Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (45 page)

McGlashen had disguised himself well, trading his usual courtly finery for the leather jerkin and hessian trousers of a blacksmith. He was a big man, tall and gruff, and the clothes suited him.

Payne looked a little more comical in the guise of a pedlar, his uncommon good looks sullied by smears of mud and clay. It was he alone who managed a smile of greeting for Godfrey.

‘Is there a problem, Father?’ Payne murmured, sipping on his ale.

‘There had better be,’ McGlashen grunted. ‘I can’t say I’d be happy if I found I’d dragged myself down here for nothing. You know how tenuous our positions are.’

‘And they’re going to get a lot more tenuous before long.’

At the frowns of both men, Godfrey patted the breast of his jacket. ‘I have a letter here I received this morning. After confirming its authenticity, I came to an abrupt but inevitable conclusion.’

‘Who is the letter from?’ Payne asked quietly, though there was nobody within earshot.

‘Archdeacon Hilderic.’ Godfrey drew his mug of ale across the table and pretended to drink from it.

‘But he’s been on retreat since Caslemas, forbidden to make contact with anyone outside the monastery.’

Godfrey nodded. ‘Except that he isn’t on retreat any more. No, after months of contemplation and self-examination, prayer and solitude, it appears my old friend has decided that he has relied too much on others to do something about releasing McCauly from prison.’

‘By the gods!’ McGlashen breathed.

‘And well you might pray, Donal,’ Godfrey murmured. ‘Hilderic has taken himself to Mayenne, where he plans to lay the case before King Tirone. He believes that only Selar’s older brother is in a position to pressure Selar into freeing McCauly.’

‘And knowing Hilderic,’ Payne added, ‘he’ll also find some clumsy way of warning him of Selar’s plans for invasion.’

McGlashen started at that, then pinned his gaze on Godfrey. ‘Would he? Would he risk such a thing?’

Godfrey nodded. ‘You have no idea how strongly he feels about the whole thing. Years of forced obedience to Selar have taken their toll. He hasn’t been the same since Domnhall died.’

There was silence for a moment, as the two lords evaluated their own positions. In the end it was McGlashen who asked the inevitable question.

‘And your conclusion?’

Godfrey took a deep breath. ‘We have no more time to lose. Bishop McCauly has been in prison so long now that most people are beginning to forget that he should never have been put there in the first place. Selar has never made any attempt to bring charges of treason against him because he knew he would only make a martyr out of him. I know we waited out the winter because there were already so many soldiers roaming the country looking for the Queen. I know it wasn’t safe – I accept that. But one day – soon – the guards will open McCauly’s cell and find him dead of some . . . unfortunate medical condition. And who will care? Who will really notice? Now I can’t tell you when that day will come, but I can tell you that the moment Selar finds that somebody has approached Tirone on McCauly’s behalf, he will give the order immediately.’

‘But’ – Payne began, glancing at McGlashen for support – ‘we dare not do anything until—’

‘We don’t have time to wait for Selar to decide to move McCauly,’ McGlashen hissed. ‘Godfrey is right. We have to move now. If we don’t, McCauly will die.’

Godfrey’s throat was suddenly dry, as if his courage had lasted only long enough to gain agreement. He forced himself
to take a mouthful of the foul ale and swallow it. Then he stood. ‘Can you do it?’

McGlashen looked down at his hands a moment and shrugged. ‘His cell is almost impenetrable, but there might be a way. Hell, Father, if it was going to be easy, we would have done it months ago. I just don’t know.’

‘We can’t wait any longer, but . . . Organize what you can and I may – I won’t promise – but I may be able to find something that will help you. When can you move?’

McGlashen frowned, but didn’t ask any questions. ‘The soonest I can arrange it will be in two days. And with any luck, I might even have a place he can be taken to where no one will give him away.’

‘The Queen wouldn’t happen to be there, too?’ Payne murmured with some attempt at humour.

‘Oh, I hope not,’ McGlashen grunted. ‘They wouldn’t like that at all.’

*

Selar was in the garden playing a ball game with his squires when Nash found him. But rather than approach, Nash stayed within the oak shadows created by a refreshed sun and waited until Valena turned her attention from the game. With a simple gesture, he summoned her away from the other ladies watching the sport, drawing her deeper into the shadows.

