Perfect Shadows

by Siobhan Burke

  “Where are Sylvana and the others?”

  “I sent them to Ralegh, they will be safe at Durham House, and will return here once I have found a place to take the boy. Eden will try to see him if she is near, she cannot help it, and he cannot bear it.” Nicolas nodded his approval and suggested a place, Blackthorne Farm, that was currently untenanted. It was a solid house, and much care had been lavished on its reconstruction, glazing all the windows and rebuilding the chimneys. But it was lonely, tucked away amid a tangled mass of elm, elder and the sloes that gave it its name. Local superstition named it an unchancy place, so that tenants were few and seldom stayed long, which suited its current use admirably. We would stay another few weeks, then join Geoffrey in Paris. I shook off my reverie and dressed quickly, joining Hal and Richard before the comfortable fire. The storm had blown itself out during the day, but the night was freezing cold.

  “We had begun to think that you had drowned,” Hal teased, keeping his head turned to hide his ragged hair. He and Richard had disposed of a platter of beef, most of a small cheese and two loaves of bread between them, and were working manfully on the second or possibly the third flagon of wine. Supplies were brought in daily from the village, no one at the farm having the least skill with cooking. The gold that paid for these services was much appreciated in the village, and did much to assuage the local fears about the foreigners, as anyone from as far away as the next county was called, while the size of the two serving-men and the occasional sight of large wolfish dogs discouraged any thought among the less honest of taking all the gold at once. We passed a pleasant evening, playing primero for pins, and talking until late. I sent Richard off to his bed, reminding him that he was still convalescent.

  “It was kind of you, to let him win,” I said, smiling when he had gone.

  “I find that I like that child,” Hal answered, “and the more so since I found that he is no rival to me in your bed. He is a child,” he added defensively, goaded by my expression.

  “He is not much younger than were you, when you first loved a man, and a good deal older than I,” I retorted, then laughed. “In years, at any rate. Yes, though, he is still much more a child than I was. Or, I suspect, than were you. Now, you should seek your own bed.”

  “I would far rather seek yours!”

  I drew a finger lightly across Hal’s bruised cheek. “Would you? Come along, then.”

  There were no clean rushes available for the floor, so it had been strewn with sweet smelling straw that rustled faintly as we crossed to the bed. A fire burned brightly on the hearth, and the bed linen was scented with lavender. Shivering slightly in his shirt and hose, Hal slipped into the bed beside me. Later he sat up and stretched, turning his face away as he spoke.

  “I am thinking of joining you in Paris, Kit, if I may, and if your brother would not object. There’s nothing at court for me now.” His tone was bleak, and I reached my hand to cup his chin and turn that sad proud face to my own. Hal resisted a moment, then gave in.

  “I can think of nothing that would please me more, Hal. Weather permitting, we leave for Dover next week.”

  Chapter 20

  Hal settled into his own bed, in the room where Richard slept on the truckle, sinking at once into a pleasant dream, only to be jerked awake by a heart-wrenching cry.

  “No, no! Please, NO—”

  It was Richard, he realized, and reached for him. It was not long after dawn, by the look of the pale light through the chinks in the shutters. Hal fell to his knees on the truckle, scooping the boy up, shaking him awake then holding him while he cried. Richard pushed himself violently away from the earl before he had regained his senses enough to realize who held him, then mumbled an apology.

  “You were dreaming, Dickon,” Hal said softly, the fond name coming easily to him. “I purposed nothing but comforting your fear. You are a very pretty boy, but I do not seduce children!” He rose from the truckle and crossed shivering to the door, calling for Jehan, who appeared almost at once and began helping the earl into his clothing.

  “My lord, I—I am sorry, I was still caught in the dream,” he shuddered, sickened at the memory, but stirred by the earl’s touch. “I am not a child, my lord,” he gulped, but Hal, dressed now, merely nodded and left the room. When Richard came down later he found him folding a note and addressing it.

  “You must see that your master gets this when he wakes tonight, Richard,” Hal said coolly, holding it out to him.

  “My lord, I shall have to read it to him,” Richard said, dismayed. Could the man know so little about one with whom he was so intimate? Hal stared at him for a second, then crumpled the paper into a hard ball and threw it into the fire.

