Contents

Front page

Title page

Imprint

1 Queerwood

2 Vale

3 The Chancellery

4 Rumpkin’s

5 Rayker

6 Secrets and Immortality

7 The Mystery

8 The Price of a Book

9 The Wrong Coin

10 Horn’s Legacy

11 ack-O’-Lantern

12 Parchment and Ink

13 Brigand’s Cave

14 Earth, Air, Fire and Water

15 Lucifer’s Candles

16 Jack’s Goblins

17 The House on the Corner

18 Morien’s Key

19 The Pledge

Sibling Press (Australia) Ptyt Ltd

19 Gresford Road

Wantirna, Victoria, 3152

Australia www.sibling-press.com

First Edition 2010

This e-book edition published 2011

Copyright © 2010 Alan Skinner

Alan Skinner asserts the moral rights to be identified

as the author of this work British Library in Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-0-9872110-2-6

Cover illustrations by Steve Crisp

Cover design by Ian Hughes

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www.mousematdesign.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may br reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Chapter 1

Queerwood

One day, when winter had almost run its course, a man reined in his horse outside a small cottage in the middle of the forest. A second horse trailed behind, and he let the lead rope fall as his own mount stopped. He looked around the dwelling. Everything was neat and well kept. To one side was a pen occupied by plump, scratching chickens and behind that was a sty, home to three pigs and a sow with a heavy belly. A garden bed, bare except for a few winter herbs and some eager shoots of green, lay on the other side of the house. Behind that was a barn and stable, both as well cared for as the cottage. The people who lived within took pride in their home and tended it lovingly.

Richard Antrobus dismounted. His long black cloak swirled round him as he swung from the saddle. For a man his age – he had weathered fifty-four winters – he moved gracefully. Whether the slight grimace that came to his face was from the long ride he had just endured, or because of what he was about to do, wasn’t obvious.

Antrobus walked to the front of the cottage. From inside came the voices of two women, talking easily, the way that family who are also friends do. The door was open and he stepped into the shadow of its frame. He took a deep breath, then spoke.

‘I have come for your daughter.’

They were the first words Jenny ever heard Richard Antrobus speak. His voice stilled their chatter; his shadow stretched into the cottage, over the rough floorboards and the wooden table covered in herbs, roots and flowers. When she looked across at him Jenny couldn’t make out any of his features. He was a large black shape, eclipsing the sun at his back.

She looked at her mother, and saw she was struck silent with grief and fear. She wanted her mother to say something, to make it all not true. But she knew there was nothing that could change what would be. So, she went to the alcove and put her few articles of clothing into a rough cloth sack. She kissed her mother’s wet cheek and felt her arms close around her. Jenny smelled the lavender on her skin and the gardenia in her hair, and felt the reassuring texture of the russet shift that covered the trembling woman’s body. She wanted to stay as she was, folded in those slim, light brown arms. But she forced herself away, walked past the figure filling the door frame, and left the cottage. The smell of bay and burdock followed her into the sunlight.

Jenny knew she would never see her mother again. It pained her to leave without saying goodbye to her father. She had lived in this forest her entire life. All she loved was within these woods and all that loved her lived in the cottage she was leaving.

She walked to the horses, hearing his footsteps behind her. He pointed to the horse he had been leading and she swung into the saddle. She kicked her mount into a walk and headed it along the path away from the cottage. Jenny promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, nor would she look back. Even when she heard the wailing of her mother, her name called over and over, she kept her promise. She turned her heart into a rock of anger against the man who rode beside her.

Jenny was not even fifteen. Yet she rode through Queerwood, the ancient forest of Vale, by the side of a man she had never met.

*

His horse was jet black except for the white stocking on its right foreleg and a small white blaze between its eyes. Dark and strong-willed, it was a fitting horse for the most renowned alchemist in Vale; indeed, perhaps the greatest in any city. Hers was a docile dun gelding that seemed to sleep as it walked. That, too, seemed fitting for her. She was condemned, against her wishes, to an apprenticeship she hadn’t sought or wanted. Like her mount, she, too, had to be obedient. If she ran from her new master during her term, she would no longer be considered a citizen of Vale; she would be stripped of the right to work, and forced into poverty or to seek a life elsewhere. If she ran in the first year, her parents would share that fate with her. She couldn’t let that happen. She would serve her apprenticeship; but she would never be more than an unwilling apprentice, a reluctant drudge. So, she rode on.

Though the end of winter was still a fortnight away, the weather belied the season and the forest was busy reviving itself. Insects and birds played hide-and-seek among trees thick with leaves. Animals, lean after winter rations, grew fat on the new vegetation, or on each other. As Jenny and Antrobus rode through the forest, all around them was abundant life and the promise of bright days ahead.

It was half a day’s ride to Vale and they would arrive with the evening. The two rode in silence through the noisy forest. Queerwood seemed endless, an untamed forest covering valleys, meadowland and hills. Its few roads, muddy with the thaw, were rough and narrow. He seemed content with her silence, making no attempt to draw her into conversation. Indeed, he seemed to welcome it so he could take in the life of the forest. His eyes darted here and there, observing everything around him.

Those curious eyes missed the man behind the gnarled chestnut at the edge of the road. As the riders neared, the man stepped on to the road. In a quick, practised movement, almost too fast to follow, he drew the bow in his hands. Before either of them could react, he let the arrow fly. It pierced Antrobus’s shoulder, jolting his body as if he had been hit with a club. His grip on the reins loosened and he felt himself falling from his horse. Through the shock he saw the man putting another arrow to his bow. He tried to kick his horse into a gallop but his strength had left him.

‘Run …’ he gasped.

The archer drew his bow. He was slower, more deliberate this time. His second shaft would find his quarry’s heart.

From out of the forest flashed a long wooden staff. It struck the bowman, a hard blow that crunched into his head just above his ear. The bow jerked upwards and the arrow flew high into the treetops as the archer fell to his knees.

A man stepped from the trees. He was dressed in a simple jerkin and leggings, dark green like the leaves of the forest. He moved quickly towards the fallen bowman, but before he could cover the ground between them, the bowman lurched to his feet and staggered into the trees.

‘Father!’ Jenny cried. She kicked her feet free of the stirrups and slid from her saddle. Antrobus tried to dismount but his legs gave way and he fell to the muddy road. Jenny rushed to him. Quickly, she pulled aside Antrobus’s cloak. Her father hesitated; he cast a glance at the trees where the bowman had gone, then turned and ran to help his daughter.

‘The arrow’s missed the bone. The head has come out the other side. He’ll bleed to death,’ she said.

If he dies, maybe I can go home, she thought, and for an instant she hesitated. But she knew she wouldn’t leave him to die. There are some things you do no matter what the cost.

She looked in the small leather bag at her waist, then scanned the forest. ‘I don’t have in my pouch all that I need. I’ve some poppy juice for the pain, but nothing to heal the wound. Can you see what you can find? Masterwort would be best, but gypsywort or goosefoot will do. I need water. And your knife.’

Her father nodded. He handed his daughter his waterskin and his long-bladed knife. He fetched his staff from where it lay by the side of the road and went into the forest.

Jenny unstoppered a small bottle. Gently, she tilted Antrobus’s head back. He opened his mouth and she poured half a dozen brownish drops onto his tongue. He made a face, but swallowed the undiluted poppy juice, then took a drink from the waterskin.

She would have to remove his cloak, tunic and shirt to treat the wound. She managed to untie the cloak but she had to cut the left sleeve off the tunic; Antrobus would have to take it to a tailor to be resewn, if he could remove the blood stains. His shirt, though, proved more difficult and Jenny had to cut it from his body. He remained conscious but his face was pale and shone with sweat. While she was cutting the shirt around the arrow he gasped in pain and vomited on the road.

Her father returned, dropping to his knees beside her. ‘Masterwort,’ he said, handing her a small clean root. ‘It was growing near the stream. It’s washed.’

‘Good. Your cup.’ She held out her hand. Her father took a battered tin cup from his pack and handed it to his daughter. She sliced the root into the cup and mashed it with the handle of the knife, then added water to make a thick paste. ‘You should remember where you found it. Mother’s always looking for masterwort.’

He watched as his daughter worked. He was proud of her skill. She would have been a great healer, he thought. Even more skilled than her mother.

‘I’ll hold him. Slice the head from the arrow, then draw it quickly and evenly,’ she said.

Her father smiled grimly. ‘This isn’t the first arrow I’ve drawn. Ready?’

Jenny took a deep breath, then nodded. With his knife, her father scored the shaft deeply just behind the arrowhead. He held the shaft steady with one hand, then snapped off the head. Antrobus groaned and twitched and Jenny felt his fingers dig into her arm.

Almost in the same motion, her father drew the arrow from his shoulder. This time, he cried out and pain-sweat soaked him. Antrobus’s fingers dug deeper into her arm.

Her father picked up the arrowhead. ‘Small barbs. A soldier’s arrow,’ he said, frowning. ‘It’s a good thing he used a bow and not a pistol or musket.’

She prised Antrobus’s fingers from her arm. Using pads of cloth from his torn shirt, she made two poultices from the paste and covered the two wounds, then bound them tight with what remained of his shirt.

‘Linen. Shame to cut it,’ said her father as he held the poultices in place while she bound the shoulder.

‘I’m sure he has others,’ she said. Jenny couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice. ‘We’ll let him rest for a few minutes, then I’ll take him to Vale. Can you stay with him while I go to the stream and wash the blood from my hands?’

When she returned, Antrobus was propped against a tree drinking from his own waterskin. Her father was tethering the two horses. She squatted next to the wounded man.

‘We have to get you to Vale as soon as possible. I’ve done what I can but the physician there will be able to tend the wound properly. You were lucky the arrow missed your bone,’ said Jenny.

‘What you started, you’ll finish. You can look at it again in Vale,’ Antrobus said curtly. He looked at her father. ‘Am I lucky, Swift? Did you just happen by or were you following us?’

Ewan Swift gave him a cold look. ‘It wasn’t fortune, Antrobus. I was following you. I wasn’t going to let you take Jenny without saying goodbye to her. The law gave you the right to choose her as your apprentice, and there is nothing we can do to change that, but she is my daughter.’

‘Well, thank you, Ewan. Now, say your farewells and be done with it.’ Antrobus rose to his feet slowly. The blood fled from his face again and he leaned against the tree. ‘We haven’t got all day,’ he said, and walked on unsteady legs to his horse.

Antrobus’s tone irritated Ewan. ‘Wait!’ he snapped. ‘Who attacked you? Were they enemy or outlaw? What if they try again? I’m not letting Jenny –’

‘It is not up to you to allow anything!’ Antrobus snapped back. ‘She is now my apprentice and for the next seven years she is mine. You of all people should know that – and know the penalty for obstructing me, or should she run away.’ He pointed to where the bow lay by the road. ‘There will be no more danger, Ewan. Whoever attacked me, they’ll have a hard time without their bow. It looks like a good bow. Take it.’ He pushed away from the tree. ‘Now, help me get on my horse and say goodbye,’ he said.

‘Antrobus,’ said Ewan, ‘I am grateful for your patience. You could have taken Jenny nearly a year ago. But I ask you, please, just another six months. Lucy … her mother … will not last beyond that.’

‘I’m sorry, Ewan, I cannot. I convinced the guild lords to let Jenny learn from her mother for another year when I heard Lucy was dying. But they have refused me more time. If I don’t take her, I will lose her. She will lose me. She will remain here, a half-trained rustic healer. Or, worse, she will be claimed by a seamstress or a mercer, or some such. You know what a waste that would be, Ewan. You know she’s talented. But you don’t know just how unique she is.’

Ewan’s shoulders drooped. It was useless to argue. Antrobus was right. It was best for Jenny.

It was best for Vale.

Antrobus sighed. ‘Now, we must go. No more talk. I’m weary. Say your goodbyes, Swift.’

Ewan helped him on to his horse. Considerately, Antrobus trotted the horse a short distance down the road to let Jenny say goodbye to her father.

Tears rolled down Jenny’s cheeks. ‘I will never see Mama again, will I?’ It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer, but the child in her hoped her father would tell her it would all be OK and that the answer she knew was false.

Ewan fought back his own tears. ‘This will be her last summer.’ He brushed a tear from Jenny’s cheek. ‘I loved watching the two of you in summer. The bright, clear days made you both seem so alive.’ Ewan smiled at his daughter. ‘But I was always grateful for the winter, when the warm hearth and the cosiness of the cottage made us seem closer.’ He sighed. ‘There is no good season for one you love to die. And now I lose you, too.’

‘You will get word to me when she dies, won’t you? And you will visit me some time?’ Jenny asked.

‘I will let you know. And I will visit.’ Ewan hesitated. ‘Jenny, you have a difficult time ahead. Maybe your mother and I were wrong to live such an isolated life and to protect you from the scorn of others. And being the daughter of a wood-ward, you have led a solitary life, meeting only a few. You are different from those around you, as your mother is. That can be a hardship.’

Jenny smiled through her tears. ‘Not quite as different as Mama.’

Ewan tried to return her smile but in his daughter’s face he saw the face of his wife. And the life in Jenny’s eyes reminded him of the loss he would have to bear.

‘Now you will be confronted by the opinions and prejudices of others. Remember,’ he said gruffly, ‘understand the faults of others but accept none. Have patience –’

‘Have patience with everyone’s failings except your own,’ Jenny finished for him. ‘You have told me so more than once,’ she teased. She loved her father too much not to make light of what was happening.

‘Now go, Jenny. Better not keep him waiting.’

Jenny’s eyes stung with unshed tears. ‘I left without telling Mother,’ she said. ‘I have done the motherwort for the midwife. The laurel is for Master Gumm but I have picked extra for the larder – I know you like it in your stew. Mistress Hamley will come for the burdock this afternoon. She said Abraham’s humours are rising and he needs flushing.’

Ewan smiled. ‘I’ll tell her,’ he said.

Jenny threw her arms around her father. He held her, feeling her reluctant tears on his cheek. Then he felt her arms slip from his neck and his daughter was gone.

*

Jenny and Antrobus continued through Queerwood in silence as before. It took all of Antrobus’s concentration just to stay on his horse. After an hour, he signalled to Jenny that he had to rest. They stopped and Jenny helped him from his horse and guided him to the trunk of a fallen tree.

‘My pack and waterskin,’ said Antrobus when he was seated on the log.

Jenny brought his things to him.

‘There’s food in the pack if you’re hungry,’ he told her after he had drunk some water. Jenny opened the pack. Inside were discs of dried oats and barley and a few apples. She nibbled one of the cakes and was surprised at how delicious it tasted. Her surprise must have shown on her face.

‘Did you think His Grace wouldn’t have good cooks? Or perhaps that I make my own food?’ he asked with an amused half-smile.

‘I’d never thought about it,’ Jenny admitted. ‘Oats, barley, honey, ginger and a sprinkling of cloves. They taste better than they look.’

‘That makes them rare, at least at the palace. There, most things look better than they are,’ he said wryly. Antrobus watched her eat for some minutes before he spoke again.

‘You’re angry with me because I’ve taken you from your parents. You think that I’ve forced this upon you, and them. You’re right. I did. But you’ve never asked why I chose you, even last year when your parents first told you.’

Jenny looked directly at him, her face defiant but her eyes resigned. ‘If no reason is good enough, then why ask for any? Nothing you could say, no reason you could give, would make me feel better.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘Besides, nothing I could say would mean anything. You have decided, and so it is done.’

‘You are in your fifteenth year, Jenny – a year late to start your learning.’

‘I have been learning all my life,’ Jenny replied bitterly. ‘I chose long ago and have learned every day since. I chose to be a healer, like my mother. Why couldn’t I stay as a healer? Why do I have to go to court and become something else? What choice has been given me?’

‘More than you know. You will still be a healer but you will be much more as well. My son finished his learning three years ago. The Decrees said I had two years to find someone to take his place as my apprentice. I didn’t need two years to choose. I knew even then it would be you,’ said Antrobus.

‘Your son was an apprentice?’ said Jenny, startled. ‘I would’ve thought he would have gone to the university. You have the position and money.’

‘He was an articled apprentice,’ said Antrobus. ‘One who has a degree from a university but chooses to complete his learning with a master rather than through more study.’

‘Your son was lucky,’ said Jenny. She didn’t try to hide her resentment. ‘At least he got to learn from his parent.’

Antrobus was becoming impatient and irritable. ‘I gave you all the time possible, Jenny!’ he snapped. ‘I waited these past twelve months so you had more time with your mother!’

‘You didn’t have to choose me at all! Most girls are not chosen for the learning – only boys. There are many boys who would be glad to be your apprentice. Why couldn’t you let me be?’ She glared at Antrobus, determined not to cry.

Antrobus regretted his tone and he softened his voice. ‘Jenny, do you really think that even if your mother were not dying, if she was to live, that you would have been allowed to choose your learning with her?’

‘Why not? She is the best healer in the land!’

‘Do you think that matters? Grow up! Your mother is an outsider. She is not Vale-born. And worse, with her brown skin and oval eyes she doesn’t look like us. How many people come to her? Only a few from small villages around Queerwood. Because she is different.’

‘Then why did they let her stay?’ said Jenny hotly.

‘Because of your father’s position as a wood-ward. He could take her into Queerwood and keep her away from others. They didn’t see her, so they ceased to care. But they never forgot, Jenny. Believe that.’

‘I have my mother’s skin and her eyes. Why will they accept me?’

‘Most won’t. But no one can deny the rights given to you through your father. And you are not so brown-skinned and your eyes are not quite the same as your mother’s. You are not as different. Nonetheless, it won’t be easy.’

‘So, I have another reason to hate you. If making me into something I don’t want to be, and taking me from my mother when she is dying are not enough, you expose me to the ridicule of others.’

Antrobus winced in pain. He looked at Jenny without sympathy.

‘Everyone faces the ridicule of others for some reason or other, especially at the palace. When you lack merit, the only way to gain merit is to deny it to others. And if you are unlucky enough to have real merit, the ridicule is all the greater,’ he said.

‘My father would never have put me in that position,’ sulked Jenny.

‘Probably not. But I always thought your father was too protective,’ said Antrobus.

Jenny was startled. ‘How could you have known what my father was like. He’s a wood-ward. You live at the palace.’

Antrobus studied her for a minute. ‘There is much you haven’t been told, I think.’ He winced. ‘I could rest another moment while I tell you.

‘Our Duke, Emeric, was only ten when his father, Albert, died. Despite his youth, Emeric was given the court under guardianship of his aunt, Bernice. Charles, Emeric’s uncle, resented the Duke, for he thought he would make a better ruler. After many bitter words and threats of rebellion, Charles left the court and the country. From time to time, word came that Charles was working to overthrow Emeric, but no rebellion came. For more than a dozen years, there has been no word of Charles.

‘Emeric had a second uncle, David. This uncle had no interest in the politics of court. He could have stayed as an idle member of the court, with no responsibilities and a life free from worry. David, though, loved travel and learning. Not long after his brother Charles had left, David determined to travel. He had heard of a traveller from Venice who, many, many years ago, had travelled as far east as it is possible to journey and had come across a people of great learning and antiquity. And so David announced he was going to seek this country and bring back what knowledge he could.

‘Your father, Ewan, was David’s clerk. Did you know that he was once a clerk?’

Jenny was startled. ‘But my father is a wood-ward. His learning must have been as a wood-ward. He couldn’t have been a clerk.’

Antrobus raised his hand to stop her. ‘So, you didn’t know. It doesn’t matter. Let me tell the rest.

‘David set out with a small retinue, including your father. They were gone for nearly five years. They went very far to the east, all the way to Seres, the land the Venetian had found. Your father became ill; your mother, a local woman, nursed him and he fell in love with her. She must have fallen in love with him, too, because when David and your father returned, your mother came with them. Many of your father’s companions disapproved of him bringing a foreigner back. Especially when they realised that your father intended to marry her.

‘Some say that your father saved David’s life during their travels and in gratitude David allowed him to turn his back on his learning and become a wood-ward. I think that being a wood-ward is what your father wanted from the beginning and his learning was ill-chosen. Whatever the reason, Ewan became the ward of Queerwood. In this forest he could live peacefully with your mother, away from the gossip and disapproval of others.

‘Lucy is not your mother’s real name. If it matters, you’ll have to ask your father for it one day. I cannot remember her name, if ever I did know.’

Jenny gazed at the treetops, deep in thought. At last she said, ‘That explains some of the herbs and plants my mother knows and that grow nowhere else in Queerwood.’

Antrobus nodded. ‘Yes, much was brought back. Not just by your mother. David brought back many things known in your mother’s land. We have reason to be grateful for his restless feet and love of learning.’

‘My mother must have been a healer there. She didn’t learn all she knew after she came here,’ said Jenny. ‘How much of what she knows will be lost because she was an outsider? I haven’t had time to learn half of what she could have taught me.’

‘True,’ said Antrobus. ‘But how much more would you have learned in the short time she has left?’

Jenny didn’t reply. All she knew was that something had been stolen from her which she could never recover.

‘Tomorrow, I will explain why I chose you. Now is not the time. Come, I have rested long enough. We’d best continue or we won’t make Vale before night,’ said Antrobus. He got to his feet, wincing with the pain once more. ‘I have never been wounded before. Not something I would like to try again.’

The last part of their ride into Vale was like the first, in silence and with a gulf between them.

Chapter 2

Vale

There was a time, in ages long past, when the gates of Vale closed with the setting of the sun. They were ages of war and strife, and of ignorance and famine. But this was the age of science and knowledge, of prosperity and peace, and Vale’s open gates signified its faith in its enlightenment. No one alive could remember the last time the gates were shut and barred. Weeds grew in front of the thick oaken gates that had been pushed back against the stone of the city walls. Rust discoloured the metal hinges that had not turned for years. So, although the sun was disappearing in the west, open gates welcomed Jenny to Vale.

Jenny had lived all her life in Queerwood. This was her first visit to Vale and she was awed by the city. The big market square just inside the gates was empty of traders but nonetheless the city teemed with people. It was hard for her to imagine that each person had a purpose all their own; it seemed to Jenny that they were all part of the same purpose, bound together by the city.

Behind shops, streets, homes and people towered the city’s walls. They defined Vale not because they marked its boundaries; they defined it with their size and solidness. Jenny looked at them and felt the same sense of power and permanence she felt when she looked at the rocky mountains at the eastern edge of Queerwood.

Antrobus steered his horse to the far side of the square, towards a peaked arch. The crowd gave way before the horses; several gave the alchemist a curt bow as he passed; she noticed several others who glanced at her, then turned away, but not before she saw uncertainty and suspicion in their eyes. Many stared openly; a group of young children, playing bird-in-hand, stopped and pointed at her as she passed.

Not everyone showed interest in the two riders. She noticed a few in the crowd who seemed weary and broken, with too many cares to be curious about those around them, even a young girl with a brown face and almond eyes. They wandered listlessly, stepping aside for everyone else, or being bumped by those who bustled too quickly to be avoided. Vale was a prosperous city and the presence of these ragged, aimless folk seemed out of keeping. As they neared the arch, Jenny had to pull her horse to avoid a woman, no older than her mother, who appeared not to have the strength to move out of the way. Jenny caught sight of the woman’s eyes as she passed. They were dulled with resignation and seemed to say that being trampled by the heavy hooves of horses was of no consequence.

The arch led to another square, large, but quiet. Neat houses, each with its own patch of lawn and beds of young flowers, flanked two sides of the square. In its centre was a garden, with a silver-blue pond surrounded by willows and elms. Beside the pond, the court gardeners had planted flowers in a pattern Jenny didn’t recognise. Maybe when they bloom, she thought, I’ll know what it is.

The horses clattered over the flagged stones as they made their way to the far wall. In the centre was the mouth of a covered passageway. Perhaps two hundred paces away, Jenny could see the light at the other end. The passageway was high enough for a horse and rider and wide enough for four or five horses abreast. Even so, Jenny felt uneasy riding through the gloom. In the darkness, her awe at the size of the city, and its noise and movement, gave way to the realisation that she was here against her will. Vale, with its open gates, was her prison.

Antrobus groaned softly. Jenny felt ashamed that she had been so busy taking in the strangeness of the city that she had not given him another thought.

She nudged her horse closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Where is the healer?’ she asked.

Antrobus shook his head. ‘We will go to my house,’ he rasped.

‘But you need a healer!’ she insisted.

‘I have my own healer now. You will tend to me.’

Panic and shock coursed through her. ‘But I’m not a healer! I’m not trained. You have to get a real healer to look at that wound.’

Antrobus smiled; a small, feeble smile. ‘You will prove my choice,’ he said. ‘Now, round to the left at the end of the passage.’

They came back into the last of the sunlight. They were at the edge of a courtyard, paved with red flagstones laid in an intricate pattern of fans and circles. The gold of the fading sun and the pink of the sunset sky made everything look rich and extravagant. Towering above the courtyard, opposite the passage, was the majestic residence of the Duke.

‘Stare later, Jenny. Get me to my house. If I fall off my horse I’m likely to crack my head on these damn stones,’ said Antrobus. His voice was weak and his face had lost all its colour.

‘Where?’ asked Jenny.

Antrobus guided her through the labyrinth of the Duke’s palace. It had been built over several centuries. Very few Dukes over that time had not contributed their own flights of fancy or practical additions. As the city of Vale grew, so did the palace, and on the east and north sides, the city wall had been extended to accommodate its growth. In one place, the old wall still remained, and it was now one side of a storehouse. Jenny knew she would never be able to remember the twists and turns, the lanes and passages through which they had come. She looked at Antrobus, now slumped in his saddle. As they came to the end of a narrow lane, he raised his head. He looked around blankly, then pointed weakly to their right. Jenny hoped that they would reach his quarters before he fainted.

Another turn took them into an enclosed rectangular courtyard. It wasn’t grand like the one near the Duke’s palace. It had a small, trickling fountain in the middle of a square of grass. On the two long sides, the buildings were residences, two or three storeys high; at street level, each had a wide lead window with many panes and a narrow front door with a brass handle. Set under every window was a flower box, each filled with the early shoots and blooms that usually came with mid-spring. On the third side of the courtyard there were two houses flanking a large archway; a long row of stables lined the fourth side. Atop the stables was a sign in fancy lettering that read ‘Fenwick Square’.

Antrobus managed a small nod to tell Jenny they had arrived. As Jenny slipped from her horse, a thickset, middle-aged man came out of the stables, carrying a torch. He saw Antrobus slumped in the saddle and ran to him. He got there in time to hand the torch to Jenny and catch the alchemist as he toppled from his saddle.

The man hefted Antrobus in his arms and started walking to one of the houses.

‘This way!’ he called to Jenny. ‘That’s his house, second from the corner. Get his key. It’ll be in his cloak.’

Jenny searched Antrobus’s pockets and found a ring with four keys attached. The man looked at the keys in Jenny’s hand.

‘The one on the end. The smallest one,’ he said. ‘Run and open the door.’

Jenny slid the key in the lock. A sensation she couldn’t quite identify ran through her. She grabbed the brass handle of the door. As she pushed down on the handle, she understood the sensation she was feeling. Once she opened the door, it would all become real. Her life in Queerwood, where her mother and father had loved and protected her, where the door was never locked, was over. Her hand froze.

‘Come on, lass,’ called the man. ‘He’s not a small man!’

Jenny turned the handle, pushed open the door, and stepped into the house.

The man carried Antrobus up the stairs to the front bedroom. He laid him on the bed, then left the room. While he was gone, Jenny found candles, a flint and a taper. She moved around the room, lighting the candles.

The man returned with a basin of water and a cloth.

‘I could see the blood under his cloak as I carried him. What sort of wound is it?’ he asked.

‘Arrow,’ said Jenny. ‘I took it out and dressed the wound. He insisted on riding right away.’

The man made a low noise of disapproval. ‘That’d be just like ’im. Better get rid of that torch. There’s a post outside on the corner. Leave it alight.’

Jenny ran down the stairs and out the door. On the corner near the arch, she saw the post with a metal band for the torch. She reached up and dropped the torch in the holder. She turned and started to run back when a movement in the window of the end house caught her eye. She saw the dark shape of a man, watching her. Jenny nodded her head in greeting. Without acknowledging her, the man turned abruptly and disappeared.

When Jenny returned, Antrobus lay on the bed, bare to the waist. His cloak, tunic and what remained of his shirt lay on the floor. The man gently removed the bandage Jenny had put on the front of the alchemist’s shoulder.

‘Did you get the arrowhead out, too?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘It missed the bone and went straight through.’

‘Well, here’s the rest of his shirt.’ He looked at the bandage. ‘You dressed this? Are you a healer?’

‘I know a little,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s –’

‘No point telling me what it is,’ said the man. ‘I’ll never remember. Well, let’s find a physician.’

Jenny hesitated. ‘He told me I had to tend him,’ she said.

The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Antrobus is no fool. You must know more than a little.’

‘Some,’ admitted Jenny. ‘But not enough. I’ll do as he said and tend him tonight, but he should have a proper physician look at him in the morning. Could you …?’

The man nodded. ‘I’ll ask the physician to stop by first thing in the morning.’ He wiped his hands on the rest of Antrobus’s shirt. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to heal him. There’s nothing more I can do. I’ll take care of the horses.’ He walked to the door.

‘Wait!’ called Jenny. The man stopped and looked back. ‘I don’t know your name,’ she said.

‘Pitch,’ said the man.

‘Just Pitch?’

The man grimaced. ‘My mother called me Rufus – well, for the little time I knew her. Since I was eight, never been called anything but Pitch.’

‘Thank you, Rufus Pitch,’ she said. ‘I’m Jenny.’

‘Aye, Jenny Swift. I know. Antrobus said he was going to fetch you. Goodnight, Jenny,’ said Pitch. He went down the stairs and was gone.

Jenny put a clean dressing on Antrobus’s shoulder. The wound was clean and would heal. Rest, and some ginseng when he woke, was the best cure for his loss of blood. Jenny drew a blanket over him, doused the candles and left the room.

She was hungry, so she went down the stairs to the kitchen. It was simple, like all kitchens of its time, though at least,’ thought Jenny, ‘it is a kitchen. The cottage in the forest was one big room with two sleeping alcoves and a fireplace for cooking at one end. The kitchen had a work bench, in the middle of which was a water pump – connected to a water barrel outside – a preparation table, a stool, a larder for dry provisions, a buttery for cheese and liquids and a solid door. She opened it and found herself looking at a small rectangular yard. Most of it was taken up by a herb garden, and it was surrounded by a high stone-and-mortar wall. She stepped into the yard. There was a small gate set into the wall. She opened the gate; on the other side was a narrow lane with a similar high wall on the other side. Obviously, the houses in the adjacent squares shared a laneway, which served for deliveries – and, judging by the smell, a convenient privy for beggars and the desperate.

She went back inside and looked in the pantry. Antrobus was obviously well paid for his work. The shelves offered more than she expected and he even had two sets of metal plates. Jenny had never eaten from a metal plate; at home they had a set of trenchers her father had made: small squares of wood scooped out in the centre. As she put together her supper of dark bread, salted pork and cider, she wondered whether her food would taste of the metal.

Jenny went into the front room. There was a large oak settle facing the hearth, with two large upholstered chairs on either side, forming a neat square in front of the fireplace. In the middle of the square was a low sturdy table. She decided on one of the chairs and ate with her plate on her lap. She didn’t bother to light a fire and the house felt cold and gloomy. She thought of her mother and father, sitting in the small cottage, eating their supper, and sadness flooded through her. Though the fire would be burning in the hearth, she knew that the cottage would be cold with their sorrow and they would eat in silence.

She took a bite of the bread. Vale’s baker was a good one. The bread was soft, rich with rye and wheat. Her first bite made her realise how hungry she was and she ate quickly. As she bent over her plate, she thought of the woman she had nearly trampled and she wondered what could have caused the emptiness she had seen in the woman’s eyes. Perhaps she didn’t have even bread to nourish body and spirit. Jenny felt a pang of guilt and, for a moment, her hunger faded. But conscience, like the moon, is both fixed and fickle. Her guilt waned as her hunger waxed, and she continued her meal. Before long her plate and cup were empty. She took them back to the kitchen.

Jenny found a lantern and decided to explore the house. She went back to the front door so she could get a full picture of the layout. The house was much bigger than it looked from the outside. The front door opened into a hallway. Ahead and to the left was the staircase, and past that, she could see another door. To the right was the door to the sitting room. Directly off that was the kitchen. She had already seen that, so she went to the door beyond the stairs and opened it. It was a study, filled with books and papers, though the desk in front of the fireplace was relatively tidy. She resisted the temptation to look at the books and Antrobus’s papers. She closed the door and went up the stairs.

On the next floor was the bedroom in which Antrobus now slept, and two smaller bedrooms. She wondered which of those would be hers. The thought made her sadder still. No matter where she slept, she decided, it would only ever be where she lived; it would never be home.

Fighting back tears, Jenny walked up the second flight of stairs.

The whole level was a single, strange workroom. There were no crucibles, tubes or flasks, as she would have expected; instead, there were maps of the stars, astrology charts, telescopes, and a model with a large ball in the centre surrounded by six smaller balls, each a different size. Next to it were other instruments Jenny had never seen before. The strangest of all was a large wooden stand, the same height as herself. The stand held two round wooden frames, one behind the other, and within each of the wooden frames was a large disc of thick curved glass. Jenny stood in front of the foremost disc. She could barely distinguish objects on the other side of the glass and when she saw her reflection, her head was small and misshapen.

Someone’s not going to get paid for their work,’ she thought. What’s the use of glass you can’t see through and that changes the shape of things?

There was something odd about the room and it took Jenny a moment to realise what it was. It was considerably smaller than the combined rooms below, and yet from the outside the front wall of the house appeared to rise straight upwards. She noticed a door to the side that faced the square, and opened it.

In the moonlight Jenny could see that the walls at the front of the room had been cut off about four feet from the floor. Even the ceiling of this part of the room had been removed. It occurred to her that this was Richard Antrobus’s observatory.

Jenny knew something of the stars. Her father had often shown her the sparkling points in the night sky; he had told her the names of many, as if each was someone familiar, and would always be there even if everything else in the world changed. He had shown her groups of stars which he said formed the shape of a person or animal, but Jenny had to admit that many times she couldn’t see the shapes her father did. So she had made her own shapes from the stars and given them her own names.

Her mother had told her that many healers used the stars to decide what ailed a patient and what cure to use. But Lucy had not been allowed to learn how to use the stars because she was a woman. It had been the only time when Jenny had any idea that men and women were seen differently.

Jenny had never been able to work out how the stars could affect people. She knew they were far away; Probably hundreds of leagues, she thought. It was like believing that the wind in the treetops of Queerwood could rustle the leaves of a forest in her mother’s country at the other end of the world.

Leaving the observatory, Jenny went back down the stairs to check on Antrobus. She pushed open his door and peered in. He lay still and quiet on the bed. She went to him and felt his cheek. It was only slightly warm, and she was relieved he hadn’t fevered. His chest rose and fell gently and regularly. Jenny knew that, with rest, Antrobus would make a quick recovery.

She left the room, pulling the door to. It reminded her that she still had Antrobus’s keys in her pocket. She wondered whether he locked the door at night, or just when he was away. She couldn’t see the point of locking the door when someone was inside, so she left the keys in her pocket and the door unlocked.

Her mind went back to Antrobus’s study. She descended the stairs and entered the study, closing the door behind her. There were two candles in sconces on the walls, and a candelabrum with three candles on the desk. She ignored the candles on the walls and lit the ones on the desk. She was surprised that the candles were beeswax, not tallow. Tallow candles gave off an unpleasant smell and smoked, but were much cheaper. It was another indication that Antrobus was not poor and that he preferred to work in comfort.

In the candlelight, she saw the shelves of books. Jenny was staggered by the number of books and she wondered if every book in the world had found its way to Antrobus’s study. There were books bound in thick, sturdy leather and heavy, solid binding; books in delicate brown calf leather, with red and gold letters; books bound by string holding together two thin covers of wood; there were books without covers; handwritten books and books produced on a press. Lifetime after lifetime of thought to be shared in a fraction of another’s lifetime.

Ewan Swift had taught his daughter to read, write and make sense of numbers but she had seen only one book before this; a book she had read a hundred times. Now she was overwhelmed by the number and variety of books on the shelves. Most were written in the same foreign language, one that Jenny didn’t understand, and some in a script that she wasn’t even sure was a language. On such books the lines flowed like long elegant ribbons. There was even a book written in the strange symbols she knew were from her mother’s faraway country.

She refrained from taking any of the books from the shelves. It was her curiosity about Antrobus that brought her back to the study, not a desire to read. This room, she decided, is where Antrobus would be what he really was. It would be where she would find clues about the man who was to be her master for the next seven years.

Jenny went to the desk. There were the usual inks and quills, a sheaf of blank writing paper, a small wooden tray containing red and black sticks of wax, though no seal. It would seem that the most she would learn about Antrobus was that he was neat, educated and actually a bit boring.

The creaking of a floorboard startled her. She held her breath and listened. Again she heard the sound. It seemed to be coming from the front room. Jenny walked quietly to the door and opened it slightly. The noise came again, a soft footfall on the stairs now. Perhaps, Jenny thought, it is Antrobus. But perhaps not … Jenny left the study and crept up the stairs. At the top, she paused and listened but no sound came to her ears. She walked quietly to Antrobus’s door and peered inside. It was too dark to make out whether the alchemist was still in his bed, so Jenny tiptoed inside until she could see him, still asleep, letting escape an occasional snore.

There was someone else in the house. Closing Antrobus’s door, she made her way up the next flight of stairs to the top room. Feeling her way in the dark, she went through the room and out to the observation area at the front. There was no one there.

A sound from inside startled her. She peered into the house and saw a figure move slowly through the room. The shape stopped and turned towards Jenny. She felt the blood pumping through her body as her heart pounded in her chest. Then the figure wheeled and fled. For an instant, Jenny hesitated. Then she dashed into the room and down the stairs after the intruder. She was barely down the first set of stairs when she heard the creak of the front door and the sound of footsteps on the stones in the square.

She skipped down the remaining stairs. She stumbled and nearly fell at the bottom but regained her balance and sped to the door. It was wide open. She paused for a heartbeat, then she ran through the doorway and into the square.

It was empty. In the quiet of the night, Jenny listened, but there was only silence and stillness. Watchful, she went back into the house. She closed the door, drew the keys from her pocket and locked it.

Jenny could feel her heart racing. She returned to the study and snuffed the candles. Then she went back to the front room. The warmth of the day had given way to the chill of evening and Jenny shivered. She wished she’d lit the fire earlier. There was little point now. She curled into a ball on one of the large chairs in front of the cold hearth and fell asleep.

Chapter 3

The Chancellery

‘Come on, girl. Wake, now.’

Jenny heard the voice and a gentle poke on her shoulder. She blinked and pulled her feet from under her and set them on the floor. Her neck was stiff and her body felt cold right through to her bones. She straightened her knees and grimaced.

‘Did he make you sleep here? With no fire nor blanket? That man has no sense at all. You poor thing. Where is he? I’ll trade words with him. He’s got no more manners than a forest lawyer.’

Jenny’s eyes finally focused enough to see the person who was going to give Antrobus a piece of her mind. Standing over her was a middle-aged woman wearing a bunched cloth cap on her head, an apron over her simple dress and a friendly smile on her face.

‘It wasn’t his fault. I fell asleep in the chair,’ said Jenny.

‘Not his fault! You’re a guest, even though I expect you’re that lass he fetched for his new apprentice. He left you here and went off to star-gaze, I ’spect, and forgot all about you. Well, I’ll tell im when I see ’im, said the woman.

Jenny got up from the chair. ‘Good morning, missus. I’m Jenny Swift.’

The woman chuckled. ‘Don’t missus me, lass. I’m not your missus. I’m not anyone’s missus these days. I’m just plain Annie. Annie Grimpledge. I come in each day to do for him.’

‘Please to meet you, Annie,’ said Jenny. ‘What’s a forest lawyer?’

Annie laughed. ‘Someone who thinks they know better’n everyone else what’s a good law and what’s a bad law and runs off and lives in Queerwood to make their own.’

Jenny’s father had often warned her to stay away from certain parts of Queerwood. ‘There are outlaws in the forest. There are some good men among them, but for the most part they’re thieves and brigands,’ he had told her. Somehow, Jenny liked Annie’s description better.

‘Now, Jenny, I’ll get a fire going here, then make sure the master is awake,’ Annie said.

‘We should let him sleep, Annie. He lost a lot of blood,’ Jenny said, and then told Annie what had happened the day before.

‘No!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘The poor man and poor you! What a welcome to Vale! Come with me. I’ll show you where you can wash. And there’s chamber pots in all of the bedrooms up there.’

Annie’s care and good humour did much to make Jenny put aside her sadness and the resentment she felt towards Antrobus. By the time she had washed and made herself ready for the day, Jenny was in better spirits.

She decided to check on her patient. She went to Antrobus’s room and knocked softly.

‘Come in, come in!’ Antrobus yelled. ‘I’ve been waiting.’

Jenny entered. The alchemist was propped up on his pillows, reading a piece of paper. He put the paper on his nightstand. ‘I seem to have survived your attentions,’ he said. His voice was weak but his eyes looked lively enough; far more alert than Jenny had expected. ‘It doesn’t seem to have bled much.’

‘That’s good, though I should check your bandages,’ she replied. She bent to examine the injury. As she did, a gruff and irritable voice came from the doorway.

‘And what are you doing, girl?’ the voice demanded.

Jenny turned to see a short, portly man, dressed in a knee-length black surcoat and a small pinched hat, and sporting a bushy, wedge-shaped beard. When he saw Jenny’s face, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

‘Who are you?’ he snapped. He looked past Jenny to the alchemist. ‘What is this … this … person … doing, Antrobus?’

‘As much as you could do, Styche, I dare say,’ Antrobus snapped back. ‘The question is, what are you doing here?’

‘I was asked to come to attend to you,’ said the doctor haughtily. ‘I was told you had been badly wounded. An arrow, or some other foolishness, I believe. I forsake my other patients and find you being tended by this child. A foreigner, to boot.’

‘You’re a narrow-minded old fool,’ Antrobus growled. ‘This young lady is my apprentice and she’s no foreigner.’ He waved his hand at Styche. ‘Jenny, this is the physician, Styche.’ Antrobus sounded the name to rhyme with itch. ‘Styche, this is Jenny Swift.’

Styche bristled. ‘Styche,’ he said through clenched teeth, pronouncing it to rhyme with stick. ‘Doctor Styche.’

‘A fig for your degree!’ retorted Antrobus. ‘You might be an educated quacksalver, but you’re still just a quack!’

‘Ha! The pot calling the kettle black. You’re a tinpot cheat paid in silver for peddling lead and calling it gold.’

Jenny listened nervously, expecting an all-out shouting match. Then she noticed the corner of the doctor’s mouth twitching through his broad beard and relaxed. She was discovering that the rituals of friendship are many and varied.

‘Humph!’ Antrobus snorted. ‘Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well make yourself useful.’

Styche grunted and went to the bed. Without another glance at Jenny, he examined the bandages, pinched Antrobus’s arm and flexed his fingers. After issuing several ‘Hmms’ and a selection of various noises through his nose, he stood upright and fixed his eyes on the girl.

‘Swift, eh? Was your father that foolish clerk who went off with Lord David and brought himself back a strange foreign wife?’ He didn’t give Jenny a chance to answer but pressed on. ‘Went to live in Queerwood, didn’t he? Well, I shouldn’t wonder. Probably ashamed of her and of himself.’

‘My father was not ashamed!’ Jenny cried angrily. ‘He loved my mother and was proud of her! Don’t you –’

‘Stop your mouth, girl!’ ordered the doctor. Jenny fell silent but she could feel the anger rising in her.

Styche nodded towards Antrobus. ‘Did you tend him?’

Jenny gave a sullen nod of her head.

‘I suppose your mother taught you?’

