Vidal opened his mouth to say that Albertus was of no use to him, that Albertus must have done something wrong to the ring. Renard should have tried to contact Ostargi a few days after he had been given the ring—that was its first compulsion. Then Vidal remembered that Renard might have written to or visited Otstargi but Vidal had not been back to the house recently. And the servant was so brain-damaged that he would not have thought to mention to Albertus that there was a message for Otstargi. Moreover he had no idea how long it was since Renard had been given the ring.
"Now," Vidal replied to Aurilia's question, "I must imprint indelibly on Renard's mind that to keep Mary on the throne and ensure her alliance with the Empire, Elizabeth must die. But for that purpose I myself must meet the man." He looked from Aurilia to Albertus and asked, "How many mortal days have passed since you saw Renard with the ring?"
"Near a fortnight," Albertus replied.
"A little too long." Vidal again sounded as if it were Albertus's fault, but he did not make any move to hurt him and turned his head to Aurilia. "That first compulsion might be wearing thin and I must recharge the ring with other spells. It is time for Master Otstargi to return to his business for a little while."
"Then Albertus can make my potion," Aurilia said.
Albertus's heart sank. Once he was immured in the laboratory Aurilia had devised for him, he would be forgotten except for receiving messages from imps for this or that potion. He would have no chance at all to interfere with Vidal's plans for Lady Elizabeth. But in the next moment Vidal shook his head.
"Never mind your potion," he snapped. "You have enough for now. Albertus must set Howard onto testing Elizabeth's defenses and finding a way to penetrate them. Mary is queen, but she is only a weak mortal. She is not young and is often sick. We must be rid of Elizabeth. Perhaps that will bring civil war."
Vidal's words intensified Albertus's new purpose in life, to frustrate Prince Vidal Dhu. He bowed yet again, looking from Vidal to Aurilia whose eyes had brightened at the mention of civil war. Finally she made a hissing sound and nodded and Vidal gestured. Albertus found himself outside the door of Vidal's apartment.
He wasted no time in hurrying to his laboratory; if there really was no reserve of potion, he would need to fudge something. However, there were two generous flasks of the cloudy blue potion. It gave Albertus some satisfaction that if he did help Elizabeth to rule, Aurilia as well as Vidal would suffer some deprivation.
He was able to get to the Gate that would take him to the mortal world without encountering either of his masters. He did not linger at Otstargi's house, only took up the brooch that disguised his appearance. Both to show his diligence and to avoid Vidal, who would be Gating to Otstargi's house very soon to arrange a meeting with Renard, Albertus sent a message to Howard's lodging and himself set out for the inn at which they met.
As often was the case, Howard was there already with several of the troop. They waved cheerfully to Albertus to join them, all of them in the best of spirits at the success of their endeavors and because Mary would bring back the true faith to England.
Albertus went over and took the stool one of the men pulled from an adjoining table. He looked up and around, but knew it still was not possible for him to find any of the spies that Vidal or Aurilia were able to send into the mortal world. He had heard Aurilia curse Elizabeth's ability to detect Underhill creatures, but he could not. He would need to be very careful about what he told Howard and his men.
"You have more work for us?" Howard asked cheerfully.
"Yes, I do, and work you will enjoy," Albertus said. "Not for the whole troop, only for you, Francis, and for a few of the men who are not too much Queen Mary's partisans."
"What the devil does that mean?" One of the men down the table asked hotly.
"It means my master wishes to find a way to reach Lady Elizabeth, and prating to her servants about the true faith will not endear you to them."
"Reach Lady Elizabeth to do what?" Francis Howard pushed his wine cup aside and sat straighter.
"I have not been told that," Albertus said with a sigh. "You know I am no more than a message boy. Now that the attempt to take the lady failed and made her cautious beyond hope of another attempt, it may be that my master only wishes to have a safe way to communicate with her. It may be that he wishes to know what her intentions toward the queen are. It may be that he wishes to know where and when she will come to Court or if she will come at all."
"And how are we to accomplish that?" Howard asked.
"I have heard—there is gossip from the servants at the Imperial embassy—that Lady Elizabeth is calling in all her tenants and supporters. It is my notion that you and a few others who will not too violently urge religious obedience to the queen should go to Hatfield and mingle with Elizabeth's own guardsmen and with her liegemen and servants. Listen to what they say, what they hope, to any plans if there are plans. You, Francis, should feel out the possibility of joining her forces."
Francis Howard laughed. "And if I succeed, do I get to keep all the pay?"
"If your attempts to reach Lady Elizabeth are as successful as your efforts on behalf of Queen Mary were, there may be more than pay as a reward." Most of the men leaned forward eagerly, but Albertus shook his head. "I am only making guesses. I have found it best to do what I am told without looking too far ahead."
So far every word Albertus had said would cast no shadow on him if Vidal chose to look into the mind of any of the men. He knew that neither Vidal nor Aurilia would bother with his thoughts while they were together, which was why he then had dared think about frustrating Vidal's plans for Elizabeth at that time. Neither Vidal nor Aurilia dared be distracted lest the other take some advantage.