  “I had thought that only another one of Robin’s calumnies,” he muttered, adding aloud “I have seen him at his books.”

  “It sorely vexes him, and he must make himself believe that one day he shall read again, and so he tries. He cannot, as yet.”

  “Then you must tell him that I returned to London and will join him in Paris as soon as I may. Will you do that for me, Richard?” The boy nodded dumbly, and the earl gathered his riding cloak and strode from the room. Richard, from his position by the window, watched the man mount and ride towards the village, before turning his hand to the tasks he had set himself that day.

  Hal paced nervously before Robin’s fire, stopping now and again to fill his cup from the flagon of wine on the hearth. Willoughby had put the story all over court the next day that Southampton had attacked him and been soundly beaten, and that he had pulled out some of the earl’s hair. It was said that her Majesty laughed, and said it was good, as she never liked the pretty earl, and liked even less his influence on Essex. Influence Robin! As well try to influence a wild horse, and she herself called him that. “God’s Light, Hal,” came a chuckle from the doorway. “You look like a felon!” Robin, still laughing, came in and settled himself by the fire, picking up the wine, and setting it down again when he found that only the dregs remained. “Just call for Dido to bring more wine, as you’ve seen fit to swill all this. Now, what did truly happen that night? You were a fool to assault Willoughby in that secret fashion, after publicly insulting him,” Robin said in a voice purring with satisfaction. He had waited for some time to turn this epithet on Hal. “A fool,” he repeated, savoring the word. Hal snorted.

  “So I would have been, had I done so. I challenged him fairly, Rob, and he attacked me in the dark. I had but one man with me to his dozen. But I did not come here to cry my tale to you; I am going to Paris for a time, and I wished to say good-bye.”

  “Does Diabolus know?”

  “I imagine he does: he has asked me to meet with him this afternoon. He would have to know, sooner or later, in any case, if I am to have any sort of position at all, and, of course, I shall need a passport. Goodbye, Robin,” Hal said, and strode to the door. He stopped to glance at Robin for a second over his shoulder, then crossed again to the fire when his friend petulantly called him back.

  “You will desert me then. You will be of no use to me in Paris, Hal. I need you here.” His eyes narrowed and his mobile lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, of course, I did hear that your precious black princeling is leaving the country, and I see that he needs must bring his little lap-dog with him,” he spat, and stood, turning his back. Hal caught his shoulder and whirled him around.

  “You dare to address me so? I have my spies at court as well, Rob, and I know just what you said, and how you joined in and laughed when Willoughby told his lies, and presented my hair as a trophy to the Queen. Look at me, Rob! Do I look as if he pulled my hair out in a brawl? Does my face look as if we were evenly matched? I grant you that I may be rash upon occasion, but have you ever known me to be that stupid? A laughingstock is of no use to you at court, and that is what I have become,” he snarled, “a butt for all to fire their barbs and jests against, without a single friend there to defend me.” Essex stirred guiltily at that, but Hal raised his hand in a gesture o
f finality. “I must go, Robin, and I will.”

  “Yes, I know you must,” Robin agreed, shamed by his friend’s words. He pulled a folded bit of paper from his sleeve, pushing it into Hal’s hands. “From Libby,” he said, and turned his face away. Hal tucked it into his own sleeve, and stumbled from the house, giddy with the wine. He had all but forgotten Libby. Damn it all! He smoothed the paper against the wall as he waited for the groom to bring his horse. A fine rain was falling, and the letters faded into an inky blur before his eyes, but not before the message was read. She would wait for him in the Privy Gallery every afternoon until he came to her. It was dated five days ago, the day after his misadventure. He crumpled it into a sodden ball, and tossed it onto the midden as he passed.

