Court of Conspiracy (30 page)

* * *

Byram Creswell looked from the King to Luke. His quick brain appeared to have grasped the significance of the danger.

“I can only beg you to believe what we tell you and all will be made plain,” Luke said. It appeared he would be casting another misremembrance spell before this night was out.

The captain glanced at the Queen.

“You need fear nothing, Captain. This is a service you not only do for your King but also for your country.

“I need to ask one question,” Creswell said, still looking uncertain about what was happening. “How do you think the assassin will try to kill His Majesty?”

“I thought at first that whoever came would use a dagger, it being the easiest, quickest and most silent of weapons. However, I believe that feathers from the King’s pillow have been purloined and some devilment cast over them. The killer will expect his victim to be in a deep sleep, one that can be made permanent with the aid of the same pillow held over His Majesty’s face. That is what we must prevent.”

“And you are willing to take His Majesty’s place in the bed?”

“I am.”

“I knew there was more to you than met the eye, Master Ballard. You are a brave man, my friend.”

Creswell turned to the King and bowed.

“Sire, I urge you to retire to the Queen’s bedchamber and remain there until the morning. You may rely on us. I have my deputy waiting outside. We will incapacitate the guards currently there, put them in an empty chamber along the corridor and take their places. Make haste—it is almost tomorrow.”

* * *

Luke worried in case he fell asleep, but the King’s bed was so soft that he was unable to get into a comfortable position. Under the covers, his fingers played with the hilt of the dagger that Creswell insisted he take.

The page had offered to stay on the pallet, but King Henry had said he would need him in attendance and that he did not want to be waited on by a pack of women. Henry’s eyes met Luke’s in perfect understanding. No need to tell the lad that the assassin’s plan would encompass his death as well as his royal master’s.

For the first time in what felt like days, Luke had time to sit and think. His mind turned to Pippa. True, she had been an encumbrance from the moment she entered his house. Had he been counseling a friend with the same problem, his advice would have been to let the silly wench go her own way. Now he understood that Pippa had been under Peveril’s influence quite as much as Bertila had. Nothing had been any fault of hers and had he been more understanding, this situation might well have been averted. Peveril must have been laughing in his sleeve. His original plan, to gain access to Luke through Bertila, had been rendered unnecessary when an untutored elemancer dropped into his hands.

Luke’s head snapped to one side and he stiffened. He could hear a commotion outside the door. Then a familiar voice spoke. “I must see the King. I have urgent news from the marriage delegation. Allow me to pass.” He grasped the dagger and waited.

The door opened and a cloaked, hooded figure slipped through. Luke moved not a muscle. The figure waited until the door had closed and then darted to the bed. An arm stretched out and pulled the pillow from under Luke’s head. Luke sprang up, an action that elicited a cry of surprise and rage from the interloper. The man’s obvious shock at finding his victim wide awake made him falter for a few vital moments.

The ensuing struggle was short and silent although Luke could hear the other’s teeth grinding together as he strained every sinew to free the hand holding the dagger. Luke knew Byram would be in the room any moment so dared not use his magic. Instead, he lessened his grip. Just as he had hoped, his opponent believed he was weakening and cried out in triumph. Luke waited until the other thrust his body upward, then used the impetus to twist his torso, landing with both knees on the other’s dagger arm. The man cried out in pain, his fingers opened and he dropped his weapon. Luke, panting, pulled out his own dagger and held the point to the intruder’s throat.

The door was flung open. Creswell and his deputy rushed in and seized their prisoner.

Luke reached across and tore the hood from the would-be assassin’s head. He was not surprised. In the quiet, he had had time to work out who Harold Forkwon was.

“A little late for a visit, Your Grace,” he said to the angry and frightened face of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. Howard Norfolk, as the cipher had termed him.

Chapter Thirty-Five

From the outset, Luke and Creswell agreed that although they had captured the assassin, it was vital every conspirator be taken. Plainly, Norfolk had not acted alone. Luke’s anxiety about Pippa notwithstanding, he accepted that all save King Henry were expendable, even the Queen. To achieve their aim, nothing must appear amiss and the events of the night had to stay secret.

