by April White
“My thinking exactly.”
We made our way back across the roof and down the scaffolding. I didn’t know if clocks even existed in this time, and pitch black is pitch black, so I was at a loss for how much more night we had.
Archer seemed to reverse-melt from the trees when we dropped to the ground. He had our bags in his hands.
“We should go.”
Ringo clapped him on the arm with one hand. “Did ye see it, or do ye just know things?”
Archer’s expression was grim as he scanned me up and down like he was looking for an injury or something. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
Wait, what? He just got jealous from a vision? If my eyes rolled any further in my head they’d fall out.
Archer pulled his cloak out of his pack and draped it over his shoulders, then started walking. I sped up to catch him. “Did your vision tell you which way we need to go to get to London?”
“I know the way.”
“On foot?”
“Yes, on foot.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this before?”
“You didn’t ask.”
I held my tongue. Just barely, but somehow, I managed it. For a minute.
“He didn’t look at me any different than any other guy does.”
“Indeed.”
On the Road
Just before dawn I decided I was too tired to be mad anymore. I don’t know what it was about Archer’s jealousy, but it tweaked some raw nerve I had – something to do with not being trusted, I guess. We’d made it to just outside Brentwood as the sky began to pale at the horizon, and I was ready to crawl into a hole and sleep for a week.
Archer knew of a Tudor house with such a hole – a priest hole accessible from the outside of the manor, designed to hide Catholic priests from over-zealous Protestant mobs. I’d stopped being surprised by the random stuff he knew a couple of hours before when he regaled us with the time he’d spent at Bletchley Park during World War II. It’s where he met Professor Singh, whom he called Ravi, one of the very few Anglo-Indians working in wartime intelligence. The code-breakers had worked underground, where night and day didn’t matter, and the only news of the outside world they received was related to the war. And so Archer and Ravi had bonded over the made-up world of movies, where musicals had been as far away from death and destruction as they could retreat.
The priest hole, he said, was one he’d used after that war. The country had still been reeling from its losses and Archer had wanted to escape the carnage of London. He had deliberately stayed away from anything to do with Immortal Descendants, which had probably been a good thing since the Mongers had gotten really strong then. But he’d been lonely, and he’d finally decided to take a road trip to see which Elians might be at St. Brigid’s.
I had stayed quiet while Ringo peppered him with questions about warfare. That Archer had lived through things I’d only ever read about in history books was hard enough to fathom, but that he’d been so alone made my heart ache for him.
His walking pace slowed as the manor house came into view. It was one of the first buildings we’d seen up close, since we stuck mostly to the woods as we walked. A big, white house crisscrossed with black beams, it looked like a very grand farmhouse to my architecturally untrained eyes.
Despite total exhaustion, all three of us went into stealth mode as Archer led us around the side of the house to some cellar stairs. The door at the bottom was smaller than usual, but made of thick timbers, and I wondered how such an obvious entrance could be a priest hole.
But Archer didn’t open the door. He knelt on the stone landing just outside it, and felt around the edges with his fingers. Then, with a grunt of effort, he pulled the biggest piece up and carefully laid it down off to the side. Under that stone were the square edges of a wooden frame, and a ladder descending into the darkest hole I’ve ever seen. He looked at Ringo.
“I’ll go first.”
Archer dropped through the hole without using the ladder. I started down more tentatively. I wasn’t a big fan of jumping blind, which probably would have made anyone who knew me laugh. I seemed to do it a lot.
Strong arms caught me at the bottom, and Archer’s whisper barely carried in my ear.
“We’re not alone.”
Not even my night vision could help me see in this pit, so I tried something different. I reached out with my instinct – whatever it was that hated Mongers and trusted my friends. I imagined that sense drifting out like invisible fingers to touch whatever else could be in that hole with us.
And it did.
I’d never consciously tried to feel anything but Mongers before, but whatever that instinct was, it found someone whose fear was so strong I could practically smell it.