Now, as Albertus left Howard and his men, he began to worry about how he would conceal this delightful hope that had come to him. He could do nothing more toward his purpose until Howard and his men had time to get to Hatfield, to become familiar with the guards and servants . . . That thought was safe, but the other, forbidden one, flickered under it. Now Albertus was frightened. Somehow he must bury that idea so deep it would not show when Aurilia looked into his mind.
He walked very slowly, which did not draw attention because the weather was hot and most people were moving slowly. But Albertus's dragging steps were because he had nowhere to go. Soon, if he were not there already, Vidal would be in Otstargi's house. Albertus was afraid his treachery would broadcast itself; he could not live in Otstargi's house when Vidal would be there often. And he did not want to live in the mean rooms he had near the slum.
Wait, he did have a haven where Vidal would not look for him. He took a deep breath and began to hurry. The laboratory. He would have to use the Gate in Otstargi's house, but perhaps Vidal would not be there yet. In the laboratory he could fix his mind on lotions and potions and his thoughts would be safe behind those recipes.
Chapter 12
The proclamation of Mary as queen that Albertus had witnessed in London was very soon duplicated in town after town throughout England. By the twenty-second of July, Elizabeth had written to her sister congratulating her on her accession and naming herself Mary's very humble and loving servant.
Elizabeth did not ask whether she should come to meet Mary—boldly assuming that Mary's accession meant that Henry VIII's will and the Act of Succession were in force and she was heir presumptive. What she asked was whether she should wear mourning because Edward was dead or colors for the joy of her sister becoming queen.
Elizabeth had also sent out summonses to her dependents, tenants, and supporters to accompany her to meet the queen, and all that week they rode in haste to gather at Hatfield. They came arrayed in the Tudor colors—green guarded with white, in fabrics graded by their rank: velvet for the lords, satin for the knights, and taffeta for the simpler gentlemen. By the twenty-eighth of July, all who would come had gathered and were making ready to leave for London early the next day.
Denoriel did not accompany
Elizabeth when she went out into the camp to greet her supporters. Some of them knew of the "old" merchant who had long been a favorite in Elizabeth's household; all the more did Elizabeth and Denoriel feel it unwise for him to appear with her, possibly to be thought to have influence, when Elizabeth was about to establish herself as her sister's heir. It made Elizabeth very nervous to go into the crowd of men without her Denno beside her, but it was necessary and she straightened her back and lifted her head and went, smiling.
She did not go unguarded, of course. Sir Edward walked to her right, Shaylor to her left. Gerrit walked ahead opening a path and scanning the crowd, Nyle and Dickson behind to guard her back. Elizabeth smiled and nodded to all impartially, stopping to offer a few personal words and thanks to those she actually knew and to ask the names of their companions. One man, stepping back out of the way, caught her eye. There was something familiar about his spare body shape and black hair.
She cocked her head and smiled her enchanting smile, holding out her beautiful, long-fingered hand. Sir Edward closed in on one side of him and Gerrit on the other.
"I feel I know you, sir," Elizabeth said, "but to my shame I cannot bring your name to mind."
Francis Howard swallowed hard as he bowed to kiss her hand. When Sir Edward stepped to one side and Gerrit to the other, he was sure he had been recognized as leading the attack against her. He expected to be taken prisoner. Lady Elizabeth's words were a temporary reprieve, but he had to give her a reason to find him familiar that was not the glimpses she had had of him on the road to London.
"No fault to you, madam," Francis said, releasing her hand and bowing low. "We have never met, but my name is Francis Howard. It is a large family so you may have met some relation of mine."
"Howard?" Elizabeth repeated. When her father was king, she would have turned her back on the man and walked away. Now she did not need to do that, and she had certainly met Howards in plenty. Her uncle, the duke of Norfolk was a Howard; he too was spare of body and when young had black hair. Elizabeth smiled again. "Then perhaps I may call you cousin. My grandmother was a Howard."
Her eyes were bright, her face alive with interest. Interest in him. Not as a man, as a person. Francis Howard was enchanted. But that was no safe feeling. He had no idea what "John Smith," he of the message-boy status who nonetheless handed out purses filled with gold, wanted him to do about Elizabeth. His first order had been to take her prisoner; his next might be worse. He must not be tempted into liking. He bowed again.
"My lady, I wish it were so, with all my heart I wish it could be so, but I . . . I have no legal right to that name."
Elizabeth had been called bastard since her father declared her illegitimate at the age of three. She understood what his honesty had cost Francis Howard. Her smile disappeared.
"That does not change the blood, Francis Howard," she said, her voice firm, her nostrils pinched with distaste—but not distaste for him, "or make you less a cousin." She reached out and touched Francis gently on the shoulder before she walked on.
He looked after her with a sense of despair and then smiled at the men who now approached him with much warmer welcomes than he had first received. Some may have heard her call him cousin; they would trust him now. He had better get on with his work.
"A wonder, is she not?" Francis said.
