by April White
I pulled Ringo to one side. “I’m going to look for a food storehouse, or else I’m breaking into the kitchen.”
“Already done.” Ringo opened the bag at his hip to show me two sausages, some cheese, and some bread. “Found these too.” He tossed me a wizened apple and I took a happy bite.
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
“Nah, ye just need someone around who’s better than ye at some things.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, then looked over at Archer, patiently teaching a spoiled nobleman’s kid how to tack up a horse. “I’m not sure the name Pancho fits the entitled little aristocrat.”
“It’s perfect. Makes ‘im sound daring and full ‘o courage. ‘E’ll come to like it.”
A few minutes later we were leading the horses away from the manor house and out into the night. Archer and I walked next to Bess, while Ringo and Pancho whispered around Clyde. When we were out of sight of the house, Archer pulled me up behind him on the horse, and we took off down the dirt track at a gallop.
Pancho was right; those horses were strong. They carried us through the night, and it wasn’t until just outside London that we finally dismounted at an inn to stretch our legs and give them a rest.
I sucked in a breath as soon as my feet touched the dirt courtyard. Riding is not easier than walking. My feet tingled while they woke up, and Ringo was doing a similar shifting dance as he worked the blood back into his legs. Archer and Pancho were fine, but I had yet to find anything Archer didn’t do well.
He was a good guide too. He and Ringo communicated directions through hand signals most of the way past thatched cottages and farmlands. It didn’t really hit me then that we were almost five hundred years in the past, and that everything my eyes took in I’d only either read about or seen in paintings.
Archer went to wake up the innkeeper to get a room for us with the trade goods we brought. Ringo and Pancho took the horses to be stabled, and I clung to the shadows of the courtyard, staying as invisible as I could. Archer and I had a quiet discussion about my wardrobe before we arrived at the inn. He said I’d blend better if I had the dress on. I said I would only blend if I was lying on a brocade bedspread at the Madonna Inn. His eyebrow went up in one of those gestures full of unspoken conversation, and I blushed and wisely shut my mouth until we stopped to rest.
Pancho almost went for the one bed, which was covered in scratchy wool, not shiny brocade, but then looked at Archer and stopped before he claimed it. I’d been listening to Pancho’s accent long enough that I did a decent impression of it to ask the innkeeper’s wife for two bedrolls. I had just pulled my hair from under my sweater and unbraided it when she tapped lightly on the door. I didn’t think, I just answered it. And despite being dressed like a guy, and covered in all the grime the dirt road and the back of a horse could lay on me, my long hair gave me away. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed dangerously as she handed them to me with a disapproving glare at the three males behind me. I sighed as I closed the door.
“Apparently I’m this century’s version of a hooker. Awesome.” I tossed the bedrolls to Ringo and Pancho and crawled into the bed. Archer was sitting on the edge of it, unlacing his boots. “I should just cut off my hair and travel as a man. It would be easier.”
Again with the eye-bugging. Poor Pancho.
“Not if you have any hope of getting to Lady Elizabeth in the Tower.”
“Right.” I muttered under my breath as I yanked a brush through my hair. “Can’t just go in over the walls like a normal person.”
“My mother’s second husband was the Lord Lieutenant of the Tower until the queen had him arrested. I used to play there when I visited her.” Pancho’s voice was small, and he watched me warily.
I stopped punishing my hair for having knots and stared at him. “You know the Tower of London?”
He nodded and swallowed.
A huge grin split my face, and I leapt up to go for my bag. Pancho jumped out of my way like I was going to hit him. I paused and considered him. I could feel the edges of his fear around him like an aura. Weird.
“You don’t need to be afraid of us, Pancho. We’re not going to hurt you.”
He wrestled with the fear. Tried to pull it back. I was fascinated that I knew that. It felt like a kind of animal instinct, maybe from the Shifter in me.
“Why do you call me Pancho?”