Once more Jenny nodded.

‘Come, girl!’ the doctor snapped. ‘Don’t sulk! I suppose she taught you all those foreign medicines; strange plants and herbs that don’t grow in civilised lands. Remedies for people with coloured skins and unnatural features.’

‘Remedies that have cured a great many people living within the lands of Vale!’ Jenny replied angrily. ‘Medicines that you know nothing of, and that cure people you’ve probably never seen and would certainly not stoop to treat! And she didn’t need to go to any university to know how to do it!’

Styche’s eyes flashed and his eyebrows came together. Jenny’s stomach churned and her chest pounded. For a mere apprentice to speak to a master, let alone a learned and respectable man like Styche, was a serious transgression. She stood silently, waiting.

Styche stared at Jenny. She counted the heartbeats while his eyes fixed on her. Then his frown dissolved and he grinned.

‘She has spirit, Richard!’ he declared to the patient. ‘And her father’s pride, no doubt.’

He turned to her. ‘You did well, Jenny Swift. He has lost far less blood than I would have thought possible. From the smell, you put some salve on the wound when you dressed it. Tell me, from the start, what you did.’

Jenny studied the doctor for a second, unsure at the change. Then she glanced at Antrobus and saw the small smile on his face. All the anger flooded out of her and she told Styche all she had done.

When she finished, the doctor looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Masterwort was a good choice. Not many know how to find it. And you carry poppy juice? Decocted or extracted?’

Jenny hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. I … I don’t know what those words mean.’

‘Did you just boil the plant, or drain its milk before it bloomed?’

‘We slice the bud and take the milk,’ Jenny said. ‘Mother claims that the stock from boiling is much weaker, though good for headaches and hysteria.’

Styche appeared impressed. ‘Extracted. And you know how to do that?’

Jenny nodded.

‘You’ve been taught well,’ said the doctor. ‘Now, what shall we do about the patient? Would you change the bandages this morning?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘No. Never within two days, preferably three, unless the bleeding won’t stop. The less the wound is disturbed, the better. Just another pad over the blood that’s come through.’

‘I agree. Too many physicians fuss their patients to death. You’d make a good healer, Jenny.’

‘You’re too late, Styche,’ said Antrobus (still rhyming the name with itch). ‘She’s my apprentice. And she’ll be much more than a healer. Now, you come here without my asking, you do nothing, and you take advice from a mere girl – and you’ll have the audacity to charge me for it. If you really do have any other patients – though I doubt it – you’d best attend them and leave me to get out of bed. I have a busy day ahead.’

Styche shook his head. ‘This young lady will look after you as well as I. Better, if she can get you to stay in bed.’ He put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder and spoke to her softly. ‘I didn’t know your father well, and never knew your mother at all. He must love her a great deal, and she must be a good woman and good healer. Forgive me for my words. They were the rantings of an irritable old man with poor opinions.’ He walked to the door, where he stopped briefly and looked back at Antrobus. ‘And you can be sure that I will send my bill. Two groats at least!’ And he left to a cry of ‘Robber quack!’ from the patient.

‘Now, cover my bandages so I don’t stain my clothes, then leave me to get dressed,’ said Antrobus when the doctor was gone. ‘There’s a lot to be done today. You are to meet the chancellor and then I have to get you settled in your quarters.’

‘I won’t be living here with you?’ said Jenny in surprise.

‘It wouldn’t be fitting. There’ll be talk enough, you just being my apprentice, without you being under the same roof,’ said Antrobus. ‘Arrangements have been made for you to lodge not far from here.’

Jenny didn’t comment. She didn’t care one way or the other whether she lived in Antrobus’s house or with the apprentices. Neither place was where she wanted to be.

Jenny cut new pads of linen, and as she put them over the bandages, she told Antrobus about the previous night’s intruder. She found it curious that he showed neither alarm nor surprise.

‘And you didn’t see his face, Jenny? And you can’t be certain that he was only in the star room?’

‘You mean the room at the top?’ asked Jenny. Antrobus nodded. ‘I don’t think so. I was … downstairs when I first heard him. I think he went straight up there.’ Jenny felt ashamed that she had been in his study and she let Antrobus assume she had been in the kitchen or the front room.

‘Probably just a chance thief. We don’t get many in Vale,’ said Antrobus. ‘For your own safety, Jenny, you would have been better to run to the square warden. A man called Pitch. He lives –’

‘Next to the stables at the end of the square.’ Jenny noticed the question in Antrobus’s eyes. ‘I met him last night. He carried you here when you fainted.’

‘I wondered how you got me to my bed,’ said Antrobus. ‘I must thank Pitch for his help. Now, we have many things to do. Go. Let me dress. I can hear Mistress Grimpledge downstairs – ask her to set some breakfast for us and then we’ll start the day’s business.’

Jenny left Antrobus to wash and dress. By the time he joined them in the kitchen, Jenny had already eaten one bowl of Annie’s porridge, sweetened with honey, and had a second helping while Antrobus sat down to eat his first. When they had finished, Jenny picked up her bag and followed Antrobus from the house.

Once again the alchemist led the way through the labyrinth of Vale. They walked beneath archways and down narrow alleys that ran along the backs of houses like a spine; they walked through magnificent squares lined with elegant, imposing mansions, and they hurried through small, mean squares with ramshackle houses and ragged children in the street; they pushed through the crowds of the marketplaces and nodded politely to robed men and women in the professional quarters. And in each place, Jenny was aware of the stares and whispers as she passed by. And once again, she noticed the look of despair in some of the faces.

At last they came to the palace. Whereas the city was a maze of alleys, lanes, thoroughfares and squares, the palace was a warren of corridors, closets, offices and halls. The bustle of trade was replaced by the hustle of politics. The only difference was the noise. The city was alive with noise; the loudest sound in the palace was the clacking of shoes on the stone floors.

‘Do all these people live in the palace?’ asked Jenny.

‘Most of them live in one of the squares close by,’ Antrobus said. ‘Only the senior palace administrators, some palace staff and those who attend the Duke live here.’

It was a strange, bewildering world to Jenny, full of officials, courtiers, professionals and servants. The officials scurried, their faces masks of worry. The courtiers strolled, feigning indifference and confidence, but their eyes were constantly seeking signs of who was doing what, or who was in favour and who was out of it. The professionals walked purposefully, solemn and grave but always aware of who deserved a polite nod and whom they could afford to disdain. Of all the people she saw, Jenny noticed it was the servants who showed the most differences in their behaviour. Some walked purposefully but kept their heads low, barely looking anyone in the eye; some strutted, ignoring everyone; and others seemed never to walk faster than the most important-looking person in front of them.

But all of them cast glances at Jenny, even those who had the skill of seeing while looking at the floor. Some of the glances were curious, some were full of disapproval, some were surprised and one or two were fearful. None were kind.

Antrobus knew his way around the palace. Many of the professionals bowed their head in greeting and some even ventured a passing ‘Hello’ or muttered a friendly ‘Antrobus’ as they nodded. Those courtiers who greeted him generally did so with a wave of a hand. Jenny felt as if she followed in the wake of a ship under full sail in an ocean of sea monsters. Despite the resentment she still felt, she hurried after Antrobus in case she was cast adrift in such strange waters.

Antrobus stopped abruptly at a large polished door. He straightened his cap and turned to Jenny and mimed straightening her clothes. Jenny smoothed her shift and pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. Antrobus nodded his approval. Then he knocked on the door. It opened, swinging wide into the room. A servant in blue and gold livery stood just inside and bowed to Antrobus. Taking this as his cue to enter, the alchemist walked in. Jenny hesitated, then followed.

A man in a light grey robe sat behind a desk, scribbling. He was clean-shaven and had a high forehead, slightly exaggerated by his retreating hair. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, raised from his work. His face creased in a broad, open smile and he rose from his chair and approached Antrobus with his hand outstretched.

‘Richard, how good to see you,’ said the man, shaking Antrobus’s hand. ‘Are you sure you should be out of bed so soon? You’re looking very pale. Please, have a seat.’

The man ushered Antrobus to a chair.

‘I am well enough, Hugh. I see you are as well informed as usual. I suspect the arrow was scarcely out of my shoulder when you knew the colour of its feathers,’ said Antrobus.

The chancellor gave a modest smile. ‘It pays to know what happens in Vale, especially to our most important citizens,’ he said. He turned his sharp eyes on Jenny. ‘And this is the young lady?’ He beckoned for Jenny to approach.

‘Yes, this is she,’ said Antrobus. ‘May I present Jenny Swift, of Queerwood? Jenny, this is Chancellor Hugh Montebray.’

The chancellor smiled at Jenny and gave a slight bow of his head. She was aware that he was looking at her with considerable interest, his intense eyes trying to take her measure. Whether he was satisfied with what he saw, she couldn’t be sure, for he said nothing. He simply turned and went back to his desk, waving an arm in the direction of an empty seat next to Antrobus. She took this as a sign to sit.

‘Well,’ began Montebray, ‘she’s her mother’s daughter, right enough. She’ll set the tongues wagging and the eyes popping. The people of Vale don’t see many brown faces and almond eyes – a light shade of brown, admittedly, but brown nonetheless.’ The chancellor looked hard at Antrobus. ‘Are you sure about this, Richard? There has never been a woman alchemist in Vale. Nor in any city in the world, as far as I know. And to be an outsider, as well –’

‘She’s not an outsider,’ Antrobus snapped. ‘She belongs to Vale as much as any.’

‘Yes, yes, Richard, I know,’ said the chancellor soothingly. ‘Don’t forget that Ewan Swift worked for me once.’

‘Forgive my temper,’ said Antrobus. ‘My shoulder makes me irritable. But we have discussed this, Hugh. We cannot lose this chance.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ said Montebray. He looked at his hands for a moment, then asked, ‘How much does she know?’

‘I’ve said nothing, nor have her parents, as we agreed. She was simply told that when the time came, she was to be apprenticed to me.’

The chancellor nodded, then looked at Jenny. She had listened to the exchange between her new master and the chancellor. None of it made sense. What was she supposed to know? What had her parents kept from her?

‘We’re talking as if she wasn’t here, which is very rude of us,’ the chancellor said. He sat back in his chair, locking his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. He looked at his hands again, as if they held all the answers. Then, without moving his head, he raised his eyes and fixed them on the young girl.

‘Antrobus seems to think you have a special gift, a talent he has never seen in anyone. In fact, if I were to press him on the matter, I’m sure he would say that it’s a talent so special he wouldn’t have thought it possible for a person to have such a gift.’

He saw the doubt and puzzlement in Jenny’s eyes.

‘I’m sure you don’t understand, or don’t believe that there is anything special about you. Well, I find it hard to believe myself. It’s only my regard for Richard that makes me take seriously what he’s said. When he first told me of his plan to make you his apprentice, several years ago, I did my best to talk him out of it. True, there are some female apprentices, but only a few and in appropriate professions. Legally, of course, young girls can be apprenticed to any master, but in some things custom is more persuasive than law.’

Then let custom send me back to my home, Jenny pleaded silently.

The chancellor continued. ‘The idea of a young woman as an alchemist is disturbing to many people. Most believe that women do not have the capacity for science. And that a young girl should be the apprentice of a great alchemist like Antrobus, for whom politics and power are as much a part of his life as crucibles and brimstone, frightens them. Despite the fact that our Duke was for many years wisely guided by his aunt Bernice, common wisdom says that women are ill-suited to the rough and tumble of politics, and are too unpredictable to wield power. Yet, I was persuaded. Not just by him, but by you.’

‘Me?’ exclaimed Jenny. ‘But I have never met you before! I never wanted this!’

The chancellor smiled at her kindly. ‘It wasn’t anything you said, Jenny. It was what you did. Perhaps Master Antrobus should explain.’

Through the tall arched window Antrobus could see a bird building its nest in a tree in the palace garden. He watched it for a few seconds. It moved with the energy and liveliness of spring, though that season was still a nearly a fortnight away. He thought of a small cottage deep in Queerwood and sighed inwardly. Aloud he said, ‘You seem to have always been curious and independent. Your parents encouraged it, and let you roam Queerwood and discover its mysteries and wonders. On one such exploration, when you were five, you found a man lying in the road in the forest. He was very sick, for he had been poisoned. I’m not sure whether you knew that there was no time to fetch your mother, or you knew it wasn’t necessary, but you gathered what you needed, prepared a potion and made him drink it. Once you knew he would live, you fetched your father and mother. They brought him back to their cottage to care for him, but it was you who insisted on tending him until he was well enough to leave.’

‘I remember that man,’ said Jenny, her voice soft with a happy memory. ‘I liked him. He talked a lot to me. But how did you know about this?’

‘That man you saved was William, my brother,’ said Antrobus. His voice, too, softened but Jenny could hear both happiness and sadness in it. ‘He had been away a long time. He was on his first visit back to Vale in more than a dozen years when you found him, Jenny. When he was well, he made it to Vale and he told me of a child who knew things she could not possibly have learned, as if she had been born with the knowledge inside her.

‘William was not a man easily impressed. Did I say he was an alchemist, too? Well, he was. So, when he told me, I took an interest in the strange forest child who knew things she hadn’t been taught. At first I was just curious, then I saw that William had been right. You knew things outside healing, things no one could possibly have taught you, things for which there is no explanation.

‘Once, you had your revenge on some forest village children who were bullying you, by making their tongues, hands and feet turn green. You told them you wouldn’t undo it until they swore to leave you alone. You really must tell me how you did that, one day.

‘There were other things too, and I knew that, when the time came, there would be only one I would choose as my apprentice.’

Antrobus looked Jenny full in the face. He waited for her to speak but she didn’t know what to say. She had never questioned why she knew what she did; she just knew them, like she knew that water quenched her thirst, or that when she was little, she had to stand on a stool to reach the top shelf of the larder. It was all just a natural part of her.

It was the chancellor who spoke.

‘I didn’t believe it, Jenny. Then Antrobus reminded me of a young Vale boy who could compose whole songs by the time he was four, and who had taught himself to play almost any instrument by the time he was eight. From time to time, someone is born who has something special inside them.’

Jenny nodded as if she understood. She wasn’t sure she did, and she knew she’d need time to think about what she was being told. Her question surprised the others.

‘Why did William go away for so long? Did he go travelling again?’

Antrobus took a moment to answer.

‘William believed that much of the knowledge we seek had already been learned; that alchemists and sages of other lands, other tongues and other times, discovered much of what we seek to understand now. But no one had collected it in one place so we could share it. He set out to do just that.’

Antrobus stared out the window again. He could see the half-built nest but its architect was gone, off somewhere gathering more twigs and leaves for its home. He kept his gaze on the nest as he answered her second question.

‘William never left Vale again. Less than a month after you healed him, he died,’ he said. Then, in a voice so low that Jenny barely heard him, he added, ‘They poisoned him again; the second time there was no one to save him.’

Jenny felt a hole open inside her, a dark blemish of sadness in her heart. For years, she had not thought of the man she had tended and the memory was vague. But knowing his name gave the memory form and seeing Antrobus’s silent grief gave it clarity. And for a reason she couldn’t explain, she felt guilty that she hadn’t been there the second time.

Montebray cleared his throat.

‘Now you understand why you were chosen. Your parents didn’t like it but they knew there was nothing they could do. They also knew, I think, that it was best for you, though sometimes parents can’t believe that anything can be better for their children than the love they give them.’

The chancellor looked at Antrobus, who was still staring out of the window. The bird had returned and was weaving a long blade of grass into the twigs. He watched as it poked the grass in one side, then tugged it through to the other with its beak. Again and again it hopped from one side to the other, until the long sliver of grass was firmly woven into its little home.

Who taught the bird to do that? he wondered.

He sensed the chancellor’s eyes on him, or felt the silence, for he turned away from the window. He looked at Montebray, saw the question in his face and nodded.

‘There is another thing, Jenny. Something you may speak about only to Antrobus,’ said the chancellor.

Now he truly looked like a chancellor to Jenny. He was solemn and serious and grave. She wondered uncomfortably what he was about to tell her.

‘Vale faces a serious threat. Famine. Last year, a lot of our crops died before they were ready to reap. They sprouted in spring as they should, and as summer began we knew we would have a fine harvest. Then, suddenly, they began to wither and die. It wasn’t a plague of insects, nor the weather. It was if the plants just got sick and died. Many families lost their whole crop, and with nothing to sell and no food for the winter, they were forced to leave their farms and holdings. Most came into the city, looking for work and food. Too many for us to provide for.’

Jenny remembered the poor and ragged she had seen; she thought of the woman who had nearly fallen under the hooves of her horse. So that’s why, she thought.

The chancellor went on. ‘This year’s sowing will start soon. If the same thing happens to the next harvest, there will be great hardship in Vale.’

Jenny was bewildered by what she was being told. Hidden away in Queerwood, where there were only a few forest villages, she had heard nothing of the failure of the crop nor of the hardship faced by others. Yet, surely crops do fail occasionally. Why were they so worried that it would happen again this year? Before she could speak, the chancellor continued.

‘And the same thing will happen.’

‘But you can’t be sure,’ Jenny said.

‘We can be. The failure wasn’t Nature’s doing,’ the chancellor said. ‘We have reason to believe that Cleve was responsible.’

Though she had spent her life secreted in Queerwood, she could not help but know of Cleve. It had been the great rival for so long that the neighbouring city state was part of what defined Vale. But they were peaceful rivals; enemies whose battles were confined to songs, stories, insults and sporting contests every couple of years. It had been centuries since there had been war fought on the battlefield between the two cities.

Montebray went on. ‘We have people loyal to Vale –’

‘Spies,’ Antrobus interjected.

The chancellor ignored the interruption. ‘– in Cleve. The information they’ve gathered has led us to believe that our rival city state was responsible. If that information is correct, Cleve will do the same this year.’

‘Why would Cleve do such a thing? I don’t understand,’ said Jenny.

‘Neither do we,’ admitted the chancellor. ‘We’re working to find out. And we have no proof so we can’t accuse them of anything.’

‘Why are you telling me? What has it to do with me?’ asked Jenny, whose head was full of confusion.

‘I’ve been asked to discover how they have done this,’ Antrobus answered. ‘While Chancellor Montebray and his diplomats seek a more … political … solution.’ He sighed. ‘Though frankly, how I am do that is a mystery to me. Almost as much as what Cleve would hope to gain by this.’

‘I still don’t see –’ Jenny began but Antrobus waved her into silence.

‘You will have to help me, Jenny. We will turn that talent of yours loose on the problem. Yours will not be quite the usual start to an apprenticeship, I fear.’

‘There will be risks,’ put in the chancellor. ‘It’s possible that the attack on Antrobus yesterday was by agents of Cleve. They’ve guessed – or learned, for they have their own spies – that your master is working on countering their plans.’

Jenny was reluctant to speak, but Antrobus was watching her closely and saw her hesitation.

‘If you have something to say, say it,’ he said. ‘You’re part of this now.’

‘Why would Cleve try to kill Master Antrobus? If they are attacking Vale, they’re doing it in secret. If they kill Master Antrobus, they risk bringing it out into the open. Besides, there are other alchemists in Vale who would take his place,’ she said.

The chancellor looked at Antrobus and gave a small smile. ‘She’s quick, Richard.’ He turned to Jenny. ‘You’re quite right. We do have other alchemists. But none that can match your master’s skill. And I cannot ignore the coincidence.’

Jenny looked at her new master. She was just beginning to appreciate the regard in which he was held.

‘And, well …’ she started to say, then stopped. She saw the look of disapproval on Antrobus’s face at her reluctance and decided speaking took less courage than not speaking.

‘Well, since we don’t know how they did it, how do we know if we can find an answer? What if they didn’t do something to the crop but did something to the soil? It will be spring in two weeks. Sowing will start shortly after. We could have only three or four weeks to find an answer and even then it might be too late,’ she said.

Both Antrobus and Montebray looked at her. Her master gave a sharp nod and rose from his chair.

‘We have much to do. But we need to observe the formalities of your apprenticeship. Master Antrobus will explain all. And you must become familiar with Vale. You’ll have a busy fortnight,’ he said.

The chancellor remained seated. His demeanour changed slightly, still serious, but more formal.

‘It is the custom for me to meet new apprentices,’ he said to Jenny. ‘To wish them well, and remind them that, for the next seven years, they have a bond with their masters. To remind each of them to keep their master’s secrets and heed his counsel. I believe I can trust you will do so. You have had a great expectation and a greater burden placed on you, Jenny. I am sorry for that. Please remember, if you need anything – anything – and Antrobus is … indisposed … you are to come to me.’

‘Thank you, Chancellor. I will,’ she replied.

The chancellor’s eyes bored into Jenny’s. ‘You have lived all your life coddled by a loving father and mother and the trees of Queerwood. Finding your way along the overgrown trails and paths of the forest is child’s play compared to navigating the twisted road of palace politics. And the fiercest animals of Queerwood are like playful puppies compared to the predators of the court,’ he warned. Then he smiled and his eyes twinkled. ‘Even I have my arse nipped once in a while.’

Jenny’s mind was whirling. She wasn’t sure how her life had changed so quickly but the chancellor’s words and good humour steadied her. She bobbed her head as she had been taught and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, Richard,’ said Montebray ‘you’d better get Jenny to the Chancellery Hall so she can sign her pledge. Kneeler’s expecting you.’

The chancellor walked Antrobus and Jenny to the door. He opened it and shook hands with Antrobus. Then he laid his hand on Jenny’s shoulder.

‘You’ll have some hard times,’ he said. ‘People are not as tolerant as they’d always wish to be. But you have a great opportunity. Your teacher is one of the most respected men of science in the world. You will learn more from him than from any living alchemist. He is also guild lord of one of Vale’s High Guilds. That will protect you more than you know.’

With those words, he closed the door.

Chapter 4

Rumpkin’s

‘This way, Jenny,’ said Antrobus and he strode off down the corridor. Before he had gone a dozen steps two men blocked his path.

One of the men looked to be about Antrobus’s age. Tall, he had a full, greying beard and the hair, though mostly covered by a close-fitting cap, matched the colour of his beard. His robes were rich, made of expensive cloth and trimmed with fancy embroidery. His nose was not as prominent as her master’s but his eyes had the same dark, piercing quality. Jenny could feel them studying her before they switched to Antrobus. The smile that came to his face wasn’t reflected in his eyes and he had a proud and arrogant air.

His companion was a little shorter and much younger; a few years past twenty, Jenny guessed. Rather than a long cloak like Antrobus and the other man wore, his clothes were more fashionable: a short brown doublet over a blue tunic that came to his knees; under the tunic, a white linen shirt embroidered around the collar and cuffs. His legs were covered in black hose and he wore brown leather shoes that buckled at the ankle.

He had a handsome face, strong and clean-shaven, with sharp brown eyes and a generous mouth that broke into a broad smile when he saw Antrobus. Jenny glanced at her master and saw that he returned the smile.

‘Ah, Antrobus,’ said the older of the two men. ‘We were hoping to see you.’

Antrobus bowed politely. ‘Good day to you, Master Perroquet,’ he said stiffly.

Antrobus turned to the younger man and his warmth returned. ‘Hello, John,’ he said. He embraced the young man with his good arm. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Hello, Father,’ said John. ‘I was on my way to find you. I just heard this morning about the attack. How’s the wound? Should you be out of bed?’

‘I’m fine, John, just fine. Don’t fret. I received the best of care,’ said Antrobus. Jenny was surprised at the change in him. He seemed in boyish good spirits. ‘My new apprentice, Jenny.’ Antrobus put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder and pushed her forward gently. ‘She took very good care of me.’

‘So this is the girl!’ said John. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Jenny.’ John offered his hand. Tentatively, Jenny extended hers and John shook it warmly.

‘I’m very sorry, my girl,’ said Perroquet haughtily. ‘I thought you were a servant, or I would have expected an introduction.’ He cast a quick, dismissive glance at Jenny and didn’t offer his hand. He raised his eyebrows and spoke to Antrobus.

‘Well, Antrobus, you certainly don’t mind the opinions of others, do you? Your girl will have tongues wagging.’

‘My apprentice, Master Perroquet,’ said Antrobus stiffly.

‘Don’t mind Perroquet, Jenny,’ said John. ‘He’s very old-fashioned. It’s part of our partnership agreement. I will teach him how to be modern, and he will teach me how to be serious.’

‘Partnership?’ said Antrobus, frowning. ‘I didn’t know you were taking this step.’

‘I can only get out of your shadow, Father, by casting a little light of my own,’ said John lightly. ‘And what better way than to partner one of the only living men who might be considered your equal?’

‘You have a brilliant son, Antrobus,’ said Perroquet. ‘One to outshine both of us.’

‘I have no doubt regarding my son’s talents, Master Perroquet,’ said Antrobus. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get my apprentice settled in her quarters.’ He laid his hand on John’s arm. ‘Come to the house for supper tonight.’

John embraced his father. ‘I will,’ he said. He turned to Jenny. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And something I learned when I was his apprentice. He possesses a mighty growl but very few teeth. And no sense of humour at all.’

John waved and Perroquet bowed, then they continued on down the corridor. Antrobus watched them for a moment, his brow creased by a frown, before walking briskly out of the palace into the sunlight. Again, Jenny followed, through archways, gates and squares. The buildings around these squares were not houses; they were imposing and official. Above the main entrance to each, Jenny could see the names and insignias of a guild and Jenny realised that each was a guild house. She also noticed that each building was adorned with statues or carvings of an animal, be it an eagle, a dog, a bear, a lion, a goose, a rabbit or a wolf; almost every animal she could think of. Jenny tried to read all the names of the guilds as they passed: Apothecaries, Mercers, Fletchers, Bakers, Bowyers, Coopers, Chandlers, Butchers, Wheelwrights; there seemed to be no end to the occupations one could have in the city. She fell further and further behind Antrobus as she strained to read each name.

‘Come, Jenny!’ he yelled back at her. ‘Later, you can look at your leisure. We mustn’t keep Kneeler waiting.’

Beyond the next square they entered the large forecourt of the Chancellery. Though the chancellor’s office was in the palace, it took a good many officials to ensure the efficient running of a city state like Vale and it was here that those officials came each day to work. Statues of Olympian gods, alternating with tall, slender trees, lined the edges of the forecourt. Lush green lawns dotted with spreading, leafy trees lay beyond the statues. At the far end was a sprawling, misshapen, but magnificent building. It had been extended over the years in different styles of architecture, yet the result was a wonderful mixture of blue, white and grey stone; there were arched windows and round windows; old oak doors and newer maple ones.

No sooner had they entered when a very tall, thin man greeted them.

‘Mas-ter An-tro-bus! We’ve been ex-pec-ting you,’ said the man. He had a treacly voice, thin but with each syllable flat and drawn out. His long, spindly arms reached out like a spider’s limbs and he managed to bow and slip Antrobus’s cloak from his shoulders at the same time.

‘Good day, Kneeler,’ said Antrobus coldly. ‘This is Jenny, my new apprentice. Jenny, this is Kneeler; he is one of the chancellor’s clerks. Among his various responsibilities – most of which seem known only to Kneeler himself – is the welfare and recording of all the city’s apprentices. An important duty to ensure the welfare of apprentices is to help them get settled.’

Jenny bowed her head politely but stiffly. She did not warm to the clerk. He was too eager to please, and though his eyes never stopped flitting from her to Antrobus, they never met either’s gaze.

‘I trust the pledge is ready to sign?’ Antrobus asked.

‘Oh yes, Master Antrobus! All ready!’ Kneeler bowed and bobbed as he talked. ‘I have made the adjustments to the usual papers, allowing for her, ah, sex. But they’re all in order. Please, come to my office.’

They followed Kneeler to a small room. He sat behind his desk and picked up a piece of paper that he handed to Antrobus. The alchemist read through it quickly, then handed it to Jenny.

‘Jenny, this is your pledge,’ said Antrobus. ‘Our pledge, to be exact. You will sign and I will sign, then, at the pledge ceremony, you and all the other new apprentices will swear to it before the Guild. In legal words much loved by solicitors, it says that you will serve as my apprentice for seven years and that you will be honest, hard-working and moral. In return, I promise to provide lodgings and food, to stand surety for your good behaviour and to teach you all the skills I know pertaining to my craft.’ Antrobus smiled. ‘We have removed the sections regarding the apprentice’s promise not to take advantage of his proximity to his master’s wife or daughters. That is for hot-blooded young boys who sometimes want to learn things their master is … ill-equipped … to teach them.’

‘And you have replaced it with your promise not to take advantage of your proximity to me?’ asked Jenny pointedly.

Kneeler’s jaw dropped; he fidgeted nervously with the quill in his hand. He had never heard an apprentice be so forward with a master. Antrobus just stared at Jenny for a few moments, his eyes fixed on hers. Defiantly, she held his gaze. Then the alchemist smiled again, faintly.

‘That is a fair request. I shall see that it is amended. I suspect the guild lords will argue, saying no guild master would do such a thing and to include it would admit the possibility. And I suspect they don’t want to include more than necessary for a female apprentice. Many are against me taking you, and determined to keep the door firmly shut against this happening again,’ he said. ‘But you have my word that I will treat you with the utmost respect with regard to your sex.’ Antrobus paused and Jenny saw a flash of amusement in his eyes. ‘You have the guarantee of my promise and the protection of my advancing age, Jenny Swift.’

Against her will, Jenny smiled. ‘The first is good enough for me, Master Antrobus. As for the second, I am far too young to understand its worth.’ She took the quill from Kneeler, then looked at Antrobus out of the corner of her eye. ‘And I suspect that modesty makes a liar of you. Now, where do I put my name?’

Antrobus laughed. He showed Jenny where to put her signature and then added his.

‘Now, Kneeler,’ he said, ‘make sure you deliver this to the Guildhall in time.’

‘Thank you, Master Antrobus. You can count on me. Always count on me,’ said Kneeler.

Antrobus ignored Kneeler’s words. ‘Take us to her lodgings. You have chosen a suitable place, as I asked?’

Kneeler smiled his oily smile. ‘Of course. I have found her a most suitable place, in the most reputable boarding house in Vale. She will room with a very fine young lady, not with any riff-raff,’ he said. Jenny caught the glance he gave her out of the corner of his eye; the same look, thought Jenny, that he gives riff-raff.

‘How many times do I have to tell you, Kneeler? They are all apprentices; they are all the same. There are no riff-raff,’ Antrobus admonished him. ‘At least, not among the apprentices,’ he added pointedly.

‘You are, of course, quite right. I forget myself. It is just that compared to you, all others seem like either riff or raff, Master Antrobus.’

‘Save your flattery, Kneeler,’ said Antrobus irritably. ‘It’s fortunate indeed that a man is judged by his enemies and not by his flatterers. Fine words damn more than curses when they come from a small mind and a mean tongue.’

‘Thank you, Master Antrobus,’ said Kneeler, bowing again. ‘You are never miserly with your wisdom. I shall try to remember.’

Antrobus made a noise of disgust. Without another word he turned on his heel and walked from the room. Kneeler scurried after him, motioning impatiently for Jenny to follow. They caught up with Antrobus at the front door.

‘Follow me. It’s not far and only a short walk for the young lady each day,’ said Kneeler and he scuttled ahead.

Once more Jenny was taken through the city. After several twists and turns she thought the paths and trails of Queerwood were simple compared to the streets and alleyways of Vale.

Within a few minutes, they came to a large house in a respectable-looking square. Antrobus stood to one side while Kneeler tugged a small brass knob on the end of a cord by the front door. Jenny heard the sound of a bell ringing inside. After a few moments they heard the slow clacking of shoes on a wooden floor. The door opened and Jenny found herself looking at the most unpleasant face she had ever seen.

The woman who opened the door had small mud-coloured eyes almost hidden by a thick unbroken eyebrow. Her nose was short and flat and her lips were so thin that at first Jenny thought the woman had none. Her high, protruding cheekbones and a small pointed chin gave her face the appearance of a skull. Her skin was thin and covered in small red and blue veins, even in the places dotted with brown blotches. Tufts of dark hair sprung from under the kerchief tied loosely on the woman’s head. There was a large mole on her neck that also sprouted hair.

‘Good morning, Rumpkin,’ cooed Kneeler.

Rumpkin’s eyes narrowed even more. ‘Wot yer want, Kneeler?’ she demanded. ‘Makin’ me walk all th’ way from th’ kitchen.’ The woman caught sight of Jenny. ‘’Oo’s this with yer, then?’

Antrobus stepped into the doorway. ‘This is your new boarder, Rumpkin,’ he said sternly. He gave both Kneeler and Rumpkin a cold, hard look. ‘But I’m not sure that this will be a satisfactory arrangement.’

Rumpkin gave Antrobus an ingratiating smile. Her face creased and wrinkled, making it look like a puddle into which a stone had just been thrown.

‘Master Antrobus! This is a n’onour,’ gushed Rumpkin. ‘I fergot t’day was the day you brung yer new ’prentice. Oh, ’ere she is! Oh, she is lovely! Come in, it’s all modesty in ‘ere. Quite safe fer gentlemens.’

Rumpkin stepped back and bobbed her head to Antrobus and then to Jenny, saving a scowl for Kneeler as he followed them into the house.

Rumpkin led them into the front room. It was spacious and clean, though the furnishings had seen better days. To Jenny, it had the air of belonging to someone who had aspirations far greater than the amount of effort they were prepared to expend realising them.

‘I’ll git one o’ the girls ta git ya some refreshment,’ said Rumpkin. ‘Make yerselves comf’table.’

It was an offer that seemed beyond the ability of the sagging couch and worn chairs. Antrobus looked at the furniture, scowled, and remained on his feet. He turned to Kneeler.

‘You should have told me that you had made arrangements with Rumpkin. I would have asked you to find other lodgings,’ he snapped.

‘Master Antrobus, there are few boarding houses in Vale just for women,’ whined Kneeler. ‘And fewer that take women of quality. She keeps a clean house, as you can see, and she has two new young servants who are very diligent.’

‘Very well. We’ll see how Jenny likes it here,’ said Antrobus irritably.

Rumpkin returned, followed by a young woman carrying a wooden serving tray. The young woman set down the tray and picked up the jug.

‘No need fer that, Agnes. I’ll serve th’ guests,’ said Rumpkin. ‘Git back to yer scrubbin’.’

Rumpkin poured and handed each of them a mug. Jenny put hers to her lips and was surprised that Rumpkin had sweetened the water with honey. Doubtless it was Antrobus she was trying to impress rather than her new boarder,

‘This is yer new ’ome, lass,’ said Rumpkin. ‘We ’ave five young ladies with us at the moment. I’ve put yer in with a quality young lady. I’ll take yer ta yer room when yer’ve had yer drink.’

‘I’ll have the lodgings fee sent to you each quarter-day, Rumpkin,’ said Antrobus. He took out a purse and counted some coins. ‘Here is your first quarter.’

Rumpkin’s eyes fixed on the coins in Antrobus’s hand and never left them until they were safely in hers. The landlady thumbed them, counting each one as she thanked the alchemist.

‘Now, if yer care to foller me, I’ll show the young lady ’er room,’ said Rumpkin.

She marched from the room and up the stairs.

‘My room’s that door there,’ she said when they reached the first floor. ‘An’ at the front’s my personal sittin’ room.’

Along the landing on the next floor were four doors. Behind them, the stairs continued upwards to a third level. ‘Agnes and Mary sleep up top,’ said Rumpkin, waving in the direction of the stairs. ‘Th’ room at th’ end is the day room fer the boarders. Yer can use it any time yer like. And up the stairs is a throw-all room for things yer need ta store.’ She looked at Jenny’s clothes. ‘Though I ’spect yer won’t be needin’ that.’ She stopped at one of the other doors. ‘Right, this is you.’ She pushed the door open triumphantly.

The door swung into the room. There was a dull thud, followed by a sharp cry, then the door swung back and slammed shut, just as Rumpkin was about to enter.

‘Ow!’ cried Rumpkin, rubbing her nose.

The door flew open. A girl stepped from the room, rubbing a red mark that ran down her forehead from her hairline to the bridge of her nose. She looked far from happy.

‘Rumpkin!’ the girl yelled. ‘I told you to knock! Before you enter my room, knock! Is that so hard to understand? Do you know how to knock?’ She shook her fist at Rumpkin. ‘Shall I show you how? Look what you’ve done!’ The girl turned to Jenny and pointed to the mark on her head. ‘I can’t see it! Tell me what she’s done! She’s disfigured me, hasn’t she?’

‘Emily Trickett!’

Antrobus’s voice stopped the girl dead. Still rubbing her forehead, she looked at Antrobus and grinned.

‘Hello, Master Antrobus,’ she said pleasantly. ‘This is a surprise! How are you, sir?’

‘Well enough, though for a moment, I feared the noise of your yelling would send me deaf.’ His voice was gruff but Jenny detected a note of indulgence in Antrobus’s voice she hadn’t heard before.

Emily smiled. ‘You feared no such thing. If you heard me yelling, how could you fear you were being made deaf?’ she said.

Jenny made a quick study of the girl, judging that Emily was slightly older than herself. If not, then she had made quicker progress in her maturity than Jenny had. She wore a simple dress, but the cloth was expensive and carefully tailored; she was also very pretty, and had a lively look in her eyes. Yet there was also a haughtiness in her demeanour that made Jenny slightly wary.

‘Excuse me for a moment, Master Antrobus, while I ask Rumpkin what is so important that it warrants breaking my head open to tell me,’ said Emily.

‘Now, Em’ly, girl,’ protested Rumpkin ‘I didn’t crack yer head with th’ door a-purpose. I thought you were out.’ She looked slyly at Emily. ‘’N why wasn’t you out there with the other girls?’

‘I was writing a letter,’ said Emily defensively. ‘To …’ She stopped. ‘Rumpkin, why were you barging into my room!?’

Rumpkin smiled, a malicious, insincere smile. ‘It’s not just yer room now. I was showin’ yer new room-mate ’er quarters.’

Emily’s face fell. Realisation came to her and she turned and looked at Jenny.

‘But-but …’ she stammered, looking Jenny up and down. ‘You?’

For the first time, Jenny was embarrassed by her rough handmade clothes. Emily would think her shabby and ignorant. For some reason, Jenny wanted Emily to like her.

Jenny nodded.

‘Emily, this is Jenny Swift, my new apprentice,’ said Antrobus.

Emily couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Yours, Master Antrobus? Your apprentice is a … girl?’

‘It would seem so,’ he said.

Emily looked at Jenny, weighing her up. She was certainly poor; and she looked like a foreigner, with that dark skin and those oval eyes. But she had a nice face; in fact, it was definitely a very pretty face. Most importantly, Antrobus had chosen her as his apprentice and Antrobus was no fool.

‘And what brings you to seek lodgings here?’ asked the alchemist. ‘Your father surely hasn’t grown tired of your high spirits, I trust?’

‘My father has obtained a position at the palace for me,’ Emily answered. ‘Now that my family has moved to the estate outside the walls, I took lodgings here. Temporarily,’ she added quickly. ‘Until accommodation at the palace can be arranged.’

Antrobus smiled wryly. ‘Palace residences are scarce. You may be here some time,’ he said. ‘I must say I am glad that Jenny will be sharing her lodgings with someone I know. Even such a mischievous one as you, Emily Trickett.’

Emily laughed, not taking offence. ‘I’m learning to be a very proper young lady now that I’m at the palace. Jenny will doubtless find me a boring companion.’

‘Master Antrobus, I beg your pardon,’ Kneeler broke in. ‘I am so very sorry to seem forward, but perhaps we could leave the girl with Rumpkin. I do have other appointments – not as important as you, of course – and if it pleases you, Master …’

‘Yes, yes, Kneeler,’ said Antrobus sharply. ‘One moment.’

He turned to Jenny. ‘Tomorrow we’ll arrange for your colours. And I’ll show you my workplace at the palace. Tonight, dine with me. We have much to discuss – and I dare say you have questions. Seven o’clock.’

‘If you wish. Thank you,’ said Jenny, who did have questions. Too many.

Antrobus raised an eyebrow at Jenny’s tone but said nothing. Then he looked at Kneeler. ‘I hope you’ve chosen Mistress Swift’s lodgings well. I shall hold you responsible if there are complaints.’ He turned to Rumpkin. ‘When you enter into an arrangement with me you enter into an arrangement with the guild, Rumpkin. Abide by it. Take the burden of responsibility lightly and you will discover how heavy the rod of punishment can be.’

Antrobus bowed to Emily, then swiftly descended the stairs, Kneeler hurrying after him.

‘Don’t yer fret now, Master Antrobus,’ Rumpkin called after him. ‘Like me own, I treat ’em. Like I suckled ’em at me own breast!’

Behind Rumpkin’s back, Emily screwed up her face in horror. Jenny caught her eye, and the two girls laughed.

Rumpkin stared suspiciously at the two girls. ‘Well, I can see you two’ll be good friends soon enough. Yer ’ave a fine, carin’ master there,’ she said to Jenny. ‘Yer oughta be grateful. Ain’t many masters’d take on someone like you.’

‘I know exactly how grateful I should be,’ Jenny replied archly. ‘Now, perhaps you could finish showing me my room?’

‘You ’eard yer master. I ’ave responsibilities. Important responsibilities that I ’ave already neglecked. I’m sure Miss Em’ly will be pleased ta show you yer new room. But you r’member – you need anythin’, you come ta me, hear? Day or night, I’m always available. Long as I’m not sleepin’.’

Rumpkin smiled her unpleasant smile once again and took a step towards Jenny. For one horrible moment, Jenny thought the ward mistress was going to kiss her. Instead, Rumpkin gave Jenny’s hand a quick pat, then left them.

‘The room’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,’ said Emily. ‘Let’s get you settled, then I’ll show you around.’

Following Emily into the room, Jenny got as far as the doorway, then stopped and stared.

There were two comfortable-looking beds, each with its own nightstand, under the large window on the far wall. Between the beds was a desk and chair. To the left of the door was an open wardrobe, currently filled with Emily’s dresses.

The room was quite spacious enough for two young ladies. It wasn’t big enough, though, to accommodate two young ladies and all of Emily’s things. Dresses, fabrics and ribbons were piled on both beds. Needles and pins, scissors and tapes littered the floor and the two nightstands. Sheets of paper, filled with drawings of dresses, hats, gloves and shoes, lay everywhere.

Emily went to one of the beds. She scooped everything she could in her arms and dumped it all on the other bed.

‘This one’s yours,’ she said. ‘Help me put this stuff on my bed. I’ll sort it later.’ She took an armful of clothes to the wardrobe, realised that she had no hope of fitting anything else in there, and dropped everything on the floor. ‘I’ll have to make some room for your things,’ she said apologetically.

Jenny was trying to navigate her way across the room, her arms full of clothes and fabrics. ‘We could sort it out now, if you like,’ she offered.

‘Now?’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Your first day here and you want to spend it tidying my mess? Definitely not. Right. Your bed’s clear. That’s start enough.’ She looked at Jenny with open curiosity. ‘You’re not from the city. Where was your home?’

‘In Queerwood, with my father and mother,’ answered Jenny.

Emily reached out and touched Jenny’s cheek. ‘That skin and those eyes came from further away than Queerwood,’ she said. ‘They’ll cause a lot of talk in Vale.’

Jenny smiled. ‘More than my clothes?’ she asked.

Emily laughed. ‘Those we can change – if you wish. Now, have you seen much of Vale?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘I haven’t had time. I only arrived last night.’

‘Well, today is market day. No better time to be in Vale,’ said Emily. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here and I’ll show you around.’

Jenny followed Emily from the room. As she closed the door, she took a quick glance back and smiled. She had a feeling that Emily was another thing to have to get used to.

Chapter 5

Rayker

Vale was interesting – and confusing, fascinating, frightening and fun. Emily guided Jenny through its alleys and arches, its squares and courtyards. They walked through the markets and the warehouses and they walked down narrow lanes filled with pubs, eateries and shops. Some shops had open fronts and goods of every description spilled out into the streets.

