The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(131)

Mal woke to darkness. For a moment he thought he was dreamwalking, but this was no gloomy moor under a sullen starless sky. All was black as night save a pair of small, narrow windows glowing with the last light of day. Outlined against them, a figure bent over, not looking at him. A metallic clink, then another. Mal shook off sleep and sat up.

“Awake at last?” his wife said, turning to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I sewed a handful of steel shot into the hem of my gown.” Another clink. “Thought we might need them.”

“You have your pistols?”

“Alas, no, but we’re in the royal armoury, aren’t we?” She straightened up and came back to the bed. “All done. Shall we go?”

She unlocked the cell door that led onto the stairwell and went up to free Sandy whilst Mal stood watch. This room had two doors, one of which – flanked by the westward-facing windows – opened onto the wall-walk. At the far end a lone guardsman stood with his partizan, gazing out over the Thames. Mal wondered briefly if his and Coby’s lovemaking had provided sufficient entertainment for the fellow. He returned to the stairwell door, and a few moments later descending footsteps announced the success of his wife’s mission.

“The guard will be starting his next round soon,” Mal told his brother. “You know what to do?”

“Of course. Now go.”

They embraced briefly, then Mal led the way out of the cell, feeling his way down the unlit stairs to the ground floor. Whilst Coby picked the lock on the outer door he groped around the newel-stones at the base of the spiral stair.

“Aha!” He withdrew the sword from its hiding place and slid the sheathed blade through his belt. The hilt was plain and leather-wrapped, by the feel of it; for once he did not miss the graceful but moonlight-snaring curves of his own rapier. “It’s shocking what people leave lying around in a prison.”

“Another of Grey’s gifts?”

“Who’s to suspect the duke’s guards of collaborating with their captives? Do you have it open yet?”

The snick of the lock giving way echoed around the stairwell and the door opened a crack, letting in the hazy purple light of evening. After several moments Coby nodded, and they crept out into the inner ward, hugging the shadows at the base of the wall as they made their way towards the vast dark shape of the White Tower. When they were opposite the entrance, Mal paused and waited.

On the wall-walk above, the sentry’s footsteps halted. Mal put a finger to his lips. A few moments later a soft curse came from overhead, followed by hurried footsteps, then after a short pause a sigh and the sound of running water.

“Come on!” Mal whispered, and led the way across the inner ward and through the gatehouse to the foot of the stairs.

They hurried up and let themselves inside. Mal offered up a quick prayer of gratitude to Saint Michael for Henry’s arrogance in not posting guards at every possible entrance and exit. Evidently the young king considered manning the walls to be sufficient safeguard. Mal would take great pleasure in proving him wrong.



Kit waited until Lady Frances’s maid had tucked him up under the thick counterpane and closed the bedchamber door behind her before scrambling out of bed and running to the window.

For a while he watched the boats plying back and forth across the Thames, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies. There were other lights too, outside the buildings on the far bank, and the dark shapes of people strolling along the riverside, even though it was nearly curfew. He couldn’t see the Tower from here, but it was only a short ride away, he was sure of that. If only Father had let him go along! He was old enough now, surely, or why else would Father have given him a sword?

Henry had the sword now, of course. Kit muttered a few rude words that would have earned him a beating from Master Weston. Well, Master Weston wasn’t here now, and nor was Father. If Henry wouldn’t give the sword back, Kit was going to have to fetch it.

He found his clothes and struggled into them. Lady Frances had found him some hand-me-downs so that he didn’t have to wear the clothes Master Fox had given him. The doublet was a bit big but it was a fine silk brocade in deep ruby red, which made him feel more like a soldier than a schoolboy. Now there was only one other thing he needed. He reached up behind his neck for the clasp of the necklace.

“Now, Kiiren,” he said aloud as he unfastened it. “I need your help. How do I get to the Tower?”



Kiiren blinked and the spirit-guard slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor with a clatter that echoed softly from the panelled walls. Where was he? Ah yes, Lord Grey’s house. And his beloved Erishen had left to confront Jathekkil without him. That would not do. No time to lose; as he had done once before, he reached out across the dreamlands to his amayi – but this time it was he who stepped through.





CHAPTER XXXVI



Erishen drew back from the guard into the waking world, ready to take the next step in their plan. Scarcely had he opened his eyes, however, than he saw a tunnel of light open, shimmering blue-green like the ocean. Ilianwe? He backed away, reaching out for the discarded manacles.

The small figure at the far end of the tunnel resolved itself into an equally unwelcome form, though for different reasons.

“Amayi, what are you doing here? Go back!”