Keeper of the King’s Secrets

by Michelle Diener

  “They’re gone,” one of Harry’s lads called before they’d even opened the kitchen door to his wild rapping.

  He tumbled into the room, looking exactly like a merchant’s page, a look cultivated to render the boy invisible. Parker had suggested the outfits and provided them, and had reaped tenfold on his investment.

  “The Comte and his man?” Harry stood.

  “Aye. The traffic at Queenhithe was getting thinner and thinner as the evening wore on, and they eventually gave up. I followed them back to the Comte’s house.” He sank into a chair, stretching his hands toward the fire.

  Mistress Greene served him some stew. “Well, if they went home, they weren’t following anyone.”

  “I need to speak to them,” Susanna said. “If they are home now, I can go straight there.”

  Peter Jack stared at her. “They will kill you.”

  Susanna lifted her shoulders. “If they really want to kill me, then they will. Unless I’m willing to be a prisoner in this house, they will get enough chances. And every moment we delay is another Parker is missing.”

  Harry nodded, the movement slow and considering. “Why don’t I go with another note, first? Set up another meeting. Their reaction to that will tell me a lot more about whether they have Parker than they’d tell me willingly.”

  Susanna rocked on her feet, undecided. “I don’t want to waste time.”

  “It’s a good compromise, my lady.” Mistress Greene’s hands were clasped before her. “You don’t want to throw yourself at them in sacrifice if there is another way.”

  Susanna nodded and turned to Harry. “You can approach them first, and take Peter Jack with you. I’ll come too and wait somewhere safe. That way we can proceed to the meeting if they agree, or come home.”

  Harry nodded, looking relieved. “What will you say in the note?”

  Susanna tapped her fingers. “Where would be a good place to meet them for a second time?”

  “St. Mary Woolnoth.” Peter Jack glanced at Harry, who nodded in accord.

  “That’s close enough to the Comte’s house that he will be more inclined to meet a second time, yet far enough from us that they won’t easily follow us back without being seen,” he said.

  “We meet outside the church?” Susanna looked to Peter Jack and he nodded. “Then I’ll write the note.”

  “What else will you say?” Harry watched her, his eyes dark and worried.

  She sighed. “That Parker has gone missing, and I need to speak to them. If they have taken Parker, I won’t be telling them anything they don’t already know. If they haven’t, it should get their attention.”

  “If they haven’t taken him, we have no use for them. They may still want to silence you, and be pleased someone else has taken care of Parker for them,” Harry said bluntly.

  Susanna squared her shoulders. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

  The churchyard was well kept. Susanna could see hardly at all in the darkness, but the damp grass she knelt on at the back of the building was short and lush.

  Harry had offered to leave the lamp for her, but she knew they would need it, and it would look strange for them to arrive without one.

  She thought of Parker, of where he could be, and of the blood Harry had found where he’d been taken. Helpless panic battered her from within, like a bird trapped in a chimney, and she sat back against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest, rocking herself for comfort.

  The Comte must be responsible.

  If he wasn’t … She did not know where she would start. Parker had more than his share of enemies, but he had plenty of friends, too. Including the King himself.

  There was nowhere she wouldn’t go, no one she wouldn’t speak to, to find out where Parker could be.

  A gate creaked on its hinges to her right, the way she had come into the yard from the front of the church, and she was glad she was sitting down in deep shadow.

  Whoever entered had no light.

  She held still, straining to hear where they were.

  There should be noise, the sound of footsteps or a voice. The utter silence told her someone stood within the courtyard, listening just as intently as she did.

  There was a quick, sharp rustle of clothing, and she felt the vibration of steps on the ground. They were moving away, walking down the yard toward the tree-lined far wall.

  She stood, pressing up against the cold stone of the church, then began moving quietly toward the gate.

  The church wall was comfortingly solid beneath her hands, and before she moved along the fence toward the gate, she kept still and listened again.

  There was no sound at all. The wind had died, and not even the trees rustled. Her skin pricked and fear sank its teeth into her neck, forcing a shiver from her.

  She took a step toward the gate and a figure rose up from the ground right at her feet, arms outstretched.

  She screamed, the sound bouncing against the church and then swallowed by the night as she was knocked to the ground with a hand clamped over her mouth.

  She looked up at a face so shadowed she could not make out the features, and saw a crossbow aimed in line with her chest.

  “Madame, do not move. I failed to shoot you at London Bridge, but I promise you, I will not fail again.”

  24

  I say that a prince may be seen happy to-day and ruined to-morrow without having shown any change of disposition or character.

  —Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 25

  Susanna reared up despite the bolt aimed at her heart. “What have you done with the boys?”

  The assassin swore and lowered the bow. “They are unharmed. They sit waiting for the Comte in his hallway. They think he is being roused from his chamber.”

  Relief buckled her knees and she fell back to the ground, a hand to her throat. “Good. That’s good.”

