PETRA RUSHED to Dee’s library, glad that she had a good memory and an even better sense of orientation. Luckily, she didn’t encounter any servants before she slipped down a winding staircase to the floor below. Her hand still gripped the rope railing and her foot had touched the last stone step when she heard voices drifting in from the corridor.
“John! You’re needed immediately.”
“Good afternoon, Francis. Step into my library, and we can discuss the matter.”
“There’s no time for that. The queen needs you now. It’s the West—”
“Gabriel Thorn?”
“He’s dead, John. You—”
“Petra,” Dee suddenly called. “I know you’re there. Stop skulking in the shadows. Step forward.”
She did.
Dee was standing just outside his library door next to a thin man with a short, pointed beard.
“Who is that?” demanded the man who could only be Francis Walsingham.
“A distant relative, and a nosy one, too,” said Dee. “Well, Petra, I suppose that from this day forth you won’t be able to blame anyone for being a spy without feeling a little hypocritical. One of my daughters’ winter cloaks is in my library. You shall borrow it. You are coming with us.”
“We’re going out? Really? Where?”
“The queen’s residence in London. Whitehall Palace.”
13
The Queen’s Swans
I REALLY DON’T UNDERSTAND,” Walsingham said through clenched teeth, “why she is to come with us.”
“No doubt there are many things you don’t understand,” Dee replied.
“And why must we take your carriage? We’d get to the river faster on foot.”
“This one”—Dee tilted his head toward Petra—“might try wandering off. To look at the shops. I’d find her, of course, but that would waste our time.”
Walsingham threw up his hands and climbed into the waiting carriage. Dee gestured for Petra to follow.
When all three of them were inside, Walsingham reached to slam the door shut, and the carriage jerked forward. As the horses began to trot, the leather and wood frame of the carriage shook so hard that Petra’s teeth rattled.
Petra could smell Walsingham’s hair oil. She wrinkled her nose.
He saw her do it. “The idea of taking a young girl along on such a politically delicate matter . . .”
“You know better than to underestimate youth. What about Christopher?”
“Kit has his uses.”
“Indeed.”
It was chilly in the carriage, and Petra was grateful for the cloak, though fetching it had meant she’d had no time to run to her bedroom for Astrophil. She rubbed at the fog on the cold glass carriage window until it squeaked. Through the clear circle she could see stately manors giving way to rows of shops. People were brushing snow off stalls piled high with winter vegetables. “Where are we?”
Walsingham spluttered. “She doesn’t even know where we are? John, I hope she’s not one of your brain-addled charity cases, because the council will not like—”
“Careful.” Dee didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move an inch. But Petra was still reminded of the moment when she had learned that Dee was capable of beheading four vicious monsters.
Walsingham shut his mouth.
Dee turned to Petra. “We live on Throgmorton Street. This is Cheapside, where most of the trade in London takes place. If you are ever on the hunt for news about someone or something, there is no better place to seek it than where people buy and sell goods—unless it’s where people drink. Taverns are excellent sites for gossip. So are the Liberties, but no one will talk to a stranger there.”
“What’re the Liberties?”
“Home to a pack of lawless scoundrels,” said Walsingham. “And foreigners.”
Dee explained, “For a reason that many people claim is a mystery but which surely has a great deal to do with the mayor’s pockets, and the money put in them, the Liberties is an area of London that does not answer to the city’s laws.”
“Are we going to the Liberties?” asked Petra.
“No, my dear.”
Petra had begun to notice that Dee called her this when he deliberately wanted to irritate her—or, maybe, when she had irritated him with her ignorance.
“I told you,” he continued, “that we’re going to the palace. We’re taking Grass Street south to the River Thames, by the London Bridge. From there we’ll hire a boat.”
Petra turned back to the window, though it had misted over again. She had looked away to hide her surprise from Dee—surprise that he was taking her on a trip to see a dead man and supplying information about London along the way, as if the idea that she might be asking questions to prepare for an escape had never entered his head. But he must have thought of that. He wasn’t stupid. She wished she had been able to take Astrophil with her. He would have known what to make of this.
Petra considered telling Walsingham that she was being held captive in Dee’s house. But Kit’s former master seemed just as bad as Dee, as far as Petra could tell, and she doubted he would believe her. It was better to stay quiet. If she didn’t say anything, then maybe Dee wouldn’t suspect—
The carriage halted, and Walsingham flung open the door. As he strode toward the river bank he called, “You there, oarsman!”
Dee didn’t move from his seat, so Petra didn’t either. “Why did you tell him my name? You said to keep it secret.”
Dee gave a slight shrug. “You told Christopher. You might as well have told the entire town.” Dee paused, and said, “I see you’ve unlocked your door.”
“What?” Petra was confused. Then she realized he was referring to his note. “No, I didn’t.”
“I disagree. I have spoken with my wife. You will be given the same freedom as our daughters. You will dine with them. You may go for walks with them, and attend functions or visit places that I would deem suitable for Madinia and Margaret. You will be given the same weekly allowance they receive, which you may spend as you see fit. Do you know why I have agreed to this?”
Petra was stunned. “I have no idea.”
“None? Why, the answer is simple, my dear: if you were to get lost, which is easy to do in a new city—”