The Marlowe Conspiracy (24 page)

“In fact, it would be sheer villainy to suggest that the posters are a stunt by Essex to create trouble and thereby challenge my position as the Queen's chief advisor.”

Kit smiled in agreement.

“Yes, that would be villainous.”

Burghley nodded to him curtly and opened the oak door and passed inside. The door closed and knocked back into its frame, sending a small boom down the corridor.

Kit stood there motionless. His thoughts raced and his mind struggled to keep abreast with the sudden turn of events. Slowly, an unusual sense of hope warmed his heart. Elation crept through his veins. He set his jaw, turned, and paced away from the door. Alongside him, palace staff proceeded down the corridor and regarded him curiously. His stride became faster and faster, fueled with new determination.

SCENE THREE

London. City Street.

K
it strode along with Will and informed him of all he'd learnt from Burghley. The street around them lay virtually deserted in the afternoon heat – a reminder that the plague-infested end of Cheapside wasn't far away. Kit clicked his fingers as he paced along. He swung his arms easily. A bright energy seemed to ripple through him. He could still taste the clean sweetness of an apple he'd just eaten.

Next to him, Will looked oddly serious. He spoke very little. The lining of his collar irritated the back of his neck and he scratched the skin with annoyance. In the road ahead, a raven hopped around the carcass of a dead animal and rived through the flesh with its beak. Will averted his eyes.

As they moved onwards up the road, Kit explained his next plan.

“...yes,” said Kit enthusiastically, “but the Queen's giving a banquet at Nonsuch, tonight.”

“What good will that possibly do us?” said Will.

“We'll question him then.”

“You honestly think you can go there? You won’t get within a mile of that palace without getting caught. I doubt we have any chance of getting inside.”

“Don't worry. I'll see to that.”

“Hmm...”

“Interrogating Essex is the thing to mind.”

“How so?”

“There isn't a lord more savvy or dangerous.”

“Wonderful.”

“That's why we need some chemical assistance.”

Will didn't respond. Kit frowned and looked at him askance.

“Will, I don’t mean to pry, but...”

“Yes?”

“...is there... anything wrong?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You just seem a little gloomier today.”

Will scratched the back of his neck again. His eyes looked dark.

“Don’t mind me. It’s nothing that lies within your power to mend, anyway.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Just a little trouble writing, that's all,” Will said with some testiness. “When I sat down yesterday the words weren't there.”

Kit nodded sympathetically. He felt a slight pang of guilt. He walked on and they continued down the street in silence.

Soon, they found the apothecary shop Kit had been searching for and stopped. Two large bay windows bulged either side of the door. Behind the window lay a display of glass jars – blue, red, green, and yellow, each one filled with strange granules, liquids, or sticks.

“By the way, I should warn you,” said Kit under his breath. “This fellow's sampled one too many potions...”

“What does that mean?”

“...but don’t stare. He hates it when people stare.”

Will raised his eyebrows.

“Stare?” He looked again into the window, concerned. “What shouldn’t I stare at?”

Without answering, Kit pulled back the door and they entered the shop.

Inside, swept wooden floors led to a jumble of objects: a full medical skeleton; a candle in a glass dome; books with drawings of curved knifes, needles, and other instruments; and in the corner, dust and fingerprints covered a large celestial globe. Around the walls, wainscoting added interest to the green paint and from the ceiling hung the silhouette of a stuffed crocodile.

Lazell, the apothecary, stood by a shelf near the door, fiddling with a collection of pots. Tall, with a grim countenance, he had intense staring eyes, long fingers, and a pointed hat that looked like the beak of a vulture. As soon as they entered, Lazell turned in his flowing black gown and bowed politely.

“How now, my good man?” said Kit in a loud, jovial voice.

Lazell clasped his hands together, pleasantly.

“Sir, it’s most delightful to make your acquaintance once again. It’s been too long since you've graced my shop.”

Kit gestured toward Will at his side.

“Lazell, meet Will Shakespeare.”

Lazell extended a long hand.

“Nice to meet you, master Shakespeare.”

Will reached forth and shook hands politely. As he did so, Lazell's head gave a violent twitch to the left. The action came suddenly, dramatically, without any kind of warning. Will stood there stunned. His lips parted in shock.

“Nice to... nice to...” said Will distractedly. He trailed off for a moment, as if seeing the twitch again in his mind. His cheeks grew flushed.

“Is there something the matter with you?” Lazell asked.

“No... I'm sorry... what was I saying?”

Lazell's head twitched again. Will's eyes grew large, completely mesmerized. In contrast, neither Kit nor Lazell seemed to care about the twitch. Kit gave Will a small look, then stood forward and patted Lazell on the shoulder.

