The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(78)

Kiiren returned after about an hour, looking grave.

"Clan leaders say we must go on with visit and do nothing more to offend Queen Elizabeth," he told Mal. "I am to tell you to obey Leland in all things."

So sudden a capitulation? The clan leaders must have been very persuasive. Perhaps they feared the loss of profits if the Queen cancelled her extravagant celebrations.

"And you?" Mal asked him.

"It is not my place to gainsay our leaders. I am… vessel for words, nothing more."

Mal was not convinced by Kiiren's explanation. Something was going on, some matter of skrayling politics he could not begin to grasp. He had assumed the ambassador had been sent by some greater authority back in Vinland, and the merchants here in England were no more important than the guild masters of London in determining their nation's policy abroad. Now he was not so sure. Perhaps he should not be surprised that the merchants were the ultimate authority amongst the skraylings. But where did that leave Kiiren, and why were they so deferential to him one moment then overruled him the next?

Returning to Horseydown Stairs, they boarded the little gullheaded boat and were rowed to the Tower by six of the skrayling guards. It seemed they were expected, for the water gate had been raised and they quickly passed into the little pool underneath St Thomas's Tower. Mal could not help but recall his first, ignominious arrival here, only two months ago. Then he was a nobody, a landless, penniless gentleman with few prospects; now he was an employee of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and companion to one of England's most powerful allies. The thought gave him a warm glow of satisfaction. For the first time since he had learnt of Charles' flight and their family's ruin, he allowed himself to hope that better times were ahead.

At the top of the steps, Leland was waiting with a group of gentleman warders in scarlet livery.

"Welcome back, Your Excellency," Leland said, smiling broadly at Kiiren, though the smile did not quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Leland-tuur," Kiiren replied. "Judge Sekaarhjarret wish to say he hope we put this tuqanishet, this… misunderstanding, behind us, and go forward in friendship."

"Yes, of course. Her Majesty is most anxious our people remain allies."

I bet she is, Mal thought. If we turn the skraylings away, the French will be in the New World like a shot.

"I've had fires lit in your rooms," the lieutenant went on. "Can't have been pleasant, camping out in that downpour. Mind you, could be worse. I remember when I was a youngster, campaigning in Ireland…"

Leland escorted the ambassador to his lodgings, rattling away about his military career. He had not for a second acknowledged Mal's presence.

Leland eventually left them in peace, and servants brought a light supper of cold meats, cheese, oatcakes and hot spiced wine. Whilst the skraylings gathered around the dining table Mal lingered in the bedchamber, eager to be alone for a while. The fact that he had spent the best part of two days surrounded by hundreds of skraylings was only just beginning to sink in. Not long ago that would have been the stuff of his worst nightmares. Now… He was surprised at how calmly he had taken it.

For want of anything better to do, he rummaged in his saddlebags for his soldiering kit. The river-crossing in the rain had not done his sword belt and scabbard any good, and he had been too distracted by the sudden turn of events to attend to them. He uncorked the bottle and upended it against a wadded rag, then set about rubbing oil into the dark leather, following the grain in gentle strokes.

If Kiiren had not been at the council meeting, things would have been different, of that he was certain. There was something reassuringly familiar about the ambassador, something on the edge of memory, like the music he had heard on that first reconnoitre outside the stockade. Was Kiiren indeed a great deal older than he looked, as his words at the banquet suggested? Had Mal met him, perhaps as a child, and forgotten about it? There had been visitors to Rushdale Hall, sometimes important ones, but he was certain no skraylings had been amongst them. He wondered, not for the first time, if his father had been a Huntsman and introduced Charles into their company, the way Charles had done with him and Sandy. He hoped not.

The rain returned in a violent downpour that rattled the windowpanes and turned the sky black. After a few minutes it slackened off and the setting sun gleamed briefly on the waters of the Thames.

Lost in his task, Mal barely noticed the passage of time until the curfew bell tolled its warning. He looked up, and found Kiiren watching him from the doorway. The skrayling's expression was, as far as he could judge, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

"Can I help you, sir?" Mal asked. As an experiment, he added, "Kiiren-tuur?"

"Yes, yes!" The skrayling's mottled face relaxed into a smile. "Please to come this way."

"Of course, sir."

Mal put away the cleaning materials and wiped his hands on a towel. The greasy animal scent of the oil hung in the air, a comforting reminder of his normal routine. From the dining room came the sound of Tradetalk: skraylings and humans talking together? The tower door creaked, and footsteps rasped on the steps outside.

"What's going on?" Mal asked.

"There is something I need to ask of you, Catlyn-tuur. Something important."

"Very well." He followed Kiiren through into the empty dining room. The table had been cleared of the remains of supper and the fire banked for the night. A row of the little lightwater lamps glowed in the hearth, throwing eerie shadows against the plaster walls.