Keeper of the King's Secrets (25 page)

The scream had gone on, a long, continuous wail that grabbed the back of his neck in a chilly grasp. It cut off sharply, and Parker moved forward as fast as he could in the silence.

It was the silence after life has been taken. When the hunter has shot his arrow and the deer has finished struggling and now lies still. The hair on his arms rose, as if a shade brushed over him as it left the world behind, and he shivered.

He crouched low as he came to the edge of the trees, the house in view. Some of the lower-floor windows were lit, casting a glow around the mansion that wavered and flickered with the candles within, a swirling, diaphanous skirt of light.

He readied himself to take a chance and run to a window to look in, to see if Susanna could be there, but before he took the first step, a shadow rose up from beneath a window.

Jean.

A twig snapped behind him, and someone fell heavily on the ground.

Jean turned, unerring as a bloodhound, and Parker saw him lift his crossbow up.

Crouched low, Parker tried to beat Jean to the source of the noise, but froze low and deep in the undergrowth as Jean passed by.

He heard a scuffle and straightened up, edging forward until he stood right behind Jean.

In the dim light filtering between the trees, he saw that the assassin had a young boy cowering on the ground, and that his crossbow was raised and aimed.

“Who do you work for?”

The boy was silent. Parker recognized him as James, one of the lads who worked for Harry.

Jean sighed, sighted the bow, and Parker realized he was about to kill. Moving faster than he thought possible, he pressed his knife to Jean’s throat, and satisfaction sang in his blood.

He fought the urge to cut deep.

“Killing children, now, Jean?”

“Killing Norfolk’s spies.” Jean did not betray any surprise at the sound of Parker’s voice. “Though I thought I’d got them all after that last one.”

“This one isn’t Norfolk’s, he’s mine.”

“Ah.” There was silence a moment. “I wondered where you were, earlier, when your lady came round.”

“Why are you killing Norfolk’s men?”

Jean turned his head a little, and Parker saw his lip curl in distaste. “They were following your lady. The Comte does not want Norfolk privy to our plans.”

Fear thrust a cold hand down Parker’s back. He had spent too much time on the French, and had ignored Norfolk at his cost. If the Duke had evidence that Susanna was conspiring with the French, whether willingly or not, he would use it. If not in this affair, then some other time.

“Where is my betrothed?”

James had risen, standing tense as a wild animal, ready to run. He opened his mouth to talk, but Parker gave the smallest shake of his head.

He let the blade dig deeper into Jean’s neck. “Is she inside?”

Jean said nothing.

“Perhaps we should go and look?” Parker grabbed the back of Jean’s doublet and shoved him forward, but instead of resisting, Jean threw himself at the ground, twisting midair as he did, crossbow up.

Parker dropped down and felt a rush of air as a bolt brushed past him.

Jean cried out in pain as he hit the ground on his damaged shoulder. He rolled to his feet and staggered into the undergrowth.

“Do we go after him?” James stood where he was and watched Parker with wide eyes.

Parker shook his head. “Where is Susanna?”

“Took her out the side way, they did. Then down to the river, to a barge. I came back here to see why that Frenchman didn’t go with them.” James’s teeth started to chatter. “Tripped over the first body in the half-light. Shot through the back.” He shuddered, as if to try to shake loose the memory.

“Did they go up- or downriver?”

“Upriver. Eric is following, running the bank to keep them in sight.”

“Are there other lads along the way? Anyone who can tell me where they put in?”

James shook his head. “’Twas just me and Eric left. The rest are out looking for Harry and Peter Jack. I best tell ’em they
were in the barge with your lady. Carried out behind ’er like two lumps, they were. All tied up ’n’ knocked about.”

Parker cast a last glance at the house. It was dangerous leaving Jean free, but every moment might count for Susanna. He couldn’t risk the delay.

“What will you do, sir?”

Parker thought of the boatmen from the time he’d shot the bridge. “I think it’s time to call on some old friends.”

It is not unknown to me how many men have had, and still have, the opinion that the affairs of the world are in such wise governed by fortune and by God that men with their wisdom cannot direct them and that no one can even help them; and because of this they would have us believe that it is not necessary to labour much in affairs, but to let chance govern them.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 25

E
very step she took was a betrayal of trust.

She nodded to the guards, who bowed and let her through, the wife-to-be of their master.

That Parker would approve what she did didn’t help ease the nausea that roiled in her stomach.

She let the page guide her through the passageways, although he slipped behind her whenever they came upon someone about their business. His head no doubt subserviently bowed.

She had not spoken a word to him. He was young, but too old to be a page, and he bowed and cringed to make himself smaller.

She could see a quickness and an intelligence in his face,
and thought he wouldn’t have gone unnoticed in the palace for long.

