by Karen Chance
I cut off as someone threw open a window above us. Kit snatched me back into the shadow of the house as a single candle was thrust out into the night, shining bright as a beacon in the darkness. It highlighted Trevelyn’s stubble as he peered up and down the street.
I held my breath, pressed hard against Kit’s chest, as the candlelight struck glints off the gold in the witch’s gown and a few drops of hot wax splattered the street in front of her dainty shoes. But the mage never looked down. I finally realized that he hadn’t heard us; he was looking for his guest, who was due any minute now. After a long moment, he closed the shutters once more and I let out a shaky breath.
“You must go,” Kit whispered.
“And you must listen,” I said, in a furious undertone. “That isn’t an ordinary ward in there—it’s a mortuus field. Any living flesh that passes through it dies.”
“Which should prove no hindrance for me.”
I rounded on him. “You may not be alive in the human sense, but your body is animated by living energy—energy that the field will suck right out of you. It might not kill you, but it will drain you dry, thus leaving you at Trevelyan’s mercy—or lack of it!”
That wiped the perpetual smirk off his face, at least. “How can you be certain?”
“Because I was a wardsmith. And that’s a Druid ward.”
He was silent for a moment. “Then I’ll hook it with something and pull the jewel out.”
I shook my head. “Nothing but flesh can pass through the field, but only the caster’s is immune. He can reach safely through; you can’t.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed as he stared up at the window. “Does he have to be alive at the time?”
I glared at him. “You do not want to take on a dark mage on his own territory!”
“I will do what I must,” he told me, with a stubborn glint in his eye.
“Listen to me,” I said, resisting a strong urge to shake him. “Trevelyn is a Black Circle mage with the added benefit of earth magic. He’s also an expert poisoner, who has littered Goddess only knows how many traps around the place. I’m telling you plainly: go in there and you will not come out.”
“And yet I must have it, Gillian.” And I finally found out what he looked like when he wasn’t joking. I decided I preferred the jovial mask to this glitter-eyed stranger.
I stared at him, angry and confused. “If this is about your lady, surely she will—”
“This is about my queen,” he said furiously. “She may not be yours, but she is mine. And I will not fail her in this!”
He started to climb up, but I held on. “But . . . but you mocked her,” I said, in disbelief. “She’s old, her teeth are bad, she’s cheap—”
“She is all of those things, as well as stubborn and vain and childish and mercurial and a thousand others. She is England,” he hissed, gesturing sharply. “With all its faults and frailties, its pettiness and posturing, and its stubborn will to survive. She should have been dead a thousand times by now, we all should—when Rome invited most of Europe to invade, when the Queen of Scots fomented rebellion within her very borders, when the Armada came. And yet she lives, and so do we, Protestant and free in spite of it all, because of that willful, stubborn, impossible, indomitable woman!”
I blinked, finally catching up. “You’re not doing this because you were ordered to at all, are you?”
He drew himself up. “My lady instructed me—”
I crossed my arms and just looked at him.
He scowled. “Go and do as I asked. Tell my man what you heard and then depart this country as quickly as you can. If this fails, you need to be far away from here before Trevelyn and his ilk come to power.”
He grasped hold of the lower story, preparing to lever himself up. Preparing to die, if necessary, for the country he loved and the woman who embodied it—for all of us. He was completely mad, but I was no better. England was mine. It might have forsaken me, but nothing changed that. And I couldn’t watch its ruin any more than he could.
Goddess’ teeth.
I pulled him back down. “I’ll help you,” I said sourly.
“But you said—”
“I know what I said! But despite everything, I do not believe we would be better off under foreign rule.” I crossed my arms. “There’s a damn sight too many foreigners here already, if you ask me.”
“Help me how?” he demanded. “You said the ward is impenetrable.”
“It is.” I stared past him into the dark, where the lantern was still bobbing here and there amid the wreckage of the Spaniard. We were closer now, allowing me to pick out Fulke’s hulking shape in the shadows. And something more besides. “But I think I might have an idea.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, my idea was sitting on Trevelyn’s table, scratching its arse.
“What is it doing?” Kit asked, hanging off the roof to peer into the window.
“What does it look like?” I asked crossly, trying to keep a tenuous grip on the mage’s wet shingles. On top of everything, it had started to rain, and the gown was taking on water at an alarming rate. Any minute it was going to drag me off the roof to my doom.
“Why?” he asked incredulously. “It cannot possibly have fleas. What would they live on?”
“Vitriol,” I said sourly, glaring at the disgusting lump.
Sol’s moth-eaten pet had been clinging like a limpet to Fulke’s sweaty neck as he sifted through the burnt-out hulk of the tavern, looking for the till he’d left behind. In return for not beating him into a pulp, he had loaned the thing to us. Not that it had done a damn bit of good, so far.
“Are you certain he can penetrate the field?” Kit demanded.
“Yes! At least . . . fairly certain.”
“Fairly certain?”
I transferred my glare to him. “I haven’t had cause to try this before! But it should work. Zombies are controlled by magic, not living energy. As flesh, he should be able to pass through the field; but with no life to drain, the ward can’t hurt him.”
