The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(75)

From Bishopsgate the coach headed south-west down Threadneedle Street. Just before St Pancras they took a sharp turn left towards the river, and after a few more minutes the coach stopped.

"Out," Kemp told Ned.

"Why? Where are we?" Ned looked out of the window. On the far side of the river he could see the familiar Bankside skyline, dominated by the bear-baiting and bull-baiting arenas to the east and the theatres to the west.

"Three Cranes Stairs. Here's the wherry fare." Kemp handed him a meagre two pennies.

"What about Sandy? Where are you taking him?"

"That's none of your business. Is it, Catlyn?"

Sandy said nothing. He had been staring out of the coach window since they entered the city, taking in all the sights and sounds.

"This is an end to my part, isn't it?" Ned asked in a low voice. "You don't need me any more."

"That remains to be seen," Kemp said.

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't over yet, Faulkner. You think we sprang the idiot boy out of Bedlam for the pleasure of his company? There's bigger matters afoot, my friend. And don't even think about betraying us. You're in this up to your neck, and it's more than your neck that'll get stretched if you fail us."

"An audience with the Queen?" Mal asked.

That explained why servants had been sent at dawn to fetch his replacement livery from the tailor. Kiiren inclined his head in acknowledgment. He was dressed once more in his blue silk robes and looked every inch the foreign ambassador.

"I fear I have caused great offence," he said. "It is my duty to put things right between our people."

Just inside the gates of the compound the skrayling honour guard were waiting, mounted on matched bay geldings. Kiiren was escorted to a pretty grey mare and helped to mount; Mal could only assume the chestnut with the white blaze was for his own use.

Outside the compound they were joined by more guards, this time men in scarlet-and-gold royal livery, with banner-bearers in the vanguard. To show the ambassador the way to Nonsuch, Mal wondered, or to protect the skrayling party from unwanted attention? Few of the foreigners ventured outside London nowadays. There had been too many… disappearances.

The journey to Nonsuch Palace took most of the morning at the gentle pace set by the mare. At each village and hamlet, people flocked to watch the cavalcade pass, waving their hats as the royal banners appeared and then falling silent when they saw the ambassador. A few made the sign of the cross discreetly whilst others cried out "God save the Queen!" or "Christ bless you, Your Honour!" Even this close to London, many had probably never seen a skrayling before.

As they rode, Kiiren was full of questions about the English countryside: its crops, the manner of their cultivation and the cycle of the year. Mal explained that the main harvest – wheat, barley, peas and beans – was now over, leaving only the autumn fruits and roots to be gathered before the frosts.

"Your people do not grow many kinds of vegetables," Kiiren observed.

"Not in the fields," Mal replied. "In gardens."

He thought of the Faulkners' back garden, with its rows of onions and cabbages and herbs. It seemed a world away from the circles he now moved in.

If it had not been for dread at the thought of facing his queen, Mal would have enjoyed the journey a good deal. A strong breeze tempered the heat of the sun and blew away all memory of the stink of London. As the riders passed each farm, flocks of swallows weaved through the air above them, filling their bellies with the last flush of summer midges before they departed who knew where.

At last they neared the fabled palace built by King Henry the Eighth and now inhabited by his widowed daughter Elizabeth. At first nothing could be seen through the trees apart from an unremarkable crenellated gatehouse. As they approached, however, the scale of the building became apparent. Massive octagonal towers rose at each corner of the palace, topped with gilded onion domes flying the royal standard. Thousands of lozenge-shaped panes of glass glinted in the midday sun.

"It is called Nonsuch because it has no equal in Christendom," Mal said, noting with amusement Kiiren's awed expression. "Perhaps not in the world, unless Your Excellency knows better?"

Kiiren shook his head. "Your Queen lives in this great place all alone?"

"Not alone. There are many servants here, to attend to her every whim. I am told her sons visit as often as their duties allow."

"And her daughters?"

"There are no daughters, Your Excellency."

"That is sad indeed. Every woman needs daughters, for sons must leave her."

"Because only women live in your cities?" Mal asked.

"Yes."

"Then where do the men go?"

"They journey from place to place and trade, as we do here in England. Amongst our own people, and between human peoples also. This is how it has been since long before time."

"But your people do not live with humans."

"No. They have their ways, we have ours. We learn from them, they learn from us. Now we learn from you English, and perhaps you learn from us also?"

"I am sure there is a lot you could teach us," Mal said. "Like how to make those lamps without fire?"

Kiiren smiled. "That I cannot tell you. Only our women know secrets of making such things. Men trade, or make show of music and storytelling and games of skill and strength, one company against another."