I looked him in the eyes. Always best when you’re about to give it to someone straight. “Because you remind me of a scared Chihuahua – which is a kind of little dog. My neighbor in L.A. had one called Pancho, and just like him you get cocky and proud to cover it. I give nicknames to people, and I say them out loud to people I like. And your name is Francis. I can’t say that with a straight face.”
Archer struggled not to laugh while Pancho processed what he could understand of my words, since I didn’t bother to explain my words. His expression was like a loudspeaker for every emotion he had. I watched him fly through anger, indignance, resignation, until he finally settled on a kind of pride. The kid was twelve, and if he didn’t screw it up with arrogance, he might be a pretty cool guy when he grew up.
“Just so ye know, I wasn’t born with the name Ringo.”
Pancho watched Ringo grin with me at our private joke, then he finally nodded.
“So, what shall I tell you about the Tower?”
Getting In
There weren’t enough window coverings for Archer to sleep safely through the day on the bed with me, so we made a nest for him under it. I draped my cloak over the front so he was in a kind of dust-bunny cave. I sincerely hoped I’d beaten the bedding enough that any unwelcome guests of the microscopic variety had gotten the word their invitation was revoked. Pancho probably thought we were certifiable, but he didn’t demand an explanation. Not that I’d have given him one anyway. He was still passed out cold when I woke up in the late afternoon, but Ringo was lying on his bedroll studying the map of the Tower I’d drawn with Pancho’s help.
“Seems the river might be our best bet for gettin’ in unnoticed.”
“So one question is, did they keep the princess in the Bell Tower like modern history says, or in the Royal Apartments, like Professor Singh believes?”
“They don’t know in yer time?” Ringo seemed shocked.
“I did a bunch of research online before we left, but everyone has a different answer, and everyone believes his information is correct. The thing the Professor said, and I believe it, is no matter how mad Mary Tudor was at her sister, she still always treated her like a princess of royal blood because of their dad. It makes me think Mary wouldn’t have had her put in a cell.”
“Well, they’re on opposite sides of the common, so one of us should do some scoutin’ before we all move in.”
I looked at the details on the map that Pancho had so carefully pointed out: the guard towers, the garden, and all the best hiding places for children’s games.
“I never studied up on Thomas Wyatt, so I have no idea where he was held before his execution.”
Ringo looked over at Pancho, who slept curled up like a cold dog. “Do you know the actual date?”
I nodded. “April eleventh.”
“So ‘e’s got a week.”
We were each lost in our own thoughts for a moment before I finally asked Ringo the question I hadn’t asked myself yet. “Do we trust him?”
He considered the sleeping boy again. “’E’s young, so the arrogance of ‘is station is only a habit, not yet who ‘e is. And ‘e holds ‘is lordship in ‘igh enough regard ‘e won’t openly defy ‘im. But ‘e was in that ‘ole a long time for bein’ twelve years old. Darkness can change a person.”
“I guess the question is, can his time in the darkness inspire loyalty to the people who got him out?”
“Only if ‘e believes ‘e couldn’t ‘ave gotten out without us.”
Ringo slipped out to find us some food, and I tackled the knots in my hai
r with a wide-toothed wooden comb from our trade goods stash. Archer emerged from under the bed, and I was surprised to see that the light had faded to dusk outside. He took the comb from me and smoothed out the last of the knots, an unexpected luxury that made me feel pampered. I braided it tightly while he brushed the dust-bunnies off his clothes and regarded Pancho, still curled in a tight ball on the floor, with humor and pity. “Has he even moved?”
I shook my head and held my hand out to Archer so he could pull me up. “I think the poor kid moved more last night than he has in two weeks.” I kissed Archer lightly and his arm snaked around my back to hold me tightly against him.
“I could get very used to spending so much time together.” There was a low, rumbly quality to his voice.
I grimaced. “Considering my general state of unwashed-ness, I’m not sure how flattered I should be.”
He laughed and kept my body pressed against his. “Flattery is definitely not my intent.”
