This Scepter'd Isle (23 page)

He did not appear to linger, riding away from Windsor in the direction his "friend" was supposed to live, but he slipped off Miralys at the postern gate and reentered the palace to watch over Harry through another eventless day.

Denoriel's anxiety was almost gone. There were only four days before they began their journey north and he was almost convinced that the attempt would be made while they were traveling. He could not imagine how an exchange could be made, but he intended to ride right beside Harry all the way and watch by his bed all night. Just because nothing had happened yet did not mean that the danger was over. But the longer an attempt was put off, the more difficult it would be for it to succeed.

The next morning he was able to examine and make sure the servants Aleneil had brought would be able to care for his house and carry on while he was gone. He liked the Low Court fay that she had chosen, for they seemed steadier than most of their kind, though they did look upon all of this sojourning Overhill as some sort of grand adventure. Still, they were willing and intelligent, and Aleneil promised to return periodically while he was away to continue their training.

He gave more time to the three mortals that Aleneil brought to accompany him on his journey. One, Edward Trace, did not remain a candidate for a retainer very long. He had been taken by the elves after his cruel and drunken father became a toy—and then a dead and broken toy—of the Wild Hunt. Perhaps "taken" was not the right term, for poor Edward had practically been given to the Seleighe Elves of Logres.

When his mother had come looking for the husband she assumed had fallen down drunk again and had found the dead man, she had stared down at the mutilated corpse for a while and then begun to laugh. Finally she went back to the half-collapsed hut which had sheltered them and brought the infant Edward to lay beside the dead body. What had been going through her mind at that moment, no Sidhe could fathom. Perhaps she had been driven mad by her husband's abusive behavior; perhaps she had simply decided that she could not bear to look on the child of a man who had been so cruel to her. Maybe she assumed someone would find the dead man and living child before the latter died of exposure; perhaps she had not thought at all, except that she could not support herself and a child, and had laid the latter aside as an encumbrance. She had then shrugged once and walked away.

Edward had been snatched up by one of the lingering Sidhe and raised Underhill. No matter what he was told, he clung to the conviction that the mortal world was more real, more perfect . . . more
something
than the world of the Sidhe, and that he would be more than a mere servant in the real world. He had insisted that he wished to return Overhill.

Because she felt Edward needed to understand why most Sidhe avoided the mortal world and that he might settle better into his life Underhill when he had tasted Overhill, Aleneil took him to her brother's establishment. It did not take him long to realize his mistake.

He had been taught English as well as Elven and as his first lesson Aleneil gave him a few coins and sent him to the market. The rutted, muddy street (and that was a main road through London) awash with all kinds of debris—from offal to excrement in its gutters—that led to the East Chepe was a shock. The crude market, the yelling, pushing peddlers, the loud, cheating merchants, who groaned of being beggared when he protested their inflated prices, and the goods themselves, rough fabrics, crude furniture, blemished, half-ripe or overripe fruits and vegetables, sickened him. No heaven here.

Beyond that, there was no magical breeze to waft his purchases back to the house. He had to carry them himself through the noise and the filth. Muddy water fouled with Dannae alone knew what spattered his hose, and he knew there would be no near-mindless, faceless servitor to wash them. He would need to do by hand menial tasks done Underhill by spells or those mindless servitors, for he had no magic to perform them as the Low Court Sidhe did. The mortal world no longer seemed like a place of endless glorious possibilities from which the Sidhe had been keeping him. He elected to go back Underhill with Aleneil.

The other two men, Kip Ladbroke and Shandy Dunstan, were different cases. Both had also been snatched up after a Wild Hunt—Denoriel even remembered Kip—but they had been much older, Dunstan nearly fifteen and Ladbroke twelve. In each case, but at separate times and places, they had been traveling, not willingly, in the company of an older male. Dunstan had been bound and bruised, beaten so severely that he could barely stagger along; Ladbroke, tethered by the neck like a dog, had been bloody and weeping. Both had been caught up by the Sidhe, separated from the target of the Hunt, judged innocent but as having seen too much, and delivered to Elfhame Avalon.

