Love's Labyrinth (22 page)

Figueroa yawned. “The Englishman—Master Stephen Steele? Is he here?”

The landlord looked taken aback. “Who wants to know?” He stuck his chin out over his fat belly.

“My name is Iago Montera de Valez.” His alter ego as his own cousin was quite useful much of the time. “I have an appointment with Master Steele, and I was to meet him here.”

The landlord appeared mollified by this ready information and spread his hands. “A man by that name came earlier, but he left with his lady. They were eager to explore a church—St. Mary-by-the-Sea.”

“And when will they return?”

“To be sure, I’ve no idea. ‘Tis not for me to mark the comings and the goings of my guests. But I reckon they’ll be back by dinner—he asked for a meal to be laid for them by the supper hour.”

“In the private parlor by their room,” volunteered the maid, who’d crept out of the kitchens and now peeked from behind her father’s bulk.

“Hush, Aliza!”

Figueroa’s eyes flicked over the girl briefly. She was not uncomely. Her light brown hair tumbled from her kerchief in heavy locks, and her eyes were a bright and lively blue. Her face was round and rosy. For a moment he was tempted. His priestly disguise demanded the appearance of chastity, and his masquerade as an itinerant monk made even bathing difficult. His metamorphosis into Iago was a welcome relief. But no, he sighed. He’d dare not risk the father’s anger. Better to be done with this business and then return to Spain, where he could indulge his appetites in the privacy of his own estates. “Then tell him I shall call upon him tomorrow, at the appointed hour.” He smiled at the girl, who simpered in response, and, tossing his short cloak over one shoulder, turned on his heel and left.

Nicholas and Olivia genuflected before the altar and rose together, crossing themselves. Nicholas peered around surreptitiously. “I believe this is the place.”

“When are you to meet him?” Olivia whispered, looking around. A few people lingered after the service, and a young boy on his hands and knees was laboriously washing the dark red tiles around the altar. The whitewashed walls rose between the narrow windows of stained glass, covered, for the most part, in square stone memorials. The crucifix that rose above the altar was ornately carved, the depiction of Jesus in his final agonies so realistic it bordered on the gruesome. There was a familiar hush about the place, and Olivia was struck by how similar the atmosphere was to all the churches her father had insisted they explore. There really was a certain agelessness about the place that tempted her to examine every nook and cranny. It was only with effort that she turned her attention back to Nicholas, who was speaking so softly, she had to strain to hear him.

“Warren said he—the Spanish agent—would contact me first.”

“So that means we just—wait?”

Nicholas shrugged. “So it would seem.” A lazy smile lifted the corners of his lips and his eyes met hers. “But surely, my lady, there’re ways to pass the time—a new city to see? New worlds to explore?” He’d drawn closer and raised her hand to his mouth, when a discreet cough close by made them jump.

Olivia looked up into the eyes of a black-robed priest, who wagged an admonitory finger at them. But the man’s dark eyes danced in his wrinkled face, and a smile revealed toothless gaps. With a gesture he indicated the door, winked, and continued on his way.

Olivia laughed. “I think the good father thinks we should find another place to do our exploring. Would you mind if we took a few minutes and looked around?”

“Not at all.” He leaned down a little closer and whispered, “But we’ll save our discussions for later.”

“Of course.”

He offered her his arm, and they walked to the windows. Olivia gazed up at the elaborate stained glass, which depicted the scene from the Crucifixion where St. Veronica wiped the face of Christ. The workmanship was beautiful, the colors, unlike modern stained glass, were rich but muted, the depictions intricately lifelike. They walked slowly up the aisle, Olivia pausing briefly before each window or to read the inscriptions carved into the walls, commemorating parishioners.

“I wonder…” she murmured, forgetting herself.

“Yes?” Nicholas prompted, since there was no one nearby.

“I was just wondering if this church still exists, and if so, how fascinating it would be to find it, and see how much it’s changed.” Olivia opened her mouth to say more, but stopped in amazement. A tall man, dressed in severe black, hovered at the entrance of the church, next to one of the supporting pillars. His posture was stiff, but his head was turned in a way that made her think he’d been watching them. “Nicholas,” she said, before she remembered to call him Stephen, “isn’t that Sir John Makepeace?”

Nicholas looked up. “By our Lady,” he swore softly. “As I live and breathe. To think the day would come when yet I’d see Sir John darken the door of a Catholic church—” He broke off, clearly puzzled.

“Do you suppose he’s following us?”

“Us? Whatever for?”

“Well, he knows we aren’t really married, for one thing. Maybe he intends to have you arrested for fornication, or public immorality, or—”

Nicholas held up one warning finger. “Whatever he’s doing here, I don’t like it.” He looked up and down. “There—there’s another door back that way. Let’s give him the slip.”

He took her arm and, as quickly as was seemly, the two of them hastened out of the church and into the deserted churchyard. Nicholas looked both ways. “Let’s walk down that way a little bit. We’ll circle around and make our way back to the inn from the opposite direction. I don’t like this at all.”

He was silent and clearly troubled all the way back to the inn. Olivia scarcely noticed the sights and smells and sounds all around her, so absorbed was she in keeping up with his long strides. He negotiated the crowds with certain ease, and when they finally arrived back at the Gold Angel, he paused in the innyard and nodded toward the building. “You go inside, my lady. I want to find Jack and ask him if he’s noticed Sir John hovering around here at all, and to tell him to be on the watch for him. Although it’s likely enough Sir John’s business matters might take him to Dover and then Calais, I cannot believe anything beneath God’s blue sky would make him darken the door of a Catholic church.”

