“I never get lost.”
“If you were to go missing, then you needn’t worry. As long as the link between our minds exists, I can find you and bring you back to my manor. You might, however, find my methods to be unpleasant.”
Petra followed Dee to the wharf, because it was clear that she had no other option. When she stepped into the boat, she came to a conclusion:
It would be a fine thing to outwit John Dee.
THE BOAT SLIPPED through the fog and Petra watched swans glide past in the blackish water of the Thames.
The oarsman noticed. “You’re thinking that them birds would make a tasty meal, aren’t you, lass? You oughtn’t. They belong to the queen.”
“I was thinking that they’re pretty.”
He shuddered. “Mean creatures, and strong. They’d break your arm if you let ’em.”
“I paid you to row, not talk,” ordered Walsingham. “We’ve wasted enough time.”
“I doubt the West will be any deader when we arrive,” said Dee.
“Oh, the West this and the West that,” Petra said impatiently. “Isn’t his name Gabriel Thorn? Is the West some sort of nickname?”
“No.” Walsingham was offended, though Petra didn’t see why. “It’s more of a title. A way that the queen’s council shows respect for its most important members. It’s—”
“A nickname,” said Dee.
“There are thirteen members of the council.” Walsingham turned to Petra. “I am one of them. Dee is another. But throughout Queen Elizabeth’s reign, there have always been four members whose voices have more weight. They are her North, South, East, and West. Robert Cecil became the North when his father, who used to hold that position, died. Francis Drake recently became the East. He’s a great favorite with the queen.”
“Who’s the South?” Petra asked.
“He is.” Dee nodded at Walsingham.
Petra looked at Dee, wondering why he wasn’t one of the queen’s favorites, and how he felt about it.
“So the West is dead,” she said. “Big deal. Why are we rowing through the freezing fog?”
“Well, I don’t know why you are,” Walsingham told her. “But we are going to Whitehall because the queen requested our presence.”
“I gather, then, that Gabriel didn’t die in his sleep,” said Dee.
“You’re taking the news rather coolly,” said Walsingham.
“And how should I take it?”
“I just thought you’d care, one way or another.”
Petra snorted. “He doesn’t care about anything but himself.”
Walsingham was shocked. The oarsman suppressed a smile. Dee’s expression didn’t change. For a moment there was no sound but the dipping of oars in the water.
Walsingham cleared his throat. Ignoring Petra, he said to Dee, “A servant found the body in the palace library. The corpse was a little stiff, but not totally rigid. The West can’t have been dead for more than a few hours. I’ve already inspected the body, and there are no signs of any struggle. He has no bruises on him.” Walsingham shrugged. “Gabriel Thorn was too great a lover of wine. I’d say the old man’s heart just gave out.”
“Yet the queen ordered you to send for me,” said Dee. “And you were anxious that I come.”
“The queen says jump, I jump. So do you. The death seems natural, to be sure, but you’re supposed to confirm it.”
“Here we are,” said the oarsman. Behind him, a covered dock appeared out of the mist. It looked like a little wooden house jutting over the water. The oarsman rowed the boat to a set of stairs leading out of the house and down to the river.
A servant skipped down the steps to offer his hand. The two men got out of the boat, and began walking up the stairs when the servant reached to take Petra’s elbow. She jerked away. “I don’t need help.” But the river looked dark and cold. She hoped she wouldn’t slip. She stood up.
“Stay a moment, my lovely lass,” the oarsman said.
Petra turned to look at him.
“You’re a bold one, I can tell. And them silver eyes of yours seem awful deep. Mine’ve seen a lot, too, rowing from one bank to the other. Take my word: don’t go poking around politics, especially when there’s already one dead body. Men like that”—he jerked a thumb at the cloaked backs of Dee and Walsingham, retreating into the dockhouse—“they’re swans. They seem grand. Give ’em cause, though, and they’ll fly at you. They’ll break you.”
“I know,” said Petra. She planted her foot firmly on the stairs and stepped out of the boat. “But thanks for the warning.”
PETRA FOLLOWED DEE and Walsingham down a long hall crowded on either side with small, decorative shields. She leaned forward and rapped a knuckle against one.
“That’s not a toy.” Walsingham knocked away her hand.
“It’s made of pasteboard! I didn’t break it, and wouldn’t mind if I did!” Petra was tired of being bullied, and was just about to say so when Walsingham spoke again:
“She’s a little savage, John. She has no manners—or, if she does, they’re bad.”
“She’s curious,” Dee said. “It’s part of her charm.”
“Francis,” called a hunched man waiting at the end of the hallway. “A word, please.”
As Walsingham walked away, Dee explained the meaning of the colorful shields. “They’re gifts to the queen from her knights. Notice the various animals and trees. They are symbols that refer to a knight’s family. As you see, each shield bears a short poem that either brags about the knight’s status, praises the queen, or does both. Walsingham’s shield is somewhere on this wall.” He waved a hand.
“Where’s yours?”
“Nowhere. I am not a knight, nor will I ever be.”
Petra examined him. He didn’t seem to mind being passed over by his queen. She looked at the shields—they were bright, flashy. They called attention to themselves. Dee didn’t. But Petra thought Dee was probably more powerful than a dozen knights with silly pasteboard shields.
He stood patiently.
Petra ignored him, walking down the hall, studying the shields. One of them caught her eye. The shield showed a tree, and dangling from its branches were socks, scarves, hats, coats, trousers, and dresses. Beneath it were these lines: