By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Well.” Rhoslyn shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to spend Underhill right now. I need to be with Lady Mary to try to keep her from doing any damage to Elizabeth. And I hope you will now have time to run a spike or two into Sir Thomas’ wheels. He must not, out of vanity and carelessness, ruin Elizabeth’s reputation.”

  “I will see to him,” Pasgen said. “Do not give him another thought, sister. I think you will have the far harder task in soothing Mary.”

  “I think I may,” Rhoslyn sighed. “Mary was not at all pleased by the favor Edward showed Elizabeth during the Court visit. Truly she was furious. Edward invited Elizabeth to his side often; he called her ‘Sweet Sister Temperance’ because she dressed simply and let her hair fall without crimpings and curlings.” Rhoslyn snorted with amusement. “Clever, that Elizabeth. Mary, Edward lectured about her religious practices and urged to conform to the ‘true’ form of worship.”

  This time it was Pasgen who shook his head. “I will never understand how mortals can get so passionate about an invisible being they cannot prove exists because it does nothing at all.” He chuckled again. “I wonder what they would do if Oberon appeared and sent his Thought over them.”

  “Call him Satan and bring a crusade of millions to destroy him,” Rhoslyn said with a shudder. “Let us not create horrors. I feel I have enough to deal with. But Pasgen, it really is important that you attend to Sir Thomas. Lady Ann, the Protector’s wife, also has no love for Elizabeth. I think she speaks subtle evil of Elizabeth to Somerset, partly because she is attached to Lady Mary and partly because the people cheer whenever Elizabeth appears. And Somerset listens because he does not like Edward to be attached to anyone.”

  “I will. I will. I will go this very day,” Pasgen said.

  Which he actually did, leaving his house soon after Rhoslyn did and transporting himself to Otstargi’s house. There he avoided the slack-jawed servant, who could not then betray his presence in the mortal world to Vidal. In the street, he summoned a chair to take him to Seymour Place, since he did not know where it was.

  The servant who came to the door opened his mouth to say no one was home but instead backed away as Pasgen entered. It was then a matter of moments for Pasgen to extract everything he knew about his master from his mind. He was only the footman who answered the door and did not know very much, but what he did know gave Pasgen considerable food for thought.

  Pasgen learned of Seymour’s early morning visits to Elizabeth’s chamber because they were common gossip among the servants; Seymour had used the servants’ back stairs and shocked two maids by his presence and his undressed condition. Pasgen knew he was not wise in the ways of mortals, but such behavior seemed so peculiar to him that he began to wonder if Seymour was not under some compulsion to bring shame to Elizabeth.

  Oddly, because he had more than once, unwillingly and against his better judgment but because it was the easiest way for him, sought to destroy Elizabeth, Pasgen now felt that he “owed” her. Resentment pricked him; it was Vidal who had set him that unwelcome task. If Vidal had tried to use him to destroy Elizabeth, was it possible that it was Vidal who had set a compulsion on Seymour?

  Recalling Rhoslyn’s affection for Elizabeth made Pasgen feel protective, that it was “unfair” for Vidal, practiced in evil for millennia, to so test an innocent mortal halfling. He sought deeper in the footman’s mind, this time keying the man’s thoughts to the name Otstargi.

  That brought immediate results for the footman who answered the door was usually the one who took messages or letters delivered to the house. Two letters had been received from someone named Otstargi. The first had been discarded—the servant himself had straightened and ironed the crumpled parchment, which he then sold to a scrivner. After the second, which had a strange raised seal, Sir Thomas had ordered the footman to summon a chair to take him to visit the “sorcerer’s” house.

  Strange raised seal, Pasgen thought with satisfaction. So Sir Thomas was under a compulsion. Naturally the footman knew nothing of the actual visit of Sir Thomas to Otstargi, but the servant did remember that his master had returned from Otstargi’s house very excited and had given instructions to prepare for a hurried journey to the west.

