by Kage Baker
There was a silence. Nicholas smacked his fist into his palm a few times, meditatively, quite hard. "And didst thou believe it, love?" he inquired.
"I hardly know." I stopped to look him in the eye, which of course I had to tilt back my head to do. "What should I believe?"
"That I was only a boy. That I came among folk who were hypocrites, though they spake the Word of God, and I believed them." His mouth set at the memory.
"These people did no more than preach the Word of God?" I adjusted my comb, ever so casual.
He looked away. He shrugged. "No," he said.
The silence fell between us again. I could have stamped my heels and shrieked. "Such dreadful things are told of, for example, Anabaptists, I am certain my imaginings are far worse than the truth," I nudged hopefully.
"I doubt it." He looked glum. "Now, I wonder how long I shall pay for having been seventeen."
I wondered what he looked like at seventeen. "Speak, dearest love."
He took my hands and led me to a bench. He drew a deep breath, not meeting my eyes. "Know, sweetheart, that my birth was… obscure. And my father would do little for me but this: he provided me with a tutor and sent me to school, that by having some education I might earn mine own bread, and he should hear no more of me.
"I revered my tutor as a father, for his learning was great, but also for this: he spoke like an apostle with Christ's words still ringing in his ears. He taught me to read the Holy Scriptures for myself in the original, and showed me by many examples how far the Church had gone from what was written there.
"So far as this went, he was a light unto my soul.
"I called him Father, he called me Son; and he had besides some several other sons in this kind, and not a few daughters, for he was tutor to many well-born children."
Yes, I could see it coming. I leaned forward sympathetically.
"We came together in secret places to hear him preach the Word of God truly, and to discuss its meaning with him. We lived like disciples."
Secret meetings, drinking parties, and hanging on their master's every word.
"Or as Adam lived before the Fall, in perfect charity and communion." He took a deep breath again. "The serpent in our Eden became manifest, even so; and it is a lasting confusion to me, and a bitterness, that God could so gift a man with the Holy Spirit and leave him so open for the Devil to meddle with."
"Go on."
"The better to show us what divine love was, he concerned himself with lifting from our eyes that veil which makes us perceive gluttony, drunkenness, and lechery as vices." His lip curled back in a sneer. My God, he was handsome. "Mark me, love, in Eden they are no sins, but we are not in that place. Such a subtle distinction cannot be easily understood by a boy, look you, but even I began to see his folly. Others saw it before me. They left our community, and there was scandal."
I could imagine.
"And I despaired in my heart, seeing that our master had deceived us. Even I, by my example, had led folk to idle, filthy pastime. But I saw further, that as my master had done, all the leaders of the Church had done, by a thousand twistings of the plain truth."
"Then the truth is not so plain, is it?" I pointed out gently. But his face was grim; he was living his memory.
"It is as plain as the blazing sun!" he cried.
"And as hard to look at," I said. "My love, this sun in the sky, we live by its grace; but it does well enough where it is, and we do well enough minding our own business down here. Seek to stare at it, and thou wilt burn out thine eyes."
"Better to go blind bringing the light to those who have never seen it," he answered. "And so I determined. I went forth into the lanes, and I began to preach the Word of God. I called upon the righteous to live as we had lived, without sin in a Paradise of love, where flesh is no enemy to the soul."
"Oh, my love."
"And I was taken and beaten," said Nicholas composedly, "a drunken boy spewing and blaspheming before the horrified multitudes. I was put in irons, but privately, for I was a gentleman's son. And I was conveyed to prison in another town by night, lest the neighbors come and burn me where I lay. Some months I sat in prison, while good men came and reasoned with me, making so evident the peril I stood in that I recanted all my former words, so great was my terror.
"Well, my father had done some service to the king. Clothes were found for me, and I was sent from England awhile, until folk had forgot my disgrace. And so back into Kent, where I have lived these several years a blameless man."
"Thanking God that thou still breathest," I finished in awe. He had come just as close to death as I had.
