The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(11)

“No, I did not.”

There was no hint of duplicity in Selby’s expression. If anything he sounded worried.

“Then we have common cause,” Mal said. “Grey has sworn to Robert that he will hunt down his father’s former associates.”

“And what business is that of mine?”

“You are named in a good many of Walsingham’s papers, in conjunction with the duke.”

A curious expression crossed Selby’s features, amusement warring with sudden dread. “I dare say there’s been some mistake.”

“No mistake, Selby. And if I can find you out, so can he.”

“Why are you telling me all this? Do you expect a reward? Some favour in return? I have little influence except my vote in parliament.”

“I told you, we have common cause.” Mal stretched out his damp boots towards the fire. The hound twitched an eyebrow but otherwise ignored him. “How’s Prince Henry these days?”

“What? How should I know? I am no hanger-on at court.” Selby looked ruffled now. “Are you accusing me of something, Catlyn?”

“Not at all. I just thought we might share an interest in the prince’s welfare. The line of succession is so important, is it not?”

Selby sprang to his feet. “If you have come here to recruit me into some treasonous scheme, sir, you can leave now.”

Mal held up his hands placatingly. “You misunderstand me, Sir William. I know you have a special fondness for our young prince, that is all. As you did for the late Duke of Suffolk.”

Selby hesitated, and his look of outrage softened into a smile. Mal breathed a quiet sigh of relief. They had been on the right trail, then. Selby sat down again.

“Go on.”

“Let there be no more deceit or coyness between us, Sir William,” Mal said. “I know what you are, and I think you know more about me than you are letting on.”

“I know you to be a friend of the skraylings. Is that true?”

“A necessary deception,” Mal said. “My brother and I needed to earn their trust so that we could discover their plans. It took time, but now we have achieved that, we can make our next move.”

“Which is?”

“Ah, now, that would be telling. How do I know we can trust you?”

“I might ask you the same question.”

Damn it, we could dance around one another half the night. “Tonight. We will dreamwalk together, then there will be no secrets between us.”

He waited for Selby to claim he knew nothing of dreamwalking, afraid he had mistaken this country knight after all. Selby reached over and rang a bell by the fireplace.

“Bring us wine,” he told the servant who appeared a few moments later. “And make up a bed for Sir Maliverny. He’ll be staying the night.”

Mal inclined his head in thanks, hiding a smile of relief. Christ’s blood, but this plan had better work, otherwise we’re all as f*cked as a tupenny whore.



As soon as he retired to bed, Mal lit a candle and waved it back and forth thrice at his bedchamber window, praying his allies would take the hint and come soon. He took off his doublet, shoes and stockings, repeated the signal and then sat down on the bed to wait for the household to settle down for the night. There were not a great many of them, as far as he could tell, but most were men between twenty and forty. Nothing unusual in that, but it meant they were likely to put up a fight. Most likely none of them were guisers, though, apart from their master. At least so Mal hoped. Otherwise… well, they would deal with that problem if it came to it. Slaughtering the entire household was not part of the plan.

As soon as all was quiet, he crept barefoot down the stairs and let himself out into the courtyard. The hound lay with its nose poking out of the kennel, snoring and twitching in its sleep. Mal tiptoed across the cold, damp cobbles, praying silently. He was going to have to do this skin-to-skin, or Selby would notice immediately. The fellow was probably already waiting in the dreamlands; much more delay and he would become suspicious.

The hound wuffled to itself but did not stir. Mal crouched and laid a hand on the beast’s head, reaching out to touch its dreaming mind with his own. A barrage of scents overwhelmed him, he was running on all fours through long wet grass… Holding onto his sense of self he led the hound further into deep, dreamless sleep, the way Sandy had showed him. It wouldn’t last more than a few minutes, but that should be enough. He crossed the yard and slipped into the short wide passageway that led to the front door.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Candlelight flooded the passage, and Mal froze. A girl of about eighteen, dressed in a servant’s cap and apron, stood in a side doorway.

Mal yawned prodigiously. “I’m afraid I couldn’t find a pisspot in my chamber.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. I’ll fetch one for you, shall I?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble. I’ll just go outside and do it in the moat–”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, sir. Just you wait there.”

“If you’re going to the kitchens, a flagon of small ale wouldn’t go amiss,” Mal called after her.

When he was sure she had gone, he eased back the bolts on the front door, taking care not to make a sound. Finally he took down the door key from its hook, turned it in the lock and quickly replaced it.