"You do not know the half of it," an older man replied. "I can only wish that it was she who had been proclaimed."
"Shush!" another man urged sharply. "The law is the law and the Act of Succession names Queen Mary. We were called together to honor and do service for Queen Mary. Our lady is her loyal subject, and so are we."
Elizabeth was exhausted by the time she managed to greet, individually and en masse, those who had responded to her summons. She hoped she had made clear that not all would actually go with her to meet the queen, that she did not dare bring with her a force of armed men larger than that accompanying Mary. Men of her household, Thomas Parry, Sir Edward, Master Dunstan, and others would pass through those assembled and ask whether they would rather endure the expense of lodging in London until Queen Mary arrived—because Elizabeth confessed frankly, she simply did not have the money to defray their expenses—or return home.
Perhaps she should have waited to talk over with Parry and Sir Edward what she should do if not enough wished to stay or to go, but Elizabeth's nerves were in tatters. It was not so much dealing with her supporters that had shaken her—although the enthusiasm of some of those supporters was very dangerous—as the continual reminder of what she would have to face once she had joined Mary's Court. Now it all ran through her head again as she sat and waited for Denoriel to come for her.
"Denno," she cried and jumped up from Blanche's bed as he came through the Gate. "Why are you so late?"
He took her into his arms and kissed her hair before he looked at Blanche. "Am I late?"
"No, m'lord," Blanche said. "Just she was tired with talkin' to all the men who are here and she went to bed early. Then a'course she couldn' sleep so it seems she was waitin' forever."
"I sent the messenger," Elizabeth said plaintively.
She referred to the air spirit that was bound to her, Denoriel understood, not a human messenger. But air spirits were happy and simple minded; they did not understand crises of nerves. Danger had to be more direct or at least caused by some immediate threat before the air spirit would become alarmed. So when Elizabeth sent it, it looked for Denoriel, but not frantically; and when it found him, it communicated that Elizabeth wanted him but not any sense of urgency.
Elizabeth knew that, but she was cold and shivering so Denoriel did not bother to explain it to her again. He nodded to Blanche and steered Elizabeth into the Gate and when they arrived in Logres, only said, "I am sorry, love. It took it a while to find me. I went with Harry to Alhambra. Something very strange has happened there. No one knows what to make of it."
"You never took me to Alhambra," she said accusingly, as he pulled her up into the rear saddle on Miralys, who had been waiting for them.
"I didn't dare." He twisted around to look at her since there was no need for him to direct Miralys. "There is . . . was . . . an Evil there that reached out to any who came to Alhambra. It offered . . . whatever was your innermost desire. The temptation is . . . dangerous."
"But Harry goes all the time, and Mechain and Elidir and some of the other elder Sidhe."
Denoriel shook his head. "Harry cannot be tempted by Evil. I have no idea why. He was a perfectly ordinary little boy and got into ordinary little-boy mischief. And when he was a young man, he sinned his sins in a perfectly ordinary way. Well, perhaps with less enthusiasm than others of his age with his wealth and power, but that was because he'd been Underhill and found our vices more to his taste than mortal vices. The elder Sidhe only go there shielded to within an inch of being able to breathe."
"I have good shields," Elizabeth said pettishly.
"Elizabeth," Denoriel said softly, "you are too precious to be risked. If you should be touched with that Evil . . . it makes me sick to think of the ill you could visit on your whole realm, perhaps even on all of Europe. No, there is enough nastiness in you just as you are. You do not need to be stained with Evil."
She laughed when he said there was enough nastiness in her; she had spent much of her youth deliberately bedeviling her Denno. Then they were at the foot of the white marble steps leading up to the portico surrounding Llachar Lle. Elizabeth was silent while they climbed the stairs and went through the person-sized door alongside the huge brass doors, large enough for the Cerne Abbas Giant to pass through. A few steps through the broad corridor and a short walk down the more normal-sized passageway to the right took them to Denoriel's door. Elizabeth, still smiling faintly, looked at the scene beyond the doorway.
"It changes all the time now. Are there people on the terrace of the manor house?" she asked, peering intently at the scene.
"Only a table and chairs, no people." Denoriel smiled too. "
A stranger who does not know me would think the people are real. People on the terrace might frighten away anyone who wants to enter without letting me know they are here. And I would not want any who wish me ill—who else would try to enter without touching the knocker that would signal they had come?—to go away before my doorway lessons them."
Elizabeth turned suddenly and clutched at him. "Who wishes you ill Denno? Is it because of me?"
"No, love, of course not," he soothed, prodded her gently to go through the doorway, and then stood in the square entryway with his arms around her so she was sheltered against his body.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned against him. She knew she should talk over what she had learned from and about the men who responded to her summons. She also knew she should ask Denno to send for her Da who could best interpret what the men said. But she was achingly conscious that this was likely the last time she could be with her lover until Mary released her from attendance at Court. He bent over her, his breath warm on her ear, and when she turned her head toward him he kissed her.
And Less Than Kind Page 20
