The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(8)

I jump and give a little shriek. There’s a boy standing next to me. Where did he come from? He’s looking me up and down, and I stare back. Dark brown hair, light blue eyes. He’s dressed well enough, in a green cloak, blue trousers, black boots. Something about him looks so familiar, but I can’t seem to place it. I open my mouth to ask him, but instead start giggling.

“She drunk?” the boy asks.

“Roaring, and then some,” Peter George says. “Absinthe. Damned Joe, put it in the ale and didn’t bother telling her. She’s too young to be messing with that stuff. But, you’re sure?”

Absinthe! So that’s why the ale was green. I’ve seen courtiers drink absinthe and get a little crazy afterward. Good thing it doesn’t have that effect on me.

“She’s a bit haggard at the moment, but it’s definitely her,” the boy says. “Think she’s in any condition to talk?”

“I can talk,” I blurt. “See, look. I’m doing it right now. I like to talk.” This isn’t true, really, unless I’m with Caleb or I’ve had too much to drink. Then Joe says I talk ten to the dozen, which is his way of saying a lot.

Peter George and the boy look at each other.

“Fine. Let’s get her somewhere less crowded, see what we can get out of her.”

The boy loops his arm through mine and guides me down Kingshead Alley and through a series of streets toward the river. I notice they take the long way, avoiding Tyburn.

“We’re just going to help you back to the palace and have a little chat on the way,” the boy says. “If you don’t mind.”

“Pinwheels,” I reply, stumbling on a rock.

“That so?” He steadies me. “I don’t see any, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“No, your eyes. They spin like pinwheels. What’s your name again?”

“George.”

“Funny. That other man is a George, too. Peter George—whoops!” I trip over the hem of my cloak and tumble to the ground.

“No, he’s just Peter. I’m George. Here, let me help you up.” He pulls me to my feet and I notice we’re the same height.

“You’re awfully short,” I say.

“Short? Not me! Maybe you’re the short one. Ever think about that?”

I consider it. “My God, you’re right. You must be very clever.”

George cracks a laugh. “If only everyone was this easy to convince.”

Just Peter comes over, grips my shoulders, and peers down at me, forcing me to look at him.

“George says you live at the palace?” he says.

I nod.

“What exactly do you do there?”

“I’m a maid.” The lie rolls easily enough off my tongue. I used to be a maid, I still sleep with the maids, sometimes I wish I still were a maid.

“A maid?” He blinks in surprise. “What kind? Chamber? Lady’s?”

“Scullery.”

I can’t help but notice he looks disappointed. “For how long?”

“Since I was nine.”

“Nine?” He frowns. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“I see.” Just Peter’s scowl softens. “You’ve been in the kitchen this whole time?”

I nod again. “I can kill chickens, cook them, too, and ducks, peacocks, you name it. I make a good stew, decent bread; I can even churn butter. And my floors are so clean, you can eat off them.” I wince, knowing how stupid that sounds. But I have my orders.

Just Peter waves his hand. “Very well. But besides that, is there anything about you that is, say, different from the other maids? Unusual?”

Only about a hundred things. Well, maybe not a hundred. Maybe just one.

“No, sir. I’m really very ordinary.”

He turns to George. “Veda must have meant someone else. This can’t have been who she wanted us to find. I thought for a moment, maybe, if she’d been a maid for the queen. But this girl, she can’t help us. She’s just a lass. George?”

George isn’t paying attention. He’s staring at me, the most curious expression on his face.

“Perhaps you’re right,” George says, turning away from me. “Let’s take her back to the palace. It’s late, and she’ll be missed.”

We start walking back to court, taking the graveled path by the Severn River to avoid the busy streets. We stumble along, me falling and George and Just Peter taking turns pulling me to my feet and dusting off my cloak until the path ends in a flight of steps that leads to the palace gates.

“Here we are,” Just Peter says. “George, you ready?”

“Absolutely.” George grins at me. I’m about to smile back when I see his teeth stretch into long black fangs. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Elizabeth?” I open them to find Just Peter’s face only inches from mine. “George will take care of you, make sure you get in all right. In the future, though, try to steer clear of the absinthe?”

I nod. For a pirate, he’s very nice. I just wish his face would stop melting. “Okay, Just Peter.” I close my eyes again. “I will.”

He chuckles softly. “Not Just Peter, love. Just… uh, right, then. George, I’ll see you later.” He turns and disappears into the darkness.