The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(62)

Ned closed his eyes, trying to shut out the knowledge that Gabriel was right. Someone was targeting the skraylings and anyone connected with them, and Ned would bet his life it was the innocents who would suffer. The villains doing the dirty work, and their masters pulling the strings, would get off scot-free as usual.

He should tell Gabriel about Kemp, warn him of the real dangers facing him – No. Let him calm down a little before plying him with more bad news. He would be safe enough here for a couple of hours.

"I have to go," he said, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. "And I'm not sure when I'll be able to come back."

"What is it? Where are you going?"

"There's something I have to do, and it's best you know nothing about it."

The actor caught hold of him by both arms.

"Can't it wait a while?" Gabriel gazed down at him with redrimmed eyes. "Please, Ned."

He sighed. "All right. A few more hours can't hurt. I'll stay here until supper, on one condition."

"Anything." Gabriel smiled, his face lighting up with a hint of his old wickedness.

"Tomorrow you go to rehearsals," Ned told him, trying to sound masterful. "The show must go on, remember?"

"I promise," Gabriel murmured, and pulled him down onto the bed.

CHAPTER XVI

Mal woke just before dawn to find the girls preparing to leave. He tried to persuade them to stay a little while longer, but they shook their heads and continued dressing. They had not spoken a word since they arrived.

When they had gone Mal rose and dressed, too alert now to sleep longer. The truckle bed was empty, and for a horrible moment he feared this had all been a clever ruse to distract him and abduct the ambassador. He wrenched open the door and leapt down the stairs into the parlour. Running into the side-chamber he pulled the bed-curtains aside – and found Kiiren curled up in the centre of the bed like a cat, fast asleep.

With a smile Mal let the curtain fall. This was the perfect opportunity to re-examine some of the gifts for signs of secret correspondence. He picked out three books from the cabinet and carried them through into the bedchamber. The lamps had all gone dark and he had no idea how to relight them, so he found a candle and lit it with his own tinderbox.

Without a key there was little hope of even recognising one of the more subtle ciphers, so he contented himself with skimming the pages for passages containing numbers, incongruous phrases or illustrations containing odd symbols. Nothing jumped out at him, and in the end he returned the books to the cabinet, frustrated. If someone was communicating directly with the ambassador, they were using means beyond his skill to uncover.

Eventually servants arrived with hot water and breakfast, and Mal vacated the bedchamber so the ambassador could wash and dress in private. Snatching up a hunk of bread, he wandered out into the ward. The rising sun was already warm, but leaden clouds massed on the horizon. He climbed to the wall-walk and leant on the parapet, watching Southwark stir to wakefulness.

The sound of approaching footsteps woke him from his reverie, and he looked round.

"Shirking your duties already, Catlyn?" Monkton said. "I should report this to Leland."

"Can't a man break his fast in peace?" Mal threw the heel of bread into the river below. With a shrill cry a seagull folded its wings and plunged after it, followed by several of its fellows. "Where's the ambassador going today, anyway?"

"Bedlam."

"Bedlam?" Mal tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "Why?"

Monkton shrugged. "Why not?"

"Where is Leland?" Mal pushed past him, heading down the steps towards the inner ward and the lieutenant's lodgings.

"He's gone to inspect the fort at Tilbury," Monkton called after him. "Won't be back until after noon."

Mal skidded to a halt, turned, and ran back along the outer ward. If Kiiren went to the hospital, he might see Sandy, and surely even a skrayling could not miss the resemblance. His other brother's gambling debts were shameful enough, but insanity in the family… There had to be a way to stop this.

The ambassador's coach was stopped outside St Thomas's Tower, with the mounted skrayling guard lined up behind it, and Kiiren was already climbing in. Mal ran up to the driver.

"There's been a change of itinerary." A plan was starting to form in his mind. Yes, that would do it. "Rumours of plague at the hospital. It's not safe for our guests."

The coachman made the sign of the cross. "Wild horses wouldn't drag me there, sir, not if there's plague about. Where to, then?"

"Bartholomew Fair," Mal said, climbing up beside him. "Where else?"

Today being the day after St Bartholomew's, the fair was still in full swing. By the time the coach reached Newgate Market, near the western end of Cheapside, the traffic was so thick they could make no headway at all.

"Best walk from here, good sirs," the coachman yelled down. Kiiren leaned out of the coach window and shouted some instructions to the skrayling guards. Eight of them dismounted, leaving the remaining four to look after the horses. The guards gathered around the coach door and then moved outwards to form a clear space in which the ambassador could safely disembark. The skrayling party was now causing an even bigger obstruction as fairgoers stopped to watch this latest diversion.