  Cecil’s rooms were austerely furnished, holding only his great worktable, one chair, two bookcases overflowing with books and bundled letters, a locking cabinet, and two stools, upon one of which Hal sat, although his rank should entitle him to the chair. Robert Cecil, Diabolus, as he was scornfully called behind his hunched back, sat and gazed at him across the table, his dark eyes as inexpressive as the wet paving stones outside the window. The door opened quietly behind him, and Hal fought the impulse to look and see who had entered. One of the aides came in and whispered to his master, waiting while Cecil considered the message. A smile flitted across that stern face, causing Hal, unexplainably, to shudder. “Have him join us,” Cecil instructed the aide, who slipped from the room like a shadow.

  “My lord, I understand your reasons for wishing to leave England for a time, indeed I am most anxious to accommodate you. But then you must, in return, accommodate me. I will expect reports from you upon the movements of the princes Geofri and Kryštof, among other things.” He glanced up as the door creaked open again, motioning the arrival to take the other stool. “My lord, this is my servant, Thomas Deacon; Thomas, my lord the Earl of Southampton.” Deacon was in his late twenties, a few years older than the Earl, heavyset, but with long and beautiful hands. His face was unlined, showing a singular sweetness of expression in the regular features that made him seem far better looking than he was in fact. His light-brown hair was cropped shorter than Hal’s own, and his clothing, though of fine cloth, was most sober and severe. He looked at Hal, at the ravaged hair, and his fingers twitched, as though he wished to stroke it. Hal shifted uncomfortably away from the newcomer. “Thomas does courier service between London and Paris for me, albeit he is currently serving me by serving as an assistant, an apprentice if you will, of Master Topcliffe, though perhaps, given his progress, journeyman would be amore fitting term.” Deacon smiled innocently as Hal paled at the mention of the torturer. “Now my lord, back to our business. I think we understand each other. I shall look forward to your correspondence, which you may entrust to Deacon when you see him in Paris. That is all.”

  Hal rose numbly from the stool, his face flushed by the outrage boiling in him. He was an earl, not some common lout to be made a spy and a minion of! Damn Cecil’s twisted soul, and damn Robin too! There was an overt threat in Cecil’s insistence on Deacon’s presence, and the knowledge that he was employing his own torturer, but whether it was aimed at Prince Kryštof, or at himself, or both, Hal was not certain. It was intolerable! The sooner he left the pesthole of court, the better off he would be, and bedamned to them.

  He settled the hood of the cloak closer about his face, making his way through the dusk to the gallery where Libby had said she would await him. His attendants left him at the gallery doors, and he slipped in, almost blind in the dimness. The curtains had been drawn, and the candles not yet lit. A lighter blob of shadow detached itself from the wall and hurled itself at him. He caught her in his arms, crushing her against him.

  “Oh, Hal, I thought that you had done with me! And I love you so! I wanted to die,” Libby sobbed into his chest. Her searching fingers found his rough cropped hair, and she pulled him to the window, thrusting the heavy curtain aside, to view him in the fading daylight. “Oh, Hal!” He turned his head, to hide the worst places from her, then kissed her, fiercely, urgently. His lust, quiescent with her for weeks now, flooded him, and he shoved her to the floor, tearing at her skirts and at his own clothing, stifling her protests with his lips, plunging his tongue into her mouth as he plunged his body into hers, grimly, again and again, without respite, until he finally collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the floor beneath him. He could feel her shivering under him, taste the tears on her lips. He started to pull away from her, wondering what had possessed him, how he could explain to her what he could not explain to himself, but she caught him, pulling him close again. “No, Hal, no.” He tried to find the words, and she hushed him, laying her slender fingers across his lips. “I know, my love. I know.”

  “I love you, Libby,” he said. “Whatever I say or do, I do love you, and someday, God willing, I shall prove it.”

  Jehan and Rhys appeared at the quay promptly at dawn, supporting Kryštof ’s slumping body between them. He reeked of brandy and of wine, and Richard looked on in disgust. The seamen nudged each other and smirked as they made their way on board. The first mate stepped forward with a grin.

  “Well, where d’you want him?” Jehan growled. He found this pretense distasteful, an affront to the dignity of his master, and thus to his own, but the ruse was tried and true, giving the vampire a perfect excuse for staying below decks. No one expected a man in a drunken stupor to be up and roaming about. “Gentry! Drinkin’ and whorin’ all night, and most likely puking all day,” he grumbled, as the first mate showed them to the tiny cabin they would occupy on the crossing.

