The True Prince (34 page)

I pulled myself through the narrow trap into the tiring room as the new arrivals entered. “Not so loud, my lord,” Captain Penny wheezed in reply. His voice, even at half its normal volume, carried easily through the hatch I had just opened. While Penny and at least one companion made their way toward the stage, I cut across the tiring room, headed for the stairway to the upper level. I aimed to get to the musicians' gallery, from which I would be able to hear anything that took place on stage and perhaps even see a bit of it, all at small risk of being seen. While climbing the steep and narrow stairway, I spread my feet wide to tread only on the outside edges. My gain was a near-soundless ascent and I crept out upon the gallery feeling like a master of stealth—Bartlemy could hardly have done it better. The gallery extended a little over the stage and the railing was supported by balustrades. In daylight anyone looking up would see me between them, but at this hour, if I kept still, I should attract no more notice than a post.

Below me Philip Tewkesbury was saying, “This meeting place does well for security, Captain. But it lacks for warmth somewhat.”

Penny heaved himself through the opening of the trap and onto the stage, panting with the effort. “A hazard of the
profession, my lord. Those who live on the windy side of the law are apt to feel a chill, betimes.”

“Are we all met? Tom, is that you?”

“Aye, sir.” The flat, hard voice sent a shiver down my spine.

“The last I saw you, Tom, you bested me in a fencing match. I've been practicing since—in time, perhaps we can go another round.”

“At your pleasure, my lord.”

“After we've accomplished our present business, of course. Captain—is there still no word from Kit?”

“None, sir. Should there be?”

“I like not his being at large, knowing what he does.”

“We've done what we can to silence him, sir, short of cutting his throat. If that is what you wish—”

“No! No—I've said no bloodshed, all along. I would just rest easier knowing his whereabouts.”

I was wondering about that myself. I had expected a meeting, but if Kit was here, he had become one of the stage posts, still and silent. And if he was not here, then why was I?

“Have you asked your mother, my lord?” Penny suggested, most polite.

I heard a gasp and a whisper of steel as the young man went for his sword. Then he slid it back in the scabbard, with a snap. “I have told you,” said he, in the cold, superior voice of one to the manor born, “not to mention my mother. I will not tell you again.”

After a murmured apology and a brief pause, he spoke again, in a petulant tone. “She was only showing kindness to him. He took it for more than it was.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Her life has two aims, Captain: to restore our fortunes and to advance me. Nothing else matters to her. Nothing, I promise you.”

This was an almost perfect confirmation of what Bartlemy had guessed and irritated me beyond good reason. I shifted, but the boards made an alarming squeak that froze me back to woodenness.

“Very well, my lord.” Penny's voice sounded as bland as paste.

“And now to our purpose,” Tewkesbury resumed. “All is going as we hoped. My man Jamie has become a friend of Burghley's chambermaid. She informs him that her master will stop at home tomorrow night, before going on to Whitehall. Tomorrow night it must be, then. Jamie will see to it that the gate of Burghley House is unlocked. He will meet you at the southwest corner of the garden and tell you the way to the master's bedchamber. From there you must go by your own wit, and I'm sure it will not fail you. Now, listen carefully. When you get to his room, according to the chambermaid—”

“Pardon, my lord.” A creaking followed, as though Penny were getting up off the floor. “Allow me a word.”

“What is it? Pray be quick.”

“Quick it is—there's no need to proceed further in your plan.”

“How's that? I've not even told you what you're to do yet.”

“Nay; we've determined that for ourselves.”

“What are you talking about? What do you—I pray you, let go my arm, you clod!”

Scuffling noises followed—what on earth? I inched closer to the railing and peered between the posts. But all I could make out was a dark shape lurching about the stage like a wounded crow, making stifled cries. Under cover of the noise I inched out a little farther for a better look, pressing my face against the balustrades.

Then I felt the gallery give way, and the next dark shape to land upon the stage was myself.

