by April White
“I’ll be out at the green. I’ve already done it so I can’t change it. I’m bringing Tom Landers back with me and he’ll be here to tell you the plan. Try not to eat him.”
I’d succeeded in turning the shock to a smirk. “If it was Adam, I don’t think I could make that promise. But I like Tom.”
If he was making a joke he would be okay. We would be okay.
He stared into my eyes like he was willing the information to seep from my brain into his.
“I’m sorry I can’t do this with you.” He sounded resigned. And bitter.
“Me too. You make better plans than I do.”
“Here’s a plan. Ringo’s safe now. Why don’t you take him back?”
I shook my head. “Even if I wanted to, he wouldn’t let me. They killed Elizabeth the first time. Neither of us will let it happen again.”
Archer closed his eyes as if everything hurt, and I could tell the sun must have risen because he couldn’t fight me anymore. I kissed him gently on the lips. “You have to be able to count on me. You always protect us when you’re awake, trust me to protect us when you’re asleep.”
He forced his eyes open to meet mine. “I do trust you.”
The thing was, I believed him. Because I knew how much it cost him to let me take care of myself.
“I’m choosing this, Archer. This is my fate because I say it is.” The last piece of fear broke free and I let it go. “I love you, and we will get through this.”
His eyes closed and I eased his head down onto the bedroll. I kissed his jaw before I rubbed my eyes tiredly.
Pancho sat up quietly and I knew he’d been listening.
“Tell me how I can help.”
Plan A
Elizabeth and Courtney were already back in the queen’s apartment by the time Pancho and I slipped in through the interconnecting rooms. An older Yeoman Warder was on duty outside her door, someone I hadn’t seen before. I wondered where Peterson was, and how long Lurch would be out, or if he’d even wake up.
“Where’s Ringo?” No preliminaries, just straight to the thing that mattered to me most in that moment.
“He’s gone to the kitchens to wash. Who is this?” Elizabeth’s eyes were on Pancho.
“Lady Elizabeth, meet Francis Wyatt, youngest brother of Thomas Wyatt.”
Pancho flinched. His brother was the reason Elizabeth was being held prisoner in the Tower of London. He bowed deeply. “My Lady. I am so very sorry my family has caused you such hardship and grief. Would that I could take it from you to carry as my own.”
Wow. Those were some pretty words. I guess there was something to be said for a noble upbringing.
There was a look of anguish on his face as Elizabeth lifted his chin. “Your brother’s actions were merely the timing of my imprisonment in this place. I have been a prisoner far longer than this, young master Wyatt. And in this moment, at least …” Elizabeth looked at me over Pancho’s head. “… I feel quite remarkably free.”
Ringo walked in at that moment, scrubbing his hair dry with a piece of linen cloth. He had on a fresh shirt and pants, a magnificent black eye, and the only thing I recognized, besides the cheeky grin on his face, were Connor’s boots.
I was grinning too. “Who’d you steal the clothes from?”
He shrugged. “Alvin. Left ‘im ‘is stockin’s though.”
“That was generous.” I gave him a hug despite the risk of hurting him, and the way he hugged me back let me know we were okay.
I pulled Mr. Shaw’s green medicine out of my pocket. “Sit,” I commanded. Surprisingly, he obeyed, and I was able to slather the ointment on the broken skin around his eye socket.
“Must’ve killed ye to let Mistress Courtney come for us, eh?”
He knew me that well. “I saw you through Archer. You were amazing. All of you.” I included Elizabeth and Courtney in my gaze.
Ringo looked at Elizabeth with pride. “Milady was brilliant. Until the day I die I’ll never forget the ‘orror on Alvin’s face to know ‘e’d been bested.”
Then his face turned serious again as he looked at me. “And his lordship? That fall broke bones, I’ll wager.”
My voice dropped to a strained whisper. “I thought he was dying.” Ringo gripped my hand and I held his gratefully. “I was so mad that he wouldn’t let me help …” I met his eyes meaningfully and Ringo’s expression told me he knew what I meant. I took a deep breath and let go of his hand. “But since I’m the reason you both got hurt, it’s pretty hypocritical to be mad.”