“We're in search of a truth potion,” he said quickly.

“Ah,” replied Lazell. “A rare concoction, indeed.”

“You have one?”

“Perhaps. I’m not sure. But I’ll do my very best to find out.”

His head twitching randomly, Lazell ushered them both towards a long counter at the back of the store. Along the entire wall behind hung lines of shelves laden with porcelain vials, urns, and little pots with labels wrapped around the sides. Kit and Will waited patiently while Lazell surveyed the shelves for the potion.

“Love ointments, poisons, lotions for the skin, sleeping powders, fertility balsams,” muttered Lazell as he searched through a group of pots. He turned back to them gravely. “No. I’m afraid to say it, gentlemen, but it seems I possess no truth potion today.”

As Kit and Lazell discussed alternatives, Will's eyes leapt up to a top shelf. There, behind a two dark urns, lay a bottle marked ‘Truth Serum’. Will pointed to it.

“There's some at the top, I think,” he said.

Lazell stood on his tiptoes to see.

“Where?” Lazell asked. His head gave another sudden twitch.

For fear of laughing, Will bit his lip and looked away. He still pointed to the top shelf.

“In the middle...”

Lazell strained to find it.

“The blue or the green one?”

“...it's there somewhere.”

With mock disapproval, Kit rolled his eyes at Will. He leant over the counter to help.

“The green one,” he told Lazell.

Lazell reached up and tugged the bottle toward the edge of the shelf with his fingertips. When he had it safely in hand, he took it down and scanned the label. He handed it over to Kit with a small, vanishing smile.

“This one's very strong,” said Lazell, his face serious again.

“How strong, exactly?”

“A single drop can loosen any man's tongue.”

“And what will such a miracle cost us?”

“For others I would charge a shilling or even more. But for you fine gentlemen, it is yours for merely sixpence.”

“I’ll give you a groat.”

“Ah, regretfully, I can go no lower than sixpence. Perchance there is something else you would like to buy, instead? I have many other potions for a groat.”

Kit ignored him and took the cork stopper off the bottle. He sniffed the contents: it had a sticky, over-ripe smell.

Meanwhile, Will eventually worked up enough self-control to look back in Lazell's direction.

“Does it have any side effects?” he asked.

Lazell eyed him sternly. His head twitched, nearly knocking his hat off. Will mistook it for an answer.

“Oh, that's good,” said Will.

“No,” Lazell corrected him. “Not completely free... Of course, you won’t have any potion without some side effects.”

“What effects does this one have?”

Lazell fidgeted on the spot.

“It creates a little mirth in whoever takes it.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Nothing really, gentlemen. Nothing you would notice.”

Kit turned the bottle in the smooth of his palm. He considered the smell once more and studied Lazell suspiciously. Both Will and Lazell waited for his decision. Finally, he set the bottle on the countertop.

“We'll take it,” he said resolutely.

SCENE FOUR

Scadbury Manor. Audrey’s Bedchamber.

A
udrey took hours to dress for the Nonsuch banquet that evening.

Once she had tied herself into a bodice, untangled the willow strips and ropes of her Spanish farthingale, applied a satin kirtle, forepart, and a partlet over her chest, she finally put on her black and white gown with its matching sleeves. She played with the gold tassels on the cuffs while her maid worked on her hair.

To complete her final appearance, Audrey adorned herself with various items of jewelry. She pushed diamond rings down her gloved fingers. Squeezed her wrists into hoped ivory bracelets that rubbed the bone. However, she saved the space on the center of her bodice, just over her heart, for her most prized brooch of all...

She sat at her dressing table, an oval mirror in front, and rummaged through her jewelry box for Kit's brooch. Her maid stood behind, watching.

“It’s here somewhere, in know it, I’m certain,” Audrey mumbled, steadily growing flustered. “I don’t understand. Why is so hard to find one simple piece of jewelry?”

“Can I help?” asked the maid in a broad country accent.

“My brooch. Have you seen it anywhere?”

“The one Master Marlowe gave you?” A smile darted across the maid’s lips.

Audrey's face tightened.

“Yes... the very same.”

The maid plucked away some lint from Audrey's shoulder. She stopped in thought.

“Come to think on it, I haven't seen it for days.”

“You didn’t take it for polishing, did you? Please tell me you haven’t. Don’t you remember, I expressly told you not to–”

“On my honor, good mistress, I haven’t done anything with it! I haven’t, I swear!”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to accuse you,” said Audrey pensively. She sat up straighter. “When was... when was the last time you saw it?”