The girls entered a large square filled with stalls and barrows. It seemed to Jenny that the whole world was on sale here. There were stalls selling everything she could think of and many things she had never even imagined. On the far side of the huge market Jenny recognised the gates through which she had entered Vale the day before.

‘This is the Gates,’ Emily shouted. ‘I think it must be the biggest market in the world! It’s one of my favourite places. You can find things here you’ll never find anywhere else. And some things you’ll only ever find once, like they appear just that one time and you have to make a decision right then or the chance will be gone forever. When I’m looking for something special, something out of the ordinary, this is where I come.’

They weaved through the stalls and barrows. Jenny was glad that Emily wasn’t inclined to stop at every stall and examine whatever the trader was selling. Jenny knew she’d have time for that another market day. Right now, she just wanted to take in the noise and the colour and the bustle. It was another world compared to the one she was used to and she was surprised to find that she liked it. A pang of guilt stabbed her; Jenny felt she was betraying her parents by being fascinated by Vale; betraying the tragedy of her mother’s coming death by finding something new in life that she wanted.

They had walked through most of the market and were coming to the far side when Emily saw a stall strewn with fabrics and lace; with buttons, bows, ribbons, needles and pins.

‘Oh, Jenny! Just a minute, please! Let me have a quick look.’

Emily was soon lost among the trader’s goods. Jenny smiled. She watched for a moment, then strolled towards the edge of the market.

The merchants who had stalls in the centre of the market did better trade than those at its fringes, but it was one of these quieter stalls that caught Jenny’s eye.

The stall was small and shabby, tucked right against the town wall next to the laystall where the merchants threw their rubbish. It was a shaft of sunlight reflecting off metal that drew Jenny’s attention. She wandered over, and as she got closer, she could see that the goods scattered on the rough wooden table were curious devices, most made of wood or brass or cheap metal; a few were richly decorated with intricate motifs, scrolls, figures and plants. She recognised one object: a beautiful sundial mounted on a polished wood plinth. And another object appeared to be a smaller version of something she had seen in Antrobus’s observatory: it looked like a small table, with its top tilted on its side.

The trader looked at Jenny intently, though he remained silent until Jenny spoke.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, pointing to the object she had seen in the observatory.

‘Some call it a turquet, others call it a torquetum,’ said the trader.

‘For looking at the skies?’

The man smiled. ‘You might say that. We use the sky for finding our way in the world. In more ways than one,’ he said. His voice had a trace of an accent. ‘These are all scientific instruments. This, for instance.’ He picked up a brass item about the size and shape of an apple pie, with glass over the face. Jenny peered and saw a small needle, quivering in the centre of several intersecting lines. ‘This is a ship’s compass. Do you know what a compass is for?’ He handed it to Jenny. It was heavier than it looked and she had to hold it with both hands.

Jenny studied it for a minute, then turned to her right. Then she swung round quickly and faced the opposite direction. ‘It tells you where north is!’ she cried. ‘No matter where I face, the needle always points north.’

‘You’re a quick one, girl,’ said the man. Jenny handed back the compass and picked up another object. This one was a brass plate, smaller than her face, ornately engraved. A smaller disc, marked with arcs and curves, sat off-centre within the plate, and a movable arm was attached in the middle. The bottom of the plate was also engraved with circles and curves, and its edge was marked in tiny, equally spaced notches. ‘That’s very special,’ said the trader.

She had never seen anything like it before. Whatever its purpose, she thought it one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

‘It’s called an astrolabe. It does many useful things. Do you study the skies?’

‘No,’ said Jenny, handing back the astrolabe. ‘My father taught me the names of many stars and the patterns they make, that’s all. My master does, I think.’

‘You think? I would guess that knowing what your master does is a distinct advantage when you’re learning,’ said the trader good-naturedly.

‘I only met him yesterday,’ said Jenny. ‘He’s very skilled and clever, people say.’

‘May I know the name of this very skilled and clever master?’

‘Antrobus. The alchemist.’

‘The young one or the old one?’

‘The old one,’ said Jenny. ‘Do you know them?’

‘The old one by reputation, the young one only by name and gossip. Richard Antrobus is quite famous, even outside Vale. He’s spoken of with respect, which is not always the case with those of his profession. A great many alchemists are frauds. They lie, cheat and promise what they can’t deliver. They preach things they don’t hold to be true and make people believe things that they can’t make sense of,’ said the trader.

‘There are cheats in every profession,’ said Jenny. It surprised her that she felt defensive. She didn’t choose to be an alchemist. Why should it matter to her what others thought of them?

‘There are,’ admitted the trader. He waved in the direction of the market. ‘Most are honest, but there are millers there who add sand or sawdust to their flour, bakers who short-weight their loaves and farmers who’ll pack the bottom of their barrels with spoiled fruit. But at least they leave you with something your life needs. An alchemist who promises gold from base metal, however, or claims to know the secret of long life, or even how to read the stars so you can change your future, what does he leave people?’

‘I only ever wanted to be a healer,’ said Jenny quietly. ‘I don’t know anything about all those other things.’

‘That’s part of the reason why Richard chose you, Jenny Swift,’ said the trader.

Jenny was startled. ‘How do you know my name?’ she asked.

‘Traders hear a lot of gossip. I’m Robert, by the way. Now, I must pack my things. It’s been a very quiet day. Almost as much to pack as there was to unpack.’

‘Will you be here next market day?’

‘No, I go from market to market, wherever the trading takes me.’

‘I’m glad to have met you, Robert’ said Jenny. ‘Good luck.’

‘Wait,’ said Robert. He took a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the astrolabe, then handed it to Jenny.

‘Here, take this. A reminder.’

‘Robert, thank you, but I couldn’t. I have very little money. I couldn’t possibly afford this,’ said Jenny.

‘Keep it – my good luck gift to you,’ said the trader. ‘Besides, you were meant to have it. Antrobus will show you how to use it.’

Jenny slipped the astrolabe into her tunic. ‘Thank you, Robert. Thank you,’ she said and waved goodbye to the trader.

‘Good luck to you, Jenny Swift,’ called Robert.

Jenny walked back towards where she had left Emily. She wondered what Robert had meant when he said she was meant to have the astrolabe. She was about to turn back to ask when she felt a hand clamp on to her arm. Fingers dug into her flesh. She twisted to look at her attacker but he kept behind her and pushed her towards the mouth of a small alley.

‘Don’t cause a fuss, girl, and I won’t hurt ya.’ The voice was harsh and rough.

In the shadow of the alley, she felt the man’s hand slip inside her tunic. For a moment, Jenny froze in fear. Then she grabbed at his arm, scratching his hand as she tried to get free.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she yelled.

The man pulled his hand away and clamped it over Jenny’s mouth. He laughed meanly. ‘Don’t fool yerself, girl. I’m not interested in what’s under yer shift. Just give me what you stashed in yer tunic.’

Jenny bit the calloused flesh of his palm. ‘Ow!’ he said, his teeth clenched. He spun Jenny round and shoved her hard. Her feet slipped on the rough stone and she fell to the ground.

The man stood over her. ‘Give it me, girl,’ he said roughly. ‘I won’t hurt ya if you hand it over nicely.’

Jenny looked up at him. Slowly, she held out the parcel. The man grinned. ‘That’s better,’ he said, and reached down to take it.

The toe of Jenny’s boot caught him in the thigh. He yelped in pain and stumbled backwards. Jenny tried to get up but the man moved too quickly. He slapped her across the face and her head hit the flagstones. His hand wrapped around her neck and he squeezed his fingers. She felt him grab on to the astrolabe with his other hand and she pulled it tightly to her. He squeezed her throat harder. His face was close to hers, the pale skin glistening like wet pastry. He smiled, a grimace of meanness and discoloured teeth. ‘You’ll wish ya hadn’t done that,’ he whispered. His breath was foul and Jenny felt small drops of spittle on her face. He leaned closer.

His eyes opened wide in surprise and he grunted. A hand buried itself in his hair and Jenny saw him rise clear off the ground and land hard on his back. She heard his head crunch against the flagstones.

Another man stood over him. The thief tried to get up, but the second man grabbed the front of his tunic, lifted him clear off his feet and threw him against the wall of the alley. Once again, Jenny heard the man’s head crunch against stone. Her attacker fell to his knees and then slumped sideways.

Her rescuer dragged the man to his feet, took hold of his collar and trousers, and threw him out of the alley. The man sprawled on his face. Groaning, he staggered to his feet and glared at the man who had interrupted his thieving. Jenny saw his face pale and his eyes fill with fear. He stumbled, then turned and ran. Without looking back, he disappeared into the crowd.

Her rescuer offered his hand to Jenny. ‘Hurt?’ he asked. His voice was brusque and Jenny shook her head. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You’re game. Most people just whimper and give over whatever they have.’

‘Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t mistaken what he wanted. I thought he …’

‘I think if he’d wanted that he would have dragged you a bit further down the alley,’ said the man. ‘Whatever you were protecting, I hope it’s worth it. Usually, whimpering and giving in is smarter.’

‘It was a gift. I just got it,’ said Jenny.

She looked at her rescuer. The man was about her father’s age, though taller than him and slightly heavier. Jenny saw hardness in his face but there was no meanness in his eyes.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said. He looked in the direction her attacker had gone. ‘I’ll teach Nate better manners later.’

‘You know him?’ asked Jenny.

The man grinned. ‘He’s not a friend, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s a sneak thief, not worth chasing after, normally.’

‘But attacking me makes him worth chasing?’

‘It does,’ the man said, matter-of-factly.

He didn’t give Jenny the chance to say more. He took her arm, gently but firmly, and escorted her out of the alley.

‘Jenny! There you are!’ Emily ran across the flagstones. She saw the man with Jenny and skidded to a stop.

‘Wha-!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Rayker!’

‘Mistress Trickett,’ said Rayker, offering a slight bow of his head.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Emily.

‘Is that your name? Rayker?’ Jenny asked.

‘That’s what they call me,’ said Rayker.

‘Just Rayker?’ said Jenny.

‘Just Rayker, Mistress Swift,’ he said.

‘You know who I am?’ said Jenny. ‘Is there anyone in Vale who doesn’t know my name!’

A touch of a smile came to Rayker’s face. ‘Probably not,’ he said.

‘Jenny, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Emily demanded.

‘I’ll leave you to tell all to Mistress Trickett,’ said Rayker. He nodded politely to Jenny and Emily and then he was gone.

‘Someone tried to rob me. Rayker chased him off,’ said Jenny. ‘Who is he?’

‘Rayker works for the Duke, Emeric. He hunts outlaws, or anyone Emeric tells him to. Sometimes, he needs a warrant from my father,’ said Emily. ‘I’ve met him once or twice. Not someone to cross.’

‘Emily, who is your father?’

‘Isaiah Trickett,’ said Emily. ‘Chief Magistrate of Vale.’

*

At precisely half past six that evening, there was a knock on the door of the room. Jenny opened it. A girl about her own age stood in the doorway.

‘There’s a man downstairs for you,’ said the girl curtly. ‘Name’s Pitch.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jenny.

The girl turned to go, then stopped and gave Jenny a strange look.

‘What colour’s my shift?’ she asked abruptly.

Jenny was taken aback. ‘Green,’ she replied. ‘Deep green.’

The girl nodded dismissively. ‘I just wondered whether you saw things the same as the rest of us. Because of your eyes,’ she said. ‘There must be a reason they’re shaped like that.’

‘I expect so,’ said Jenny politely. ‘Perhaps one day we can swap? Well, one eye, anyway. You can spend a day with one of yours and one of mine and see what the difference is.’ She smiled sweetly. The girl stared blankly at her for a minute, then screwed up her face in disgust and hurried away.

Jenny watched her go, then went back into her room. She picked up the astrolabe from her nightstand and put it into an old cloth bag, then grabbed her cloak.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of my dresses?’ said Emily, frowning with disapproval.

Jenny looked down at her rough clothes and rustic shoes. ‘I’m quite sure, thank you, Emily. This is me,’ she said.

‘We can work on that,’ Emily teased. Jenny stuck out her tongue at her room-mate and left, closing the door behind her. She heard giggling and whispers coming from the boarders’ sitting room and turned to look. The door was open and she could see the other boarders sitting on the couches, talking with great animation. The young girl who had come to the bedroom said something to her companions and they all laughed. Jenny had the feeling that they were talking about her. She knew they found her looks strange, but she didn’t know why they would mock them or judge her because of them.

Jenny was stung by the laughter. Her throat constricted and tears threatened to fill her eyes. Hurt and anger warred inside her and for an instant she thought of confronting the girls. But she knew that wouldn’t do any good; if she showed any reaction they would just get added delight from their meanness. So, she turned and ran down the stairs. As she reached the next landing, a voice came from the front sitting room.

‘Swift!’ yelled Rumpkin. ‘That there front door gits locked ten o’clock sharp. There’ll be no one ta open it after that. That’s the rules an’ I can’t break ’em jus’ fer you.’

‘Thank you, Rumpkin,’ said Jenny, too softly for the landlady to hear clearly.

‘Eh? Whadya say, Swift?’ yelled Rumpkin.

Jenny heard the creak of a chair as Rumpkin roused herself. As soon as she heard the landlady’s feet near the sitting room door, Jenny dashed down the remaining stairs.

‘Swift?’ she heard Rumpkin call. ‘Ten o’clock, mind! Not a minute later! D’ya hear me, Swift?’’

Jenny heard Rumpkin grumbling to herself and smiled. She opened the front door and greeted Pitch. He stood patiently, a lantern in one hand.

‘Young Antrobus stopped by earlier an’ asked me to come and fetch you so you didn’t lose your way,’ said Pitch as he and Jenny walked through Vale. The night had come and Jenny was glad she was not making her way alone. Pitch grinned at her. ‘Escorting young women usually isn’t among my duties.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Pitch.’

‘Kind of you to say so, Jenny,’ said Pitch. ‘Very kind.’

‘Pitch, what do you know about a man called Rayker?’

Pitch shrugged. ‘Rayker? Not much. When I was in the palace guard, me and some other men were sent to help him fetch a band of cut-throats out of a tavern on the docks. Can’t say we were much help. There was only four of them and Rayker pretty well took care of all four himself. He’s a tough man, but fair. Keeps to himself most of the time.’

‘You were one of the Duke’s guards?’

‘Yup. For this one, Emeric, and his father. They retired me on a pension a couple of years ago. The Duke is a good man. The pension ain’t much so he arranged this post for me as square warden. Why’re you askin’ about Rayker?’

Jenny told him what happened at the market. Pitch stopped and looked at Jenny. ‘It’s rare these days for thieves to rob someone like that, in daylight. ’Course, there are still cutpurses and pickpockets, but draggin’ someone into an alley and knocking them down, that’s not usual. ’Specially someone who looks like you.’ Pitch grinned. ‘No offence, lass, but you don’t look exactly wealthy enough to be worth the risk.’

Jenny grinned back. ‘Emily wanted to make me look more presentable tonight. She wanted me to wear one of her dresses and cloaks. Make me look more like someone worth knocking down.’

‘Why didn’t ya say yes?’ asked Pitch. ‘Though I like ya well enough as you are.’

‘It didn’t seem right. For the next seven years, Antrobus will be my master. He’s got to know who I am. Right now, these clothes are part of who I am.’

Pitch looked at Jenny for a moment, then smiled at her. ‘Right you are, lass,’ he said, in a voice that made Jenny grateful for the choice of clothes she’d made that evening.

They walked on. ‘Rayker’s not his real name, is it?’ asked Jenny.

‘He’s caught your interest, hasn’t he?’ said Pitch. ‘Well, it’s to be expected, him saving you and all. No, it started as a nickname, then just seemed to become his name. A rayker’s one of them what goes round gatherin’ people’s rubbish and takin’ it to the dump outside the walls. Seems someone once said he was the Duke’s rayker. I think they meant it as an insult, but it stuck. It suits him. Only …’

‘Only what?’

‘People ain’t rubbish, Jenny. Even brigands and felons ain’t rubbish,’ Pitch said softly.

They turned into Fenwick Square and walked to Antrobus’s front door. Jenny could see the dim glow of candles in the front room.

‘Here we are,’ said Pitch. ‘Right on time. Now, I’d offer to wait to take you back, but I dare say the young gentleman wants that privilege for himself. So, I’ll say goodnight to ya, Jenny.’

‘Goodnight, Pitch. Thank you,’ she said.

Pitch bobbed his head politely and left. Jenny watched him walk away. She hadn’t noticed before, but Pitch walked with a slight limp. He reached a small house abutting the stables at the end of the square. No light came from the small window of his house. Pitch opened the door and went inside with nothing but darkness and silence to greet him.

Jenny sighed, then lifted the knocker on Antrobus’s door and rapped twice.

Chapter 6

Secrets and Immortality

‘Alchemists keep secrets. They can’t help themselves. And Father is worse than most.’ John Antrobus winked at Jenny. ‘He’s supposed to pass on everything he knows to his apprentice, but you’ll have to drag every word out of him.’

Richard glared at his son, then turned to Jenny.

‘Ignore him, Jenny. If he had listened half as well as he talked he would have heard far more than he supposes. It was disheartening to tell him so much and know he would remember so little.’

Antrobus’s twinkling eyes belied his words. He looked fondly at his son, who sat back in his chair and laughed. Sitting between them, Jenny couldn’t help but smile to herself at the affection that passed between father and son. Her pleasure at their liking for one another was marred only by a twinge of jealousy as she thought of the laughter and closeness she had shared with her mother and father, and that was now denied to her.

The dinner had been more pleasant than Jenny had expected. Annie had prepared the meal, then gone home, leaving the three of them to eat and talk. John Antrobus was charming and he kept up a constant stream of easy chatter. He didn’t talk down to the young apprentice or patronise her. He gave her the attention and courtesy he would have given to any grown woman.

‘But there is some truth in John’s words,’ said Antrobus as he put down his wine glass. ‘Secrets are a part of being an alchemist. We share little with our fellow alchemists and even less with those outside our profession. But I promise you, Jenny, that all my knowledge – little as it is – is yours.’

‘That’s quite a gift, Jenny. There isn’t an alchemist in the world, and many a prince or king, who wouldn’t envy you for it,’ said John. Jenny looked at her master’s son. For a split second his eyes held a look she couldn’t fathom, then the flames from the candles flickered in his hazel irises, and whatever she saw was gone.

Sure she was mistaken, she joined in the banter. ‘Well, whatever he tells me, I’ll run and tell it to you, and then you’ll be sure you know everything.’

‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said John, bowing his head. He leaned towards Jenny and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Make sure you do tell me all. Most especially, if he tells you he has found the golden key, or the secret of eternal life.’

Antrobus glanced sharply at John, who didn’t seem to notice. And once again Jenny had a glimpse of something that sat uneasily between father and son. But she pushed aside the notion and addressed her master.

‘What makes alchemists so secretive?’ she asked.

‘Fear, mostly,’ he answered. ‘Fear of sharing their knowledge; fear of being misunderstood; fear of ridicule; fear of those who would control and pervert that knowledge. And it is also habit. We believe the great secret we seek is too valuable to flaunt.’

Jenny frowned. ‘You mean how to turn base metal into gold?’

Antrobus smiled. ‘It isn’t the gold itself that’s important to the true alchemist, Jenny. It’s knowing what makes it possible to take one thing and turn it into another.’

‘The philosopher’s stone, most call it,’ John added. ‘It’s the substance that binds all life, yet separates one form from another. That’s the prize, Jenny, and whoever discovers it has the secret of life itself.’ Jenny thought she detected a note of scepticism in his voice.

‘Some even believe that it would lead to eternal life,’ Antrobus said. ‘I do not think so, however. I believe all life is connected and that one of the things that connects them is death.’

Jenny thought of her mother, who would die within a year – half that, most likely – and she felt a desire to believe that Antrobus was wrong. Yet she couldn’t help but agree with her master.

Antrobus continued. ‘Immortality and infinite wealth; the mere thought of those, let alone the promise of them, moves people to do things they’d otherwise never dream of doing.’

John twirled his glass slowly. He stared into the whirlpool of deep red wine as he spoke, deliberately and seriously. ‘There are rumours that you’re close to discovering the stone, if you’ve not already discovered it.’

‘Nonsense!’ Antrobus snorted derisively. ‘There are always rumours about what this or that alchemist is on the verge of discovering. None are found to be true and most are found to have been started by the alchemist in question in order to increase his reputation.’

‘True,’ said John. His voice softened slightly. ‘Why, just the other day I whispered loudly in the market to an imaginary friend that through my study of crystals, I could transform a mere garnet into a flawless ruby, or turn a piece of cheap azurite into perfect sapphire. Since then, there has been a steady stream of people at my door, all with pretty gems and large wallets.’

Jenny stared at John, surprised at his admission of deceit. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye and she laughed.

And so the evening passed in good humour and light-hearted banter. Antrobus had appeared gruff and abrupt in his dealings with people, but with John he was relaxed and happy. He evidently loved his son and valued his company. From their conversation it seemed that Antrobus had seen little of his son over the past three years. After completing his articled apprenticeship, John had sought to broaden his knowledge by seeking out other alchemists. He had travelled to the neighbouring city of Cleve, where lived the only other living alchemist said to come close in skill to Antrobus. His name was Master Perroquet, the gentleman she had met that morning at the palace.

It was clear that Antrobus held Perroquet in little regard. He glowered when his name was mentioned, though Jenny noticed that his eyes filled with interest on one or two occasions when John mentioned some process or other Perroquet used in his experiments. Whether Antrobus’s disapproval was more than professional rivalry, Jenny couldn’t tell.

There came one of those moments of silence that inevitably occur, even in the easiest conversations. Jenny took the opportunity to show her master her gift.

‘I have something for you, Master Antrobus,’ she said. She reached into her cloth bag and drew out the astrolabe and placed it on the table. In the candlelight the brass gleamed, a bright burnt orange. For the first time Jenny realised just how beautiful it was, and how much effort and skill had gone into making it.

John gave the instrument an appreciative look. ‘Do you know what it is, Jenny?’ he asked.

‘An astrolabe, I believe. To help chart the sky.’

John looked surprised. ‘Quite correct. Where did you learn about astronomical instruments?’

‘I didn’t,’ Jenny confessed. ‘The man who gave it to me told me what it was.’

‘Gave it to you?’ said Antrobus. His voice was neutral and he sounded only mildly curious. But there was an intensity in his face that betrayed a deeper interest.

‘A trader at the market. I was admiring it but I had no money. He learned I was your new apprentice and he gave it to me as I was leaving.’ She felt awkward. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken so generous a gift. ‘He insisted. He said you would know how it works.’

‘Is that what he said to you? I would show you how it works?’

‘Not exactly. I think he said you would know what to do with it.’

‘It’s a good example of Moorish craft,’ said John. He reached across and picked up the astrolabe. ‘It’s older than I thought.’

‘Moorish?’ said Jenny.

‘Arabian scholars have a long history of science. Longer, I’m afraid, than we do.’ John showed Jenny the back of the instrument. It was covered in intricate ribbons of writing, like she had seen on the book in Antrobus’s study. ‘See. The tables in the back are in Arabic. Unfortunately, that language isn’t one I ever mastered despite my father’s –’ He grinned at Antrobus like a naughty child. ‘– encouragements.’

‘Your mind was too frequently in the laboratory and too seldom among your books. Well, perhaps I’ll have better luck with my next apprentice,’ said Antrobus. He held out his hand and John passed him the astrolabe. For a minute he studied it.

‘Did this generous trader give you his name, by any chance? A trader who gives away his wares freely is a trader to visit. While he’s still in business.’

‘Robert. He said his name was Robert. But I don’t know when he’ll be back again. He said he doesn’t come to Vale very often.’

Antrobus nodded, absently, as if his thoughts were far away. He stared at the astrolabe for a minute, then handed it back to Jenny. ‘It’s yours, Jenny. The trader gave it to you. When the time comes, I’ll teach you how to use it.’

‘I’m sure he meant for you to have it!’ protested Jenny.

‘How can you be so sure what a stranger intended? It is rarer than John realises. It’s Moorish, but from a very renowned Moor; a great alchemist and astronomer. In our language he was called Morien, and he died over three hundred years ago.’

‘Are you sure?’ said John, clearly startled. ‘Jenny, there’s more to that gift than I thought. There have been few in our profession before or since who could hold a candle to Morien.’

Jenny took the astrolabe. It was beautiful; its markings were delicate and it was finely engraved with the sun, the moon and the planets and various stars. She gazed at it a moment longer, then held it out to Antrobus.

‘Would you take care of it for me? I think it belongs here more than at Rumpkin’s,’ she said quietly.

Antrobus nodded and reached to take the astrolabe. Abruptly, he drew back his hand. ‘No, I think it’s fitting that you hold on to it for a while. Bring it to the workshop when you start,’ he said.

Jenny was pleased. She felt comforted, yet excited, by the instrument. And she was pleased that Antrobus entrusted it to her. She put it back in the ragged bag.

‘Now,’ said Antrobus ‘we have other things to discuss. Tomorrow, I will take you to get your colours. And then we’ll visit the Mystery, and after that, we’ll go to my work den.’

None of it made sense to Jenny. ‘You don’t work from here?’ she asked. ‘What about the sky room? Isn’t that where you work?’

John laughed and Antrobus smiled. ‘The sky room, as you call it, is only for one part of what I do. I don’t wish to spend my days and my nights hidden in a foul, dark room – which is what my other place of work is, and where you will go each day,’ said Antrobus.

‘His laboratory, as they’re being called these days,’ John added. ‘It isn’t so dismal. A bit dark, perhaps, and in the oldest part of the palace. You’ll get used to it, as I did.’

‘And what are the colours? And what is the mystery I need to visit?’

‘You really have led an isolated life,’ said John. ‘The colours are your apprentice robes. All apprentices have a set of clothes; cloak, blouse, tunic and breeches – you’ll have to get used to blouse and breeches – for formal occasions. Each guild has its own colour. For us alchemists, the colours are gold, silver-grey and red.’

‘And the mystery?’

‘The Mystery is a place. After their master’s workshop, and their own guild house, the Mystery is the most important place for an apprentice. It’s the common name for the Great Guildhall. Each guild has its own house and rules, but it’s the task of the Great Guildhall to oversee all of them,’ Antrobus explained. ‘Its members are drawn from all the guilds.’

‘So, you are a member of the Guildhall?’ Jenny asked.

‘My father is a very powerful and influential member,’ John put in. ‘The guild lord of every guild is entitled to a seat in the Mystery. And my father is the guild lord of one of the most important guilds in Vale.’

Jenny stared at Antrobus for several seconds. She knew nothing of politics or diplomacy or intrigue, but her master was truly a man to be reckoned with in the city.

Antrobus ignored her look. ‘There are other guilds with far more apprentices than the Guild of Alchemists and Astronomers, Jenny. The guilds of chandlers, coopers, bakers and wheelwrights, for instance, outnumber us three or four to one. But we are fortunate to have a Duke who is a man of learning and under his patronage we have advanced in importance.’

‘My father’s too modest, Jenny. His fame has had as much to do with the influence of the guild as the Duke’s interest in science,’ John pointed out. ‘There isn’t a city in this part of the world that hasn’t tried to persuade him to leave Vale and join them.’

‘I am happy where I am,’ said Antrobus. He pushed back his chair. ‘But now, Jenny, I must ask you to excuse me. My injury makes me somewhat tired and I think it best that I retire to bed. Meet me here at eight o’clock tomorrow and we’ll get an early start on the day’s errands. John has offered to escort you home, so let me say goodnight. And goodnight to you, John. Don’t leave it so long before coming to visit an old man.’

‘Goodnight, Master Antrobus,’ said Jenny.

John moved round the table and embraced his father. ‘I hope you sleep soundly. I’m going back to Cleve in a couple of days, but I’ll stop by before I go.’

Antrobus nodded, then patted his son on the shoulder before going up to his room.

It was a clear, mild night, and Jenny and John strolled back to Rumpkin’s, continuing their easy chatter. At one point John slipped his arm through Jenny’s. He did it casually and gently, so she didn’t notice at first. When she did, she felt a flush of pride, for it seemed just like what a gentleman would do for a lady.

At the door to the rooming house John unhooked his arm from hers and turned to her. His dark eyes searched her face for a moment and Jenny had a sense of expectation she didn’t understand. She waited for him to say something but he hesitated, as if weighing his words, before speaking.

‘My father speaks lightly of his enemies,’ he said at last, ‘but they do exist, and the harm they wish him is real. You’ve seen it for yourself. I don’t believe that the incident in the forest was a chance attack by an outlaw. Rumour has it that there’s been an incident with Cleve and that the Duke himself has asked for my father’s assistance. Perhaps they wish him to make a new weapon, like the alchemist Kallinikos did when he made the Greek fire to sink the ships of Persia. If rumour is true, then he’s in danger. And if he has invented some terrible new weapon, there are others who would go to any lengths to extract the secret from him.’

It was all so bewildering to Jenny. ‘Some would murder him? For a rumour?’

‘Cities have gone to war because of a rumour. But perhaps it’s because it’s also rumoured that he’s close to revealing the secret of the stone. He would be a powerful man if he did that. Power causes more jealousy than love, Jenny. And eternal youth and limitless wealth would bring with them unimagined power.’

‘What would you have me do?’ she asked.

‘Keep your eyes and ears open. Watch over him. Look for things among his work and words that will help us know what danger he’s in. Encourage him to share what he knows. If others know, there’s no reason to single him out. Encourage him to confide in someone he trusts. He may not think I’m yet worthy to be his peer, but I am his son. I would rather share the burden and danger with him.’

Jenny looked at him blankly, unsure she knew his meaning. ‘Are you asking me to spy on him? To search his papers and notebooks? I could never do that! Besides, he would never trust me. I am only his apprentice, and one he has just met!’

John shook his head. ‘No, Jenny, I don’t want you to spy on him. Just keep your wits about you. He may let slip something; and if he does, let me know.’

Jenny nodded dumbly. John offered a small bow of his head. ‘Thank you. Now, you had best be off to your bed. You have only thirteen days of freedom left before seven years of bondage. Make the most of those days, Jenny. Get to know Vale. It will be your home from now on.’

Hearing “home” stirred the sadness inside Jenny. She didn’t think she could ever call Vale home. There was only one place named home for her. The sorrow must have shown on her face, for John squeezed her hand briefly and spoke very cheerfully.

‘And I believe that it’s your birthday soon. It is said that any apprentice who takes the Pledge within a sennight of their birthday will one day be a master. Now, that would be a thing! A woman master. An a master alchemist at that!’

Jenny drew back from her sadness. She could not ignore John’s smile and his earnest effort to cheer her up.

‘I have a long way to go and I’ll need a good friend,’ she said, then added with smile, ‘especially one who has answers.’

John bowed, an exaggerated, sweeping gesture. ‘At your service, Mistress Jenny – though you’re a beautiful young woman and will soon have more young men wishing to be friends than you’ll know what to do with.’

His words startled Jenny. She had never been called beautiful, except by her parents (and parents are never counted, though their words perhaps matter most), and she didn’t think herself beautiful. Emily, she thought, is beautiful.

As if to prove Jenny’s point, at that moment Rumpkin’s front door opened and out flounced Emily, almost bumping into them.

‘Oh, excuse me, I didn’t –’ she began and then looked at the couple. ‘Why, Jenny! It’s you! And I nearly bowled you over!’

Jenny smiled at her irrepressible friend. ‘What are you doing out at this hour?’ she said. ‘Rumpkin will lock it in a minute and we’ll both have to shiver in the street for the night.’

‘Oh, the old hag!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘She’s up in the boarders’ sitting room gossiping with the girls. I could hear their cackling right through the walls. I just had to get out for a bit.’

‘I was just going in. John … Master Antrobus … kindly walked back with me,’ said Jenny. ‘Master Antrobus, this is my room-mate, Mistress Emily Trickett.’

Emily turned coyly to Jenny’s companion and gave a polite nod of her head. ‘Good evening, Master Antrobus. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear you’re following in your father’s footsteps in both profession and reputation.’

John laughed. ‘The pleasure is mine, Mistress Trickett. And I doubt anyone has been spreading tales of my skills as an alchemist. I have a long way to go before I achieve even a small measure of what my father has accomplished.’

Even in the dim light of the street torches, Jenny could see that Emily’s eyes were fixed on John’s face, and that she had a curiously coquettish smile.

‘We should go in, Emily,’ said Jenny. ‘Or Rumpkin will lock us out.’

‘What? Oh, yes, of course,’ murmured Emily distractedly. She dropped her eyes demurely and held out her hand. ‘I hope we meet again soon, Master Antrobus.’

John took her hand with the tips of his fingers. He bowed, lightly kissed the hand, then bid the young ladies goodnight. He waited until they were safely inside, then made his way home, an amused smile lingering on his face.

As John Antrobus disappeared into the night, Jenny and Emily were climbing the stairs to their room.

‘Who’d have thought that old Antrobus’s son would be so handsome?’ Emily remarked.

‘Is he?’ Jenny replied. ‘I hadn’t noticed. I suppose he is.’

‘You suppose!’ said Emily in disbelief. ‘He’s very good-looking! How could you not notice?’

Jenny realised then that Emily was smitten by her master’s son. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her friend. The smile on Emily’s face and the glow in her eyes made her even prettier. She wasn’t playing a part; she genuinely was taken with John Antrobus. For no reason she could think of, Jenny suddenly felt annoyed.

‘Well, I’m sure he’s far too busy to think about women,’ she said tartly.

‘My mother says that no man is ever too busy to think about women. He may not remember them, but he is always thinking of them,’ replied Emily.

‘And, anyway, he doesn’t live in Vale any more. He’s become partner to an alchemist in Cleve.’

‘Then it’s time he had a good reason to come back.’

‘But you’ve only just met him,’ protested Jenny.

‘Why are you making such a fuss? I only smiled at him.’ Emily looked at Jenny out of the corner of her eye. ‘But perhaps you wish to keep him for yourself?’

Jenny stopped dead on the stairs and stared at her

friend in amazement. ‘Wha–? Of course not! How could you think …?’

The thought had never even crossed her mind. John Antrobus seemed like a very pleasant man, friendly and courteous, certainly, but that was all.

Emily was looking at her, head cocked to one side. ‘Then why are you so snappish with me about him?’

Jenny looked back at Emily for a moment, then rested her hand gently on her friend’s arm. ‘I was, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, Emily. I don’t know why. Forgive me.’

Emily smiled and took Jenny’s hand. ‘Forget it.’

They continued up the stairs to their room. As Emily opened the door, she turned to Jenny with a mischievous look in her eye.

‘But he is handsome. And since you’re not interested …’ She laughed and walked into the room.

Jenny sighed. Emily was very pretty and already very shapely, and with her lively manner and bright laugh, she’d have little trouble attracting admirers, probably even John Antrobus if she set her mind to it. She had no idea why that bothered her, but it did.

Chapter 7

The Mystery

Jenny bit her lip. It was the next morning and she couldn’t make up her mind whether she should take the astrolabe with her. She thought it would be perfectly safe left in her room but somehow, she didn’t want to be parted with it. The bag was a nuisance to carry, of course. Perhaps, if Emily could help …

It took only a few minutes for Emily to fashion a belt from scraps of fabric and make a simple, strong tie to which she could attach the bag. With her passion for making and designing clothes, Emily was remarkably clever with a needle and thread. She rather disapproved of the tattered bag and wanted to make another, but Jenny said she didn’t mind the one she had. It rather matched her clothes, after all. Jenny put the belt around her waist and tied the bag to it. The astrolabe, snug in its ragged sack, sat comfortably against her hip. She thanked Emily, bid her farewell, then went to meet Antrobus.

It was Annie who ushered Jenny into her master’s house. Her normally cheerful face was creased with worry.

‘Master Antrobus isn’t very well, dear. He really should have been resting instead of doing this and doing that. He told me to send for the physician. He said you had too much to do today to be looking after him. Dr Styche is with him now.’

Annie tutted and frowned as she talked, airing her opinion of Antrobus’s pigheadedness, while Jenny listened patiently.

‘He won’t be told. He thinks he can do anything and what goes for other people doesn’t hold for him. But anyone with the least bit of common sense would know that you don’t get up and run around after someone has pricked you with an arrow. Well, now he has to; he’s too weak to get out of bed.’

The good woman’s tirade was interrupted by the sound of someone descending the stairs. The sound was quickly followed by the black legs and then the complete person of Dr Styche.

‘Good morning, Dr Styche,’ said Jenny.

‘Good day to you, Jenny,’ said the doctor. ‘Richard sent me down when he heard you arrive. I am to tell you that he has sent for Kneeler to take you to be fitted for your colours and show you the Mystery. And to give you this.’

Styche held out an iron skeleton key. Jenny took it and looked at it blankly.

‘It’s the key to his work room in the palace. You will find books there and you are to take one – just one – to read when you will,’ explained Styche. ‘Kneeler will take you there – but on no account are you to allow him to enter. The man will want to; he’s incurably nosy.’

Jenny nodded. ‘How is …?’

‘Now don’t you worry about your master. He just needs rest and some infusions of woundwort. He’ll be fine.’

They were interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door. ‘That will be Kneeler,’ Styche said. Annie came from the kitchen and bustled past to open the door.

The clerk stood in the doorway. He said not a word to Annie, but noticing Jenny and Styche behind her, he craned his head round the housekeeper’s ample form and peered into the house.

‘Good day, Dr Styche; how do you do, Mistress Swift?’ he cooed, pulling his soft flat cap from his head. ‘I do hope Master Antrobus is improving. I was quite distressed when I heard he was unwell. And though I am awash with paperwork and innumerable important tasks, I answered his summons immediately. Um, shall I enter?’

‘No need, Kneeler,’ the doctor said brusquely. ‘Mistress Swift is ready.’

Annie put one fist on her hip and shook the index finger of her other hand in Kneeler’s face. ‘Now, you mind to watch over her,’ she said severely. ‘Master Antrobus said she is to get her colours, then you must show her the Mystery. After that, take her to the master’s workplace at the palace.’

At the mention of Antrobus’s workroom, Kneeler’s eyes lit up. Styche, seeing the clerk’s sudden interest, added sternly, ‘She has strict instructions not to let you enter, so don’t try to wheedle your way in. Show her where it is, then leave her.’

Kneeler looked deeply hurt that anyone should think such a thing, but he had sense enough not to protest an innocence no one would believe. He bowed stiffly, and with Jenny – and his indignation – in tow, he set off to brave the busy streets of Vale.

Kneeler moved with surprising speed. He scuttled on spindly legs through the crowd, like a water skater on a glassy pond. He made for the Gates, the bustling market Jenny had visited the day before. Although the traders and hawkers were not there today, a constant sea of people still flowed through the square. Determined to keep up with her guide, she ignored the stares and muttering of those she passed.

Not once did the clerk speak to her. With the air of one burdened by a younger sibling, he made his way across the rough cobbles to a wide thoroughfare. The street was lined with shops, clustered according to the goods they sold: mercers, drapers, glove-makers and tailors; chandlers, cordwainers, embroiderers and needlemakers; silversmiths and goldsmiths; and further down Jenny could see the bakers, the barbers and the apothecaries.

Smaller alleys and lanes led off the thoroughfare, with more shops and artisans. To the right, towards the river that flowed under the outer wall, were tanners, dyers and butchers. Down the lanes on the left, closer to the palace, were blacksmiths, fletchers, armourers, gunsmiths and bowyers. And everywhere she looked, interspersed among the shops, were cosy pubs and inns.

Midway down the street, Kneeler turned abruptly and entered a shop with a heavy double door. The shopfront was wider than most of its neighbours and consisted almost entirely of paned glass. Above the central window hung a simple gold emblem: a crossed needle and rule. On the face of the building, in large Roman letters, was written B. Humbold, Livery Tailor.

If there was a man in Vale thinner than Kneeler, it was Bertram Humbold. It was said that when he stuck a pin through his sleeve for safekeeping he doubled his arm’s girth; and that he threaded a needle by tying the strand to his toe and putting his foot through the needle’s eye. But the lack of flesh on his bones was the only similarity Jenny was to find between the two men.

As the door closed behind them, Humbold looked up from the bolt of cloth on his cutting table. His eyes shot upwards and he peered over the top of his spectacles. Without a word he removed his spectacles, straightened his clothes, removed a single thread clinging to his tunic and came forward to greet his customers. He bowed to Jenny and, as his head rose, he smiled.

‘Mistress, welcome,’ he said in a high, but pleasant voice. His smile was genuine and he gave no sign of noticing Jenny’s poor clothes, nor the colour of her skin, nor the shape of her eyes. She bobbed her head and returned the smile. She noticed that the smile on his face faded as he turned to Kneeler.

‘Master Kneeler. You are well today?’ he said.

‘Most well,’ said Kneeler pompously. ‘We have come for her –’ he spoke the word dismissively ‘– colours.’

Unruffled by Kneeler’s rudeness, the tailor turned to Jenny.

‘Since we have not been introduced,’ he said pointedly, with a disparaging glance at Kneeler, ‘I shall have to guess which colours they might be. Would I be correct in saying that you are to join the Guild of Alchemists and Astronomers as an apprentice?’

Jenny figured it was more than a guess. She was getting used to people knowing who she was before she had been introduced. ‘Yes, sir,’ she answered politely.

‘Then you must be Mistress Swift,’ Bertram said and bowed his head once more. ‘I am pleased to meet you. My name is Bertram Humbold. Now, if you care to come with me, we’ll have you fitted in no time.’

“No time” would not have suited Jenny at all. Bertram was charming and good-humoured. He treated her just the same as he would a rich or well-connected lady. She enjoyed his courteous attention and his continual chatter.

‘There are certain tucks and folds I have to make to your clothes that I don’t normally need to make. You are not quite the same shape – arm up, please, that’s it – as the run-of-the-mill apprentices who come here. No slight intended, of course. A delightful change. But it requires some adjustments that will take me a little more time than usual. Oh dear, I’m all thumbs today, that’s the second pin I’ve dropped. Don’t be nervous; I’ve already pinned the collar. You won’t leave here feeling like you’d been bled by a physician. Ow! See, I’m in far more danger than you are. No, don’t fret. I promise not to bleed all over you. Arm out straight, now.’

When the pinning and tucking were finished, Bertram escorted Jenny to the door. Kneeler had not moved, his ill humour plainly showing. The tailor opened the door and offered a cursory nod to the sour-faced man. To Jenny, he gave a proper bow and a warm smile. He then bid them farewell, promising to have Jenny’s colours delivered before the week was out.

The door hadn’t even closed behind them when Kneeler muttered ‘This way’ and took off down the street in the direction of the palace. Jenny started to follow when a movement at the corner of the alley across the road caught her eye. She paused and saw a man watching her. When he noticed her glance his way, he ducked into the shadows of the alley. For a moment her heart raced. She was sure it was the man Rayker had called Nate; the man who had attacked her at the market.

Was it coincidence, or was he following her? She looked in the direction Kneeler had gone. He hadn’t bothered to wait and was almost out of sight. Jenny turned and hurried after him. Every once in a while she sneaked a look behind her, but she didn’t catch sight of the man again. Nonetheless, she walked with an uneasy tingling down her spine. Her hand went to the bag bumping gently against her hip.

She finally caught up with her escort just as they approached the end of the street. The character of the thoroughfare changed here. It became wider and considerably neater. In this part, the business of buying and selling was replaced by the business of advice and peace of mind. Instead of shops and merchants, there were offices and professionals: solicitors, bankers, notaries and clerks. From within their double-fronted and double-or triple-storeyed offices, they vied respectably and quietly for business. The nearer they came to the end of the street, the larger and more solid became the buildings lining it, until, at the very end, were the impressive stone offices of the richest bankers and the most learned solicitors.