  The servant assumed Seymour had gone to fulfill some duty as Lord High Admiral. Pasgen doubted that, but was interested when the servant remarked on Sir Thomas’ very good temper and extra liberality when he returned. That good temper had been increased on two occasions when a special messenger had come from Bristol and had lasted until the entire household had returned to Seymour Place for a visit to Court.

  Closer probing about the sources of Sir Thomas’ change of disposition brought an overheard snippet of conversation between Sir Thomas and his wife. Sir Thomas was displeased because Catherine had not refused permission to Elizabeth to lodge in Whitehall at the king’s invitation. He was even less pleased, the servant said a maid had told him, when Elizabeth’s visit was extended. The maid was rather resentful of Sir Thomas’ indifference to the fact that her work would be doubled or tripled if Elizabeth was in Seymour Place. Following the tale of ill temper, Pasgen learned that Sir Thomas turned quite sour after he had followed the Court to Greenwich.

  Pasgen was not at all sure about what that meant. Sir Thomas had obviously intended to accomplish some purpose at Court and had not succeeded. It was clear enough that the purpose might have been costly and that some of the cost had been defrayed by actions Sir Thomas took in the west according to advice that Vidal had given him. That seemed to be separate from his actions toward Elizabeth.

  Having removed himself from the memory of the footman and replaced himself with a garrulous, and later apologetic, stranger to London, Pasgen returned to his waiting chair. He waved the men down the street, but when they turned toward Fleet Street and were out of sight of Seymour Place, he bade them stop.

  What to do next? Pasgen had no friends at Court who could tell him what caused Sir Thomas’ dissatisfaction or what profit one was likely to find in Bristol. And he did not dare try to warn Elizabeth, who could see through illusion and would know him for what he was and believe he was still her enemy. He could warn Denoriel. Yes, and Denoriel could tell him who to question about Sir Thomas’ activities.

  With a sigh of relief, Pasgen instructed the chairmen to carry him to Lord Denno’s house on Bucklersbury.

  Chapter 28

  “My name is Pasgen Silverhair and I am a countryman of Lord Denno’s,” Pasgen said to Cropper who answered the door. “I would like a word with your master. I will not take up much of his time.”

  The footman smiled as he bowed. “Yes, sir, I remember. You were here last year when those men got in. You left a warning about the attack for Lord Denno and then came and helped in the fight. Master Clayborne told me that you were to be welcome at any time. Lord Denno is not at home, I am sorry to say, but Master Clayborne is here.”

  “Master Clayborne will do very nicely,” Pasgen agreed.

  The footman stood aside, holding the door for Pasgen to enter and then led the way to a closed door on which he scratched. A voice replied promptly and the footman stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Almost at once, he came out again, this time holding the door open for Pasgen to enter the room.

  “Master Silverhair,” Joseph Clayborne said, bowing. “I am very glad to see you because I have long wished to thank you for the warning you left for Lord Denno and the help”—then suddenly he looked anxious—“but I do hope you do not bring another warning. The last you gave was all too accurate.”

  Pasgen smiled. “No, I have heard no more threats directed at my countryman. This time I hoped to learn from him some information that might be useful to me.”

  “Please—” Joseph gestured toward a well-padded chair opposite his own by the worktable “—do be seated. Can I get you some wine? Any refreshment?”

  “A cup of wine would be welcome, if it is no trouble.” Pasgen wanted an easy atmosphere in which, he
hoped, Clayborne would be willing to speak confidentially.

  Clayborne smiled. “No trouble at all, sir. We are very rich in wines at the moment, a ship having come in from Spain and touched at half a dozen French ports on the way. What would you like: alicant? claret? malmsey? sack?”

  “Claret, if you please.”

  Joseph rang the bell on the table, said “Claret” to Cropper who had opened the door, and then turned to Pasgen. “May I ask, sir, what kind of information you seek? If it is about trade, it is possible that I will be better able to inform you than Lord Denno. As I told you the last time you were here, I am his man of business and he is often away.”

  “Trade? Hmmm.” Pasgen’s lips pursed and then he nodded. “Yes, I was thinking of Lord Denno’s connections with the Court, but perhaps in this case a knowledge of trade will do as well. What I would like to learn is how effective the Lord Admiral’s navy has been against the pirates of the narrow sea.”