“More’s the pity,” Kit muttered, as I glanced nervously behind me.
The main entrance to the house was around the corner, but the light spilling from the open front door was casting wavering shadows into the road. There were three of them, the two mages and—I assumed—the butler who had greeted us. But they wouldn’t be there for long. I’d cast a spell imitating the sound of horses’ hooves to get them out of the room, but when they didn’t find their illustrious guest waiting on the doorstep, they’d be back.
And our one chance would be lost.
I looked back to find that the monkey had transferred his attentions to his armpit. He was less than four feet from the slowly revolving necklace, but was paying it no attention whatsoever. Perverse damn thing. Any other time, he would have been all about a bit of shine, but because for once I wanted him to steal something, he wasn’t interested.
“The wretched thing hasn’t been the same since his death,” I said, wishing he was still alive so I could choke the life out of him.
“It does take it out of one,” Kit agreed, letting himself down through the open window.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Get out of there!”
“Nothing bothered him,” he pointed out, disappearing inside.
“He’s already dead!”
A curly head poked back out briefly. “As am I, and we’re out of time. Stay here.”
I cursed, thinking of the few hundred snares Trevelyn could have placed around the room. And then I wriggled my fifty pounds of waterlogged velvet through the window after him. I lost one of the witch’s shoes, but I made it in—just in time to see the monkey take a swipe at Kit’s head.
“You’re lucky,” I panted, as the creature scampered up the bed curtains. “At least he doesn’t throw excrement anymore.”
“Only because he doesn’t make any,” Kit said, shooting me a glance. “And I thought I told you to stay put.”
“And I
thought I told you not to come in here!”
“We don’t have time for—” his head jerked up at the sound of horses’ hooves on the street—real ones this time. “—anything,” he finished, jumping up and grabbing for the monkey.
He moved almost too fast to see, just a blur against the pale walls, but the monkey moved faster. It had the liquid speed of the undead, too, and the added advantage of a compact little body. With a derisive clucking of his tongue, he ducked under Kit’s hands and jumped to the rafters, skittering along a beam with his shadow rippling grotesquely along the wall.
I turned to the window in time to see no fewer than five cloaked figures clatter past on horses. I didn’t get a power reading off the one in front—the ambassador, I assumed. But the other four were practically glowing against the night. I didn’t know what the Black Circle’s equivalent of war mages were, but I had a feeling we were about to meet them. Briefly.
“We have to go,” I told Kit, spinning around. “Now!”
“Thank you for that,” he said, from atop the large, center beam bisecting the room. He made another grab for the monkey, just as the thing jumped for a different rafter. The creature somehow reversed course mid-air, ending up back where he’d started, but Kit didn’t. He did manage to land on his feet—mostly--and glared up at the thing. “Get down here!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. That’ll work.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
I stared up at the little horror, which was currently showing us his withered bits. He wasn’t my zombie; I couldn’t control him. And Sol was who knew where right now, not that the bastard was likely to have helped in any case. And his creature was no better, as conniving, contrary and obstinate as his owner, always doing exactly the opposite of what was—
I blinked, and then quickly decided that it couldn’t hurt. I limped over to the table and placed my nose close enough to the ward to feel the slippery static of its surface. “What a beauty,” I cooed.
“He can’t understand you,” Kit said, looking at me strangely.
“He understands the general idea,” I said, as the monkey turned his tiny face toward me. I ignored him, concentrating on the ward. “Such a pretty, pretty thing,” I breathed. “Must be worth a fortune. I’m glad it’s so well protected.”
“Unlike us,” Kit said grimly, staring at the door.
“What is it?”
“They’re coming up the stairs.”
I stared in desperation at the necklace, so temptingly close, so impossibly far away. My fingernails made a whispering across the outer membrane of the ward as I curled my hands into fists. I could practically feel it, the smooth contours of the golden rose that formed the setting, the cool, slippery gleam of the jewels. But it might as well be on the moon.
And then I blinked and it was gone—and so was the monkey.
“Grab him!” Kit said, jumping for the window.
I turned in time to see a furry blur making a break for freedom, and then the door slammed opened and things became a little confused. Someone shouted and someone else leaped for us, a curse flying out in front of him. I spun, acting before I thought, and lashed out with a declive that flung the mage’s spell right back at him. Whatever he’d cast must have been pretty brutal, because it caught him in the middle of his leap and sent him crashing back into his party.
“Caught him!” Kit crowed, from somewhere behind me and I didn’t hesitate.
“Then catch this!” I told him, throwing a leg over the staff. He grabbed me around the waist and swung on behind me as I flung us into space, using the staff as a platform for a levitation spell in lieu of a broom.
It worked—a little too well.
I’d forgotten that the staff multiplied my power considerably. Instead of merely flying out the window as I’d planned, we burst through in an explosion of wooden slats, taking one of the shutters along with us. To make matters worse, the voluminous skirts flew up in my face, ensuring that I couldn’t see anything as we hurtled through the air.