Ringo had shifted the stone into place and dropped down next to us. Apparently he had no issue with blind jumps. But before I could say anything, Ringo froze in place.
“Who’s there?”
“Whoever it is, they’re scared.”
I realized the darkness worked to our advantage. We were still dressed in our modern clothes because walking was easier in jeans than in heavy skirts, and Archer still carried my dress in his bag. So, instead of lighting up the priest hole and giving ourselves away, I tried a different tack. Honesty.
“My friends and I are going to stay until dark. We won’t bother you, and we won’t tell anyone you’re here. I’m sorry we scared you, but we need to rest. So please, if you don’t mind, don’t murder us in our sleep, and we’ll be on our way at dusk.”
Archer’s chuckle was low in my ear and he gripped me tightly in a hug. I felt safe in his arms, and it may have helped that some of the fear coming from the far side of the hole went down a couple degrees. I hoped our unknown companion was more like a quaking Chihuahua than a cornered pit-bull, and I dubbed him Pancho to make myself feel better about our chances in the dark.
I felt my way over to the wall behind the ladder and sank down with my back against the dirt. I refused to think of the creepy crawlies that could wriggle out of the earthen walls and into my hair while I slept. I was just too tired to care. Archer settled in next to me and reached out for my hand. I guessed his recent feeding was what made his skin warmer than normal, and I felt almost like a regular girl holding hands with my boyfriend. The part about hiding in a hole under a manor house in the sixteenth century, not so much. But maybe this was about as normal as my life got.
Ringo settled in a little ways away. I could feel him wrap his arms around his knees and stare into the darkness. I knew he was taking the first watch so I could sleep, and probably mostly so Archer was safe while he went unconscious.
The far corner of the priest hole stayed completely silent, and within a couple breaths, I nodded off.
The sound of whispered voices dragged me from a dream. Ringo was speaking quietly with Pancho, and I could tell they’d been talking for a while.
“Yer ma hasn’t been back since?”
Pancho’s whisper sounded young and, I thought, male. “The family sends food in once a day, and takes the chamber pot, but I’ve not been out in a fortnight.”
I gasped, and I could feel the fear spike across the room. Definitely a Chihuahua. I felt a little bad for him. “You’re being held down here?”
“They’re hiding the lad from the queen’s men.” Ringo answered.
“Why?” I directed the question at Pancho, but he still wasn’t talking to me.
“’Is family’s hip-deep in ‘igh water with ‘er Majesty. From what I gather, ‘is name’ll get ‘im the Tower on a good day, or the ax on a bad ‘un.”
“How old are you?”
There was silence from the corner. Finally Ringo answered. “’E’s twelve.”
I sucked in a breath. “You haven’t been out of this hole in two weeks? Are they nuts?”
“It is treason to harbor a Wyatt.”
I felt sick. “The Wyatt Rebellion. Thomas is in the Tower right now.”
“How do
you know my brother?” Pancho’s voice trembled, but he sounded brave too.
“I don’t.” I was going to fail at this time line protection thing. Badly.
“Your manner of speaking is very strange. You must be from France, or Spain perhaps. A spy.”
Again with the 007 business. “Not a spy. Just passing through.”
Pancho sounded resigned. “It wouldn’t matter. Even death would be better than living like this.”
“Dude, you’re twelve. You don’t get to talk like that.”
“Some lives have been lived through in twelve years.” Ringo, with his own sixteen years, had just told a bigger truth than any philosophy book I’d ever read.
I pulled Ringo close so I could whisper in his ear. “Let’s take him with us.” I sounded like Dorothy asking the Scarecrow if we should take the Cowardly Lion along for an adventure. Too bad there actually was a wicked witch, and his name was Wilder.
Ringo nodded. “It’s a risk, but none should live in the dark like this.”
My voice was as silent as I could make it. “His brother will die in the Tower.”
Ringo was quiet. Then, “Right. Are ye going t’ ask ‘Is Lordship, or just do what you will?”
