by Donna Hosie
“What are you doing?” demanded Marlon. “I am a yeoman of the king’s guard—”
“Yes, yes, you look very fancy in your doublet and hat,” retorted Fiennes. “Now, as I said earlier, get out of my way.”
I liked blunt people. I liked people who clearly knew what they were doing. And if the Devil could stop the pain…
“Where do you want me, Fiennes?” I asked.
“There will do,” replied Fiennes. “Now, drink this, bite down on this, and if you stay still, it’ll be over sooner rather than later.”
* * *
—
I drank. I bit down. But I couldn’t stay still. There is only so much pain a person can stand from the Devil without going through an exorcism.
* * *
—
“Have this, it’s milk of the poppy,” whispered Marlon, bending down next to the chaise I had been carried to. He and Alice had dressed me in clean clothes, taken from the laundry by her.
I took the goblet from Marlon and sipped an amount that would have filled a thimble. It was different from the opium drink I’d just taken. It tasted bitter, and the glutinous white liquid stuck to the back of my throat, causing me to cough. I could feel it on my top lip, too, which had immediately become cold and numb.
My head became heavier, or my neck weaker. One of the two. I couldn’t keep my head upright. Clouds appeared on the ceiling. Fluffy white pillows of smoke.
Alice was deep in conversation with Fiennes about stab wounds, and which artery would cause the most blood loss.
* * *
—
It was the aorta. Alice should have known that.
The biggest were usually the quickest to fail.
I arrived back at Horseshoe Cloister to find my brother sitting up in fresh bandages and clean clothes.
He was also as high as a kite.
Alice was there, as was Marlon. Fiennes was hastily packing up to leave the shabby lodgings—which I suspected had less to do with my arrival and more with the fact that Marlon, who was armed, was throwing eye daggers at the surgeon. Thankfully, Alice had taken control and was talking animatedly to Fiennes about blood loss and ways of restricting—and encouraging—it.
When she moved on to the subject of garroting, Marlon started to stare at Alice with clear unease.
My brother was sitting on the chaise with a bronze goblet held—none too tightly—between his hands. Whatever had been in it had left a milklike white residue around his top lip. It glistened on top of his golden-red stubble. Alex’s eyes weren’t closed, but they weren’t fixed on anything, either. A dumb smile was spread across his face, which was slightly puffy and bruised.
I was so thankful not to see him in pain anymore that the worry that had beached itself on my shoulders over the course of the last day lifted just a little. The gold coins from Cromwell—money for services rendered, and those still to come—were still in my hand, and I passed one over to Fiennes as payment for his help—and silence. He nodded and pocketed it quickly. A wordless understanding.
“Miss Alice,” the surgeon said, “it has been a pleasure. I hope to converse with you more, perhaps once the patient is fully recovered.” Fiennes turned to me. “Keep the wounds clean. My methods are not to everyone’s liking, but I save more than I kill.”
Once Fiennes had left, Marlon started to voice his opposition.
“That man is dangerous! He should not be allowed near nobility. He is given the scum in the dungeons for a reason.”
“And what reason would that be?” asked Alice.
“No one cares if they die,” replied Marlon flatly.
“Fiennes speaks more sense than you realize,” said Alice. “And his methods may be unorthodox now, but in the future…”
Alice trailed off, looking aghast at her slipup. She reverted to character; meekly, passively, she curtsied and edged back to the side of the room. For the briefest second our eyes met. We were all utterly drained.
The remaining gold coins slipped from my fingers as I collapsed into the nearest chair and ran my fingers through my hair. It felt greasy. I smelled like I had slept with pigs. Granted, half of the royal court smelled like they had never seen a bar of soap, but that hardly made me feel cleaner. The relief I’d felt at seeing Alex drugged up and pain-free was being diluted by fear and worry again. And old questions, mixed with new.
Why had Grinch dragged Alice here?
Who had nearly poisoned me?
Who had left the carcass in our rooms?
Who had attacked Alex? Would Aramis have attacked one of his own? My mind drifted to a Paris backstreet and what had happened to Willem and Katie.
The 48 Assets were capable of anything.
Questions, questions, more damn questions.
How did Cromwell know about my brother’s injuries?
What was the Rewriting?
What was Aramis doing?
Did the success of our Religion Eradication assignment even matter now? The answer to that came quickly, but it wasn’t in my voice. It was the combined voice of every Asset at The 48.
Of course it mattered—or at least, it was the only thing that was supposed to.
I shook my head. “Alice, Cromwell is going to get Alexander and me to Greenwich today. The king is already there,” I said quietly.
“The king has left?” questioned Marlon. “When?”
“Last night,” I replied. “I think this is it. The beginning of the end.”
“The end of what?” asked Marlon, but I couldn’t—and didn’t—answer him. The queen’s fate would be known to all soon.
“Marlon, you’ve become a good friend to Alexander,” I said. “When the time comes to move him, I’m going to need your help.”
