The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(83)

“Make way for King Robert! Make way for the King!”

For a moment Mal feared the crowd would fight back. If that happened, God help His Majesty. But at last they began to move, shuffling back against the curtain wall and the houses opposite to stand with heads respectfully bowed as their king was carried past.

Mal led the sorry procession down to the quayside, and the King was carefully lifted into the waiting skiff. To Mal’s surprise, Grey did not get into the boat.

“You and I have work to do,” he said in a low voice. “How much did you see of the assassin?”

“Nothing, my lord. I was too far back, and the light was in my eyes. Why, what happened?”

Grey gave him a strange look. “Find your brother. Quickly. And when you do, bring him to Seething Lane.”

“Yes, my lord.”



Mal soon found Sandy, and they arrived in Seething Lane on the heels of a peculiar little procession consisting of several Tower guards carrying a long, heavy bundle, with Grey bringing up the rear.

“The assassin’s body?”

Grey looked from Mal to Sandy, and nodded. They followed him into the dining parlour, Mal still wondering what on Earth was going on. An attack on the King was a serious business, but there was clearly more to it than Grey was saying.

“Light the candles,” the duke said, going over to the window to close the curtains.

Mal gathered up the candlesticks from the table and the soldiers dumped the corpse onto its polished expanse. It was still wrapped in a couple of the guardsmen’s cloaks, now stained dark at what Mal guessed was the head end. Grey waved for the guardsmen to leave, then peeled back the blood-soaked fabric.

Mal winced. Most of the man’s head was missing, his face no more than a bloody pulp of flesh and shattered bone.

“Shot, I assume?”

“He took his own life. My men tried to get to him first, but he must have had it all planned. One pistol for the King, the other for himself.”

“How did it happen? Surely there were guards?”

“He came out of nowhere,” the duke said. “One moment the crowds were cheering, the next his horse leapt the front line and he shot the King.”

“He was mounted?”

“Yes. Damnedest thing, too. Beast looked half-crazed at first, rolling its eyes and curvetting, then it froze like a statue just before the assassin raised his pistol.”

Mal glanced at his brother. “I have seen skraylings control frightened horses like that.”

“Curious that you should mention skraylings,” Grey said, uncovering the rest of the corpse.

It was wearing a loose tunic and trousers of cream and brown wool, woven in a pattern of stripes and triangles. Mal stared at it, dumbfounded.

“A skrayling attacked the King?”

He exchanged glances with his brother. At least now he knew why Grey had been acting so oddly.

“The skraylings would not do this,” Sandy said. “We are a peaceful people.”

Grey appeared not to notice the slip, and Mal could hardly say anything to Sandy without making things worse. He began to wish he had not brought his brother along.

“Perhaps we should look more closely at the body,” he said, placing one of the candlesticks back on the table. The flickering yellow light restored a semblance of life to the pale flesh, and for a moment Mal imagined the man rising, headless, from the table.

“Here,” he went on, trying to distract himself from the troubling vision, “see his hands? His nails are as pink as yours and mine. Skraylings have thick grey nails, more like a dog’s claws.”

He rolled the corpse over, and tugged at the waistband of the trousers. Grey grabbed his arm.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Catlyn?”

“Look.” Mal shook him off and pointed to the base of the man’s spine. “No tail. This is not a skrayling, my lord, it is a human dressed up as to resemble one.”

“He looked enough like a skrayling to me,” Grey replied, though there was doubt in his voice. “Lines on his face and everything.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt they made a good job of it. But that was why he blew his head off, you see? Otherwise we would have too easily discovered it was an ordinary man in paint.”

“They? You mean our traitors?”

“Most likely. Or it could be one of our foreign enemies. Anyone who would benefit if we severed our alliance with the skraylings.”

Grey flicked the cloak back over the bloody corpse and rang for his servants.

“Thank you, Catlyn, you’ve been most helpful. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to wash before I make my report to the Privy Council.”

“Of course, my lord. Come, brother.”

Once out in the street and well out of earshot of Grey, Mal gave vent to his frustration in a volley of curses. All his plans to rescue his family lay in ruins, unless he could somehow exploit this chaos to get Coby and Kit out of the Tower unnoticed.

“This is Olivia’s doing, I’d wager my soul on it,” he said, turning left towards Tower Hill. “Turn the city against the skraylings and get rid of Robert so that she can put a child king on the throne.”

“Henry, or his older brother?”

“It hardly matters, does it? If she has half your talent in bending others to her will, Edward will dance to her tune and not even know he’s doing it.”