They had the remaining night hours to make their plans.

Norfolk had been taken along the passage to the Queen’s apartments. Save for Gwenette, she had dismissed her ladies to the outer chamber. The King and his mother sat in chairs near the fire. Norfolk, hands secured behind him, was on his knees in front of them. Luke and Byram Creswell stood behind him.

The King spoke first. His voice sounded soft and reasonable, as if he were discussing the merits of one horse against another. “Thomas, you are my cousin. You know the secrets of my heart. Why would you attempt my death?” Luke decided that had he been in Norfolk’s position, he would have much preferred the King to rage and bellow.

“In truth, I do not know, Sire. I think I was bewitched.”

“Others have tried such arguments,” Anne Boleyn said, leaning forward, her eyes narrowed. “That dog won’t fight. Your only chance is to make full confession and beg your King for mercy.” She smacked a clenched fist on the arm of her chair.

King Henry held up his hand and she subsided. “My lady mother is concerned for my welfare, Thomas, but she is right. I would know the full history of this conspiracy and the names of your fellow traitors.” The last word snapped out with the velocity of a stone from a catapult. “And you know the penalty for that and the persuasions that will come before it, don’t you? It would be a shame to destroy those handsome calves of yours or use the rope gouge on your eyes. We might, however, be persuaded to clemency.”

“I crave mercy, Your Majesty.”

“Then show yourself worthy of it.”

To Luke’s eyes, Norfolk did not look worthy of anything. The once proud and sneering countenance was gone. His face, dirty and blood-smeared, showed fear. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“I will confess all, Sire. I was seduced by the prospect of riches and power.”

“By whom?”

“The Emperor Charles and his son, Philip of Spain.”

A hiss of air came from the Queen. “I knew the Spanish would be in the equation somewhere,” she spat.

“Madam.” The King held up his hand again and gestured for Norfolk to continue. For a few moments, he was silent. Luke sensed his utter confusion, but Henry obviously thought differently, for he kicked out at his kinsman.

“Speak. Or I will burn a hole in your tongue with pincers.”

Norfolk shook his head, the tears falling faster. He had, Luke noticed, a rent in his doublet. It was clear he had been handled roughly by the guards.

“They made it sound so easy and so logical,” the kneeling man said. “All that had to happen was your demise, Sire, and then the Lady Mary would be on the throne. I was promised her hand in marriage and my place alongside her as King in payment for bringing England back to the true faith.”

“I suppose I was destined for the fire.” Anne’s voice was shrill with fear and fury.

Her son held up his hand. “Madam, I implore you.” There was an edge in his voice that brooked no argument and she sank back into her seat.

“And did the Lady Mary agree to this plan?” the King enquired in a silky tone.

“I do not know, Sire. I was forbidden to contact her, but I cannot believe she has not been informed by the Spanish ambassador and told to hold herself ready.”

Luke stepped forward. “If she was not in the plot, then how was it that there was a message, in cipher, in the basket of flowers sent to her apartments?”

Norfolk twisted round to face him. “Edwin Achard was supposed to take it out of the basket as soon as he entered the apartments and was no longer visible to the guards at the gatehouse. The message was for me.”

“And Edwin Achard answers to Sir Nigel Kerr. Is he a traitor, too?”

“Aye,” said Norfolk. “He has been taking money from the Spanish via a third party whose identity I do not know.”

“Would the sight of the rack bring this person’s name back to your memory, Thomas,” the King said in a soft whisper that made the sweat stand on Norfolk’s brow.

“I swear to you, Sire, that I have never known this individual’s name.” He was almost in tears and Henry’s face curled with contempt.

“Is the contact a man or a woman?” Luke asked.

“Sir Nigel always says
he
and
him
, so it must be a man.”

“Did you have any other intermediary with the Spanish?”

“My mother. She is at Arundel Castle. I believe the Spanish ambassador communicates with her often. She has been the driving force in this business. I would to God I had never listened to her.”

