The 48

by Donna Hosie

  “What is any of this to you?” I cried. “What I do in my own time—”

  “Your time?” replied Cromwell coolly. “Your time? Your time is the king’s time, and by rights, my time. Save His Majesty, I am the most powerful man in this court. And for a reason, Cleves. I make everyone’s business my business. Now, where is your father? Is he planning a rebellion?”

  “That’s nonsense. No, of course not.”

  “Then where is he?” demanded Cromwell.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And what of your feelings for the maid?”

  “Alice is a girl I have had relations with before. I care for her.”

  “Is she with child?”

  “No!”

  “And your intentions as to Lady Jane?”

  “She is a lady of the court. I speak to many in the court.”

  “You do not wish her for yourself?”

  “No!”

  “Is your brother spying for the Seymours?”

  “No!” I cried. “Sir, this is madness.”

  “You will no longer speak to Lady Jane,” ordered Cromwell. “I have both you and your brother under my thumb. I can make you or destroy you, Cleves. Greater men have gone to the block for less than what this paper implies.”

  “What do you want me to do?” The blood was still rushing in my ears. “I told you that I was your man in the court—I still am.”

  “I want you to go to the queen’s chamber,” replied Cromwell. The steady measure of his voice was unnerving. It reminded me so much of Grinch, Asix, and Piermont, and the other Assets who managed to survive into their forties. Self-preservation was all that mattered to Cromwell.

  “I will,” I replied obediently.

  “You are to continue to watch her movements as you have done thus far,” continued the chief minister. “I now want to know every person who enters and leaves her rooms. I want a record of every conversation. Every flutter of the eyelashes. Every heaving of the breast. Every mannerism, every whisper, and every touch. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The word came out as more of a gasp.

  “Leave now.”

  With my legs buckling at the knees, I made my way to the door of Cromwell’s grand rooms.

  “One last word, Cleves,” called Cromwell. I turned around, steadying myself by placing my hand on the doorframe.

  “Yes?”

  “If your brother survives, he would do well not to take any more late-night strolls with the yeomen of the guard, especially with the one named Marlon Chancery. It is extraordinary how well my eyes see in the dark.”

  “What are you—”

  “Alexander would do well to make a match with Lady Margaret. She is keen…and willing to do anything it takes to find a match abroad.”

  A shadow crossed Cromwell’s face, but I could see the smirk.

  * * *

  —

  The scroll was still in my hand as I lurched into the corridor. I held the thick parchment to the nearest candle and watched it take the flame. Cromwell would have another copy—probably several. I was under no illusion that I was protecting myself by destroying the scroll with my name written on it. But I had to get rid of it still.

  Cromwell had said that Lady Margaret was willing to do anything to find a match abroad. Had she given my name to Cromwell? Why? To see that she was married to my brother, just to escape this court of blood and ashes?

  I heard a cough behind me and I jumped.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, Charles,” said Jane Seymour. She was with another lady, much younger than herself, who must have been a maid of honor. She looked no older than twelve.

  “Lady…”

  “Charles, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing…I…”

  “I wanted to inquire as to your brother’s health,” said Jane, concern painted across her pale face. “I have not seen you since that night…”

  “I can’t…I can’t speak…” My hands were shaking

  “Charles, you are ailing. What is wrong? What has happened? Is it your brother?”

  “No…yes…”

  “Charles, you are frightening me. What has happened? You must tell me.”

  “Not here,” I gasped.

  “Then let us go where we will not be heard,” whispered Jane, glancing at Cromwell’s door. She held out her hand for me to take. The other lady was as still as a marble statue. Could I trust her to keep my meeting with Jane secret? Could I trust anyone?

  Why wasn’t I running as far away from Jane Seymour as I could get? My brother and I had just been threatened with death by the king’s chief minister. If it came to it, it would be Lady Margaret’s word against mine. Accusations of spying, rebellion, homosexuality, and treason would surface. They would cut off our heads where we stood if I didn’t do what Cromwell wanted.

  But keeping Jane away from Henry was my assignment from The 48, and that took precedence over everything…didn’t it?

  “How…how are you, mil…milady?” I asked, slipping my hand underneath Jane’s to escort her away.

  “I am well, Charles,” replied Jane. “Which, alas, is more than can be said of you. You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

  I stole a deep breath and held it. Be calm, I demanded of myself.

  This is Jane.

  Your objective.

  Your assignment.

  But she was also my friend now.

  And I was not a coward. I would not run from Cromwell like a little boy. He had no right to try to control me like this. I had allowed my body and mind to betray me for a moment, but I was a trained Asset. I could handle worse than Cromwell.

  “I have not seen a ghost, milady…but I am aware that I look and smell like death,” I said slowly. Jane gave a nervous giggle. It was a lovely sound.

  I looked behind us. The young maid had fallen back at least five steps in deference to our higher standing.

  “You do yourself an injustice,” said Jane. “I would not go so far as to say death. Perhaps scrofula?”

