Parker turned back. “My pardon?”
“Low tide. If you want to get downstream later, you won’t be able to get past Old Swan unless you shoot the bridge.”
Parker nodded and the boatman pushed off.
Westminster Palace loomed large and black, almost entirely unlit. There would only be servants and guards here, and precious few of them. He hoped to God he had guessed right; Susanna might not be here at all.
“Sir?” The whisper came from the right, from behind a stack of crates.
“Eric?” The relief that surged through him made him weak-kneed. But the pain and the exhaustion could lay claim to him later. He needed all his strength.
Eric ran around the crates, stood trembling before him. “The Comte. He’s waiting for her farther in.” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know where the assassin is. He wasn’t with them. Peter Jack and Harry thought he might be hidden out of sight, watching.” He stepped closer to Parker. “I expect to feel his bolt through my back every step I take.”
“Where are Harry and Peter Jack?”
“Watching the Comte. Come with me.”
Parker warmed up as he jogged after Eric. The boy slipped between two smaller buildings, and Parker followed him along the narrow path that ran behind the houses toward the palace.
Eric whistled, the high, fluting call of a robin redbreast, and was answered in kind.
Harry appeared, crouched low against a wall, and Parker bent low and ran across the open ground to join him, Eric right beside him.
“The Comte is hiding behind a line of hedges over there.” As Harry pointed, Parker saw he had been beaten. His eye was swollen and there was dark bruising along his jaw.
“Where is Peter Jack?”
“Watching from the corner of the palace. We don’t know where my lady went in, or where she’ll come out. I can’t imagine she’s in there alone, but if the assassin is with her, we didn’t see him.”
Parker slipped his knives out of his sleeves. “He may be on his way here, but he was at the Comte’s mansion an hour ago.”
“So we don’t know who is with her.” Harry closed his eyes.
“What do we do now?” Eric tugged at Parker’s sleeve, and Parker could see the boy was at the end of his endurance. He’d run on foot from the Comte’s mansion all the way out here, then kept watch even though he feared the assassin could be watching him.
“You and Harry stay here, keep an eye on the Comte. I’m going to look for Susanna in the palace.”
“Just walk through the palace entrance?” Eric seemed startled.
Parker rose up. “I am its Keeper. The Comte is on my territory here.”
35
And to make this quite clear I say that I consider those who are able to support themselves by their own resources who can, either by abundance of men or money, raise a sufficient army to join battle against any one who comes to attack them; and I consider those always to have need of others who cannot show themselves against the enemy in the field, but are forced to defend themselves by sheltering behind walls.
—Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 10
The Comte walked out from the gardens, into the thin light that spilled from behind Susanna as she stepped out of the side door.
Her watcher took a grip on her arm, as if afraid she would bolt.
He was right to be afraid.
“Well?” In the dim light, Susanna could see that the Comte’s face was eager, his hopes high.
He would strike back all the harder because of it when he learned the bad news.
“Wolsey got there first.” The spy kept wisely out of the Comte’s reach as he spoke softly in French.
“What?” The Comte went very still.
“If it is any consolation, I do not think he found anything in the room. Every piece was smashed. The Mirror is elsewhere.”
“I thought …” The Comte raised both hands to his forehead, massaged the sides. “Where else could that damned diamantaire have left it?”
Susanna said nothing. She had not been addressed, and if the Comte’s spy had not had such a tight hold on her, she would have tried to slip away.
“You.” The Comte pointed a finger at her. “You knew Jens; where would he have hidden it?”
She sighed. “The man I knew came to dinner with my family and laughed with us. He played with me as a child, and sent me presents on my birthday.” She looked straight at the Comte. “The man I met in London a few days ago tried to kill me with his chisel in a dark alley. I do not know where he would have hidden it.”
“That is the problem exactly.” The Comte spun in rage, his hands fists. “He thought he was for the Tower at any moment. It unbalanced him. He could have thrown it in the Thames, for all I know.”
“Perhaps he did.”
The voice came from behind her, and suddenly the grip on her arm fell away. The spy made a faint sigh as he crumpled to the ground.
“Parker.” She blinked, and he was beside her.
He looked the worse for wear, his face white, with a dark bruise on his forehead. He did not move in his usual, easy way—his whole body was clenched tight with pain.
But there was no mistaking the gleam of steel in one hand, a club in the other. There was a set to his jaw that said he would bear the pain and more; his focus was entirely on the Comte.
“The way Jean spoke of you today, I thought you were near death, my friend.” The Comte took a step back.
“Obviously not.” Parker lifted a hand, a signal of some sort, and three guards stepped from the shadows. “I think the Comte has turned in here by mistake. Please escort him out onto the road.”
The Comte bowed, but Susanna saw the flash of hatred in his eyes. He gestured to one of the guards to lead the way, and walked off without a backward glance, leaving his spy lying unconscious on the ground.
“Madame.” Parker turned and crushed her to him, and she let herself be enveloped.
“You should be abed,” she whispered.