The street itself ended in a large round court; to a bird flying overhead (well, one that had need to check the weather) the street would have looked like a long thermometer. Where it widened to form the circle of bluestone that paved the street, the places of business ended. The perimeter of the court was lined with flower beds and well-tended grass. The flowers were generally still in their winter sleep, though here and there a few early risers had pushed through to enjoy the early spring. Four tidy narrow streets, two on the east side and two on the west, radiated from the court, and in its very centre was a fountain of spouting dolphins riding a wave. On their backs was an enormous scallop shell, and in the centre of the shell stood a statue of a beautiful woman holding a pitcher from which poured more water.

It was the building at the very end of the street that was Kneeler’s destination. It was an imposing but simple structure; solid, respectable and functional. Suitably for a building of commerce and power, it said to all that the business conducted inside was serious and important.

Kneeler stopped at the large wooden doors in the centre of a portico. Jenny stood on the bluestone at the edge of its fluted pillars.

‘This,’ he said, waving his hand in the direction of the courtyard they had just crossed, ‘is called Mystery Circus.’ Then he added, with a slight sneer, ‘In case you can’t find it again. And this,’ and he waved at the building in whose shadow they stood, ‘is Vale’s Mystery. Our Guildhall. This is where the real business of Vale is conducted, and where its true power lies.’

Jenny nodded absently. She was impressed by the building, perhaps even awed, but at the same time, its size and permanence gave her a feeling of sadness. It was as remote and alien to the world in which she grew up as she could imagine; and it made her feel even further away from Queerwood.

She looked down the line of pillars to her right – and her heart froze. Skulking behind the furthest pillar was the man she had seen ducking into the alley. Now she was sure it was Nate. Just as he slipped from view, Jenny saw him nod to someone across the circus. She glanced down the row of pillars to her left, and saw another man leaning against the last stone column. He looked as dirty and shabby as the first man and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Jenny was certain: she was being followed – and there were now two to deal with.

‘Come, come,’ said Kneeler impatiently. ‘I’ll show you where you must be for the Pledge. It’s still nearly a fortnight away, but many of the apprentices come two or three times to rehearse. The village clods in particular always stand when they should sit and speak when they should be silent. The thick are wise to practise. You may wish to do the same.’

Jenny gritted her teeth at Kneeler’s snobbery. Biting back a retort, she followed him through the doors of the Mystery. For a moment, she wondered whether she should tell him about the two men. She looked at his thin frame scuttling across the tiled floor of the foyer and decided he wouldn’t be much help. For now, she was on her own.

The great Guildhall was as impressive on the inside as it was from without. Clerks, scribes and officials bustled about, going in one door and coming out another; or hurrying up and down the large central staircase at the end of the foyer. Most were too busy with their errands to take any notice of another clerk and a poorly dressed young girl, but one pair caught sight of her and stopped in their tracks to look more intently. Jenny could hear them muttering and see the sideways glances they gave her. If Kneeler noticed, he gave no indication of it. Nodding to many of the hurrying figures as he went, he made straight for a pair of double doors with bright brass hinges and handles. He stopped in front of the doors.

‘In there,’ he said to Jenny. He spoke quickly and abruptly. ‘The Mystery Hall. That’s where the ceremony of the Pledge will take place. Apprentices gather here, in their guilds. When you go in, you’ll see signs marking where apprentices from each guild should gather. Find your sign and take your seat. There will be others from your guild; two, I think. Just follow what everyone else does, say “yes” when asked a question and otherwise keep silent. All clear? Good.’

Without waiting for any response from Jenny, Kneeler turned and headed up the broad, sweeping stairs. He started by taking the stairs two at a time, but within half a dozen steps his legs surrendered and he paused for breath, then continued less ambitiously one step at a time. Jenny, whose legs had been tempered by running through the paths of Queerwood, kept pace easily, then thoughtfully slowed when the clerk faltered.

With just as little explanation, he showed her the Grand Dining Room where all the apprentices would gather after the Pledge for lunch. And again, his only advice was to stay with others of her guild. And then he dashed down the stairs, his speed of foot governed only by the soreness of his calves and the pain in his lungs.

Once again, Kneeler led the way into the streets of the city. Much to Jenny’s relief, he did not use the main doors through which they had entered the Guildhall; perhaps, she thought, they would lose the two men who were trailing her. Instead, he led her out by a small door at the back of the building and then through a large, peaceful garden fenced by a thick hedge of yew trees. In one corner was a little gate. It creaked pitifully when Kneeler opened it and Jenny couldn’t help but imagine that Kneeler’s knees must have wanted to make the same noise when he was bounding up the stairs.

Once through the hedge, Jenny was surprised to see how close they were to the palace. They made their way around the outside until they came to a small archway barred by a stout door with a grille. Kneeler rang the bell next to the door; a white-haired guard peered hard at Kneeler, and even harder at Jenny, before admitting them. Past the archway, they found themselves in a warren of walkways, corridors and passages. Not once did Kneeler bother to explain where they were, or offer suggestions that might help Jenny remember the way another time; he kept a steady, silent pace, barely looking back at her.

From the condition of the walls and timbers, Jenny guessed they were in one of the older parts of the palace. Clearly, in some bygone era, Vale was a much smaller city, and the palace was correspondingly modest. Yet it was that very age that provided some of the character of modern Vale, in the way that the past can be seen in the eyes of old folk.

There were few people walking the halls, and those that did were simply dressed. They looked like labourers or manual crafts folk. Antrobus had chosen a quiet part of the palace where he could work undisturbed; a place where the vapours of experiments and the bursts of noise from unexpected reactions would not cause alarm or comment. Surrounded by storerooms, cupboards and other workshops, within rooms with thick walls that were once also fortifications, he could work in peace.

Jenny had lost track of the corridors they had travelled, and how many sets of stairs they had climbed by the time Kneeler stopped so suddenly that she nearly ran into the back of him. He stood in front of an arched stone doorway in which was set two thick wooden doors with plain black hinges and metalwork. The door handle of one was a large round ring set above a scratched and worn keyhole. The clerk jerked his head towards the doors.

‘This is it,’ he said.

Jenny took the key from her pocket and stepped past Kneeler. She put the key in its lock and turned it. She felt the mechanism click and heard the snap as the lock bolt slid back.

‘I’ll just see you safely inside and make sure you have light,’ said Kneeler. For the first time since they had left Antrobus’s house, his shrill voice was polite and a look of attentive concern came to his face. For an instant his manner almost tempted Jenny to accept his offer.

‘That’s kind of you, Master Kneeler,’ she said, ‘but you obviously have a lot of other things to do. I won’t keep you any longer.’

‘Truly, it’s no bother,’ Kneeler said. His protest increased the shrillness of his voice and Jenny nearly winced. ‘Don’t take any notice of what Dr Styche was saying. It’s just his way. Antrobus won’t mind me making sure you’re safe and settled inside.’

‘I am sure that Master Antrobus is confident that I can light a few candles unaided. And I doubt I’m in any danger in the middle of the Duke’s palace,’ Jenny replied firmly. ‘Thank you again for your help this morning, Master Kneeler. I shall tell Master Antrobus just how helpful and attentive you have been.’

Kneeler glanced at the door, then at Jenny. Wisely, he came to the conclusion that the slight young girl wasn’t going to be bullied. Pursing his lips, he turned about and walked back down the corridor. Perhaps remembering Jenny’s words, he stopped, faced the young apprentice and gave a barely courteous bow, then hurried away.

As he disappeared from view, Jenny realised that she didn’t have a clue how to get back to Antrobus’s, or to Rumpkin’s for that matter. She’d never remember the way through the labyrinth of passageways and corridors. Well, she’d just have to ask someone for directions. Anyway, what occupied her most just then was seeing the alchemist’s workshop. She pushed the door; it slowly swung inward and she stepped inside.

High up on the far wall were three deep-set windows. Enough light came through their grey glass for her to chase away the black, but not enough to dispel the heavy gloom. She knew it was only an hour or so until noon, so from the small amount of light coming through the windows, Jenny calculated that they faced west. It would require more light to have a look around the workshop and she soon discovered several cresset lamps around the walls. These were stone bowl-shaped protrusions that were actually part of the wall. Filled with oil and with a floating wick, they were the main source of light for the room. There were also candelabra on benches and tables. Several of these she lit, their tallow candles giving off a dull smoky glow, but she decided against trying to lower the large metal chandelier that hung over the main workbench.

The workshop was larger than she had imagined. Three large tables and a desk dominated the room; two of the tables were crowded with the implements of the alchemist’s craft: crucibles, retorts and metal bowls; beakers, flasks and funnels; earthenware pots and coiled tubes of glass; there were tongs, spoons and stirrers, and long-handled pincers for handling hot glass and metal.

The desk was obviously where Antrobus recorded his observations and studied his books. There were instruments similar to those in his sky room; a chart of the heavens was unrolled and pinned back by brass weights. An astrological manuscript lay open next to it, along with a sheet of paper covered in Antrobus’s notes.

Two large globes in wooden frames sat on the floor next to the desk. One showed the world, a round map of every part of the earth; the other depicted the heavens that sheltered each land. She looked at the second one closely and realised it was actually two globes; a glass outer globe marked with the stars, planets, constellations and signs of the zodiac; the inner globe a simplified map of the world. The outer globe could be rotated to show the changing position of the heavens. Jenny thought they were perhaps the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Spinning the map, she searched for Seres, the birthplace of her mother. To the east and then to the south she saw the Indies. Looking further east she was disappointed not to see it. Then she noticed, in small letters under Cathay, the word Seres. Seeing the name brought a sharp pang of longing and sorrow. She traced her finger back to Vale, and her sadness was joined by amazement that her father had travelled almost halfway around the world to meet the woman he was destined to love. And it struck her that her mother, who could have been only a few years older than Jenny was now, had left all she knew, including her own mother and father, never to see them again, for the sake of the love she had for Jenny’s father.

Her movements slowed by her thoughts, she wandered through the workshop. Three sets of shelves ran under the windows. The first contained books and parchments; how could anyone have so many books? thought Jenny. Filling the second set were glass jars and brown stoppered beakers of various sizes. Some contained powders; in others were liquids, mostly clear, though some were brown or yellow or even purple. The lower shelf contained larger jars and dishes in which were mounds of crystals of almost every colour imaginable, and a collection of rocks.

Curious, Jenny took one of the stoppered brown bottles from the shelf. The words Aqua Fortis were written on the label. She removed the stopper. Faint vapours came from the liquid and her nose crinkled at the irritation. On the table behind her was a metal spoon. Jenny poured some of the liquid into it.

As soon as the first drops hit the spoon, it spluttered and sizzled and gave off a pungent, yellow vapour. Jenny felt it hit the back of her throat and she gagged and coughed. She dropped the spoon and hurriedly placed the stopper in the bottle. Stepping back from the vapours, she watched the bubbling on the spoon subside. Gingerly, she picked it up. The liquid had pitted and corroded the bowl. She replaced the spoon on the table, hoping it hadn’t been one of Antrobus’s favourite eating spoons. For now, she decided, it would be safer just to look around.

When she looked at the third set of shelves, Jenny started back, more in surprise than in disgust. Floating in liquid were all manner of creatures – or their severed parts – that had once been alive: frogs, their legs splayed as if they were swimming upwards to escape; lizards with staring black eyes; a rabbit with its front sliced from neck to tail, showing all its organs; birds’ wings; and hearts, livers and lungs from who knows what animals.

In the far corner was a large square furnace, as tall as Jenny. Next to it was a stepladder. Jenny climbed the ladder and saw that the top of the furnace was an intricate arrangement of metal racks and supports. She couldn’t make head nor tail of the workings but she realised that the furnace must be able to generate a considerable amount of heat, enough to melt metal and boil large quantities of liquid quickly. A smaller, similar furnaces sat next to it. Behind the furnaces, she noticed a wooden panel had been inserted into the stone wall. A thick chain wound around a pulley hung beside the panel, then disappeared into a hole drilled into the stone above the panel. She climbed down from the ladder and tugged the chain. The wooden panel shuddered and creaked. Jenny pulled harder but it refused to budge. She was about to give up when she spied a solid bolt at the bottom of the panel, extending into the stone. She slid the bolt back, then tried the chain again. This time, the panel began to open, pivoting at the top and swinging out at the bottom. She kept pulling until the door had swung fully outward and she was bathed in sunshine.

Jenny smiled. Antrobus had found a clever and simple way to relieve the heat of the furnaces, or to let out noxious fumes, or simply to provide more room to work.

She stepped out on to the balcony. She was level with the highest parts of the palace, old or new, and to the north-west she could see the wealthier streets and squares of Vale. She scanned the city and thought she recognised the square where her master lived; if she was right, it would be no more than twenty minutes’ walk. Happier that she at least knew the direction she had to travel, if not the route, she went back inside and closed the swinging door, then slid the bolt back in place.

The third table was away from the other two, at the opposite end of the room. Behind it was a very big apothecary’s cabinet with more than sixty little drawers for the storage of ingredients. But it was what was lying on the table that caught Jenny’s eye: dried herbs and plants, tinctures and potions, lotions and salves, alongside scales and a mortar and pestle, showing signs of recent use. And next to them, almost a hand’s breadth thick, was a book. Across the leather cover was the title, The Preparation and Efficacious Use of Medicines and Remedies, and its author – Albinus Fraternitas. Eagerly, Jenny opened it. Inside were drawings of every healing herb and plant, with notes on how to find them, the most favourable time to harvest or gather them, the best way to prepare and administer each for use, some cautionary observations, and a few comments on real instances when they were used.

Surely this was the book that Antrobus hoped she’d pick. After all, he probably left it on the table just for that purpose.

Jenny paused, then put the book back. Without needing to be told, she knew Antrobus would be disappointed if she chose without looking at what else he had. Maybe there was a greater treasure on the shelves, and this had been left as a test. She walked to the shelf and, taking the books down one by one, began to read their titles. Like those in her master’s study, most were in Latin, though several were in the elegant Moorish script. As she read neither Latin nor Moor, she decided there was little value in choosing those.

She had perused about half the books when she pulled one from the shelf and immediately recognised the language of the book as her own. In a very careful and precise Gothic script was written The Book of Alchemy, with the name of the author, Albertus Magnus, underneath. She opened the cover and started. There on the title page was written,

Libellus de Alchimia (The Book of Alchemy)

by Albertus Magnus

Translated by John Antrobus

She scanned the book and realised that here was the introduction to alchemy that she lacked. It dealt with its practices, its arts, its breadth and its major principles. She was sure this was no coincidence. She glanced over at the The Preparation and Efficacious Use of Medicines and Remedies. That could wait. She was already a healer, although she still had much to learn, but she had a great deal more to learn if she was ever to be an alchemist. And her master’s son had provided the first step.

The creak of the workroom door startled her. She drew back into the shadow of the shelves and watched as the door to the workshop opened. A man slipped into the room, followed by another. They were lit by the pool of light from the cresset lamp. Jenny’s heart stopped, then pounded hard as she recognised Nate. The man with him was the shadowy figure she had seen at the Mystery.

They closed the door and looked round the room.

‘Where ya hidin’, girl?’ called Nate. ‘We seen ya come in. We ain’t goin’ ta hurt ya. You have somethin’ we want, that’s all.’

Jenny remained where she was, her panic rising. She knew they would see her as they came closer but she had no idea how she would get past them. She doubted that anyone would hear if she cried for help. She’d seen very few people on her way up, and the thick stone walls would probably prevent those few from hearing her. She pushed herself back against the shelves, trying to make herself smaller, to make herself invisible. She didn’t believe that they meant her no harm. She remembered her attacker’s mean and pitiless face when he’d hit her and sent her sprawling to the cobblestones. They were here to hurt her, whatever else might be their purpose.

Jenny felt a small bubble of hope as she watched them split up, Nate going right, the other moving to the left. She was directly opposite the door. She’d have to navigate round the table, but if she was quick enough, and they continued to the ends of the room, she just might make it. She watched them, and readied herself to run.

The second man moved more slowly than Nate and he had not gone far from the door when he spotted her. She saw him turn towards her hiding place and the shadows made the sly, mean smile that came to his face even more terrifying. It might have been the shadows, or perhaps losing too many fights in dark alleys or filthy gutters, but his smile was gap-toothed and feral. There was no shadow to hide the unpleasant gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

He continued to smile as he started towards her. His eyes never left her as he called to his mate.

‘’Ere, Nate! The lit’l rabbit’s right ’ere, hidin’.’

Jenny did feel like a rabbit, transfixed by the glare of the man’s eager, wicked eyes.

‘Watch ’er, Kurt,’ said Nate. ‘Mind ’er feet. She kicks ’ard for a little girl!’ He laughed, a sound of cruel mirth.

‘’Salright, Nate. She’s too scared to move!’

I won’t be a rabbit! Jenny told herself. Not for these weasels to do with as they like!

She stepped out of the shadows. The movement took Kurt by surprise. He stopped and his eyes narrowed, then he started towards her again. He was about twenty paces away. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny glanced at Nate. He was a bit further away but he had rounded the far table and was in a direct line to her left. He came towards Jenny, then stopped and looked at the door. He moved backwards around the table, ready to cut off her dash for the door.

Jenny dropped the book and sprinted towards the door, sending the two men converging towards her exit. She ran three paces, wheeled round and rolled under the table. She came up by the shelves filled with Antrobus’s arcane liquids and powders.

Jenny’s change of direction took the men by surprise. By the time they had checked their momentum and scrambled round, Jenny had already grabbed the bottle of aqua fortis. As they approached, she calmly drew the stopper from the bottle.

‘Stay away from me,’ she warned. ‘This will turn your flesh to pottage.’

She didn’t really know what the liquid would do but she figured that if it ate metal it would do no less to human flesh.

Nate was the more cautious of the two. He stopped and watched her intently. Kurt continued to move towards her, though more slowly than before.

‘You ain’t foolin’ us with that, lass,’ said Nate. ‘You think we’re simple? What is it? Water? Mother’s milk mebbe? Whatever it is, put it down, or you’ll get Kurt ’ere all angry an’ mean. You don’t want that, believe me, lass. He’ll do ya good if ya don’t behave. You ain’t ’fraid of a little rabbit, are ya, Kurt?’

Kurt grinned and kept coming. Jenny realised that Nate was goading Kurt into going for her. If she did turn Kurt’s flesh to soup, well, Nate figured that was Kurt’s lookout. She wouldn’t have any left to use on him, and he didn’t intend to give her time to grab something else.

Jenny’s stomach churned. She wasn’t sure which was worse: finding that the stuff in the bottle did eat flesh the way it ate metal – or that it did nothing at all.

Kurt was only a few feet away; Nate stood back, watching. Her eyes on the approaching man, Jenny grabbed the spoon from the table, then she tipped the bottle and poured some of the aqua fortis on to it.

Once again, the liquid hissed and bubbled. An acrid cloud rose from the spoon and Jenny had to resist the urge to drop it. She saw the men’s eyes grow wide. Kurt stopped and stared at the spoon. He glanced nervously from Nate to Jenny.

The spoon was becoming warm in Jenny’s hand; too warm to hold. But instead of dropping it, she flicked it, still smoking and hissing, towards Kurt. It clattered on the floor, spinning towards Kurt’s boot. The man scrambled back fearfully, his eyes never leaving the spoon.

‘Damn ’er, Nate!’ Kurt shouted. ‘Look! Lookit the bleedin’ spoon!’

There was fear in Kurt’s face, worry in Nate’s. Jenny wasn’t going to let her advantage slip. She reached behind her and took another bottle from the shelf. She worked the stopper out with her thumb. With an open bottle in each hand, she walked round the table and towards the two men.

‘Leave. Leave now, or I’ll cover you both,’ she threatened. She strove to keep her voice steady, to keep the fear out. ‘This is called devil’s water because it burns like the fires of Hell. Your skin will catch fire, and the fire will burn your flesh to the bone. Then your bones will begin to melt. They’ll bubble and hiss and you’ll see the white turn black. Then it will seep into your blood and your blood will carry it to your face. From the inside it will turn your eyes into gobs of hot custard. It’ll pour out your nose and drip into your mouth, eating away your teeth and tongue. It’ll leak down your throats to your heart and burn it until there is nothing left to beat.’

The two men listened, fear growing in them. And as Jenny spoke and moved closer, step by step, they retreated, until their backs were against the door.

But Nate wasn’t about to be cowed by a girl. One hand slid beneath his dirty jerkin. Jenny was no more than six or seven paces away when he drew out a dagger and threw it straight at Jenny’s throat.

Nate prided himself on his skill with the dagger. There were at least two men who had died with his knife in their backs, and a few more who bore scars from its blade. He almost never missed. Jenny should have perished, there and then. But she didn’t.

Nate miscalculated, or clean forgot, how close he was to the door. As his hand whipped back, it struck the door, jarring his hand and ruining his throw. The knife intended for Jenny’s throat glanced off the bottle of aqua fortis. The bottle spun from her hand and flew across the floor. It hit the stones and shattered, small clouds of yellow smoke drifting from the spilled liquid.

Nate launched himself at Jenny. His left hand fastened around her neck and his right hand wrapped around the remaining bottle. Certain he had the danger – and victory – in his grasp, he tugged the bottle from her hand.

Startled, Jenny released her hold on the bottle. As Nate pulled it, he saw a small spurt of liquid rise above the rim. He was aware that the spurt became a wave and that it was speeding towards him. He felt a momentary twinge of fear. Then pain washed away every other feeling.

The wave washed over his face and he screamed as if the very fires of Hell were devouring him. He staggered back, dropping the bottle. It hit his boot and clunked to the floor, spilling out more of the liquid on his leg and foot and he screamed again at the unbearable pain.

Kurt stared in disbelief and fear. He saw Nate – it could have been me! – crumple in agony, writhing and crying on the floor. He could see the flesh bubbling. He didn’t even look at Jenny; he turned and fled.

For several seconds, Jenny stood and watched in horror, unable to move. She felt her legs buckle but she forced herself to stay on her feet. She hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted to harm anyone.

She didn’t know what the terrible liquid was but she knew – she could see – that it was eating him. She could see the white of his cheekbones and his nose was almost gone. Whatever it was had to be washed away. She looked round, while Nate’s screams weakened as pain leeched the strength from him. Near one of the furnaces she spotted two fire buckets. She grabbed one. The water splashed and sloshed as she ran back to Nate. He had stopped screaming and lay half conscious, emitting gurgled cries and whimpers. Jenny didn’t hesitate; she emptied the bucket on his face. His body jerked but little noise came from him. She rushed back for the second bucket. She lifted it above his still body, to douse him again, then stopped. She saw there was no point. Nate was dead.

Jenny put the bucket down, staring at the body. She saw the bottle lying on the floor. The label bore just one word, Vitriol. It meant nothing to her, but she wondered what Antrobus would want with anything that could be so terrible. Suddenly, she could no longer defy the weakness in her legs; she let them fold under her and she slid to the floor.

Chapter 8

The Price of a Book

Chapter 8: The Price of a Book

‘You poor thing!’ said Annie for what seemed to be the hundredth time. ‘What wicked men, to try to harm a poor young girl like yerself. You poor thing!’

Jenny sat in the front room at Fenwick Square, sipping a small cup of brandy. Annie fussed and tsked, doing all she could to soothe the young apprentice. Jenny had stopped trembling a while before, but she needed comfort and reassurance that no one within the walls of Vale could provide – the protection of her father’s strong arms and the absolution of her mother’s kisses. She knew she had not been responsible for Nate’s death. He had brought it upon himself, literally; she also knew that she would be lying dead in the workshop if he had fulfilled his intentions. Yet she couldn’t help but feel that she was somehow responsible. And deeply shaken by the terrible manner of his death.

Antrobus sat in the chair opposite her. The late-afternoon sun coming in through the grey-tinged windows lit his profile. The contrast of shadow and light emphasised the creases of concentration on his face. He was very disturbed by what had happened. He was prepared for the fact that his life was in danger but it had never occurred to him that he might be putting Jenny at risk. What had happened was his fault. He should have taken her previous attack more seriously. His misjudgement, and his selfish preoccupation with his work, had nearly cost the girl her life.

She had been discovered sitting on the stone floor of the workroom by a palace porter who had seen Kurt run in panic, and had heard the awful screams of Nate’s agony. The man had been unsure what he would face in the workroom, so he had enlisted several others of the palace staff to help. They had entered the room and started in horror at the disfigured corpse and then stared at the young woman sitting mute, her eyes closed and streaming tears.

Some of her rescuers wanted to have Jenny arrested. She was a stranger and, worse, she looked strange. The first porter, more astute than his companions, had convinced them to wait and hear her story. He had helped Jenny to her feet and had tried to calm her, though it took some time for her to stop weeping, then she had related what had happened. When they had realised that she was Antrobus’s apprentice, all thoughts of having her arrested had been banished. At her bidding, one had run to the chancellor. He had listened to what had transpired, then had sent one of his staff back with the porter, with the strict instructions to take Jenny straight to Antrobus’s place. The workroom was to be closed, and no one allowed to enter.

‘They didn’t say it is what they were looking for,’ Antrobus mused. ‘But what else could it be? How did they know?’

Jenny knew it wasn’t really a question and she didn’t answer. In any case, she didn’t have an answer, especially since she had no idea what Antrobus was referring to. She watched the alchemist. He seemed to be debating something in his head, then he rose from his chair.

‘Come with me, Jenny. I have something to show you,’ Antrobus said.

Jenny followed him to his study. He lit a lantern, then moved to the fireplace. He reached towards a carved wooden post Jenny hadn’t noticed when she had explored the house. She had seen similar posts in some of the cottages in the villages within Queerwood. It was a witch post, and formed part of the chimney support where the hearth met the fireplace. The design was a pattern of X-shaped crosses, around which were carved hearts, holly leaves and crescents. They were supposed, Jenny knew, not to protect the home from witches but to bring good fortune to the home. She thought it an odd thing to find in the home of her master. Nonetheless, there was, and that master now pressed his index finger and thumb simultaneously on a heart and a holly leaf.

A hidden door in the alcove to the left of the chimney breast swung open and Antrobus stepped into a small room, barely high enough for him to stand. The room was empty except for a small table against the wall opposite the door. On the table was a thick sheaf of papers, roughly bound into a book, and a roll of parchment tied with a thin leather cord. Antrobus touched – caressed – the book briefly with his fingertips, then picked it up and came back into the study, pushing the door closed.

He placed the manuscript on the desk. ‘Light those candles and bring that chair over next to mine,’ he said, pointing to the candelabra and a plain wood-backed chair against the wall. Jenny did as he asked. Then he said, ‘May I have the astrolabe?’

Jenny reached into the bag at her hip and withdrew the instrument. She handed it to Antrobus and he placed it on the desk, then sat in his chair. She settled herself on her chair and looked at her master. He was staring at the astrolabe and Jenny’s gaze joined his.

Candlelight is different from other light. It breathes and moves, searching for hidden places to illuminate, seeking contours and crevices, adding a weave of light to the patterns it finds. Now, it played with the engraved pattern made by a Moorish scholar hundreds of years ago. The astrolabe, with its curves and circles, its suns and moon and planets, and its precise, tiny markings, was a perfect canvas for the candlelight. Jenny had thought it beautiful before, but in that glow the astrolabe became magically and wondrously breathtaking. The brass was transformed into warm gold; the shapes moved as if the orbs of the sky truly danced in sun-bronzed heavens. For the first time, Jenny saw it not as an instrument of science, but as a mirror; a mirror that reflected not the viewer, but the heart of a greater world, too big, too bright, to be seen with mere eyes. She felt spellbound by the object on the desk.

Perhaps Antrobus was under the same spell, for when he spoke it was in a voice softer, more subdued than she had heard before.

‘I didn’t mean for you to become caught up in this, Jenny. This, I’m sure, is what those men were after. When you showed it to me last night, I could scarcely believe it. I wanted to throw both you and John out so that I could study it and be sure it was what I thought it to be. What I wanted it to be.’ His voice became even softer, yet more intense. ‘What it is.’

He looked at Jenny and she tore her eyes from the astrolabe to meet his gaze. She could see the amber reflection of the instrument in the black of his eyes. He was exhilarated but he was also … sad. Behind the golden glow, she could see loss, or perhaps regret.

‘It was hard to give it back to you, but I wanted you to come to know it. For nigh on eight years I have sought this,’ he said. ‘I despaired of finding it. Then, when you said that Robert had given it to you, I dared let myself believe that it had been found.’

‘So that’s why the trader gave it to me. He knew I’d show it to you and you’d know what it is! But why didn’t he just come here and give it to you himself?’

‘That would have alerted too many people. What business would a travelling trader have that would bring him to a place like Fenwick Square? Maybe he planned to send one of the street urchins to me and I would have found myself at the Gates, looking for something for the sky room and just happening to find myself at his stall. Something must have alarmed him; perhaps he thought he was being watched. When he learned who you were, he took his chance.’

‘Who would bother to watch a market trader – and a poor one, at that?’ Jenny said. ‘He looked as if he sold very little.’

Antrobus smiled. ‘Robert is no ordinary trader. His real wares are not those in his cart. He trades in information, and he also find things that others cannot. He’s been of service to Vale on several occasions.’

‘Why is this so valuable? It’s very beautiful, but it isn’t gold, or decorated with gems.’

Antrobus took up the astrolabe. ‘It is beautiful. I would desire this for its beauty and the skill that fashioned it alone. But you’re right; it doesn’t follow that its beauty alone makes it valuable. Yet, I shall hold few things more precious, for this instrument is the key to the most priceless secret of Nature. This, Jenny, will lead us to the philosopher’s stone.’

Jenny was lost for words. There is little one can say when told earnestly, by someone who is not given to practical jokes, that they will soon have solved the greatest mystery of life. There should be more to be said than a rather prosaic ‘How?’ but that one word was the best Jenny could manage right at that moment.

Antrobus turned the astrolabe so that Jenny could see the back. It was covered in the flowing lines of Arabic writing she had seen in his books, along with neat tables of numbers.

‘Makers of astrolabes put these tables on the back to help with calculations, such as determining the position of the sun, or moon or stars,’ Antrobus explained. ‘But these are different. These also contain a code; Morien’s code to the manuscript he left, explaining how he completed his great work and found the alchemist’s holy grail – the philosopher’s stone.’

‘Why did he put it in code? Why not simply write it down?’ Jenny asked.

Antrobus smiled wryly. ‘John was right. Alchemists do like secrets. But it’s more than that. There are those who covet this secret, and would pervert it for their own ends rather than the good of all.’

‘That’s what John said,’ Jenny replied absently, wondering what it must be like to hold such a great secret.

‘John?’ said Antrobus, looking at her out of the corner of his sharp eyes. ‘When?’

Jenny hadn’t meant to mention her conversation with John. She didn’t intend to lie to her master, either.

‘Last night, when he walked me home,’ she admitted. She told him what his son had asked of her. ‘He’s afraid you might be in danger,’ she added, excusing John.

Antrobus didn’t respond. After a few seconds he whispered, more to himself, ‘He might be right.’

Jenny waited a moment, then asked hesitantly, ‘If this ancient alchemist, Morien, discovered the philosopher’s stone, why didn’t he use it?’

Antrobus placed the astrolabe on the desk and said, ‘The stone isn’t a thing, Jenny. It isn’t a magical rock or jewel. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I believe it to be a method, not a substance. It’s the unknown process by which we recreate the essence of life, that invisible force that makes the difference between all things, yet also connects them. Water, air, earth and fire; all things spring from those four elements. Each on its own is lifeless, so it stands to reason that there must be a fifth something we cannot see, or a process which creates the essence of everything.’

‘But why didn’t Morien use what he discovered?’ persisted Jenny. ‘He could have –’

Antrobus held up his hand to stop her. ‘I was coming to that. He couldn’t. He died. Right after he had written down what he’d found. He was murdered, and the manuscript stolen.’

Jenny realised she had been stupid. She was missing something very obvious.

‘But the astrolabe is only a key! All it does is unlock the code to the manuscript. Without the manuscript, it’s useless,’ she exclaimed.

‘Very true,’ Antrobus agreed. ‘Fortunately, we have the manuscript.’ He lifted the rough book from the desk. ‘At least, a translation, which I’m quite sure is accurate.’

He opened the book and looked through the pages. It comprised about a hundred sheets of ordinary writing paper, kept between two covers of very thick leather by a looped rawhide cord. The writing was thin, though elegant, and it flowed from page to page as if it had been inspired by the original Arabic script. Jenny looked up at Antrobus and saw he was looking at the book with sadness. She expected him to be excited, exhilarated, but he wasn’t. If she had been older, she might have thought that perhaps his sadness was due to seeing the end of his life’s work before him, the final answer to the great question that drove him. But she didn’t think that. In fact, she didn’t know what could cause his melancholy. So, she wondered, and Antrobus, as if sensing her thoughts, told her.

‘Once I would have said I’d pay anything for this. I was wrong. The price for getting this was higher than I could have imagined and more than I was willing to pay. The price was William’s life.’

‘Your brother?’

He nodded. ‘The man whose life you saved but who had it taken from him a month later.’ He sighed. ‘You deserve to hear the story.

‘William was born two years after me and by the time we were of an age when we could wander the fields and woods without the care of our parents, we were very close. Both of us were curious about everything and it became obvious that we would both seek to become apprenticed to an alchemist. We thought ourselves fortunate when that did happen. I finished my apprenticeship and, through good luck, by the time William finished his, I was already independent and prospering.

‘I asked William to join me. I had clients in Vale and other cities; builders wanting stronger mortar, mine owners wanting cheaper ways of smelting and extracting ore; palace advisers wanting astrological readings; artists wanting new or better paints and dyes. William, though, declined. In the final months of his apprenticeship, he had come to believe that he lacked the inspiration for enquiry that a great alchemist needs. He had determination and he was very methodical. Once the idea came to him to collect all the knowledge from all the alchemists he could, he would not be swayed. He believed he could build a library and a centre of learning for alchemists from across the world.

‘William was a young man when he left, the same age as John is now. He travelled widely, gathering what he could from every alchemist who would talk to him. He sought out writings and tales of alchemists long dead. From time to time, I would receive things from him: books, manuscripts, notes, maps, crystals, even minerals. In all those years he returned only three times, the second only two years before you found him. On that visit he was very excited. He had come across some notes written by a student of a wise and revered Moorish master alchemist. Some of the student’s comments puzzled him, for they hinted that the master had completed his great work, and had written an account of his discovery. That master was, of course, Morien. Though every alchemist knows of Morien, this was the first William had heard that the Moor had found the secret of the stone. He began to search for more evidence. Slowly – piece by piece – he became convinced that it was true, so that by the time of that last visit, he was almost obsessed with Morien.’

Antrobus stared at the candlelight, remembering.

‘He could not rest. He stayed for only three days, then left to resume his search. I didn’t hear from him again until that day nine years ago. He was still weak from the poison, although you had done more than anyone else could have. William told me that it hadn’t been the first attempt on his life, for there were those for whom any life was a small consideration in return for what he had found.

‘He had found, secreted in a cellar in an old Iberian castle, Morien’s manuscript.

‘William was a thorough, careful man, and the first thing he did was copy and translate the manuscript. But, his efforts to find it had roused the interest of others. Several times, attempts were made to rob him, but by good fortune – and the help of his sword – they were foiled. One night, though, he was set upon in his rooms. It was clear his attackers were after the manuscript and they wouldn’t stop until they had it. During the struggle, he was severely wounded. Rather than surrender the manuscript, he threw it into the fire. His assailants managed to pull it from the fire, but not before some of the pages were destroyed. They fled, leaving him for dead and not knowing that he had made a copy.

‘Whoever was behind the attacks must have decided not to take the chance that William had memorised any of the manuscript, or would find the key to deciphering it before they did, for more attempts were made on his life. At last, they succeeded. William died in my house, twenty-seven years after he had set out to gather what he needed to build his academy for alchemists.

‘Before he died, he gave me his copy of Morien’s manuscript. By then I had also become convinced that the Moor had indeed solved the puzzle of the stone. During his final days, we pored over the manuscript; we read everything we had from Morien and any references William had found, trying to identify the key. It was a surprise to learn that there were really two: a major key and a minor key. We found the minor key soon enough. It’s an old zodiac chart Morien had made, which is now in the secret room. And eventually we identified the major key as an astrolabe he’d made. But where that was, we couldn’t tell.

‘The following day, William collapsed while walking back from my workroom. The doctor did his best, but my brother had not fully recovered from the poison a month before, and he died that night. Later, when we prepared his body for burial, the doctor discovered a small wound, like a pinprick, behind William’s left ear. Someone had stabbed him with a needle coated with poison.’

His eyes focused on nothing as he looked into the past and said, ‘I often think I could have saved him if I’d been a better healer. But I wasn’t. I had never given that part of our art as much attention as I should have. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I was so quick to notice you. You make up for a lack in me that might have saved my brother.’

Antrobus’s head drooped, then he looked up and stared once again into the flame of the candle. He seemed tired and dispirited. Jenny had an urge to reach out and take his hand, but she didn’t. Instead, she spoke.

‘How did you find the astrolabe?’

Antrobus shook his head. ‘For more than a year after William’s death, I wanted nothing to do with Morien. I was more concerned with bringing justice to my brother’s assassins, but there was no clue as to who they were. William had his suspicions, but he wouldn’t tell me who. He thought it wrong to blight the name of someone who might be innocent. He wanted proof before he said anything. After a year, I was none the wiser and I grew resigned to the fact that I would never know who had killed him, or who had ordered it. From time to time it occurred to me that if I’d had the same courage and determination as William, I would have given all this up and devoted my life to finding his killers. By then, I had a many great patrons – including the Duke – and a reputation, and, cravenly, I would not give all that up.

‘But at last I did stir myself and began my own investigations. Two years ago, I narrowed down the list of those who were likely to possess it to four rich men. I sent agents who could be discreet to find out which of the four had it. Robert was one of the agents I approached, and the one I most trusted. He is also the smartest, for he quickly realised that it must have great value, but that it must also carry great risk. Three months ago he sent me word that he had located it and would obtain it. For a fee, of course. And you know the rest. He must have realised he was being watched, and so gave it to you.’

Antrobus gave a low snort of derision. ‘I must have been careless at some point and alerted those who slew my brother that I had discovered the key. And I am willing to wager this house that they have assumed I have a copy of the manuscript, otherwise why would I want the key? They’ve attacked you twice to get the astrolabe. They’ll try again to get it, and the manuscript. I think they’ll be safe in my little alcove, but we won’t take chances. And both of us must take extra care from now on, Jenny. I have told no one. Not even the Duke. Not even John.’

Jenny’s brain felt like it was caught in a whirlpool in her head, spinning round and round, and occasionally crashing into her skull. Two days ago, she had been happy and content in the peaceful cottage in Queerwood. She was beginning to lose track of everything that had happened to her since then.

‘When do we start?’ she asked.

‘Start?’ Antrobus replied ‘Start what?’

‘Working out how to use this –’ she pointed to the astrolabe – ‘to unlock the manuscript.’

Antrobus smiled. ‘Not tomorrow. I want you to rest for a day or two. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. And we have other important matters that require our attention. Have you forgotten the talk we had with the chancellor?’

To be quite honest, Jenny had forgotten, which she admitted.

‘Don’t worry,’ Antrobus reassured her, ‘we’ll spend time on this. When the days allow it, and maybe one or two evenings a week you can come here and we’ll study together.’ He sighed. ‘The Pledge, when you truly start your apprenticeship, is still twelve days off but it seems you’ll be starting it early.’

A knock on the front door took their attention. They could hear Annie rushing to answer it.

Antrobus rose from his chair. ‘That will be the guests I asked to stop by. Now, not a word about any of this to anyone, Jenny. When asked – and you will be asked – you must lie, I’m afraid. Just for a little while. They can know about the astrolabe, but not what it really is.’

‘I won’t speak of it,’ Jenny promised.

‘Good,’ said Antrobus. ‘Now, let’s put these away and then go see our guests.’

Chapter 9

The Wrong Coin

Manuscript and astrolabe safely back in the secret room, Antrobus and Jenny went to greet the guests. As the alchemist opened the door of the study, they were confronted by Annie. The housekeeper looked agitated and flustered.

‘Sir, your guests … you said two but there are three … and … and one is … oh, sir, I hope I did the right thing … it’s … it’s …’

‘Three?’ said Antrobus, his eyebrows rising with surprise. ‘Calm down, Annie. I’m sure you behaved most suitably. I’ll attend to them. Come, Jenny.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ whispered Annie and scampered off to the kitchen.

Jenny followed her master into the sitting room and was surprised to see two men she recognised and one she did not. The first she noticed was Rayker. He was standing slightly apart from the others, near the window. He looks like a wolf, Jenny thought, watchful yet aloof. Rayker acknowledged her glance with a slight nod of his head.

The other person she recognised was Chancellor Montebray. He and the third man were sitting on the settle and the chancellor was talking in a low voice. He stopped as soon as Jenny and Antrobus entered. Both men rose.

Antrobus himself seemed taken aback at his visitors. He looked at the third man and bowed low, from the waist.

‘Your Grace,’ he said when he was once again upright. ‘I’m honoured. I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I’m sure you weren’t, Richard,’ said the man. ‘Neither was your good housekeeper, I fear. I hope she is more composed now.’

Jenny looked at the man. He was about thirty, good-looking but not dashingly handsome, with intense, intelligent eyes. He was clean-shaven, and expensively but not ostentatiously dressed. His manner was confident and easy, with a touch of arrogance, as if he expected the respect of others.

He addressed him as ‘Your Grace’, she thought. Jenny felt her eyes widen. Your Grace!

She realised Antrobus was speaking. ‘Your Grace, may I present my apprentice, Mistress Swift? Jenny, this is Duke Emeric,’ he said.

Jenny had enough presence of mind to curtsy. It wasn’t a particularly good curtsy, but she managed to complete it without tangling her feet and falling over. She rose and found Emeric right in front of her. His smile was warm and genuine and he held out his hand. Jenny put her hand in his and he clasped it warmly.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Mistress Swift. I have heard a great deal about you. I knew your father, of course. Not well, but he was much respected by my uncle, David, and served the palace well.’ Emeric’s voice dropped. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother. From David’s account, she’s a remarkable woman.’

His gentle manner put Jenny at ease. ‘Thank you, Your Grace. From my own account, I can assure you she is remarkable.’

Emeric laughed. ‘I suspect that her daughter will turn out to be just as remarkable.’ He resumed his seat on the settle.

The chancellor gave Jenny a slight bow. ‘Mistress Swift, it’s good to see you again. You’ve had an eventful time in Vale, I hear. I trust you are recovered?’

‘Completely, thank you, Lord Chancellor,’ Jenny replied.

‘Splendid,’ he said. ‘And I believe you have met the Duke’s ….’ He frowned and turned to Rayker. ‘Rayker, what did we agree you are?’

‘You agreed, Chancellor,’ the wolf replied, with a familiar insolence that is only possible with someone you respect and like. ‘The Duke’s particular.’

A gleam crossed Jenny’s face. ‘Yes, I have had that particular pleasure.’ She was certain Rayker smiled. It was only with his eyes, but she was sure it was there, if only for an instant.

The chancellor did smile, then indicated that Jenny be seated. Once she was he took his place on the settle next to Emeric. Antrobus took the other chair. Rayker remained standing, distant and watchful. Annie, who had been hovering outside the door, entered with a carafe of wine, a jug of water and honey, and five of Antrobus’s best glasses. She placed the tray on the low table and bowed out backwards, bobbing her head continually.

As soon as they each had a glass of wine – except Jenny, who had water and honey – the chancellor spoke.

‘Richard, what do you think was behind the attack on Jenny today?’ He looked casually at his glass, swirling the claret into a tame whirlpool.

Antrobus eyed the chancellor. He knew Montebray; the man was leading to something. Whatever it was, Antrobus was not about to let it be a trap. He glanced at the other two men. Rayker stood, apparently indifferent to the conversation, staring out of the window into the dark square. Emeric was looking directly at Antrobus, his face expressionless.

‘I assume they were after something,’ he answered.

‘And what do you think that might be?’ said the chancellor. His wine was swirling faster now, almost coming to the top of the glass.

