The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(116)

"So Mal – Master Catlyn – has gone into the dream world?"

"And back again into your world, but not here."

"He is with Sandy?"

"Yes."

"Can… Can humans possessed by skraylings do that?"

Kiiren stared at her. "Possessed?"

"Last night…" She swallowed, afraid she was betraying a confidence. "Master Catlyn told me he believed his brother is possessed by the spirit of a skrayling."

"That is not quite truth, but close enough."

"So, what do we do?" she asked. "To get them back."

"We must find them first." He sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and folded his hands in his lap.

"More magic?"

Kiiren held up his hand. "No speaking, please."

The skrayling sat motionless, his eyes closed. Coby hugged her knees tighter, expecting another uncanny apparition to materialise at any moment. Long minutes passed. Surely there ought to be something by now, mysterious glowing lights or a wind out of nowhere to blow out the candles? Not that there were any candles, only the strange blue lamp fading into darkness. Coby laid her cheek against her knees and closed her eyes, imagining Mal waiting for her at the end of a tunnel of light, arms held out to embrace her–

She jerked awake.

"It is done," the ambassador said, clapping his hands together.

He climbed stiffly off the bed. The lamp had gone out, replaced by the pale light of dawn.

"Do you know where they are?" Coby cried, scrambling after him.

"I saw great house by river. Where might that be?"

Coby's heart sank. "There are dozens of great houses along the Thames, sir."

"As great as Nonsuch?"

"They are in one of the royal palaces?" That made no sense. Why would Prince Robert hire ruffians to abduct Sandy, when he could have the Privy Council order the arrest of anyone he pleased?

"In, or near." Kiiren shook his head. "Amayi, what have you done?"

"Excellency?"

"My apologies, I did not mean you."

He swept out of the chamber, still muttering imprecations under his breath.

"Your Excellency, should I alert Sir Francis Walsingham?" she called out after him.

Kiiren stopped dead in his tracks. "No. We can trust no one with this."

"But–"

He fixed her with cold yellow eyes and she shrank back a little.

"We will say Catlyn-tuur is sick after fire and I tend him," the ambassador said. "No one, not even Leland-tuur, will risk anger of Queen Elizabeth by doubting my word."

"There must be something I can do."

"This is not human business. Please, go back to your friends and leave this to me."

He strode up the steps to his chamber and disappeared inside. Coby bit back tears of fury. How could the ambassador be so kind one moment, and so cold and arrogant the next? He was just like other skraylings after all. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her shoes. Master Catlyn was out there, and she was going to find him if it was the last thing she did. On impulse she picked up his sword belt, rapier and dagger, and wrapped them in a cloak. They were no use to him here, and if she did find him, he might be glad of some cold steel between him and his enemies.

With a last glance back at the closed bedchamber door, she made her way out of the ambassador's apartments and through the outer ward to the gates of the castle, which stood open in the cold light of early morning. Torches still burned in the gateway, casting a warm yellow glow against the mist rolling in off the river. Coby stepped aside into the shadow of a tower, strapped the sword belt around her waist and then wrapped the cloak around her for warmth. The rapier was heavy, and so long that its tip scraped on the ground unless she kept her left hand pressed against the hilt. She began to walk more quickly, praying the guards would not notice.

The ambassador was right about one thing: she still had friends, and they owed Master Catlyn a debt of honour. She would show the skraylings this was human business after all.

Mal jerked awake to the sound of keys rattling. He got to his feet, groping for his rapier hilt. Too late he recalled he had removed his weapons before settling down next to Hendricks.

The door opened, and a heavily built man wearing blue and white livery and armed with a quarterstaff came into the room, looking around warily as if expecting an attack. He eyed Mal with puzzlement, then stepped aside to let his companion past: a plump-faced, pretty girl of about sixteen, carrying a plate of bread and a flagon. As she came into the room, Sandy stirred and sat up. The girl screamed and dropped the plate.

"Oi, what's this?" the retainer shouted, swinging the staff in an arc before him.

Mal ran at him, but the man was too fast. He jabbed the end of the staff at Mal's breastbone, knocking the wind out of him, and backed out of the room with an oath. The door slammed shut before Mal could reach it, and a key scraped in the lock.

Mal pounded on the door, more out of frustration than any hope that it would be opened again. He turned and leant back against it, breathing gingerly against the ache in the centre of his chest. Sandy was kneeling on the floor, gnawing at a hunk of fallen bread like a starving man.

"I don't suppose they brought enough for two," Mal joked, then realised it was the truth. The girl had screamed because she had not been expecting two prisoners. Which suggested he had not been brought here by Sandy's captors.