The Prince of Lies: Night's Masque - Book 3 (13 page)

“There are few
tjirzadheneth
on this side of the great sea, and alchemy is only one craft of many. Still, I shall ask.”

“Why would you need to seek among the reborn, honoured one?”

“Do you forget so much, Catlyn-
tuur
? Alchemy is the province of women, as with all crafts.” She laughed softly. “I am sure Erishen has been a woman at least once in his many lifetimes.”

Mal hid his embarrassment by carefully wrapping up the glass rod once more.

“Thank you, Adjaan-
tuur
,” he said, getting to his feet and bowing.

Adjaan looked up at him, her amber eyes grave. “I am only sorry I could not do more.”

“One more question, if I may, honoured one? Will any more skrayling women be coming over the ocean, to England or Sark?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I merely wondered if you were considering a permanent settlement. Since you are having a child here.”

She shook her head. “These are your lands. We do not wish to take any of them from you.”

“Not even a small island, freely given?”

“Lent to us only, I think. It is surely still your Queen’s, to bestow where she wishes.”

He had no answer to that, so he bowed and withdrew. Still, it had answered the question he had not asked. If Erishen and Kiiren wanted to become skraylings in their next lifetime, they would have to risk their lives on a voyage back to the New World.

CHAPTER IX

With Mal gone the house felt strangely empty, even though he had been but one man out of a household of more than a dozen. However, Coby was far too busy with spring chores to sit and mope. The arrival of March brought dry windy weather that was perfect for laundry, then there was the kitchen garden to prepare for the coming year: leeks and parsnips to harvested, beds to be cleared and re-sown with lettuce, spinach, onions, carrots and summer cabbage. Every night Coby fell into bed exhausted and with nothing but the prospect of longer, harder days ahead. Every morning she hoped for news from Mal, though she knew it would take at least two weeks for a letter to reach her.

To her relief Sandy came down to the hall for meals more often, but half the time he didn’t respond to his own name and she could hardly call him “Erishen” in front of the servants. Once or twice she even caught him referring to his nephew as “Kiiren”, and though she chided him, he appeared unrepentant. If they did not join Mal in London soon, she didn’t know what she would do with him.

“I thought you might like to take Kit to see the new lambs,” she said one day at dinner, some ten days after Mal’s departure. “The path up towards Bleak Low should be dry enough by now.”

Sandy’s reply was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats from the courtyard. Coby leapt up from her seat and ran to the front door, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

Five horsemen, not one, drew to a halt in the centre of the courtyard. Nor was their leader her husband, though he was handsome enough, with dark wind-blown hair and grey eyes that sparkled with the exertion of his ride. He dismounted smoothly and bowed to Coby.

“Mistress Catlyn.”

“Do I know you?”

“William Frogmore, at your service.” He bowed again.

So, this was the Huntsman Mal had worked with in Kent.

“Ah, of course. Do come inside and refresh yourself,” she said, forcing a smile. She glanced at Frogmore’s companions and reluctantly added, “Your men, also.”

In truth they were as hard-eyed a bunch of ruffians as she had seen in all her time in Southwark, with steel gorgets around their throats and pistols tucked into their belts.
Well, let them swagger; I am not afraid of them. I bet they’ve never even seen a devourer, let alone killed one.
 

As they entered the hall, Susanna rose from her seat and Kit jumped down and hid behind her skirts, eyeing the new arrivals suspiciously.

“Catlyn?” Frogmore strode up to the dais.

Sandy nodded his acknowledgement, but made no further move. Frogmore glanced back at Coby, puzzled, then his features relaxed into a smile.

“Ah, you must be his brother, Alexander. Truly, the likeness is remarkable.”

“So I am told.”

Sandy's icy tones did not invite further pleasantries, and it was left to Coby to fill the silence.

“Do you not bring news of my husband, sir?”

“He is not here?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“That is a pity,” Frogmore said. “I'd hoped to have words with him ere I return to my estate in Kent.”

“He is gone to London. I’m surprised you did not see him on the road.”

“Oh, I have been in Derbyshire some weeks, visiting old friends.”