“Of course,” replied the yeoman. “I would do anything for Alexander…for both of you, of course. I am here to serve nobility.”
I saw my brother smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him look that genuinely happy.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Alice.
“Go back to the queen. Stay with her. I’m pretty sure they’ll move her to Greenwich too.”
Alice had looked down at her wrist. So did I.
27 08:43:22
Deep breaths.
“Are you all right, milord?” Alice asked.
“Are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine, in case anyone’s wondering,” drawled Alex, raising his cup. He smacked his lips together.
Alice shuddered. “You are gross, Alexander.”
“You’re high, Alexander,” I said.
“I feel like I could climb the walls of the castle and touch the clouds,” called Alex.
“You already are.”
But Marlon was looking worried.
“What did you do?” I asked. His cheeks flamed and he refused to meet my eye. I recognized guilt when I saw it. “Marlon?”
“I could not bear to see him in so much distress!” replied Marlon. “Yet I fear it may have been too much.”
I swore. “You mean you gave him something in addition to what Fiennes gave him?”
“I told you not to trust that man.”
“That man saved my brother’s leg last night,” I retorted. “No wonder Alexander is…not himself.” I turned to Alice. “What did your new friend Fiennes give him?”
“Ground opium. In wine.”
“And what did you give him?” I asked Marlon.
“Milk of the poppy from one of the apothecaries.”
Alex had been given an extra double dose of morphine. No wonder he was high; I was amazed he wasn’t unconscious.
“Someone needs to stay with him,” I said.
“Well, I can’t,” said Alice. “I need to go back to the queen.”
“And I need to get changed and awai
t word from Cromwell.”
“I would be happy to remain by Alexander’s side,” said Marlon. He said this to me, but he and Alex had locked eyes.
“I choose him,” slurred Alex. “He’s armed. And he has two arms.” He snorted at his own joke. Even high and in excruciating pain, my brother had more humor in him than I did on a good day. Marlon was smiling.
I felt a lot less worried about leaving my brother in the hands of someone who genuinely seemed to care for him.
“I’m going back to our rooms, Alexander,” I said quietly, crouching down at his side. “I’ll make sure everything is ready to go and then we’ll wait for Cromwell’s order.”
“Cromwell is going to lose his head,” laughed Alex. “Me too.”
“Those are not statements to make even in jest,” said Marlon.
“Pay him no heed,” I said to Marlon. “Alexander wouldn’t recognize our own mother right now.”
And neither would I, I thought as Alice and I shut the door and walked back out into Horseshoe Cloister.
* * *
—
“It stinks out here,” remarked Alice, wrinkling up her nose. “It’s even worse than Hampton Court.”
“That’s probably because we’re neck-high in crap,” I replied.
“Metaphorically.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“You need to walk ahead of me now,” said Alice, giving me a subtle push.
“I know. But I’m not sure when we’re going to get to talk again, and I’ve been thinking a little bit about Grinch. I want to hash out why she might have brought you here when you aren’t even a proper Asset.”
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded. “I’m just as good as you and Alexander.”
“Right, but you aren’t—”
“I’m not what?”
“You’re just a trainee, Alice. You haven’t passed—”
“Oh, screw you, Charlie,” snapped Alice. “You think you’re so amazing because you’re older than me? Look at yourself. You’ve done nothing but stumble from one crisis to the next on this mission. I wouldn’t have believed you were so hopeless if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
She curtsied and fled—down the path, past a woman carrying a huge bundle of washing under her left arm, and into a doorway that had tendrils of steam curling out of it.
Slamming my head into a stone pillar was not an option, although it was probably the only way I was going to release the tension now strung through my entire body. I needed a release or I was going to punch the first duke I came across.
I am Charles Douglas of The 48.
Of age and of willing mind.
I accept this assignment and affirm that I will faithfully execute the instructions within.
And will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Tenets of The 48 from now until my end. They are all that matter.
But Alex mattered. Alice mattered. I mattered.
Jane mattered, dammit.
* * *
—
It was clear that the king had left. People were bustling in and out of rooms, preparing to leave too. I saw Edward Seymour and three other men dressed in velvet doublets the color of plums talking animatedly by a large window that overlooked the grassy Upper Ward. The feathers in their pearl-studded hats flapped imperiously as they gesticulated and spoke over one another.
“Cleves,” called Edward Seymour. “A word.”
His thin face twisted into a look of barely concealed disgust at my appearance and smell as he got closer to me.
“Good God, man,” said Seymour. “Have you been sleeping with cows?”
“What can I do for you, Seymour?” I replied wearily.
Combing his gloved fingers through his long black beard, Seymour leaned in and whispered in my ear.
“I told you before, Lady Jane is spoken for. Any more late-night strolls, and I will personally ensure that you are mistaken for an intruder and dealt with accordingly.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t threaten—I promise,” replied Seymour menacingly. His hot breath lingered on my neck. He was one to talk about cows—his breath stank.