‘Something they must have wanted very much to risk invading the palace,’ said Antrobus.

The chancellor stopped swirling his glass. His eyes met the alchemist’s. ‘And you have no idea exactly what it is?’ he asked.

‘As a matter of fact, I do know exactly what it is.’

‘But you don’t want to say?’

‘I don’t think it would be wise. Not right now.’

‘Perhaps Jenny will tell us,’ said the chancellor, though he did not look at her. Jenny felt nervous and hoped he wouldn’t ask her.

‘I have told her not to say anything about it. I would prefer that you didn’t force her into a difficult position. She will not lie to you, but she’ll not want to go against my wishes,’ said Antrobus.

The chancellor nodded and glanced at Emeric. The Duke dropped his eyes for an instant. Montebray took that as a sign to continue.

‘We have had some progress on the matter with Cleve,’ he said. Antrobus was surprised at the sudden change of subject, but he was too wise in the way of politics to know that the other topic was done with, and that, somehow, there was a connection between the two. The chancellor continued.

‘Cleve – through their diplomats – insist that the attack on our crops was not of their doing. They have been very open. If we have evidence that their city was involved, then it is not official and they would be very willing to help us find who is behind this. They have also offered to send some grain to us. We have refused, of course, which they expected. We don’t want to make the problem appear to be … severe … at this stage, lest it alarm the people.

‘Interestingly, though, our diplomats had the impression that the officials in Cleve knew of the attack on our crops before we raised it with them. And they informed us – tactfully, of course – that they have reason to believe that it will be repeated this year.’

Antrobus remained silent, waiting for the chancellor to continue. To his surprise, it was the Duke who spoke.

‘Richard, if Cleve is not officially behind the poisoning of our crops, then there must be a faction within that city working against us. That makes the situation worse. We cannot deal diplomatically with a rogue group. And such people would be very dangerous. Whereas Cleve would be very reluctant to approve officially of the assassination of one of Vale’s prominent citizens, a bunch of unofficial conspirators would have no such reluctance.

‘You and Jenny will be crucial to preventing famine in Vale this year. We cannot take the risk that something unfortunate happens to you,’ Emeric concluded.

‘I am flattered by your concern for my well-being,’ said Antrobus, ever so slightly sardonically.

Emeric smiled wryly and briefly. ‘Richard, you are impossible. You are far too proud to make a good courtier and at times you infuriate me. But if someone were to cut off that stubborn and opinionated head of yours, I should miss you. More importantly, Vale would miss you. However, once we are past the peril facing our city, then someone can come and remove your head and then you’ll see who misses you,’ he said.

‘We cannot afford to take chances, Richard,’ added the chancellor. ‘So, I have to ask you to stop this Morien business.’

Antrobus was startled. How had Montebray known? And Emeric?

His surprise must have been evident, for Emeric looked at him coolly and said, ‘Richard, do you really think we don’t know what’s been happening? Rayker has been keeping track of your efforts for the past few years. He himself has used your trader friend Robert on a number of occasions. In fact, Rayker was quite helpful to Robert in finding the object you were looking for. When that rogue attacked Jenny, and she had just visited Robert, Rayker figured that he had finally found it.’

Antrobus felt both uncomfortable and annoyed. It appeared that he had been keeping secrets from the Duke, but his search for William’s killer was his own affair. And his work, including Morien’s discovery, was also his affair. He looked over at Rayker. Had the man been keeping an eye on him? He hadn’t reacted to anything that had been said, beyond a quick flicker of his eyes at the alchemist. Well, if he had, Antrobus had to admit that the thought made him feel better. He turned to Emeric, who was smiling slightly, as if he read Antrobus’s mind.

‘Do you want to see it, Your Grace?’

He had his answer before Emeric uttered a word. He could see the gleam of excitement and anticipation in his eyes. The Duke was scholar, a learned, intelligent man who believed in the advancement of science and the pursuit of the arts. But he also saw Emeric control his desire.

‘Now is not the time, Richard,’ he said. ‘But we must talk of this later, when the matter with Cleve is finished, though I suspect what you have to tell me will ultimately prove what we are now facing to be insignificant. I was aware of what William wanted to establish and what he was seeking. We spoke sometimes when he was here. I can see your surprise. You didn’t know. But do you really believe that the money you provided was enough to do what he did all those years? The palace provided considerable funds. It was a worthy idea, and one I hope is not lost.’

Antrobus shook his head. ‘I knew William also earned money by his own efforts while he travelled but I should have realised it never would have been enough,’ he said. ‘Very well. Jenny and I had just agreed to put our efforts to the task you have given us, so you don’t need to worry on that account.’

The chancellor leaned forward. ‘You should also know that we believe the two things may be connected,’ he said. ‘Rayker’s been busy tracking down the man who escaped. What he’s discovered has convinced me that there is more to the affair than meets the eye. It seems this second man, Kurt, is not from Vale. He’s from Cleve. Like his ill-fated companion, he’s a thief and paid murderer.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked Antrobus.

Rayker spoke for the first time. He turned from the window and he sounded displeased with himself.

‘I don’t know. He’s still in Vale, that I am sure of. He’s hiding somewhere. But I’ll find him.’

Jenny had no doubt he would. She looked at Rayker. Despite his nonchalance, he was alert and … compressed, like gunpowder in a musket. He was tough, determined and very good at his job. She almost felt a stab of pity for Kurt.

The chancellor spoke again. ‘Both of you will be in danger. Rayker has spoken to Pitch and asked him to keep an eye on you. He’ll be along after he’s eaten his dinner.’

‘Pitch is a good man,’ Rayker put in. He peered out of the window as he spoke. ‘Not many could get past him. But he’s only one man. And he needs to sleep.’

The chancellor nodded. ‘Rayker has enlisted others he trusts. There will be one of his men watching the front of the house at all times and another in the alley at the back. Whenever either of you leaves, at least one man will follow, discreetly.’

‘Will you be watching out for us, too?’ Jenny asked the Duke’s particular.

‘I have a man to find, Jenny, and ask him who he’s working for. And find those in Cleve who are responsible for the crop failure,’ said Rayker. His eyes were fixed on something in the square.

Without a word, moving like a cat, Rayker made his way along the wall away from the window, then headed for the kitchen.

‘In three minutes, open the front door,’ he snapped, ‘but stay inside!’ And he disappeared. A moment later, they heard the back door creak, then shut with a soft click.

Jenny resisted the urge to go to the window. The others watched the clock on the narrow shelf over the hearth. No one spoke. Not a sound came from the square. They sat in silence and watched the clock.

Antrobus nodded and made for the front door. Emeric started to follow, but Montebray caught his arm and shook his head. Emeric smiled, pulled his arm free and followed the alchemist. The chancellor stood frowning in disapproval.

Jenny moved around the room and went to the window, taking care she couldn’t be seen from outside. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, but then she caught sight of a figure standing at the corner where she had placed the torch two nights earlier. The figure was watching the house, and she could see moonlight glinting off something in his hand.

At that moment, Antrobus opened the front door. Alerted by the sound or movement, the man raised his hand and pointed whatever was in his hand at the door. At the same time, Jenny saw the outline of another man – Rayker – step quickly round the corner behind the stranger. He moved fast. His arm encircled the stranger’s neck. At the same time, the stranger’s hand seemed to flash and explode. Rayker jerked the man back savagely. His other arm came up and Jenny saw Rayker held a knife in his hand. He pressed the blade against the man’s neck. The man dropped his pistol and went still.

Antrobus could hear the Duke behind him as he opened the door. Almost too late, he had saw the man’s hand rise. Instinctively, he stepped backwards, pushing Emeric away from the door. He heard the roar of the pistol and felt small shards of wood prick his hand and cheek as the ball thudded into the door frame.

Galvanised by the pistol shot, the chancellor rushed into the hall and caught Emeric as he staggered back. He saw Antrobus turn from the door and reflexively raise his hand to his cheek. The alchemist shot a questioning look at Emeric.

‘I’m fine!’ he cried, pulling free of the chancellor. ‘Rayker?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Don’t worry about Rayker! He has his man!’ Antrobus said, adrenalin adding volume to his voice.

From the window, Jenny saw doors open in the square and faces peer from windows, wondering who or what dared shatter the peace of their evening meals. She saw Rayker push his captive towards the house, keeping his dagger pressed against the man’s neck. From the garden in the centre of the square she saw a shadow rise. The shadow resolved into the figure of a man. She saw the pistol in his hand. She saw him raise it and point it at Rayker’s back.

At the same instant that Jenny shouted her warning, Rayker pushed his prisoner to the ground. In the same motion he spun round, drawing back his arm. His dagger flew across the street, a small, spinning wheel of silver in the dark. It would have been an ambitious throw in daylight; by moonlight it was a desperate, impossible one, but it was enough to save his life. The figure in the garden flinched as he fired. Once again, a pistol roared angrily in Fenwick Square but its lead ball flew wide, crashing through the window. Glass showered Jenny and she heard the ball whistle as it passed.

A cry came from the man in the garden. He lurched, almost falling, then turned and sped across the square. Rayker saw Emeric run from the house after the fleeing figure, Antrobus and Montebray behind him.

‘No, Your Grace!’ shouted Rayker. ‘Antrobus, stop him!’

The alchemist and the chancellor caught hold of the Duke and held him back. They didn’t see the first man rise as Rayker’s back was turned. From his boot, the man pulled a long, thin dagger. Its blade, wicked with gleaming death, plunged towards Emeric’s particular.

Rayker heard the scrape of the man’s boot on the cobbles. Instinctively, he sidestepped and turned. The blade ripped past him. Rayker caught the man’s wrist and twisted. But fighting, and killing if necessary, was the man’s trade. He was fast and skilled. With his other fist he hit Rayker hard in the small of his back. Rayker grunted with the pain of the blow. He felt his grip on his attacker’s knife hand slacken. He took a step back, into the other man, and jerked his head back, catching his assailant in the face. As he felt the gristle of the man’s nose crunch, he turned on his heel and hit his opponent hard. His fist struck the man’s cheekbone, sending him reeling. With a yell of rage and pain, the man launched himself at Rayker, dropping his knife hand low, then bringing it in a practised arc towards Rayker’s stomach.

Rayker avoided fighting whenever he could. It was a reasoned, calm decision. When there was a fight, someone inevitably got hurt, and there was always the chance that someone would be Rayker. He did his job without anger, never seeing himself as an avenger or one who had the right to dispense justice. It made sense not to fight. But there was another reason. In a fight, there was little time to think. He rarely remembered exactly what had happened or why he’d reacted as he did when the fighting was desperate. That meant that things happened that he regretted. Rayker hated regrets.

This was one such battle and as soon as it was over Rayker regretted the way it ended. He faced a man who wanted to kill him and who was quite capable of doing so. Rayker responded to the moment. He saw the knife coming towards him. His right hand flew out to grab the man’s wrist without him thinking about it. He used his attacker’s momentum to turn the blade, letting its arc continue, almost in a circle, until it plunged into the man’s chest. The man’s eyes didn’t go wide, he didn’t show surprise or pain or even disappointment. He just died, and fell.

From the time Jenny yelled her warning to the instant the knife ended the life of Rayker’s attacker, less than a minute had passed. Antrobus and Montebray had moved to aid the particular but Emeric stopped them. He knew his man. But when the assassin fell, the three rushed over. At the same time, Jenny came from the house, a few tiny specks of blood on her face. She saw the still form of the attacker and the knife in his chest. None of it seemed real to her. She could not comprehend that she had witnessed two violent deaths in one day. She was vaguely aware of running footsteps, then saw Pitch run past her, a lantern in his hand. She looked again at the still figure. As Pitch drew near the dead man, the body was lit by an oval of light.

‘Your Grace, Chancellor, you should go back into the house,’ said Rayker. ‘People will be gathering to see what the fuss is about. When word spreads that a man has died here, we’ll have quite a crowd. A curious crowd. Pitch, keep them back while you can. I’ll get some help here to carry the body away.’’

‘Wait!’

The men turned at Jenny’s voice. She came nearer and stood over the body. ‘I know him,’ she said. She looked at Antrobus. ‘That’s the man who tried to kill you in Queerwood.’

Antrobus peered at the man’s face. ‘Are you sure? I didn’t get a chance to look at him in the forest.’

‘That mark on his head. That’s where my father’s staff hit him. It is the same man.’

Rayker glanced at the body, his face thoughtful. ‘Right, all of you, inside, now.’ He looked at Antrobus, then at Jenny. ‘Better get those scratches cleaned.’

People came from every house in the square, carrying torches and lanterns. Pitch’s own lantern stood out like a beacon and, like moths, they converged on the warden. Antrobus took Jenny’s arm and they followed Emeric and Montebray into the house, closing the door as the first of the crowd came close.

‘Stay back!’ bellowed Pitch. ‘Thank you, good people, for comin’ to lend assistance, but it’s all over! This ’ere is the Duke’s man, Rayker.’

Few knew Rayker’s face; all knew his reputation. The crowd hushed and stepped back.

Rayker gave Pitch a wry look. ‘Thank you, Pitch, though I’d prefer you didn’t cry my name too loud. Your lantern.’

Pitch handed Rayker the lantern. ‘You’d have been recognised by now and your name would be on everyone’s tongue before the next dog barks, anyway. Better to admit it and stop the wondering,’ replied the warden. He turned back to the crowd.

‘You, Matthew! You still ’ave your dinner bib on! Go back to your sausages before they get cold! And Mistress Crawley, you ’aven’t even put on your slippers. You’d give your young ’uns what for if they came out with naked feet!’ Pitch shouted and cajoled, shepherding the crowd back to their homes.

Rayker knelt beside the dead man. Quickly, he searched the body. Apart from two marks, three silver nobles and a few copper pennies in his purse, he had nothing on him. He stood, just as two men came into the square. They saw Rayker and made their way to him.

‘Crook, Laylor, you know Pitch.’ The men gave the warden a nod of greeting. ‘Get these people back into their houses. Pitch, stay here!’ Rayker ordered. He pointed at the dead man. ‘Do you know him? Have you seen him in the square recently?’

Pitch shook his head. ‘Can’t say I do.’ He knelt and raised the lantern, its light falling full on the dead man’s face. ‘By the stars!’ he exclaimed. He reached down and took an amulet from the man’s neck. ‘I do know ’im! That’s Horn. ’Aven’t seen ’im for nigh on ten years, but I swear that’s ’im. He always wore this.’ He handed the amulet to Rayker, then shook his head. ‘Horn was from the north, a mercenary who joined the palace guard. Something happened and he suddenly said he needed to find a job where the pay was better. He claimed a place as peaceful as Vale was never going to be profitable enough for him. He asked to be released. The capt’n didn’t want to let him go, but he did. Horn was a bit wild, but a good man to lift a mug with, and a better man in a fight.’ He looked at Rayker. ‘He try to kill you?’

Rayker nodded.

‘Shame he took the wrong coin this time.’ Pitch scratched his cheek. ‘Horn was good, which meant he charged a good sum for his services. Whoever hired him has money.’

Rayker looked at Antrobus’s house. ‘Aye. Enough to have more like Horn. You look to your back, Pitch. I don’t want to find you lying on the stones. Or anyone else.’

Pitch’s eyes followed Rayker’s to the house. He saw the shattered window and the splintered door frame.

‘Don’t worry, Rayker,’ he said. ‘It’ll be my bones before theirs – and I intend to live a very long time.

Chapter 10

Horn’s Legacy

‘Oh, Jenny, you have to tell me everything!’

Jenny groaned and tried to burrow deeper into the bedclothes to escape the poking and the shaking.

‘Go away, Emily,’ she mumbled into her pillow.

‘Don’t be mean!’ Emily squealed, pulling away the blankets. ‘You have to tell me! It’s all over Vale. I went down to get hot water and it’s all Rumpkin’s girls were talking about. Agnes said you killed a man! Oh, Jenny, you’re so selfish! How could you do that without me!’

Jenny opened her eyes and sat up. She stared at her friend.

‘Without you?’ she said in disbelief. ‘Emily, it was horrible! I had nightmares! Oh!’ She wrenched the bedclothes from Emily’s grip and threw them over her head again.

‘Oh, Jenny, don’t sulk. I just meant that I should have been there to help you,’ said Emily contritely. Then her voice brightened. ‘But was it really so horrible?’

With a sigh, Jenny pulled back the bedclothes and let her head fall back on to the pillow. It had been truly horrible, worse than she could tell her friend. She remembered her panic and fear, and of feeling trapped and alone; she remembered the terror when Nate grabbed her; but most of all, she remembered the smell of bubbling flesh dissolving and Nate’s screams of agony. Her sleep had been full of those memories. But Emily was … Emily. Jenny looked at her friend. Her eyes were bright and shining and Jenny knew Emily could not imagine it as being anything other than a thrilling adventure.

‘Yes, it was horrible. Truly terrible and frightening,’ Jenny said solemnly. She took Emily’s hand. ‘Part of me is glad you weren’t there, but a part of me wishes you had been,’ she said earnestly.

Emily threw her arms around Jenny’s neck and hugged her, then kissed her cheek. Jenny had an impulse to throw her arms around Emily, but she refrained. Emily sat back and looked down at her.

‘You were so brave,’ Emily said. She gazed at Jenny with silent admiration. Then her eyes gleamed. ‘And you saw Rayker kill the man who tried to kill the Duke! All in one night!’ she said breathlessly.

It seemed everyone was assuming that it was Duke who was the assassin’s target. That would suit the Duke, Jenny thought. She looked at her friend and couldn’t help smiling. To Emily it was all a huge romantic adventure.

‘Only after I finished dodging the pistol ball that nearly took my head off,’ Jenny said, casually. Emily’s green eyes grew as big as duck ponds.

‘Jenny, you must tell me all about it! Please!’ cried Emily, her eyes shining.

‘After we get dressed,’ laughed Jenny, slipping out of bed. ‘Who’s first with the hot water?’

They washed and dressed and went down to join the others for breakfast. Emily had insisted that she recount her adventure over breakfast, in front of everyone. Jenny was reluctant; reliving events with Emily was one thing, doing it in front of the others quite another. Besides, she knew that it would be hard to tell it without appearing to boast and she knew she had no reason to do that. Emily was persistent, though, and so over porridge Jenny retold the day’s events, trying to skip over as much as she could. The other four lodgers kept their heads bent over their bowls, pretending not to have any interest in Jenny’s story, though she did notice that they ate without saying a word and one, a slightly plump dark-haired young woman called Mary, blanched and excused herself as Jenny described Nate’s death. As she came to the part where visitors arrived at Antrobus’s, another of the girls, Frida, asked whether it was true that the Duke was quite handsome. Her question earned her disapproving looks from her companions.

The chancellor had wanted to hide the fact that Emeric had been present the previous night. It was highly irregular for the Duke to go to anyone’s house. When he wanted to talk to any of his subjects, they came to him. Something so unusual as going to Antrobus’s house might be interpreted by those plotting against the city that Emeric was more worried than he publicly admitted – and that Antrobus was more important than Vale’s enemies realised. It could escalate the situation and increase the danger to the alchemist. Antrobus, on the other hand, argued that the danger could hardly get greater. More importantly, he pointed out, Emeric had doubtless been seen. To deny that he had been there when he clearly had would be proof that they were all hiding something. Rayker said it was a pity that Emeric had been spotted but he had and Antrobus was probably right. In the end, Emeric had also agreed with Antrobus.

When the others heard that Jenny had not only met the Duke, but had shared such an adventure with him, they almost turned green with envy (though Mary rather had a head start on her friends) and tried harder to pretend they weren’t listening. Only Frida acknowledged Jenny; she ignored the glares of her friends and gave Jenny a small but friendly smile.

The few small cuts on Jenny’s face did make the shattering of the glass and the whistle of the pistol ball more vivid to everyone. However, she admitted that by flinching when the window smashed, she saw only the very end of the struggle with the man Horn, when Rayker turned the man’s own knife against him.

Emily wondered aloud who the man was and why he would want to kill the Duke.

‘Pitch said his name was Horn. He served with him in the palace guard years ago. Pitch recognised him from a necklace the man wore,’ said Jenny.

‘Well, ’e got no less’n ’e deserved,’ proclaimed Rumpkin, who had been listening at the door. She came in to clear the porridge bowls. Although Jenny had barely touched her breakfast (which happens when you have to do so much talking), Rumpkin started to take the bowl, then stopped. She hadn’t made up her mind about how what had happened should affect the way she treated Jenny. On the one hand, having a lodger that people wanted to do away with could be a considerable inconvenience. On the other hand, someone who knew the Duke personally, and was now likely to be on good terms with him, might prove to have its advantages. While trying to make up her mind, she saw that Frida had also not finished. The young woman was just staring at her bowl as if she had never seen porridge before. Rumpkin reached over and took Frida’s bowl.

Jenny noticed that Frida didn’t move. She just sat, staring at the spot where her bowl had been. Her face was completely blank. The others had finished and they rose from the table. They were obviously still annoyed with her for talking to Jenny, for they looked at her peevishly and left. Frida didn’t appear to notice they had gone. Then, calmly and with great control, she pushed back her chair, stood and walked stiffly from the room. Jenny watched and wondered at Frida’s strange demeanour.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Emily.

‘That’ll be cold, now. It’s bad enough hot but cold … ugh!’ she said, wrinkling her nose at Jenny’s porridge.

Jenny had to agree. With a quick ‘Thank you’ to Rumpkin, she and Emily left. Rumpkin looked at the bowl of cold porridge and shrugged, then sat down and began to eat it.

‘Not bad,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t know what Mistress Princess is on about.’

The pair climbed the stairs to their room.

‘Will you come with me to the workshop?’ Jenny asked.

‘You’re going back there? What if the body is still … there?’ Emily was aghast.

‘Of course it isn’t. The chancellor had people … take care of it.’

‘But why do you want to go back there so soon? I’m not sure I’d want to,’ said Emily, who suddenly found the events of the previous day rather less exciting.

‘You don’t have to come. It’s just that I left a book there.’

‘You want to go for a book?’

‘Yes – and if you don’t come and I get attacked and killed, you can be sure I won’t tell you about it tomorrow.’

‘Oh, well, in that case, I’ll come. If there’s a chance of that happening, I don’t want to miss it!’

The early morning still had the nip of winter, so they fetched their coats. Emily, naturally, had a few adjustments to make to her clothes before she felt ready to appear in public. Finally, she went to her desk and grabbed her purse. A piece of paper under it fluttered to the floor. Emily stooped and hastily retrieved it. She cast a quick glance at Jenny, who pretended she hadn’t seen – though Emily knew full well she had.

‘It’s just an invitation I was writing last night,’ said Emily, her explanation rather undermined by the guilty expression on her face.

‘What is?’ said Jenny innocently.

‘The let– the paper.’

‘Oh,’ said Jenny, feigning indifference. ‘Well, of course. What else could it be?’

Emily blushed and her mouth tightened. Then she looked at Jenny with a sheepish but slightly smug smile.

‘It is an invitation. Of sorts. It’s a letter. A scribbled draft of one. To Master Antrobus. The young one,’ she added quickly. ‘Telling him that should he feel inclined to invite me to walk in the gardens on Sunday, I would feel inclined to accept.’

Jenny stared at her friend. It wasn’t the forwardness of the letter that worried her. After all, why shouldn’t a woman be as forward as a man? It was that John Antrobus was … ‘But he’s old!’ she exclaimed.

‘He’s not that old – and I’m not that young!’ Emily declared. ‘I’m older than you! I’ll be sixteen this year.’

‘Well, by the time you get ready, we’ll both be old,’ said Jenny.

Emily slipped the letter into her pocket, still wondering whether it had the right balance of encouragement and coolness. She decided that perhaps it did have a bit too much encouragement and too little coolness. She’d look over it again later.

They were about to leave when there was a knock on the door. Jenny opened it to find Frida, the same rigid expression on her face.

Tall, big-boned and well developed, Frida had a face with sharp-edged features that made her look older than the other lodgers, though in truth she was only a year older than Emily. She wasn’t pretty, but Jenny thought she was striking. Her long blonde hair was normally plaited and then coiled at the back of her head. Now, it fell untidily to her waist. Jenny guessed she had been in the middle of doing her hair when something prompted her to knock on their door.

‘Sorry, I see you’re going out,’ Frida said stiffly. ‘I’ll come back later.’

Jenny sensed that behind her cold calmness, Frida was upset.

‘No, please, come in. We’re not in a hurry,’ she said, stepping back to allow Frida into the room.

The young woman hesitated, then walked uncertainly into the room. ‘I would like to ask you something,’ she said. She paused, as if waiting for Jenny to give her permission to ask. Jenny just nodded.

‘The man that Rayker … killed … are you sure his name was Horn?’

‘Pitch, our square warden, was sure it was,’ Jenny replied.

‘And you say that this man, Pitch, knew Horn?’

‘Yes. Not well, but they had served together some years ago.’

‘In the palace guard?’

‘Yes.’

‘The necklace that you said the man Pitch recognised. It was an amulet, yes?’

Jenny nodded.

‘Do you have it?’

‘No, Rayker does. He thought it might help him discover more about the man.’

‘Was it a blue disc set in a gold rim with a small red piece of amber in the middle?’ Frida asked.

‘I didn’t see it closely, but it was something like that.’ Jenny paused. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?’

Frida stood mute for several seconds before speaking. When she did, her voice wavered.

‘Yes. He was my father.’

A pit opened in Jenny’s stomach. Though Horn had tried to kill either her or Antrobus – or both – she regretted his death more deeply, differently, than she regretted Nate’s. That regret took on a sharp edge in the presence of Horn’s daughter.

Frida turned away from the pain in Jenny’s face. She had her own to deal with. ‘I don’t blame you or Rayker or anyone else,’ she said. ‘What my father tried to do was wrong. And you said he was the one who tried to kill Antrobus in Queerwood.’ She sat on the bed and put her face in her hands. Emily sat on her own bed and looked helplessly from Frida to Jenny.

‘None of this makes sense to me. My father left the palace guard because of me. My mother was from Vale, and though she and my father never married, he loved her. I know he did. I can remember seeing him with her. He had been a soldier in Skaya, the biggest city in the north. He met my mother when he was in Vale escorting some officials from Skaya. He wanted to be with her, so he left Skaya behind and joined the palace guard here. I was born a year later. But when I was eight, my mother died. He had to hire a nurse to look after me and he always wanted the best for me. More than I wanted for myself. His wage at the palace wasn’t enough to pay for all that, so he left. He never told me what he was doing. He’d say that he was an adventurer, travelling the world, finding treasure and fighting monsters.’ Her smile was wry, tolerant and loving. ‘They were never very big treasures.

‘I lived the life of a rich young girl, with her own nurse and housekeeper and maid. Then, six months ago, he said we were going away. We were going to go to Skaya and then travel the great cities of the world. Over the next few months we sold our house and possessions. We would buy new ones, he said. Two months ago, he told me that there was just one last adventure he had to undertake, and then we’d go. So, I came here to be a lodger while I waited for him.’

Frida was crying now, the tears running freely down her cheeks. Jenny sat next to her on the bed and took her hand.

‘I should have asked what he did,’ Frida sobbed. ‘I should have insisted. But I never wanted to tarnish the time we had together with questions.’

‘What will you do now, Frida?’ asked Emily.

‘I’m not sure. I have some of my father’s money, but I don’t know what he did with the rest. I’m not beautiful, like you two. I’m not clever. And I know I’m weak. I laughed at Jenny with the others because it was easier than being ignored and ridiculed by them. And I never had the courage to ask my father what he did, though I guess I knew it was something like this. I cannot make myself beautiful and I cannot make myself clever but I can make myself strong and that is what l’ll do.’

She looked at both of them with pleading, tear-filled eyes. ‘I’m sorry to tell you all this. I didn’t mean to. But I have something to ask. Two things, really. First, I would very much like to have my father’s necklace. If you could ask Rayker, when he’s finished with it?’

Jenny nodded.

‘I’d also like to know who paid my father to do what he did. When you find out, will you tell me?’

‘We will, Frida. I promise,’ Jenny assured her.

‘Thank you. I don’t blame anyone for his death except my father. Somehow, though, it feels like it will make it better if those who paid him are punished. I can’t explain it. But I have spent all my life thinking my father was a good man and now I find he wasn’t.’

Jenny hugged her and said, ‘Frida, my father once told me that people can make bad choices out of good decisions. Your father decided to live his life for your future. That was a good decision. That was the decision of a good man. But he chose the wrong way to do it. If it helps, Pitch said your father was a good soldier, a good man to have around.’

Frida wiped her eyes and stood.

‘You have both been very kind. Thank you,’ she said. She went to the door and opened it. She paused before leaving and turned to Jenny. ‘I’m ashamed of my behaviour towards you. I don’t ask you to forgive me. I just want you to know.’

Frida stepped into the corridor.

‘Frida, wait!’ called Jenny, running after her. ‘Did your father ever mention anything about his work? Did he mention any names? Even of friends?’

The young woman shook her head. ‘All he ever told were tales of great adventures. I knew they weren’t true but I enjoyed listening to him. I don’t think he ever mentioned any names.’

Frida returned to her own room, taking her grief with her, except for that portion Jenny and Emily had taken for themselves. The two friends sat silent and thoughtful for a few minutes after she had gone. Then Jenny sprang up. She had made a decision. She was going to need help and Emily would have to be it. So she had to be told about everything.

When Jenny had finished telling her about the famine and Morien and the astrolabe and what the Duke and the chancellor had said, Emily looked at her and said,‘Well, I’m glad I had breakfast before you told me that lot. So what do we do?’

‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Jenny. ‘Master Antrobus told me the next two days were mine to do as I please, though he’d like to see me tonight – you’ll come with me, I hope. He’s spending the day with the chancellor, discussing what to do next with Cleve. But I can’t just do nothing for two days!’ She sighed. ‘As I see it, we have two problems: the famine and Morien’s book. Those behind either one could have hired Horn and the others to kill Antrobus. We have no idea which. And then …’ Jenny paused; was she just making it all more complicated?

‘Then what?’

‘Well, what if both things are connected? It’s a bit coincidental, don’t you think?’

Truth to tell, Emily didn’t know what to think. But now she was a player in the drama she wasn’t going to quit the stage. Whatever Jenny planned, Emily would be right there with her. A thought came to her.

‘Don’t you think we ought to tell Rayker about Frida? After all, he said his best chance was to track down Horn’s accomplice. It might give him another place to start.’

‘Good idea,’ said Jenny. ‘Let’s go find Rayker. We’ll get my book later.’ She started for the door, then stopped. ‘I have no idea where to find Rayker.’

‘That’s the way he likes it,’ Emily said. ‘Fortunately, I do.’

*

As they left Rumpkin’s, Jenny noticed one of the men from the previous night – Crook’s his name, she thought – standing near the house. She smiled at him and he gave a nod and half-smile in return. He followed at a discreet distance and Jenny felt better for his presence.

Rayker lived at the palace, in a narrow, two-storey bluestone house tucked away in a corner of a deserted courtyard, not far from the barracks. From the outside, it looked neat and tidy, though bare. There were no window boxes with flowers, or any other decoration, just a front door and two arched windows with lead-lined panes. Jenny knocked but there was no answer. She knocked again, and turned the door handle, but not a sound came from the house.

‘We should leave a message for him,’ Jenny said.

‘We passed a guard post. He might have a quill,’ Emily suggested.

‘Wot do I look like – a clerk?’ said the young soldier on duty when they asked for a quill and paper. ‘’Spose you’ll ask me to write it fer yer ’n all.’

Emily doubted he knew how, but she smiled prettily and the guard rifled through a small drawer in a very ricketty table and finally came up triumphant. In one hand he held a rather bedraggled pen, of poor quality, made from a turkey feather rather than goose and the nib was blunt with use. In the other was a cheap tiny clay pot with a cork stopper. He handed them to Jenny without looking at her, then turned his attention to Emily and smiled. It was not as pretty as the coquettish smile he had received from her, but Emily was pleased enough with it.

‘’Ere, wot’s a pretty little lass like you doin’ round this part o’ the palace?’ he asked. ‘Like soldiers, do yer?’ He stood close enough to reach past Emily’s shoulder and rest his hand against the wall.

‘Excuse me,’ said Jenny. ‘Do you have a penknife? The nib needs sharpening.’

Without taking his attention from Emily – who found she rather liked the attention; after all, he was young, passably good-looking and tall – he reached into his pocket, took out a small knife and handed it to Jenny. Then he renewed his efforts to become acquainted with Emily. They chatted very amiably while Jenny sharpened the quill.

‘Excuse me,’ said Jenny again. ‘Do you have a piece of paper?’

‘Ain’t,’ said the guard not turning round. ‘Ya know yer got eyes like moonstones? Never seen such beau’i’ful eyes in all me life.’’

Emily batted her eyelids and looked deep into his eyes. She decided then and there that she was very partial to brown eyes.

‘Not even a scrap?’ persisted Jenny.

Thinking only of brown eyes and a strong broad chest, Emily reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Quickly, Jenny dipped the quill nib in the ink, then scratched out ‘I have information about Horn that might be useful. Jenny Swift.’ She put the knife and quill on the desk and blew on the ink. She opened her mouth to tell Emily to come then shut it again as she saw Emily fingering the trim of the soldier’s tunic as he whispered in her ear. Shaking her head, she ran from the post and back to Rayker’s. Crook, she noticed, had stationed himself at the entrance to the courtyard where he could see everyone who came and went. She slid the paper under the door, and got back to the post just in time to hear the soldier ask, ‘So wot’s the name o’ this friend of yourn you come ta see?’

‘Rayker,’ Jenny answered for her friend. ‘He’s a very particular friend of Mistress Trickett’s. And that’s Mistress Trickett you have trapped against the wall.’

The effect on the poor young soldier was startling. He jerked back, stumbling over his own feet and almost falling over.

‘I was only bein’ friendly! Just tryin’ ta help! I didn’t mean nuthin’!’ He looked anxiously at the two young women. ‘No need ta say anythin’ to Rayker!’

‘I shall tell him how helpful you’ve been,’ said Jenny, adding rather archly, ‘and I shall tell him that Mistress Trickett behaved like a perfect lady! Come on, Emily.’

Emily laughed and smiled farewell as she followed Jenny from the post.

‘He was very nice,’ said Emily. ‘Did you notice his eyes? Brown, like a fawn’s eyes.’

‘I noticed he had two, which is common, and for a guard, very handy,’ replied Jenny in exasperation.

‘There wasn’t any harm in it.’

‘No harm? How can you flirt with a strange soldier like that?’ She didn’t know quite why she felt so annoyed. Actually, she rather envied Emily’s ease with men.

‘We got what we needed, didn’t we?’ Emily said. Her eyes widened and she stopped dead. She patted her pocket and thrust her hand inside.

‘That piece of paper!’ she cried. ‘That was the letter to John! I have to go back and get it!’ A look of horror crossed her face. ‘Rayker will read it! Jenny, we have to get it!’

‘I slipped it under the door. The house is locked. We can’t get it,’ Jenny said. She did feel sorry for Emily but she also couldn’t help finding it a little amusing. ‘I’m sure Rayker is a gentleman. As soon as he reads “My darling John,” he’ll stop reading.’

‘It doesn’t say any such thing!’ said Emily angrily. ‘Jenny Swift, you’re not taking this seriously. If Rayker shows it to my father I’ll be ordered home. He’ll say I won’t be allowed back in Vale until I learn how a lady should behave!’ She stamped off back towards Rayker’s house.

Jenny ran after her and caught her arm. ‘Emily, we don’t know when Rayker will be back. He might be gone for days. You can’t camp at his door until he returns!’

Tears of frustration filled Emily’s eyes. ‘Blast you and your notes!’ she said. ‘It’s all your fault!’

‘If you hadn’t been flirting with that soldier you wouldn’t have given me that piece of paper! It isn’t my fault you melt each time a man smiles at you,’ retorted Jenny.

‘I was trying to get him to help, that’s all! You’re ungrateful.’

Jenny’s anger disappeared at the sight of tears starting to run down Emily’s cheeks.

‘I’m not ungrateful, Emily. I’m sorry you gave me that piece of paper and that now Rayker has it. Honestly. But there’s nothing we can do. I’m sure Rayker won’t read it. He’ll probably just read what I wrote then toss it away,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, too. I know it’s my fault,’ Emily said. ‘I don’t really flirt, Jenny. At least, I don’t mean anything by it. It just makes me feel good to have people like me. All I can ever remember my parents telling me is that I’m pretty. They never said I was clever or imaginative or even nice. And being pretty isn’t good for anything except making boys smile and wink.’

‘Come on, let’s forget about it and go to the workroom,’ Jenny cajoled. ‘And you know,’ she teased, ‘I don’t think you’re pretty at all.’

Emily laughed, and they walked arm and arm across the palace cobblestones. The trouble was, Jenny thought Emily was very beautiful.

Still followed by the dutiful Crook, they walked the short distance to Antrobus’s workplace. Jenny took out the key and unlocked the heavy door. A momentary pang of fear went through her, but she held it down and opened the door. They stood in the gloom and the acrid air, neither wanting to go in further. Then Jenny steeled herself and went to one of the work tables and got a taper and flint.

The light lessened the gloom but did nothing for their imaginations. A few paces into the room, Emily stopped. She stared at the mark on the floor made by the vitriol that killed Nate. Jenny could see the shudder that ran through Emily. She didn’t blame her. Her own spine still tingled. She tugged her friend away from the stained and pitted stone.

The book was on the floor near the shelves where she had dropped it. Someone had cleaned up the glass from the broken bottle of aqua fortis, but they’d missed the book. Jenny picked it up. Holding it made her feel better. It reminded her that she had a job to do; Antrobus, the Duke and the chancellor were expecting her to help combat the attack on Vale’s crops. So far, she’d done nothing at all. She would change that.

Emily did as Jenny had done, roaming the laboratory and examining the work tables and the shelves. She expressed amazement at the globes and maps, for it brought home that no matter how important Vale was, it was only a small part of a very great world. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the liquids and potions in jars, and she uttered a cry of disgust at the limbs, bodies and organs floating in clear jars.

‘Do you really want to work with all this?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Jenny. And, much to her surprise, she realised that she meant it. She really did want to work with everything in the room. Not just the things for healing but everything: the minerals, the liquids, the powders, the dissected bodies, the charts of the stars and the maps of the earth. She didn’t know why, but she felt part of it all. She wanted to know why each is as it is and what makes each part of the whole.

‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I really do.’

Chapter 11

Jack-O’-Lantern

Before heading back to Rumpkin’s they stopped at a small shop and bought a hot mutton pie each for lunch, plus one for Crook, which he accepted with hungry gratitude. Jenny’s own stomach had rumbled its rebellion at the lack of food and she had regretted the uneaten porridge from breakfast. The pie crust was golden and flaky and the chunks of mutton swam in steaming gravy. There were some dishes from Vale that her mother had never mastered and meat pies – for which Vale was famous – was one. Jenny savoured the warm comforting taste and didn’t mind when she noticed a small brown stain on her tunic.

They went straight to their room when they got back to Rumpkin’s. Slipped under the door was a message for Emily from the palace. Unlike Jenny, she was not to be an apprentice. Positions within the chamberlain’s office were conferred as much as tokens of favour as signs of aptitude. Emily was to be a companion to a twelve-year-old girl called Beth, the daughter of the Duke’s uncle, David. David had married late, two years after he had returned from his travels. At nearly thirty-five years of age, he was considered very old to be a bachelor. He took for his wife a very mild, pleasant woman more than ten years his junior and from all accounts it was a happy marriage.

David still spent much of his time travelling but rather than seeking adventure and new lands, he acted as an ambassador for his nephew, Emeric. He was well liked and respected, and considered an open and honest man whose word could be trusted. He was due the title Earl, but he preferred to be called simply David.

Unfortunately, his long absences meant that his wife, Margaret, was left with the burden of raising their daughter on her own. Now, it should be made clear that for a member of the palace, that was a very different burden to what a woman in a small village cottage would bear. Margaret had staff to look after every need and whim of young Beth; the only task left solely to her was to love her daughter, and this task she took on with joy and a great deal of dedication. Beth was completely spoiled; she received everything she wanted and even more that she had no inkling she wanted. The price she paid for this was that her mother was obsessively protective. By the time any child is twelve, all the indulgence in the world is too high a price to pay for such smothering. And deep down, Beth was a normal twelve-year-old, who would have gladly traded quite a lot of pampering for quite a little freedom.

The note was to request that, although Emily was not due to take up her position until the first day of spring, as was tradition, Beth had expressed a very strong desire to go riding with her future companion tomorrow, and it was hoped that Emily would be able to oblige. Of course Emily would be so good as to oblige. Margaret had known that when she’d sent the letter.

‘A morning ride!’ Emily groaned. ‘Thirty minutes past the hour of seven! I shall barely have time for porridge!’

Then Emily remembered that her riding gear was with those clothes still to be sent on to the palace. She would have to take a cart to her family home a couple of hours outside Vale. It would take the rest of the afternoon.

‘If I just send a message with the cart I know my mother will pack the wrong things then tomorrow will be a disaster!’ she said. She promised to be back by dinner so that she and Jenny could visit Antrobus together.

Time ate the hours as Jenny spent the afternoon reading her book. The Book of Alchemy was an introduction to the science and philosophy of alchemy. She found it hard to understand anything at first but, imperceptibly, it began to take shape as she read. In her head, the words formed into images of things she had never seen.

The beginning she found somewhat tedious but there was one passage on the origins of metals that set her thinking. Albertus claimed that all metals were derived from a mixture of quicksilver and brimstone (also called, she realised, mercury and sulphur). For instance, quicksilver and yellow sulphur created gold; quicksilver and white sulphur produced silver. Albertus’s claim left her feeling uneasy. First, how did he know? Was he guessing or had he been able to prove it? If he had been able to prove it, why didn’t he just say how it was done? But if he hadn’t proved it, then it wasn’t necessarily true.

More importantly, it just didn’t make sense. There seemed to be too many differences between the metals for them all to have come from the same two ingredients. Yet she reckoned the fault couldn’t be Albertus’s; he was a respected thinker and alchemist of the past; it must be with her. So, she continued reading, but she couldn’t quite silence the snake of scepticism that kept hissing in her ear as she read.

Further on in the book, she became more engrossed as Albertus explained the four essential elements of life – earth, air, fire and water. He described equipment and processes; crucibles, cupels, alembics and retorts; reduction, distillation and coagulation. And the book began to take shape for her.

Before she knew it, the room began to darken as the sun set. She lit a candle. Emily should be back soon, she thought as she took up her book again. She had barely found her place when there was a knock on the door. Jenny opened it and found the maid, Agnes, standing outside.

‘There’s a man in the front room to see you,’ said Agnes. ‘A strange man,’ she added. ‘A bit frightening, really.’

Jenny hurried down the stairs to the sitting room. Visitors, especially male visitors, were never allowed in the lodgers’ sitting room. She wondered who the stranger unsettling Agnes could be.

‘Mistress Swift,’ Rayker greeted her.

‘Rayker!’ cried Jenny. ‘I’m glad you came. But please, I’d feel much better if you called me Jenny. Would you like to sit?’

‘Thank you,’ said Rayker. He waited until Jenny was seated, then took an old wooden chair from the other side of the room and sat beside her. He doesn’t like to make himself too comfortable, thought Jenny.

‘Before you tell me what information you have, perhaps you’d be so kind as to take this and return it to Mistress Trickett,’ he said with a slight grin. He took Emily’s letter from his pocket. ‘And before you ask, I did read it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known who wrote it.’ He handed it to Jenny. ‘You might like to tell Mistress Trickett that most men are like small dogs: they yap a lot but generally run for cover when barked at. A gentler approach would be recommended. Now, what do you have to tell me?’

‘The man Horn. He has a daughter, Frida, here in Vale. She knows nothing of what her father did to earn his money, but I thought it might help, as a starting place to find out more about him.’

