The Blackthorn Key

“That’s what the Cult of the Archangel is looking for,” he said. “The power of God Himself. Whatever this ‘fire’ is, clearly, they believe it’s the key to unlocking it.” His eyes narrowed. “So that’s why the Cult is torturing its victims. These aren’t sacrifices, they’re interrogations. They must think these men know where the fire is.”


“But what will they do if they find it?” I said.

“What anyone would, with such power in their hands. Shape the world as they see fit.”

Shape the world, I thought.

I remembered the madman, back on Oak Apple Day. The Cult of the Archangel hunts. Who is its prey?

I remembered Lord Ashcombe, interrogating me in the shop. And how did Master Benedict feel about His Majesty?

Now I understood. “King Charles,” I said. “They’re trying to overthrow the king.”

Oswyn nodded. “There’s always been a struggle for the Crown, and as you’re well aware, it’s been particularly contentious of late. Kill the king, force Parliament to fall in line, and England will be theirs.” He sighed. “It’s not so difficult to understand, really. You and I may be loyal, Christopher, but this nation is hardly paradise. Your master was a good man, with no patience for scheming nobles, so you’ve been shielded from the worst of them. But you can’t imagine the corruption that inhabits the ruling classes. Even our own Guild—which is supposed to be about knowledge and healing—isn’t free from such things. It’s no surprise there are men who believe they can do better.” He arched an eyebrow. “Oftentimes, they’re the ones who profess their loyalty the loudest.”

I thought about Master Benedict. He was faithful to God, and he’d sought deeper truths, too. But he’d never wanted power, never wanted to rule over others. He’d loved knowledge for its own sake.

I missed him.

“Regardless,” Oswyn said, “we have more pressing matters. We need someone who can verify your story.”

I couldn’t tell Oswyn about Tom. It would make him as much of a target for the Cult as I was. It wouldn’t help, anyway. Oswyn needed an adult witness, not a baker’s apprentice.

“I was alone,” I said.

Oswyn pursed his lips. “Then we have a problem. The first time we met, I told you the Guild needed more men from humble backgrounds. Not everyone shares that view. The Grand Master’s an honest man, but he’s a bit blind when it comes to seeing the truth about certain members. Plus, there’s the shame that such a discovery will bring. He simply won’t want to believe an apothecary is in the Cult of the Archangel.

“And you’ve already dug yourself quite a hole. Sir Edward was not impressed when you spoke without permission yesterday. Cursing a master was even worse. Valentine thinks you should be flogged.” He looked at me warily. “Please tell me you haven’t further blackened Stubb’s name.”

Not after the murder, I hadn’t. “No, Master. I promise.”

“Then we may salvage this yet.” He stood. “I’ll send someone to look over Benedict’s shop. And I’ll speak to Sir Edward—without Valentine—this afternoon. That should be around four o’clock. If the Cult really is after you, you’d better keep off the streets until then. You may hide in here.” He pointed a finger at me sternly. “And I mean here, Christopher, in this office. Don’t wander the grounds. If Stubb is looking for you, he may very well come to the Hall.”

I swallowed. That hadn’t even occurred to me. “Yes, Master.”

“After I’ve spoken to the Grand Master, I’ll ask you to tell him your story. Be brief. Be respectful. Don’t say anything that isn’t plain and simple fact. And for the love of Our Blessed Savior, keep your temper under control this time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

He turned to go. Suddenly, he stopped. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re lying to me, boy . . .”

I held up my hand. “I swear, Master Colthurst. Everything I said is the absolute truth.”

All right. So. One little lie.





CHAPTER


18