He barked out a laugh. “Aye, but my betrothed goes out and stirs up trouble in the middle of the night.” He paused a moment. “I listened a little to the talk before I stepped forward. Am I right that the French found nothing?”
“They were looking in the wrong place.”
“It’s a pity we don’t know the right place.” He released her a little, and ran a hand over her hair.
She smiled up at him. “But we do.”
They went home.
The Jewel Tower was locked, and Eric, Peter Jack, and Harry had the stark-eyed look of war veterans. Parker could barely stand straight himself.
Susanna’s throat was a rainbow of bruises, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. She had done more than he could believe in one day. Formidable things.
The Mirror could stay where it was. It seemed they were the only ones who knew it was there.
If it was there.
When they came to the house on Crooked Lane, he saw Eric actually weep with relief.
A cold rage gripped Parker. There would be an accounting for this day. For this whole week.
Mistress Greene opened the door as soon as his boot took the first step.
Eric ran to her, and she grabbed him up and dragged him into the kitchen, tiny sobs escaping her.
Parker let Harry and Peter Jack follow them in, and then turned to hold out a hand for Susanna.
She let him pull her up the last step, and stood close and warm in his arms.
“You must have a strong longing for bed.” Her voice still caught on a rasp, and his fists clenched her cloak. He wished he had given in to temptation and used his knife on Jean’s throat earlier. An injury for an injury.
He kept his voice even. “Aye. And you.”
She nodded against his shoulder, holding tight and burrowing in deep.
“What did Norfolk say to you? Jean said he was having you followed.”
He could tell she did not want to answer, because she went very still.
“What did he say?” He rubbed her shoulders, and slowly, she relaxed again.
“He saw the Comte talking to me in the Privy Chamber when I went to speak to the King. He said he’d use that, use the fact that others had seen, too, to build a case of treason against me if I got in the way of his plans to bring down Wolsey. He said he would fabricate as much as he could get away with.”
The rage burned even colder, and Parker held her a little tighter.
“This is going to get worse, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“Yes.” He looked up to the stars that showed through the patches of cloud. “Worse for them.”
36
So it happens with fortune, who shows her power where valour has not prepared to resist her, and thither she turns her forces where she knows that barriers and defences have not been raised to constrain her.
—Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 25
They slept late, and it was almost midday before their barge bumped up against the dock at Westminster.
As Susanna accepted Parker’s hand, she looked up at the Jewel Tower in anticipation and fear.
They walked to the entrance in silence; took the stairs to the room where they had spent time with Thomas Wyatt only a few days ago.
It felt like years.
Parker stopped, sudden and quiet, and Susanna saw Wyatt outside the room, papers strewn across his desk, eyes closed, his golden locks all wild about him.
“Wyatt.” Parker drew them closer, and Susanna looked down at the desktop. He had been writing poetry, she saw in a brief glimpse before Wyatt’s eyes snapped open and he scooped the pages to him.
“What?” He seemed not to recognize them at first, then relaxed back into his chair. “You.”
Parker tried the door to the room, and when he found it locked, extended his palm to Wyatt.
As he took keys from his pocket, Wyatt kept his gaze on Parker. “You have Wolsey in a grip of dread. He looks as if he has not slept. He attended lunch in the Privy Chamber yesterday, which he never does. Many thought it to ingratiate himself with the King after their fight the night before over you. Halfway through the meal, a servant came with a message and Wolsey left. He looked as if he were ailing.”
Susanna smiled. Most likely Wolsey’s men had sent word that she had rescued Parker from his cell.
Wyatt was watching her, and his eyes widened. “You seem to know something of it, my lady.”
“She was the cause of it.” Parker turned the key and pushed open the door. “Give us the inventory, Wyatt.”
Wyatt drew open a drawer in the desk and pulled out the roll of parchment. Susanna took it and stepped into the room after Parker, Wyatt behind her.
There it was. She looked at the small note Jens had made in the margin and nodded, her pulse racing.
“Box 136.”
Parker began searching for it, and Wyatt joined him. Susanna thought about where Jens would put the box, especially knowing there would be a search after the Mirror was discovered missing. She sat on the large chest in the center of the room, looking up and around as she turned on it.
Then she stilled.
Stood.
And opened the chest she was sitting on.
“What is it?” Wyatt turned her way. “That is empty: we use it only to sit on.”
Susanna ignored him and lifted the lid. “Box 136.” Even though she whispered it, her voice was audible in the silent room. She lifted out a small casket, amazed at the weight of it.
The box was unlocked, and she flipped the lid open with a finger.
The sun caught the stone, making a thousand rainbows dance on the walls. Susanna lifted the piece out and the diamond covered the whole of her palm; the pear-shaped pearl dangling below it caressed her wrist, smooth as silk.
She lifted her eyes and caught Parker’s gaze. He saluted her with a tip of his head, and she smiled back at him.
Dumbstruck, Wyatt opened his mouth, closed it again, and then sank to the floor on his knees. “How? How did you puzzle it out?”
“Jens left a clue on this inventory.” Susanna set the jewel back into its box. “It was in French, and I only realized later what it could mean.”