Sandy turned pale and looked as though he were about to say something impolitic.

“Why don’t you take Kit up for his nap?” she said quickly. “Susanna has a good deal of sewing to do, don’t you, my dear?”

The nursemaid nodded, her glance flicking over to the visitors. So, she didn’t think much of them either.

Sandy beckoned to Kit, who dashed round the back of the chairs and flung his arms around his uncle’s long legs.

“You will be down again for supper?” she murmured to Sandy as he bent to pick Kit up.

“If you insist.”

“I do.” She watched the three of them leave, then turned back to her guest. “You must forgive my brother-in-law. He takes his duty of guardianship very seriously.”

“I understand. The enemy are devious, and even little children are not safe from their enchantments.”

Somehow Coby managed to keep her expression blank.

“Indeed.” The sooner these zealots were out of her house, the better she would like it. “Please, sit down. It’s a long ride to Kent, and I would not see you leave on an empty belly.”

“Perhaps we should stay a day or two,” Frogmore said, stepping up onto the dais and taking Sandy’s now-empty seat. “My men could go hunting in the morning, bring you some fresh meat for your table.”

Frogmore’s men took their places on the servants’ table and began helping themselves to bread and beer. Coby resumed her own place at table, next to Frogmore.

“That’s most generous,” she said, “but I wouldn’t want you to delay your homeward journey on our account. Do you not have a wife waiting for you?”

“Alas, my business affairs take up a great deal of my time. And God’s work must come first, must it not?”

Coby could hardly disagree, but thankfully Frogmore soon turned the conversation to less contentious topics such as the prospect for the coming year’s harvest. She offered her own inexpert opinions and withdrew to her own chamber as soon as it was courteous to do so. All this talk of country matters only made her homesick for London, and she was determined to leave soon, whether Mal sent for her or no. Either he was safe in London, in which case he would be glad to see them earlier than expected, or he was in trouble and the sooner she was there to help him, the better.

One thing was certain: she could not let Frogmore know of her plans. He would surely offer his services to escort them to London, and for all her bravado she would as soon take up with bandits as travel with the Huntsmen. Tempted as she was to send him on his way this very afternoon, however, it would be hard to do so without arousing his suspicions. No, she would let Frogmore and his men stay here tonight, then give them a good start in the morning before setting off herself. She smiled to herself. If Mal were in trouble, this was a job for intelligencer Jacob Hendricks, not Lady Jacomina Catlyn. And travelling in male guise would be safer in any case.

At the bottom of her clothes chest she found the old doublet and hose she had worn in her guise as Mal’s valet. She shook them out and hung them up to air, then did the same for the shirt and hose to wear with them. The prospect of a chance to resume her old persona gave her a guilty thrill, and she glanced upwards apologetically.
Forgive me, Lord, for my sin of pride. But I was good at what I did.
 

A trawl of the chests and cupboards produced more treasures: a worn leather belt and a knife in its sheath; leather shoes suitable for a man, also old but well-mended; her roll of skeleton keys; and a cherrywood box containing a pair of pistols that Mal had bought her for her eighteenth birthday. How long ago that seemed now, more like forty years than four. She put everything into an old satchel, ready to take down to the stables. After a moment’s thought she added her jewellery box to the satchel and bundled up the gown made from her New Year’s gift, along with a linen coif and other necessary items of feminine apparel. God willing, she would not need her disguise beyond the journey itself.

The rest of their preparations would have to wait until Frogmore had left; she could not risk him suspecting her purpose. With a last wistful glance at her old clothes, she shut the bedchamber door and locked it, then went back down to see to her guests.

Despite his promise, Erishen did not go down to supper that night. Though the visitors might be too young to have participated in his own murder, he had no doubts they would turn on him and Kiiren the moment they suspected the truth. It had been madness to involve them in the fight against the guisers, but Mal would not be swayed.

“They might have more information about Shawe,” he had said before leaving for London. “How can I let that chance slip through my fingers?”

“It seems to me that you are protecting them.” Erishen replied. “I think they did something to you that night, when they daubed you in Tanijeel’s blood. They made you one of their own.”

