Knight of Passion (12 page)

“Conjurers of the dead? You cannot mean it.”

In an all-too-familiar gesture, Francois lifted one eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder.

“You share too many mannerisms with your twin,” Jamie said. “ ’Tis irksome.”

“Just so long as it annoys you, rather than makes you want to kiss me,” Francois said and puckered his lips.

“Good God, Francois.” Jamie punched his shoulder, hard.

From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw Eleanor walk quickly out of the hall with a furtive glance over her shoulder, as if
she hoped no one noticed her leave. One of the clerics she had been talking with appeared to catch someone’s eye across the
hall. Then, in quick succession, the four clerics left the hall.

Francois swore an oath under his breath. Jamie forgot the clerics as he followed Francois’s gaze to Linnet. She was surrounded
by a circle of men, wealthy merchants by the looks of them. As he watched, she took the arm of a short, well-fed man in an
orange-and-violet-brocade tunic and matching hose that made Jamie’s eyes hurt.

“Not the alderman,” Francois muttered. “I swear, she’ll be the death of me…”

Jamie knew he should not ask, but he could not help himself. “What has you worried this time?”

“She is set on finding the man who ruined our grandfather.”

“What will she do when she finds him?”

“Trust me, you do not want to know,” Francois said, before he set off through the crush of people to waylay his sister.

Linnet usually had little difficulty getting information from men. Every merchant she approached today, however, evaded her
questions. Their palpable unease made her believe she was getting close. Whoever was behind her grandfather’s ruin was someone
the others did not wish to cross.

Even that dragon, Mistress Leggett, seemed frightened. She grabbed Linnet’s arm and yanked her into a dark alcove behind a
pillar.

“Pray, use what little sense God gave you, girl,” the woman said in a harsh whisper. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

“My grandfather was robbed,” Linnet said, jerking away from the woman’s huge, hamlike hands. “I promise you, I shall have
justice for him.”

“Would your grandfather want to see your body floating down the Thames?” Mistress Leggett said, her jowls shaking. “I am warning
you for his sake, because he was a good and honest man:
Leave this be
.”

“If your husband were alive, he would help me.”

“You know nothing, girl,” the woman said. “My husband was part of it. But when they were planning to take you and your brother,
that troubled him, see?”

Could she have been wrong about Leggett? She remembered a cane pounding on the floorboards by the bed as one of the men shouted,
“Where are the children?” The cane had an unusual silver end in the shape of a lion’s paw.

“So he comes to me,” Mistress Leggett continued, “and I tell him that if he ever wants a warm bed again he must sneak you
out of London and put you on a ship.”

Linnet blinked at the enormous woman. “Thank you for saving us—but what did they want with us?”

Mistress Leggett glanced toward the hall before she answered. “They had a notion someone would pay ransom for you.”

Alain would not have paid ransom for them, for his legitimate sons were still alive then. But how had the men found out about
their nobleman father? Their grandfather must have let the secret slip to one of his “friends” after he grew feebleminded.

“Do you know the names of the others?” Linnet asked.

“All I know is that some powerful merchants were involved.” Mistress rested a heavy, clammy hand on Linnet’s shoulder. “And
that is all you need to know as well.”

When Mistress Leggett left her, Linnet took a deep breath. There was one other person in the hall who might know something
useful. Her clerk, Master Woodley, believed that if a vast quantity of Flemish cloth had changed hands without proper payment
ten years ago, Alderman Arnold would know of it.

When Linnet found the rotund alderman and cornered him, he broke out in such a sweat that she feared he might expire at her
feet. She bit her lip as she watched him dance
from foot to foot. Who could be powerful enough to put fear into an alderman? What she needed was an ally who was more powerful
than her enemy.

“Excuse me,” the alderman said and backed away from her as if she held the point of a blade to his soft belly.

When he was some distance from her, he signaled to someone across the hall. She rose on her toes, straining to see who he
was looking at, but there were too many people to guess which one it was.