  “What is this about, madame? You waste our time all evening, then ask for a second meeting, but do not come to the door yourself. Your man plays dangerous games with you and those boys—although what advantage he thinks this will bring him, I do not know.”

  “He is missing.” Susanna managed to get up on her knees. She knew she looked like a supplicant and that was what she was. “Someone took him just outside the Comte’s house. We thought it might be you.”

  “I don’t take prisoners.” He lowered the bow further. “I only kill.”

  “Then where is he?” Susanna could hear her voice fraying, and took a deep breath. “Where is he?”

  “What was he doing at the Comte’s house when he was taken?”

  “Watching to see if you followed after the Comte. If you had plans to kill him at the meeting.” She could not see his eyes, but she kept her gaze on his face.

  “Ah. That was perhaps wise of him. But no. After last night, we thought it best to speak with him, face-to-face. To stop the games.”

  “I have to find him.” Susanna rocked back to get her feet beneath her, and his hand came out to help her up. She took it, her hand closing over hard, calloused skin. He pulled her up easily, and she could feel his strength.

  “Whoever took your courtier either knows he is interested in the Comte and they were waiting for him, or they followed him.” His voice was deep, pleasant, and she still had not seen his face.

  “Yes.” Susanna realized he was as tall as Parker, but more wiry in build. “But Parker is not easy to follow.”

  “No, I would think not. So, someone who knows of his interest in the Comte. That leaves a small list. We have managed to keep things very quiet.”

  “The Cardinal, and perhaps Norfolk.” Two of the most dangerous men in England.

  “I thought it was just the Cardinal and his men. You think the Duke of Norfolk knows, as well?”

  Susanna lifted her shoulders, struck by the strangeness of the conversation. “He knows something of what is happening. He knew about the cloth merchant you were trying to kill yesterday. And about Jens. Whether he knows about the Comte, I’m not
sure.” She was glad to be reminded he had killed Jens, that he was not to be trusted.

  “Your husband is working for the King?”

  Susanna nodded. “He is.”

  “The Cardinal would not like that, I think. Wolsey is already in enough trouble with us. To have the King take notice as well … He is the most likely suspect. I would approach him first.”

  Susanna thought of the likelihood of Wolsey telling her anything, and despair pulled her down. “Why are you helping me? If there had not been so many people on the riverbank yesterday, if Parker hadn’t run straight for you, you would have killed me and the cloth merchant.”

  He laughed with genuine humor. “Someone stopped paying me to kill you as of this morning.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Your husband found me and wounded me. Then my spy saw him go straight to the King the next day.” There was admiration in his voice. “It is clearly useless to kill him to stop him talking, as he has already talked. When a thing is unnecessary, the money for it dries up.”

  “He is not my husband,” Susanna said quietly. “He is my betrothed, and I want him back.”

  “I could offer you aid.” The assassin spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, shifting the bow so it leaned on his leg. “I am quite willing, in exchange for something I want.”

  Surprised, she kept her voice as steady as she could. “And what would that be?”

  He shifted again in the dark. “The Mirror of Naples, of course.”

  Harry and Peter Jack looked sick as she came through the Comte’s front door, the assassin behind her.

  He wore his brown cloak again, unmistakably the man from the bank of the Thames. Harry rose up and Susanna felt the assassin’s quick movement behind her. She turned and saw the crossbow aimed over her shoulder, directly at Harry.

  “Sit, Harry. He means me no harm.”

  Peter Jack opened his mouth and she cut him off with her hand. “Apparently I am more useful alive now than dead.”

  “Indeed.” There was something in the assassin’s voice, chagrin, perhaps.

  She turned to get her first clear look at him, and he returned her look and gave a bow. “Enchanté, madame.”

  He was dark and elegant, his eyes almost black, and his skin looked sun touched, though it surely could not have seen a sunny day for many months.

  She dipped her head and her knees in a curtsy. There was a sound from the staircase, a creak of wood, and she turned and locked gazes with the Comte, who was on the last step. He was beautifully dressed, as if about to go out.

  “Madame.” His gaze brushed over her and then locked on the assassin. “What have we here, Jean?”

  “We may have a new way forward.” Jean shrugged casually, as if this was not really his concern and he merely provided an alternative.

  “And that would be?”

  “Mistress Horenbout has some insight into this affair, and access to people and places we do not. She may be willing to assist us.”

  “And what does the good mistress require in exchange?” The Comte’s eyes were on her now with real interest.

  “She needs help in finding her betrothed.”

  “Her betrothed …” The Comte frowned. “The King’s man? He is missing?”

  “Missing and injured.”

  “And who says he wasn’t taken and harmed by you?” Harry stood, feet braced apart, and glared at Jean.

  “Because, as I told your mistress, I do not take prisoners. I only kill.”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted the body lying near this house, though, would you? The sheriff would’ve been called round, and I don’t think that would suit you. You could have dumped him anywhere.” Peter Jack stood as well.

  Susanna hadn’t thought of that possibility, and she turned sharply to Jean. “Is that what you’ve done?” How could she not have thought of this?

