Perfect Shadows

by Siobhan Burke

  “Yes, I know that, Wat, though, I do doubt that he would have had such consideration for you, if the positions had been reversed,” I commented sourly.

  “No, I suppose that the urge to gloat would have overpowering. He made a good end, after all, Kit, and recanted the craven statement he made after the trial. But while I watched, as the axe was raised above his kneeling form, something happened, and it seemed for a few seconds that I was out there, climbing the scaffold to meet a traitor’s death. It was so vivid, I could smell the straw they had placed to catch the blood, and see my breath on the air. The ravens were racketing, and then, as I reached the top step, I was back behind the glass, and Essex’s head fell into the straw. It took three blows to sever his head, and the tavern-birds are even now making jokes about his stiff neck,” he said, with a mirthless smile, and then shivered. “I think that I saw my own death, Kit. Well, all must die sometime. Or most must,” he added with a sidelong look at me.

  “All must, Wat, even me. Someday.”

  “You called that young man your cousin, but I recognized him as your former servant, Bowen, though he seems much changed. He has become like you, then?”

  “He has. You are not frightened of us?”

  “I am not frightened of you, Kit, and I do not see that you do anyone harm. On the contrary, you seem to accomplish much that is good.”

  Chapter 39

  Northumberland rubbed his hands together, then dipped a finger into the pot of blood before him. He began tracing the complex lines and circles of the conjuration on the stone floor of his new study, in the vault under the ruins of the old chapel. Let his enemies try to burn this one down, or even find it, he gloated to himself. Sommers was lighting the candles, black with designs carved into them and filled with red wax. It was the last quarter of the moon, most propitious for the spell he had in mind. He drew the last, and most complex, symbol, then stepped from the circle, closing it after him.

  He took the heavy Templar’s sword from Sommer’s hands and began the antiphonal chants, while Sommers grunted the responses. Soon the temperature in the stuffy chamber dropped, and Percy could see the puffs of his breath with each word he spoke. In the center of the circle a cloud was forming, more tenuous than his own vaporous breath at first, but gradually coalescing into a human form. The transparent man stood gazing around the room, his sad and frightened eyes taking in the earl and widening in recognition. “Harry?” The lips formed the word, but the sound seemed to come from everywhere. Sommers started, the sheen of sweat on his forehead glinting in the candlelight. He was trembling, fear and excitement commingled. “Harry?” the apparition spoke again, sounding like a lost child.

  “Well, Robin,” Percy mumbled, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth.

  “Am I not dead? What holds me here?”

  “Thou art dead, Robin, and I hold thee here,” Percy answered, then motioned Sommers forward to confront the reluctant spirit. “Do you see my servant, Rob? He was once as you are now, a wandering ghost. I put him into the flesh, and so I can do with you. A reward, perhaps, for your aid to me.”

  “My reward is in Heaven, Harry, and there I had hoped to be ere now. Of what aid may I be?”

  “You know a great deal, and have the power to know even more. If you do not wish a fleshly reward, there can still be punishment. I could encase you in the body of a dwarf or other grotesque, and cast you adrift in the world. You might get as far as Bedlam, a little mad thing raving that he is the martyred wild Earl of Essex. What think you, my Robin? Would it not be a better thing to help me willingly and then take your surcease of suffering forever?” The distressed spirit cried out, then raised its hands in a gesture of submission. Percy put his questions, and the spirit grew more and more agitated, but brought forth the answers that he could not have known in life.

  After a time Percy pronounced himself satisfied for the time being and dismissed the spirit, who dissipated with a mournful cry. The earl retired to his study to ponder what he had learned, and sent Sommers out to secure a suitable monster to keep on hand should Robin become recalcitrant and require an incentive in the future.

  Chapter 40

  The first caress of Spring warmed the night air as I made the rounds of the taverns, not for my own pleasure, but searching for Nashe, who had vanished from the kitchen that afternoon. I had begun my search early that evening, but it was now nearing ten. I slipped shadow-like into the Anchor, although I truly couldn’t imagine that Tom could have come so far in his condition. But there he was, laughing in the corner with some of Burbage’s men: Armin, Phillips, and Shakespeare, whom I had met several times before while on the prowl. Tom saw me come in and gestured wildly at me.

