The Prince of Lies: Night's Masque - Book 3 (45 page)

“Do we all have spirit-guards?” Coby asked.

“We still have ours,” Ned replied, patting his throat. “Monkton searched us for weapons, but either he didn’t care about magic–”

“Or he doesn’t know what his allies are,” Gabriel finished for him.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Mal said. “There’s no reason to advertise their powers to men like Monkton.”

“I have a spare spirit-guard,” Sandy said. “I brought it for Kit, in case.”

“Good. Then we are protected from their magics, at least.”

“Unless they have new magics,” Coby said. “You said Shawe was up to something with his alchemy, something to do with iron that isn’t iron?”

“I don’t know what he’s up to,” Mal said. “But it won’t be good, whatever it is. We need to get there before nightfall and scout the place out. Ned, you got us fresh horses?”

Ned shrugged. “Yes, of sorts.”

“Show me.” Mal folded up the map. “Everyone else, get ready to ride out.”

He followed Ned down to the inn’s stables.

“This is the best you could do?”

Mal walked along the line of stalls, surveying the motley collection of beasts. Three of the five seemed sound enough, but the chestnut pony looked to be well past his prime and the grey had an awkward stance that suggested he’d be lame before they reached the other side of town.

“The ostler wouldn’t let me choose,” Ned folded his arms, defensive. “Said I had to take the five nearest the stable door, or none.”

“Did he now? We’ll see about that.” Mal untied the pony’s lead rope. “Get the other three saddled up ready to leave.”

He led the chestnut and the grey into the town, to the livery stables in Trumpington Street.

“Back so soon?” the ostler said, patting the pony’s nose. “Your man said you wanted these for a week.”

“I wanted five good horses, not these scrapings from the knacker’s yard.” Mal strolled down the stable, looking the horses over. “I’ll take the bay gelding and that piebald nag.”

“Sorry, sir, master’s orders. You take the ones nearest the door or none. Otherwise the best beasts get worked too hard.”

Mal drew his rapier and placed the tip below the ostler’s chin. The man’s eyebrows hitched up into his hairline.

“I’ll take the bay gelding,” Mal said slowly, “and the piebald nag.”

“The burgesses will hear of this,” the ostler squeaked, his eyes crossing as they tried to focus on the blade at his throat.

“And the King will hear of how you obstructed one of his officers in the course of his duty. Now get me those horses.”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

Mal led the way back through Cambridge, Sandy riding at his side and Hendricks – Ned couldn’t help thinking of her by her old name, now she was back in disguise – behind them. He and Gabriel brought up the rear on the two quietest beasts. Ned had packed bread, beer and cold meat, enough for a couple of days, since they didn’t want to announce their presence by stopping at inns. At least the weather was warm and dry, so they could sleep outdoors if it came to it.

Beyond the town ditch the road sloped gently upwards from the riverside pastures. Vast fields of wheat and cut stubble stretched on either side, untrammelled by hedges. The sun beat down on their heads like a hammer. It was a bare, exposed landscape which made Ned feel as insignificant as an ant crawling across a paved courtyard.

“Such a beautiful day, it seems unfair we should be heading towards our deaths,” Gabriel said softly.

“What?” Ned reined his pony in. “Who said anything about dying?”

“You think it will be easy, to snatch the boy from under the guisers’ noses?”

“No, but… It’s just a school. What threat can a few children be?”

“A school run by guisers,” Gabriel said. “We’ll be lucky to escape with our wits – and our souls – intact.”

Ned made the sign of the cross.

“You knew what you were getting into when we left London,” Gabriel added.

“Yes, but… It’s not like we really had a choice, is it?” He looked ahead, to where the twins were disappearing into the hazy distance. “Besides, any guisers come near me, we’ll see how much they like a buffet round the head with a steel fist.”

He dropped the reins and worked the mechanism in his false arm, opening the brass fingers to reveal the bumpy surface of the palm, studded with beads from a former spirit-guard. Gabriel rolled his eyes and nudged his horse closer until their knees bumped together.

“Just be careful,” his lover said in a low voice. “I don’t want to lose any more bits of you.”

“Any bits in particular you’d like me to hold onto?” Ned murmured, reaching across to squeeze Gabriel’s thigh.

