Perfect Shadows Part 17

I raised a hand to my lower lip, and nodded thoughtfully. "He seems to have a taste for it," I said, and told him how Hal had licked the blood from my wounds more than once, but only a few drops at a time.

"Probably means nothing, then," he said. "No doubt it will be resolved in time, but try to keep him from it, if you can."

"Why?" Geoffrey turned sharply on me at the question, and I flinched in spite of myself. When he seemed satisfied that it was a simple request for information, and not a flaunting of his command, he answered.

"It can act like a drug upon mortals, conveying some of the advantages of the full exchange, but not perfectly, and only temporarily. It is best not to foster such a need," he said, and took his leave. I thought about what he had said, and decided to make an attempt to see Hal that night.

To my surprise I found Cecil arriving at the Tower at the same time. The Earl of Ess.e.x had sent for the secretary, to tell him the truth, he said, about the conspiracy. The little man eyed me speculatively for a moment, then allowed me to enter, requesting an interview at a later time. The scene was much the same, except that Hal was clean, and his candles were plentiful and made of wax. He looked up from the book resting on the table before him, his eyes flashing and a smile flitting across his drawn face as he saw me. I could see the change that Geoffrey had mentioned: the feverish light in his eyes and the hectic spots of color on his cheeks. Suddenly, without a word, Hal threw himself from the chair and into my arms. "I hadn't thought that they would allow me visitors," he said raggedly. "You must be paying out a fortune in bribes." I held him a moment before settling him back on his stool at the table.

"I met Cecil at the gate, and from what I overheard Ess.e.x will be spinning him a pretty tale even now; he said I might see you, and I expect that he will be along here when he is finished with Devereux. She said she would spare you, Hal, if you asked her," I reminded Hal, my voice sharpening with the words. Hal nodded, smiling bitterly.

"She has said a great many things in her time," he said. "I can still hear Buckhurst's voice and the words of the hideous sentence p.r.o.nounced upon us ringing in my ears: '. . . to be drawn upon a hurdle through the midst of the city, and so to the place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck and taken down alive-your bodies to be opened, and your bowels taken out and burned before your face: your bodies to be quartered-your heads and quarters to be disposed of at her Majesty's pleasure, and so G.o.d have mercy on your souls.' The words are branded upon my brain." His voice was low and colorless, and his eyes had looked upon h.e.l.l. "The Queen despises me, I know. I shudder at the thought of what forms her 'pleasure' might take." There was an awkward pause, and I stood abruptly.

"I shouldn't have come. I will return when we know her majesty's final decision, Hal. My cousin, Rozsa, is with Libby tonight, so she will be looked after." Hal caught my hand, pulling me back.

"No, don't go, not yet. I am glad that Libby's not alone tonight. Will we know by morning, d'you think? I am such a coward, after all. I could have died in the fighting, with my blood up, but I cannot face dying like that."

"You will not die like that, Hal, whatever might happen. That I do promise you," I murmured, my lips against that burnished hair. We sat in silence for some time, and I was filled with pity for the rash young man, so like and yet unlike myself at that age. I could see him struggling with his fears, and he twitched violently at the sound of the bolt, staring at the door as if he expected the executioner to step in and drag him off to the block forthwith. I stood and slipped into a shadowy corner by the window.

Robert Cecil entered and stood a moment inside the doorway, perhaps garnering his strength after the grueling interview with Ess.e.x. His stooping figure, hunched from a childhood injury, bent even further with fatigue. He drew a breath and entered the chamber where we waited. He seemed shocked at the desperate fear on the Hal's face, and a rare sympathy shone in his own.

"Rest easy, my lord," he said softly. "Her Majesty has commuted your sentence. You will not die." Hal's head snapped up, his dark eyes enormous in his white face, and I thought for a moment that he was going to faint. With a visible effort he got himself under control, and stood to face the Secretary.

"I understand that you added your voice to others," he flicked a glance tome, standing in the shadows by the window, "in my behalf. I do thank you, my lord, for I know that you have little cause to love me. What will happen tome?" he added, with only the faintest tremor in his voice to betray the strain he was under.