  “Kit!” he called, almost falling across the table. Will caught him and returned him gently to his seat. Armin made room at the table, glancing at Nashe with that sort of amused contempt that the sober reserve for the tipsy. “I told you that he was a ghost, and now you all see that I was right,” Nashe continued. “Tell them, Kit. Tell them that you area ghost. You see, Will? I always told you that you could meet more things walking in this world than you could ever dream of. . . .” his head sank down on his arms and he began to snore gently.

  Shakespeare turned his quizzical gaze on me. “He thinks that you are his dead friend,” he said quietly. “Robin, Gus, this is Christopher Dare. Dare, Robin Armin and Augustine Phillips, whom you may have seen on the boards. What brings you to the Anchor?”

  “I was looking for Nashe. He is very ill, and is being cared for by a foreigner, Prince Kryštof. He bade me look for Nashe and bring him home. The prince much admired The Unfortunate Traveller, being so often a traveler himself,” I added by way of explanation.

  “Well, God send us all such a friend in our need,” Phillips said. “Here, I didn’t mean—” he protested as I pulled out my purse, then shrugged and let me pay the bill for them all. Armin had vanished, but reappeared a few minutes later just as we got Nashe outside. He had hired a cart to take the unconscious man back to Chelsey. Armin and Phillips took their leave, but Shakespeare insisted upon accompanying the cart, and we rode along smoking companionably, until Will suddenly broke the silence.

  “I’m curious—what is your connection with this foreign prince?” he asked.

  “I met him one night when he was set upon by thieves,” I answered carefully, “and he has been good enough since to offer me occasional employment.”

  “Odd, isn’t it, that you both should be one-eyed and left handed,” Will said, peering into the darkness ahead of us, and then changing the subject abruptly. “It’s odder still that Nashe should name you Marlowe,” he said. “You haven’t the look of him at all, as I remember him, and certainly he had not your courtesy. Ah, well, he is dead and gone, and Nashe nearly so, poor toad. If I may be of any service to you—to your lord, he has only to ask, ”Will finished as we turned into the manor yard, and I swung down from the cart. Rhys stepped out to greet us, and take the unconscious Nashe from the cart to the kitchen. Shakespeare started to refuse the coin I pressed upon him, but accepted with a laugh when I suggested he stand a round for the players. I stood watching until the cart rumbled out of sight, then turned to the house.

  When I reached the kitchen, I found that Nashe had awakened. The little man smiled drunkenly at me, and then without warning began to cry. Sylvana knelt beside him, and he threw himself into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder. Leaning forward, I was able to make the broken words: “I want to go home, oh, I want to go home.” At my touch upon his shoulder Nashe looked up, still crying unashamedly. He took the proffered handkerchief, and blew his nose, which set him to coughing violently. When the spasm had passed he was calmer, clearly worn out. “I—I want to see my mother, Kit. Might I go and see her?”

  “Yes, Tom, I’ll make the arrangements, and you can leave in the morning. Sylvana? Will you and Jehan take Tom to his mother’s tomorrow? Good. Now, you must rest for your journey, Tom. Go to sleep.” I smoothed the damp stub
bly hair back from my old friend’s brow, and looked questioningly at Sylvana, who sadly shook her head. Nashe, almost asleep, laughed suddenly.

  “Yes,” he said. “I can sleep now. Thank you for being a ghost, Kit! I’m not at all afraid to sleep now, not at all afraid,” he said. He closed his eyes, and died. I could see the life leave him, soft as a sigh, and Sylvan laid him tenderly back into his bed, her tears falling gently upon his ravaged, peaceful face.

  “Take him tomorrow to—to Lowestoft, to be buried there,” I said shortly, dredging the name of the town out of my memory with no little difficulty. I left the house to walk in the darkness by the river until the coming dawn drove me back indoors to an uneasy rest.

