The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(136)

Without taking his eyes off the two youths, he reached out with his mind and called to his brother. Green light flared behind him, and a moment later Sandy stepped through.

“Good work,” he murmured, stepping round Mal.

The light did not fade however, but shimmered between the pair of them, binding them together. Sandy moved sideways and the light stretched with him, becoming a wall that cut off the sorcerers’ escape route. After a moment the two youths retreated into the corner tower and the stone walls closed in as if a door had never been there. Mal released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and the green light died.

“How in God’s name are they doing that?” he said, to no one in particular.

“You mean shaping the fabric of the world as if it were the dreamlands?” his brother replied. “It appears to be a human talent, one we never suspected.”

Mal shook his head. “We can philosophise about this later. Since we’re too late to stop them coming through, all we can do now is–”

The magically sealed wall began to crumble into sand, and as it fell away Mal could make out not two but half a dozen young sorcerers behind it. He reached behind him and wrenched open the outer door of the Queen’s apartments, pulling Sandy after him.



Gabriel finally caught up with Ned at the edge of Tower Hill, after chasing his lover all the way from the Strand through the darkened streets of London’s northern suburbs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he panted, grasping at Ned’s sleeve.

“We can’t let Kit go in there. Mal will kill me.”

“How do you know he went to the Tower? Lady Frances just said he was missing.”

“Where else would he go, eh? Besides, Mal needs us.”

“No, he doesn’t. He needs… I don’t know, an army. Or the skraylings. An army of skraylings, perhaps.”

“And where is he going to find one of those, eh? They’re gone. Forever. The guisers made sure of that.”

“So you’re going in their place?”

Ned shrugged helplessly. “I can’t just sit around and wait for my friends to die.”

Gabriel slipped his arm around his lover’s waist. “And I don’t want to see you die. It was bad enough the last time. Don’t put me through that again.”

Ned said nothing, only buried his head in the crook of Gabriel’s neck. They stood there for several minutes, Gabriel resting his cheek against Ned’s hair. Faint sounds drifted westwards on the night air: a dull thudding, and voices raised in panic. Gabriel watched the fortress over Ned’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his lover’s muscles and knowing he too was listening to the noises issuing from within. As Gabriel watched, the gates of the Byward Tower opened and a bedraggled column of people began making their way across the causeway to the landward gatehouse.

“What’s going on?” he said softly. “Are the guisers fleeing after all?”

Ned twisted in his arms.

“Something’s afoot. Come on!”

Before Gabriel could stop him Ned raced off down the hill towards the Tower. With a groan of resignation Gabriel set off after him.



Mal vaulted down the stairs outside the Queen’s apartments only to find his way blocked by the stream of courtiers being guided towards the Byward Tower by anxious-faced warders.

“Get them out of here, as fast as you can!” he yelled. “You! Fetch a squad of militiamen to guard Saint Thomas’s Tower.”

The warder he had addressed glared back at him.

“On whose authority?”

“The Duke of Suffolk’s.”

“Well I answer to the King, sirrah. The duke can mind his own business.” He went back to shepherding the dazed-looking nobles towards the gates.

“Mal!”

He turned to see Ned pushing through the throng towards him.

“What in God’s name are you two doing here? I told you to stay at Suffolk House.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s Kit–”

“Yes, he’s here, I know.” Mal sighed. “If you want to make yourself useful, go and fetch any militiamen you can round up. I need that building cordoned off, now.”

Ned grinned his acknowledgement and ran off.

“Can I help?” Gabriel asked.

“Get up into the Bloody Tower and prepare to lower the portcullis as soon as Ned gets back. We need to lure Shawe’s apprentices further into the castle and trap them there, so they can’t attack the rest of the city.”

Gabriel nodded in acknowledgement.

“They’ll walk straight through the portcullis, you do realise that?” Sandy said as they hurried through the gateway.

“Don’t be too sure,” Mal replied. “It’s bound and shod with iron; it might at least give them pause.”

They jogged up the slope to the green and turned right towards the low bulk of the keep’s gatehouse.

“Wait here for Ned to come through,” he told Sandy. “I’m going to check on the next line of defences.”

Without waiting for a reply he clapped his brother on the shoulder and set about exploring the coldharbour gate. A door at the foot of one of the two gatehouse towers opened onto a stair that led up to a guard room. No portcullis, but a double line of holes along the floor marked the passageway below, allowing defenders to drop stones or boiling water on attackers. Or, more promisingly in this instance, the steel-headed pikes and crossbow bolts stacked along one side of the guardroom. He picked up a couple of crossbows and quivers and raced back down to the innermost ward to bark orders at a group of militiamen who were half-heartedly restraining a couple of their colleagues.