"You are to be kept here at the Tower for the rest of your life, my lord. This room is not uncomfortable, I think, and I will arrange for a part.i.tion to be built as well, for a withdrawing room. You will be allowed servants, and comforts, but not visitors without the council's permission, at least at first. Your highness," he added, glancing at the still figure by the window, "if you will accompany me?" He waited for me to join him in the outer chamber, quietly bolting the door behind him before proceeding to his office.

I declined the chair offered me, and stood waiting, watching the little man as he poured the last of the brandy from the small bottle I had procured on my last visit to that little office room. As I took the cup I noticed that the Secretary's hands were cold as ice, chilling even to my own unnaturally cool flesh.

"Ess.e.x has laid the full blame of his enterprise upon the backs of his friends," Cecil said abruptly. "He has even blamed his mother and his sister for helping to lead him astray. The only innocent in the whole affair is himself, it would seem. It's spite, of course. He has heard that others have confessed their various roles, and all to his dishonor." Cecil pa.s.sed a weary hand over his high forehead, as if memory of the earl's vituperation and servility made him ill. "His chaplain is with him, and we will soon sort him out. It is touching upon another matter that I wish to speak with you, your grace. Her Majesty is most displeased by your attachment to Southampton, and you are not to be allowed to see him. Neither will you present yourself at court until she calls you back. I am sorry for it, my lord; the young man needs a strong friend to guide him, but I fear he will only find sycophants." Cecil gazed at me for a moment, lost in thought. "We have often been at cross purposes, I fear, when combining our forces might have served us, and the crown, better."

"It would have been an uneasy alliance, at best, with so little trust between us. Would it be any less so now?"

"It might be so, now that I no longer have any perception that you might mean her Majesty harm, your grace, and there are stronger foundations than trust." I nodded coolly, but returned no answer as I left the room.

Chapter 37.

Northumberland tossed in his shabby bed for an hour before giving up and arising. The bedding was musty and the rushes on the floor needed changing. His sharpened senses were far less tolerant of the odors produced by neglect. He would have to move out while the residence was cleaned and sweetened, a process he lately found had to be repeated two or three times a year, where once had sufficed before. Immortality, it seemed, was going to be a costly indulgence.

He went into his study and lit the candle, turning his attention to the stained and battered ma.n.u.script Sommers had brought to him. The dialect was obscure, and the book, a Latin translation of an Arabic original text, appeared to have been pulled hastily from a fire at some point. He ground his teeth at the thought of the priceless ma.n.u.scripts that had been lost from his own collection the night of the fire. He had only lately learned that the boy had been rescued and that the fire had been set in an attempt to cover the deed. He added these grievances to the mental tally that he kept, and set light to the small brazier of coal laid ready nearby, rubbing his numb fingers together in the meager warmth for a moment before picking up his pen. Sometime later a slight sound behind him told of Sommers' return.

"Did you make the arrangements?" Percy asked without looking around.

"Aye, I did, but this will not be contrived at a twelve-penny fee, my lord. The risks are too great," and Sommers named a sum large enough to cause the earl to turn and stare at him in amazement. "Aye, but that's the least amount. An you want it done, that's the price. The date's been set, and the man but awaits your word."

"Tell him I agree." Percy studied the candle flame for a moment, edging his quill into the flame until it began to smolder, then quickly jerking it away. The smell of burned feathers permeated the chamber, masking the noxious odors that rose from the rushes in this room as well. "About the other matter," the earl added, clearing his throat, "have you found anyone suitable?" Sommers nodded, furtively licking his lips.

"Do you wish to see?" he asked, and Percy followed his limping servant from the chamber to the little room in the second cellar. There was a man laying there in the straw, shackled, but with fetters that had been well wrapped with rags, to avoid galling the skin beneath. He turned vacant eyes to the light, and gazed uncaring at his observers. He was a tall thin man, with thinning sandy hair, narrow eyes over a hawk's beak of a nose, and a thin-lipped mouth. The resemblance was not remarkable, but it was there. Northumberland rubbed his hands together in delight.

"Oh yes, well done, Newman. He is very well. Where did you find him?" He bent to get a closer look.

