected he was trying to ease his cramped limbs without seeming to do so.
“What do you suppose this is all about, Catlyn?”
“They must have found out about Olivia. Though why Adjaan would insist on meeting us here at the palace and not at the camp, I have no idea.”
The privy closet was a small panelled chamber on the upper floor, perfect for discreet meetings. A single narrow window admitted some daylight, though on a dull October morning like this, that was little enough. Adjaan was standing by the fireplace, ignoring the hard wooden chairs that were so ill-suited to skrayling anatomy. She wore dark blue robes similar to the ones Ambassador Kiiren had worn to official ceremonies, though more sombre, and a single short braid threaded with turquoise beads hung over her left ear. Erishen’s memories stirred in the back of Mal’s mind; this was a Vinlandic custom, to mark the birth of a child. Those beads would be added to the child’s spirit-guard when he or she was older.
“Suffolk-tuur, it is an honour to meet you at last,” Adjaan said, bowing in the English manner.
“Likewise,” Grey replied, taking a seat by the fire. “May I ask, to what do we owe such an unprecedented visit?”
Adjaan lowered herself carefully into the other chair, leaning forwards so as not to put pressure on her tail bone.
“I bring grave news from my kinfolk on Sark. And from your friends, Catlyn-tuur: Parrish and Faulkner.”
“Something has happened to Ned?”
“Your friend is well, and his heart-mate also. But they have brought news of Captain Hennaq, and Ilianwe.”
“Olivia escaped. Yes, we know.”
“You knew and did not tell us?” Adjaan got to her feet. “Are we not allies, then?”
“I only found out a few weeks ago, and when I came to the camp I was told you had been called away. To Sark, presumably.”
“I needed to bear my child amongst my own people, as far from yours as possible lest one of the senzadheneth try to take the place of the intended soul.” She folded her arms across her full breasts. “I only returned to convey this news. It seems I should not have bothered.”
“Forgive us, honoured one.” Mal gestured for her to sit down again. “I should have told the elders in your absence, but since Olivia – Ilianwe – has not been near London yet, we thought the news could wait.”
“You have seen her?”
“Yes. She is disguised as a young man, but I have no doubt it is her. She admitted as much to me herself.”
“You must take me to her,” Adjaan said.
“We must do nothing.” Grey rapped his cane on the wooden floor, and Adjaan flinched. “This woman is dangerous, and I want her out of my kingdom. If it can be contrived, we will clap her in irons and hand her over to you for transportation to the New World.”
Adjaan frowned. “I do not think that would be wise.”
“What?”
“My people are mistrusted by yours as it is. How will it look if it is found out that we helped capture a human woman and took her over the sea?”
“We’ll tell them she’s a traitor.” Even as Mal spoke the words, his conscience pricked him. How many lies am I prepared to tell, to keep the truth from those who would never believe it?
“The outspeaker is right,” Grey said. “It’s one thing to accuse a foreigner of treason, but why would we hand her over to the skraylings for punishment? The people will expect a public execution.”
“We could fake her death and smuggle her out of the country,” Mal said. “We’ve done it before, for our own people.”
“I am well aware of your methods, Catlyn. I do not think they will help us in this case.”
“With respect, my lord–”
“Enough!” The rap of the cane echoed like thunder in the little room. “Outspeaker, can I call upon your people to be vigilant? We need to be certain that this woman is not using her witchcraft on the Prince of Wales or his family.”
“Of course, Suffolk-tuur.”
“For my part, I will arrange for her to be brought to London, so you can do just that. Catlyn, I want a detailed report on her mundane activities. Who she speaks to, where she goes. If I am to arrest the Princess of Wales’s pet, I need cast-iron evidence, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. My wife already working on it.”
“Good, then we are agreed. Outspeaker, it has been a pleasure.”
After the skrayling had been escorted out, Mal sank to one knee before the duke’s chair.
“My lord, if you have any mind to clemency… Faulkner and Parrish–”
“A pardon, is that what you’re asking?” He barked a laugh. “I should have all three of you hanged. I have not forgotten that you disobeyed my orders.”
“I know, my lord.” Mal swallowed his hatred of this man who held all their lives in his vindictive grasp. “I am most truly sorry, my lord. Loyalty to my friends is my besetting sin.”
“Get up.” Grey prodded him in the shoulder with his cane. “I cannot abide false modesty.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Mal got to his feet and stood at attention, though he kept his gaze on the floor.
“Mayhap,” said Grey, “these friends of yours know more about what happened than the skrayling woman can or will tell us. Whoever brought the charges against them never did put forward any evidence, so I don’t suppose it will be difficult to persuade Robert it was all a mistake.”
“Thank you, my lord. I and my friends will be eternally in your debt.”
“I shall remember those words, Catlyn, you can be sure of that. Now get out of here. I have work to do.”
Mal backed out of the room, bowing low, and strode off down the corridor, whistling a merry jig. Ned and Parrish back in London! It was the best news he had had in months.