  The next night found me back in the Tower. I detached myself from the shadows near the door and crossed Southampton’s prison room. The guests that had thronged there earlier had drifted away, and Hal, sitting alone at his table, his forehead resting on his hands, startled as my cool fingers touched his temples, massaging and soothing away the headache I suspected was throbbing there.

  “You are reckless, Kit. You shouldn’t have come,” Hal began, leaning his head back against me, and letting his hands fall laxly into his lap.

  “That is most likely true,” I agreed, tugging at the strings holding Hal’s collar, and tossing it to the table. Hal shrugged out of his doublet and slung it into the corner, sighing as my hands went to work on the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders. “A full half of your guests here tonight were Cecil’s spies, and I do not imagine that I escaped the notice of one of them, let alone all. Diabolus will know within the hour, and the Queen within the day, no doubt. But we have tonight, or at least an hour of it.”

  “And just how do you propose to leave? The door is bolted. What will you do, call a guard and ask to be let out?”

  “If necessary, yes. I have a . . . friend among the guards,” I answered easily, smiling slightly at the thought of the handsome young man.

  “I hate this!” Hal burst out. “I begin to think that Robin was the more fortunate, after all. Every time that bolt is shot, it is as if a part of me dies.” He indicated the comfortably furnished room. “This is still prison, and all the sharper when visitors go and I must stop. And the queen, every time she passes between Richmond and Whitehall, has the cannon fired in salute and mocks my captivity with a fanfare! I think I shall go mad!” He rose and faced me, as if to emphasize the change of subject. “Did you know that Libby is pregnant?”

  “I had heard, yes.”

  “Mine, or yours?” Hal’s eyes glittered and his fists clenched, as I took a step backward.

  “What, Hal? Horn-mad at last?” My tone was easy, but I tensed and stood lightly, ready to take action if necessary. “The child is most unlikely to be mine,” I continued. “I am unlikely to father a child, or so I am told,” I said, relaxing somewhat as Hal settled back onto the stool, his back to the table.

  “Mad, at least, so why not horn-mad?” Hal muttered, then smiled sheepishly up at me. “It was Harry Percy asked if I was certain of my children’s father. I should have known that it was naught but spite and malice. What ever did you do to him?”

  “He did me a great wrong once, and has never forgiven me for it,” I said. “I did not expect him to drag you into the middle of our enmity, although it seems an obvious enough ploy, after all.” I considered a moment, then grinned. “But I didn’t come here to discuss the likes of Harry Percy, I assure you!” I reached for him and we tumbled together onto his bed.

  The sound of the bolt being shot back roused me from the languorous aftermath of lovemaking and feeding. Hal mumbled, reluctant to stir. I had just enough time to straighten my clothing before Cecil stepped into the room. “You should not have spurned me, when I told you there were stronger foundations than trust. Now, your grace,” he said, quietly, “now I have you.” He motioned to the guards behind him, and they flanked me while Cecil led the way. I glanced back over my shoulder to Hal’s pale, troubled face. I shrugged, and though he answered my defiant grin with one of his own, it never reached his eyes.

  Geoffrey awaited us in the small room that served as Cecil’s office at the Tower. I stood absolutely still just within the door, not meeting his eyes, while Cecil crossed to his desk. He dismissed the guards, then took a paper from a stack and handed it to Geoffrey. Geoffrey advanced on me, his expression one of cold, controlled, fury. “You will sign this, Kryštof,” he told me, his voice edged with contempt.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It is a admission that you are a sodomite, a blasphemer, a contemner and an atheist. You will make your mark and affix your seal. My lord Cecil and I shall witness you. He will keep this safe, and you will leave England for a period of—what is your will, my lord?”

  “Seven years, I think, will be sufficient.”

  “Just so. If you return to England before that time, this will be used to condemn you, and I will not lift a finger to stop it. If you refuse to obey me of your own will, you must be made to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” I said woodenly. Cecil dipped a pen and I crossed to the table to draw a rather shaky K, then press my signet into the small puddle of wax he obligingly poured for me. When the wax cooled, he folded the page and put it with a handful of others, locked safely away in a small brassbound casket. “My lord, please, may I say goodbye to Southampton?” I had to see Hal once more, I had to.