  “Effective? Effective?” Clayborne burst out, his face coloring with rage. “He is a pirate himself, as far as I can tell! The only reason my wine ship reached London was that we now sail in convoy. All the merchantmen are armed, and we merchants have combined to pay for at least two armed vessels to accompany our trading vessels. And that cost must be added to the loss of profit caused by filling space with armed men and guns instead of cargo.”

  “Is that so?” Pasgen said, smiling.

  Cropper came in at that moment with a beautiful flask and two beautiful glasses. He set the tray on Clayborne’s table, poured wine from the flask into both glasses, and went out. Clayborne heaved a huge sigh.

  “Yes! It is so!” he said emphatically. “And he has the best naval captains and ships all at the eastern end of the narrow sea watching for a French invasion of Scotland. Who cares about a French invasion of Scotland? We need the navy to keep the narrow sea safe for trade.”

  “How very interesting,” Pasgen murmured. “I must confess to you that for reasons of my own, I wish to … ah … make trouble for the Lord Admiral.”

  “Oh, bless you! And if you can see that he loses the place—although with his brother being the Protector I suppose that is not likely …”

  Pasgen shrugged. “I do not have any connections at Court. Have you suggested arranging Seymour’s downfall with Lord Denno?”

  An expression of dissatisfaction, swiftly masked, passed over Clayborne’s face. “Lord Denno never involves himself with politics.” He sighed heavily. “Despite his friendships with those at the very head of the government, he has never requested any reduction in tariff …” He sighed again, then smiled. “I am growing greedy. Really it is best not to look for favors from the great. And … ah … Lord Denno has been more than usually … ah … distracted … of late.”

  “Distracted,” Pasgen repeated softly, remembering what Rhoslyn had said about Elizabeth and Denoriel at the ball. “No,” he said briskly and more loudly, “I suspect Lord Denno is wise to seek no favors from the Court, not when he is so much involved with the Lady Elizabeth. He would not wish to attract any notice …”

  “Ah …”

  Joseph did not know what to say to that. This Master Silverhair never claimed to be more than a countryman of Lord Denno’s. Yet he knew a great deal about Lord Denno’s affairs, he had come with a desperate warning and then had come in person to help fight off the attackers. Was that not the act of a close friend? But Joseph, accustomed to judging men’s responses to each other, had felt no liking between Master Silverhair and Lord Denno. Thus when Master Silverhair frowned, as if he wanted a more specific answer, Joseph sought desperately for something neutral to say—and found it was not necessary. Master Silverhair was not, it seemed, in the least interested in Lord Denno’s private affairs.

  “That is Denno’s business,” Pasgen said, “not mine, but there is something else that I would like to know if you know it or can even guess. Is there some source of great wealth in Bristol?”

  Joseph was thrown completely off stride. “Wealth?” he repeated. “In Bristol?” He considered a moment and then shrugged. “Well, Bristol is a rich and busy port, much as London is. All trade from Spain and western France, from Afrique also, must pass no far distance from it. A merchant could grow rich there.”

  “I am sure, but that is not the kind of wealth I mean. I meant many coins quickly, such as a dishonest tax factor might contrive to collect.”

  “Coins.” Clayborne nodded. “There is a mint in Bristol. But there are laws and inspections.”

  Pasgen drew a deep, satisfied breath. “Laws that might be overlooked or less than strictly enforced if a powerful person applied the right kind of pressure.”

  Joseph’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that Sir Thomas is somehow interfering in the mint?”

  “I do not know.” Pasgen finished the wine in his glass in a long, deep swallow. “But I am going to find out.” He rose and bowed. “I thank you, Master Clayborne.” He smiled. “Who knows? The dealings with pirates would be hard to prove, but if the man is meddling with the mint … You may be rid of the Lord Admiral sooner than you think.”