Rayker’s stroked his chin. ‘That is interesting,’ he said. ‘I’ve not been able to find out anything about him today, apart from the fact that he came into Vale every few weeks. Perhaps his visits were to see his daughter. Do you know where she lives?’

‘Here. At Rumpkin’s,’ Jenny replied. ‘She came to see me this morning. News of what happened last night is all over Vale, it appears.’

Rayker grinned. ‘I’ll bet the other young ladies, not to say Mistress Rumpkin, wanted a full account over breakfast.’

Jenny blushed. ‘Emily, at least. It was after that Frida came to see me,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t hold you responsible. She knows her father was doing wrong. I think that’s the hardest thing for her – finding out that her father wasn’t who she thought he was.’

‘That’s not the way of it,’ said Rayker. ‘I’m sure he was the man she thought he was. He was just more than that as well. Do you think she’ll talk to me?’

‘I’m sure she will. I’ll fetch her.’ Jenny rose. ‘There is one thing. Horn’s amulet. When you no longer need it, she’d like to have it,’ she said, and left to fetch Frida.

She was back a few minutes later with the young woman. Her eyes were swollen and red and it was evident that she had spent most of the day in tears. It occurred to Jenny that it must have been very hard for Frida that day. If she had fallen out with her friends, she would have been alone with her grief.

Though Frida truly did not blame Rayker for her father’s death, facing the man who killed him was difficult.

‘Mistress Horn, my name is Rayker,’ he said. Frida didn’t respond. She stood stiffly, looking at him.

Rayker reached into the pocket of his jerkin and took out the amulet. ‘I believe this is yours,’ he said. Frida stared at it for a moment, then took the necklace from Rayker’s hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, almost inaudibly.

‘Would you care to sit?’ Rayker asked. When both Jenny and Frida were seated, he sat on the wooden chair facing them.

‘I regret your father’s death.’

Frida was grateful that Rayker didn’t apologise. His words would have been hollow.

Rayker asked Frida if she could recall the times over the past year when her father had been in Vale, how long he stayed, what he did when he was here, if anyone came to the house, if he received messages he didn’t discuss. He probed, methodically but gently. Jenny noticed he treated Frida respectfully but without acknowledging her grief, and by doing so, he pulled her away from one set of memories to another.

He repeated Jenny’s questions about Horn’s work and friends and received the same answer. Her father never really explained what it was he did. All he told her were tales of his made-up adventures, of strange, exotic places; the tales were exciting, full of danger and wonderful – sometimes fierce – beasts and people. But they were not real. They were not people Rayker would ever find.

‘On his last visit, about a month ago, he was happy. We talked of the places we would travel to. He didn’t talk of what he had been doing, only of what we would do.’

Happiness in those we love creates for us a special joy and Frida spoke softly, savouring the memory of her father’s happiness.

‘He said he was tired of adventures without me and soon we would have them together. Then, for one moment, he seemed sad. He said, “I’ve seen Jack-o’-Lantern, and I will not end up like him, without a home to rest in, or a heart somewhere that loves me,”’ Frida said, and her eyes filled with tears.

Something niggled at Jenny. There were many folk tales about Jack-o’-Lantern, telling of a man condemned to wander forever between worlds, with only a single candle in a turnip to light his way through the shadows. There was an echo of a memory in her head, a trace of something her father had told her …

‘Frida,’ she said, ‘did he say he had seen Jack-o’-Lantern?’

Rayker cocked his head and looked at Jenny curiously.

Frida nodded. ‘He was always saying things like that. He’d seen the Hydra at the end of the world, or he’d seen the mermaids singing sailors to their death.’

‘What did he look like when he came home?’ Jenny asked. ‘Was he … presentable?’

For the first time, Frida smiled.

‘You know men. They never care as much about the way they look as we would like. But I think he always stopped in the city before he came to see me so he could put on clean breeches, blouse and tunic.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘But the last couple of times, I don’t think he did. He looked like he’d been sleeping on the road. I never really thought on it.’

‘What are you thinking, Jenny?’ asked Rayker.

‘It’s probably nothing,’ she said. ‘But I was remembering tales my father would tell me of Queerwood. Once he told me of the outlaws that lived in a cave – Brigand’s Cave, he called it – somewhere deep in the forest. They were terrible men, he said, and their leader was the most terrible of all. He was from a city far away but had been exiled. He had wandered the world, a man whom no city welcomed, with no home, no friends – no heart that loved him. He finally came to Queerwood, a lost and bitter soul who became a cruel one. His name was Jack.’

Rayker grunted. ‘It’s a bit of a stretch. But it fits. A man who makes up stories for his daughter could likely see Jack as someone out of an old tale. Jack’s been a thorn in the side of the Duke for some time. I’ve always been too busy with other things to put a stop to him. Well, ’bout time I did. I’ll look into it.’

‘I can’t believe my father was an outlaw with such men,’ said Frida. Once again the tears welled up in her eyes.

Rayker rose and stood beside her.

‘All sorts of travellers follow the same road. It doesn’t make them all the same,’ he said to Frida. ‘I’m grateful for your help. I wish you well, Mistress Horn.’

Rayker and Jenny left the room. Behind them, Frida’s head dropped and her shoulders shook as she wept.

Jenny opened the front door. Night had come but she could just make Crook out, a vigilant shadow, across the road. She waved to him and he waved in return.

‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said Rayker. ‘Antrobus chose well.’

His simple praise pleased Jenny more than she would have expected.

‘My father said Jack led the biggest band of outlaws in the forest,’ she said.

‘He does,’ Rayker agreed. ‘Tomorrow I’ll gather some men from the barracks and go after them. If Horn was one of them, then Jack will know who hired him.’ He hesitated. ‘They’ll be hard to find. I know it would be hard on your mother having him gone, but I think I’ll ask your father to scout for us. There’s no one better in the forest.’

He took his leave, with a brief nod of acknowledgement to Crook, then disappeared into the dark streets of Vale. Jenny closed the door. She leaned against it, thinking. Instead of going to her room, she went back to the sitting room to Frida.

*

Emily returned just in time for dinner. The two girls ate quickly, then set off to Fenwick Square. As the front door closed behind them, Jenny’s senses alerted her to a man coming across the street towards her. As he came nearer, she tensed; she’d never seen him before. He stopped a few paces away.

‘Name’s Harcourt. Crook’s gone to eat and rest. I’ll stay out yer way, but close.’

‘Is that so?’ said Jenny, warily.

The man grinned. ‘Rayker said you’d be a careful one. Crook said to tell you he’s partial to mutton but pure in love with beef.’ His grin spread, almost splitting his face in half. ‘Me, I’d marry mutton.’

Harcourt received a laugh for his confession. That’s an honest sound, he thought.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Harcourt. This is my friend, Emily Trickett.’

‘Aye, the chief magistrate’s daughter. Good evening, Mistress Trickett.’

‘Good evening, Harcourt,’ said Emily, very demurely. Jenny looked at her with surprise.

‘Don’t look at me like that!’ she hissed at Jenny. ‘I’m trying!’

‘We’re going to Master Antrobus’s house. You are welcome to walk with us,’ Jenny said to Harcourt.

‘Thank you, but I’ll just hang back. It would be hard to have eyes for anything else if I was to walk in the company of two such pretty ladies,’ he said.

They walked to Fenwick Square. The night was mild, the moon cast a silver-blue light on the world and they had a guardian angel to watch over them. All was right in Vale – for the moment at least.

*

Jenny rapped on the front door. There was no answer. She waited patiently, then rapped again, a little harder. There was still no answer. Watching from the corner, Harcourt loosened the sword at his hip and tensed. He wondered where Laylor was. He had relieved Pitch – who was probably fast asleep – and should have been somewhere in the square. When no one opened the door after the second knock, he joined the two girls. Jenny peered in through the front window. The sitting room was empty and there were no shadows cast from anyone moving in the kitchen beyond. Tentatively, she turned the handle of the door. It was unlocked.

‘’Ere,’ said Harcourt, drawing his sword, ‘let’s ’ave a look.’ He open the door. Faint light from the sitting-room relieved the dark of the hall. He entered cautiously and quietly. The sitting room door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open with his foot, then slipped inside. The room was empty.

The house was eerily silent. Harcourt made his way into the kitchen. The only light came from the fire in the hearth. Every one of his senses alert, he looked around the room, then muttered a curse at the sight of a shape on the floor.

It was Laylor. His throat had been cut, a single vicious slash that had almost severed his head from his body. A thick trail of blood led from the body to the rear door. Harcourt moved to the back door. Cautiously, he pulled it open, just enough for his voice to carry to the yard.

‘Tom!’ he called. Tom Blunt was only nineteen but the tall, broad-shouldered lad had already proved his worth in a scrap. He was liked by everyone, and had a reputation for being as handy with a tankard as with the ladies. Tonight, Tom didn’t answer. Harcourt edged out into the yard. He noticed that the small gate leading to the alley was open and there was a dark form lying face down next to it. He didn’t need to move closer to know who it was. ‘Damn them!’ he cursed. He resisted the urge to run to his comrade; he didn’t think being dead had a lot to recommend it. He listened and watched until he was sure there was no one in the yard, then he moved quietly to the open gate and into the alley. It was deserted. He went back into the yard and kicked the gate shut.

He knelt by Tom. Blood covered the lad’s back and he could see the tear in his jerkin. Sword thrust. From behind. They must have surprised him in the alley and dumped him here. Harcourt fought down his anger; he had to stay in control. He grabbed Tom’s shoulder and gently rolled him over into his lap. Tom groaned. Thank the stars.

‘Hold on, Tom. It’s me, Harcourt.’

Tom didn’t answer. Harcourt could see his eyes twitch and his mouth move.

‘Don’t talk, Tom. There’s help. I’ll be back,’ he said. Gently, he lay Tom back on the ground and went back into the house.

Jenny and Emily waited outside, anxious and uneasy. The moonlight that a short time ago had been welcoming and friendly, now drew forth shadows and shapes from the trees and the houses. Harcourt seemed to have been in there an eternity, though it couldn’t have been more than two minutes.

‘C’mon,’ said Jenny finally. She stepped into the hallway, Emily close behind. Jenny craned her neck to peer into the sitting room when Harcourt’s face suddenly appeared in front of her. She jumped back, bumping into Emily.

‘Goodness, Harcourt! You gave me a start!’ whispered Jenny. ‘Where is …’ She didn’t finish the question. She saw the blood on Harcourt’s doublet and the grim look on his face and stared, unable to frame words in her head.

‘There’s a lad, hurt bad. Come quickly. Through the kitchen.’ He paused. ‘It’s not pretty in there, so keep your eyes on me. He’s out the back.’

They went into the kitchen. Jenny tried to keep her eyes on Harcourt’s back but she could see a shape on the floor out of the corner of her eye and she couldn’t resist turning her head. She stifled a cry. Her stomach roiled and churned. Emily must have seen, too, for she heard an anguished gasp behind her, then Emily’s hand clutched her arm. But they kept moving, out the door and into the yard.

She saw Tom right away and knelt beside him.

‘Your knife,’ she said to Harcourt. He flipped a knife from his belt and handed it to her. ‘There’s linen wads in the pantry. You’ll see a jar of ointment, brown – it smells of dead leaves. Emily, help me get his jerkin off. Careful, now.’

Emily stared at the wounded man’s face. He looked so innocent, so harmless. Why would anyone hurt him?

Harcourt was back in an instant.

‘I haven’t checked up the stairs. I doubt anyone’s still round, but keep the knife handy. Do you need Mistress Trickett?’

Jenny shook her head.

‘Good,’ said Harcourt. ‘Mistress Trickett, will you run to Pitch’s house? It’s next to the stables at the end of the square. Tell him to come, quick.’

‘Then you’ll have to get Dr Styche,’ said Jenny without looking up from her work. ‘This is bad. I don’t have much here, and I’ll need help to stop the bleeding. I know you’re frightened but I don’t want this boy to die.’

Emily nodded. Her eyes showed her fear but she didn’t speak of it. She ran from the house as fast as she could.

She roused Pitch, who answered his door bleary-eyed and tousled, in no time at all. Saying no more than ‘Harcourt needs you, at the house!’ she ran to the doctor’s. He lived several squares away and Emily ran even when her chest burned. Every tree in the gardens hid assassins with pistols and each alley had a desperate outlaw with a wicked gleaming sword. At each noise, her spine shivered, waiting for the silent blade of a knife.

Yet the plucky girl didn’t even wait for Styche to get his cloak. She delivered her summons and, with scarcely a thought for the terrors of the night, she raced back to Fenwick Square to help her friend.

Jenny couldn’t stop the blood. She’d dammed the flood but it still seeped from the wound, each drop taking the young man’s life with it. She cried silently, watching the pale face grow paler, and raged against the men who had done this. She held the wound closed with her fingers and felt the blood, slick and slippery, run over her wrists and soak into her tunic and shift.

Pitch and Harcourt had searched the rest of the house by the time the doctor arrived. They had found no one, though they had feared that they would find Antrobus slaughtered in one of the rooms. His study had been ransacked; whoever searched had been not only thorough, but destructive.

Styche was a skilled physician. Though there was little he could have told Jenny about herbs and medicines, he had surgical skills beyond hers. He had her apply pressure in just the right places while he closed the wound. Jenny had dressed it with dragon’s blood to speed the healing and thicken the blood. Between them, they gave Tom a chance to live.

Pitch and Harcourt carried the injured man inside and up to the front bedroom. It was Antrobus’s room, but it got the afternoon sun and Styche thought that might help the patient – if he lived that long. And, at the moment, Antrobus wasn’t there to claim it. As they laid Tom in the bed, Styche looked at him doubtfully. ‘It’s a small chance he’ll live,’ he said. ‘It’s the bleeding inside that will kill him but maybe your dragon’s blood will save him. I’ve never seen it prepared like that before, Jenny.’

Harcourt looked at Styche and Jenny. Styche’s apron was deep red but Jenny was soaked in blood from head to foot. ‘I put water on the hearth to heat. There’s but one tub I’m afraid, Doctor, and I reckon Jenny needs it more than you, though there’s a bucket by the back door to wash yer ’ands,’ he said. ‘You’ll not want to be in the kitchen, Jenny, so I’ve put the tub in the front room. Emily’s filling it now.’

Styche’s concern was for his friend. ‘Where’s Richard?’ he muttered to no one in particular. No one answered; it was the question they were all asking.

Styche washed his hands and went home, promising to come in the morning. In return he made Pitch promise to let him know if there was any word of Antrobus. Harcourt left to find Rayker. Pitch covered poor Laylor’s body with a sheet and Emily surprised everyone by getting a bucket and cloth and cleaning the blood that seemed to be everywhere.

‘You’ll need clean clothes, Jenny,’ said Pitch. ‘Antrobus won’t have anything that comes near you, but I’ll see what I can find. Emily will bring them to you. I’ll close the doors and you can have your privacy.’

Jenny stripped off and stepped into the round wooden tub. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. The water was soothing but there was no balm for the sorrow she felt. Laylor was dead and a young man, not much more than a boy, was perilously close to being the same, and her master was missing. She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes.

She heard the door of the sitting room open. It must be Emily with some clothes, she thought.

‘Jenny!’ came the surprised voice of John Antrobus.

Chapter 12

Parchment and Ink

‘You look like the alchemist, not his apprentice,’ said Emily. ‘Almost.’

Jenny looked down at herself and wondered what on earth she did look like. Pitch had found a long white shift, a black tunic and a black surcoat. They were far too big, but Emily had found a leather belt that she put round the waist of the shift, and rolled the fabric under the belt until it no longer dragged on the floor. She pinned and tucked until the surcoat just brushed Jenny’s shoes. There wasn’t much she could do about the tunic in a hurry, and fortunately it was hidden by the cloak. It would at least allow her to get back to Rumpkin’s.

John had been very apologetic about bursting in on Jenny. The front door was open and he saw no one, he said. Naturally, he came into the sitting room first …

More than apologetic, he was distressed. He asked question after question, many repeated, and he heard many answers the same.

Rayker arrived shortly after. Harcourt had found him at the barracks, recruiting for the expedition against the outlaws. Jenny could see the anger in his eyes over Laylor’s death, and the injury to Tom Blunt. He went to see Tom, but the young man was still unconscious. When Laylor’s body was removed, he stood by the side of the cart looking at the shrouded corpse. As the cart clattered away, Rayker stared into the night long after the cart had left the square.

Finally, he walked back into the sitting room. Immediately John burst out in anger, ‘Cleve has done this! They have kidnapped my father!’

‘Master Antrobus,’ said Rayker, ‘Cleve may well be behind this, but we cannot be certain.’

‘Who else can it be? They already plot against us, trying to destroy our crops. We must tell the Duke! He must do something!’

Jenny opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. She look closely at her master’s son.

Rayker did speak, firmly. ‘The Duke will be told. And I will look into the possibility that Cleve was behind this. But we must be certain.’

John faced Rayker, anger in his face. ‘We cannot just sit and do nothing!’ he shouted.

‘I don’t intend to,’ said Rayker coldly. ‘I have lost one man, likely two, and failed to keep your father safe. I will find who did this, Master Antrobus, you can be sure of that.’

John dropped into a chair and ran a hand over his brow. ‘Forgive me, Rayker. I’m sorry for raising my voice. I’m just beside myself with worry.’

‘Understandable,’ Rayker replied. ‘Though it seems to me that you’re in a good position to help.’

John’s face showed his surprise. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘What can I do?’

‘Everyone knows you’re now partners with Perroquet. I find it hard to believe that, if Cleve were behind this, their master alchemist wouldn’t know of it.’

‘Hah!’ John snorted. ‘And if so, he’s unlikely to confess to me.’

‘True,’ Rayker agreed. ‘But it’s surprising what slips from a man’s tongue when you’re listening closely enough.’

‘Well, I’ll try,’ said John. ‘I leave for Cleve tomorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘I came here tonight to say goodbye to my father. Now I have no stomach for that city.’

‘It’s late,’ said Rayker. He looked at Jenny and Emily. ‘You’ll barely make it back to Rumpkin’s before she locks her door.’

‘And leave poor Tom with no one to look after him?’ said Emily indignantly. ‘I suppose you think Pitch will nurse him.’

‘I nursed wounded men enough when I was a sergeant in the guard,’ said Pitch, smiling. ‘But I warrant not a man among them would have preferred my hands mopping their brow to yours, Mistress Trickett.’

‘I think Emily and I should stay here tonight,’ Jenny said.

‘Good enough,’ Rayker said. He paused, then looked at Pitch.

‘One thing puzzles me, Pitch,’ he said. ‘You spoke to some of the neighbours and none of them saw anyone leave with Antrobus. For one man, or even two, to slip in or out of Vale unseen is easy. For at least three men, escorting a prisoner, let alone one as recognisable as Antrobus, to go unnoticed, is odd.’

‘I can’t figure it,’ said Pitch. ‘I’ll ask the rest of the neighbours, and the wardens of the other squares, in the morning.’

‘Good,’ said Rayker. To Emily and Jenny he said, ‘Pitch and Harcourt will watch the house tonight. They’ll stay inside.’

‘Kitchen or sitting room?’ Pitch asked Harcourt.

‘I’ll take the kitchen,’ Harcourt said magnanimously. ‘You have older bones and the chairs are softer here.’

‘I’d best see the Duke.’ Rayker gave a humourless smile. ‘He won’t be pleased to be disturbed this late. In the morning, I’ll organise a search for Master Antrobus.’

‘Jenny,’ said John suddenly, ‘was anything taken from my father’s study?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jenny. ‘I haven’t had time to check.’

‘Perhaps I’ll just have a quick look before I go,’ said John. ‘If something is gone it would be a clue to what they’re after.’

Rayker took his leave. Harcourt and Pitch went to their posts and Emily trotted up the stairs to look in on Tom. John and Jenny went into the study. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw. The study had been completely ransacked. Every book had been thrown from the shelves, and the desk had been smashed, in case it hid secret compartments. Portraits had been ripped from the walls, and pieces of parchment and precious vellum were strewn across the floor. The searchers had been either frustrated and angry, or just mean, for they had even emptied the inkwells on the floor and walls.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny glanced at the wall to the left of the hearth. Ugly splotches of ink spattered the wall but the door itself was closed.

John was watching her closely. ‘I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the room. My father had this rebuilt as his study after I left. It used to be a storeroom. Strange; it looks smaller now.’ He smiled at Jenny. ‘Everything looks smaller when you come back.’

They gathered all the papers and put the books back on the shelves. Then they left, closing the door behind them. Jenny noticed that John had taken the papers. He saw her glance at them.

‘I’ll sort them out. My father would be distressed to have his work treated so,’ he said. ‘We’re lucky they weren’t smart enough to take his papers when they didn’t find what they wanted.’

Once again Jenny bit back the words she was about to speak. She stood in silence as John bid her goodnight and left.

*

The next few days brought no news of Antrobus. He had disappeared.

Rayker spent two days recruiting new men and then he went into Queerwood in search of Jack’s lair. He had been gone for three days, and still there was no word from him. Ewan Swift had agreed to meet him and his men and guide them through the wild forest.

On the morning before he left for Queerwood, Rayker received a message from John. The young alchemist was sure that Perroquet knew nothing of Antrobus’s disappearance, but he was equally sure that Cleve was responsible. Again, he urged Rayker to convince the Duke to take action against their neighbouring city state. Yet, Rayker knew, without proof the Duke would do nothing.

Emily kept her horse-riding appointment the next morning, though she was so distracted that Beth thought Emily didn’t like her. Being a rather spoiled girl, the young royal couldn’t stand not being liked. Before the ride was over, she had decided that Emily would be her companion – and Emily would like her.

Apart from giving Beth something to strive for, Emily spent most of the time sitting by Tom’s bed. The young man still hovered near death. He had regained consciousness for very brief periods once or twice, which Styche said was a good sign. And when she wasn’t with Tom, Emily was with Jenny.

As for Jenny, she read, plucking from the workroom shelves and from the study, every book and manuscript she understood. She was determined that the work she and Antrobus were given to do would be done, even if he wasn’t in Vale to do it. Hour after hour she spent in the workroom, looking at each liquid, mineral and metal in the books; she tried each piece of equipment and even some of the processes.

There was so much to learn and Jenny found it exhilarating. Each morning she woke and her first thoughts were of things she had learned the previous day. She ate breakfast quickly, impatient to be at her books. She barely noticed anyone. Even when Rumpkin remarked loudly to the others that ‘a cert’n boarder seems to think she were too good to ev’n to talk to the likes of us,’ Jenny was too busy thinking about distillation, reduction and dissolution to defend herself. She absently muttered, ‘How terrible’ and continued thinking about why sugar dissolves and salt doesn’t.

She soon found that she had to start organising what she learned. It was one thing to have it in her head but quite another to work out how to use it all. She scoured the shelves in the workroom and found a ream of parchment bound by a cloth string. She found quills and ink and set about writing down everything she read. Sheet after sheet of parchment was quickly filled with (rather untidy) writing. Once she had several sheets full of notes, she realised something: what all the alchemists before her were searching for was the connection between everything in the world. They were looking for the essence of life, and its order. They sought the relationship between things, between the planets and stars in the sky and the metals and plants of the earth. All things, said the books, were composed of only four materials: earth, air, fire and water. And at the root of all metals were just two: brimstone and quicksilver.

She came across an earthenware pot sealed with a cork and an oiled piece of leather. Quicksilver read the label. Jenny lifted the pot from the shelf and was surprised by its weight. She poured a very small amount on to the work table. The strange liquid metal skated on the tabletop like a skittish silver fox. She laughed as she chased it across the surface, trying to return it to the pot.

She marvelled at the soft, bright yellow crystals of sulphur. Each rock looked like a magical mountain, ringed by enchanted castles with luminescent towers.

Antrobus was constantly on her mind. She worried and wondered but she knew she could do little to help. Finding people was what Rayker did, and apparently he was very good at it. She came to the workroom each day and forced herself to stop fretting. One morning when she entered the room, she froze, then called Harcourt. Her guardian angel rushed in. Jenny was sure someone had been in the room. There were things out of place, not where she was sure they had been the night before. There was a stale, unwashed human odour, mixed with damp and rotting vegetation. But though she and Harcourt searched, nothing appeared to be missing and she soon forgot about it.

After four days, she began to test some of the things she was learning. She mixed crystals she found in boxes with liquids she discovered in jars on the shelves. She lit a small oil burner on the bench and over the hot tongue of flame she reduced plants to ashes, minerals to powder and salts to vapour. She mixed liquids with other liquids, with salts and with minerals. Mists of purple, yellow and pink floated around the workroom; smoke the colour of the sky found its way to the windows and curled out into Vale; and foul, malodorous vapours caused her to gag and rush to the open wall. Everything that happened, she wrote on a piece of parchment – even when she heated some yellow crystals with a pinch of brownish-black powder and singed her hair and almost burnt off her eyebrows.

Emily would come in while she was working and find her with her hands stained, her clothes spotted with holes from liquids she’d splashed on them, paper scattered over every table and patches of dried ink everywhere.

‘You’re a mess,’ said Emily. ‘You look like a troll.’ Jenny glanced at her tunic and at her arms and hands, and thought perhaps she did. ‘You know,’ continued Emily, ‘you’d be quite beautiful if you paid more attention to your clothes and did something with your hair. Instead, you spend all your time reading and making things bubble and boil. You seem to deliberately make yourself as unattractive as possible. How do you expect a man to take any interest in you when you look like a witch?’

‘Pass that bottle. No, not that one, the one that says Aqua Regis,’ was all Jenny said. She noticed that Emily took extra care of her appearance every time she went to visit Tom, just in case he regained consciousness long enough to notice. It seemed she had forgotten all about John Antrobus. When Jenny had asked, as offhand as she could, whether Emily had finished the ‘invitation’ and sent it to him, Emily had made a face and said she had grown up since then and she had never really been interested in him, anyway. Jenny wondered how much growing up one could do in a few days. Then she went back to her books and notes and experiments, and never thought about how she was growing up.

She came across an illustration of an athanor, a furnace very much like the large one in the corner of the workroom. Jenny fired the large furnace and before long she could distil liquids and reduce substances. It seemed to her that through these processes she was transforming the substances from one thing to another. Fascinated and astounded, she worked from early morning until late at night. And always, one of Rayker’s men was at the door or escorting her safely to Rumpkin’s long after the sun had set.

Her quill scratched furiously on the parchment. There was so much to learn.

*

Antrobus was tired. Tired of the dark; tired of the cold; and heartily tired of trying to find the wooden bucket that served as a chamber pot. He wanted to bathe, to smell fresh air, to be warm, to sleep in a bed instead of the creaky wooden pallet with a mattress stuffed with so little straw it wouldn’t feed a mouse. More than anything else, he wanted to go home.

How long had it been since they’d last come in? He couldn’t tell. A day? Two days? He guessed somewhere in between. He tried to sense any change in temperature that would indicate whether it was day or night. A while ago he thought it was warmer but he couldn’t be sure. He had been imprisoned out of the reach of the sun.

He closed his eyes. There didn’t seem to be much point keeping them open when it was dark. Perhaps he’d fall asleep and then he wouldn’t feel the cold and the damp. He opened his eyes again. Why do memories come more easily when one’s eyes are closed, even in the dark? And he didn’t want the memory of Laylor; he didn’t want to see again how the man had died, so brutally, so bloodily, trying to protect him. But he had no choice. Memories don’t ask permission to be there, but come univited.

He’d had an early supper that evening and was in the sitting room when he’d heard Tom call. Walking into the room, he saw Tom standing rigid, his face red with anger and defiance. Behind was a man holding a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. The point of the sword was pricking Tom’s neck and the pistol was pointing straight at Antrobus’s chest. The man smiled and raised his finger to his lips. He was tall and well built. His face was clean-shaven and he might even have been good-looking once. The scars on his cheek and brow didn’t help, but most of all it was his eyes that made him unattractive. They were hard, pitiless eyes.

Antrobus froze. Another man stepped from beside the door and the alchemist could feel the point of a sword in his ribs. Through the open door to the back, Antrobus could see a third man, carrying a torch.

‘Call the other one inside,’ said the man with the pistol to Antrobus. ‘Go to the front door and ask him to come in. Tell him his friend’s ill and you need help.’ He flexed his arm, and the sword point broke the skin on Tom’s neck. A small trickle of blood ran down Tom’s throat. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

Tom hesitated. ‘Jack,’ he said.

The man’s smile broadened. ‘That’s my name. That would be a coincidence – except your name isn’t Jack. It’s Tom. And your friend out there is Laylor. You think that if Master Antrobus tells Laylor that Jack needs him, then Laylor knows something’s up and he scarpers for help.’ He dismissed Tom and looked at Antrobus. ‘You just tell Laylor that young Tom is poorly and you need help to get him in. Do it right and both Tom and Laylor will live.’

The second man put the point of his sword at Tom’s neck and Jack took his place next to Antrobus. He gestured with his sword and walked with Antrobus to the front door. The alchemist called to Laylor. The moment Laylor stepped through the door, Jack kicked it closed behind him and put his sword at Laylor’s throat. His pistol was still in the small of Antrobus’s back.

‘I’m sorry, Laylor,’ said Antrobus. ‘They have Tom. I couldn’t do –’

‘Stow it!’ snapped Jack. ‘Laylor knows the lie of things. He’s been Rayker’s man for long enough. In the kitchen.’

Tom and the man guarding him hadn’t moved. Jack gestured to the man, who took his place next to Laylor. Jack looked at Tom. ‘Right, now you get back outside. If anyone comes through that gate, I want them to see you.’

Tom didn’t move. Antrobus could see that the young man was trying to make up his mind whether to fight or not. Perhaps with Laylor in the room, he’d have a chance. He tensed his body.

Jack laughed. ‘Now, that’s the difference between the young pup and the old dog. Laylor here’s already decided. He knows he’d be dead the instant he moved. This young one can’t make up his mind whether to fight or do as he’s told. Just do as you’re told, lad. Isn’t that right, Laylor?’

Laylor nodded. ‘It’s no use, Tom. Do what he says.’

Tom glared at Jack, then turned and walked towards the door. He had taken only two steps when Antrobus saw Jack move. It happened so quickly, it seemed impossible. Jack matched Tom’s steps, then his arm flashed out and his sword went deep into the boy’s back. Tom’s body arched and he gave a sharp cry. He staggered a few steps into the yard, then fell. His body twitched once, then went still.

‘That’s for lying to me, boy,’ said Jack.

Antrobus shivered in the dark. He wished he could forget the sight of Jack’s sword entering Tom’s back. He wished he could forget what happened next.

Laylor had made a small noise, like the stifled snarl of a wolf. He had pushed aside the blade at his throat, slicing his hand but not even flinching, then thrown himself at Jack. Yet, casually, as if he knew what Laylor would do, Jack had turned and his sword arm had come up. This time he had slashed, a single sweep of the blade that caught Laylor’s throat. Then Rayker’s man had collapsed, face up, just inside the door. Death took its time claiming Laylor. His body had convulsed and the blood had bubbled from his throat for what seemed an eternity.

‘That was stupid of me,’ said Jack. He wiped his sword on Laylor’s breeches. ‘Now he’s in the way.’ He barked at his accomplice. ‘You, move him! And you,’ he said to Antrobus, ‘are going to come with me.’

Antrobus was gagged, bound and blindfolded. He was pushed into alley and on to a small cart. And then, for good measure – or simple pleasure – they hit him on the head and his mind joined his eyes in darkness.

He had woken on a damp earth floor. They had removed the cords that bound him, and his blindfold, though it wouldn’t have made a difference. The room was pitch black and he couldn’t even see his own hands. He had explored the room, feeling the hard dirt walls and the roughly hewn wooden door. It was obviously makeshift but sturdy, the timbers of the frame set deep. He stumbled into the bucket and then into the pallet, barking his shin. At least he could stand and even pace. The only other thing he could do was wait.

A long time had passed when the door opened and he was blinded by the blaze of a torch thrust into the room. Before his eyes could adjust to the light, men had rushed in and a sack was thrown over his head and his hands bound again. The stench of rotted vegetables in the sack had almost made him retch. They had brought in a chair, dragged him on to it and the questioning had started.

It was Jack’s voice that had come out of the blackness. Where was the astrolabe? Where had he hidden it? They had searched the house but hadn’t found it. He’d been followed and he hadn’t been to the workroom so it wasn’t there. Had he deciphered it? Did he think he would ever be let free if he didn’t speak? ‘Tell me and you can go,’ said Jack. ‘Is it really worth your life?’

No, thought Antrobus. It isn’t worth my life for me to have it. It wasn’t worth William’s life. But it is worth my life for you not to have it.

The questioning had gone on for hours at a time. For three days, the same questions, over and over. Irritation and frustration had crept into Jack’s hard, casual voice and Antrobus could tell that his questioner wanted to resort to more painful methods to get what he wanted, and he had wondered what stopped him. Once, though, Jack’s frustration had got the better of him, for without warning, he had felt Jack’s fist crash into the side of his face. The blow had knocked him from the chair, and through the pain of the blow and the thunder in his head, he’d heard distant voices arguing. He couldn’t make out the voices; they must have left the room to argue. After that, he’d not been hit again, but he knew that sooner or later, someone was going to get tired of his silence and the pain would come with a vengeance.

Then, a short time ago, Jack had stopped. There was silence. The silence made Antrobus’s skin prickle. He felt as if he was suffocating in the fetid sack. He was thirsty and hungry, and cold and damp had set into his bones. Antrobus had waited. He had sensed Jack was in the room, and he had sensed others there as well. His hearing had sharpened, he’d thought, and there were different people breathing and he’d caught the barest hint of a whisper. But mostly, it had just been silence.

‘I’ll leave you to think about things for a while,’ Jack’s voice broke the silence. ‘You’re stubborn, but so am I. Maybe a few days with just enough water to keep you alive will make you more reasonable.’

Antrobus had been thrown from the chair. The cords on his wrist had been untied and he had been thrown on his stomach and the sack pulled from his head. He had caught a faint glimpse of a shadow opening the door and then the door had thudded closed and he had been left alone in the dark.

*

‘You’re paying, so I’ll do as you say, but for what it’s worth, you’re wasting your time. He won’t say anything, not unless you let me use more persuasive means.’

Jack looked at the two men. He didn’t think he was wasting his time, though they’d had this argument before. One of them said no, but Jack didn’t think he really meant it. The tall arrogant one looked like he’d enjoy the idea of Jack and his cronies giving Antrobus a good beating. And the end of a hot iron. The problem was the other man. The sharp one.

‘We’re civilised men, Jack,’ said the arrogant one. ‘We don’t hold with using unnecessary violence.’

Interesting, thought Jack. That’s the first time he’s used the word unnecessary. He’s been thinking of when it will be necessary.

But the other man was sharp. He’d noticed, too. ‘With any violence. Do you understand, Jack?’ he said. His voice was low and hard. Jack thought he’d have to watch himself with this one.

The outlaw was surprised when the man continued. He usually said very little.

‘Don’t make decisions you’ll regret, Jack. We’ve planned this for some time and I won’t have it ruined because you think you know better.’ The man’s voice went harder, like tempered steel. ‘There are other bands of pot-tossers just like you, who’d be happy to take our gold for what we’ve asked you to do. And slit your throat into the bargain. Now, when it is necessary, I know what will make him cooperate. Keep at him as you are, and if he still doesn’t talk, I’ll tell you what to do. When the time is right.’

He didn’t wait for an answer. He spun round and left the room. His dark cloak swirled, sweeping the hat off the head of the arrogant one. The man picked up his hat, gave Jack a faint smile and followed his companion.

Jack watched them go and cursed.

*

And Antrobus waited. He had no way of telling how long he waited. Three times the door had opened slightly and a small flask of water and a crust of bread was hastily left just inside. His captors were very careful. The door was never opened for more than a second or two and Antrobus never had the chance even to glance around the room. He could be in a dungeon, a cave, a cellar; he had no idea.

Antrobus thought back to when he first woke in his prison. He tried to remember how many times he had been brought food. He reckoned that they’d feed him twice a day. Had that been eight times? Or nine? He couldn’t be sure but he worked out he must have been in the room for at least four days, probably longer.

The door opened. As usual, the torch-bearer came first; then Jack, carrying a chair and a ream of paper; then two men manoeuvred a small table into the room. They set the table in the middle of the room then backed away to the door. Jack tossed the paper on the table, put the chair down and motioned Antrobus to sit. Wearily, he got off his pallet and sat in the chair. The man with the torch placed it in a metal holder attached to the wall. Then he and the other two men left, leaving Jack alone with Antrobus. The alchemist looked at the wall illuminated by the torch. And he knew exactly where he was.

Jack reached into his pocket and took out two quills and a sealed bottle of ink. ‘I want you to write something for me,’ said Jack. His voice was back to normal – hard, mocking and disdainful.

Antrobus looked up at him. ‘Anything in particular? A sonnet? A tale of ghouls and long-leggety beasties? A play?’

Jack ignored him. ‘All you know about the key to the stone. Everything. And at the end, you will write down where you have hidden it.’

‘That will take no time,’ replied Antrobus. ‘I know nothing about it. I’ve told you that.’

‘You have twenty-four hours. At the end of twenty-four hours I am going to bring you a visitor. A young lady. They tell me her name is Jenny. If you haven’t filled that parchment with all you know, I am going to make her stand where I stand now and I am going to slit her throat.’

Antrobus felt his heart pound. Jack would do it. He had no doubt of that.

‘Maybe I won’t kill her right away,’ Jack said, his eyes locked on Antrobus’s. ‘She’s a pretty one. Unusual, but very pleasing. And young. Untouched, I’d imagine. I’ll be happy to be her master for a very different kind of apprenticeship.’

He smiled, the same mirthless smile he wore when he ran his sword into poor Tom. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to scribble away. You’ve got plenty of parchment and ink. Enough to save that pretty young life, at least.’

Chapter 13

Brigand’s Cave

Ewan Swift crouched in the brush. Every muscle was taut with readiness and each nerve tingled with anticipation. All his senses were alert as he watched the man a few feet away. He didn’t recognise him but he had the look of one who had grown wild with the animals of Queerwood. The man’s head turned and Ewan could see his face. Ewan reassessed his opinion; he’d bet the man had been a wild one long before he’d made the acquaintance of any forest animal. Ewan noted the bow over the stranger’s shoulder; not a hunter’s bow, but a soldier’s weapon, just like the sword at his hip and the thin-bladed fighting knife in his belt.

This would probably end like the others they’d come across. Since the previous morning they had tracked four men and none had been one of Jack-o’-Lantern’s goblins. One pair had been brothers recently come to Queerwood. They hadn’t even made up their minds yet whether to find a band of outlaws to join or try to survive on their own, desperate, hungry highwaymen seeking slim rewards in the forest. After a brief questioning, Rayker let them go. He knew of no crime they’d committed. He hoped they’d heed his advice to leave Queerwood. He had promised he’d come after them if they stayed – if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, they’d come across one of the bands of outlaws – who had unpleasant ways of dealing with independents.

Another had been a man Ewan thought long dead. He was a villager whose wife had died years earlier. The grief-stricken man had simply walked away from his holding and into the forest. No one had seen him since, until Ewan caught his smell one night and found him sleeping in a small hut of leaves and mud. He’d not turned outlaw; he just decided to stop being human, surviving on grubs, berries and the occasional animals he trapped. Maybe, reflected Ewan, it was the only way he thought could stop the pain of loss that comes with being human. The man probably hadn’t bathed since he’d been in the forest and he could barely speak. Ewan looked into his eyes and what he saw beneath the wildness showed him that the man had been wrong; there was no escape from some pain. They offered him food and one of the men gave him an old jerkin and they let him return to whatever life he had left.

The fourth man had given them more trouble than the others. They had surprised him as he walked down an old overgrown trail. Though more than thirty men surrounded him, he had decided to make a fight of it. He had drawn a cheap, heavy sword with nicks along the fighting edge. Swinging his sword, he had tried to break through the circle of men. But Rayker had personally chosen each of the men and any one was a match for the outlaw.

‘I want him alive!’ Rayker had cried.

‘Then come and get him yerself!’ had shouted a grey-haired veteran called Ben. He had grinned and raised his arm. Blood came from a small cut above his wrist. Sometimes it was harder not to kill a man.

Unable to get past the ring of men, the outlaw had fallen back to the middle, still swinging his sword wildly, and threatening to gut any man that came near.

‘Youse’ll ’ave ta kill me!’ he’d said defiantly. ‘I won’t cry pity!’

Ewan had hefted his staff and walked straight towards the outlaw. He’d come within an arm’s length and the man’s sword had flashed, a hard, fast slash that should have disembowelled the forest ward. As the sword edge approached his belt, Ewan had whirled on his back foot and brought his staff round. It was a heavy staff, the height of a man, fashioned from the heart of a fallen myrtle tree. It had caught the outlaw on the jaw and he’d dropped without a sound.

‘’Ere, Swift,’ called Ben good-naturedly. ‘Whaddya do that fer? We was jist gettin’ ta know ’im! ‘Now ’e’s gonna have a terrible ’ead when ’e wakes!’

And indeed the outlaw did have a terrible headache when he came to. Despite being bound hand and foot, he had refused to be cowed. When he’d caught sight of Ewan, he’d scowled and cursed him. Then Rayker had knelt down beside him. On hearing Rayker’s name, he had fallen silent, his eyes showing his fear. Gradually, he had realised they were looking for Jack and his attitude had changed immediately.

‘That Jack’s cursed, he is.’ The outlaw had spat the name like it was an insect in his mouth. ‘I’d rather sell me soul to the devil than run with him. He don’t kill for pleasure, for I don’t think anything in this life gives him pleasure. He kills cos he can.’

‘Do you know where he is?’ Rayker had asked.

The outlaw had shaken his head. ‘If it’d be anyone else you’re lookin’ for, you’d have to kill me before I’d tell you. But I’d happily tell you where to find that evil bugger if I knew. But only those that run with him know. All I know is that it’s east of here, mebbe half a day. I’ve learned that much.’ He cursed again. ‘That Jack killed my uncle and my best friend when they refused to pay tariff to him. He thinks he owns the forest and when he comes across another making his living off the highway, he wants his share. And he takes it – or your life. Simple as that.’

Rayker had been inclined to believe the man but far from inclined to let him loose in the forest again. So, he had sent the outlaw back to Vale, guarded by two of his men. Then Ewan, Rayker and the remaining men had headed east.

That had been yesterday. This morning, they had risen with the sun and then walked towards it into the remotest part of the great forest.

The eastern regions of Queerwood were the most wild; the forest was dense and there were few trails; the terrain became mountainous and the Blasted River (named, Ewan had once told Jenny, because that was what anyone who tried to cross it called it) thundered through the land. The river crashed along deep gorges and between sheer ravines, affording few places to cross – and those few places were treacherous. Looking at the untamed landscape, Rayker had to admit that this was an ideal place for Jack and his outlaws. If he was hiding somewhere amid the rocky hills and thick forests, finding him would be difficult. Getting him out of his lair might prove to be impossible.

Ewan had been ward of Queerwood for more than fifteen years and he knew it as a living and breathing being. He knew where the forest was welcoming and where it was forbidding. He guided them by feeling the land, and he brought them to the top of a hill overlooking the Blasted River. Its source was a mountain to the north, between the cities of Vale and Cleve. It rushed down a series of mountains like a terrace garden until it poured off the one to their left; down its face it tumbled into a small valley in an enormous cascade of white water and spray, before rushing into a steep gorge where the valley narrowed to their right. On the far side of the river was the rugged cliff face of a mountain.

If they are here, Ewan reckoned, they’d be in the trees across the river at the foot of the cliff face, or in the caves that dotted it. The men started down into the valley, Ewan twenty paces ahead. He had not gone far when he saw the lone man sitting in the mid-morning sun, sipping from his water bag.