That startled me. I actually hadn’t been going to ask him.
“We’re in this together. We should all agree.”
“Good. Then I agree.” Archer’s whispered voice came from behind me. I hadn’t realized he was awake and I reached for him. He clasped my hand and brought it to his lips to kiss. “Since you were going to do it anyway.”
Apparently the living lie-detector part of his Seer abilities wasn’t color-blind in the dark.
I spoke in a normal tone, since everyone was awake now. “Okay, Pancho, do you want to come with us?”
“My name is Francis.”
“Great, Francis Wyatt. Too much information.” If we actually had been spies, the kid would have given himself away six ways to Sunday. He must have realized it too, because he was silent. And losing more of his fear to anger. Good. Angry would work better than afraid in the long night of travel we had ahead of us. “We’re going to London, to the Tower.” Pancho gasped so I continued quickly. “We need to see someone who’s being held there.”
“Thomas.”
“No, not your brother. But he’s there too. If you’re disguised, maybe we could get you in to see him before …” I sighed. Crap.
“Before he is put to death.” The resignation in his voice prickled with pain.
Okay, not pulling any punches with this kid.
“Right. I don’t know how we’re going to get into the Tower, or for that matter, if you even want to see Thomas before he dies. But if you stay here you’ll either become some stunted, twisted bitter thing in the dark, or you’ll die. And sorry if I don’t believe in expiration dates for twelve-year-olds.”
“I want to see Thomas.”
“Okay, so you’re with us.” And I’d just increased our likelihood of failing by a factor of four. Oh well, sometimes it’s not a choice.
The sound of the rock above us being dragged up cut through the dark with a sharp edge. Pancho whispered frantically. “The houseman is coming with food for me. He will have a light with him.”
The fear was back, but Archer turned on his horse-whisperer voice. “Francis, listen to me. We’re going to hide. When the light comes down the ladder you won’t be able to see us, but we’ll be here with you. School your face and your voice so the houseman sees nothing amiss.”
“Yes, sir.”
And just like that, he calmed. The flickering light of a candle lit up a circle of dirt floor, and I quickly grabbed Archer’s and Ringo’s hands. The ward went up with an immediate dip in temperature around us, and I shivered in my cloak. I could feel Archer press himself against me, but body heat was useless under a ward. I set my teeth against chattering and concentrated on keeping the ward around us while heavy footsteps creaked down the ladder.
Instead of looking at the houseman struggling with a plate of food as he descended the ladder, my eyes were locked on the spot in the far corner where I’d felt Pancho’s fear. The candlelight very gradually revealed the form of a lanky boy, his arms wrapped around his knees and his face buried in the crook of his elbow. He had red-orange hair and freckles on the backs of his hands, the kind that attempt to shield fair skin from the sun. A ginger Chihuahua. He sat in a nest of tangled blankets, and his fine clothes were a wrinkled mess.
“Yer alrigh’, Master Francis?” The houseman’s voice was gruff, but it sounded like he actually cared about the answer.
Pancho looked up, squinting and blinking at the dim light. “I live in a hole, Roderick. I haven’t seen daylight in weeks, nor have I moved beyond the ten paces of this room. I am alive, yes. But certainly not living.”
Fascinating. Pancho actually had a backbone when he wasn’t freaking out. I was glad to notice his eyes didn’t flick over to where he’d last heard our voices.
Roderick set the plate of food down and traded out an empty bucket for one in the corner that must have been full of waste. He sounded genuinely contrite when he spoke. “I’m sorry. Ye knows there’s naught I can do fer ye. Not while the Mistress fears them soldiers’ll be back.”
“I am certain my mother’s sister will always do what is best for her.”
Roderick paused, apparently unwilling to speak out against the lady of the house. “Can I get aught fer ye tonigh’?”
“What is the time?” Bless him. Pancho had a brain.
“Tis after nine. T’ house is shuttin’ down, but I can bring ye sommat else from the kitchen?”
“No need, Roderick.”