"Aye," he said, and then, "No!"
I looked at him. His eyes had gone small and angry. "No," he repeated. "I have suffocated, breathing this air. I lied so that I might go on living in this world, I who had lived in Eden! To creep into this little hole and never bear witness to the truth again, that was the price of my life. My soul."
This kind of talk made me very uneasy. "But if thou hadst been hanged, I'd never have known thee." I gave a little laugh.
His gaze came back to me. He put out his big hands and drew me close. "That much good has come from it, at least. And God knows, this is the first honest work I've done this seven year."
On which note, we melted into a kiss, but I thought: Work?
Before I could voice my question, there was a trampling of feet, and we jumped apart guiltily. Sir Walter came into sight around a hedge, accompanied by two servants bearing pitchforks. "Nicholas!"
"Sir." Nicholas stood and bowed. I curtseyed, and Sir Walter acknowledged me with a brisk nod.
"Nicholas, I have sought thee. We must carry the search into the surrounding fields."
"Aye, sir. Shall I muster the household?"
"No. I have done that. Go thou with Tom and Peter out into the way toward Sevenoaks, and hunt there. And think how we may remedy this, when thou shalt speak with Master Sampson. A new horn, of wax or bone, for appearance' sake?"
"Very good, sir." Nicholas bowed again.
I walked slowly back to the manor. There were servants scurrying everywhere, poking into hedges and peering up trees. A few gave me surly looks, but said not a word to me.
The house was virtually empty. I could hear the radio blaring from Nef's room, so I went up there. Nef, however, was not in sight. Joseph was stretched out on the bed, reading one of her magazines. I froze in the doorway; but he looked up with a charming smile.
"Mendoza. Baby. Do come in." I stepped inside and shut the door. "Sorry I had to beat up on your boyfriend, your very tall boyfriend, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to deflect his line of questioning. Bright guy, isn't he? Beautiful command of Latin." He turned a page.
"Where's Nef?" I stared around sullenly.
"In there." He pointed with the magazine. "Dictating her report to the disciplinary board. Be a good kid and don't bother her, okay? She's going to be at it awhile."
I looked at the silent door. I couldn't hear anything but the radio, which was playing dance music. I went over and turned the volume down.
"Look, I, uh, wanted to apologize." Joseph laid the magazine aside. "Nef and I really blew up at each other, and I'm afraid the shock waves kind of got to you. Didn't they? And I know that can be unsettling to a young op, especially in the field. We let ourselves go, and we shouldn't have. I'm sorry. She's sorry too."
"I bet she's really sorry." I looked at the door again.
"Not as sorry as she could be." His mouth became hard for a moment. "But she's a good operative, she's done good work for a long time; they'll let her off with a slap on the wrist. I was the one who had to deal with the consequences. I thought I saved us from getting lynched rather neatly, don't you? Are they still down there searching for dastardly Flemings?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"I guess we'll have to provide them with one." He got up and went to the window. "Is that your guy down there in the search party?" I went to the window to look but
couldn't make out anyone amidst the leaves. Joseph put a hand on my shoulder.
"You're sore about this, I can tell."
I didn't know what to say. "You were awful to Nicholas."
"That's true. Yes, you're right. I'm truly sorry. I got the impression, though, that he was going out of his way to be awful to me."
"He doesn't like you."
"Gee. And I cut such a dashing figure as a freethinking victim of the Inquisition. Well, you can't please everybody. You appeared pretty agitated when he asked me for your hand, by the way. Did he just spring that on you?"
"Yes." I grew hot with embarrassment. Why didn't he leave me alone?
"Yeah. Poor kid. It's a good thing I was there to field that one for you. Marriage with a mortal! It's been done from time to time, actually. On a limited basis. Of course, you always have to desert them later, or pretend to die, or something like that. But, yeah. Naturally, it was out of the question this time, so I'm glad I was there for you, but with your next one—"
I felt dazed. "You mean I could have said yes?"