No, given the intense way he was looking at me, I’d say flattery was way too tame for what he had in mind. My breath caught in my chest, and my heart pounded as Archer’s mouth moved closer to mine. This wasn’t going to be a quick kiss hello.
“Where am I?”
Nope. It wasn’t going to happen at all. There was regret in Archer’s eyes as he let me go and turned toward Pancho, awake and blinking blearily from his pallet on the floor. Recognition seeped into Pancho’s eyes and he looked around the room. “And Ringo?”
Just then, Ringo opened the door juggling a tray with a jug of ale, some bread, cheese and meat pies. “’Ere. Get the ale for me. I think I spilled ‘alf of it on some blighter’s coat downstairs.”
He distributed three cups to us and set the rest of the feast on the floor for a picnic. I grabbed the meat pies before Ringo and Pancho could take them. “How now!” Pancho sounded indignant.
“Road food. Eat the cheese now while you have use of a knife.”
“Are you not eating, Milord?” Pancho looked up at Archer, who stood by the window looking out over the yard.
Archer shook his head. “I have no hunger.” His gaze went to Ringo. “Did you check on the horses?”
“Still there.”
“Good. We’ll leave soon, then. And it’s time for the dress, Saira.”
I shook my head emphatically and swallowed the bread and cheese I was gnawing on. “Not if we’re still on horses. I’d rather carry it and take my chances.”
“Does your father whip you for wearing trousers, or has he given you up for a lost cause?” Pancho’s question caught me off guard. He was plainly curious, and I almost laughed at the fact that those were the only options that occurred to him.
“My father is dead.” My heart ached just saying the words, but it seemed to satisfy something for Pancho.
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“How you can travel with men. You are neither sister nor cousin, are you?”
“Definitely not related.”
“Right. I thought not. So the only other possibility is that you’re under Milord’s protection. Perhaps you are his ward?”
I shrugged and decided to blow his mind a little. “Or his lover?”
Yep, that did it. Mind blown. Jaw unhinged. Eyes bugged. Made me smile only a little evilly, and Ringo shot me a look that said ‘shut it.’
I got up and dusted off my butt. “Okay, I guess we’re out of here.”
Ringo shouldered his bag. “I’ll get the ‘orses.”
“I shall help.” Pancho wanted to get very far away from me and bolted out the door behind Ringo.
Archer sighed and rolled up Pancho’s forgotten blanket. “Be careful how you wind him up.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “And me.”
I chewed on that as we slung our bags over our shoulders and left the room. I tucked my braid down the back of my sweater again, but that didn’t stop the innkeeper’s wife from shooting me a death glare on our way out. Ringo and Pancho had the horses already saddled by the time we got to the yard, and I pulled Pancho aside before we mounted.
“I was just teasing, before. Archer and I aren’t…” I caught Archer’s eye as he watched our exchange, and I took a deep breath. “We’re together, but we’re not lovers.”
Pancho looked back and forth between us, his face flaming red. “Oh.”
It took nearly all night to make our way into London, and when we finally passed the villages of Shoreditch and Spitalfields, the markets were just beginning to set up. I took mental snapshots and made notes of things to sketch later for my mom – a farmer setting a table with fresh cheeses, a forager unloading a saddlebag full of dandelion greens, two little kids chasing a chicken around the yard while their mother watched them, laughing delightedly. I realized that’s what my mom had been doing all those years with her paintings of Victorian England – chronicling her travels for me. Another piece of resentment fell away and I breathed a little easier. And immediately choked on the stench of sewage.
I recognized the layout of one of the major intersections just outside Aldgate and realized it’s where I would go back in time and first meet Archer in three hundred years. In this time it was still a rural village outside the wall of London, which rose up in front of us in a very imposing pile of Roman brick and stone.