Ringo snorted. “Back to the hair shirt are ye?”
“I’m starting a collection. One in every color.”
“And damned arrogant, too.”
I looked at Ringo, startled. His eyebrow raised in a fair imitation of Archer’s. “T’ think we’d blindly follow ye wherever ye tell us to go? Give us both a little credit, would ye? We’re grown men. We know what we’re on about.”
The knots of guilt loosened in my stomach. “You’re right. You’re both right. And Archer’s healing while he sleeps, like he said he would.”
“Yer all witnesses, see? Saira Elian ‘as admitted someone besides ‘erself could be right.”
There was relieved laughter around me, and I included the others in my gaze as I sat back and wiped my hands clean. “And since I’m not the most right person in the room, I have an idea that I want to run past you all. It’s stupid and crazy and everything else that makes it a bad plan, but it’s bold enough that it might actually work.”
Elizabeth sent one of her other ladies for some food and ale, and we sat around the table in Ringo’s room discussing every feature and every flaw of my plan.
The main thing, as far as I was concerned, was keeping time intact. Ripples we could deal with. Inertia would take care of that – I hoped. A full-on split was the thing my history couldn’t handle. If Elizabeth hadn’t been queen for forty-four years everything from religion to exploration to the arts would have been different. For God’s sake, the woman was patroness to Shakespeare, Marlowe, Drake and Raleigh, none of whom would have had a chance in a Catholic England. And I told her so.
“You might be altering exactly what you wish to keep intact by telling me all of this.” Elizabeth seemed a little overwhelmed by the highlight reel of her reign.
“Maybe. But maybe I’m just telling you to be extraordinary. Because according to my history, you will be.”
“And if I choose not to be?” I could see the flash of defiance in her eyes and I bit back a smile. Because we were more alike than either of us would ever admit.
I looked her straight in the eyes, the way Mr. Shaw would have looked at me in the same situation. “Then none of this will have been worth it. We all will have risked everything for nothing. And that’s not who you are.”
The defiance was still there, but I knew the words landed with her.
Because they would have landed with me too.
Ringo got us back to business. “Personally, I like the flash-bang crowd-distractions of the plan. But gunpowder is locked in storerooms and under ‘eavier guard than she is.” He indicated Elizabeth, who had gone to the window and was staring out at the activity below her. I’d seen the view about an hour before, but the carpenters building a scaffold depressed me too much, and I’d stayed away from the window since then.
“I know that, but we can make some,” I said
His eyes narrowed, and then gleamed. Ringo was definitely not going to say no to explosives.
I continued, “But we need saltpeter and sulfur. And those are going to be pretty nasty to collect.”
I turned to Elizabeth. “Do you know where we can get an alembic?” Her eyes came into focus slowly. “It’s one of those glass retort containers chemists use to distill things.”
“The physik makes distillations. Perhaps we can get one from him?” She looked at Courtney for confirmation. Courtney nodded. “I bring him herbs sometimes. Show me how it looks and I shall ask him for one.”
> I drew one for her and she nodded. “I have seen such a thing in his chamber.”
“Can you find some cinnamon too?”
She looked startled. “Not easily.”
Oh, right. Not native to England. I pulled out the kit Ringo had put together before we came back in time, but kept Mr. Shaw’s cloth roll tucked in my dress. “Take anything in there you think you can trade. I need about this much.” I cupped the palm of my hand and her eyes got even bigger.
“Perhaps only the Lord Lieutenant’s cook would have that amount on hand.” She picked through the things on the table, then finally took a small paring knife, a needle and some embroidery thread. “These may do. I warn you, the alembic will be much easier to procure than the spice.”
And so the day went as we searched for the supplies. I sent a very reluctant Pancho outside the walls, to the field where the privies emptied, to scrape up the white saltpeter. Courtney left to trade for the cinnamon and some sulphur. I collected the urine concentrate from the privy myself. I wasn’t going to ask Ringo to go anywhere near a privy for a long time.