Both Dunstan and Ladbroke knew the mortal world well and the bottom of it to boot. Both knew what they would be losing by leaving Underhill. Even for servants of the Seleighe Court life was easy, safe, beautiful. Both knew they would still be servants in the mortal world and that in many ways life would be much harder.

On the other hand, both were mortal and clever and bored to death by the sameness of life in Elfhame Avalon. Both wanted to go places and do things, to find wives and marry and have children; both hoped for adventure and excitement, and the chance, maybe, to help some other young lad in dire straits, if only by calling on their own elven rescuers. Neither was foolish enough to wish to "escape" Avalon, to try, penniless and without friends or relatives, to build a life in a hard world. So they had remained Underhill; however, when offered a place in the retinue of a Sidhe lord who was masquerading as human, both seized the offer with joy. This would be the ideal chance to insinuate themselves back into the world of men—if Denoriel's task came to an end, he could and would easily find them employment in the retinue of one or another of his noble friends. And if it did not—they were assured of a continuing place in
his
employ.

Denoriel accepted both and left them to make themselves comfortable in the house, to find quarters for themselves, to buy horses and tack for the journey, and, most important of all, to construct stories of who they were, where they came from, how they had come into Denoriel's service. When they—and Denoriel—were satisfied by the tales, the Sidhe would arrange to have some papers prepared that would support their claims. It would not need to be much—parish birth-records, and a forged letter or two of recommendation.

Having Gated back to Windsor, Denoriel spent another totally unproductive day guarding Harry. The white kitten was just as bored as he, so it was fortunate that the newly reinforced spell in the collar kept it fixed to its duty.

Now only two days remained until the party left Windsor. Denoriel, again refreshed by a night Underhill, came directly to the London house in the morning. He checked on what Dunstan and Ladbroke had done and was well satisfied. As Aleneil had assured him, these were clever, resourceful men.

Despite having been away from the mortal world for respectively ten and twelve years, they had chosen excellent horses, sturdy cobs without much beauty or speed but with considerable endurance; respectable tack, worn but in good order and repair; and they had each concocted a solid tale.

Each kept his native birthplace, fearing to be caught speaking in the wrong accent. Ladbroke claimed he had been an orphan and was picked up in the street and sold to a shipmaster. Dunstan said his father had sold him, having too many children and not enough to feed them.

Eventually they had come to the same ship and become friends, risen to be marines, and when they came to port in Southampton had decided they had had enough of ship life. Their shipmaster, sensibly not wanting disaffected fighting men aboard, not only released them but told them of having heard, through a fellow shipmaster, of a foreign gentleman who needed servants who could also wield a blade. A dispatched message had received a favorable reply, and here they were.

Denoriel pronounced himself well satisfied and promised to arrange identification for them. Then he handed over another purse and bade them go out and buy clothing sufficient for a journey of at least a month and a pack mule that could carry their baggage and a tent. They would leave for Windsor the following morning to be sure to be ready whenever Norfolk gave the order for FitzRoy's cortege . . . 

And just as he was giving them the last of their instructions, a white kitten landed on Denoriel's shoulder.

:Black Sidhe!: It shrilled at him. :Come now! Black Sidhe! Great power!: 

Denoriel did not even finish his sentence. He fled to the stable, leapt on Miralys, who formed a saddle beneath him as he struck his back. They burst through the wall between the worlds as only an elvensteed could, setting off alarms as they passed into Elfhame Logres. But Denoriel and Miralys were known; the guard set no magic barrier and without waiting to explain, he Gated to Windsor.

He arrived at the main gate of the palace looking enough disordered to make the guards smile. "Busy night? Slept late did you?" he asked.

For once Denoriel did not echo the smile. His mouth was thin and grim, but he forced himself to look pleasant, though cool—as indeed, he should, for the guard's comment was presumptuous. "I—needed to say good-bye; it took some time. May I enter? I need to ask some questions about the journey."

The guard nodded. "A'course, milord."