"Up on the borders, my lord. May he be distant kin, think you? He has the Percy look to him." Sommers winked vulgarly, and Percy brushed the possibility aside impatiently, much to his companion's secret amus.e.m.e.nt. Percy would be using his own half-brother for this purpose, and would neither admit it, nor allow it to be suggested. "I shall see him bestowed tomorrow, then."

"Yes, yes. He will suit us admirably. See to it, Newman, but return as soon as you may."

Chapter 38.

In the evening of the day that saw Ess.e.x to the block, Richard made his first appearance downstairs, supported on Jehan's arm, for his broken feet had not yet fully healed. I glanced up as the invalid was settled into the chair near the fire, and then looked more closely. He was bound to create no end of disturbance, wherever he went. Even I could feel the pull of his nature: a mortal would have no chance at all. Richard smiled shyly, waiting for me to speak, but no words came. After a few minutes, I shook my head and smiled back.

"Richard, I-" I broke off at the sound of a disturbance in the hall, but before I could do more than stand, Nicolas bounced into the little room, beaming at us and catching me in a rough hug. He stepped back and contemplated Richard, for a moment, then drew the boy to his feet and into a warm and gentle embrace.

"Welcome to our family, Richard," he said simply, and began hunting around for a seat. I nudged him into my chair, and took a seat upon a stool near the fire, asking him what had brought him to England again.

"Business, my boy, always business. We must see about a settlement for young d.i.c.kon, here, and I must see that our interests are not affected by the change of sovereigns."

"Do you think that it will be soon?" I inquired quietly. I was truly fond of the shrewd and shrewish old woman, and had heard little to the credit of her probable successor, although I was somewhat troubled by a feeling that in my reckless and impetuous previous life I may have thought quite the opposite. Nicolas stirred and answered softly.

"The Earl of Ess.e.x died today, and the light has gone from her eyes. She is a tired old woman, and all of the friends of her youth have died away. It can be a terrible thing to live on when there is no one to remember you in your youth."

"I remember her, riding through Canterbury, more beautiful than any tale, all in gold and glittering with jewels," I spoke as if to myself.

"Yes, many do, but the ones who knew her familiarly have all gone before. It is a hard thing to see those you love descend into death and decay, Kit, and no less hard for us, though we do not. It may be that we, by accepting the dark gift, deny ourselves any chance at reunion with those we love." A sudden tear slipped down his plump cheek, and disappeared into the silky beard.

"Nicolas, what has happened? Is Anneke-"

"She died last month, of a fever, and did not rise," Nicolas said flatly, and buried his head in his hands. Richard rose silently and hobbled from the room, leaning on various pieces of furniture for support.

"I am sorry, Nicolas. I do not know what to say," I began softly as Sylvana slipped into the room, leaving Richard, who had fetched her, leaning unsteadily on the doorjamb. She knelt beside the weeping man and held him, soothing him as she would a child. When he quieted somewhat she stood and drew him to his feet, leading him from the room. Richard stepped out of the way and tottered for second, but before he could fall I caught him and settled him back into his chair. "Thank you, Richard. That was very well done."

"Sylvana is a healer," Richard said simply, then looked sharply to the door. Nashe stood swaying there, a squat black bottle in his hand. He landed himself on the hearth in a series of swoops and staggers, and sat grinning up at me.

"I found a bottle," he said, flourishing it before indulging in a healthy pull. He offered it to me, but I refused gently. "No drink? But I forgot, you're dead. I am too, but not nearly so dead as all that!" He turned to Richard and stared a moment, but did not offer the bottle. "My G.o.d, Kit, he's a pretty one! Where did you find him? You always did find the prettiest boys . . . I used to hate you for it, you wouldn't look at a homely wart like me."

"You never were one for boys, Tommy, that I ever heard," I answered gently. Nashe nodded emphatically.

"True! I just wanted you to notice me. I was on the outside, and you were there, with Chapman and the Walsinghams, and Ralegh too, so brilliant it hurt the eyes to look on you. I never attacked you, though. That was just a lie. Harvey, the hangman's son!" He spat into the fire.

"Rope-maker's son." I corrected.

