And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  Gating from one place Underhill to another was not as difficult as Gating to and from the mortal world so the passage to the Elves' Faire was only infinitesimally longer than usual. Still, Elizabeth was very happy to see the great signs warning against magic or violence and urging the buyer to beware.

  Although she had not come to buy anything, Elizabeth looked about her with unfeigned interest. She had a ready and easy source of payment in mortal goods. The Sidhe could ken almost anything, but they did not seem able to create things on their own. If they wanted a copper pitcher or a glass bowl, they had to have one first in order to copy it.

  "Jeweler's Row is that way," Denoriel said, and gestured. He did not touch Elizabeth because he knew her shields would ward his hand away.

  "Oh, let me look at the other booths. We always go to the Bazaar of the Bizarre. It is long since I have been at the Elves' Faire. I know you said a gnome promised you some special gems, but gems do not spoil like fruit. They will be there another day."

  Cretchar, who had been hidden behind the sign that said "NO SPELLS, NO DRAWN WEAPONS, NO VIOLENCE" on one line and below that "ON PAIN OF PERMANENT REMOVAL," drew a breath of satisfaction. He had been afraid that the gnome had made Denoriel suspicious and that Elizabeth would not come at all. He still doubted she could be taken in the trap, and if she were not that Paschenka could be induced to try for her again. But that did not matter. Since she was here, he would use another plan he had been hatching.

  That plan had formed itself after he thought he recognized several Sidhe from Elfhame Cymry drifting one by one into the market. He had seen two of them deliberately ignore each other. Of course it was possible that those two were enemies, but it was more likely Elizabeth had been enlisted as bait to catch Paschenka, and the Sidhe from Cymry were the teeth of the trap.

  He had warned Paschenka not to seize the children, that the Sidhe of Cymry were even more devoted to the mortal children than to the adult mortals. Paschenka would not listen. He was far too strong for Cretchar to control; Cretchar's only choice was to flee and he liked the ruined domain. He would like to make it his own. He watched Elizabeth turn away from the direction Denoriel had pointed and slipped out of his hiding place to follow.

  If Paschenka tried to take Elizabeth, and Cretchar provided a Gate he might succeed. But did he want Paschenka to succeed? How much better to be rid of Paschenka. Really, that was all that was necessary. Elizabeth was no danger to him.

  Once Paschenka was gone, he would have all those mortals. With their life force he could restore much of the ruinous domain. He would not need to bring himself to Vidal's notice by asking favors for having Elizabeth abducted. He could not be sure Vidal would be grateful. He had almost been blasted by Aurilia and his Gate had not failed, only faded so that she had been disoriented when she had to leave the mortal world in a hurry.

  Cretchar was not sure whether Elizabeth and Denoriel did not notice he was following or did not care. He wished they would settle into a place so he could fetch Paschenka. But there were more than goods available at the Elves' Faire: mortal and Sidhe entertainers—musicians, acrobats, declaimers of poetry—eating places and drinking places, games of chance and skill.

  Denoriel and Elizabeth wandered the broad central avenue, stopping here and there to watch and listen, Elizabeth or Denoriel putting down a coin in appreciation or laughing whether they won or lost a game. They stopped to eat at a cookshop, not nearly as elegant as the Inn of Kindly Laughter, but with a most satisfactory hearty stew, and then, attracted by the sing-song voice of a vendor selling goods at auction, walked farther down the side lane to where mortals, animals, and some seemingly animate things of metal were being sold.

  Elizabeth was far more interested in the metal creatures than in the humans. Slaves were known in England, but they did not provide a good return for what was paid and she remembered all the Latin essays she had read about the trouble slaves caused. Anyway mortal servants or slaves could be easily enough obtained in England. The metal things, however . . .

  Denoriel was fascinated too. He crouched down to examine one of the devices while Elizabeth went to the back of the stall where the vendor stood on a dais. It was a queer creature he was selling, seemingly a mortal but covered with hair—an ape, she would have guessed, but it was much too large. The vendor called for bids but Elizabeth stepped aside and spoke to one of the assistants to the vendor.

