The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(117)

He squatted next to his brother and examined the thick metal bands about his wrists. Bronze, not iron. Strange, to make gyves of the stuff, unless… Kiiren had said that lodestone protected against evil spirits, and anchored the soul to the body. Did iron do something similar? Mal stared at his brother and made the sign of the cross. That… thing inside him had reached out across the bond between them and used witchcraft to twist Mal's dreams to its own ends.

He went back to the window. The palace on the far riverbank was silhouetted against the rising sun, and Mal had to shield his eyes from the reflections off its many gilded onion domes. A pale stone building with dozens of slender towers and chimneys: not the sprawling red-brick complex that was Hampton Court; nor was it Greenwich, which faced north and stood at the foot of a steep hill. Richmond, then. So whose house was this? Who was so powerful that he would dare traffic with demons under the very nose of Prince Robert?

Ned was dozing in a tangle of warm sheets when the knock came at the door. Not Baines again, surely?

"Master Parrish?" a high voice piped. "Master Faulkner? Are you in there?"

Damn. Hendricks.

"Hang on!" he shouted, scrambling out of bed and pulling on his drawers.

He opened the door and ushered the boy inside. Hendricks took one look at Ned and turned away, blushing, to gaze fixedly at a playbill nailed to the inside of the door. The paper was yellowed with age and torn around the edges, and the ink blurred from damp, but the title was still clear: "The Tragedy of Dido, Queen of Carthage, written by Christopher Marlowe".

"Is Master Parrish…" The boy hesitated. "Did he get out safely?"

Ned rummaged in the laundry basket for a not-too-filthy shirt, sniffed one, threw it on the floor, and eventually settled for yesterday's. It smelt faintly of the charnel house, but it would have to do.

"He's well. Gone to buy–" He looked up and froze, shirt forgotten. "Why are you wearing Mal's sword? What's happened?"

"Master Catlyn has been spirited away," the boy replied, hugging his ribs and looking as if he was about to burst into tears.

"What? I thought he went back to the Tower with the ambassador."

"He did. And I… He asked me to go there, to tell him about the fire."

"You were there when it happened?" Ned asked. "Who was it? And how in Christ's name did they conjure him out under the noses of the beefeaters?"

"Conjure is the right word," Hendricks replied. "He was stolen away by magic. Skrayling magic."

"God's teeth!" Ned crossed himself. "You're not jesting, are you?"

Hendricks shook his head. He seemed about to say more, but footsteps sounded on the stairs outside. Before Ned could stop him, Hendricks had thrown the door open.

"Master Parrish!"

Hendricks flung his arms around the startled actor, who tossed a warm loaf in Ned's direction then returned the embrace.

"Faith, what's all this?" Gabriel murmured, looking askance at Ned over the boy's shoulder.

Ned shrugged in reply. Voice shaking, Hendricks repeated the story he'd told Ned.

"Ambassador Kiiren says they are both away west of London," he added, "in one of the royal palaces or perhaps near it."

"Why should we believe that?" Ned replied. "If skrayling magic stole Mal away, the ambassador could be in on it."

"I don't think so," Hendricks said. "He seemed very upset."

"Upset at having his schemes discovered, more like."

"Enough!" Gabriel glared at him. "Come, let's break our fast and decide what to do about this."

Ned finished dressing and they gathered around the small table, perched on an assortment of stools and chests. After a couple of abortive attempts to sit down whilst wearing the rapier, Hendricks eventually unbuckled the sword belt and laid it on the bed.

"Near one of the palaces, eh?" Gabriel said, pouring three tankards of small ale. "Doesn't narrow it down a lot."

Hendricks made no reply, only picked at his bread. Ned smiled to himself. So, it was as he had suspected. Mal might deny any interest in boys, but there was something between those two, if only on Hendricks' side. God knew Mal's ambivalence had never stopped Ned from dreaming.

"Could be Molesey Prior, near Hampton Court," Gabriel went on. "Or Syon House. Essex is a friend of Northumberland, and we all know what they say about the Percys."

"You think the wizard earl has discovered the secret of skrayling magic?" Ned asked.

"Could be."

"My lord Suffolk might know," Hendricks said in a small voice.

"Suffolk? Yes. Ferrymead Park borders the Syon estate. If not the duke himself, then perhaps his servants know some gossip."

Gabriel got to his feet, brushed crumbs from his doublet and put on a soft velvet cap that covered most of his singed hair.

"Going somewhere?" Ned asked.

"I think we should pay our respects to our patron, don't you, Hendricks?"

The boy obediently rose and went to open the door, though not without a longing glance back at the rapier on the bed. Ned drained his tankard and made ready to join them.

"Not you," Gabriel said.

Ned opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel silenced him with a kiss.