From the corner of her eye, she followed him as he worked his way around the edge of the room until he reached the arched
doorway that led to the privy palace. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, the alderman left the hall.

Linnet pushed her way through the crowd, not caring if she stepped on a few toes. By the time she made her way to the vestibule
outside the hall, the fat alderman was gone. The cold air felt good on her skin as she stepped through the outer doors to
peer out into the darkness toward the privy palace.

She heard footsteps on the flagstones, but the sounds disappeared as she followed them down the covered walkway past Saint
Stephen’s Chapel. She entered the next building by the closest door and found herself in a corridor dimly lit by thrush lamps.
The building seemed empty—which only heightened her suspicions. Why would the alderman come here except to meet someone in
secret?

She followed the corridor around a corner and saw two hooded figures in long black robes in front of her. When they halted
by a door on the left, she drew back quickly. She waited until she heard the creak and swoosh of a door, then peeked around
the corner.

She caught sight of the edge of a robe disappearing through an opening on the right. Odd, she had not noticed a door there
before. She waited a few more moments, but when they did not come back out, she tiptoed down the hall to listen at the door.

But there was no door on the right.

She glanced up and down the corridor to be sure no one was coming, then ran her fingers along the paneling. She smiled when
she found what she was looking for—the outline of a secret door. If she had not known where to look, she never would have
seen it.

She pressed her ear to the panel, but heard nothing. Now, how to open the door? For several frantic minutes, she felt along
the panel, pressing every few inches, trying to find the release. Frustrated, she stood back and glared at the panel with
her hands on her hips. She gave the panel a good kick that hurt her toe.

Damn, she should have brought Francois. He had a knack for this sort of thing. As she turned to go, one side of the panel
moved out from the wall a quarter inch. Her kick must have sprung the device. Dropping to her knees, she pried the panel open
a couple of inches with her fingertips. When she paused to listen, she heard very faint voices in the distance.

Whoever had gone through the secret door did not appear to be waiting on the other side, so she eased it open and slipped
inside. The door clicked shut, and panic choked her until she found a handle behind her. As soon as she lifted up on it, she
felt the door start to give. She could get out, praise God!

She stood still until her thundering heart slowed enough for her to hear. The voices were louder from here,
but still muffled and distant. Gradually, shapes emerged as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Merciful God! She flattened herself against the door as she realized she stood at the top of a long flight of stairs. The
staircase dropped steeply through a tunnel built of stone blocks into a deeper darkness below.

This must be an escape route leading to the river. Relations between England’s royalty and the powerful London merchants were
often uneasy; any one of the prior kings could have foreseen the need to be able to escape Westminster unseen.

She thought again of the alderman’s odd behavior and the other merchants’ unease with her tonight. If the alderman was one
of the caped figures she was following, she had to find out whom he was meeting in secret and why. Perhaps she should go back
for Francois… Nay, that would take too long—she could miss her chance.

She opened the door a crack so that a thin line of light shone along its edges. Taking a deep breath, she eased one foot down
to the next step.

A shiver went through her as she heard the old herbalist’s voice in her head, telling her curiosity was in her nature… just
as evil was in others. She would go but a little way, just far enough to hear the voices a bit more clearly—or see where the
tunnel came out. If she kept a safe distance, she could come to no harm.

Holding her arms out to brush the walls on either side to keep her balance, she took the steps one at a time. The darkness
grew deeper and the smell of dank earth grew stronger the deeper she went. Finally, her feet hit the dirt floor.

She peered into the black passageway before her. Her
mouth was dry with fear, though of what, she could not say. The voices were louder here, but still muffled. It was hard to
tell how far away they were. She looked back over her shoulder. The dim light at the top of the steps seemed a long, long
way off.

She licked her lips. Should she go back? Every muscle tensed, screaming for her to run—but she might never get another chance
to find out what this was about.

After the alderman’s strange behavior, it seemed quite possible his business down here had something to do with her. So far,
all her efforts to find out who had ruined her grandfather had come to naught. If whatever was down here could shed light
on that, she had to know.

She would just go far enough to see who the voices belonged to and hear the words they were chanting. For it was a chant,
she could tell that now. It sounded like monks… and yet not.

She was beyond the reach of the light from the top of the stairs now and had to feel her way along the passage. The walls
here were damp, rough-hewn rock, as if the passage had been cut through sheer rock face.

She rounded a bend and suddenly the chanting was louder, insistent and repetitive, and there was light up ahead. She could
make out the words now: “Come to us. Come to us. Come to us.”

As she drew closer, she saw that the passage opened into a room that extended to the left. She could see only a small part
of it from where she stood, so she took a step closer. Through the opening, she saw candles on the floor and dancing shadows.

Fear shot through her, making her knees weak and her head feel light. Every child grew up hearing the stories:
sorcerers and witches consorting with the devil; stolen children never seen again; horned demons called up from hell; dark
rituals of bloody sacrifice. Her palms went clammy as all the tales she had scoffed at as a child raced through her head.

With her heart pounding in her ears, she dropped to her knees and crawled forward. She had come this far. She was going to
see what was in the room before she fled back down the passageway and up the steps.

Just one peek. She sucked in her breath as something crawled over her hand. Over the stench of damp earth, she smelled incense,
and beneath that a tangy, musky odor. She inched forward, craning her neck to the side to see farther inside the room.

She caught glimpses of dancing figures in capes moving in and out of the part of the room within her sight. They appeared
to be dancing within a ring of candles on the floor. She crawled a little closer. All at once, she saw that the figures did
not wear hooded capes as she first thought. They wore masks and the hides of animals.

Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.

There could be no doubt what this was now. She was witnessing a sabbat, a ritual meeting of witches. Their chanting pulsed
in her blood and throbbed in her ears.

Mary, Mother of God, protect me. Mary, Mother of God, protect me.

Linnet could see the edge of a table covered in black cloth at the center of the circle. Pressing against the wall of the
passageway, she scooted forward, then got up on her knees to see what was on the table. Her mouth fell
open, and she sucked in her breath. She was rooted to the ground, too shocked to move.

A woman lay on the table. A stark naked woman.

Of course, Linnet had seen other women partially undressed—even naked briefly—as they changed clothes in a shared chamber.
But that was nothing like what was before her now.

The skin of the woman glistened with oil, and her nipples were erect. Dark tendrils of her uncovered hair fell over the end
of the table nearest Linnet. She lay on her back with the soles of her feet together and her knees splayed apart.

And all she wore was a mask.

Linnet knew intuitively the woman was not here against her will. Whatever was taking place here, she was a willing participant.

A tall figure in a wolf’s mask and hide appeared from the other side of the room holding a bowl aloft. As he approached the
table, the others began to chant, “Goddess, Goddess, Goddess.”

The wolf-man stood at the end of the table where the woman’s feet were drawn up sole-to-sole close to her body. Slowly, he
lowered his outstretched arms over her until the bowl rested on her belly. Then he dipped his fingers in the bowl of dark
red liquid.

Linnet knew she must leave at once. This was the devil’s work, for certain, and she should not see it. Even so, she could
not tear her eyes away as the wolf-man touched drops of what looked like wine on each of the woman’s nipples. Linnet swallowed,
feeling her own nipples tighten unaccountably.

The woman on the table moved her lips to the chant,
rocking her head from side to side. A line of the deep red liquid curved down the glistening skin of the side of the woman’s
breast.

The chanting grew louder and more insistent as the wolf-man dipped his fingers in the bowl again. This time, he dripped the
red liquid onto the sensitive spot between the woman’s legs. Three times he repeated the ritual, dripping the liquid onto
the woman’s nipples and between her legs. Each round, the chanting in the room pulsed louder and louder, an ancient sound
from pagan times.