  The assistant passed her to another over at the side of the stall. He was speaking to some very small, slender creatures who had blue skin and yellow hair and eyes. They had small wings too, which made Elizabeth wonder if they were fay, but they were much too large. Eventually one of them removed a circular object from a belt pouch which the vendor's assistant placed into a flat black box. They all nodded at each other; the round disk was returned, and the assistant turned toward Elizabeth and bowed.

  She asked if he were prepared to answer questions about the metal oddities and he said he was. Elizabeth shook her head. The sounds he made did not seem to fit with the words that came into her head, but that had happened to her before in the market. She spoke in English, knowing the assistant could not understand, but of course he did understand. Elizabeth made sure that the things were not Sidhe made and invested with magic.

  "Magic?" the assistant repeated, and laughed as if he did not believe in magic. But he was not so rude as to say that. He said, "No, indeed. It will work anywhere its battery can be recharged."

  Elizabeth saw Denoriel touch the squat metal object he had been examining, shake his head at the person in charge of it or watching that he did not steal it, and start in her direction.

  What the vendor's assistant had said made little sense, but Elizabeth thought she could get a further explanation later. What she needed to know was, "What does it do?"

  "So there you are," a loud voice said almost in her ear.

  "Who are you?" Elizabeth asked, drawing back.

  "Your master, mortal," the fat Sidhe said.

  The assistant to the vendor frowned and stepped away, raising a hand with two fingers up, one down between them and two down on each side, to summon those who dealt with slaves.

  "You are no master of mine," Elizabeth said sharply, now recognizing the Sidhe that had tried to buy her from Denno and whom she had Pushed into the urso's al fresco. "My friend, Prince Denoriel, told you that I was a free mortal, allowed by Queen Titania's gracious permission to come and go as I will Underhill."

  "And I am Sidhe. There are no free mortals. My word is worth more than yours. I say you are a runaway slave! Ho, slavemaster, come and put irons on this impudent creature."

  "Oh, go away, you fat nuisance," Elizabeth said, turning away to look for Denoriel, who was pushing aside two burly, blank-faced creatures that Elizabeth thought must be constructs.

  The fat Sidhe tried to seize her arm, but his hand slipped away off her shield. "Seize her!" he roared at the constructs.

  One of them also tried to grab Elizabeth; the other stepped between her and Denoriel. Elizabeth hissed with irritation and spun to face the fat Sidhe. He was reaching for her again, laughing with satisfaction because she was hemmed in by those the vendor used to control recalcitrant goods. About to Push the nuisance again, this time hard enough to send him to the Void, Elizabeth remembered where she was.

  The frustration made her utterly furious. And the knowledge that she dared not even slap his face lest the market consider that a form of violence, made her angrier still. Then she saw Denno struggling in the grip of one of the constructs, while the other reached for her again.

  "Let me alone," she ordered the construct in a voice of command. It stopped, confused by two orders equally powerful. Elizabeth called to the vendor, "I am no slave of his!" and she stepped forward and spit directly into Paschenka's face.

  The vendor, who controlled the constructs, ordered them to stand. He recognized the gesture of contempt and knew from long experience that she who made it had never been the Sidhe's slave.
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  "Pest!" Elizabeth snarled, and began to turn away toward Denoriel.

  The word was swallowed up in Paschenka's howl of fury. His hand came up, blue light flickering around each finger.

  Elizabeth backed up, eyes wide. "No!" she cried. "No! Don't!"

  The fat Sidhe laughed at her, sure she was afraid of his power. The blue light arced in her direction.

  "Don't!" Elizabeth shrieked. "You will be REMOVED."

  She was too late. The last words were not nearly as loud as she expected. They echoed as if coming back from a long distance.