“I’ll see ye tomorrow then. Good nigh’, Master Francis.”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
Roderick looked sad as he shuffled back up the rickety ladder. The light was gone and the stone scraped back into place. I dropped the ward, and Archer wrapped his arms around me to get warmth back into my skin.
“Are you still here?”
“Nice going, Pancho. I’m impressed.”
“He will not return tonight.”
“So, we give Roderick ten minutes to settle back into the house, and then we go.” Archer’s voice was steady and confident. “Bring your cloak and perhaps a blanket. Otherwise we travel light as we’re on foot.”
“I have two horses in the stable. My mother’s man who brought me was sent away on foot. The price of my care, I suppose.”
“But if we take them both, won’t they assume you had help to escape?”
“Why would I not take what belongs to my family by rights?” There was certainty in his voice, total confidence in the order of things. Privilege was the only life this kid had known, and I wondered if the time he’d spent in this hole had tempered his expectations about life yet.
“I’ll see that all’s clear and come back for ye.” Ringo’s voice was low and businesslike, and he was up the ladder with barely a sound. The stone slid back with some effort, but even the small amount of moonlight coming in was a relief after the complete absence of light in the priest hole.
I was already starting to climb when Ringo’s whisper carried into the darkness. “It’s clear. There’s a dog in the stables, but I’ve made friends with him, so I’ll meet ye there.” My muscles were stiff after the night of tramping through the woods, but I guessed Pancho would be much worse off than me until he got used to moving again.
Archer sent me up, then helped Pancho climb. His ginger head popped up above the stones, and I grinned at the expression of shock on his face when he saw me.
“But you are a girl.”
“Yeah, and?”
His eyes were huge in his freckled face, and I thought he would grow into them pretty well when he got older. If he got older.
“And girls do not—“
One eyebrow went up, and the look on my face was clearly daunting because he wisely shut his mouth and just blinked at me. I helped Archer put the st
one back in place, and then he stood to face Pancho.
“I’m Archer, this is Saira, and our friend in the stables is Ringo. Now, take us to your horses, if you please, Francis.” The deer-in-headlights look was starting to fade from the kid’s eyes, and he had the presence of mind to nod to me before he led us away from the manor house.
Ringo was playing with a big wolfhound when we found him in the stables. The dog probably looked fierce when he was on the job, but with his tongue lolling out and the big grin on his face as my friend wrestled with him, he looked like an overgrown puppy. Wiping dog kisses from his face, Ringo smiled at Pancho.
“Ye’re probably the fastest one in yer family, eh?”
Pancho pulled himself up to his full five feet proudly. “I can beat every one of them except Thomas. But he is a man, so he hardly counts.” Standing next to Pancho, Ringo looked full-grown. It was disconcerting.
“Well, good. Strength and speed’ll help ye get strong again after yer time in the hole.”
“I’m guessing these are your mounts over here?” Archer had gone to the end of the stables and was leading two small creatures from their stalls that looked more like ponies than horses. Pancho’s grin lit up his face as he went to the dark brown one and rubbed its nose.
“This fellow’s Clyde and that’s Bess.”
“They can’t hold two of us each.” Either these horses really were ponies, or the last five hundred years had seen huge advancements in horse-breeding.
Pancho spun angrily to face me. “They can too! Clyde is stronger than any other horse in my father’s stables, and Bess carried Tucker, who’s fatter than all of you put together, for three days to get here.”
Archer rubbed Bess’ nose. “She’s a lovely girl, Francis. Help me with tack for them and we’ll be on our way.”
Pancho looked stunned. “I don’t do tack. Grooms do.”
Ringo let go of the dog he was rolling with and stood up to brush off. “It’s time you learned then. Lord Devereux is a patient teacher.”
If eyes could have bugged out of a head, Pancho’s had at the mention of Archer’s title. The little brat apparently realized he was way outclassed in present company, and to his credit, he wisely stepped up to Archer and followed his lead with the horses.