The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(81)

No, it was his duty to find out what was going on. The skraylings believed in the reincarnation of souls and, unless he was very much mistaken, Kiiren believed him to be this Erishen reborn. But who or what was Erishen? A prophet, or perhaps a great hero of legend, like King Arthur? That would explain why he was picked out to guard their ambassador. He caught himself grinning like a fool, and had to remind himself this was just a heathen superstition, though perhaps one he could use to his advantage.

It was part of the intelligencer's stock-in-trade, the assumption of a false identity to gull his victims into revealing what they knew. Baines had drilled him on the essentials; now it was time to put his training into practice. With a last wistful glance at the sally-port, he made his way back to the ambassador's lodgings.

Kiiren was waiting by the window overlooking the outer ward, his whole body tense with anxiety. He must have been watching all this time – assuming he could see anything through the gloom. Mal rubbed a hand over his rain-damp face, unsure how to proceed. If Kiiren started telling everyone about this Erishen business, it could go ill for them both.

"You are cold, Erishen-amayi," Kiiren said, retrieving a towel from the bench by the fire. "Sit, dry yourself. Others return soon."

Mal sank onto the bench and began scrubbing his wet hair with the towel. To his surprise Kiiren knelt at his feet, gazing up at him. In the darkness his shadowed face looked almost human.

"I am sorry it had to be this way, amayi," Kiiren said. "I knew when first I saw you, something was wrong and you did not remember. I hoped that to see me again, to share our memories, would bring all back."

"Only pieces," Mal replied, realising with a shock that it was true. He did remember things he could not possibly know. Was Kiiren right after all?

"That is why I had to try qoheetsakhan." Kiiren glanced towards the tower room. "I am sorry if it frightened you to remember so much so quickly."

"I… I thought I understood your words, but already it is fading again."

Kiiren nodded. "It may take time, and perhaps more qoheetsakhan."

Mal said nothing. He did not relish the thought of another dose of the skrayling drug, if it muddled his thoughts so.

"Please, amayi, tell no one of this night," Kiiren said in a low, urgent tone, glancing at the door. "It is too soon. If you – if we are found out…"

"I understand," Mal lied, hoping his relief did not show. Say as little as possible, Baines had told him; let the gull fill in the blanks and his own hopes and fears will betray him. Still, he could not help but wonder why Kiiren wanted to keep this a secret. Some incomprehensible matter of skrayling politics, perhaps, in which the ambassador did not care to show his hand too early.

Kiiren smiled and touched Mal's cheek, then leapt to his feet. The sound of skrayling voices, slurred with drink, drifted up from the outer ward.

"They return," Kiiren said.

He disappeared into the tower room and returned a moment later with Mal's shirt and doublet.

"Quick, into chamber."

He thrust the bundle of clothing into Mal's arms and all but pushed him towards the doorway into the bedchamber. Mal needed no further prompting. Within moments he had retreated to the bed and closed the curtains. Belatedly he remembered he still had his wet, muddy boots on. He pulled them off and slipped them to the floor just as the front door banged open.

The guards' rowdy chatter faded into muttered apologies. Mal guessed that Kiiren had waited behind in the dining room, and was giving his men a good telling-off for coming back in such a drunken state. He smiled at the thought of the slight, soft-spoken ambassador facing down a dozen burly skrayling warriors. Like a raw young captain on his first command? his memory prompted. No, he and Kiiren were nothing alike.

With a sigh he lay down on the bed, ignoring his stinging back. So many questions buzzed around his head, but they all came down to one central point. Why was Kiiren being so secretive about this Erishen business? Mal thought back to the debate in the skrayling pavilion. Had Kiiren only suspected then what he now believed? It seemed to be the real reason he was so concerned about Mal's treatment, and yet he was hiding it from his own people. The young ambassador was up to something, and whether it boded well or ill for England, Mal could not tell.

With a soldier's sense of priorities, he forced himself to relax. Sleep now; tomorrow was time enough to worry about the dangers that lay ahead.

CHAPTER XXI

Ned woke with a start. The grimy light of dawn crept in through the shutters, promising another day of rain. He rolled over, seeking the warmth of a fellow living creature, but the bed was empty. He buried his face in the bolster – and almost missed the creak of footsteps on the stair.

"Mam?"

His mother often woke early, but she didn't usually venture up the stairs in the near-dark, and the lodgers gave the attic a wide berth. Heart pounding, Ned groped for his knife. His hand closed around the hilt just as the door swung open.

A tall, heavily built man filled the doorway. Ned couldn't make out the intruder's features in the dimness, but he didn't need light to know who it was. Armitage. So, his usefulness to Kemp had come to an end.

He edged out of bed, heedless of his own nakedness.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, hoping he sounded less terrified than he felt.

Armitage made no reply, only advanced into the room. He didn't appear to be armed, not that he needed weapons with fists like that. Ned crouched in a knife-fighter's stance, wondering what his chances were of slipping past his opponent. Speed was his one advantage; speed, and knowledge of this house and its environs.