  I shouldn’t be playing this game. Not here. Not anywhere. But Jane was doing a wonderful job of calming me down. I could actually feel my heartbeat slowing inside my chest.

  “Perchance the plague?” I said, dangerously continuing the game. The feeling was empowering—a sensation I hadn’t felt since that first game of archery with the king.

  “No, not the plague—the sweats?” suggested Jane.

  “Puerperal fever?” I added, and Jane giggled again.

  We continued on in a comfortable silence, passing tapestries and a large painting of a castle.

  “Are you attending the joust tomorrow?” asked Jane.

  “Will you be there?” I asked quietly.

  “I will. The queen has asked for all her ladies to attend to her on the royal dais.”

  “Then as I will be in service of the king, I will see you there also,” I replied, dropping Jane’s hand as we reached the end of the corridor. I turned and bowed to both ladies.

  “But you’ve not yet told me how your brother fares,” said Jane.

  “He is healing, milady,” I lied.

  “Please send him my regards,” said Jane. “His smile and witticisms are much missed in the court.”

  “I will,” I said. We stood there, looking at each other. Her skin was so pale, it was almost translucent. She had freckles dotted around her nose. I had done her such an injustice when I first saw her. She was lovely inside—and out.

  The bang of a door brought me to my senses. It wasn’t in the direction of Cromwell’s lodgings, but it was enough to cause my stomach to lurch and the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle.

  I bowed to the two ladies again and left without another word.

  The sound of Jane’s laugh stayed with me until I reached t
he gardens of Greenwich.

  * * *

  —

  Cromwell had ordered me to go to the queen’s rooms. But before I made my way there, I had to check on my brother. I opened the door a crack and saw Alice at his side.

  She barely glanced at me as I entered the room. She was too busy watching an elderly man with a long white beard. The aroma from three open bowls of sweet-smelling liquid permeated the room. The man was leaning over my brother’s back. At first I thought he was dabbing small white buds of cotton onto the wounds, but then I saw one of them wriggle between the old man’s fingertips.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped, and then I realized.

  Maggots. Amazing little creatures. Place a maggot in a wound and it would eat the damaged flesh and leave the good flesh alone.

  “Was this your idea?” I asked Alice.

  “Well, it wasn’t yours.”

  “It’s brilliant,” I said softly.

  “I try.”

  The old man placed a few more maggots on my brother’s back and then stood. “I don’t think he requires more,” he said. Alice and I nodded our thanks.

  When he had left, I turned to Alice. “Welcome to Greenwich. Are you still pissed at me?”

  “Nice to be here, and I’m always pissed at you,” she replied. She picked up a maggot and held it in a pincerlike grip.

  “Stop…flirting…over…maggots,” groaned Alex. He flapped his right hand, feebly trying to get my attention.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, pressing my hand against his forehead. My hands were still sweaty after the meetings with Cromwell and Jane Seymour, and Alex’s skin was slick with perspiration.

  “Not dead…yet,” replied my brother, his voice half muffled by a pillow.

  “I’ve been ordered to up the spying on the queen, but I’ll come back as often as I can to check on you.”

  “What about…Jane?” said Alex; his voice crackled like sandpaper against brick. “You can’t…do…this…assignment…by yourself.”

  “Yes, I can,” I replied. I decided there and then not to tell him about Lady Margaret’s intentions toward him, or the list of names that Cromwell was threatening me with. “So you just lie here and accept that you’re maggot bait for a day or two. You’ll be fighting fit by the time we go critical.”

  “How many days…until that stage?”

  “Twelve.” My heart hurt at the realization that my brother was too weak to look at his own wrist.

  “Stay safe,” moaned Alex.

  “I’m not the one who needs to be told,” I replied.

  “Is it done?”

  Marlon had entered the room, looking rather green around the edges. Without a guard’s hardened exterior fixed in place, he actually looked younger than my brother.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “I asked that Alexander not be left alone.”

  “Blood I can cope with, but debridement…” Marlon shuddered. “Maggots are difficult to tolerate when you have accidentally eaten a mouthful of them in your broth.”

  “Go, Charles,” said Alex feebly. “I’m going…to drink myself into…a twelve-day…sleep…”

  There was a goblet of creamy white liquid on a table. Alex was being given more opium.

  * * *

  —

  Alice caught up with me as I reached the door.

  “I’ll walk with you,” she said.

  “How is Anne’s mood right now?” I whispered as we walked down the corridor toward Anne’s court. I could hear raised voices in the distance. One was female. Accented English. Angry. The other was male. Native English. Pleading.

  “It’s hard to say. She seems hell-bent on acting normally. Earlier she demanded lace so she and her ladies-in-waiting can make favors for the knights.” She showed me her pockets, which were stuffed with lace scraps.

  “The queen would be better off packing and getting herself away. Everything’s about to go down, Alice. And there’s something you should know.”

  “What?”

  “Cromwell has his list of traitors—and I’m on it if I don’t do his bidding. He doesn’t actually suspect me of sleeping with Anne—but he knows the Cleves family is keeping something from him.”