He and the Comte thought they would find the Mirror tonight and be done and gone. They were in for a disappointment.

“We need to go through here.” For the first time, he tugged his cowl over his head before they turned the corner.

Susanna steeled herself to smile and nod at more guards, but although there was a place for them at the entrance to the wing, they were not there.

“There have always been guards here.” The French spy’s words set a spider of fear crawling across Susanna’s neck.

She surged ahead to shake it off, and the Frenchman followed her.

The corridor held accommodations for the more senior servants of the nobles at court. Had she needed a room at court, she would most likely have found herself in one of these.

They were small but private, and one drew the eye because its door was hanging off a single hinge. With heart pounding, Susanna approached the entrance, and looked in on mayhem.

Someone had ripped every item in the room to shreds, and what could not be ripped had been smashed.

“Mon Dieu.” The Frenchman stepped inside and looked around with bleak eyes. “If there was anything here, someone else has it now.”

Susanna crouched down and picked up a broken
wooden box. There was nothing inside it, and she set it down again. “The Cardinal finally thought to look here, too, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” He turned slowly, to check that nothing had been left untouched. “We will look anyway.”

Susanna began sifting through the straw from the mattress.

She found a crumpled piece of paper and the spy snatched it from her, read it, and threw it down in disgust. Out of interest, Susanna picked it up and saw with shock that it was written in her father’s hand.

A letter from her father to Jens, yet she was still waiting for a letter after nearly two months.

It was the first page of the letter only, and covered the pleasantries and greetings. Her eyebrows rose as she read her father’s boasting of her position at the English court, and the fine work her brother Lucas was doing in Germany.

She began to look for the second page, carefully checking under the straw and lifting the broken bed.

The spy grunted in approval.

At last, Susanna sat back in frustration. “It is gone.”

“It seems to be. If it was ever here.”

She had to remember they were talking about the Mirror, not her father’s letter. She folded the page she had and slipped it into the money pouch hanging from her belt. “What makes you think it wasn’t here?”

“If it was, it was in the last thing they smashed, which doesn’t seem likely. Come. The Comte is waiting.” He held out a hand to her, but she got to her feet herself.

As they walked back through the warren of passages, each step seemed heavier than the last. She wondered if Parker was awake. Wondered if the boys had made it back.

Wondered if the Comte would let her live.

It felt as if she were walking to her execution.

P
arker pulled himself up onto the dock at Westminster, every joint aching with cold, and stiff from sitting still in the small boat.

“The tide is going out,” the boatman said, the first time he’d spoken since Parker hailed him.

Parker turned back. “My pardon?”

“Low tide. If you want to get downstream later, you won’t be able to get past Old Swan unless you shoot the bridge.”

Parker nodded and the boatman pushed off.

Westminster Palace loomed large and black, almost entirely unlit. There would only be servants and guards here, and precious few of them. He hoped to God he had guessed right; Susanna might not be here at all.

“Sir?” The whisper came from the right, from behind a stack of crates.

“Eric?” The relief that surged through him made him weak-kneed. But the pain and the exhaustion could lay claim to him later. He needed all his strength.

Eric ran around the crates, stood trembling before him. “The Comte. He’s waiting for her farther in.” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know where the assassin is. He wasn’t
with them. Peter Jack and Harry thought he might be hidden out of sight, watching.” He stepped closer to Parker. “I expect to feel his bolt through my back every step I take.”

“Where are Harry and Peter Jack?”

“Watching the Comte. Come with me.”

Parker warmed up as he jogged after Eric. The boy slipped between two smaller buildings, and Parker followed him along the narrow path that ran behind the houses toward the palace.

Eric whistled, the high, fluting call of a robin redbreast, and was answered in kind.

Harry appeared, crouched low against a wall, and Parker bent low and ran across the open ground to join him, Eric right beside him.

“The Comte is hiding behind a line of hedges over there.” As Harry pointed, Parker saw he had been beaten. His eye was swollen and there was dark bruising along his jaw.

“Where is Peter Jack?”

“Watching from the corner of the palace. We don’t know where my lady went in, or where she’ll come out. I can’t imagine she’s in there alone, but if the assassin is with her, we didn’t see him.”

Parker slipped his knives out of his sleeves. “He may be on his way here, but he was at the Comte’s mansion an hour ago.”

“So we don’t know who is with her.” Harry closed his eyes.

“What do we do now?” Eric tugged at Parker’s sleeve, and Parker could see the boy was at the end of his endurance. He’d run on foot from the Comte’s mansion all the way out here,
then kept watch even though he feared the assassin could be watching him.

“You and Harry stay here, keep an eye on the Comte. I’m going to look for Susanna in the palace.”

“Just walk through the palace entrance?” Eric seemed startled.

Parker rose up. “I am its Keeper. The Comte is on
my
territory here.”