  “Aye, drunk as a lord! Well, and wouldn’t we all be if we had the chinks,” the mate laughed, and left them.

  “It’s not you who’ll be cleanin’ up after him!” Jehan snapped, and watched the retreating man’s back shake with laughter. They cast off not long after. Jehan, denied his wolf ’s shape for the voyage, and no kind of a sailor in either form, gritted his teeth and settled in to wait out the journey.

  Chapter 21

  “I am not pleased, Christopher.” Geoffrey’s voice was cold, but not so cold as my blood upon hearing his words. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. I did not have to wait long. “I have taken back your custody,” he continued, “and not just because you have come here to Paris. Nicolas is clearly unable to provide the sort of discipline that your circumstances require; I am not. But neither am I unreasonable, and I understand your need for a measure of privacy. The gatehouse here is well appointed—you will keep your household there, unless, or until, you abuse this trust. For tonight, you will stay here, with me.” Richard watched all this in silence, and watched me led from the room like an errant child bound for punishment. His expression was unreadable.

  Richard was able to suppress his hostility and revulsion to women through sheer force of will, but found that sudden encounters would still leave him shaking and sick; his very beauty attracted exactly the sort of attention that he could least tolerate. We settled in, and Richard continued trying to teach me, now with slate and chalk, to read and write, with but indifferent success.

  My household being too small to support my need for blood, not long after our arrival I had taken to prowling the Paris streets, both to accommodate my needs and to allay the growing temptation to take Richard. One dark night, about a month into our stay, I saw someone I knew.

  Poley, with his mincing steps and faded finery, crossed a pool of lantern light and vanished in the dark, unaware that he was no longer alone. He had stumbled up the steps to his mean lodgings, was fumbling with the lock, when I quietly said almost in his ear, “Allow me,” and pulled the heavy key from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He whispered my name as he recognized my voice, and knew that a dead man stood beside him in the darkness. He stood paralyzed just inside the door as I crossed the room to the meager fire and lit the candles with a spill from the dirty mantel. The soft light revealed his thoughts as it revealed my features: those of a strange
r, or at least I didn’t look like Marlowe, or not exactly, but there was a resemblance . . . Poley caught his breath in a ragged gasp as I turned my head and showed the eye patch that covered my right eye. “Well, well, Robin, how are the mighty brought low! Is this the best that Cecil can do for you?”

  “M-m-marlowe?” Poley stammered, then slumped to the floor in a faint. I knelt on the filthy floor, and dragged him up until my teeth found the vein in his throat. I drank his blood, though the taste of it disgusted me, but I had to take enough to exert my will over the repellent little man. He woke again, and struggled against me, but his strength was no match for a normal man’s, let alone mine. I forced his eyes to meet mine, charging him to remember this encounter as no more than a drunken dream. He would obey any command I gave him, and fall into trance at a word from me. I ordered him to sleep for a time, and before he woke I had gone.

  I had arrived back at the manor in good spirits. Poley’s being in Paris promised some diversion, at least. I joined Geoffrey in the Hall, delighted to see Hal lounging by the fire. He had arrived an hour or so after my departure on my night’s adventure, and Geoffrey had invited him to the Hall to await my return. Hal had never actually met Geoffrey, only seen him at court from a distance, and seemed to be finding the man’s physical presence somewhat overwhelming. I had seduced him: Geoffrey would need only to snap his fingers to have anyone he desired groveling at his feet. Hal didn’t seem to know whether to be vexed or thankful that he presumably was not desirable. Geoffrey was well aware of the effect that he was having on my lover, and would have withdrawn but that he wished to speak with me.

  I noted Geoffrey’s savage amusement and Hal’s sullen frustration as I joined them, my own amusement spilling out in soft laughter. “It is good to see you, Hal. You will stay in the gatehouse with me? I have had a chamber made ready,” I added, catching a subtle movement from Geoffrey indicating that he desired Hal’s absence at the moment. I arranged for a footman to take Hal across the grounds, and to settle his luggage, stealing a kiss in the shadows before sending him away.