The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(123)

Coby was tempted to say yes, but she thought how she would feel in Faulkner's place.

"No," she replied, scrambling ashore and tying the painter to a low branch. "He'll be quite safe, I'm certain of it."

Faulkner grunted as he threw her Mal's bundled-up weapons. "So what do we do when we get there?"

"How should I know? You're older than me, and wiser in the ways of the world. Don't you have a plan?"

"I did, but it rather involved Gabriel coming with us."

"If you could get your thoughts out of the gutter for five minutes together, Ned Faulkner–"

"You're the one chasing halfway across the country because you're smitten with a man who doesn't even notice you."

Coby folded her arms, refusing to rise to the bait. It was none of Faulkner's business what Mal thought of her, or she of him.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked him.

"I don't hate you."

"You don't like me."

"Well what do you expect, when you're such a hypocrite?"

"A hypocrite? Me?"

"Yes, you. Acting all holier-than-thou over me and Gabriel" he pulled a prissy face in imitation "when you earn your living dressing boys up as women, so they can act out love scenes with men. In public."

Coby swallowed. "I hadn't thought of it like that before."

Faulkner said nothing. He didn't need to.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, and set off across the water meadow, tears pricking her eyes.

Talk about looking for the mote in the other man's eye! She had heard many sermons about the abomination of boys playing women's roles, but since the preachers in question did not approve of women acting on stage either, Coby had thought it surely the lesser of two evils. That her own role made her complicit in encouraging masculine love had never occurred to her. No wonder Faulkner disliked her so much. Well, she could at least do better from now on. Starting with looking to her own faults first.

She wiped her eyes and headed for a stile in the hedge. The last of the summer's flowers stirred at her passing and grasshoppers fled in all directions. A group of cattle watched her warily, flicking their tails at the thistledown drifting in the breeze. Leaden clouds massed in the west. She hoped they would reach Ferrymead before it rained.

Ned jogged to catch her up, the satchel over his shoulder clanking slightly as he ran.

"What's in the bag?" she asked.

"Lock picks." Ned flashed her a smug grin.

"Lock picks? How…?"

"Borrowed them from Baines," Ned replied, then looked sheepish.

She stopped dead. "You've told Walsingham's man where we're going?"

"How do you know Baines works for Walsingham?"

Coby hesitated. How much did Faulkner know about Mal's business? Not as much as he thought, she suspected.

"You told me he was an intelligencer," she replied. "That means Walsingham, doesn't it?"

"Uh, Hendricks!"

"What?"

"Run!"

Coby glanced over her shoulder and saw the bullocks lumbering towards them. Pressing a hand to her side, she loped towards the hedge, but Faulkner soon overtook her. He vaulted the stile with enviable grace and stretched out his hand towards her.

"Come on, Hendricks, move your arse!"

She staggered the last few yards and was hauled painfully over the stile. The hilt of the rapier dug into her ribs, trapped against the wooden beam, and for a second she feared it would pull free and slice her in two. Then she was over, the beasts snorting and pawing the ground impotently as the two of them collapsed on the dusty road. Coby looked at Faulkner, and they both burst out laughing.

"Some rescuers we are," she wheezed.

Faulkner got to his feet and dusted himself down.

"Come on," he said. "We've got work to do."

"Damn!"

"What?"

Ned pointed due west to where creamy-white battlements rose above the trees.

"Syon House," he said. "Belongs to the Earl of Essex. And we're on his land."

He looked about, expecting to be accosted by servants at any moment.

"Essex lives here?"

"His sister does, since she was widowed last year. Rumour has it Northumberland is betrothed to her already."

He scuttled over to a group of elder trees heavy with winedark berries, and beckoned for Hendricks to join him.

"How come you know so much about the doings of great men?" Hendricks asked, her brow furrowing in suspicion.

"I've got friends in high places," he replied with a wink. In truth it was mostly Bull's Head gossip, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Been to Whitehall Palace, me."

The boy looked sceptical.

"All right, only once," Ned admitted. "But I did see Prince Arthur, as close to me as you are now."

Speaking of the prince reminded Ned of the tennis match, and of Grey's cold eyes that so belied his friendly demeanour towards Mal. He should have known the fellow was up to some wickedness.

"So how do we get to Ferrymead House now?" Hendricks asked, peering through the leaves.

"The London road surely passes close by here. Didn't you never come this way before, when Suffolk's Men were on tour?"