  “No.”

  “It would make my sudden departure seem less suspicious.” He looked at me quizzically. “Not connected with you, I mean,” I gabbled and rushed on, a plan forming almost as I spoke the words. “We could stage a quarrel.” He thought about it and glanced at Geoffrey, who nodded slowly. The guards were summoned and told to escort me back to the earl’s cell.

  Hal was pacing when I entered, and sank down on the chest that served him as both wardrobe and settle. I told him briefly what had occurred, and my hasty plan. He nodded, and I joined him on the chest—after all, it would look suspicious to begin a quarrel immediately. About a quarter-hour passed most pleasantly, and then we deemed it time to begin.

  “I care not, you barbarian! Prince indeed! Prince of savages! Prince of churls!” Hal snorted.

  Our angry voices roused the guards outside from their semi stupor. The bolt shot back and the press behind him pushed the foremost man into the room in spite of himself. We had squared off, apparently not caring who heard our quarrel.

  “My family was nobly born when folk on this island were still painting themselves blue and baying at the moon!” I snapped back, and taking the cue, Hal yowled and threw himself into an attack. I caught him in mid-flight, keeping him from what could have been a painful fall, and we engaged in a short but enjoyable scuffle before the stunned guards separated us.

  “Get you to hell!” Hal screamed after us.

  “I’ll look for you there,” I retorted over my shoulder, as they hustled me down the corridor, and to the gate where Geoffrey awaited my arrival. The long ride to Chelsey was made in total silence. The queen was waiting for me. I slipped through the palace corridors as silently and unmarked as any ghost, fingering the ring that had summoned me. The weather, after the first teasing hint of spring, was bitter; even my chill vampire’s breath left its traces in the air. I found the room I was looking for and pushed the heavy door open, almost colliding with Cecil as he had turned to go. He followed me back into the room. The Queen’s gaze, icy as the draughts that rippled the hangings on the walls, met mine, then his. “You have our leave, my lord,” she said. “I must have speech in private.”

  “That would be most unwise, your Majesty.”

  “Do not think to school me, little man, at this late hour! I said go!” He fled then, stating that he would be awaiting me without.

  Elizabeth sat perched on cushions in front of the fire that burned sullenly on the great hearth. She relaxed when she saw me, and patted the pillow beside her. She grinned at me, hiding her blackened teeth behind
her hand. “I am happy that you came to me, cousin,” she went on. “I had feared that you would not.”

  I raised the hand bearing the summoning ring. “How not, when you send me this. Whatever my faults may be, ingratitude is not among them, your Majesty.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “And yet you have visited with the Earl of Southampton in the Tower, against both my wishes and my express command. How is that?” Her tone was cold and remote.

  “I had some matters to discuss with him, your Majesty, that I could commit neither to paper nor to emissary.”

  “I trust than that the outcome was amicable?” Her eyes glittered with ruthless amusement, telling me that she knew the answer even before I spoke.

  “No, your Majesty, it was not. We quarreled, and he requested that I betake myself to hell. I will not trouble him again, I think,” I said levelly. “But why have you recalled me? Not to inquire into my friendships, nor yet, I think, to chide me for disobedience.” Her eyes narrowed and she studied me for a moment before replying, her restless fingers picking at the embroidery of her gown.

  “I learned that you were leaving England for a time, perhaps a long time. I am dying, cousin, and I have called you to me to say good-bye,” she waited for my protest, and laughed again when it did not come. “Your flattery was always of an honest sort, my lord, and I honor you for it. Have you ever been in love?” The suddenness of the question startled me.

  “Once or twice, your Majesty,” I answered smoothly.

  “As have I, once or twice,” she retorted, then went on. “My sweet Robin was the first, though some might mention Thomas Seymour. I was infatuated with Seymour, perhaps, and flattered that the child I was could attract a man so worldly wise, though in truth, of course, he was neither worldly nor wise. Mayhap I was silly, but certainly not so silly as he. Did you seduce your loves?” Again the whipsaw question caught me by surprise.