  Several other exclamations of horror came from the crowd around the vendor. Tall and commanding, Idres Gawr came forward with Ilar and Aleneil just behind him. Denoriel pushed past the unmoving constructs and put an arm around her.

  "I am so sorry," Elizabeth said to Idres Gawr. "It never occurred to me that he would try to use a spell against me and be REMOVED. Now how will you find the children he stole?"

  "No, no. You have done all that is necessary. We have his partner, who says our mortals are safe and will take us to them." Idres Gawr bowed to her and gestured toward a knot of broad-shouldered mortals.

  "I am so glad I did not spoil everything," Elizabeth said contritely. "I lost my temper with that fat fool."

  "We are very grateful to you," Idres Gawr went on, then turned his head toward Denoriel, who still looked grim and angry. "And I wish you to know, Prince Denoriel, that Lady Elizabeth was never in any danger. I know this vendor of old, and he would take my word that Lady Elizabeth was a free mortal. Not to mention the word of Princess Aleneil and half my Court—all of whom do some business here. We expected Paschenka to have her brought to the vendor to mark her as a slave."

  Denoriel was trembling with reaction from his fear. "And what if that creature had built one of his Gates and the other pulled her through? That was how he seized your people, was it not?"

  Idres Gawr shook his head. "Gates are not easy to build in a market. I am sorry you were anxious. We were busy taking the Gate-builder, the creature that calls himself Cretchar, prisoner, which is why we were slow to go to Lady Elizabeth's aid. I swear to you, Prince Denoriel, there was no danger."

  Elizabeth hardly listened. She had not been afraid, except for the one moment when she nearly forgot she was in a market and was about to Push. She was giving most of her attention to the grim-looking mortals. In their midst was a weeping Sidhe and around them was an empty space the other Sidhe avoided. Each mortal held a thick silk bag that Elizabeth realized could be opened with a swift pull of a drawstring.

  "They carry Cold Iron," Aleneil said softly in Elizabeth's ear. "They are of the earliest families to join the Sidhe of Cymry. I have been told that they were neither captured nor bought but came with the Sidhe of their own will. They are utterly faithful to Cymry and are the peacekeepers. Cretchar will cause no trouble to anyone, at least for eons, at most, never again."

  Chapter 38

  That was the last visit Elizabeth made Underhill for some time. In compensation she had Lady Alana's presence in her household over the dull days of winter. Christmas was celebrated quietly. The ugly news of new and more frequent burnings for heresy made Elizabeth more reluctant than ever to display a passionate Catholicism and too fearful to refuse Mass or confession.

  Only one lighter note appeared during the somber season. The old merchant, Lord Denno came to spend the twelve days in his house near Hatfield and visited Elizabeth every day. He came laden with twelve days' worth of gifts, exotic dried fruit and sweetmeats for the early days, furs and lace for middle days, and twinkling chains of beads (and real jewels for Elizabeth) on the twelfth day. Elizabeth cheered up during his visits and what Lady Alana was able to do with the furs and trimmings he brought put all the ladies, including Mary's spies, into good humors.

  Whatever pleasure and celebrations could be scraped together in the bitter weather after Christmas were very welcome. Denno continued to visit often; that was because Elizabeth was not going Underhill, not for any fear of detection but because the Gate was harder and harder to power and to stabilize. He was very welcome, although they could do no more than steal a kiss now and again, but at the end of February he brought bad news.

  Denno was not political, but he was a merchant and merchants are acutely opposed to violence and unrest. He spoke for everyone, including Mary's spies, to hear. The burning of heretics was more and more unpopular; the queen was more and more unpopular. There were rumors of a new rebellion.

  In March the whole plot dissolved when one of the conspirators confessed to Cardinal Pole. The first arrests were made on the eighteenth of March and questioning led to other arrests. And when examination was made of the confessions and depositions the names of Elizabeth's friends and, worse, members of her household began to appear as actually involved in the plot.