‘I don’t have much time and I don’t really want to speak to him again today,’ Nash said by way of explanation. ‘He’ll only harass me again on the dreaded subject of his brat.’

‘Oh, poor Nash,’ Valena pouted and ran her fingers down his throat.

Nash snatched her hand away. ‘I’ve told you before not to touch me in public. As long as Selar thinks you’re a sweet innocent girl, he’ll keep trying to get you into his bed. If he thought for one moment that you and I—’

‘Oh, all right.’ Valena’s pout was real this time and she took a step back. ‘So where are you off to now? More Queen chasing? Hasn’t DeMassey done his job yet?’

‘The last I heard he was pursuing his most promising lead – but he didn’t say where. I just wish he would hurry up. I
can’t complete Selar’s Bonding until Kenrick comes back. In the meantime, I must go off and do my duty.’

‘Where?’

‘Eachern’s bleak castle. There are some council papers he must sign.’

Valena froze, her mouth framing a small ‘o’. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she whispered, ‘And will you see her? The Ally? She’s not been out of that place since the wedding.’

Nash shook his head, running a tired hand through his trimmed beard. ‘I should have kept closer watch on her while she was still within my grasp at Shan Moss. I should have been around to prevent that damned wedding.’

‘But now it’s too late and . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Nash grunted, peering once more in Selar’s direction. He was still wholly engaged in his game, his back to the trees where they hid. ‘While she’s in Eachern’s grasp, the Enemy will get nowhere near her. However, the time has come when I must begin work on her. I believe the library will soon be mine and then there’ll be no stopping us.’

‘Not even the Enemy?’ Valena asked, her eyes sparkling.

‘No. Not even the Enemy.’ There was no telling now where Finnlay Douglas might be. As far as Nash could tell, he hadn’t once been outside the protection of the Key from the moment he’d escaped Bairdenscoth. But one thing was certain, he hadn’t been anywhere near the Ally – and that was enough. By the time Nash did find Finnlay, it would be too late. The Ally would already be turned and the Enemy would not have a chance.

‘I want you to send me word,’ Nash continued, ‘the moment you hear from DeMassey. Send Lisson – he can always find me, no matter where I am. In the meantime, you are to continue to encourage Selar to plan his war with Mayenne. If the library proves me wrong and the Key turns out to be across the border, I’ll need a conquest to get to it.’

‘As you wish, my love,’ Valena murmured seductively. Then, blowing a kiss in his direction, she glided back to the other ladies and merged among them.

But lovely though she was, Valena would never be the Ally. Only one person could take that place. Jennifer Ross, now Duchess of Eachern.

Nash left the garden and made for the stables. He couldn’t wait to see her.

*

Osbert stepped back from Vaughn’s reclining figure and stumbled to the nearest chair. The Proctor sat stretched out in his favourite seat, his eyes glazed and dull, his mouth open and slack. That long face, so often wrinkled in contempt, now lay flaccid and weak, devoid of any expression at all. At his elbow sat the empty wine cup in which Osbert had placed a few drops of the precious liquid.

The fire crackled to his left and Osbert glanced at it before rubbing his hands over his face. He still couldn’t absorb it all, the incredible things Vaughn had told him under the influence of the drug.

Vaughn wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. He would sleep and wake with the dawn refreshed and unknowing.

A tangled web of lies and secrets, all hidden in the Proctor’s mind. Suspicions and fears which drove him to such desperate acts. The drug had worked, yes, but the effects seemed limited. Osbert was loath to push Vaughn any further for fear of giving him something he would remember.

Suddenly charged with unease, Osbert rose and made straight for the wall behind Vaughn’s desk. There he felt along the edge of the first stone slab, his heart beating wildly against both failure and success. Abruptly, his finger stopped on a sharp point of metal protruding from a slim crack between two stones. Without pausing, Osbert moved it up and heard a click. He placed both hands on the stone and pushed forward with all his strength. With a groan as if from the depths of hell, the stone swung back, taking its neighbours with it. It was a great door, exactly as Vaughn had said.

Osbert paused when the gap in the wall was just big enough for him. Then he grabbed the nearest candle and squeezed through. The room was tiny, and icy cold. The
smell of damp, dust and mould assaulted his senses. This room was as old as the Hall. It had been built entirely for this purpose. The ceiling was high and the walls covered in shelves.

