As quick as we were, the good news traveled even faster. By the time we reached the summit of Cornhill, people were turning out to cheer for me. Apparently patrols all across London were reporting that the river was going down. Thanks to our scouts, who had been instructed to run ahead and tell the King and Council all that had happened, the story about my encounter with the serpent was spreading like wildfire.
When we entered the King’s temporary headquarters—part of an entire block of buildings that the Crown had requisitioned—a crowd of happy faces hemmed me in. The King, his freckled face glowing, seized my hand and raised it into the air. “My lords and ladies, three cheers for the Chantress!”
Everyone joined him in enthusiastic ovation. Even the Lord High Admiral was saluting me. If there were any holdouts, I couldn’t spot them. As the huzzahs finally died out, someone started singing, and the crowd took up the refrain—one of the old broadside tunes celebrating my fierceness in defense of the kingdom. Here and there, people began dancing.
The King led me away from the crowds into a small chamber that had evidently been set up as his study. I asked how Gabriel was doing.
“He was starting to revive by the time he arrived here,” the King said. “He’s been put to bed upstairs, and the Royal Physician says that with care he should recover fully within a week or two.”
That was a relief. “Good.”
At the King’s request, I gave a full account of what had happened at Audelin House and what I’d seen of the river and the city. “We should be careful about how we lift the evacuation order,” I finished. “Even if the river keeps going down at this pace, it’s done terrible damage. Some streets won’t be fit to live in, or even safe to visit.”
“There will be time to sort all that out later,” the King said. “I’ve called a Council meeting for three o’clock, and we’ll go over everything then. In the meantime, I must find Sybil. I’ve not seen her all day—and I’m sure she’ll have some ideas about what should be done with the refugees.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
He grinned at me, looking not so much like a king but like any young husband in love with his wife. “To tell the truth, Chantress, I’d rather see her on my own. You stay here and celebrate.”
If I’d wanted to celebrate, this certainly would have been the time. When I returned to the crowd, I discovered that the party had spilled over into half the house. Casks of beer were being meted out, and the music and dancing were more jubilant than ever.
Amid the joyous clamor, I found myself feeling strangely hollow. Victory wasn’t half so sweet when I couldn’t share it with Nat. Oddly enough, he didn’t even seem to be here. No, wait. . . . Was that Nat over in the corner there, in that crowd of ladies-in-waiting?
I forced myself to turn away. I couldn’t go to him, not in front of all those Court ladies. Later, if I could find him on his own, I could talk to him.
In the meantime, I tried to hide my true feelings. I’d had plenty of practice at that, so it ought to have been easy. Yet as people swarmed around me, offering their thanks, I found myself thinking about Nat again. What if he didn’t want to listen to me? What if I’d already burned my bridges?
As soon as I could, I pushed my way to the edge of the crowd and left the party.
Much as I wanted to escape this temporary Court, I couldn’t leave the house without checking on Gabriel first. Not only was he a friend, but he’d also been injured while trying to help me. I had to make sure he was really recovering. If he was, that would be good news in itself. And if he could talk, perhaps he could tell me more about his attacker.
A few minutes later, with the help of a royal page, I found Gabriel’s room—a makeshift infirmary at the very back of the house, where Quittle was attending him. The valet looked as anxious as ever, but I was delighted to see that Gabriel was sitting up now—white-faced and wrapped in bandages, but otherwise an only slightly shaky version of his usual debonair self.