The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(17)

"Oh."

"It did him no good, of course. Parliament was united in favour. But it made Raleigh's name a byword for prejudice in our community. He hates the Dutch, the Jews, everyone who is not English."

"And the skraylings?"

She shrugged. "I cannot suppose him to be a friend of the skraylings, for all his travels in their country."

"Why did you not mention this to Walsingham?"

"We need to get to Venice, don't we? My dislike of Raleigh is neither here nor there."

"But you think we should keep an eye on him."

"I think we would be fools not to."

She quickened her pace. If only Mal had not had that ill-fated dream, they would be back home in Provence now, snug in their respective chambers. Not running around Southwark in the cold and the dark, and certainly not chasing skraylings to the far side of Christendom.

CHAPTER V

The next morning, Ned was surprised to be asked to ride out to Hampton Court with Mal.

"Not taking Hendricks with you?" he asked as they set out for the livery stables.

"He's taken against Raleigh," Mal said, "and I want to give a good first impression. It's a long voyage to Venice."

"You're too soft on the boy." He glanced at Mal sidelong. "Always were."

Mal said nothing, but his jaw tightened in that way Ned knew so well. The conversation was at an end, for now at least.

The snow flurries of the previous night had given way to a crisp, clear morning, every fencepost, roof-tile and blade of grass limned with frost. Bankside stood silent, its inhabitants huddled in the warmth of their beds. Ned envied them, and cursed Hendricks silently. If not for the boy's sulks, he could have stayed snug in his own bed, at least until Gabriel had to leave for the playhouse.

At the livery stables Mal chose a bay gelding for himself and the most placid pony they could find for Ned, who still wasn't used to riding. It was occasionally useful in his work, though, so he had had to learn. Truth was, he'd had to learn a lot of new skills in the last year.

There had been a time when he resented playing the servant, tagging along at Mal's heels and deferring to him in public. But Baines had taught him the importance of invisibility. No one paid attention to servants, so they could eavesdrop on their betters in places other men could not go without comment, and pass unnoticed even in the halls of power. And he was curious to see the palace Gabriel had told him so much about. Ned tried to keep his jealousy in check, for fear it would only make matters worse, but it gnawed at him to think of his lover surrounded by rich powerful men who expected everyone to pander to their needs without question. How many of the men they were about to meet had bedded his precious boy? His hands tightened on the reins, and the pony shook its head in protest.

Mal looked back at the sound.

"Not giving you trouble, is she?"

Ned shook his head and forced a smile.

They came within sight of the sprawling red brick palace just before noon, skirting round the north side of the royal park to approach the enormous gatehouse from the west. Ned dismounted awkwardly, stiff with cold and more than a little sore in the seat.

"Raleigh had better have a roaring fire and a jack of mulled ale waiting for us," he said as they walked towards the gates.

"This is a royal palace, not the Bull's Head. Now mind your manners."

The porter asked their names and business, and Mal showed him his letter of introduction. After glancing at the address the porter turned it over and raised an eyebrow at Walsingham's seal, then jotted something down in a ledger. Ned tried to read the list upside down, but could not get close enough for a good look.

"Dinner is in an hour, sir," the porter said, handing the letter back. "Across the courtyard, take the staircase on the left under the archway."

"I'd like to see Sir Walter first," Mal replied. "It is somewhat urgent."

"I'm afraid Sir Walter rode out to Syon House this morning."

"Will he be back?"

"Aye, like as not. The steward might know for certain."

Their footsteps echoed from the surrounding walls as they crossed the courtyard. With the Prince of Wales and his court still in London the palace was largely deserted. A lone guardsman in royal livery stood in the far archway, his partisan planted solidly on the paving.

"I don't like the idea of my comings and goings being written down like that," Ned muttered, glancing back at the gatehouse. "I'm supposed to be the one watching people, not the other way round."

The guard looked Mal up and down then waved them both through. A staircase broad enough for several men to walk abreast led up to the Great Hall, where servants were laying trestle tables with snowy linens and bright pewter dishes. Ned tried not to gawp at the tapestries, twice the height of a man and woven in vivid hues of red, blue and gold, or at the elaborately carved hammer beam roof far above them.

"Let's not get in the servants' way," Mal said loudly.

He winked at Ned, and led the way towards a door on the far side of the hall. Unfortunately the next room was just as busy, with more servants coming up the back stairs from the kitchen with baskets of bread and jugs of ale. Ned resisted the urge to steal a piece of bread as they passed; the royal steward would probably have his hand cut off, or worse.