by Karen Chance
“Getting us out of trouble!” I said, my face cracking into a grin.
“And into worse one?” Judging by his expression, I’d finally found something that he didn’t find amusing. “Get us down from here!”
I laughed, exhilaration rushing through my veins. “As you like!”
I pointed the staff’s nose downward and we plunged back toward the ground, Kit’s arm tight around my waist, his scream ringing in my ears. We skimmed along above the Thames close enough to smell it, until the ship rose up ahead, like a leviathan out of the mist. The moon hung behind the sail, illuminating it so that the seams stood out like the intricate veins of a leaf. Beautiful.
Several sailors were on deck, having a late night drink, until they saw us and dropped the bottle, their mouths hanging open in shock. We landed nearby, as unsteady on our legs as two drunks, with me laughing like a child. Kit thrust the smelly monkey at one of them, pushed me into the side of the cabin and kissed me, heedless of the staring men.
“Witches!” he gasped, when we finally broke for air. “You’re all completely mad!”
“It does help,” I murmured, collapsing against him in a fit of helpless giggles. “And at least they didn’t follow us.”
“Follow us? I doubt they so much as saw us!”
I grinned. I doubted they had, either.
“It isn’t funny!”
I grinned wider and tried to rearrange his wayward curls. They were everywhere. “Yes, it is.”
“Sir?” One of the sailors approached tentatively.
“What is it, man?” Kit demanded, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” the sailor held up the monkey. “But what were ye wantin’ me ter do with this?”
“Take it below. And don’t touch the necklace.”
“Yes, sir. As you say, sir.” But the man just stood there.
Kit was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. “What is it?” I asked.
“I am trying to decide whether to kiss you again, or to throw you over my knee!”
“Let me know when you make up your mind,” I told him. I thought both had possibilities.
Kit glanced at the sailor, who was still just standing there. “Well, what are you waiting for? You have your orders.”
“Yes, sir.” The sailor shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t go anywhere. “There’s just one thing, sir.”
“God’s bones, man! Spit it out.”
The man held up the monkey, whose little hands, I finally noticed, were empty. “What necklace?”
Conclusion
The next morning, I was in the witch’s gown again. An hour of hard work had made it presentable, if not precisely wrinkle-free. That was fortunate, because there was nothing else in my possession fit for an audience at court.
Not that I’d had one, so far.
A vase came flying out of the door beside me like a cylindrical bird and crashed against the far wall, scattering shards everywhere and making several passing courtiers jump.
And not that I was all that eager.
Kit followed quickly on the heels of the vase, hugging the wall beside me. “There are days I truly miss Lord Walsingham,” he told me fervently.
“I told you not to mention the necklace.”
“I didn’t have a choice! If we’d lost it near Trevelyn’s house, and he’d been able to trace it—”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“The several thousand dead fish washed ashore this morning would suggest otherwise,” he told me dryly.
“The vindictive little bastard,” I said, in disbelief. “He dropped it in the river rather than let us have it.”
“So it would appear.”
“Are they going to try to recover it?”
Kit suddenly grinned. “Do you know, that was Her Majesty’s question.”
I looked at him warily. “Why is that amusing?”
“Because a number of the lofty leaders of the Circle are down at the riverbank right now, knee deep in slime and rotting fish, attempting to do just that. And that was after having to admit that they were not entirely certain that they could detect a coven ward.”
My lips twitched for a moment, until I made the obvious connection. “You never promised that I would do it!” I said, panicking. “The curse will have worn off by now, even assuming I could—”
“It’s worn off?” Kit’s grin widened. “That’s even better.”
I grabbed his shoulders. “Did you tell her?”
He laughed and settled his hands on my waist. “No. But I did point out that this incident has demonstrated that there is more to magic than the Circle knows.”
“Meaning?” I asked warily.
“That they might overlook threats that come from magic unlike their own.”
“But the Circle has a coven wizard at court,” I protested.
John Dee had long been their link to the queen, the filthy bastard. He was English, although you would never know it considering how he had immediately chosen the Circle over the covens. Perhaps because his magic was second rate, insuring he’d had little power within the old hierarchy. But the Circle valued him for his connection to the queen, and with their backing, he’d gone far.
“Yes, but he doesn’t appear to be able to help in this instance,” Kit said, innocently. “I pointed out to Her Majesty that coven magic usually flows easier through the veins of women, much to Master Dee’s annoyance.”