“How can you say that? The memory still haunts me–”

“Then why do you not want revenge?”

“Trust me, we will have it. But it will have to be planned carefully. A single coordinated arrest, like the Templars of France long ago.”

Erishen only hoped his brother had put the plan into motion by now. The thought of Frogmore and his friends riding south into a trap made him chuckle aloud, drawing Kiiren’s attention.

“Come on,
amayi
, time for bed. You can sleep in my room tonight.”

Susanna bade her charge good night and settled down to her mending. Erishen smiled to himself as he went through into the bedchamber. Ever since he had caught the nursemaid enjoying lustful dreams about his brother and diverted them to be about himself instead, she had been decidedly more compliant. The release from guilt had made her happier to serve his sister-in-law as well, so he considered it a job well done.

He shut the door behind him, and went to draw the bed-curtains against the chill evening air. Tomorrow the killers of his people would be gone and he and Kiiren could return to their familiar routine. Perhaps he would even take his
amayi
to see the young sheep. Childhood innocence was short for their kind, and all the more precious for it.

Coby paced her bedchamber, unable to settle. Even with two locked doors between herself and her guests, the thought of stripping down to her shift made her stomach turn over. And what about Susanna? Had the girl the sense to lock her bedchamber door? She should go and check, but that would mean going through the guest chamber.

The clothes hanging up on the closet door caught her eye. What if she dressed as Jacob? Frogmore and his men might not even recognise her, and they would pay a male servant little attention. With pounding heart she undressed and slipped into the familiar garments. Her hair had grown long in the past couple of years, so she tied it with a ribbon at the nape of her neck and covered her head with a flat woollen cap. Finally she picked up the chamber pot, draped a linen towel over the top and went over to the door.

She pressed her ear to the wood, but could hear nothing. Slowly she turned the key and eased the door ajar. The next chamber was dark, but a light showed beneath the door opposite. Coby crept across the room and listened at the far door. A faint rustling, as of the pages of a book turning. Best to act like someone who had every right to be there. She seized the handle and opened the door.

Erishen woke with a start. He thought he had heard someone cry out, but the house was silent. Reaching out in the darkness he felt Kiiren sleeping at his side, sprawled carelessly on his back. Erishen eased out of bed and fumbled with flint and tinder, cursing the primitive humans for their ignorance of lightwater. A creak of floorboards from the outer room, and a muffled cry. Erishen stood between the door and the bed, unlit candlestick in hand.

The latch clicked up and the door swung open, letting in the warm, diffuse light of a lantern. Erishen could see only a dark shape behind it, but below the lantern a sword blade gleamed like molten gold.

“
Nehetsjelen!
” he hissed. “
Adringsjelen!
”

“Hold, demon! Depart that poor wretch’s body or we will burn you from it!”

“I am not one of your demons,” Erishen replied. “Though you may come to wish I were.”

Behind him, Kiiren began to stir. The man with the lantern stepped into the room; as Erishen had suspected, it was Frogmore. One of his confederates filled the doorway behind him, also bearing a sword. Frogmore jerked his head to the side.

“Take the child; we will exorcise the demon from him after I have disposed of this one.”

The second man edged round behind his leader, eyes darting nervously from Erishen to Kiiren and back.

“Touch him and I will destroy you,” Erishen said softly.

The Huntsman lifted the cross hanging from his neck to his lips. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

Erishen reached out to Kiiren and felt the power of the dreamlands flood his limbs. A green glow filled the air behind him, mingling with the lamplight to give their attackers’ faces a sickly yellow hue.

“I give you one last warning,” Erishen told them.

The Huntsman charged the bed, sword hacking at Erishen, who ducked so that the blade whistled over his head and slammed into the bedpost. Erishen straightened and kicked him hard in the groin, so that he fell backwards, dropping his sword and groaning. That left only Frogmore. Erishen threw the candlestick at him, but his opponent was not so easily put off. Frogmore advanced on the bed, making short rapid feints with his blade. Erishen edged back until the bedframe pressed into his calves. If the steel touched him or his magic…