Archer turned us from Whitechapel High Street onto Aldgate High Street and I suddenly understood why it was called Aldgate. Ald, for ‘old,’ and the gate part was unmistakable. Looming up ahead was a massive three-story fortress-like structure with two arches passing through it, one for incoming traffic and one for outgoing. The foot and horse traffic on the road at this pre-dawn hour was light, and I was fascinated to see a portcullis – one of those medieval spiked gates – raised above us as we passed through Aldgate and into old London. There were no guards that I could see, so I guessed the gates must only be manned if there was an army on its way.
We turned left almost immediately and followed the wall until it intersected the Tower and presumably ended at the river. The Tower of London was situated right at the end of the wall, and I could see the strategic advantage to this from the time both defenses were built.
Archer pulled up our horse, and Ringo and Pancho came up next to us. “It’s only an hour until dawn. Either we go in now and bunker down, or we find an inn close by and plan for tonight.”
I considered the sky, inky black in this world without electric lights. “I am clearly useless with innkeeper diplomacy, so if you and Pancho get rooms then Ringo and I can go down to the Tower and scout for the best way in.”
Archer shot me a look that was loaded with ‘no,’ but I cut him off before he could protest.
“Seriously, I can’t open my mouth without suspicious look, and Ringo knows the area better than all of us.” I wrapped my arms around Archer’s waist. “Just go. We’ll be fine, and you can meet us down at the river as soon as you find a place.”
It took remarkable self-control, but I didn’t actually swing my leg over the back of the horse to dismount until I saw him nod.
Ringo was off his horse with one smooth motion and looked up at Archer. “Try the Crosse Keys or Bell Inn off Gracechurch Street. Shakespeare was supposed to ‘ave done plays in the yards there.” I stared at him, but he ignored me. “We’ll head down to the little ‘arbor just west of the Tower and work our way around from there.”
Archer nodded curtly, shot me another look full of ‘you better stay safe’ directives, and turned his horse down Fenchurch Street. Pancho followed him mutely, and I spun on Ringo.
“You know Shakespeare?”
He actually rolled his eyes at me, the punk. “Ye’d have to be deaf, dumb, an’ blind not to know Shakespeare. The ‘amlet and Laertes’ swordfight is the stuff o’ which little-lad stick battles are made.”
Ringo turned off the main road and headed toward the river. The smell of raw sewage clung to the air with rotting corpse fingers, making the wood and coal smoke from the build
ings that lined the lane smell like heaven in comparison.
We walked in silence. A fisherman whistled quietly as he passed us on his way to the boats, and a drunk lurched out of a doorway to heave on the sidewalk. I kept my head down, but I had googly eyes as I took in the sight of Tudor England. Whitewashed, timber-framed houses crowded either side of the cobbled road, and signs hanging outside the stone-clad lower floors showed that most buildings had shops underneath to justify their existence.
It was like a movie set except for the smell. Raw sewage with a couple of dead fish thrown in for flavor. Not appetite-inducing at all.
When we reached Thames Street, Ringo turned left, and I saw the Tower head-on for the first time. It loomed up in front of us like a battle-ready fortress wearing armor with spikes, so different from the beautifully-lit, silk-bannered castle I explored with Archer in modern times. I shuddered at the thought of being imprisoned in such a cold, dark place.
A little inlet in the riverbank provided a harbor, and Ringo was headed toward a small fishing boat furthest away from the street.
“What are you doing?” I whispered into the silence as Ringo stepped into the little boat.
“Looking at options and checking its seaworthiness. Get in. I need yer weight.”
If it were possible, the water actually smelled worse than the raw sewage running in the streets, and I battled between breathing through my nose, where I could smell it, and my mouth, where I risked permanent taste-bud damage. I read somewhere that at high concentrations, sewer gas actually temporarily disables the sense of smell, so I opted for inhaling through my nose out of self-defense. Still, I was very glad it had been hours since I’d eaten last.
The little boat dipped a little, but held fine. So I untied it from its mooring. “Can you get us closer to the Tower? We can scout for a way in from the river.”
Ringo looked at me. “’is Lordship won’t like it.”