Gabriel slapped his hand away. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” he said. “Especially when I’m jesting.”

Gabriel sighed and kicked his mount into a canter. Ned followed, clutching the reins with his good hand and praying he would make it as far as Stow without falling off.

CHAPTER XXXII

They had to ask directions twice more, and each time Coby grew more nervous. Shawe undoubtedly had been warned of their coming, could have posted sentries or be using magical means to spy on them…

“We’ll bring Kit home safe, don’t you fear,” Mal said at her elbow.

She turned with a start.

“I didn’t even see you ride up–”

“Too busy looking ahead, eh?”

He gestured down the road. All that could be seen from here was smoke rising from behind a wall of trees, but she guessed they had reached the priory. She told him about her concerns.

“Undoubtedly true, but what choice do we have?”

“None,” she sighed.

She reached out, and he took her hand and bent to kiss it. The mismatched trots of their mounts slammed her knuckles against his mouth.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

He looked up and grinned at her. “There, that’s better. It’s good to see you smile, if only for a moment.”

She nodded and looked away, tears welling in her eyes again. Even a kind word was more than she could bear right now. Better to be firm of purpose and think only of what was needed to defeat their enemies. Cold steel, in hand and heart.

“You’ve done this before,” Mal said, seeming to catch her mood. “How do we go about it?”

“We should ride straight past the priory as if we were on our way elsewhere. Then tie up the horses and double back, look for a way onto the land without being seen. There must be gardens around the back, or outbuildings or something.”

“Of course. You did something similar at Suffolk’s house, when you rescued me.”

Coby managed a brief smile. “Just like old times. Though I’m glad it’s not just me and Ned this time.”

They rode a good half-mile past the entrance gate until they found a narrow path cutting through the woodland. Mal dismounted and motioned to the others to do likewise, and they led their horses deep into the trees. After a few hundred yards they came to a clearing, where a large blackened patch of ground marked the site of a charcoal-burner’s activity. The nearby hut was sound but clearly had not been occupied in weeks; a thick flush of summer weeds blocked the door.

“This is a good a place as any to leave the horses, I reckon,” Mal said.

He forced his way into the hut, and he and Ned deposited their supplies. Meanwhile Sandy went round the horses, touching his forehead to each one’s muzzle and murmuring something to it in a foreign tongue. When he was done, the beasts went back to grazing the long grass around the edge of the clearing.

“What did you do to them?” Gabriel asked.

“I simply calmed their thoughts, so that they will stay here without needing to be fettered. Much easier to flee quickly that way.”

“We’ll scout out the grounds first,” Mal said as he emerged from the hut. “One of us should wait here with the horses, just in case.”

Gabriel stared pointedly at Ned, who reluctantly put up his hand.

“I’ll stay. I won’t be much use in a fight anyway.”

“Very well. Everyone else, weapons at the ready. Shawe has no doubt been alerted by his allies in London, so they’ll be expecting us.”

“Are we going to have to fight our way in, like Venice?” Coby asked, trying to keep her voice level for Mal’s sake.

“Not if I can help it. We don’t want to give them an excuse to threaten Kit.”

“Then how…?”

“We’ll work that out when we’ve scouted the grounds and gained a better estimate of how many of them there are and what their defences might be.”

“What if there are children in there, as young as Kit?” Coby said. “It’s one thing to take on a grown man like Shawe, but I won’t harm the little ones.”

“I know. Leave one pistol unloaded, if you must, and use it only to threaten. But charge one with steel shot and powder, just in case.”

They walked in single file down the path, Mal and Sandy going first as they had done on the road. Coby winced at every crack of twig underfoot; sneaking around muddy alleys was much easier than this.

Distracted by worrying about where to put her feet, Coby almost collided with Mal, who turned and raised a finger to his lips. The wood thinned out ahead, revealing a jumble of ruined walls half-submerged in ivy and brambles. The remains of the former priory, dissolved around seventy years ago. Coby frowned. There was nothing here to hide from.

