The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(56)

"You cut my balls off and I'll shove 'em down your throat. Sir."

"That's not what I meant," Parrish replied. "I meant that your next performance will be your last."

The blood drained from Philip's face. At a twitch of the cudgel, he scrambled to his feet and all but fell down the stairs in his haste to get away.

"You didn't really mean that, did you, sir?" Coby asked in a low voice, as they followed Philip out of the brothel. "About… you know?"

He paused on the threshold and winked at her. "What use is there in being a player, if you cannot adopt a role at need?"

By the end of the afternoon, Mal had learnt more about customs duties on aniig, the grading of tobacco and the keeping properties of dried potatoes than he ever wanted to know. The ambassador did not seem interested in the discussions either, but protocol demanded that he be included and so he had to offer an opinion when asked. He proved surprisingly knowledgeable on every topic, and quoted Vinlandic traditions from memory when the English merchants disputed their skrayling colleagues' claims. Mal wondered if the skraylings had universities or similar places of learning, and what was taught there. Did they learn merchantry and magic, the way English students studied theology or law?

The coach came to collect the ambassador at five o'clock, and they returned to the Tower for a quiet supper alone. Afterwards, at Kiiren's insistence, Mal played his lute for a while. At first he felt uncomfortable being watched so intently, but after a while he forgot the skrayling was there. He thought instead of Sandy, away on the northern outskirts of the city, alone. The thought was almost enough to make him wish he had accepted the French ambassador's offer. An estate in Provence, where he and Sandy could live together in peace and comfort; was that not worth a little treason?

The curfew bell had scarcely finished tolling eight when there was a knock at the door of the ambassador's quarters. Two cloaked and hooded but recognisably female figures, accompanied by a similarly clad man, entered the outer room. Mal leapt to his feet and put a hand to his rapier hilt.

"Hold!"

The newcomer lowered his hood, and Mal sank to one knee.

"Your Highness," he murmured. That explained why the guards had admitted the visitors despite the lateness of the hour.

"Enough, you may stand," Prince Arthur said. "I am not here on state business."

Mal got to his feet but kept his eyes lowered. The two women had not removed their hoods or spoken.

"Your Excellency!" The young prince strode across the room to greet the startled ambassador. "It was so good to meet you on Wednesday. How are you enjoying London?"

"It is very… different to what I expect, Your Highness," Kiiren replied, bowing.

"Splendid. Travel broadens the mind, or so my tutors always said." He looked around the dining room. "I see they've done the old place up. Don't think anyone's stayed here overnight since Grandfather's day."

He strolled around the room and paused to admire one of the skrayling lamps. His hair looked even redder in this light than it had at noon, and Mal wondered if the prince really resembled King Henry as closely as everyone said. He was certainly the image of his mother in masculine form.

"I suppose you are wondering what brings me here so late?" Prince Arthur said, turning his attention back to the ambassador.

"Your Highness is welcome to visit at any time."

"Yes, I am, aren't I? Privilege of being a prince. Well, I have a gift for you. Two, in fact. Only for the night, I'm afraid. This is England, not the Turkish Empire."

"I do not understand," Kiiren said, his brow furrowing at the prince's seemingly random train of thought.

"Forgive me, I do rattle on," Prince Arthur said, and clicked his fingers. "Ladies!"

The two women shed their velvet cloaks in midnight pools about their feet. They were younger than Mal expected, barely eighteen, and decidedly pretty. Their hair was almost as black as his own, and their lips had been stained crimson with kermes. Underneath the cloaks they wore shifts of the finest milk-white silk, so transparent Mal could clearly make out the dark circles of nipples and darker triangles below. The blood stirred in his veins, and he dropped his gaze once more. Lord, must you so torture a starving man with the sight of a feast meant for others?

"I trust these are to your taste, Your Excellency," he heard the prince say.

"You are most generous, sir," Kiiren replied, staring at the girls.

"Well, I won't keep you from your pleasures. My men will return at dawn to take the ladies home. Good night, Your Excellency."

Prince Arthur bowed curtly and swept out without another word.

"Ladies," Mal said with a bow of his own, "I suppose I have no excuse to search you for concealed weapons, not in those garments."

The girls exchanged glances and giggled. He turned to Kiiren. The young skrayling looked about as comfortable as a virgin on his first visit to a brothel. Mal supposed it was up to him to take charge of the situation.

"This way, please, ladies," he said, shepherding the girls towards the ambassador's bedchamber.

When Kiiren did not follow, Mal went back to the dining room.

"Sir?"

"I am… uncertain of what this means, this gift of women."