This was by no means the first time I had fallen from such a height. Falling is a practical skill of players, who must on occasion drop from a siege tower or the mast of a storm-tossed vessel. My training came into use about halfway down, and I made the landing with less injury than an amateur would. Still, it hurt. The pain, not to mention the sheer surprise, robbed me of all sense for a moment. I couldn't gather quite what had happened until a hand seized mine and hauled me up, and I felt the two empty fingers of the leather glove.

“What's this?” Penny boomed. “A messenger from heaven? State your business, angel.”

Easy for him to say—I could not have stated my own
name. Tewkesbury's voice sounded only a little more workable than mine, as he sputtered out, “Run, fellow! Get help—” A blow to the guts—or that's what it sounded like—wrung his voice to a squeal of agony.

The next minute, firm steps were coming my way, a rough hand grabbed me by the hair and a hard voice asked, “Who's this, then?”

I could feel his breath, and his cold eyes. When I failed to answer, he pulled me over to a patch of moonlight and jerked my head back. Penny wandered over more leisurely and studied the exhibit I made. Over my pounding heart I heard the uneven peal of far-away chimes, silvered by the cold air: all the church bells of London, striking midnight.

“Malory, is it?” said Penny. “Or should I call you loud Rumor?”

“A fig for plays and players!” Tom hissed angrily. “He's the boy from the archery butts, and the one I later saw—”

“I'll grant your memory for faces, Tom, but why does his keep popping up? You said you would scare him off.”

Tom gave my head a shake. “Speak—what are you here for?”

“Did Kit send you hither?” Penny's voice sounded the same as always: hearty, good-humored, meaning no offense. “You are by way of a special friend of his, are you not?”

“N-n-no, sir.”

“Well then, you're in a pretty predicament—falling
friendless into a nest of thieves. I advise you to find your tongue, quick, or my comrade will just as quickly cut it out.”

“Captain!” Lord Philip had finally regained his voice, after a number of gags and false starts. His black form against the meager light showed he had been tied to one of the stage posts. “What's this about?”

“Simple, my lord. We plain men favor simplicity. Instead of any complex mischief on Lord Burghley, we intend to make off with you.”

A brief, shocked pause, and then a wild flailing and thrashing, as though to pull out the post and bring the painted heavens down on our heads. “You will never get away with that!”

“And why not? Your lordship has been very careful not to be seen in the company of such riffraff as I—at least since that misadventure last spring that put me in Fleet Prison. If your mother is so eager to advance your fortunes as you claim, she'll gladly put up, let us say, five hundred pounds for your safe return.”

“Five hundred—! My mother could not raise that much in a year!”

“Then she may apply to the Earl of Essex or any other of your powerful friends.”

“This was all to be a prank, Captain! I let you keep the money you took— We made a bargain, on soldiers' honor!”

“Lower your voice, my lord, or Tom will raise it for you.” This threat silenced Tewkesbury altogether, and Penny went
on, “A soldier's honor is only good among soldiers, and you are not one. But now we must deal quickly with this eavesdropper. Or is he a drop-eavser?”

I had been thinking, during these crowded moments, but found little to bargain with. “I'll carry your ransom note! Just—just tell me where you want it taken.”

“A handsome offer,” said Penny, with a touch of softness that might have been regret. “But we cannot allow even a Rumor to escape.”

A dreadful silence fell, for I understood what he meant; my life was forfeit.

“Will you add murder to your crimes, Captain?” Tewkesbury had recovered some of his habit of command, or else he was feigning it nobly.

For answer, Tom pulled me by my hair to the back of the stage. I kicked and flailed for all I was worth, but his grip never faltered. As for my making any dent on him, I might as well have been kicking a rock. The next I knew, my back was against his chest, his arm around my throat, squeezing. His smell of sweat and leather crowded into my nose, and over my tortured gasps I heard the desperate color of Lord Philip's voice, commanding, “Let him go! Captain, for God's sake— he's just a boy!”

Just a boy—like Davy—a boy—let me let me let me go— My very thoughts were turning black, unable to complete themselves as I groped for air, sound, sense, life. I struggled
with every ounce of strength in me—every muscle I could move strained against this bond. But he was as unyielding as iron, immovable except for that one arm, pressing tighter and tighter—squeezing out …

My life!
A sound, high and persistent as a fly's drone, bore into my head.