And so now he crouched behind a bush and waited and watched. He’d signalled Rayker and his men to stop and hoped they’d stay quiet. Ewan knew there’d be a moment when the man relaxed. When that moment came, Ewan would rush him. In the meantime, he could be patient. If he was one of Jack’s men, they couldn’t afford to have him alert the others. Once warned, the band of outlaws could well escape; or worse, Rayker and his men would find themselves in a pitched battle.

The man continued to stand in the middle of the small path. What’s he waiting for? Ewan asked himself. Then he had his answer. From the brush another man stepped on to the path, adjusting his breeches. He, too, carried a fighting bow, with a knife in his belt.

‘Finished?’ asked the first man. ‘Too much ale, that’s your problem.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ said the second man. ‘When did we last ’ave ale? All we’ve ’ad is that bleedin’ wine we took from that merchant. I’d kill for an ale.’

‘I know. I saw you, remember?’ said the first, with grim humour.

‘C’mon, let’s get back. They’ll give us right grief, comin’ back without ’ny meat. I thought you were supposed ter be good with that bow. You missed that stag by a good hand.’

‘I do all right with it,’ grumbled the first man.

‘We ain’t had fresh meat since Horn went off,’ said the other. ‘He coulda shot that stag in the eye at twice the distance you shot.’

‘Well, Horn ain’t here. He’s gone off with Jack.’

‘I reckon mebbe Jack kilt ‘im. You heard ’em argue.’

‘Killed ’im? Don’t be daft.’

The second man snorted derisively. ‘Jack’d kill yer soon as look at yer. He’s a murderin’ so-and-so.’ He chuckled wryly. ‘Course, we all is, comes to that!’

Behind Ewan, the rustle of leaves was followed by a soft thud and a hiss of breath. The two men turned, bringing their bows from their shoulders.

Ewan didn’t hesitate. In the thick brush, he didn’t have enough room to throw the staff. His only chance was to rush them before they could draw their bows. Even before their fingers closed on a shaft, Ewan was covering the ground between them. Rayker was less than a heartbeat behind, but he had five metres of extra ground to cover.

The second man was the faster of the two. Ewan tackled him, hoping that Rayker was quick enough to stop the other one from putting an arrow or a blade between his shoulders. He hit the man hard with his shoulder as he brought an arrow from his quiver. The force of the blow knocked the man off his feet, sending him tumbling into the bushes. Ewan brought his staff round and placed the end against the man’s throat. The man glared up at him, then gave a short nod of surrender as more of Rayker’s men appeared behind Ewan.

His friend had not fared so well. For a split second he had hesitated, unsure whether Ewan or Rayker posed the greater threat. He saw Rayker coming fast and decided self-preservation was by far the best part of valour. Leaving his friend to take care of himself, he nocked his arrow and drew his bow. The arrowhead was almost in line with Rayker’s chest when he felt a sharp tug on his bow arm. His arm was knocked sideways as he loosed the arrow. He cried out as pain went through his forearm and cursed when he saw the arrow sticking through it.

Rayker took the man’s weapons. ‘Stop the noise, save it for when we get that out of your arm.’ He turned and glanced at his men, searching. Then he smiled at one who strolled towards him, bow in hand.

‘Thanks, Declan. Well shot,’ said Rayker.

Declan shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It was nothing. Just closed my eyes and hoped for the best.’ He gave Rayker a cheeky grin. ‘Now, I’ll go and ask the man for my arrow back.’

Ewan’s man was dragged to join his companion. His eyes, under heavy, thick brows and showing the pain of the arrow in his forearm, fixed on Rayker.

‘I know you. You’re Rayker, ain’t ya?’ he said belligerently. ‘You took a good friend o’ mine a couple o’ years back. Surprised you is still alive. Won’t be, though, when Jack ’ears o’ this. ’E doan like it when people takes ’is men.’ He looked at his companion. ‘Ain’t that right, Cross?’

Though he looked alarmed at Rayker’s name, Cross took up the threats. ‘Let us go now and we’ll not tell Jack.’ He did a quick count of the men with Rayker. ‘You’ll need more’n this lot to take Jack. From that cave of his, he could hold off a hundred men. And, anyway he’s not –’

‘Shut yer gob, Cross,’ snapped the other man. ‘Doan tell ’em nuthin’.’

Rayker knelt beside the man. ‘That’s right. I’m Rayker. And I did take your friend. Three years ago, on the north road. And I know you, Frick. Do you want me to tell Cross here what sort of man you are? Then I’ll let you both go and you can run back to Jack and Cross can tell him what sort of man he has on his side. From what I hear, Jack doesn’t treat cowards all that hospitably.’

Frick licked his lips nervously. ‘Doan know what yer mean. You ambushed us. There weren’t nuthin’ I could do.’

‘Except run,’ said Rayker. ‘You’re pretty fast, Frick. I’m sure three years haven’t slowed you down at all.’

Frick’s eyes went furtively to his companion. Cross was looking at him through narrowed eyes, an unpleasant expression on his face.

‘Right,’ said Rayker. ‘Let them go. They’re not going to tell us anything we need. We can’t guard them, so it’s either kill them or let them go. There’s no point killing them. Jack’ll do that for us. He’ll never believe they didn’t give him up when we turn up at the cave.’

Everyone took a step back from the two captives. Ben smiled cheerily and waved at them. ‘Good speed, gentlemen. We’ll see you soon,’ he said.

Frick and Cross were confused and worried. But Cross was more of a gambler than his companion and he decided to call Rayker’s bluff. He rose from the grass.

‘Give me ma bow ’n knife and I’ll go back ta Jack and let ’im know youse is comin’. I’ve bin with Jack a long time. ’E knows I’d not open me mouth ta likes o’ you.’

Rayker nodded and one of his men handed Cross his bow. He flipped the man’s knife in the air, caught it by the point and threw it in the ground at the outlaw’s feet.

Cross hadn’t expected they’d give him his weapons. He didn’t know what to make of it.

‘You’ll put an arrer in me back soon as I take a step,’ he snarled, plucking his knife from the ground. He felt its weight for a second, then tucked it in his belt.

‘Go!’ Rayker barked. ‘And tell Jack we’ll stop by and visit soon.’

Cross turned and bolted. Unseen by anyone, Ewan slipped into the trees and went after him.

Frick watched. No one made a move to go after Cross. Mebbe they will let me go. Jack’ll niver believe I gave ’em up. Even if ’e does, I’ll say it was Cross that done it.

‘Well, I’ll be going, too,’ he said aloud. ‘Gimme ma bow, ’n knives.’

‘In good time,’ said Rayker. ‘We’ll give Cross long enough to get there and tell your friends we’re coming. And that you kindly stayed behind to tell us a few things. I’m sure they’ll have a suitable welcome ready when you get there. Or maybe Cross won’t wait that long. He has a bit more courage than you do, Frick. And maybe a strong sense of justice. I think he’s the sort of man who might just wait down the way a bit and put an arrow through your heart.’

That was just the bad-tempered, unreasonable sort of man Frick thought Cross could be. A thought came to him …

‘And in case you’re thinking of going the other way,’ said Rayker as if reading Frick’s thoughts, ‘I’ll tell my men that if you head in any direction but there –’ He pointed to the river below. ‘– they are to put another arrow into you. Into any part of you they like.’

Frick was crestfallen. ‘Look, I’m wounded. I’ve got an arrer through ma arm. Fix me up and I’ll tell yer what yer want ta know! Then yer can let me go,’ he pleaded. ‘Besides, Jack ain’t even there! If it’s ’im you want, yer gonna have ta wait.’

Rayker frowned. ‘Not there? Where is he, then?’

‘My arm!’ cried Frick. ‘Do somethin’. It hurts like the devil.’

‘When you’ve answered my questions,’ insisted Rayker.

‘I doan know where ’e is,’ said Frick miserably. ‘But ’e’s up ta sumthin’. A few weeks back he jist came in an’ threw down a bag of gold marks an’ said we’d soon have ten times that much. Since then, ’e’s been keepin’ things to himself even more’n usual. ’E just said that all we had ta do was wait and lie low. ’Bout a week ago Jack took six others and left. Said ’e’d be back in a few days and we was to stay put.’ Frick managed to look even more glum. ‘Told us not ta go near the ’ighway; we was ta do no robbin’, no nuthin’.’ He sighed. ‘Ain’t niver seen that much money afore. Not at one time.’

‘So, he’s hired out to someone?’ Rayker asked.

Frick shrugged, then grimaced as the arm moved. ‘That’s ma guess.’

‘What about Horn?’

‘What about ’im?’ asked Frick, suspiciously. He saw Rayker’s glowering look and hastily continued. ‘Horn was always an odd one. ’Ee kept to himself. Niver caused trouble, but everyone steered clear of ’im. ’Bout a week ago, the day before Jack and the others left, I think, Jack took Horn aside. They talked for a while an’ then, before we knew what was what, they was yellin’ and arguin’. We all got a bit nervous. Yer didn’t argue with Jack. But Horn did. They were standin’ nose to nose and we all thought that was it for Horn. ’E was a good man with most weapons, but ’e’d have been no match for Jack. Then Horn just grabs his bow and storms off without a word to anyone. Jack was in a foul mood the whole day. Next day, Horn is back but without his bow, and a cracking great mark on the side of his head. ’E was one of those who left with Jack the next day.’

‘Who were the others?’ Rayker asked casually. ‘Apart from Nate and Kurt?’

Frick was startled. ‘How’d you know ’bout Nate ’n’ Kurt?’

Rayker didn’t answer and Frick went on. ‘Let’s see; there were Jack, Horn, Nate, Kurt, Seth, Walt ’n’ Milly.’

Rayker showed no surprise at the woman’s name. He’d bet it was Milly Beaufort. She was a handful, as good with a sword as any man he’d ever met and more ruthless than most. She was almost as notorious as Jack. If it was her, he was surprised that she would have joined a band as big as Jack’s. She was not known for her sharing nature.

‘Look,’ Frick blurted, ‘get this thing outta ma arm and I’ll tell yer where the cave is. They’ll be easier to take with Jack gone. It’s jist over the river. I’ll lead you there, or tell that man of yours …’ he looked around for Ewan. ‘Where’s ’e gone? That woodsman that brought down Cross?’ He paused, then glared triumphantly at Rayker. ‘He’s gone after Cross, ’asn’t he? You niver intended ta let Cross git back to the cave! I doan ’ave ta tell ya nuthin’!’ he crowed.

Cross stumbled into their midst. Ewan walked behind him, prodding him with his staff.

‘Watch that stick o’ yourn! You already give me a knock!’ He rubbed the side of his head, then spat at Rayker. ‘You niver intended to let me go, did ya? Ya damn sod!’ The look he gave Rayker showed malice. The one he gave Frick promised revenge.

Rayker ignored him. ‘Declan, you can get your arrow now. Ben, give him a hand.’ He looked at Ewan. ‘Well?’

Ewan turned his back on the others so he could see the valley and the cliffs beyond. ‘He headed straight to the river,’ he said, pointing down into the valley. ‘I didn’t want him to get too far away in case I had to carry him back. We can make the river without being seen. They’ve made a bridge, just a few logs, where it narrows. It’s well hidden on both sides but once across it’ll be hard getting close enough to have a good look. But I’d say that’s where they are. One thing surprises me, though. There’s a trail on this side, but it’s not much more than a one-man track, not used a lot. They must have another way in and out.’

‘I’d be surprised if Jack didn’t,’ said Rayker.

‘My guess is that he’s found a pass north, through the mountain behind the cliff, to the east of the river,’ said Ewan. ‘That would take him to the Old Road. Vale’s only two hours west from there.’

Rayker didn’t answer. He stared out across the valley and sheer cliff on the other side.

‘You’re thinking about the men who’ll die if we try to storm the cave,’ said Ewan.

Rayker nodded. ‘If they have Antrobus in there, they could kill him long before we’d ever get in,’ he mused. ‘Or they’d get him out the back way. And if we’re wrong, a lot of men will die for nothing.’ He dropped to his haunches and Ewan squatted next to him. ‘We need a better plan, Swift. We have to get them out of that cave without losing half our men and we have to make sure they can’t get out another way.’

‘Most of these caves have air crevices, holes that lead from outside down into the caves. If we can find one big enough, and get one or two men inside, there’s a chance they can at least find Antrobus and keep him alive while we deal with the others,’ said Ewan.

‘That’s a long shot,’ Rayker said, ‘and dangerous for the men who go in. And it won’t stop them getting away if there is a pass through that mountain. We have to find that pass.’

‘I’ll find it,’ said Ewan.

The men straightened up. ‘Don’t get caught, Swift. I wouldn’t want that daughter of yours mad at me.’

At the mention of his daughter, Ewan smiled. The way Rayker spoke it made it clear that he at least respected her. He was already proud of his daughter, but Rayker’s approval of Jenny added polish to his pride.

‘There’s little we can do here,’ Rayker said. ‘I’ll take the men back to Vale the way we came. It’ll take us a full day so it’ll be night by the time we get there. Come to my house at daybreak tomorrow. We’ll think of a way of getting these brigands out of their cave. Then, in two days, we can be back to finish this job.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘They’ve had Antrobus for five days now. I hope he can last another two.’

Ewan set off into the valley and Rayker led his band of volunteers, and their prisoners, through Queerwood, back to Vale. He couldn’t possibly know that within a few hours Jack would give Jenny just one day to live.

Chapter 14

Earth, Air, Fire and Water

Ewan arrived in Vale about an hour before sunset. He headed straight for Rumpkin’s to see Jenny. As he walked across the square to the house, a pretty young woman – not too much older than Jenny, he guessed – came from the house. She smiled politely at him as he passed. He smiled in return, then his attention was caught by a young woman’s face looking at him through an upper window. They locked eyes for an instant, then the face disappeared. Odd, he thought, then raised his hand to knock.

‘Excuse me, are you perhaps Ewan Swift?’ a voice behind him asked.

Ewan turned round, his eyes curious. It was the young lady who had just smiled at him. ‘I am,’ he replied.

‘I thought you might be,’ the young lady said brightly. ‘Jenny said you were a wood-ward and you, well, look like a wood-ward.’

‘Do you share lodgings with Jenny?’ Ewan asked.

‘She’s my room-mate,’ said the young lady. ‘Forgive me – I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Emily. Emily Trickett.’

‘Magistrate Trickett’s daughter! You were still in the crib last time I saw you.’ Ewan shook his head. ‘No one could have imagined that that crying, wrinkled, red-faced imp would have turned into quite such a beautiful swan.’

Emily felt herself blushing. ‘It’s kind of you to say so – I think. Do you know my father, then?’

Ewan nodded. ‘I wasn’t always a wood-ward. I once lived in the palace and back then your father wasn’t chief magistrate.’

‘I knew there was more to Jenny than just the daughter of a rustic forester!’ Her face had a look of smug vindication. ‘You haven’t forgotten your palace charms, I see.’

Ewan laughed. ‘And you are learning yours quite quickly, I see! Now, Mistress Trickett, I really would like to see my daughter. Forgive me if I am abrupt but –’

‘If you want to see your daughter, first, I’d start by calling me Emily. I think the fact that your daughter is my best friend, and that you’ve known me from the crib, makes that perfectly proper. Second, I wouldn’t knock on that door. All you’d get is the joy of talking to Rumpkin, and there is no happiness in that joy, believe me. And last, if you’ve no objection to walking with a wrinkled and red-faced ball of tears, you can come with me, for I was just on my way to bring her some supper. You’ll join us, of course. I’ll stop to get another pie.’

Ewan offered Emily his best and lowest bow (which, to be honest, was not particularly good, as he was quite out of practice) and the two set off to Antrobus’s workshop.

Given the events of the past week, it is not surprising that for a while the conversation soon turned serious. He had been told of the two attacks on Jenny and the incident at Antrobus’s house when Horn had been killed, but hearing of them from the lips of a girl not much older than Jenny made them seem more vivid and immediate.

Emily also told him how hard Jenny had been working the past few days.

‘She spends almost all her time there. Some nights, I think she’d sleep there – or not sleep at all – if I didn’t drag her back to Rumpkin’s.’

They walked through Vale, Emily chatting to Jenny’s father as if she had known him not just now and at the start of her life, but all the days in between. Ewan was content to let the young woman’s words flow and, for the first time in nearly a fortnight, he felt easier about his daughter’s life in Vale.

*

Harcourt watched the two people walk down the stone corridor towards him. He recognised Emily, but the tall, lean man with her was a stranger to him. His senses sharpened and his body tensed. He studied the stranger. He was not a city man; his tanned, weathered face and the way he walked told him that more than the clothes he wore. He sensed there was nothing to fear from the man, but his training was ingrained and held on to his wariness.

Emily smiled at him. Inwardly, he sighed. He didn’t know how she managed to make each smile so bright and each greeting so genuine.

‘Hello, Harcourt,’ she said. She reached into her basket and took out a small earthenware jug. ‘Ale,’ she said, handing it to him. She took out a pie, wrapped in several layers of cloth. ‘A beef pie.’ She handed him the parcel and reached into the basket once again. ‘And honey cakes. Honey and nutmeg, I think.’

Harcourt took the food, beaming at Emily, then realised he had his hands full and there was a man he didn’t know standing in front of him. He cocked an eye and looked from Emily to Ewan.

‘Thank you, Mistress Trickett. Would you care to introduce your friend so I can eat this without worrying that I’m going to have to stop halfway through the pie to rescue you and Mistress Swift?’

Harcourt’s tone was light and good-natured but Ewan could hear the slightest edge of warning under the words.

‘Harcourt, you’ll never guess who this is!’ Emily said, and without giving Harcourt a chance to prove he could, she told him. ‘This is Master Swift, Jenny’s father!’

‘I should’ve known,’ said Harcourt. He shifted the jug into the crook of his left arm and gave his cap a quick tug with his right hand. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Swift.’

Ewan held out his hand. Harcourt hesitated. Though he feared no man, he showed deference to most. He knew the order of things, and accepted that he was near the bottom of the human pile. And experience had shown him that most men, when offered deference, don’t like letting go of it. Yet the man before him was giving him the courtesy of an equal, though Harcourt knew that Swift was not only a learned man, but a well-connected one. He took Ewan’s hand and clasped it firmly.

‘Call me Ewan.’

Harcourt gave a nod, then turned to Emily. ‘Have you seen Tom today?’ he asked.

Emily blushed, giving her face a rosy glow. ‘He woke! Only for a few minutes, but he opened his eyes and smiled at me!’

‘Smiled at you, eh? Well, that sounds like Tom. If he’s getting better, it might be safer for you if we get someone else to look after him.’

Emily’s look told him what she thought of that idea.

Harcourt chuckled. ‘Well, if he tries to kiss you, you tell me and I’ll sort him out.’

Emily thought she might do many things if Tom kissed her but telling Harcourt would definitely not be one of them. She blushed again and opened the door.

The room was a fog of smoke, and filled with a penetrating, acrid smell. Jenny didn’t hear them enter. She was standing next to the athanor, the large furnace in the corner, the red glow from its coals on her face. Soot and coal dust marked her cheeks and forehead. On top of the athanor, an alembic bubbled. Vapour rose from the murky liquid inside, crept along a long narrow glass tube that slanted downwards from the top and then reformed as a clear liquid before dripping into a pot. Jenny opened the small iron door at the bottom of the athanor and tossed in a panful of coals.

Scattered over the table behind her were plates of crystals, jars of salts and liquids, crucibles, glass tubes and a myriad of earthenware pots. In the middle of everything, a book lay open, like a sorcerer’s recipe book.

‘Jenny!’ called Emily.

Jenny closed the furnace door and turned. She saw her father and her face lit up. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. Ewan circled her with his arms and kissed her hair. Neither spoke for a minute.

‘Oh, Papa, I’ve missed you,’ Jenny murmured. Abruptly, she took her arms from his neck and looked at him, her eyes full of fear. ‘Mama …’ she started but Ewan cut her off.

‘Your mother is fine, Jenny,’ Ewan assured her, ‘though she is not the same without you. No, I’m here to meet Rayker.’

When Rayker had said he was going to ask for her father’s help, she had never dreamed that he would come to Vale. For a moment, Jenny forgot everything else as she hugged her father again.

‘I was going to apologise for my appearance but I think it’s better than yours,’ Ewan joked. ‘I went straight to Rumpkin’s to see you and met Mistress Trickett –’

‘Emily,’ the young woman reminded him.

‘– Emily, and she steered me here. She’s brought you supper.’

‘Is it supper time already? I hadn’t noticed.’ She clutched her father’s arm. ‘Oh, I am just so happy to see you! How long are you staying? What’s happening with Rayker? Did you find Jack? Did he have Master Antrobus?’

‘Let’s have some supper and I’ll tell you what’s happened,’ said Ewan.

They set out their meal. Ewan watched Jenny as they did. She had changed. Not physically. But she’d grown inside and it made her appear different. She had an intensity she’d not had before.

While they ate, he told what had happened over the past few days.

‘I can’t see how we’ll get Jack and his band without losing a lot of men. I scouted the top of the cliff above the cave. There are a few crevices, but none large enough for a man to enter. There is a small opening at the rear of the cave. They’ve made a trail to a narrow ravine, just wide enough for a man on a horse, which goes almost up to the Old Road. If they choose to stay in the cave, they could hold off an army. Sending a file of men along that trail would be suicide. There’s more chance at the front but they have a good defensive position there, too. We might overrun them after a while, but the loss of men would be too great. And, it isn’t certain they have Master Antrobus.’

‘I don’t think they’ll kill him,’ said Jenny. ‘They want something from him. They won’t kill him until they have it.’

‘What if they already have it?’ Emily asked.

Ewan blew out his cheeks. ‘Then he’s probably dead already.’

Jenny stared at her plate. She picked up a small crumb of crust and held it high above her mug and let it fall. ‘We have to get them out of the cave,’ she said absently. ‘Do the air crevices go all the way down into the cave, like chimneys?’

‘It’s hard to say. One, maybe two, I’m sure do. Most probably snake down, stopping the rain from getting in.’

Jenny continued to stare pensively. Ewan looked at her and she caught his look. ‘I have an idea, but I’m not sure it will work. I’ll have to test it. If it does work, they’ll all come out.’

Ewan was about to ask what her idea was, but he didn’t. Unexpectedly, he found himself not needing to know – whatever Jenny had in mind, she knew what she was doing.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘How much time do you need to test it?’

‘A few hours, I think. But if I’m right, I’ll have to work all night to make enough.’

‘Then we have much to do,’ said Emily.

‘Thank you,’ said Jenny, laying her hand on Emily’s. She squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘It’s dangerous, though. Perhaps you –’

Emily cut her off. ‘Perhaps I should return home and go to bed? Jenny Swift, do you think I’m some delicate, spoiled young lady who’s afraid of … of … whatever it is you have around here?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Jenny affectionately. ‘But you’re also a good friend. What I was going to say is that perhaps you should go and see Tom first. And then, when you get back, we’ll find an apron to cover those pretty clothes of yours.’

‘Show me what to do, and I’ll help,’ Ewan said. ‘You’ll be the master this time.’

‘You look exhausted,’ Jenny said to him sternly. ‘You can go and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day, one way or another, and I’m not going to spend it worrying that one of Jack’s hobgoblins will put an arrow into you because you’re tired. Now go, and stop worrying about me.’

Ewan kissed his daughter. ‘I’ve stopped worrying, Jenny,’ he said tenderly, ‘but I’ll never stop being proud.’

Ewan Swift escorted Emily to Fenwick Square, then headed to the Goose’s Egg, an inn close to the palace. The evening was chilly and he sat in front of the fire, nursing a strong ale. He watched the diligent flames at their work and he thought about his daughter. When his ale was finished, he went to his room, his heart heavy. Jenny was no longer his. She was where she belonged.

*

Among Antrobus’s scribbled pages, Jenny had come across a reference to a strange, white, wax-like substance that he had created while distilling something. The substance gave off a green-tinged glow when exposed to the air and was very dangerous … She read his description several times – and his warnings. He’d called it Lucifer’s Light.

He’d made some more and had stored it in an earthenware jar, placed within another jar filled with water. She’d need to make more but not too much. That was good. She read again how he’d created it. That was very good.

Her problem was how to use it, and how to allow it to be carried safely to the cave. Lucifer’s Light was safe enough underwater but once exposed to air … Antrobus’s description of the effects of a very, very small amount worried her. She thought of Nate, and his horrific death. She did not want anyone else to die, be they soldier or outlaw.

She set to work. She stoked the athanor until it was as hot as she could make it. Then, she went down to the animal pens to get the next ingredient.

*

Jenny opened the spigot of the barrel and wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell was foul. Trying not to breathe, she let the brown liquid fill the bucket. Antrobus had been collecting it for months, she’d learned. He had two large tuns of it stored near the animal pens. Six palace porters, none of them too happy about being asked, carried the barrels to the workroom. When they finished, she had them collect barrels of sand from the banks of the Blasted River that flowed past the walls.

‘Make sure you take it from where the sand is white and shiny,’ Jenny instructed them.

‘You want us to do this tonight?’ asked one.

‘Tonight,’ said Jenny in a tone that didn’t invite further comment. ‘Now, please.’

And so she had barrels of sand alongside the barrels of urine.

Jenny began to decant the urine into a very large alembic on the athanor. The apparatus consisted of a giant bulbous bowl with a long, thin neck. To its right was a similar but smaller long-necked bowl. The two were joined by a thin tube of glass that sloped downward from the tall one to the shorter one on the right. This second bowl was half filled with water. To pour the liquid into the first bowl, she had to climb a small ladder.

‘That smells awful,’ said Emily almost gagging. ‘What is it?’

‘Urine,’ replied Jenny. ‘From the sty.’

‘Pig’s pee!’ exclaimed Emily. She nearly dropped the pestle she was holding. ‘Don’t get any of that on me.’

‘Then be quiet for a minute while I do this.’ Jenny tilted the barrel to get the last of the urine. ‘I don’t want it on me, either. And keep grinding.’

Emily pulled her lips together. They stayed that way for several seconds.

‘It’s very pretty,’ she said. ‘Like delicate yellow glass crystals. Seems a pity to crush it like this.’

She poured the crushed sulphur into the crucible Jenny had given her and put more sulphur crystals into the mortar. When she was finished, it would go into the other alembic on the second furnace. ‘I always thought brimstone was fiery, not pretty like this.’

‘It can be, but whatever you do, don’t set it alight,’ said Jenny, lifting the bucket. She climbed the ladder and poured the contents into the crucible. ‘I did and it smells terrible, almost as bad as marsh gas or –’

‘– Old John, our gardener, after he’s eaten cabbage,’ Emily finished for her.

Jenny laughed. ‘I don’t know old John but I do know many who shouldn’t eat cabbage!’ She wiped her hands.

Their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened, and Harcourt stuck his head in. He sniffed, and made a face.

‘There’s a young lady to see you. Says she’s come to help.’

He stood aside and Frida entered. She hesitated in the doorway.

‘I’ve come to help, if I can,’ she said nervously. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening, but when I heard Emily saying to Rumpkin she’d be here with you all night, I knew there was something. And if it has to do with Master Antrobus being taken and my father, I’d like to help. To make up for things.’

‘You’ve nothing to make up for, Frida,’ said Jenny. ‘What your father did doesn’t come back on you.’

‘I know,’ replied Frida. ‘It’s not what he did. It’s to make up for me not asking him questions because I feared the answers.’

Emily glanced at Jenny. She hoped Jenny would say yes. It would help Frida; between the grief of loss and the grief of guilt, the proud young woman had much to work through.

‘Come help me open the wall. It’s going to get a lot hotter in here, and full of very unpleasant smells. Lots of cabbage, I’m afraid.’

‘Not us!’ Emily added quickly.

The three girls laughed and Frida and Jenny moved the huge wooden door that opened the corner of the room to the night sky. A fresh breeze blew in, diminishing the heat and odour.

Frida looked at the alembic. Rank-smelling steam was rising from the bowl, up the long neck, then down the sloping tube. As the steam ran along the tube, it dripped into the neck of the one on the right.

‘May I?’ said Frida. Jenny nodded and Frida climbed the ladder and peered at the boiling urine, apparently impervious to the stench. She looked down at Jenny with a puzzled expression.

‘That needs to boil down until it’s thick, like mud from the moor. It’ll take a while,’ explained Jenny. ‘Then we’ll heat it again, with the sand and charcoal, and pass the vapours through water.’

Frida looked at the sand, the urine vapours, the blazing fire and the liquid condensing in the alembic on the second furnace.

‘Earth, air, fire and water,’ she said. ‘The four elements for life, I think you alchemists say.’

Close enough, thought Jenny. I hope they’re all we need for Antrobus’s life.

*

Pitch was tired. With Jenny under the protection of Harcourt, there was no need to stand watch over Antrobus’s house. So Rayker had given Pitch another job.

Vale was a large city but its system of square wardens had proved to be an effective way of not only policing the city, but of gathering information. The wardens, of course, couldn’t watch all the time, but people did. They looked out of their windows at neighbours and strangers going by; they glanced and nodded to people who passed them on the street; and though they were not particularly observant, they generally noticed anything out of the ordinary. And wardens chatted and gossiped to the people in their square and so knew pretty much everything that happened.

But no one had seen a group of men, probably on horseback, enter or leave Fenwick Square the night Antrobus disappeared. In fact, no one he could find had seen such a group anywhere in Vale. Pitch had talked to all the wardens in all the squares near his and still drew a blank. He yawned. It was getting late. The wardens would be going to bed and few would welcome being disturbed at this time of night by Pitch and his questions. Tomorrow he would start again, talking to wardens in squares and streets farther away.

A glow at the palace caught his eye. He looked across the rooftops and saw a halo of yellow-orange light in a small corner high in the palace. Antrobus’s workroom, he thought. That must be Jenny. She’s a good one. At least she’s safe.

He headed back to his little house.

*

Just before retiring, Emeric the Duke stood on his balcony and gazed across the city of Vale. Silver light and shadows played in the squares and the alleys, and the ghostly outlines of trees swayed in the soft night wind. His eyes turned to the old part of the palace. The corner of the topmost section glowed with the murky yellow light of candles and rushes. And in the middle of that light was a brighter glow of red and deep orange. It was like a set in a theatre. Three dark figures – slight, silhouette puppets – moved ceaselessly to and fro. He watched until the town bell tolled ten o’clock, then he silently wished the players goodnight, and went to his bed.

Chapter 15

Lucifer’s Candles

Antrobus waited. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d called the guard and handed over what he had written. The man hadn’t spoken. He had taken the sheets – and the quill and ink from the table and the torch from the wall – and left. In the darkness, Antrobus had heard the door close and the click of its lock.

He had no idea either how long it had been since Jack had told him that he had a day before Jenny would be brought to the cell to be murdered. Had he been too quick to be convincing? Or had he been too late? Perhaps at that moment they were bringing her to the cell. Once here, why would they let her go, no matter what he said? He knew they would kill him as soon as he gave them what they wanted. They would have no reason not to do the same to Jenny.

He heard the door open. The flare of the torch made him blink. Jack entered the cell, anger on his face. He held the sheets of parchment in his fist. The outlaw leader walked up to Antrobus and struck him across the face, hard. Antrobus staggered, then fell to his knees. Jack threw the parchment at him. He felt the crisp pieces of paper flutter down around him.

‘You’ve wasted six out of your twenty-four hours,’ Jack snarled. ‘Try that again and I’ll take six more off her life.’

He turned and strode out of the room. Once again, the quill and parchment were placed on the table and the torch put back on the wall.

Only six, thought Antrobus. It seemed so much longer.

But he had learned something. It was a small thing, but even small things seemed like big victories. Only another alchemist could have judged it was nonsense …

The quill and parchment lay untouched on the table as Antrobus sat and thought.

*

In the golden glow of their own cave at the top of the palace, the young women worked on. The strange mixture of urine, sand and charcoal was on one furnace; on the other was an alembic with the mixture containing the sulphur Emily had ground. Outside, Harcourt’s relief – a short, mournful-looking man called Job – kept a vigilant watch. Jenny had suggested that the man might like to come inside. He was tempted; the company of three girls working in companionable harmony had a definite appeal. He thought he could overlook the smell and the smoke and vapours coming from the furnaces. But the sudden flashes of blinding light, the odd green glow that came and went on the table, not to mention the occasional and unexpected explosion, were rather unsettling. Politely, he declined and settled himself on a chair in front of the workroom door. Every so often, through the thick wood, he heard a rumble, a bang or the shattering of glass and he felt quite pleased with himself that he had made the right decision.

Within, Jenny experimented with the waxy substance. She varied quantities and temperature; she noted, with some concern, how it reacted with almost everything. It was trial and error all night, and on more than one occasion, all three had to rush to the balcony as harsh, biting fumes filled the room. She was like a master chef; directing sous-chefs, mixing this ingredient with that, precise with quantities and not happy until it was just as she saw in her head. If she had wanted only one thing to happen, the night would have been far shorter for them. But what she had in mind called for two things to happen, one complementing the other.

Choosing the right containers for her concoction also gave them some problems. It was Frida who came up with the solution. At the time, hollow balls of coloured glass, about the size of a melon and with a small hole at the top, were in vogue as candleholders. They were considered very romantic by the women, and very impractical by the men. As a consequence, they became very popular, for women have always been far more optimistic than their experience would warrant. Frida sent Job to scour the palace and bring back at least a dozen. Naturally, he was reluctant to leave his post, and only agreed when Frida lifted him off his chair and dangled him like a baby.

Emily and Frida watched in amazement as the pig’s urine, charcoal and sand in one side of the alembic became a white, waxy mound – Lucifer’s Light – under the water in the other part. It seemed like witchcraft, only they didn’t believe in such nonsense, and besides, Jenny didn’t look anything like the wretched, wicked hags described in the tales told to children.

Job returned with twelve of the glass candleholders. He cast a worried glance at Frida.

‘You didn’t say what colour you wanted,’ he said, his thin face looking even more doleful. ‘Got some of each.’

Frida thanked him, kissed his whiskery cheek and pushed him out the door.

So, the night passed and the day came. The fire in the furnaces, which had burned so hot a few hours before, slowly cooled and died; the barrels of sand and urine sat empty and discarded; the benches were strewn with crucibles and empty jars, and dusted with spilled powder and marked by stains. Amid all this, the three young friends worked on.

*

The morning sun hadn’t even had time to warm the backs of the birds that soared in the sky when Ewan stood at Rayker’s door. As soon as he knocked, the door opened and Rayker stepped aside to let him in.

‘What did you find?’ Rayker asked when Ewan was seated.

The forest ward repeated what he had told Jenny and Emily the night before. To an outsider, it might have looked as if Rayker was ignoring him, for he stared into the empty fireplace as Ewan spoke, and for several seconds after he had finished.

‘We can’t get in but we can stop them getting out,’ he said at last. ‘It would seem we have a stalemate.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Ewan. ‘Jenny thinks she knows a way to get them out.’

‘That’s what she’s been working on all night, then,’ Rayker said.

Ewan wasn’t surprised that Rayker knew. Rayker always seemed to know things.

‘We’ll go and have a little talk to her when we finish here,’ Rayker continued. ‘Can we get men above the rear entrance?’

‘You could position three or four men directly above, overlooking the trail. Once the outlaws leave the cave they have to travel in single file, so even two men, good with a bow, could stop them getting back in.’

‘And the ravine; double or single file?’

‘Double, for men walking.’

‘Horses?’

Ewan gave a shake of his head. ‘That stumped me for a bit. You could ride a horse into the caves from both sides, but I doubt the inside is big enough for twenty or so men and the same number again of horses. I scouted around. I found them just north-west of the pass. They’ve built a paddock and tack hut in a clearing nearby.’

‘It seems,’ Rayker said, ‘the trick is to find a way to get them out, make sure they leave through the back to the north, then trap them along the ravine.’

‘That won’t be easy. The ravine is narrow, but it twists and turns. There are also places where they can climb the sides. You’d need a lot of men to cover all of it and it would still be possible for some of the outlaws to slip through. I think you’re better off letting them get through the ravine and then take them as they head for the horses.’

Rayker grunted. ‘You’ve seen the land. I’ll take your advice.’

‘What’s happened to Cross and Frick?’ Ewan asked.

‘They’re safely locked away.’

‘The others will wonder why they didn’t come back last night.’

Rayker dismissed the problem. ‘Last night they wouldn’t have wondered. They’ll think they’ve slipped into Vale for a drink or some female companionship, and they’ll curse and envy the pair of them. Tonight will be different. Tonight they will wonder. That’s why we have to move today. But, warned or not, it’ll make no difference if we can’t get them to come out. I think it’s time to have that talk with Jenny.’

*

With great care, Jenny took a small lump of the Lucifer’s Light from the water. As it rose into the air, it flared brightly, emitting a green glow. She dropped it into a glass ball. As quick as she could, Emily poured some of the solution Jenny had prepared over it. The green lump in the ball dulled and the glow faded. Then Frida used cork, wax and cloth to seal the hole in the ball. Jenny didn’t know how much of the Lucifer’s Light she should use, as there’d been no time to test it properly outside the workroom. She’d just pictured the inside of the cave in her head and tried to estimate the size. She hoped her quantities were sufficient.

In the end, they had enough for seven glass balls. When each one was filled and sealed, they packed them, like fragile eggs, in small boxes, one in each, cushioned in hay and wool. As she put the last ball into its box, Jenny held it in her hand and said softly, ‘The light is now a candle: Lucifer’s Candle.’

She laid it in its nest.

The three friends looked at each other; they were all tired and filthy and their faces were streaked with soot. Despite the apron she wore, Emily’s clothes were stained and she had even managed to burn a hole in the sleeve of her shift. They were weary but happy.

Rayker and Ewan arrived shortly after. They listened, without interrupting, while Jenny told them what they had made and how it was to work. There were no questions. The two men offered their thanks and went off to do their task. The young ladies didn’t bother to tidy the workroom. They closed the door behind them and headed for Rumpkin’s, to wash and eat – and wait.

Chapter 16

Jack’s Goblins

Queerwood lived. Its breath was the shirring of birds in flight and the susurration of the soft wind in the trees. Its blood was the rivers and streams that pumped from its mountains and flowed through its valleys. Its heartbeat was the unnoticed sounds of its creatures as they lived and died. It was an ancient being that had been born long before the first brick of Vale was shaped from mud. It had boundaries but no limits; left to itself it would have spread its limbs forever. It accepted all who came within it, and judged none. Villain or hero, they abided by its laws or suffered its penalties.

It had true magic, magic without sorcery or artifice. It had the magic of everything, always, being possible. There was nothing so fanciful, nothing so queer, that it wasn’t possible within it.

Ewan loved the forest. After Lucy and Jenny, he loved no being more. He had always loved it, even as a boy. He would stand at the walls of Vale and look out over Queerwood. Past the limits of his keen eyes, it covered the land south of Vale. He knew even then that the forest was an indifferent sentinel, a guardian that cared not for the city but yet succoured it and preserved it. It kept Vale connected to the earth from which it had been built. He had dreamed of living in the forest when he was older, and when he was chosen as a clerk for his learning, he was inconsolable. Something deep inside him refused to believe that he wouldn’t one day be part of it. When Emeric’s uncle, David, asked him to accompany him on his travels, he readily said yes. He knew at that moment that the adventure would lead him back to Queerwood.

On a day such as this one, Ewan should have been content. The forest was at its best. The early spring had continued. The mid-morning sky was a brilliant blue and the sun warmed his skin and muscles. But he wasn’t; he knew that soon the peace of the forest would be broken, and men would die.

Rayker had split his forces. He had sent Declan and nine men back the way they had travelled the day before. The soldiers grumbled about marching all the way back but nonetheless they tramped briskly to their destination. They were to make for the river and the bridge Ewan had seen. By the time they got there, Rayker and the other twenty men would be in position. When Rayker gave the signal, it would begin.

Declan knew that at the start of the attack, he and his men would face the most danger. They had to make the outlaws believe that they were being attacked from the west. That way, when they fled, they’d run north for the ravine. If Jenny’s idea worked.

Rayker had decided against recruiting more volunteers from the barracks. If things went as intended, they had enough. If the plan went awry, more men wouldn’t help. The men who’d been with him the previous three days had been told to be ready as soon as the sun was up. Within half an hour of visiting the workroom, Rayker had sent Declan on his way. The march back the day before had taken seven hours, so they would arrive at the river by early afternoon. It would only take Ewan, Rayker and the other men about two hours to get to their position on the far side of the ravine but Rayker decided to leave at the same time as Declan. He’d prefer the men waiting in Vale and alert rather than waiting, distracted only by cards or draughts or dice.

Thirty-two men had marched through the rusted gates of Vale. Ten had continued on towards the south; twenty-two had turned to the east along the Old Road.

*

The Old Road had been built a thousand years before by the toil of slaves under the yoke of the mighty Roman Empire. It split the continent from east to west, joining city after city. Over the centuries it had crumbled and been repaired in places, but never re-built. It was broad enough for all twenty soldiers to walk abreast, but they had marched in tight ranks of five behind Ewan and Rayker.

About an hour out of Vale, Ewan had told Rayker he would scout ahead. He had walked off the road and into the forest.

That had been over an hour ago. Immersed in the body of Queerwood, he almost wished he hadn’t agreed to help Rayker. He didn’t want to be part of the confrontation to come, a confrontation that would break the harmony of the forest. And he missed Lucy. This was his fourth day away and she couldn’t help but worry. He found himself smiling at the thought of her. She was part of what fixed him to his place in the world.

That thought created another, so very different. He thought of Jack. Jack-o’-Lantern. A man without anything to fix him to a place in the world. So, for him, the world became a place in which nothing was firm, not right or wrong, nor good or bad. The only fixed star in Jack’s universe was Jack. That’s no way for a man to live, thought Ewan. Even a solitary man like Rayker has something to mark his place in the world. For Rayker, Vale is his fixed star.

He passed the grove where the outlaws had their horses, heading for the clifftop that roofed the cave. A faint noise interrupted his thoughts. Without recognising what it was, he knew instantly it wasn’t a noise of the forest. He moved stealthily closer to the grove.

Yesterday, there had been only the horses. The outlaws had put their faith in a crude wooden fence and the easy grazing. Now one sat astride a discarded rail, repairing a bridle. He’d be bound to hear Rayker and the soldiers come through the woods. If he alerted the outlaws in the cave, then Jenny’s plan was ruined. Everything depended on the outlaws being confident that they could escape through the rear of the cave.

Ewan’s conundrum was what he should do. He wasn’t sure when those in the cave would expect their companion to return. If Rayker was right, they’d soon start to wonder what had happened to Cross and Frick. If another went missing, they’d be sure something was awry. Ewan decided to wait. Rayker would arrive in about an hour. If the man was still there in half that time, Ewan would have to risk taking him. Finding a place where he could remain unseen, yet keep the outlaw in view, he sat, his back against a tree, and waited.

*

Antrobus’s quill scratched across the parchment. He cursed himself for his foolish attempt earlier. It had been clumsy and, much worse, it had wasted time. Right now, he needed time. He was gambling everything on this. He was gambling that it would never be read through. He was gambling on his captors keeping him alive until they were sure of what he had written. He was gambling on Pitch.

He wrote furiously, putting on the parchment all that he knew about Morien’s astrolabe and William’s manuscript. He would tell them everything.

*

Ewan uncoiled his legs and watched the outlaw. The man rose, ducked under the fence rail, and slipped the bridle on one of the horses. He led his mount to the small lean-to that protected the saddlery.

Ewan raced through the trees circling the clearing. He was only halfway round when the outlaw heaved himself into the saddle. He kicked his horse into a trot and rode towards the trail to the east. Ewan sacrificed silence for speed. His eyes scanned the ground around the far side of the clearing. He chose a spot and altered direction slightly. He gauged the horse’s speed and his own, and the distance to the place he’d chosen, a rocky outcrop beyond the clearing, where the trail was no more than a hoof-churned path. If he failed to stop the man there, there’d be nothing he could do. The outlaw would spot Rayker and his men and ride back to warn his comrades.