Elizabeth had the most important job of all. She had her Yeoman Warder guard escort her to the Lord Lieutenant’s lodgings where she made a plea for her life. The fake confession Ringo stole would have guaranteed the queen’s signature on her sister’s death warrant, but we hadn’t changed what had actually happened in history. The unsigned warrant would still go to Lord Brydges, and he was the only one who could officially stop Elizabeth’s execution. It was the key to keeping the historical damage down to the ripple variety, rather than full splitsville. It also helped make Elizabeth angry at the crappy hand she was being dealt, instead of resigned to whatever fate she thought she had.
And while Elizabeth and the guard were inside with Lord Brydges, Courtney and Pancho, disguised as one of Elizabeth’s ladies, were setting up a kind of trip wire outside the guard’s quarters. They used kitchen twine and a variation on the high-tension rabbit snare I’d learned from Alex. Pancho had grumbled about the dress but decided that trap-setting was worth it.
Meanwhile Ringo was stealing every glass jar and bottle he could get his hands on without getting caught. I felt a little bad that I’d been responsible for turning him back into a thief, but he just smirked and said he’d been getting bored anyway.
We turned the room beyond Ringo’s into a laboratory, and once I had the alembic I taught Ringo how to light a fire using a Maglite battery and the piece of steel wool I had kept with me ever since Mr. Shaw’s fire-starting class. Then we set the alembic up so the spout dripped into one of Ringo’s stolen bottles. We made a best-guess mixture of the urine, cinnamon and charcoal dust from the fireplace, and my little white phosphorus distillery was in business. I knew I was playing with something much more dangerous than fire, but with Ringo watching avidly over my shoulder and Mr. Shaw’s voice ringing in my ear, my confidence may have been a bit higher than common sense would dictate.
Pancho and Courtney returned first, and Ringo put them to work grinding up saltpeter and sulphur, while we planned the best way to test the ratios with charcoal for the most explosive gunpowder.
“There’s a tunnel that connects the Royal Apartments to the White Tower. We could go down there to try out explosiveness,” suggested Ringo.
“Because that’s a good idea,” I snorted, “explosives in an enclosed space. How are you going to light the gunpowder that we don’t even know works?” Despite my dry tone, I couldn’t help the little thrill of excitement I got at the word ‘tunnel,’ and I didn’t want to be responsible for collapsing something with such coolness potential.
Ringo looked at me like I was missing a couple pages of the script. “A fuse, a’course. What else?”
“Show me the tunnel.”
Mostly I just wanted to see the secret passage Ringo had found, but we really did need a way to test our concoction. The white phosphorus couldn’t be tested. It was a one-time deal. But the gunpowder was all about ratios, and I had absolutely no idea if we were even in the ballpark of something incendiary with our mix.
The entrance to the tunnel was under the northern kitchens, where the storage rooms had been built. Ringo showed me a small doorway behind some stacked crates that led to a low-ceilinged tunnel. The structure wasn’t particularly big or long, but the room it emptied into was much more interesting.
“We’re in a sub-crypt of St. John’s Chapel, under the White Tower.” Ringo’s whisper was dramatic and gave me a lovely chill. It was a fantastic space, with huge support pillars holding the arched brick ceiling. The only light came in through narrow slits near the upper corners, and I thought they must also provide the fresh air. We both instinctively circled the room, and Ringo was the one who spotted the anomaly in the wall at one end of the chamber. “What’s this?”
There was an uneven section in the wall, about chest-height, with the uniformity and size of a breadbox. I picked at the brick with fingertips, then resorted to using the tip of my knife to chisel it free. The piece looked like it had been added after the wall was built, and it didn’t take much to finally slide it out in one solid chunk. I was about to reach into the black hole, but hesitated, the victim of one too many horror films of grabby arms and biting creatures. Ringo reached in and removed a dusty wood box carved with scrolling vines and flowers. The woodwork was beautiful and looked old.
Ringo held the box so I could open it, and I gasped.
“There’s a jewel house right upstairs. Why hide the crown in the crypt?”