I stared at him a moment, and then felt a grin split my face. Now that was funny.
“It was therefore decided,” he continued, “that while the queen may have a wizard, she needs also a witch.”
It took me a moment to understand what he was saying, as I was still enjoying the mental image of Dee humiliated before the court. And then my eyes widened and I tried to jerk away. “No. I’m leaving England, that was our agreement!”
Kit’s hands tightened, refusing to let me flee. “And it stands,” he told me quickly. “I will provide what I promised, if that is what you wish. But I thought there was a chance you might prefer to stay and fight.”
“No one can fight the Circle,” I said, before I even thought. And then was appalled to realize how quickly that sentiment had sprung to my lips, how thoroughly I had come to believe it.
“Not outright, perhaps,” he agreed. “But there are other ways to obtain your desires. The Circle did not rise to ascendancy in England by combat, but by influence. There is a chance, should you prove of service to Her Majesty, that the same could prove true for the covens.”
I stared at him, my immediate response anger at the thought that we should have to compete for what was rightfully ours. But I never uttered the words. That was the sort of attitude that had come close to destroying us.
“It isn’t fair,” Kit said, reading my face. “But we live in this world as it is, not as we would necessarily like it to be. Isn’t that how you’ve survived, Gillian? Making the best of a bad set of circumstances? Now you have the chance to do the same for your people.”
“And what does the Circle think about this?” I asked, stalling for time.
His eyebrow went up. “As they do not yet know about it? Nothing.”
“And when they do?”
“The Circle does not control the queen,” Kit said flatly. “It is by her sufferance that they are allowed to remain. Should they challenge her, their counterparts abroad would be only too pleased to help her rid herself of them. They may have the magic, but she holds the power in this land. And rarely are they allowed to forget it!”
I stared over his shoulder for a moment, out one of the long set of windows running down the hall. The rain of the previous evening had vanished, leaving behind a perfectly clear, pale blue sky. It contrasted nicely with the red stone of the palace, the green of the fields spreading out in every direction and the distant ribbon of river snaking its way through a land my people had protected from time out of mind.
The thought of lea
ving it forever had felt like it ripped a hole in my very soul. The thought of staying…. Not that Kit’s plan was a certainty, but in life, what was certain? It was a chance, which was more than I had ever thought we would have.
He must have read my face again, because his hands tightened on my waist. I looked at him, and felt my face break into another smile. “Master Marlowe, I do believe the queen just bought herself a witch.”
The End
Notes
I don’t normally do story notes, but then, I don’t normally do historicals, either. And I thought it might help to clarify a few things.
First: As I’m sure you noticed, this was set in Shakespeare’s time, but was not written in Shakespearian English. It’s an issue anyone writing a historical piece has to address—how much of the original language to keep and how much to throw out. Like most authors, I decided that something written entirely in the language of the Bard would be damn hard for most readers to enjoy--or even to understand, considering that a lot of Elizabethan slang has been out of use for four centuries. I therefore chose to include a little here and there for color and to chuck the rest.
Second: The “current queen” referred to in the story is, of course, Elizabeth I. The “former queen” was Mary I, Elizabeth’s older half-sister who married Philip II of Spain. The story takes place in the 1590s, in the final decade of Elizabeth’s life, but refers to the previous reign occasionally.
Third: The story concerns the mystery surrounding La Peregrina (The Wanderer), one of the world’s most famous jewels. The 58½ carat pear-shaped pearl was supposedly discovered in the Gulf of Panama by a slave in the early 1500s and carried to Spain by the conquistador Victor Nunez de Balboa, who made a gift of it to King Ferdinand V. According to legend, it stayed in Spain until Philip II gave the jewel to his bride, Mary Tudor, as a wedding gift and was later returned to him in her will.
However, there has been some controversy over whether the jewel currently known as La Peregrina was the pearl Mary I wore in almost all of her portraits. Elizabeth Taylor owns it now, a gift from Richard Burton, and part of the exorbitant price he paid was due to its supposed pedigree. But some Spanish records state that the gem was not found until after Mary’s death, and the paintings of her wearing it do show it to be somewhat different in shape than the pearl owned by Ms. Taylor. That has led some to believe that there were actually two great pearls, which for some reason were given the same name. This is my answer as to why.
Table of Contents
The Queen's Witch