"Well, in principle, sure. Not to this guy, though. I've been married myself, you know, quite a few times. It's occasionally useful, and once in a while you just can't avoid it. But, believe me, it's the easiest thing in the world to get out of."
"But—but how can you do it? What if you really love one of them?"
"Is that a problem? I've loved my mortals, too. But, honey, the bottom line is—they're mortal. They're going to die. Nicholas is going to die. Now, do you want to stick around and watch it happen, or do you want to skip out and keep a beautiful memory? Of course you want the beautiful memory. Mendoza, it's painful to watch mortals get old. You have no idea yet."
"I've been thinking, actually." Although I hadn't been; I was desperately inventing this on the spur of the moment. "I had this thought. Nicholas is very unusual, you said so yourself, he's almost like one of us. He's absolutely physically perfect, and you wouldn't believe the things he says sometimes. His whole interpretation of the Christian cosmology is so close to the truth, it's scary. I'll bet he could adjust really well if he were told about us."
"No. I see where you're headed, but no."
"But just listen a minute! I know he can't be fixed like one of us, I know you're not supposed to do the Process on an adult, but look at the stuff you're doing for Sir Walter. And we have paid mortals who know about us, who work for us. So why couldn't you do the same for Nicholas, and we could take him away with us when we leave here, as a sort of—sort of…"
"A pet?" Joseph snorted. "Mendoza, we may be very attached to Fido, but sooner or later he's going to dog heaven, all right?"
"You bastard."
"No." He took my arms. "Sweetheart. Please understand. It wouldn't change anything and would only hurt you worse in the end. Trust me, I've been there. I feel very responsible for you, you know. I spotted you in that dungeon in Santiago. And I've watched you grow up into a damn good operative. Seriously, I think you've got what it takes to be the best in your field. I know I kind of encouraged this, it seemed like a good way to deal with the guy, and I thought the experience would be good for you. But I'd hate to see you get burned out this early by a bad relationship."
I pulled away and sat down, not looking at him.
"Besides," Joseph added, "his skull's the wrong shape." He came and sat down beside me. "And another thing," he went on. "I'd think you'd find the fact that he's a religious bigot kind of wearing at times."
"He's not a religious bigot!"
"Oh no? Remember his remarks about me being a secret you-know-what? And all that Jesus, Jesus, Jesus stuff. It must drive you crazy."
No, of course that wasn't true. Much.
"Yeah, they're funny that way." Joseph leaned back with a rueful chuckle. "I remember one of mine once. Golly. She was a sweet thing, you know, and I was just nuts about her, but she had this devotion to Ishtar and you simply could not argue with her. I had to become an initiate, go the whole route. When she finally died, I was heartbroken, really, I just moped around for weeks, but on the other hand—it was so great not to have to paint my ass blue and go whack the heads off doves at the temple every night. Always date atheists, that's my advice.
"By the way," he went on, "how's the work coming?"
"Oh." Slight uncomfortable pause from me, and a close examination of the brocade pattern on my sleeve. "It's—I had kind of taken this week off, because I've pretty much got the range of specimens in their summer growth phase. Now that autumn's here, I'll have to get busy again."
"Hmm. Any chance you can give me a preliminary completion date?"
"Well." I cleared my throat. "Well, I'll want to do a full scan on the plants that live through the winter, of course, and then we missed the spring because we didn't get here until July, so—er—I think we're looking at April or May."
That was the Eastcheape Waits performing Vous Avez Tout Ce Qui Est Mein. A crisp voice from the radio spoke over a burst of static. We break now for an update on the Newsmaker of the Hour, Edward Bonner, that hard-line Catholic Bishop of London. Minor riots followed in the wake of his announcement yesterday that he is initiating an inquiry into the conduct and opinions of Protestant clergy. Results are in from our citizen correspondent's survey of Londoners: eight percent declined to state, fifty-two percent were opposed, forty percent said they favored the inquiry. Of the opposed percentage interviewed, most felt that this was the first move in a conspiracy to bring the Spanish Inquisition to England and deprive Englishmen of their civil liberties. The Council is expected to call a special meeting this evening to discuss the civil unrest. We've received no word yet from our correspondent on the Council, but as soon as we have the minutes of the meeting, they'll be broadcast live. Meanwhile, all operatives with Spanish identities are advised to avoid the following municipal areas—
"Now, that's interesting." Joseph leaned over and switched it off. "I didn't think there were that many Spanish-cover ops out here. I wonder who else came over with us?"