Abruptly, the pressure on my throat let up, and colors flooded my mind in such a riot that I could take in nothing, except for one note from on high—a clear, shivery tone. A voice, though it was like no human voice I had ever heard. Delicately, it began to take shape: “My life! Give me back my life!”

“What's that?—” “Who's there?—” “Spirits preserve us!” I heard words but could not tell where they came from, who spoke them.

“Now dead, now fled … my soul is in the sky. My golden thread severed, forever—by thee, Tom Watts, by thee!”

The voice, already high, climbed even higher as though ascending a heavenly staircase. And though I would have thought nothing could frighten him, I felt the quick throb of Tom's heart and heard the quaver in his voice as he called, “Spirit? Spirit—what's your will?”

“Unhand the boy!” This came out in a shriek, with a reedy tremble that made the hair stand on end. To my astonishment, I was unhanded—practically ejected, as though suddenly too hot to hold. I landed on hands and knees, but jumped up and bolted to the edge of the stage—where Penny cut me off. For
a large man past his prime, he moved with uncommon speed. “Idiot!” he hissed at Tom. “What's this that's made a quivering girl of you?”

“Didn't you hear?” Tom half whispered. “'Twas Davy's wraith!” Even in my desperate straits I was amazed to see him so undone.

“That's your Welsh blood babbling.” Penny subdued me with a cruel twist of my arms that made me cry out. “'Tis no more than a trick, and I wager I know who's behind—”

A noise cut him off, a very ordinary, earthbound noise this time. It was the sound of a chain being rattled on the west door, and men's voices outside. Bartlemy! I thought, with a surge of heart. But the captain clapped a sweaty handkerchief over my mouth before I could cry out and tied it so tightly my jaw ached. “Quick, or all our plans come to naught! Seize Lord Philip, and follow me.”

Tom was soldier enough to obey. The next few moments were confused, as the captain forced me down through the trap and pulled me along the passageway under the stage. I heard the scuffle and drag of Tewkesbury—now gagged as well as bound—as Tom bundled him along after us. All together we tumbled through the hatch, then circled around the building to where the three horses were passing the time as contentedly as old gossips.

Tewkesbury had to be subdued with another punch before Tom could hoist him up to his horse. Captain Penny vaulted
into his saddle and pulled me up in front of him like a sack of onions. I kept thinking that our struggles would at any moment alert the men on the other side of the Theater, but they were making so much noise it must have covered ours.

Penny turned his horse toward the city. As we made a wide circle toward the road, I glanced back desperately. Stupid fools!—did they not know the criminals were escaping? Wouldn't the Queen's Men be wise enough to find these horses and secure them before blustering in at the front door, rattling chains loud enough to wake the dead? I longed to hear a firm voice ringing out, “Halt! In Her Majesty's name!” But as our horses picked their way over Finsbury Field, headed toward the road, no such cry sounded. I caught one glimpse of torches by the Theater door, lighting perhaps a dozen men who waited as calmly as play-goers to be allowed inside. If they saw or heard three horses circling around them, no one raised a cry. Perhaps, I thought with a shock, they were not the Queen's Men at all. But then, who were they?

“Now,” said Penny, when we struck the firmer ground of the Shoreditch Road, “we go flat-out.”

I felt his thighs clench as he spurred to a trot, then a canter. The clatter of hooves echoed behind me as the other two fell in behind. But we had not gone one hundred yards when shouts of alarm sounded up ahead. Next moment I felt a terrible jerk that pitched me forward, as Penny's horse staggered sideways. The creature fell with agonizing slowness, like the slow
pitch of a sea vessel capsizing under a wave. I struck the ground and skidded over the gravel with one knee under his massive neck, but as the horse thrashed and surged, I scrambled free.

Gaining my feet, I heard at last those most welcome words: “Halt, in Her Majesty's name!” To my ears, Bartlemy's coarse- grained voice sounded sweeter than an angel's.