Ringo’s eyes gleamed with the gold of the small, plain circlet topped with a cross I’d unwrapped from a piece of velvet. “Don’t trust each other much, do they? Put it on.”
I shook my head. Uh uh. “No way. People who try on crowns they have no right to lose their heads. I may be superstitious, but there’s a reason Elizabeth is a prisoner in this place. And this crown is it.”
Ringo looked disappointed. “So I guess we shouldn’t give it to her either.”
“Not a chance. We should tell her where it is though. I have a feeling there are probably only about three people in England who know about this hiding spot. And two of us are here.”
I’d never heard anything about a secret stash of crown jewels being held anywhere else but the jewel house, but with the current political climate, she who controlled the crown might just control the kingdom.
I wrapped the hammered gold back up in the silk velvet cloth and replaced it in the case Ringo still held. He gave the box a last look of longing, then tucked it back into the recesses of the hole.
“Well, that was fun.” I tossed my braid over my shoulder. “Makes me feel a little like Lara Croft. Well, except for the long dress. And, you know … boobs.” I smirked at the look of horror on Ringo’s face. “The butt-kicking I can do though.”
He shook his head. I was clearly a lost cause in the arts of feminine delicacy. So just for good measure I took a running jump past him through a doorway into the next part of the cellar.
This room had potential. It was in the middle of the underground cellar complex and had no light slits to carry sound up to the surface. But best of all, there seemed to be a well in the floor. At least that’s what it sounded like when Ringo dropped a rock down it. I had clicked on my Maglite, and a quick tour of the space showed us the well was probably our best bet for explosives testing.
The carriage of sound was my biggest worry, but Ringo solved that problem for me. The cannons on the roof of the White Tower were fired twice a day, just after dawn and just before sunset. It wouldn’t give us much time to fix things if the gunpowder didn’t work, but at least the noise would mask a test.
As far as Ringo knew, the floor above us wasn’t used for munitions storage. So, as long as we didn’t accidentally blow anything up, we could probably get away with our plan. And once we found the right mixture of elements, we could get busy with our flash-bang distraction.
Elizabeth had returned to the Royal Apartments by the time we got
back. She looked worried.
“Lord Brydges is stodgy and ill-tempered. He has no love for me or for Protestants in general, and I believe he blames me personally for the fact that the Tower is at present so crowded with prisoners.”
“What did you tell him?”
She shot me a glare. “I informed him that despite my sister’s current state of political crisis, under no circumstances would she sign a death warrant against me. And as I have done nothing wrong, to execute me on anything less than her full signature would be tantamount to murder, for which he alone would be responsible.”
“Nicely put.” I was impressed. Elizabeth in queen mode was scary.
She smiled and some of the tension shifted in the room. “Thank you for the preparation. I’m not sure I would have dared speak to a man like that otherwise.”
I grinned back. “Well, apparently your brands of flirting and fighting are particularly effective during your reign, so get used to it.”
“Flirting and fighting. I like that.”
I left Ringo and Pancho in the laboratory measuring out different formulas for the gunpowder, and went in search of Courtney. She was in a little anteroom off the queen’s apartment and was just finishing the alterations on a dress. She shook it out and held it up.
“Here, try it on. You’re bigger than Milady around the shoulders, and I added some length to the skirt, but otherwise it should fit.”
With Courtney’s help I pulled my green brocade dress off and her eyes widened at my camisole and jeans. “What manner of undergarments are those?”
“The kind that allow me to run and climb.”
She studied me with a critical eye as I struggled with the stays in the midnight blue dress she’d altered for me. “I think I must make a pair for Milady. For when she rides her horse.”
I giggled at the idea of Elizabeth Tudor in a pair of jeans, and muffled the sound in the fabric of the dress as I dropped it over my head. Courtney helped me lace up the back, and when she was done, she made me twirl to show her the fit.
My way of testing the fit was to swing my arms in a circle to make sure I didn’t tear out the back, and both of us were satisfied in the end. “Unbind your hair and I shall brush it out for you.”