  “We could run away,” suggested Alice. “Just until your countdown is due to reach zero. And then we could just keep on running when we get back to the future. Away from The 48, away from everything.”

  “And what would we do then?” I didn’t expect the sarcasm in my voice, but it was there. Dripping down the stone walls, making the flames on the candles flicker.

  The raised voices in Anne’s court were getting louder.

  “We would be together. We’ll take Alex and settle abroad where it’s safer.”

  “Nowhere is safe from The 48, Alice. Whatever is happening there at the moment, they’d find us.”

  “We could at least try.”

  “Listen, you’d better get the queen her lace. I need to think of an excuse to go in there, and it’s better if we don’t show up together anyway. Cromwell already thinks we spend too much time together. He asked if you were pregnant.”

  Alice swore. I couldn’t help but smile at the indignant look on her face. It felt good to smile.

  We reached the door leading to the queen’s rooms. A few yards away, a tall woman in a moss-green dress was gazing out of the window in the hallway. Alice took a couple of seconds to compose herself, and then, with her body hunched and subservient, she disappeared into Anne’s court.

  I leaned back against the stone wall, thinking I should probably just improvise. Which seemed fitting, seeing how nothing was going according to plan on this assignment. It hadn’t from the moment we had met Grinch in the Louvre.

  I walked over to the window. I just wanted to press my head against the cool glass for a moment before—

  “Bonjour, Charles.”

  The feeling of déjà vu swept over me as the woman in green turned around.

  It was Grinch.

  The door.

  I heard it creak.

  Felt the cool breeze of air brush my skin.

  I had been dreaming. About Jane Seymour and the assignment to eradicate religion.

  “Lady Jane.” I had said her name while dreaming.

  No. Not dreaming. I had been in a nightmare.

  I couldn’t breathe. White, fluffy clouds had been replaced by dark shadows. A storm. Lightning flashed across my retinas. Brilliant white light.

  I couldn’t breathe. The pressure was building up behind my eyes. I shook my head. Something was pressing down on my face. A heavy mass.

  I wanted to cry for help, but sleep paralysis had me in its grip.

  No, not sleep paralysis. I could feel pain. In my back and my leg.

  Not dark shadows. A pillow. Being held over my face.

  Even now, a Tenet sprang to mind.

  Asphyxia, from the ancient Greek for without and sphyxis, meaning squeeze, is an ideal route for disposal if the subject is already incapacitated and the Asset has the luxury of time. It is not the lack of oxygen that kills. It is the buildup of CO2. Coma and death can be achieved in less than three minutes.

  Charlie!

  A time-traveling Grinch had not lost the sickly green tinge to her skin that everyone at The 48 had come to associate with this Asset. The smell of mint permeated the corridor.

  And then I saw the swollen purple scar that ran in a curve from Grinch’s left ear to her throat.

  Grinch must have noticed my eyes trailing downward, because she pulled up a green silk cowl that was attached to the neckline of her dress.

  “What are you doing here?” I gasped.

  “I am here to see you and your brother,” replied Grinch. Her voice was even deeper than before, but it also had an artificial twang to it, like a synthesizer.

&n
bsp; “Why?”

  Alice’s name was on the tip of my tongue. It stayed there. I no longer trusted Assets. The realization was terrifying and liberating in equal measure.

  “You need protection and guidance, as events are now unfolding at The 48 that I had not foreseen,” replied Grinch. “We are under attack, Charles. From forces outside The 48, and from within its own walls. I will not explain further here. I wanted to make contact with you, and I will do the same with your brother, although Alexander will follow your lead, which is why I am approaching you first.”

  “Is this to do with something called the Rewriting? Alex—”

  The sound of footsteps reached our ears as a pair of yeomen rounded the corner ahead. I silently cursed them.

  “I will make contact again, Charles,” said Grinch. “When we have more time and are unlikely to be interrupted. I am known in this court. Unlike others, I have freedom to move around here.”

  “What’s the Rewriting? Alex has been badly hurt, and those who beat him kept saying that word.”

  “Be on your guard, Charles,” whispered Grinch, ignoring my question. “Trust no one. From this time, or your own.”

  The yeomen were closer.

  “Why did you drag Alice back here?” I asked urgently.

  “Stay in the shadows, Charles. Do not forget your assignment. The 48 is all that matters.”

  Her voice was starting to break. Spit was pooling in her gums and hanging in gauzy drips across her teeth. She swallowed, but it was hard work. The grimace on her face couldn’t be hidden by the cowl, and a slight pink tinge mixed with the jaundiced color on her cheeks. Without another word, she limped past the next few windows and disappeared around the corner, just as the yeomen took positions outside the queen’s apartments.

  It only occurred to me once Grinch was out of sight that perhaps I should have asked her how she was. Because it was very obvious to me that someone had tried to slit her throat.

  * * *

  —

  “Charles of Cleves deigns to grace us with his presence,” called the queen as I was shown into her rooms. “Aren’t we fortunate?”