bade us perform before the assembled court. The third man was Henry Wriothesley, the young Earl of Southampton, handsome, arrogant and attractive. . . .
Southampton’s dark auburn hair almost brushed the floor as he bent to retrieve his rapier. “This was no fair trial,” he said, with a sulky bad grace. “If you were right-handed—”
“The sinister troubles you, my lord? No matter,” I said, and switched my rapier to my right hand, on my blind side. There was a muttering among the onlookers, and the earl had the grace to look abashed as I saluted him with my blade. The second bout took but little longer than the first. Even as his sword touched the floor, Southampton was already striding away. I bowed to his rigid, retreating back, then turned to accept the applause of the court. I picked up the earl’s fallen blade and gave it to a passing servant, instructing him to give it into the earl’s hand. The hilt had still been warm from his grip—I seemed to feel that warmth on my palm for a longtime after, and mightily regretted offending the elegant, intelligent, and above all, handsome young man.
“My lord, I was told to give you this,” Jehan said one evening not long after, handing me a folded piece of paper.” He said you’d be able to read it,” he added in answer to my quizzical look, and went to shake out the clothing I would wear that night. I raised myself on one elbow and unfolded the letter, smoothing it in the light of the candle that stood on the table near the bed. When I saw the contents I chuckled. I could read this, absolutely—the paper contained a series of drawings. St. Paul’s cathedral was unmistakably rendered, with its blocky tower, its spire lost to a fire some years past. Next was a waxing quarter-moon and abroad-faced clock, its hand pointing to ten. An earring pierced the page where the signature should be, a good-sized orient pearl suspended from a sturdy gold hoop. My stomach lurched as I recognized it: I had worn it the day I died.
I rose from the bed and let Jehan dress me. Nicolas had said that Poley had been given the earring as his pay for watching the door as I was murdered. Though I had been unable to discover his whereabouts, it looked as though Poley had found me out. I frowned; little Robin was soon going to be one very dead spy. The moon was waxing now, and the quarter would be in four nights time. I idly wondered if the clock face meant ten in the morning? If so, Poley would have a long wait. I slipped the thin silver hoop from my earlobe and set the pearl in its place.
The night of the quarter-moon I dressed plainly in wool and linen, armed myself with pistols as well as rapier and dagger, and set off for St. Paul’s. I was glad of my vampire’s sight as I threaded my way in darkness from the dock to the cathedral. It was just before ten when I took up a position a little way away, among the shuttered stalls of the stationers, to watch for Poley. I had not long to wait before a man with Poley’s furtive gait passed me, the light of the link carried before him showing off his tarnished finery. I stepped from the shadows and laid a hand upon his arm. He twitched away, and I saw a stranger’s face grinning up at me. I became aware of someone behind me at the same instant that something smashed into the back of my head. There was a flash of light inside my skull, then only darkness.
Chapter 14
I awoke lying on my back on a bare wooden bench or cot in the center of a small room, and when I tried to sit up I realized that I was fettered in such a way that movement was almost impossible. My arms were stretched at right angles to my body and chained securely to either wall, my feet caught at the foot of the cot, and a collar kept me from raising my head, which throbbed painfully. I turned my head to look at the shackles, and my stomach twisted. They were made of wood, reinforced with steel; someone knew entirely too much about me.
The room was bare except for the narrow cot on which I lay, and the pile in the corner that