Olivia turned obediently, knowing instinctively that he did not want her to concern herself with these matters, when the landlord hailed them both as he was crossing the yard from the stables. “Master Steele!”

Nicholas turned with the hint of a frown on an otherwise bland face. “Yes, my good host?”

“Your friend has been here looking for you,” the man said, his English heavily accented.

The frown deepened between Nicholas’s brows. “My friend? Sir John?”

“No, no,” answered the landlord, waving an airy hand.

“A Spaniard, by the look and sound of him—wait, wait, I remember—” He held up one finger. “Igano—no, that’s not right. Iaccomo—no, that’s not right, either—”

“Iago.” The rosy-cheeked serving maid had come up behind her father, her arms full of a basket filled with laundry. “His name was Iago Montera de Valez. He said he’d see you, sir, at the appointed time tomorrow.”

Beside her, Olivia felt Nicholas tense. “Tomorrow,” he repeated.

“Yes, sir. I’m quite sure that’s what he said.” She bobbed a little curtsy and spoke to her father in quick French.

Nicholas turned back to Olivia and indicated the inn.

“I’ll find Jack later. Tomorrow—it seems so sudden, somehow.”

“How did he know you were here?”’

“This is where we were to come. He must have been watching for us.”

A cold chill shivered all the way down her back to her toes, but she said nothing until they were behind the safety of their locked door. “I’m glad it’s to be tomorrow,” she said as she watched him slide the bolt across the door. “There’s something about this that’s beginning to make me very nervous.”

“And you’ve been through every calculation? Checked every angle? Cast the horoscope for each day?” Dr. John Dee peered at both of them over the tops of his rimless spectacles. They were the most bizarre arrangement of glasses Alison had ever seen—two round pieces of glass, held together by thin wire and looped over Dee’s ears with pieces of cord. They made his eyes look enormous every time she happened to glance at him. But he’d accepted Geoffrey’s story and her own presence with remarkable aplomb, and had immediately plunged into the work with an almost fanatical glee. His long gray-streaked hair was pulled off his face in a wispy tail, but the linen that peeked from below his dark blue academic gown was amazingly fresh and crisp. His dark eyes jumped from Geoffrey to Alison, and he no more seemed to find it odd that Alison should be included in the discussions than she did herself. Geoffrey had said something to the effect that the good doctor’s close association with the Queen had doubtless prepared him for someone like Alison. Taken aback at first, Alison realized that Geoffrey’s own nearly total acceptance of her as an equal was most unusual as well.

Geoffrey and Alison exchanged glances. “We’ve been through every single one of those calculations three times or more. I’ve checked them twice myself, and Allie’s been through them herself at least once. I’ve not yet cast the horoscopes, but I thought I’d better leave that to you.”

“Hmm.” Dee stroked his beard and sifted through the parchments, the wide sleeves of his dusty academic gown whispering across the surface of the table. “And you’ve measured all the angles?”

Geoffrey spread his hands once more. “I’ve begun. But it’s a slow process.”

“Perhaps Alison—” he broke off. “Perhaps Mistress Alison could help you.”

“We, uh, we’ve thought it best if she stays out of sight as much as possible.”

“Stay out of sight? You don’t have the luxury of that kind of time. You need her help.” He went back to sifting through the parchments. “Hmm.” Dee picked up another parchment and held it very close to his nose. He fumbled in the pocket of his gown and looked up at Alison as he held out what looked like a small silver cylinder. “Breath mint?”

“What?” What she thought he said sounded so improbable she knew she had to have heard wrong.

“Breath mint?” Dee was looking at her over the rims of his spectacles, holding out a silver cylinder that ended in what looked like tattered paper.

Alison cocked her head and peered at it in disbelief. “Those—that looks like—”

“Breath mints,” he said again.

“You’re from the future too.” She sat back and stared at him, while Geoffrey gawked at each of them in turn.

Dee had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“But, Dr. Dee,” Geoffrey managed, “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Timing, Geoffrey. In all our discussions, the truth was always there. You just couldn’t see it.”

Geoffrey started to ask another question, stopped, and shook his head with a stunned expression.

“Forgive me. Geoffrey.” Dee took a deep breath and inclined his head with an apologetic expression.

“Where are you from?” asked Alison. “You aren’t, you aren’t from my time, are you?”

“You are a very observant young woman. How did you know?”

“Your breath mints.” She held up the silver cylinder. “There’s nothing like this—yet.”

“You’re right.” He stood up, his light woolen robes swinging as he moved. “I’m from another hundred years in your future, Mistress Alison. The maze—the time travel device—has been perfected, and I can go back and forth in time between here and there, if you will, at will. I essentially live a double life, in two time periods.”

“It took a hundred years to perfect it?”

“It wasn’t the sort of thing anyone really wanted to make a mistake with, you know. It made everyone ever involved with the project extraordinarily cautious—probably as cautious as they should’ve been on most every other project from the atom bomb to the internal combustion engine, but never mind. On this one, so far at least, only the wisest heads have prevailed. Fortunately.”

“And why do you do this? Why are you here?”

“To ensure that the first maze was built.” He nodded toward the window, and his eyes met hers. There was a merry twinkle in the dark brown depths, and suddenly Alison thought he resembled Merlin in Walt Disney’s cartoon.