“What did it say?”
“Chased piece, 136.”
“I saw that.” Wyatt pulled himself to his feet. “I thought he was talking about an engraved piece.” He dusted his knees. “As was his intention.”
Parker held out his hands and Susanna placed the casket in them.
“What will you do now?” Wyatt looked at the small box as if it were a snake. “Wolsey cannot be called to account for this. It never left the Jewel Tower.”
“I will take it to the King.” Parker snapped the lid shut.
“And then? Wolsey will get away with this.” Wyatt ran hands through his already wild hair, making it stand more on end. It caught the light and he looked like some wild sprite, elemental and beautiful. Susanna was suddenly sure his poetry was magnificent.
“Not if I can help it.” Since last night, the shutters had come down over Parker’s eyes and darkness seemed to swirl around him.
She had seen him like this before, and she knew the signs.
He was about to wreak havoc.
Anticipation hummed through Parker as the sailboat navigated downriver from Westminster to Bridewell.
The casket was nestled on Susanna’s lap. Wolsey would likely flee the room if he saw what Parker was bringing for the King today.
And Norfolk … Well, Norfolk would need to be handled carefully.
The boatman let out a little more sail and they flew faster on the water. He caught Parker watching him and grinned.
Parker heard the buzz of vibration as something flew through the air past his ear. In a soundless movement, the boatman let go of the ropes and fell into the water, a bolt through his eye.
Parker twisted to see Jean cranking the next bolt into his bow. He stood dangerously forward in a boat behind them, balancing himself with a foot against the prow, ready to take aim again.
“Hold the casket over the water.”
Susanna dragged her gaze from the spot where the boatman floated in the river and lifted shocked eyes to his.
“The casket—hold it out over the side of the boat!”
She scrambled to the edge of the boat and thrust the casket out, holding it with both hands. The weight of it took her by surprise again and it dipped dangerously low to the water. She lifted it a little higher.
Parker turned to see if Jean had gotten the message, and saw he had. The assassin had lifted his crossbow so it was pointing to the sky.
“You found it.” His words carried across the water.
His voice was filled with wonder, and Parker realized Jean hadn’t known they had found the Mirror until now. He had come to kill them.
“Shoot either one of us, and Susanna drops the casket into the Thames.”
Jean set his bow in the boat behind him and lifted both hands. “I will not shoot.” He sat and his boat kept pace with theirs, to the right and slightly back.
“What now?” Susanna pitched her voice low.
“Now he thinks he has only to wait for us to land, before that crossbow is in his hands again.” Parker took up the ropes of the boat and trimmed the sail, trying to remember the tricks he had learned in his youth.
Susanna drew the casket in. “This is heavy.” She sat right up against the side of the boat and put the small wooden box in her lap. “What do we do about Jean?”
The wind tugged back against his hold on the ropes, and the boat surged forward. It was an old boat but well made, and it seemed to skim just above the water, rather than on top of it.
“The tide is out.” Parker pulled the sail again. “That means the bridge will be unpassable.”
“So we are trapped. We have to dock at Old Swan, and Jean knows it.” Susanna spoke calmly, and he was struck again by her courage.
He watched her, grim. “Not if we shoot the bridge.”
She did not answer him, and turned away toward the left bank. Bridewell was coming up around the bend, their original destination, but Jean would have a bolt through each of them and the casket in his hand if they tried to dock there. It was too crowded and busy for a quick getaway.
At last Susanna swung back, her face set. “We shoot the bridge, then.”
He nodded. Turning his head to check where Jean and his boatman were, he saw they were gaining a little.
The bow was in Jean’s hands, and Parker frowned. What was the Frenchman up to?
He understood when the first bolt went through the sail. Jean was trying to slow them down. After the first shock of realizing they had the Mirror, he had had a chance to think. And he knew they were as unwilling to see the Mirror in the Thames as he was.
“Sit low.” His call to Susanna came just as another bolt sliced through the sail, punching a hole through the middle of it.
Susanna slipped off the bench onto the boat bottom and balanced the casket on the edge of the boat. A nice reminder to Jean of their advantage in this. Then she lowered it over the side, and skimmed it on top of the water.
Parker had to stop himself from calling to her to bring it back up.
“Stop!” Jean’s eyes were on the casket. He set the bow down again, and then lifted his gaze to Susanna. Parker saw a look pass between them.
There was a respect in Jean’s eyes; determination in the set of Susanna’s mouth.
They were coming up to Queenhithe now, the dock busy with the loading and unloading of grain, and up ahead, a line of boats waiting out the low tide.
This low on the river, Parker could see the churn and ripple of water at the bridge arches, and he wondered what the drop would be. Last time he’d shot the bridge, it had been a man’s height—but an experienced boatman had taken him through.
Susanna’s face was composed. She was ready for what was to come. She had the casket on her lap again, clutched with both hands.
“You come before that damned jewel.” He risked a look behind him to check Jean’s progress, then back. “Don’t hold on to it if it means you won’t be safe.”
Keeper of the King’s Secrets Page 17