Queen Anne stood up and began pacing the floor, distress in every line of her face and body. “You are all my kin. I knew the Duchess loved the Lady Mary’s mother, but that she and you should stoop to such treachery as to seek our deaths is almost beyond belief. Captain Creswell, you must find and arrest Sir Nigel Kerr.”

“You will not find him,” Norfolk said. “He was waiting near the Water Gate. I have not returned. He will know the plan has miscarried and will have made good his escape.”

“And you believe that without his testimony, you can talk your way out of this tangle. At least we still have you to balance the scales a little, Thomas,” the King replied, rising to his feet and gesturing to the guards. “We have decided to keep you in close arrest in the royal apartments. We will decide your fate after the birthday celebrations tomorrow. Take him, Captain. We do not want it noised abroad that he is a prisoner. Make it known that he is indisposed and being physicked.”

As Norfolk was manhandled to his feet, he found himself face to face with Luke. His expression momentarily split into a derisory smile.

“Don’t expect to find your whey-faced Gardiner girl alive.”

The King put up his hand. “Gardiner?” he said in a sharp voice.

“Aye, Sire,” Luke said, bowing. “A distant cousin of the Bishop, but a true and loyal subject, caught up in events beyond her knowledge. Indeed,” he added, making sure that he said each word directly into Norfolk’s face, “had it not been for Pippa, this traitor’s plot might have succeeded. That Your Majesty is alive is in no small part due to her. If you will permit, Sire, I must now go and find her.”

* * *

Luke crumpled onto the bench at his kitchen table. Rob and Dufay sat opposite. There had been a brief argument to discourage Luke from rushing to hunt for Pippa.

“Stop and think, Luke. This is probably what the enemy expects and wants. You have no idea where to look. You need heat and one more dose of the replenisher. I will add ground carnelian to aid your mental clarity.”

Luke put his head in his hands. It was as if the responsibility for everyone in the kingdom was on his shoulders. But then, he had taken his vows, pledging to help others where and when he could. He must not give up now when things were so difficult and the danger so acute.

“I am so weary,” he said. “And it is all so dark.”

“I know you are tired, Luke,” Dufay said. “It is vital you find Pippa now that the initial plot has failed. Peveril may have no more use for her, but then again, knowing the King still lives, he may try to use her one more time. Do not forget that Hope begins in the dark,” Dufay added. “You must pray, work towards the light, watch for signs and never give up.”

“Can you not do it, sir?”

“I could, but then you would never learn how powerful an elemancer you are, and it is imperative that you understand your capabilities. No, Luke. You must do this. I will lend strength when needed to boost your energies, but yours must be the guiding light in this endeavor.”

Rob replenished the fire and Luke sat in deep contemplation near it whilst the boy seared meat and mulled ale for him. He had drunk another of Dufay’s concoctions, but heat was the quickest way to replenish his depleted energy. Having eaten, he relaxed his shoulders, closed his eyes and concentrated on Pippa.

At once he was aware of darkness. A dark wood? He heard the rustling of trees, that was certain. There were no lights, nothing that would give him a clue to Pippa’s whereabouts. Bereft of sight, Luke knew he would have to rely on his other senses, which meant tamping down the fear rising in him. Did his inability to lock onto her mean that she was dead already? No. He would have felt the shift in the cosmic balance. Ajax. Could he lock on to Ajax? He dropped his hand and found Joss’s silky head. At once blurred images flashed into his mind. A garden with a low fence. A house. Then only fear. Luke’s heaved as he felt a dagger in his chest. He came back to his kitchen as Dufay was shaking him. Their eyes met.

“Aye,” Dufay said. “I felt it too. Keep going. You are on the right track.”

Once more Luke relaxed. The darkness was as intense as ever, but he could hear the wind in the trees. The music of the trees surrounded him. From far away, he heard Dufay’s voice.

“Listen to the note of them. Concentrate.”

So, Dufay could hear them, too. Luke channeled every ounce of concentration, focusing on the pitch and pattern of the wind through the branches. Now he understood.

“Poplars,” he said aloud. “A house with a low fence and poplars.”