  Unfortunately the move to Chelsea from Seymour Place did not have the full effect that Catherine and Elizabeth had hoped for. The fresh air and more spacious rooms were of some help. By midmorning of most days Catherine’s sickness and fatigue would pass; she could dine with her ladies and take some light exercise, such as a walk in the garden. However, she still was too sick on first waking to rise early in the morning.

  At first this did not trouble Elizabeth at all, except that it meant she needed to undress and get into bed, then use the sleep spell on whichever of the maids of honor was sleeping in her chamber, and then get dressed again. The process would have been burdensome, but Denno waved her nightdress off and her clothing on when he came through the Gate.

  Blanche would then sit sewing by the fire in Elizabeth’s bedchamber to watch the sleeping lady and to send away anyone who wanted to see Elizabeth. Such an intrusion was rare, but did occur twice. Blanche had only to say that her lady was asleep—the sight of the maid of honor sleeping in the truckle bed was evidence—and the intruder went away. When that possibility became nil, Blanche would go to bed.

  By twisting time just a little, Denno would bring Elizabeth back to her chamber, fully rested, fully sated, and fully dressed. Often they would linger talking in the gallery as April warmed into May, making plans for meeting again when Elizabeth rode out or exchanging fond and lingering kisses when they would not meet again until the following night. Then Elizabeth would wake her maiden and take up whatever book Master Ascham had set for the day’s lesson.

  One morning Thomas again bounced into her bedchamber, calling a loud “Good morning.” He was rushing toward the bed, but stopped short when he saw the curtains drawn back and the bed neatly made. And his expression was not pleasant when Elizabeth returned his “Good morning” from her writing desk, which was on the same side of the room as the door and was hidden from anyone who entered without turning his head.

  “You are a very devoted scholar,” he said sharply.

  “My mind is clearest in the early morning,” Elizabeth responded, smiling with lazy good humor.

  She had had a lovely night. She and Denno had gone to a small ball at a very exotic elfhame, Csetate-Boli. She did not speak a word of either Elven or the language of the area nor they a word of English. It was most amusing to try to communicate, and the clothing had been fantastic, such full skirts, heavy with embroidery, and bodices, also embroidered, but so loose that now and again a breast peeped out. Denno had found the costume most inspiring. Elizabeth swallowed a giggle. They had ended up making love in a shadowed corner of the garden, right under the wonderful elven sky.

  “And do you always wake at dawn so your mind will be fresh for your lessons?” Thomas asked, adding hopefully, “Why are you all alone?”

  “I am not alone,” Elizabeth responded, still smiling. “Blanche is in the dressing room with F
rances—”

  “Good morning, my lord,” Frances Dodd said from the doorway of the dressing room. “Will you join us to break your fast?”

  “Do you no longer eat in the small dining chamber?” he asked Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not for breakfast. Kat prefers to break her fast in her chamber, which gives her time to look over the household accounts or some such. And since Queen Catherine does not enjoy food in the morning, I would rather eat here where I can make up for any studying I scanted yesterday.”

  Thomas laughed. “You will never convince me you scanted your studies yesterday or any other day.” Then he looked meaningfully at Frances and added, “Are you going to fetch Elizabeth’s breakfast?”

  Both Elizabeth and Frances laughed. “No, indeed,” Frances said. “The last time I went to bring some cakes and wine, a disaster occurred. I will merely ring the bell in the parlor.”

  “But surely Lady Elizabeth must be very hungry after being awake so long. Would it not be quicker for you to fetch the breakfast yourself?” Thomas urged. “I am sure you would be more careful and no second disaster would take place.”

  “I am not that hungry,” Elizabeth said.

  Frances laughed again, as if Elizabeth was teasing her about further clumsiness. “Yes, my lady.” She sketched a curtsey and started for the door. “I will just ring the bell.”

  As Frances left, Thomas quickly approached Elizabeth’s chair. She had swung around to speak to him and Frances and she was now trapped against the writing desk when he stopped, too close, in front of her.

  “I wished to bid someone a good morning,” he said, looking down at Elizabeth and, she thought, trying to sound pathetic. “I am wide awake and cheerful, but my poor Catherine does not find any morning good these days.”