The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(58)

Nor could he tell these girls the truth. God knows who they might report back to, and Walsingham and the Queen would not thank him for revealing that the Ambassador of Vinland was some kind of eunuch. The skraylings received little enough respect in some quarters; he would not let Kiiren become a laughing stock. He realised with a shock he had become rather fond of the young skrayling during their short acquaintance. There was something familiar about him that Mal could not put his finger on. He felt like they had met before, long ago, impossible as that was.

He took a deep breath and entered the bedchamber. For a moment he thought the girls had somehow slipped past him, or out through the door to the Wakefield Tower. Then he saw them. They had shed their thin garments and were sitting in bed as naked as the day they were born. He swallowed, feeling his own skin burn in response.

"Ladies," he began. "I am afraid His Excellency is indisposed. Our English food does not agree with him and he has a dreadful bellyache and other… illnesses that I could not in all courtesy mention in female company."

The girls sighed with evident relief, though the prettier of the two mustered a pout of disappointment. Mal had a sudden inspiration. Waste not, want not…

"He has therefore asked me to fulfil his duties on his behalf, so as not to insult the prince's generosity."

After a moment's puzzlement the girls' eyes widened with delight. As they scrambled, giggling, across the counterpane he approached the bed, then stood in a haze of blissful anticipation whilst they attacked the buttons and laces holding his clothing together.

CHAPTER XV

Coby woke at first light, and immediately went to check the outside of each of the theatre's doors. Nothing. She went back inside and waited for a good couple of hours, listening to the cows lowing in the fields nearby and the sparrows quarrelling in the hedgerows. The folk of Bankside would not stir for a good while yet. When no hammering came to disturb her watch, she tidied away the cushions, hung up the keys on a hook by the back door, and prepared for another working day.

The actors arrived promptly for their rehearsal at nine o'clock, the principals looking as though they had slept far worse than Coby. After a few minutes she realised Master Parrish was not amongst them.

"Hiding his face in shame," Eaton muttered. "Naismith's got one of the hirelings to take his part for the nonce."

In the wake of the libellous notice, Suffolk's Men were more nervous than usual. Philip, who had been given the lead role as the eponymous Queen of Faerieland, kept forgetting his lines, and Coby had to be drafted in as prompt after Master Eaton had a blazing row with the company's book-holder. She was not at all happy with the arrangement, but since Master Dunfell had taken over most of the backstage work, she had no excuse that she was needed elsewhere.

She took some small comfort in the fact that Dunfell did not seem to be happy with his new duties either. Unaccustomed to the ups and downs of theatre life, he treated every little setback as a catastrophe.

"I must say I am very disappointed by Parrish's abandonment of his role," he said to Master Naismith during a break in rehearsals.

"I am sure he has not abandoned it," the actor-manager replied in his most conciliatory tones. "Our Angel lives for the stage, does he not, Coby?"

"Aye, sir." She did not add that there were other stages in London, less plagued by troublemakers. The last thing they needed right now was for Master Parrish to leave them for a rival company.

"If Parrish does not return tomorrow, I shall have to inform my lord Suffolk," Dunfell said.

"There will be no need for that, Master Dunfell, I assure you," Naismith said. "I will impress upon him the importance of his role." He gestured towards the stage. "But apart from that small interruption, everything goes very well. Very well indeed."

"Well?" Dunfell sniffed. "I would not say so. Scarcely a single speech rendered without stumbling. My lord wishes – nay, demands – they be word-perfect."

"Oh, they will be, sir," Coby said. "Once they are in front of an audience, they lose themselves in the playing and the words flow like water."

"They had better do. His Grace is most anxious that your company be ready in time, and trusts he will not have cause to regret his patronage."

"I will speak to Master Parrish," she told her wan-faced master. "I might be able to talk some sense into him."

It was the perfect excuse to go back to Thames Street whilst Philip was busy here at the theatre. Handing the playbook to a glowering Dunfell, she left before Naismith could stop her.

Ned laid down his pen and flexed his cramped hand a few times. He glanced over the contract, checking he had included all the standard clauses the lawyer had requested, then put it aside. A moment later he heard his mother's slow, uneven tread on the floor below.

"Some gentlemen to see you, son," she called up. "Masters Kemp and Armitage."

Ned frowned. He didn't have any legal contacts of that name. Must be someone new to the Inns of Court. "Show them up, Mam."

He scooped the papers back into their satchel, made sure the ink on the contract was dry, and put it away with the rest. Getting to his feet, he brushed himself down and prepared to greet his guests. When the door opened, the words of welcome shrivelled on his tongue and it was all he could do to remain calm. Standing behind his mother were two all-too-familiar figures.