  A wave of nausea washed over her, bathing her in cold, clammy sweat, and she leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Let’s go.” She stood, breathing in deeply, as she spoke to the boys.

  “What about our mutual promise of aid?” Jean blocked the way to the door.

  Susanna stared at him. “I need a little time to work out the consequences. You must know the price you ask for your help is very high. High enough to land me on the headman’s block.”

  “Your servants have made you distrust me.” He flicked a look at Harry and Peter Jack that made her shiver.

  “Monsieur, yesterday you tried to kill me and another man in front of my eyes. A few days earlier, you killed one of my father’s oldest friends.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “Less than a day ago you stabbed my betrothed with a jagged glass bottle, and now you wish me to believe you will help me find him and deliver him safely. And the price for your help is a jewel the sovereigns of two countries would go to war for.”

  She gathered her skirts about her and drew herself tall. “I do not need anyone to point out that I would be foolish to trust you blindly. Very foolish indeed.”

  He said nothing for a moment, then stepped aside. “And you are anything but foolish, madame.”

  As she went past him, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder and she jerked to a halt.

  He bent down and spoke in her ear. “You know where to find me when you decide you need my help. You may not want to be foolish, but do not be too clever, either.”

  25

  Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory.

  —Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 8

  They walked home in silence.

  Harry had begun to speak just outside the Comte’s door, but Susanna had shaken her head, and neither he nor Peter Jack had opened their mouths again.

  She could tell they were looking for the Comte’s spies along the road, but she didn’t bother. She spent every step thinking through her choices, laying out the pieces of the puzzle just as she would lay out her pigments and brushes before she went to work.

  When she climbed the stairs to the back door and stepped into the kitchen, panic and desperation had loosened their hold a little.

  “How many did you see?” Harry spoke to Peter Jack as they closed the door behind her.

  “Three.”

  “I did, too, but I wager there were more.”

  Susanna lifted off her cloak and hung it on a hook near the door. “They must have seen me slip into the churchyard and sent word to the Comte. Jean knew exactly where to find me.”

  “And there we sat, like two fat lumps, waiting in the Comte’s hall,” Harry said with disgust.

  “It doesn’t matter. He did me no harm, and we have information we did not have before, as well as an offer of help.” Susanna slid into a chair, her voice soft so as not to wake Mistress Greene and Eric.

  “You won’t accept it, will you?” Harry joined her, getting close to the fire. He shivered as the warmth reached him, and rubbed his hands together.

  “I may have no choice.” She rubbed stiff fingers under her cap. “I cannot go to Norfolk. I do not trust him and he would not willingly help Parker. The other men that come to mind …” She thought of Francis Bryan, of Guildford and Courtenay. All men who owed Parker their lives. But would they act with the urgency needed?

  “You could speak with Simon.” Peter Jack had not sat, his cloak still around him. “I can fetch him now.”

  Susanna nodded, but as he turned to go, a thought struck her. “Wait. Say nothing of the bargain Jean has offered. If I’m forced to take it, I would rather no one knows of it.”

  “But surely Jean is taking a gamble? He has not been able to find the jewel himself; why does he think you could get it?”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a man who would gamble with something this big.” She twined her fingers round and round, round and round … then froze. Why hadn’t she seen it before? “He knows where the jewel is.” Certainty struck deeper with every w
ord. “He just cannot get to it.”

  “And he thinks you can?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

  “It must be hidden in the palace, or somewhere else I have access. Somewhere no one would question my presence.”

  “I think you’re right.” Peter Jack dropped his hand from the door handle. “Which means if he can find Parker, can bring him to us …”

  A heavy, roiling serpent took up residence in her stomach. “I would be obliged to commit treason.”

  Bridewell was lit with candles and lanterns. As she walked down the passageways, she thought there was an extra gleam on everything tonight, as if there were some special occasion.

  She had chosen not to involve Simon.

  If things didn’t work out, if she ended her days on the headman’s block, she wanted her taint on as few people as possible. That Harry and Peter Jack were already deep in the mire hung heavily on her, but as Parker’s servants, they would be suspect anyway. There was no shielding them.

  If there was no other solution, she would follow in the steps of the King’s sister, Queen Mary. She would give the jewel in exchange for her lover’s life.

  She hoped there was a better way.

  She reached the antechamber to the Privy Chamber and realized with dread that she’d arrived at a bad time.

  The King was not dining quietly in his rooms tonight, nor with the Queen. He was entertaining.

  There was music, and Susanna saw that the flute player she knew from Ghent was still in the King’s service. As usual, he acknowledged her entrance with a high, sweet trill, lifting the flute up and tipping back his head.

  The small display of friendship and solidarity from a fellow countryman helped. She breathed in and began to look for the King.

  She heard the murmur of French and German, of her native Flemish and Dutch, as she slipped between the beautifully dressed men and women. There were wealthy merchants here tonight, as well as clergymen and nobles from the principalities of Europe.

  Her heart sank.