The guard looked and sounded chagrined, as if he knew he had overstepped even the foreigner's affability. The gate was opened wide and Denoriel and Miralys passed through. He was tempted to ride the elvensteed right up to the palace door so he could ask questions, but Miralys went toward the stable and the white kitten suddenly appeared again in his lap.

"Where is Harry?" he asked it in a frantic whisper.

:Tutor: 

Denoriel breathed again and ceased pulling at the reins, a useless enterprise since they were not connected to a bit. Miralys continued toward the stable. "Where is the black Sidhe?"

The kitten promptly disappeared. Still anxious but less so, Denoriel looked around and saw that the doors of the carriage house as well as those of the stable were open. Just within them was a very handsome coach, a more elegant design even than that of Francis Bryan, and on the seat Denoriel caught a glimpse of something very strange. He hurriedly stabled Miralys and told the stable boys to leave his horse saddled.

"I don't expect to be here long. I just came to confirm the date of departure. Oh, whose is that most elegant coach in the carriage house?"

"Princess Mary's. She is departing for Wales very soon and sent a nun with a gift for His Grace of Richmond."

A nun! Black Sidhe! Denoriel had been too alarmed to wonder at what the air spirit had said, but now he remembered the creature could not tell liosalfar from dark elf. So what the air spirit meant was a Sidhe clothed in black.

Controlling his urge to run from the stable, Denoriel nodded his thanks at the boy who had answered his question, and tossed him a coin. The other boys promptly converged on the recipient to claim a promise of sharing, which was what Denoriel had hoped they would do, and he stepped out and slipped into the carriage house.

He hesitated near the doors for a moment, extending his senses, but the coach itself was of ordinary mortal stuff and there was no coachman. Likely the man was in the stable with the horses. Denoriel walked closer, came right up to the window, and finally opened the door to look inside.

A large toy ship that reeked of magic! A ship exactly like the one that had been damaged when FitzRoy hit his attacker with the mast. Cold coursed up and down Denoriel's back. Someone had wrenched the description of that ship from deep within one of the attacker's mind. Neither man would have consciously remembered all the details. Could the ship be bespelled?

He had no intention of allowing Harry to touch that thing until he had examined it more closely. He raised a foot to step into the carriage so he could take hold of the large ship and his toe hit something soft. He looked down and barely prevented himself from screaming "Harry!"

The naked child lay on the floor of the coach, wrapped only in a heavy black cloak. He was so exact an image of Henry FitzRoy that Denoriel blinked and bit his lip. But it was not Harry. The child stank of magic and more magic; it was the child, not the ship, that was bespelled, which was why the boy had not wakened when prodded by Denoriel's foot.

Sent to seek for the black Sidhe, the white kitten had first appeared in Master Croke's apartment, one room of which had been set aside and fitted out as a schoolroom. It was a moderately large room with two small tables and chairs for Mary and FitzRoy and two normal sized tables—one much larger than the other—and covered with books and pamphlets. One served for Master Croke and the other for Henry Howard. A large and handsome globe stood in one corner; in the other was an unusually large and smooth slate fitted upright into a wooden frame. Against the wall behind Master Croke's table was a short bookcase holding more books and loose papers.

Unfortunately Mary had seen the kitten and cried out, "Oh, you cute little naughty. How did you get in here?"

Whereupon Master Croke went to open the door and let it out and Mary protested and jumped up to catch it and set it on her lap. The kitten ran away to avoid her. Master Croke ordered her to her seat but then started to look for the little cat himself to be sure he had evicted it. He knew it would cause more disruption if he had not.

The kitten did not dare actually vanish, so there were another few minutes of delay while it appeared, disappeared, and finally scuttled from behind the globe stand to whisk through the door and out.

To go from chamber to chamber, even as an air spirit could travel, would take too long. The kitten listened and felt, sending out diaphanous probes, but it did not dare open itself fully for fear the Sidhe would sense it and seize it. Thus its search was slower than it could have been, but eventually it perceived the Sidhe aura, followed it, found it . . . felt a flicker of recognition.