The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(118)

He gently brushed the hair back from Martin’s face, studying the gaunt features as if that might give him a clue as to the boy’s identity. He had said “they” called him Martin, so perhaps it wasn’t his real name.

“What’s that?” Coby pointed to the side of Martin’s head, where the lower part of one of the boy’s ears had been cut away.

“A self-inflicted injury, or perhaps a kitchen accident?”

“Perhaps. A kitchen is no place for a madman to work, with so many sharp blades and hot irons around.”

“Irons…” Mal nodded thoughtfully. “If there’s guiser magic at work here, he might be calmest where there’s plenty of iron.”

“I think we’ve learnt as much from him as we’re going to,” Coby said. “We should call the servants and have him carried to his bed.”

“Aye. Poor fellow.” He got to his feet and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his greasy hands. “We’d best get back to the Pickerel and plan our next move.”



Back at the inn they gathered in the bedchamber around a map of the county that Mal had borrowed from Master Lambert.

“Stow is scarce five miles away,” Mal said. “It lies to the east of the river, though, so we’ll need to go back through town and across Midsummer Common to the Newmarket Road. We have to assume that Henry has sent a message ahead of us, whether by courier or by magical means, so we must take all possible care when approaching the school.”

“Do we all have spirit-guards?” Coby asked.

“We still have ours,” Ned replied, patting his throat. “Monkton searched us for weapons, but either he didn’t care about magic–”

“Or he doesn’t know what his allies are,” Gabriel finished for him.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Mal said. “There’s no reason to advertise their powers to men like Monkton.”

“I have a spare spirit-guard,” Sandy said. “I brought it for Kit, in case.”

“Good. Then we are protected from their magics, at least.”

“Unless they have new magics,” Coby said. “You said Shawe was up to something with his alchemy, something to do with iron that isn’t iron?”

“I don’t know what he’s up to,” Mal said. “But it won’t be good, whatever it is. We need to get there before nightfall and scout the place out. Ned, you got us fresh horses?”

Ned shrugged. “Yes, of sorts.”

“Show me.” Mal folded up the map. “Everyone else, get ready to ride out.”

He followed Ned down to the inn’s stables.

“This is the best you could do?”

Mal walked along the line of stalls, surveying the motley collection of beasts. Three of the five seemed sound enough, but the chestnut pony looked to be well past his prime and the grey had an awkward stance that suggested he’d be lame before they reached the other side of town.

“The ostler wouldn’t let me choose,” Ned folded his arms, defensive. “Said I had to take the five nearest the stable door, or none.”

“Did he now? We’ll see about that.” Mal untied the pony’s lead rope. “Get the other three saddled up ready to leave.”

He led the chestnut and the grey into the town, to the livery stables in Trumpington Street.

“Back so soon?” the ostler said, patting the pony’s nose. “Your man said you wanted these for a week.”

“I wanted five good horses, not these scrapings from the knacker’s yard.” Mal strolled down the stable, looking the horses over. “I’ll take the bay gelding and that piebald nag.”

“Sorry, sir, master’s orders. You take the ones nearest the door or none. Otherwise the best beasts get worked too hard.”

Mal drew his rapier and placed the tip below the ostler’s chin. The man’s eyebrows hitched up into his hairline.

“I’ll take the bay gelding,” Mal said slowly, “and the piebald nag.”

“The burgesses will hear of this,” the ostler squeaked, his eyes crossing as they tried to focus on the blade at his throat.

“And the King will hear of how you obstructed one of his officers in the course of his duty. Now get me those horses.”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”



Mal led the way back through Cambridge, Sandy riding at his side and Hendricks – Ned couldn’t help thinking of her by her old name, now she was back in disguise – behind them. He and Gabriel brought up the rear on the two quietest beasts. Ned had packed bread, beer and cold meat, enough for a couple of days, since they didn’t want to announce their presence by stopping at inns. At least the weather was warm and dry, so they could sleep outdoors if it came to it.

Beyond the town ditch the road sloped gently upwards from the riverside pastures. Vast fields of wheat and cut stubble stretched on either side, untrammelled by hedges. The sun beat down on their heads like a hammer. It was a bare, exposed landscape which made Ned feel as insignificant as an ant crawling across a paved courtyard.

“Such a beautiful day, it seems unfair we should be heading towards our deaths,” Gabriel said softly.

“What?” Ned reined his pony in. “Who said anything about dying?”