The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(61)

"I–" She could hardly say no, but if she agreed, Master Naismith would be furious. For one thing, actors were normally fined for failing to turn up, not rewarded when they deigned to appear. She supposed she could offer to pay the difference out of her own meagre wages. After all, it would only be for a few days. Once the competition was over, Parrish could run off to Vinland for all she cared.

"Ten shillings a week, or naught," Parrish said. "It's his choice."

"Very well," she said. "I'll tell him."

Gabriel shut the door behind Hendricks and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring down at his clasped hands. He sat there for so long, silent and unmoving, Ned began to fear that this was it; he had gone too far this time, offended Gabriel as well as that uptight little Puritan Hendricks, and now he was to be cast off. He slid out of bed and began dressing. Better to leave now of his own accord than be thrown out.

He got as far as buttoning his doublet before Gabriel spoke.

"You trust me, don't you, Ned?"

He paused. This was not how he'd expected it to begin. When he didn't answer, Gabriel looked up, an expression of such despair on his face that Ned went to him and knelt at his feet.

"Of course I do." He took Gabriel's hands in his own.

"I– I know I've done some wicked, sinful things in my life," Gabriel said. "But I never forced myself on anyone, nor forced them–"

"What's this all about, love?" He moved to sit on the bed, and put his arm around Gabriel's waist.

Gabriel proceeded to tell him about the previous day's discovery, though his account was so garbled Ned could scarcely make head or tail of it.

"A libel?" he said at last. "About Suffolk's Men?"

The actor nodded, biting his lip. "Such terrible things it said…"

"Come on, it can't be that bad."

In a small voice Gabriel recited the verse pertaining to himself.

"Lies and conjecture," Ned said, trying to convince himself as much as his lover. "Like you say, you never forced anyone to do anything they didn't want to, did you?"

"No, of course not. But…"

He glanced up at Ned. No words were needed; they both knew to what depths a man could sink, if his very survival was on the line.

"But that was long ago, surely?" Ned replied. "And the rest is but idle gossip, and scarcely a secret."

"It's one thing for tongues to wag," Gabriel said, "no one expects otherwise. But when it is written down, published for all to see, and in a point-by-point list of such slanders–"

"I thought you said it was a poem?"

"Poetry?" Gabriel grimaced. "I would not grace it with such a title. Rank doggerel of the feeblest kind."

"So that's it. You are ashamed to be insulted in bad verse. Now if Marlowe–"

The slap came out of nowhere, leaving Ned's cheek stinging. Suddenly they were both on their feet, eye to eye.

"Leave Kit out of this, you puny upstart scratcher of other men's words!" Gabriel's eyes filled with tears. "You're not fit to speak his name."

Ned said nothing. He knew Marlowe had had many lovers, but had never been able to get Gabriel to admit how he felt about the playwright. Until now.

"I'm sorry, Gabe," he said quietly.

He slipped his arms around his lover's waist and pulled him close. As angels went, Gabriel was a pretty sorry specimen at the moment, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkempt. Ned lifted a hand to smooth those golden locks, but Gabriel shrugged him off.

"Three months," the actor said, pacing the narrow room. "Three months since those bastards murdered him."

"I know."

"Atheist, my arse. They killed him to shut him up. Didn't want him confessing to debauching half the Court. He had nothing to do with that libel, and they knew it."

"You think it's happening again?" Ned asked. "The sedition, the arrests, the…?"

He fell silent, sick to his stomach at the images running through his head: Gabriel tormented, broken… dead.

Gabriel snorted. "Who needs torture when you have a willing informant?"

"What do you mean?"

The actor sank down onto the bed again, hands clasped before him.

"If the Privy Council find out, they will question everyone here. Including Philip."

"So?"

"What if he lies? What if he tells them I… that I…"

"He wouldn't."

"You don't know him." Gabriel shook his head. "I thought I was doing the right thing, hauling him out of that stew and knocking some sense into him, but you should have seen the look in his eyes. He'd denounce me in a heartbeat, and probably accuse young Hendricks of being complicit in the crime."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Gabriel nodded.

"How will anyone find out?" Ned asked. "Would Philip go to the city fathers himself?"

"We haven't told the boys why the rehearsal was cancelled, and Naismith burned the cursed thing when we were done with it. I think we are safe for now, unless the villain posts a copy somewhere else. In any case, perhaps we are not his only target. These things seldom appear alone, but spring up in clumps like toadstools on a cowpat."