But they were empty.

Just as Vaughn had said.

With a groan which bordered on relief, Osbert sank back against the shelves and tried to think.

Three times before, Vaughn had hinted at some way to find out if a man was a sorcerer – but even with his suspicions, Vaughn had tonight admitted to being too afraid, so far, to look up the knowledge needed to fight sorcery. Even so, the only source of such information had to be this ancient library. But Vaughn, fearful of Nash, had hidden the books, taken them even from this secret hideaway.

‘Where none shall look, and none shall find,’ Osbert repeated into the silence.

He’d tried, but Vaughn had not succumbed to the push to tell Osbert where the books were now.

Gathering himself, Osbert left the room and pushed the door back into place. Vaughn would never know the room had been disturbed. But what to do now? What was he to tell Nash?

Would Nash kill Vaughn to find these books? It was certain the Proctor was the only man alive who knew of their whereabouts – so he was safe for the moment. Nash had left the capital that day, so there was no immediate need for a response from Osbert, but even so, he would have to tell Nash something.

There was only one way to protect both library and Vaughn: Osbert would have to manufacture a lie, good enough to fool the sharp eyes of Nash. Bring books in here himself. A few innocuous, older, dusty things nobody cared about any more – and many others. He could burn them, leaving the ashes for Nash to find. The ashes, and a few useless pages as evidence, then claim that Vaughn had put a torch to the lot rather than have them fall into the wrong hands. Of course, Osbert had been too late to stop it.

Yes. A frail, thin lie, but it would be enough.

Enough to stop Nash?

Yes. He would do it tonight, while Vaughn slumbered under the drug. And when Nash came back to Marsay, Osbert would have the lie all ready to show him.

Briskly now, he cleaned up the evidence of his interrogation. He splashed the remains of Vaughn’s drink into the fire, then ran a drop more wine around inside the cup. He left it beside Vaughn’s chair, then straightened his robes. With one more glance at the sleeping Proctor, Osbert headed out of the room.

At last, he knew exactly what he had to do.

*

John collected the two books from the binder’s and went back out into the morning light. Every day the weather grew warmer as summer approached. Every day John revelled as the memory of a long winter faded. He made his way through the town and up the hill to the cloister gate. He was barely inside before he realized he was being followed. He stopped and turned around: Godfrey was standing in the shadows of a great arch carved centuries ago with a vine of oak leaves.

‘What have you got there?’

John glanced down at his bundle. ‘Some of Hilderic’s books. The covers were worn so I thought I’d get them repaired while he was away. I was just about to take them back to his study.’

Godfrey nodded slowly. ‘I’ll walk with you, Father.’

There was something about the careful stillness in Godfrey that made John suddenly wary. They walked in silence until they reached the study. The windows were open, the curtains away being washed. There were piles of books on the floor and tables, while the shelves were almost empty.

‘You’ve kept yourself busy, I see,’ Godfrey noted, wandering around the room. ‘Dusting too? My, you are diligent.’

John placed his books on the corner of the bigger table and pretended to resume his work. He picked up a cloth and bottle of oil and turned to the nearest shelf, but the sound of the door closing made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder to find Godfrey watching him.

‘We need to talk, John.’

‘We . . . we do?’ John stammered.

Godfrey moved among the furniture and piles of books to stand on the other side of the table. ‘I never asked, did I? I never once questioned what you were doing that night with Robert. I left you alone and trusted that you were not breaking the law or your vows. Tell me, was I right to do so?’

‘I . . . I’m sorry, Deacon, I don’t understand . . .’

‘It’s simple. You once asked me if you could help. I want to know if you can.’

John’s mouth felt suddenly dry and his heart leaped into his throat. He couldn’t force a single word out.

‘You’ve no need to be nervous, John,’ Godfrey murmured, his face losing its hardness. ‘Though I’m surprised you managed to survive so long without being able to hide your fear of discovery better. Or is it just me?’

John swallowed and shook his head.

‘Oh, believe me, it’s not really your fault. You didn’t give yourself away, if that’s what’s bothering you. I had my doubts about Robert many years ago. We were close friends once – I hope we still are. But, let’s be honest here, after everything that’s happened lately, are you surprised I know the truth?’