“I assure you, sir. I have no romantic intentions toward Lady Jane whatsoever.”
“Good. Because romance is for fools. As is love. And this is about power. Now go and take a bath. You smell of shit.”
I was dismissed like a fool. Edward Seymour had managed to do what even the king hadn’t done, which was to make me feel like a six-year-old child again. With shame burning in my chest, I walked quickly away to my lodgings. The high-pitched laughter of Seymour and his men tolled like bells in my wake.
I was an idiot to walk Jane back to her rooms. Jane’s disappearance from the castle for such a long period of time would have been noted by anyone watching her—and of those, there were plenty.
It took a while to accost a couple of servants, but eventually I managed to find two squires to fill a bath with hot water and find me a few sets of clean clothes. I wrapped one set into a bundle for Alex and hid it under a cloak. Then I looked around the room. I wouldn’t miss it. With any luck I would never be back at Windsor Castle again.
A warm bath and soap didn’t work miracles, but they were enough to make me feel human again. And with that feeling came a shred of confidence that I could get a grip on myself—and the assignment. It was all on me now. Alex needed to recuperate.
The next two weeks would decide what would become of Jane. I would need an audience with the king as soon as we arrived at Greenwich. All of my concentration and words now had to be focused on making Jane the most unattractive option for him to replace Anne.
Even if all else unraveled, I would save Jane, and she would thank me in the end.
The trip to Greenwich had been long and uncomfortable, yet I would have given anything to be back on that wooden barge, traveling up the foul-smelling river, if it meant I could escape this moment.
“Did you not hear me, Lady Margaret?”
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet the king’s. He was looking at me oddly.
“You should be pleased, Lady Margaret,” he said. “Your marriage to the Earl of Moray will benefit your father’s house. Strengthen ties between England and Scotland. You should be beyond happiness.” His face had turned a light shade of pink.
“I—I am happy, Your Grace,” I replied, digging my nails into my thumb to distract my mind from the horror of what had been finally confirmed.
“You do not look it. You serve me, don’t you?” The pink shade had deepened, and I felt my knees weaken.
“Gladly, with every breath I take, Your Grace. Indeed, I—”
“Enough,” replied the king, clicking his bejeweled fingers. Now he was smiling. “I have neither the time nor the desire for grateful weeping. The marriage will take place within the month, once your father has paid the dowry the earl has demanded. You do have the means?”
The king turned to my father, who had joined us at Greenwich, not to visit his only legitimate child, but to bargain her life away.
“It will be done with immediate effect, Your Grace,” replied my father. He was beaming, as if he had just sold a prize stallion for a grand sum.
I was dismissed. I had served my purpose. My father stayed behind to loiter with the king. My father would say and do anything for the king’s favor.
But I was more intelligent than he was. I was more intelligent than all of them. I was going to play the game and win.
I took a deep breath, smoothed the skirt of my pale blue gown, and went to knock on Cromwell’s door.
Cromwell’s instructions came from a squire, who led me to the gates of the Lower Ward during the changing of the guard. Smart, I thought. This was a grand spectacle—and noisy—and would be a good dis
traction for anyone curious about what he had to tell me.
“Lord Cromwell departed for Greenwich many hours ago,” the squire said. “But he told me to tell you a barge awaits you.” He gave me directions to the meeting point and then disappeared into the crowd.
I was relieved and somewhat surprised at the promptness of the squire’s message. But true to his word, the king’s chief minister had arranged to help me move Alex quietly away from Windsor Castle.
We would be taking a private barge up the river to Greenwich, separate from everyone else. It was perfect. No potholed roads to ride on that would cause Alex instant pain. Instead, a leisurely boat trip in nice weather, with nothing but ducks and swans for company.
I knew that I now owed Cromwell big—and he wouldn’t let me forget it.
* * *
—
Alex was looking pale and clammy by the time I got back to him, which I put down to the double dose of morphine withdrawal. Marlon and I got him to the barge with no real problems, but Alex started puking within seconds of the oarsmen punting off, even though the river was perfectly calm and the sun pleasantly warm.
Marlon went to speak to the captain of the small barge, and I seized my chance to talk to Alex alone.
I sidled up to him and flipped his wrist over.
26 23:59:59
I looked down at mine. It read the same. I took a wet cloth, wiped his sweating forehead, and opened my mouth to speak.
At which point, Alex needed to puke again. There was nothing left in his stomach, but his dry-retching still made me go through the replicate motions. It wasn’t a twin thing. I just hated the sound of violent heaving.
“My tongue…feels like it licked…a badger’s ass,” he croaked.
“Got much experience with that?” I replied.
“Ha,” said Alex. Groaning, he eased himself down, front-first, onto his bed of cushions. I wiped his mouth with the cloth. His lips were a pale blue color and very chapped. I lifted his shirt to inspect his back and winced at the sight. The sheer brutality was more evident than ever.