Then she saw him: a boy of sixteen or so, pale as death, walking glazed-eyed amongst the ruins as if in a dream. The boy skimmed his hands over the brambles, heedless of their scratching, until blood dripped from his palms. He wandered in what they assumed was the direction of the school, then turned and retraced his steps like a sleepwalking sentry. After a few moments he passed through a gap in a waist-high wall and disappeared into the ruins. She glanced at Mal, who shook his head and mouthed one word.
Wait
.

The boy repeated his patrol twice more. The next time he went into the ruins, Mal beckoned them all close.

“What was that?” Gabriel hissed.

“Another of Shawe’s victims?” Coby said. “It looks like Martin’s not the only madman they’ve created.”

“Still, it gives me an idea,” Mal replied. “Parrish, wait here. Sandy, the spare spirit-guard, if I may?”

Mal crouched by the entrance to the ruins, his brother at his side. On the opposite side of the broken doorway Coby crouched likewise. Mal flicked his fingers at her, urging her further back. She nodded and obeyed, until she was hidden in the shadowed undergrowth. He turned his attention back to the path and took hold of the other end of the spirit-guard so that it hung between his hands like a garrotte.

Slow, erratic footsteps approached. Mal tensed, ready to spring up. As the youth stepped out through the doorway a bleating noise came from Coby’s direction, like a lost lamb calling for its mother. The boy’s head whipped round and he halted. Took a step towards her.

Mal leapt to his feet and threw the string of steel beads around the throat of the boy, who cried out briefly before Sandy could get his hand over his mouth. Mal cursed and snapped the clasp of the spirit-guard shut.

“Not another sound,” he hissed, drawing his dagger and putting it to the boy’s throat.

Coby emerged from the bushes looking dishevelled.

“Tie his wrists,” Mal told her. “Now, lad, how many of you are there at the house?”

The boy’s eyes darted from Mal to Sandy and back.

“What? Who are you? Where am I?” He made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat. “Sweet Jesu, what have you done to my hands?”

“The iron must have dispelled whatever enchantments were put on him,” Coby said. She bent and began cleaning his scratched palms with her handkerchief.

“Or he feigns very well,” Mal said. “Sandy, can you get anything out of him?”

His brother shook his head.

“Not with this on,” he said, gesturing to the spirit-guard.

“Well we can’t very well take it off him.” Mal took hold of the boy’s jaw and turned his head to one side. “What’s this?”

He frowned at the blue crystal dangling from the boy’s left earlobe. It looked remarkably like the one he had found in Shawe’s workshop.

“Well, if we ever doubted this was the right place…”

“What’s it for, do you reckon?” Coby asked.

“Some kind of spirit-guard that doesn’t impede their own magic, perhaps?” Mal replied. “I dare say we’ll find out soon enough.”

He seized the boy’s elbow and marched him back to where Gabriel was waiting.

“Take care of this one. Gag him and bind him further if need be, but whatever you do, don’t remove his necklace.” He ushered them back towards the clearing. “Come, we have to be quick, before he’s missed. It can’t be long until suppertime.”

“What are we going to do?” Coby asked, trotting by his side.

He grinned at her. “What we do best.”

“Catlyn?”

Kit blinked and looked up. He had been left alone in the dormitory whilst the other boys had their lessons, and after much pacing and fretting about Sidney he had finally settled down for a nap, thinking to save his strength for an escape before nightfall.

“Is it time for supper?”

“Not for you.” One of the older boys – Flint, he thought his name was – was leaning over him. “We have more important business. Get up.”

Kit did so, heart fluttering in his throat.

“Is this the test?” he whispered. “I thought that wasn’t until tonight.”

For an answer, Flint threw a bundle of something at him.

“Put that on.”

It was a pale woollen robe with no fastenings, just a hole to put your head through and long sleeves that came down to Kit’s knuckles, as if it had been made for a taller boy. It dragged on the floor a little too, and he had to lift it like a girl as he followed Flint across the dormitory to the stairwell and pattered down the cold steps on bare feet. Flint opened the door at the far end of the dining hall and ushered Kit through.

Even though it was not dark outside yet, the great chamber was lit with dozens of candles, illuminating a low bench draped in dark blue velvet that stood in the centre of the room. Master Fox stood at one end, holding a brass bowl from which rose thin wisps of smoke; Master Shawe stood at the other with a knife whose blade glinted like frozen night air. Kit halted. What was all this?