  True, no conspirator had spoken or written to Elizabeth about the rebellion or about the plan (again) to marry her to Edward Courtenay. Had any done so, he would have been less ready to call her a "jolly liberal dame" as she had been known among them. Elizabeth wanted no part of Courtenay, who was spendthrift and weak, and would have burnt the ears off any man who proposed such a marriage to her.

  No one did ask Elizabeth, not even Kat Ashley, who (again) nearly dragged Elizabeth to the executioner's block. For in Kat Ashley's coffer in Somerset House, Elizabeth's London residence, was discovered a huge cache of seditious anti-Catholic broadsheets and pamphlets. There was no direct evidence against Elizabeth herself . . . yet. Mary, facing her husband's ever-extended absence and her own barrenness, again had a chance to rid herself of her unwelcome heir. But she had sworn to obey her husband and she wrote to Philip about Elizabeth's apparent guilt.

  Philip's friendship held firm—or, at least, his violent distaste for the notion of Mary of Scotland, the French dauphin's betrothed bride, as heir to the English throne. When he received Mary's accusation of Elizabeth's involvement in this new conspiracy to overthrow her reign, Philip replied without the smallest hesitation. All investigation into Elizabeth's personal connection with the conspiracy should be ended at once and Elizabeth should be assured of Mary's trust and love.

  Kat was briefly imprisoned, then dismissed from Elizabeth's service; other members of the household were examined, one cleared, one convicted and under threat of execution, although later pardoned. But Elizabeth herself received a kind letter from Mary stating that she understood that Elizabeth's name had been taken in vain by her servants and that she would not be neglected nor hated but loved and esteemed.

  What that letter cost Mary, Elizabeth could not guess. All she could do was write back. She did not even need to think long; Mary would not believe her no matter what she said and she penned a letter of fulsome and high-flown assurances of duty and loyalty.

  Mary did have some small revenge. She kept Kat Ashley in the Fleet prison for three months and gave herself the satisfaction of reorganizing the household at Hatfield. A new "governess" was appointed in Kat's place, to whom Elizabeth was painstakingly polite, and Sir Thomas Pope was installed as governor. Since Sir Thomas was an old friend, a witty, cultivated man, the founder of Trinity College, Oxford, Elizabeth did not mind at all. That he was much taken with Lady Alana and polite but uninterested in Susanna Norton, Mary Dacre, and Elizabeth Marberry added to the pleasant atmosphere.

  After the failure of Vidal's plan to provide an infant to Mary, he occupied himself with learning how to communicate with the Evil and then convincing It to grow in Mary's womb. He could not feel any great sense of urgency as one trouble after another made the people angrier and more miserable. Burnings now needed armed men to prevent the people from attacking the executioners and freeing the heretics, and executions followed as rebellion failed and those guilty went to the gibbet. Power was so rich and of so strong a flavor in the Dark Court, that Vidal took until August of 1556 to consider using his now clear communication with the Evil.

  Understanding sealed, the new plan of giv
ing Dakari the illusion of Philip and thus transferring the Evil to Mary became possible. If, of course, Vidal was able to get Dakari, even wearing an illusion of Philip, into Mary's bed. Faced with action Vidal realized he did not even know which palace Mary was likely to be in. And shortly after that occurred to him, he admitted that he no longer could draw on the intimate information about the Court available to him in the past. And he would need even more intimate information about Mary to implement his plan.

  Vidal snarled softly and caught a passing imp, which he impaled on one long claw. The screeches and writhings cast no helpful light on his problem. He had, at present, no bound minions in Mary's Court. Wriothesley was dead, Rich had no place in Mary's government and was almost never at Court, Renard had been replaced as ambassador, and that stupid bitch Aurilia had killed Albertus, who now could have truly been useful as Mary's physician. Vidal rent the imp in squirming pieces and threw those on the floor.

  Little as he liked it, Vidal realized, he would need to become Otstargi again to fix his talons into someone who could tell him when Philip had returned and when he was likely to share the queen's bed. Vidal pulled at the lobe of one long ear as he thought.