"My God, aren't you the least bit alarmed?" I cried.
"No. Look, this will all blow over. The Council will reprimand this bishop, and he'll lay off for now. I'll bet they won't even hear about it in Kent for another week. Trust me." Joseph got up and stretched. "We have more pressing concerns right now."
"Such as?"
"Such as getting hold of a three-inch piece of deformed goat horn," he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
« ^ »
Amazingly enough, just such an object was found two days later, in the purse of a man floating facedown in a nearby river. He had been bludgeoned about the head and shoulders, making identification difficult, and his clothes were in rags, except for a fairly new buff soldier's jerkin.
Francis Ffrawney was quick to point out that this must be the thief, for Doctor Ruy had described just such a man as the probable culprit; doubtless the scoundrel had fallen out with his villainous Flemish accomplices. This theory was accepted by everyone except Nicholas, who gave me some very troubled and searching looks.
However, I was able to look right back at him with wide-eyed innocence, because I knew perfectly well that Joseph hadn't killed anybody; the Company would never permit such a thing. He'd just found a convenient corpse that was already dead and used it as a decoy, that was all.
At least, I thought that was what must have happened… but when I questioned Nef about it, she glowered and refused to tell me anything. She made herself pleasant enough to Sir Walter, however; became quite attentive. She coaxed him to let her tend to the poor little mutilated unicorn during its recovery, and the result was, it ended up sleeping in a wicker basket beside her bed. Joseph had a fit. Joan the chambermaid took to muttering darkly about how she was a house servant, not a stable girl, and I was doubly glad I wasn't rooming there anymore.
The wet weather began again. For about a week the hills were golden, the forests were rustling clouds of gold. Then the rain took it all away. There was
suddenly a great deal of blue sky in England; a chilly wide sky, pale blue, like Nicholas's eyes.
The first morning there was a break in the rain, we went out for a bit of a frisk in the garden, but we had to take some care in our merry chase, with the mud and piles of wet slick leaves. As we neared the end of the path, we saw a traveler out by the gate, peering vainly in. He could see us perfectly well, too, so we slowed to a dignified walk and pretended we had been coming to meet him.
"The porter is not at his post, sir," called Nicholas.
"I can see that!" shouted the man in exasperation.
"I mean, sir, that there be no penny-paying guests after the rains begin," explained Nicholas as we drew nearer. "I fear most of our marvels are lacking their proper foliage. You may see the Great Aviary, or the Walk Historical. But the roses are a dead loss."
"I have come expressly to see Sir Walter Iden," grated the man.
"Oh," said Nicholas, and since we were at the gate by this time, he produced his ring of keys and let the traveler in. This gentleman shoved through and stood shaking the rain out of his hat, for the branches had been dripping on him where he stood. He glared at us. I had seen him before. Yes, he had come one day back in summer, with a party of other folk.
"Master Darrell." Nicholas bowed slightly, having placed him too.
"I am he." Master Darrell jammed his hat back on his head. "Pray announce me to your master."
"At once, sir. There is hot wine and a good fire in the hall," Nicholas placated. Master Darrell brightened considerably at the prospect as we walked back to the house.
"You have come on some business, sir? Or for the pleasure of Sir Walter's company?"
"A little of both, I think," the traveler replied, puffing out his breath in a frost cloud. "And I hope to sweeten your master's inclination to business by pleasant discourse with him. Heard you the news about Her Grace the queen?"
"I think not," said Nicholas cautiously. I put my arm through his as we walked. I knew what was coming.