his iron-ringed hand to it, I swallowed hard. What must he think, finding me here in his rooms?
“I brought Penebrygg here,” I told him quickly. “His house is flooded, and he had nowhere to sleep except your rooms. I hope I did right—”
“Of course you did.” His face was full of concern. “Is he still here?”
“Yes, fast asleep in your bed. But he’s heartsick about the flood, Nat. He couldn’t save your books and papers—”
“No matter. As long as he’s safe.”
It was exactly what I’d thought he would say, but it warmed me all the same. It seemed he hadn’t changed that much after all, at least not in the most important ways. “And what about you?”
“I’ve just come back for a change of clothes before I have a quick word with the King.” He set some sodden papers down on the desk and shucked off his dripping coat. Draping it over a chair by the banked fire, he added, “There’s more bad news, I’m afraid. You know Westminster’s flooded, and I expect you’ll have heard about Bridewell from Penebrygg. And now St. Katharine’s is underwater too, and most of Southwark and Lambeth.”
That was very bad news. “And the kraken?” I asked.
“An archer up at the Tower shot it down two hours ago; there are plenty of witnesses. But on my way here, I saw Sir Christopher Linnet, who says he spotted it—or another just like it—not half an hour ago, surfacing near London Bridge.” Nat rubbed the mud off one cheek with the back of his hand. “But what worries me most is that we’re only two hours off low tide, and yet the waters haven’t gone down.”
“Not at all?”
“Not so much as an inch. Sir Barnaby’s been keeping track of that for us, and I don’t doubt his measurements. I’ve told the King that if it continues this way, I think we may need to evacuate the whole city.” He looked at me with hope in his eyes. “Unless you’ve found a way to stop all this?”
“Not yet.” I hated to disappoint him, but that was the hard truth. “I may have found a clue, though. I’m just not sure what it means, but I’m hoping Sybil can help me. I was looking for her when I ran across Penebrygg.”
“It was good he found you.”
Our eyes met, and there was a light in his that made me blush. But before either of us could speak, something shot through the gap between door and sill: a cheap printed broadside on a page of foolscap.
I was closest to the door, so I picked it up for him. I read the title in disbelief.
THE WICKED CHANTRESS
or, The Melusine-Monster
Nat tried to grab it from me. “Don’t read it, Lucy. You don’t need to see this.”
“I think I do.” I yanked it out of his reach, into the full light of the lantern. Beneath the huge black letters of the title, a crude woodcut showed a dark-haired woman dancing in the sea while a serpent snaked around her. In the background, three ships were wrecked on rocks, and a sea monster was attacking London.
Heart knocking in my chest, I scanned the lines. According to the ballad, I was a magic-maker who was now betraying my country. Like Melusine before me, I had revealed my true nature and made alliance with my own monstrous kind to destroy England.
I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to remain calm. I failed. I read the lines again. These things spread like fire on thatch. Already half of London had probably read it or heard it sung. I thought of the people in the Great Hall holding up their crosses.
“Lucy, don’t look like that.”
I didn’t look up. “You knew what this was, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Is it everywhere?”
“I don’t know. I’ve gathered up all the ones I’ve found.” He gestured toward the soggy papers he’d laid facedown on his desk. It was a thick pile.
“You should have told me,” I said.
“I had other things I wanted to say to you first.”
I shook my head, hardly hearing him. I was still staring at the broadside.
Nat covered the ugly title with his hand. “Lucy, listen to me. Please.”
He touched the curve of my cheek, as if I were a bird he feared would fly away. “I said we were strangers, but I was wrong. I could never feel about a stranger the way I feel about you. I’m not going to let you face this alone. From now on, I’ll