"Halter-maker, hangman, it's all one. Brays like an a.s.s! Kit, they burnt all my books!" Tears slid down his cheeks, and he looked up through his sandy lashes guiltily. "Kit, I took the Dido and published it with my name beside yours. I needed the money, you see."

"You did good work on it as well, Tommy. I'm not angry, but glad to see it printed, and do you suppose that I do not know how you fought with those who denigrated me while I lay dead and defenseless?" I said soothingly. Nashe began to laugh then.

"Do you remember that time you bet all your month's allowance that you could write a better poem than the other students? Fifty-four shillings in the purse, one from each lad in your cla.s.s, and Roger Boyce, from the lower form, tried to talk you out of it? 'If you lose, you'll be without money for a month!' said he, but you just laughed, and said 'But I'll win, and then I'll have a further fifty-three shillings to keep mine company!' and ran laughing up the stairs."

"How did you know about that, Tommy? It was at Canterbury, at the King's School, not at Cambridge."

"Boyce told me about it. He never forgot it, he said, your hair flying and your eyes flashing as you ran up those twisted stairs, and of course you did win. Did you come to London like that, ready to win the world like so many shillings?"

"I do not remember, Tommy," I said helplessly.

"Ah," Nashe replied, nodding sagely, "that comes of being a ghost, you see. Ghosts are like that."

I smiled. "I think you have had enough drink for one night, let's get you to your bed," I said and lifted the little man to his feet. When I returned a few minutes later Richard looked at me thoughtfully.

"It is hard to think of you as Marlowe the poet and playwright."

"So I should imagine. That Marlowe is dead, Richard, as dead as Richard Bowen. Or deader, as I have very few memories of my former life. I cannot even read the works I wrote before and may never be able to do so. Are you sorry that you asked my gift of me?" I asked abruptly, my voice harsh in my own ears.

"No. I am only sorry that I wasted so much that I might otherwise have had by pushing you away for so long. Oh, and sorry for judging you when I knew nothing about you, as well," Richard added, looking at the fire.

"I remember dying," he went on. "I felt the life slip out with my breath, and I seemed to be watching you and Eden from above. I saw a light, and moved towards it, drawn by its beauty, but it receded from me, and the more I longed for it the farther away it was, until I was left drifting in the fog. I could make out nothing and I cannot tell you how long that lasted. After a time I became aware of my body again, that it was somewhere that I was not, and a need to find it possessed me. I was frightened that I wouldn't be able to return, but when I calmed myself, I felt a tug, and followed it. I moved faster and faster, until it seemed that I was falling, and I started, as one does from a dream, before I hit the bottom. When I opened my eyes you were there, and I knew that I was safe. Was it-I mean, did you-"

"No. I did not remember anything for a long time. Then, what I did remember was close to intolerable." I realized that my hands were shaking, and clenched them together. Richard stirred uncomfortably and looked immensely relieved when Nicolas returned.

He motioned us to keep our chairs and took the stool. As we sat in companionable silence we heard a horse cross the cobbled court, and I recognized Ralegh's voice as he hailed Rhys to come and care for his beast. I left Nicolas and Richard and went to greet my friend. I asked Sylvana to bring mulled cider and took Ralegh into the study. He and Nicolas were old friends and occasional business partners, but he gave Richard a keen glance as I introduced the young man as my cousin. Sylvana brought in the cider and Ralegh gratefully wrapped his chilled fingers around the pot-bellied silver cup, gazing at the fire. Richard, who seemed revolted by the smell of the drink, excused himself, and Nicolas helped him from the room. I took Richard's chair and settled back, sipping my cider and waiting for my friend to unburden himself. Presently Sir Walter stirred, and turned troubled eyes on me.

"I saw Ess.e.x executed this day," he said abruptly, and set his cup on the hearth. "I watched from indoors, as my presence seemed to trouble him; I learned later that he had asked to be reconciled at the end, and I wasn't there. The story is going about that I refused him. I would have gladly reconciled with him, Kit, at anytime."

"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 gla.s.s, and Ess.e.x'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 Ess.e.x. 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 Krytof. 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, G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 stubbly 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.