For a very long moment, there was nothing but the monkey’s angry chatter and Kit’s curses as I fought with seemingly unending yards of fabric. And then the velvet cloud parted and I stared around, to find us pelting through the air above London at an unbelievable speed. I stared around in awe. I’d never been so high before.
Then I remembered that we weren’t the only ones who could fly. I glanced behind us, half expecting to see the Black Circle’s mages gaining fast. But there was nothing besides dark blue clouds stacked high above skirts of rain, with lightning flashing bright in their bellies.
“What are you doing?” Kit shouted in my ear.
“Getting us out of trouble!” I said, my face cracking into a grin.
“And into worse one?” Judging by his expression, I’d finally found something that he didn’t find amusing. “Get us down from here!”
I laughed, exhilaration rushing through my veins. “As you like!”
I pointed the staff’s nose downward and we plunged back toward the ground, Kit’s arm tight around my waist, his scream ringing in my ears. We skimmed along above the Thames close enough to smell it, until the ship rose up ahead, like a leviathan out of the mist. The moon hung behind the sail, illuminating it so that the seams stood out like the intricate veins of a leaf. Beautiful.
Several sailors were on deck, having a late-night drink, until they saw us and dropped the bottle, their mouths hanging open in shock. We landed nearby, as unsteady on our legs as two drunks, with me laughing like a child. Kit thrust the smelly monkey at one of them, pushed me into the side of the cabin and kissed me, heedless of the staring men.
“Witches!” he gasped, when we finally broke for air. “You’re all completely mad!”
“It does help,” I murmured, collapsing against him in a fit of helpless giggles. “And at least they didn’t follow us.”
“Follow us? I doubt they so much as saw us!”
I grinned. I doubted they had, either.
“It isn’t funny!”
I grinned wider and tried to rearrange his wayward curls. They were everywhere. “Yes, it is.”
“Sir?” One of the sailors approached tentatively.
“What is it, man?” Kit demanded, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” the sailor held up the monkey. “But what were ye wantin’ me ter do with this?”
“Take it below. And don’t touch the necklace.”
“Yes, sir. As you say, sir.” But the man just stood there.
Kit was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. “What is it?” I asked.
“I am trying to decide whether to kiss you again, or to throw you over my knee!”
“Let me know when you make up your mind,” I told him. I thought both had possibilities.
Kit glanced at the sailor, who was still just standing there. “Well, what are you waiting for? You have your orders.”
“Yes, sir.” The sailor shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t go anywhere. “There’s just one thing, sir.”
“God’s bones, man! Spit it out.”
The man held up the monkey, whose little hands, I finally noticed, were empty. “What necklace?”
Conclusion
T he next morning, I was in the witch’s gown again. An hour of hard work had made it presentable, if not precisely wrinkle-free. That was fortunate, because there was nothing else in my possession fit for an audience at court.
Not that I’d had one, so far. Nor was I so eager, I thought, as a vase came flying out of the door beside me like a cylindrical bird. It crashed against the far wall, scattering shards everywhere and making several passing courtiers jump.
Kit followed quickly on the heels of the vase, hugging the wall beside me. “There are days I truly miss Lord Walsingham,” he told me fervently.
“I told you not to mention the necklace.”
“I didn’t have a choice! If we’d lost it near Trevelyn’s house, and he’d bee
n able to trace it—”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“The several thousand dead fish that washed ashore this morning would suggest otherwise,” he told me dryly.
“The vindictive little bastard,” I said, in disbelief. “He dropped it in the river rather than let us have it.”
“So it would appear.”
“Are they going to try to recover it?”
Kit suddenly grinned. “Do you know, that was Her Majesty’s question.”
I looked at him warily. “Why is that amusing?”
“Because a number of the lofty leaders of the Circle are down at the riverbank right now, knee deep in slime and rotting fish, attempting to do just that. And that was after having to admit that they were not entirely certain that they could detect a coven ward.”
My lips twitched for a moment, until I made the obvious connection. “You never promised that I would do it!” I said, panicking. “The curse will have worn off by now, even assuming I could—”
“It’s worn off?” Kit’s grin widened. “That’s even better.”
I grabbed his shoulders. “Did you tell her?”
He laughed and settled his hands on my waist. “No. But I did point out that this incident has demonstrated that there is more to magic than the Circle knows.”
“Meaning?” I asked warily.
“That they might overlook threats that come from magic unlike their own.”
“But the Circle has a coven wizard at court,” I protested.
John Dee had long been their link to the queen, the filthy bastard. He was English, although you would never know it considering how he had immediately chosen the Circle over the covens. Perhaps because his magic was second rate, ensuring he’d had little power within the old hierarchy. But the Circle valued him for his connection to the queen, and with their backing, he’d gone far.
“Yes, but he doesn’t appear to be able to help in this instance,” Kit said, innocently. “I pointed out to Her Majesty that coven magic usually flows easier through the veins of women, much to Master Dee’s annoyance.”
I stared at him a moment, and then felt a grin split my face. Now that was funny.