The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(113)

“The Pickerel was always my favourite,” he told them. “We’d come here by boat, to avoid the watch.”

The landlord greeted them as they went in, and when Mal explained he was a former student come to visit old friends, the man offered them his best bedchamber at a very reasonable price.

“He’s probably short of guests this time of year,” Mal said in a low voice once they were alone. “If we’d come here when the fair is on, we’d have been lucky to get a pallet on the common room floor.”

“So what now?” Coby said, dumping her saddlebags next to the bed.

“Supper, I think, then tonight Sandy and I will explore the town whilst it sleeps.” He put an arm around both their shoulders. “We’re close, I’m sure of it. But we must be cautious. We’re no help to Kit if the enemy captures us first.”



After supper, Mal left his brother at the inn under a strict promise not to dreamwalk alone, and took Coby on a reconnoitre of Cambridge. A walk would sooth his nerves; to sit in one place when they were so close to Kit was nigh unbearable.

“What if we’re seen?” Coby asked, as they crossed the bridge back into town.

“I’m willing to chance it,” Mal replied. “It’s more than fifteen years since I lived here, and if any of the town has changed greatly, we need to know about it in case we have to make a swift retreat that way. Besides, who is to notice a master showing his prospective student about the town, eh?”

He led Coby back down Bridge Street, past St John’s with its gilded gate even more magnificent than Christ’s, and his heart was eased a little to be able to walk arm-in-arm with her, showing her all the places he had known as a youth, before his father’s death and Charles’s disappearance had torn his life apart. It was fitting that it would be the place where his family were reunited at last.

“I only wish Sandy had been able to come here and study with me,” he said as they crossed the market square, dodging the pigs that grubbed amongst the trampled debris for anything edible. “But he fell ill, after…”

“Why do you think they took the other boy?” Coby said, tactfully changing the subject. “The King’s godson.”

“Who knows? He may not be noble himself, but his family is very well connected. His grandmother was the Prince Consort’s sister, and on his grandfather’s side he’s related by marriage to Lady Frances as well. His uncle was Sir Philip Sidney, her first husband.”

“Elizabeth Sidney’s father?” Coby sighed. “I shall never get all these families straight in my head; they all seem to marry one another.”

“They do indeed.”

“Did your father never plan your marriage to some pretty heiress?”

“Why, are you jealous all of a sudden?” He smiled down at her. “I suppose he must have, but Charles was the heir so he always came first.”

They paused to admire the delicate towers of King’s College Chapel rising above the timbered houses along the high street, glowing gold as the sun sank towards the rooftops.

“That’s a chapel?” Coby breathed. “It’s as big as Saint Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Not quite,” Mal said with a laugh. “But it is rather ostentatious, isn’t it?”

She chuckled. “Just a little. Where is your old college?”

“Down that way. It’s the oldest in Cambridge, you know. But we’ll see it tomorrow. I think we should get back to the inn; I don’t like leaving Sandy alone for too long.”

The walk back to the Pickerel felt much shorter than the walk into town, perhaps because he was hurrying now. He released her arm as they approached the inn and strode ahead. Something was amiss, though he could not put his finger on it.

The taproom was even quieter than when they left, only a couple of men seated at a table with their backs to the wall. They wore heavy jerkins despite the hot weather, and belts well-worn and bearing the marks of sword-hangers. Soldiers. Mal halted in the doorway, motioning for Coby to stay behind him.

A man in his mid-forties with a broken nose stepped out from behind an upright timber.

“Master Catlyn.”

“Captain Monkton.” Mal grimaced. “I should have known you’d be first in line to do the usurper’s bidding.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Coby walk past the front window of the inn without a second glance inside. Monkton paid her no attention.

“Usurper? Is that any name for an old friend, Catlyn? But then you did rather fall out of favour with Prince Arthur after you murdered Josceline Percy.”

“I wasn’t referring to Prince Arthur. And I did not murder Percy. If that’s what you’re here about, you can leave now.”

Monkton smiled. “Percy is old news.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“I send some of my men upstairs to subdue him – and that trull you call a wife. Oh, don’t fret.” Monkton held up a hand. “I’m under orders to take you back alive and unharmed. Which is more than I can say for your other friends.”

He stepped aside and gestured towards the other end of the taproom. Ned and Gabriel were gagged and tied back-to-back, straddling a bench. Another soldier with untidy straw-blond hair and a stubbly beard stood behind them, arms folded. Ned shook his head slightly, his eyes pleading.