He came back to the room and grabbed Dufay’s arm. “There is only one place around here with enough poplars to sound like that. The road leading from Hampton to Feltham.”

Dufay nodded. “You must go. I fear the worst. Take Rob with you. I must make certain preparations, but rest assured, I will follow as soon as I am able.”

Luke wondered what could possibly be more important than saving Pippa and capturing Peveril. Dufay smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Once you work for the Queen, Luke, you are caught. I learned that long ago. She and the King are not out of danger. I must ensure their safety until you return and take up the cudgels.”

“Surely when I have Pippa back, my work is done?”

“No, Luke. There is still the matter of Sir Nigel Kerr. Until he is taken, there is no safety for any of us, especially with Peveril at his shoulder. And there is one more thing I must tell you about this particular sunderer.”

Luke leaned over the table. “Something that will help us find him?”

“No. Something that tells us more of what he is. I cast his numerical chart whilst you were with the King. It has the number six in the middle, repeated three times. You are familiar with the Book of Revelation?”

Luke stepped back, feeling the color drain from his face. “Six, six, six—the number of the Evil One.”

“Indeed. You must go quickly. On your journey, fill your souls with light. You will need every ounce of strength.”

The cold light of dawn was just breaking in the east over the river when Luke and Rob left the house. Both wore black cloaks lined with silver and blue that Dufay had sent Rob running back to his house to collect. The Elemagus had explained that these colors would help protect them from evil. They walked toward Hampton.

“This is the Feltham Road, Rob. Keep your wits about you.”

“Will he know we are coming?”

“We must assume so. I know you are afraid, as am I, but try to remember that violent and negative emotions like fear and anger are what he feeds on. We must tread carefully.”

* * *

Pippa lifted her head and looked at the face she thought she had loved. Cold gray eyes glared back at her.

“Why did you betray me?” he demanded.

“Because I realized what you are. A loathsome stinking thing pretending to be a normal man. You disgust me. I understand now how you managed to evade discovery by Master Dufay each time you came to me at his house. Only a bastard sunderer could do that to the Elemagus.” She saw his face darken with anger and a shaft of joy ran through her to know that she had foiled his plans and dissipated his energies when he had thought she would be so easy. If she could just enrage him enough to make a mistake...

“Aye,” she continued. “A loathsome, repulsive sunderer, not worthy to dig the shit from the night soil pits.”

Peveril raised his hand. Another shaft of light flew from his fingers and locked onto her head. She felt her hair grow hot, smelt the stench as it shriveled. When she shook her head, the pain made her want to cry out, but she had learned over the past few hours that pain was what gave Geoffrey Peveril life as well as pleasure.

She had seen him at the far end of her mind’s inner chamber, his arms outstretched, and had run to him without another thought. As soon as she was captured, the light had vanished and she was back in Dufay’s kitchen, with Ajax whining at her knee and shaking.

“Come to me, now.” She had turned her head to see where Geoffrey’s voice had come from, but he was not there. Before she could stop herself, her feet were walking to the door. Trying to overcome her terror, she had ordered her feet to stop, but they kept going. She was aware of Ajax at her heels. He was still crying, and when she bent down to stroke him, their eyes met. He was as terrified as she, but nothing would induce him to leave her. Darling Ajax. The joy that flooded through her at this proof of his love had slowed her feet almost to a stop, but the spell Peveril had cast on her was stronger than the small flame of hope that died as, once more, she was driven to walk.

It took another minute or so before she reasoned that the only weapon she might use was happy memories. But she had so few and the spell was so powerful. Her only true happiness had been Ajax. She concentrated on the greyspring, and he, as if recognizing that she needed him, tried to impede her feet. Eventually, though, she found herself outside a dark house on the far side of Hampton village.

“Fool girl, did you think you could thwart my will,” Peveril said to her when she was inside the house. “You cannot fight my power. I am Asmodeus. I am inviolate. All powerful.”

“That may be,” replied Pippa with a sudden insight into his anger, “but I would wager you expended a lot more energy than you thought necessary to force me here. Inviolate. In truth, only God is that and you are not He.”