Ewan ran. With every step, he expected the man to hear him. He was nearly there. The outlaw was drawing near the outcrop. If Ewan got there first – and unseen – he’d have a chance to sweep the outlaw from his horse. He skimmed across the rocks, his feet flying. He was nearly there – but the outlaw was level with the rock, and in two strides, would be past. Ewan cursed.

The curse was a blessing. The outlaw heard it. Startled, his first reaction was to rein in his horse and look around. He paused only a second, but it was enough. As the outlaw’s heels came back to spur his horse, Ewan thrust his staff into the ground and vaulted over the outcrop. His feet caught the outlaw in the small of his back and the man crashed to the dirt. Ewan tumbled beside him and came to his feet. The frightened horse reared and bolted. Ewan let it go. Kept out here, away from the cave, it was unlikely it would run down through the narrow ravine.

From a point above the trail, Ewan watched Rayker and the soldiers approach. Not bad for city soldiers, he thought, Pretty quiet, and you’d have to know you’re looking for them to see them. Except for that horse Ben’s leading. He watched six split off from the others and make their way towards the clearing, while the rest came through the trees on either side of the narrow track.

He climbed down and went to meet Rayker.

‘See you got the horse,’ said Ewan. ‘The man riding him looked like he might be on his way to Vale, so I asked him to wait. Didn’t think it’d do to have him ride back and tell the others they’ve company. He’s over near the lean-to.’

Rayker grunted his thanks.

‘Let’s have a look at the ravine and the back way in. Then we’ll get the men set,’ he said. ‘And then we’ll see what we can do about getting these goblins out of their cave.’

Quietly, they got into position. Six soldiers were hidden along the top of the ravine, Rayker and nine of the men were waiting in the trees and rocks at the end of the ravine and two others were keeping watch over the horses. Ewan and the last three soldiers were on the clifftop above the outlaws’ cave.

At the forest ward’s feet were the boxes containing Lucifer’s Candles. Getting them safely along the ridge of the ravine and up the rock face to the clifftop had been slow and nerve-racking. Rayker had passed on Jenny’s warnings, with some slight embellishment, about what the coloured balls would do to the man who broke one. The three soldiers chosen to go with Ewan, obviously alarmed, carried their boxes slowly and gingerly.

Ewan located the two crevices that he was sure extended all the way to the cavern below. He instructed the soldiers to place two boxes next to each. The remaining three he put next to crevices he couldn’t be sure led down into the cave. Then, they opened the boxes. The coloured glass balls, snug in their hay and wool, looked like exotic bird’s eggs. The soldiers looked sceptically at them and shrugged. If Rayker said they were dangerous, then they were dangerous. He wasn’t known for his practical jokes.

They would see soon enough. Across the river, Ewan saw Declan and his men. The forest ward turned and signalled Rayker and sent two of the soldiers to their post, concealed above the rear opening to the cave. When Declan crossed the river, it would begin.

Declan looked at the two logs, side by side, spanning the river and swore.

‘Damn Swift!’ he said. ‘Calls that a bridge?’

Though fast, the river was quite narrow. It was no more than six or seven metres across and it passed only two or three metres below the logs. But Declan hated heights, even modest ones. In fact, he didn’t think there was such a thing as a modest height. He’d wished he’d remembered that when Rayker asked him to lead the men, though he knew it wouldn’t have changed anything. He’d walk along the top of the high walls of Vale before he’d say no to Rayker.

‘Right, single file,’ he said quietly to his men. ‘You know what to do when you get across. I’ll go first. Make sure it’s safe.’ His men smiled. Going first meant there were men paying attention who could jump in and rescue him if he fell.

They made it safely across, Declan still with his lunch in his stomach. He could make out the entrance to the brigands’ cave at the foot of the cliff. There were two outlaws on guard. What he didn’t like was the low palisade of rocks and saplings on either side of the entrance. Three or four outlaws, fair with a bow, taking position behind that could wipe out all his men before they went twenty paces. They would have to get as close to the cave as they could, quickly. He had to draw the outlaws’ attention without getting himself and his men killed. Making them panic might work. He signalled to one of his men.

‘Piper, you can hit a thing or two with that bow of yours, can’t you?’

Piper nodded. ‘If it’s big enough. A sparrow or something, not a hummingbird. And I’d prefer it wasn’t flying.’

‘Well, you see that sparrow with the musket and wicked great pike on the left? He ain’t flyin’, so when we get the word to go, see if you can hit him,’ said Declan. ‘And I’ll take the hummingbird on the right.’

Piper smiled and nodded. He and Declan nocked their arrows.

From the clifftop, Ewan saw Declan and his men take their position. It was time. He raised his staff and waved it back and forth.

‘Right you are, boys!’ hissed Declan and in the same breath he drew his bow and loosed his arrow. It hit the outlaw on the right in the centre of his chest. The other guard hadn’t even heard the wind of the arrow that killed his comrade when he felt a blow in his chest. He looked down dumbly and saw Piper’s arrow sticking out of his jerkin. ‘Oh, bugger …’ he managed, then died.

Declan’s men yelled and charged out of the bushes. It took a few moments for the men inside the cave to investigate the noise. A single outlaw wandered out. He stared at the two dead guards and at the charging soldiers, then turned to run. He wasn’t quite quick enough. An arrow caught him in the shoulder and he fell back in the mouth of the cave and dragged himself inside. And Declan’s men came on.

Inside the cave, the outlaws grabbed their weapons. They were rushing to defend the cave when they saw the wounded outlaw crawl towards them.

‘It’s soljers!’ the man croaked. ‘Lots o’ soljers!’

‘You two!’ barked one of them. ‘The brush! You!’ He pointed at another. ‘Help them! The rest of you, get your weapons and stay back and get ready.’

Just inside the mouth of the cave were bundles of wood and dried brush. The three men started throwing them out of the cave. Declan watched as he ran, puzzled. Then he realised that the palisade had another purpose. The bundles of wood and brush gathered between the palisades. As soon as his men got close, the outlaws would set fire to it.

They were halfway to the entrance. ‘Cover!’ cried Declan and the men scattered. ‘Right,’ he cried again. ‘Straight into the cave!’

Each of his men put an arrow to his bow, drew and loosed. Each arrow flew into the black mouth of the cave. They heard a cry of pain from inside and a voice yelling.

‘Back, all of you! Back!’ yelled the outlaw who had taken command. ‘Just stay back or you’ll end up like Behan there with an arrow in your backside! They’re shooting blind. We’ll wait ’em out! They’ll soon be out of arrows!’

Ewan could hear the shouting echoing up from the cracks and crevices. He could see Declan’s men firing their arrows. They’d run out soon and then they’d be easy marks for the outlaws. It was time to light Lucifer’s Candles. He knelt by one of the deep crevices and picked up a glass ball. The soldier with him knelt by another and did the same.

‘Straight down!’ yelled Ewan to the soldier. ‘Drop it, don’t throw it!’ Then he took a deep breath and dropped the sparkling red ball.

The ball turned as it fell, a spinning ruby. It plummeted between the rocky walls and crashed on the stone floor below. The glass shattered into a thousand smaller gems. Instantly, the brilliant white of Lucifer’s Light filled the cave around it. Hundreds of tiny streaks flared from its centre and the very air hissed and crackled. Smoke – thick, dense and foul – ballooned from the light. And an awful, pungent smell of decay and rotten eggs made its way through the cave.

The outlaws were grouped some ten metres away when the first Lucifer’s Candle ignited. They looked on in horror at the vicious burning light. One small streak found its way to the hand of one of them and he screamed in agony. The way the air seemed to feed the cloud was terrifying. Then, to their right, came another white explosion, and then another. More flaring streaks cartwheeled from the ball of light at the centre and every man flinched. They could hear the evil hissing of others above them as the Candles broke and exploded in the smaller crevices. Then Ewan dropped his second Candle, a sapphire orb, larger than the first, and its explosion, its hissing, spitting and crackling, filled the lawless men with dread.

They couldn’t see each other through the thick smoke. It rolled towards them and enveloped them. It stung and burned. They panicked and sought corners and crannies to escape the smoke. And then the smell hit them and they choked and gagged on the foul odour.

Fire and brimstone filled Brigand’s Cave.

Outside, Declan heard the hissing and crackling, and the cries of the outlaws. Then the smoke rolled out of the cave. It formed pillars of white and drifted towards the sun.

‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered.

The dreadful stench filled Ewan’s nose. He turned and ran to the edge of the cliff face overlooking the rear entrance. His partner had beaten him to it.

‘Marsh gas!’ gurgled the soldier. ‘That stinks!’

Rayker watched as the pillars of white issued from the roof of the cave. He was too far away to hear the noise of Lucifer’s Candles, or the cries of the outlaws, but the smoke alone looked like signals of death. He’d chased and hunted men for more years than he cared to remember but he had never deliberately sought the death of another man. Now, he wondered what they had done. He wondered whether a young girl, not even fifteen, knew what she had done.

‘I’m gettin’ outta ’ere!’ shouted an outlaw.

‘We’re all gettin’ out!’ cried another.

‘I’m gonna be sick!’ cried a third, and he was.

They lurched through the cave, feeling their way in the smoke, holding their breath. One after another, they stumbled out, fleeing from the terror and smell behind them. The two soldiers above them let them go. They were joined by the third soldier and Ewan. The wood-ward looked anxiously as each man ran out but none was Antrobus. He stood with the others and watched the outlaws disappear into the ravine.

It was a short battle on the far side of the ravine. Rayker cried for the outlaws to surrender. The one who had rallied the men in the cave roared his anger. He held a musket and he brought it up and fired at Rayker. The ball zipped past harmlessly. Then the outlaw drew his sword and charged. Half of his mates joined him. But their fear in the cave had driven the courage out of the other half and they simply tried to run away. It took less than fifteen minutes for the men on the ravine and some of those with Rayker to round them up. One outlaw managed to evade the soldiers and made it to the clearing where the horses waited. He saw the two soldiers standing impassively, weapons ready, and the man fell to the ground and wept.

Those who stood firm fought desperately. Before the echo of the musket had rolled away, they had charged the men of Vale, swords and knives drawn. They slashed and cut trying to get past but the soldiers held fast. Then the three soldiers who had been with Ewan came from their rear. One of them put an arrow into the back of an outlaw who was about to run Ben through. His death was the final straw for the outlaws. They threw down their weapons, except for the one man who had rallied them. His weapon already lay in the dirt where it had fallen when Rayker’s sword had ended his life.

It was a better result than Rayker would have believed. As far as he could tell, only two of the outlaws had been killed (he did not yet know of the two Declan and Piper had shot) though he feared what he would find in the cave. Among his men there only a few cuts, a slashed forearm and a broken nose. He looked around.

‘Where’s Swift?’ he asked the soldier who had been with Ewan on the clifftop.

The soldier jerked his head back towards the cave. ‘In there. He told us to come and help you, then went in. Hunting more goblins, I ’spect.’

‘Get these prisoners secured. Leave half the men to guard them, then join me in the cave with the rest,’ Rayker ordered.

Under his breath he cursed Ewan. He knew the forester would be worried about Antrobus, but he shouldn’t have gone into the cave alone. There could be others who hadn’t come out.

He found Ewan with Declan and his men in the large central chamber. Torches dotted the walls. The smoke had gone, but the awful smell, though lessened, was still in the air. An outlaw, his face still grey with fear, and an arrow in his buttock, lay against the wall. As Rayker made his way to Ewan, he felt something crunch underfoot. He bent down and picked up a small red shard of glass.

‘You should have waited,’ he said to Ewan. ‘You had no way of knowing who was still in here.’

‘Exactly why I didn’t wait,’ said Ewan. ‘There’s not as much to this place as I had imagined. This main chamber, and a couple of smaller ones. Antrobus isn’t in any of them. I don’t think he was ever here.’

‘We have to find Jack,’ said Rayker. ‘When we find him, we’ll find Richard.’

Chapter 17

The House on the Corner

‘Jenny, stop!’ Emily said. ‘You’re driving us crazy. You can’t keep pacing all afternoon.’

Jenny scowled, more at herself than Emily, and threw herself down on the couch. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. After a few seconds she tutted with exasperation.

‘Do you think it’s … it’s all over by now?’ she asked.

Frida looked at the clock on the small table next to the couch. ‘It’s just after four o’clock. I should think it might be,’ she said encouragingly. Then she added, not quite as encouragingly, ‘Or maybe not. And if it is, we won’t know for at least a couple of hours.’

Emily glared at her and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to Frida.

They were in the boarders’ sitting room at Rumpkin’s. It was the first time Jenny had actually sat in the room. Since Frida’s defection from the gang of four, the other three boarders had avoided them. Frida’s attachment to Jenny and Emily also meant that the numbers were even, odds the other three clearly didn’t like. Where once they’d ruled the sitting room, they now spent less and less time there. So, after a few hours’ sleep and some lunch, the three friends had gone there to wait.

Emily was embroidering a dress she had altered. Not just the sort of alteration where you take up the hem, or make it more snug on the hips, but quite a radical change which included a much lower bustline and that billowed at the hips. She thought women’s dresses were boring and plain, which she thought was illogical, because women were not boring or plain. She sketched and snipped and sewed whenever she could, determined to make women’s clothes exciting and colourful.

Frida had coaxed Jenny into teaching her to play chess but it turned out disastrously. Jenny was rather a good player; both her parents played and she had learned when she was quite young. The attempt didn’t fare well; Jenny couldn’t concentrate; she constantly forgot to tell Frida what moves were permissible until after the older girl had moved; or that the knight could hop over other pieces; or that the king couldn’t glide from one end of the board to another. In the end, Frida abandoned the chess game and helped Emily sew, leaving Jenny to pace.

‘I’m going out,’ Jenny announced suddenly. ‘I’m going to Antrobus’s to look in on Tom.’

Now, Emily knew that Jenny had no more than a professional interest in Tom. After all, she was a healer and Tom had been gravely wounded. And Jenny had helped save his life. And Emily knew equally well that Jenny’s decision to see Tom was prompted by boredom and frustration, and not in the slightest bit because of a desire to see him. Nonetheless, Emily had no intention of letting a very pretty young lady – even one who was her best friend – visit Tom. Especially when he was in a bed, and unable to wear even an undershirt.

‘We’ll all go,’ she said, packing up her sewing. ‘I don’t believe Frida has seen Antrobus’s house, anyway.’

‘A walk will do us all good,’ Frida declared. ‘And I’m sure Harcourt would like to stretch his legs.’

They stopped by the kitchen and told Agnes that they would be home by seven for supper, then set off for Fenwick Square. This time they insisted that Harcourt walk alongside them rather than follow behind. They walked in twos, feeling the waning warmth of the late-afternoon sun.

*

Antrobus was sure he had been more careful keeping track of how much time had gone since he had given them the second sheaf of parchment. It had certainly been longer than the first time. They must believe it, thought Antrobus. Or at best, they are uncertain. Otherwise, they would have been back by now. Surely they have no need to harm Jenny.

*

Rayker and Ewan swung into their saddles. None of the outlaws’ horses were quality mounts and all the tack had seen better days but it would do; they wanted to get to Vale as quickly as possible. Rayker looked down at Declan.

‘Keep your eyes open on the way back. Jack’s still about and he probably has four of his band with him. I doubt they’d trouble you, but don’t take chances. You don’t outnumber your prisoners by much. Take the Old Road and you’ll be back in the city by sunset.’

‘Right you are, Rayker,’ said Declan. ‘We’ll get them there.’

‘I know you will,’ said Rayker. ‘You did a good job today. Those guards … it’s a pity, but you did the right thing.’

Declan grinned at the praise. ‘Thank you.’

He watched them urge their horses to a gallop and head for Vale.

*

‘I believe I owe you my life,’ said Tom. He sat up in bed, bare-chested except for the broad bandage round his middle. He was pale and weak, but those who are young and happy can be hard to kill, and he was very much alive.

Jenny blushed and shook her head. ‘Dr Styche deserves your thanks. I would have gladly done more but I am not as skilled as he is.’

Tom reached out and clasped Jenny’s hand. ‘Dr Styche has told me what happened. And you do deserve my thanks, Jenny.’

Though barely over the first rush of red to her cheeks, Jenny blushed again. ‘In any case,’ she said, taking away her hand and stepping back, ‘anything that Dr Styche and I had done would have been for nothing if it hadn’t been for Emily’s constant care. I believe she would have willed you back to health.’

Now it was Tom’s turn to blush. ‘I’m aware of the debt I owe Mistress Trickett. And I intend to prove my gratitude as soon as I’m able,’ he said, his eyes never leaving Emily.

‘And I believe him,’ said Frida with a straight face. ‘He was thanking her with his last breath when I entered the room.’

Emily turned the colour of beet and Tom laughed with the others, though his wound protested.

‘Now, you must excuse me, Tom,’ said Jenny. ‘There are a few things I need to do downstairs. No, Frida, I think you should stay here. Emily’s affection for Tom made him well. Now we have to make sure that her affection doesn’t make him unwell.’

Jenny’s decision to come to Fenwick Square had been nothing more than a whim born of boredom. Now, she was glad she had come. To hear her friends’ laughter and to see Tom come back to life lifted her gloom. She hadn’t realised how heavy the past ten or so days had been for her spirit to carry.

She turned into the study and was brought up short by a man coming out.

‘Master Antrobus!’ she cried. ‘You startled me! I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Hello, Jenny!’ John exclaimed. He looked anxious. ‘Any news of my father?’

‘No,’ she answered sadly.

‘Well, I’m glad your man Harcourt is still out front. I worry that you may be in danger, too,’ he said.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I’m not important.’ Her face brightened. ‘But there may be some good news of your father shortly. Rayker thinks he knows the men who took him and he’s gone to flush them out of their cave. He hopes to find your father with them.’

‘A cave?’ said John, puzzled. ‘Where is this cave?’

‘In Queerwood,’ said Jenny.

John looked surprised. ‘Rayker thinks outlaws took my father? But why?’

‘He thinks they may have been hired by someone.’

‘Step by step, Rayker gets to the truth,’ John said almost absently. Then he looked sharply at Jenny. ‘Well, I must go. Perroquet is waiting for me.’

He stepped to go past her and Jenny moved aside.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ she asked.

‘Wh-? Oh, yes, yes, I did. Thank you.’ He patted the right side of his cloak. He seemed stiff and awkward. ‘Just some papers. Well, goodbye, Jenny,’ he said and went towards the kitchen.

‘You’re going out the back way?’

‘Yes, it’s quicker. I shall come by later and see what Rayker has uncovered. Thank you, Jenny.’

John hurried out the kitchen door and through the gate into the alley. Jenny waited until she heard the gate snap shut. Then she went into the study and closed the door.

She tried to remember exactly what Antrobus had done. She stood where he had stood and reached down to touch the witch post. Two fingers, she remembered. Two fingers, pressed at the same time. But on what? She peered at the witch post and she saw Antrobus’s fingers on it as they had been that night. The heart and the holly. She found them with her fingertips and pressed …

The instant she placed her fingers on the heart and the holly, she saw everything with terrible clarity. She knew the secret room was empty, she didn’t need to look. He had taken them. It had been him all along. He had known, the night Antrobus was taken, that nothing was missing.

We’re lucky they weren’t smart enough to take his papers when they didn’t find what they wanted.

That’s what he’d said – but how did he know that they hadn’t found what they were looking for? The only people who could possibly know what they had been looking for were Antrobus and Jenny – and the people who sought what he had. And that is why he questioned her that second night, when he’d walked her home …

John. It was John. It had been John. Antrobus’s son!

That’s why he was here. He’d learned where the chart, the manuscript and the astrolabe were hidden. And he could only have learned it from one person. His father.

Jenny felt sick. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking. It couldn’t be possible. She pressed her fingers and Antrobus’s hidden door clicked open.

The secret room was empty.

*

Ewan’s senses were still on alert. They were barely through the gates of the city when he spotted a man coming towards them. He wasn’t a tall man, and his hair had more grey than brown, but he was muscled and he moved easily and with purpose, like a well-oiled door. He headed straight for Rayker.

Rayker had noticed him too and he reined in his horse. Ewan studied the man. His face was familiar but he couldn’t find the memory to match it. There, he had it. P-

‘Evening, Pitch,’ said Rayker in greeting.

The man grunted his greeting. Ewan smiled to himself.

‘Ewan, this is Pitch,’ Rayker said. ‘Pitch, this is Ewan Swift.’

‘Aye, Jenny’s father,’ said Pitch. ‘I’d-a recognised you. I was in the palace guards when you came back with David.’

‘It took me a moment to place you, Pitch, but I remember. Blue Legion, wasn’t it?

‘Blue it was,’ said Pitch, pleased to be remembered.

‘Pitch is the warden at Fenwick Square, where Antrobus lives,’ said Rayker. ‘Pitch has been investigating something that’s been bothering me. How did they get Antrobus out of Vale without a soul seeing them?’

‘I’m not sure they did,’ said Pitch. ‘I’ve talked to the wardens in the neighbouring squares. No one saw anything. Most of them are getting on a bit and spend more time dozing than watching, but it’s hard to believe that none of them noticed a group of horsemen and maybe a cart.’

‘He wasn’t at the outlaws’ cave in Queerwood, either,’ said Ewan. ‘So, he’s somewhere in Vale. But where?’

*

Jenny ran out the back door, through the gate and into the alley. John had gone. She ran back through the house and out the front door. Harcourt saw her the instant she ran out of the door. He could tell something was up and he started across to her even before she waved him over. She pulled him inside and closed the door.

‘It’s John! Antrobus’s son! He’s the one who’s taken Antrobus. It’s John!’ she said urgently.

‘Whoa, whoa, Jenny. Steady. This doesn’t make sense. What makes you think it’s him?’ Harcourt said gently, trying to calm her.

Jenny told him about the secret room, about John’s words to her in front of Rumpkin’s, and what he had said the night Antrobus was taken.

Harcourt was still doubtful. ‘A son turning against his father. That’s hard to believe, Jenny.’

‘Princes have been doing it for centuries,’ Jenny argued. ‘And the power they’re after is nothing compared to the power John wants. Oh, I know it’s hard to believe but it makes sense!’

‘We need to talk to Rayker. See what he makes of this. Maybe he’s found Antrobus with them outlaws and he’s safe,’ Harcourt suggested.

‘He can’t be in Queerwood!’ Jenny said. ‘John would have come here as soon as Antrobus told him what he wanted to know. If he’d come from Queerwood, Rayker and his men would have seen him. Antrobus must be in Vale! And now that John has what he wants …’

She couldn’t finish her thought. It didn’t matter what kings and princes did; they were only names, not real people, people she knew, so they could do the unimaginable. But she knew John, and though her head told her what he would do, she couldn’t imagine it.

‘We have to find John now! He can’t be far. Please, Harcourt!’ Jenny pleaded.

‘All right, Jenny,’ Harcourt said. ‘I’ll fetch Rayker. He should be back by now. You stay in the house. Lock the door. If Pitch is around I’ll have him come and stand watch.’

He waited until Jenny was back inside, then headed to the little house at the end of the square. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. With a last, worried look at Antrobus’s house, he set off for Rayker’s.

Jenny locked the door. The idea of John being behind everything made her feel ill. She leaned against the door and almost wept. Then she pushed herself upright and walked up the stairs. She needed the comfort of friends.

Frida knew something was wrong as soon as she saw Jenny’s face. She rushed to her and took her hand.

‘Jenny, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

Jenny told them. Emily’s jaw dropped; her stomach tumbled and her heart felt as if it was beating in her head. She was aware of a small seed of shame in there, too. How could she have thought John was … ?

‘What do we do?’ Frida asked. Her face was paler than usual, and her brows drew together.

Tom’s face was dark with anger. ‘Whatever we do, we have to do it quickly. Jenny’s right. If John and his mob have what they want, why keep Antrobus alive?’

‘But why kill him?’ cried Emily. ‘What good will it do them?’

Jenny remembered what Antrobus had told her.

‘They killed his brother because of what William might have known,’ she said. ‘I don’t think they’ll overlook what Antrobus does know.’

‘We have no idea where they’re hiding,’ said Emily. ‘They could be anywhere in Vale! Perhaps Rayker is back and Harcourt has found him.’

Harcourt … Thoughts ran through Jenny’s head. She tried to work through them.

‘Listen,’ she said to the others. ‘John said he was glad that Harcourt was still watching us. But how did he know? He entered through the back and Harcourt was in the square at the front of the house.’

They looked at her blankly.

‘Why did John come through the back?’ she went on. ‘Harcourt wouldn’t have been suspicious if he’d come through the front door. But some other reason made him come a way he wouldn’t be seen …’

Emily understood. ‘John wasn’t worried about Harcourt seeing him enter Antrobus’s house – he was worried about Harcourt seeing him leave another house!’

‘And Harcourt could only see him if that other house was in Fenwick Square!’ exclaimed Frida.

‘Exactly,’ Jenny said. ‘But which one?’

All three went to the window and looked down at the square.

‘People are always watching what other people do. Somebody, even if not Harcourt, would have noticed John coming from one the houses,’ Emily said. ‘There’s always someone looking out.’

Jenny stared at the houses. Emily was right. Someone would have noticed. Even on her first night, when she’d put the torch in the holder on the corner, there had been someone watching her.

An image of a face in a window, watching, came to her. And she realised whom she had seen.

She looked at the others. ‘I know where he is!’

They looked at her.

‘He’s in that house, on the corner,’ she said. ‘It backs on to the same alley. It would have taken John only a minute to get from there to here.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I have to get in that house.’

‘You can’t do that!’ shouted Tom. He raised his blankets to throw them off. He looked down and hastily drew them back up. ‘Wait for Harcourt to get back with Rayker!’

‘We don’t know how long that will be,’ Jenny said firmly. ‘We mightn’t have time. Antrobus mightn’t have time.’

Tom could see Jenny had made up her mind. He tried his most commanding voice.

‘Then I’ll go,’ he said. Under his breath he added, ‘Maybe if I ask very politely they’ll apologise, let Antrobus go – and let me live.’

The three young women stared at him.

‘If you take one step out of that bed, Tom Blunt, I’ll never speak to you again!’ Emily snapped.

Frida picked up Tom’s breeches from the clothes hook near the bed. She opened the window and dropped them out.

‘My breeches!’ Tom yelled (which, Frida thought, was just like a man, always stating the obvious).

‘Don’t be silly,’ Jenny said. ‘You wouldn’t make it down the stairs without opening that wound. You’d bleed to death before you got out the front door.’

Tom scowled at them. ‘Rayker will kill me anyway if I let anything happen to any of you.’

‘It isn’t up to you to let us do anything!’ Emily said archly. It was always best to set the rules early, she thought.

‘But you don’t know how many men are in there, Jenny,’ said Frida. ‘You can’t just walk in and ask for Antrobus.’

‘We could make another Lucifer’s Candle and throw it through the window,’ suggested Emily. ‘When they all ran out we could go in and get Antrobus.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘We don’t have time. Besides, we don’t know what it would do in the house. We might burn down half of Vale.’ She stamped her foot in frustration. ‘I have to think of something that will make them let me walk out with Antrobus. But I can’t think of anything!’

Nor could she stand there and do nothing.

She strode to the door. ‘I’m going round the back to make sure they’re not leaving. Maybe I can think of a way to keep them there until Rayker gets here.’

‘Jenny, you can’t,’ Frida gasped. ‘What if they see you?’

‘I’ll be careful,’ Jenny assured her. ‘Keep watch from the window. When Harcourt gets back, tell him where I am. And hope he has Rayker and some men with him.’ And she ran down the stairs and out the back door.

She paused at the gate and looked at the holly bush. A small cluster of red winter berries hid among the shiny leaves. A vague idea went through her head and she reached into the tree. She felt the scratch of the sharp leaves on her hand as she plucked the berries. She dropped them in her pouch, then opened the gate and ran up the alley. She stopped where it turned to follow the rear of the houses on the end of the square, and peered round the corner. The alley was empty. She moved on. There were only four houses on this side of the square, each with a small gate slightly inset into the wall. As she came to the first one, the last gate opened and a man stepped into the alley. It was Kurt. Jenny flattened herself against the gate. The alley was narrow, and with the sun low in the sky, it was deep in shadows. If he glanced her way, he might not see her. But he’d surely see her if he came closer. She held her breath and let it out, relieved, when Kurt turned towards the fading sunlight at the other end. As soon as he disappeared into the square, she continued along the alley.

At the last gate, she paused and listened. She heard voices in the courtyard on the other side of the gate but she couldn’t make out what was being said. Her hand found the gate’s latch. She pushed down on it, very slowly, then leaned gently against the wooden door until it opened no more than a finger’s width. The voices continued and she could hear them clearly now. Two men. And Jenny listened.

*

Frida was keeping a diligent watch on the house when, to her horror, she saw Jenny walk round the corner of the square. She stared in disbelief as Jenny marched briskly to the front door and knocked.

Chapter 18

Morien’s Key

Jack opened the sitting-room door and entered. He was half a pace into the room when the silver flash of a knife blade streaked past his nose. He heard a dull thud as the point of the knife sunk into the wooden frame next to him. He reached up, wrenched the knife free and glared.

‘When you’re finished playin’ with your knives, you can pack your things. We’re leavin’.’ He weighed the knife in his hand, then tossed it on a chair.

The knife-thrower looked at him. ‘Are they sure?’

‘Seem to be,’ answered Jack. ‘They’re in there havin’ a last look at the gold thing –’

‘Brass. It’s only brass,’ the other person corrected him.

‘At the brass thing,’ Jack sneered. ‘I’ve sent Kurt to get their horses. We’ll leave separately, like we came, after they’ve gone. Ten minutes apart.’

‘And our guest? What are we do with him?’

‘Seth and Walt are dicin’ for him now. Whoever wins gets to kill him.’

‘Do they know that?’

‘Yeah. Sort of surprised me. I thought we’d have trouble with the sharp one. But he just said it had to be done. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look too unhappy, either.’

They were startled by a knock on the front door. They looked at one another for a moment, then Jack spoke.

‘Look through the curtain. See who it is,’ he ordered.

‘It’s a girl. I do believe it’s that girl. You didn’t tell me she was so pretty. And such an exotic face. Are you telling me that she killed Nate?’

Jack cursed. ‘She did. Answer the door and get her in here. She can join Antrobus. Seth and Walt don’t need to dice to see who slits her throat. I’m going to have that pleasure myself.’

*

Jenny could hear footsteps in the house as someone approached the door. That’s odd, she thought. They sound more like a young boy’s footsteps.

The door opened and Jenny looked into a pair of green eyes, framed by long lashes and plucked eyebrows. The face that possessed those eyes would not generally be described as beautiful. Handsome most would call it. Undoubtedly it was the face of a woman with great character and determination; and with absolutely no heart. All Jenny saw in those eyes was coldness and disdain.

‘I’ve come to take Master Antrobus,’ said Jenny.

The eyebrows arched. ‘Have you?’ said the woman. ‘Well, you’d better come in.’

She stepped aside and let Jenny through the door. Jenny heard it close behind her, then the woman ushered her into the sitting room. A man sat in a chair, sporting a half-smile. Jenny didn’t need an introduction. His eyes were as cold and as disdainful as the woman’s but they had a cruelty hers did not. And an emptiness she had never seen in anyone. This was Jack.

‘Thank you, Milly,’ said Jack. ‘Jenny, I’m happy to meet you at last. I’ve seen you often – we’ve kept quite a close eye on you since you arrived in Vale – but never had the pleasure. Oh, forgive me. I’m forgetting my manners. My name’s Jack. And, as you heard, the lady is Milly. Now, what is it that we can do for you?’

Jack’s voice brought her situation into perspective. She had known what she was about to do was dangerous, but until that moment she hadn’t understood just how dangerous. Nate’s callousness had frightened her; but Jack’s lack of emotion and the ruthlessness in his eyes terrified her. Her legs felt weak, and her blood seemed to race and freeze at the same time. It took all of her determination to meet his eyes but she wasn’t sure that she could keep the trembling from her voice. Fortunately, she was given a respite by Milly.

‘She says she’s come to take Master Antrobus,’ Milly said, much amused.

‘Has she?’ Jack said softly. ‘Then I’ll take her to him. He’ll be delighted that I kept my promise.’ His voice was hard and vengeful. ‘Come with me.’ He opened the door, then stopped.

‘Search her,’ he said to Milly.

Milly ran her hands over Jenny. ‘Nothing,’ she said. She flicked Jenny’s pouch with her fingers. ‘Just some dried leaves and a few berries.’

Jack hesitated, then grabbed Jenny’s arm. She could feel his fingers digging into her muscle, his nails almost breaking the skin through her sleeve. He dragged her into the hall. At the same time a man came out of the room on the left. He carried a large saddle pouch that he clutched to his chest. He stopped in shock at the sight of the girl in Jack’s grip. Jenny raised her head and looked at the face from the window.

‘Good evening, Master Perroquet,’ she said.

The blood drained from Perroquet’s face.

‘Wh-what’s she doing here?’ he demanded.

‘She stopped in to see Master Antrobus,’ Jack said. ‘I’m just taking her to him. He’ll be surprised to see her no doubt.’

‘But … but … how …’ he spluttered. He stopped and tried to regain his composure. ‘How did she find us?’ His voice shook with worry.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ snarled Jack.

‘But if she knows, others must know! They could be here at any time! We have to leave!’ Perroquet was flustered and not a little frightened. ‘John! John!’ he called.

John came from the room Perroquet had just left. He stopped and eyed Jenny. His look was cold, and when he spoke, his voice was colder still.

‘I was afraid you might put things together, though I am surprised you did so as quickly as this. I’m sorry you did, Jenny. I do not bear you any ill will. In fact, I’d have liked very much to have you as an apprentice – though I’m sure you wouldn’t accept. Perroquet, we’re leaving. Now.’ He kept his eyes on Jenny but spoke to Jack. ‘Where are you taking her?’

‘To see your father, of course!’ Jack laughed. ‘She’ll finish her apprenticeship before even starting it!’

John turned wordlessly and went to pack.

‘He lied,’ Jenny said. ‘Did he tell you that the astrolabe was the major key or the minor key?’

John stopped. ‘What do you know of it?’ he asked.

Jenny ignored the question. ‘Which did he tell you?’

Perroquet’s face appeared over John’s shoulder. ‘The major key.’

Jenny shrugged. ‘He didn’t lie, then. I thought he would. He must be very sure you don’t have the middle key. Perhaps you do.’

Perroquet pushed past John and grabbed Jenny by the shoulder. Jack tried to pull her back but Perroquet held on. There was a hint of panic in his voice.

‘What do you mean, the middle key? There is no middle key! You’re lying!’ he shouted.

‘Of course I am,’ said Jenny. ‘May I see Master Antrobus now?’

Perroquet let go of her arm. He seemed uncertain.

‘She’s trying to trick us!’ he shouted. ‘Now she would have us believe that there isn’t a middle key!’

‘Of course there isn’t, you fool!’ John yelled at Perroquet. ‘Can’t you see what she’s doing? Jack, take her down to my father. Let them die together.’

Perroquet grabbed Jack’s arm. Jack sneered and pulled his arm away.

‘You will not take her until I know!’ Perroquet cried. He turned on John angrily. ‘I have spent twenty years of my life trying to finding this! I’ve spent my fortune and that of anyone else I could cheat. I’ve taken lives. I’ve brought Cleve to the brink of war. I will not risk being wrong when I’m so close!’ His face was contorted with rage. He reached under his cloak and drew out a dagger with a long, narrow blade and waved it at John. ‘You’ve only spent a few years. I have spent my whole life seeking this! You were nothing but a tool to get at your father. I can discard you as easily as I picked you up!’ He pointed the knife at Jack. ‘Get Antrobus up here!’

Jack looked querulously at John. The young man studied Cleve’s alchemist. Jenny shivered at the cold indifference in his gaze. Perroquet’s rage was fear and panic and noise. John’s anger was dispassionate, ruthless and quiet. He was a head shorter than Perroquet but John seemed to loom over his accomplice.

Jack watched, almost amused. John turned to him.

‘Do it,’ he said evenly.

‘Milly!’ Jack shouted. Milly stepped into the crowded hallway. ‘Bring the old man,’ he ordered. ‘And tell Seth and Walt to get ready to leave.’ She raised her eyes and shrugged, then went to get their prisoner.

John looked at Perroquet. He spoke quietly. ‘You promised that he would never know what I had done. I hoped we would be able to let him live, but if not, then I would rather he die not knowing I betrayed him. Now, you let this slip of a girl fool you and I have to face my father just to prove you’re an idiot! You’ve broken your word, Perroquet. I can’t trust you. I shall have to decide what to do about you.’

Perroquet had recovered some of his self-control. He stood close to John, and looked down on him. ‘Do you threaten me, Antrobus?’ he blustered. ‘You’re just a boy! Careful, or you’ll have no place to go! Cleve welcomes you because I asked that they do!’

John didn’t look up. He glanced past Perroquet’s shoulder and gave a single nod. Jack let go of Jenny. His right hand dipped to his belt and he drew his dagger. In almost the same motion, he thrust it into Perroquet’s back, right to the hilt. It was a practised movement. Perroquet dropped the saddle pouch and crumpled. He was dead before his body touched the floor.

John looked down at the body.

‘Cleve welcomes me because another wishes it, Perroquet,’ he whispered to the corpse. ‘Now that Cleve has a new alchemist, you are not required.’

Milly returned, leading Antrobus. Jenny nearly wept when she saw him; he was dirty, ragged and thin. His eyes were still adjusting to the light but he saw John and his eyes gleamed with hope.

‘John! Thank –’ said Antrobus. And then John killed his father’s hope.

He silently signalled Jack. The outlaw pinned Jenny from behind and laid his dagger, still dripping with Perroquet’s blood, across her neck. John looked at his father.

‘Tell me the truth. One question, one answer. If it’s the wrong answer, Jack will slit her throat.’

Antrobus struggled to comprehend. He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I-I-I don’t understand … What have you to do with this, John? What are you doing with Jenny?’

‘Cut her. Just a little,’ John ordered Jack.

Jenny felt a hot, stinging pain as Jack nicked her throat.

‘Now do you understand?’ he said to his father. Antrobus looked at him blankly. John gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Then listen. I – and my dead best friend there – have been behind everything. We haven’t much time – I really do have to go – so listen carefully. Master Perroquet was the one who had Uncle William killed. He followed William’s travels quite closely, and told me that the night he succeeded in stealing Morien’s manuscript was both the best and worst night of his life. He was overjoyed at getting the manuscript but then dismayed to find he couldn’t decipher it. But he also couldn’t take the chance that William had copied the manuscript. If he had, and then found the key, Perroquet wouldn’t be the only one with the secret. The power of knowledge diminishes with each person who shares it. And that definitely didn’t suit our plans. It was easier, then, to kill William.’ John smiled grimly. ‘Our family is apparently tough to kill. William survived several attempts.

‘Then you started looking for the key. By that time, other things had happened in my life. I approached Perroquet. He always thought it as the other way round, but we – my other partner and I – sought him out. He was the tool, not me. Once I had allowed him to persuade me to enter into a partnership with him, it was easy to convince him that it was simpler to let you find the key, and then steal it from you. I knew you were smarter than Perroquet and were much more likely to succeed than him. And I was right. So we asked Jack here – who has been very useful to us on other matters – to steal the key.’ John glared at Jack. ‘It seems, though, that Jenny was a little too much for some of his men,’ he said pointedly.

*

Frida was staring at the front of the house on the corner. It had been almost ten minutes since Jenny had gone through the front door and the sun had almost set. Perhaps she was now a prisoner. What had possessed her to go into the house? What did she expect Emily and her to do? Was she waiting for her friends to do … something? But what? Frida couldn’t stand it any longer.

‘I’m going to have a look,’ she said to Emily. ‘I’ll go round the back.’

‘Frida! You can’t!’ Emily protested. ‘Not without me!’

*

Jenny couldn’t bear the pain and the disbelief she saw on Antrobus’s face as he listened to John. If Milly had not been holding him, he would have crumpled to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

John also saw his father’s pain. ‘I never set out to hurt you. But there’s too much at stake. You know far more than I’d imagined. I thought you had no secrets from me, but you did. I should have known. I even told Jenny that night at dinner. The habit of secrets runs deep in every alchemist.’

‘But why –’ Jenny started but Jack pressed the knife slightly to silence her.

‘No, Jack. Let her speak,’ John said.

‘But why try to kill Master Antrobus in Queerwood? He didn’t even have the key then!’

John stared scornfully at Perroquet’s body. ‘Because he was a fool who thought he was clever. He thought he could kill two birds with a single stone. With my father dead, I could take his place. Whoever my father was dealing with to get the key would come to me. And it would suit the other plans to cause distrust between Cleve and Vale. Then Emeric and Montebray would think it had to do with my father’s efforts to find out how Cleve was killing Vale’s crops.’

Jenny saw her master struggle to gather his thoughts. It must have taken all his will to turn his thoughts from the pain of John’s betrayal.

‘There was no threat to the crops, was there?’ Antrobus said weakly.

‘None at all,’ John admitted. ‘Crops sometimes fail. But we started the rumours, and whispered in the right ears. There are other interests at stake; those whom it suits to create tension between Vale and Cleve. So, the attack in the forest was merely meant to lead the Duke and the chancellor to the conclusion that their information was correct and that Cleve was trying to get rid of the one person who could interfere with those plans. And it had the added benefit that it would distract you from the key. Unfortunately, I think Perroquet hated you so much that it affected his judgement. We had agreed that Horn was supposed to frighten you, not kill you, but Perroquet gave Jack different instructions.’

‘Other interests?’ Antrobus asked. ‘What have you got yourself caught up in, John?’

‘Emeric should never have become Duke,’ John said. ‘I met his uncle, Charles, you know. When I went away to university. He didn’t disappear. He’s just been … busy.’

Antrobus stared at him.

‘Now,’ John said brusquely, ‘we haven’t got time for any more. My horse will be here in a minute or so. Answer the question. Is there a third key?’

Jenny raised her left hand. Jack’s left arm circled her, his hand resting on her shoulder. Softly, she patted Jack’s hand.

‘Oi!’ Jack yelled, more in surprise than pain. He let go of Jenny and looked at his hand where she’d touched it. A small spot of blood bubbled up from the flesh between his thumb and finger. ‘What did you do?’ he hissed. He spun her round and held the knife under her chin.

‘Killed you,’ Jenny said calmly.

She held up a tiny thorn for Jack to see. Then, with her other hand, she held up a red berry that looked to have a little black cap, like an acorn.

‘It’s a rosary pea. You’ve probably never heard of it, but I’m sure John has. Ask him.’ She raised the berry higher, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

Jack’s eyes went to John. ‘What’s she on about?’

John stared at the berry and his eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you get that? They don’t grow here.’

‘My mother grows them,’ Jenny said lightly. ‘You know where my mother was from, don’t you? She brought many things with her when she left; and these are one of my favourites. They’re so pretty. You wouldn’t think they were so deadly, would you?’

‘You tell me what this here rosary pea is, Antrobus!’ Jack yelled. He was starting to get nervous – and angry. The knife was now pressed against Jenny’s throat.

It was Jenny who answered. ‘The first thing he’d tell you is that it is fatal. It is. In fact, it’s deadlier than any snake or spider. You have about three minutes to live, and your death will not be pleasant.’

Jack glanced at John and he saw in his eyes that Jenny spoke the truth.

‘You! If you’ve killed me, then I’ll kill you!’ he roared. His face contorted with rage. ‘I’ll not slit your throat – that’ll be too quick. I’ll slice you open and let you die slowly!’ He took a step back and dropped the point of the knife from her throat to her belly.

‘Not if you want to live!’ Jenny cried. Jack was almost too enraged to hear what she had said but he understood enough to hesitate.

‘The second thing he’d tell you is that there’s no cure for its poison,’ Jenny went on quickly. ‘He’s wrong. There is, and I know what it is.’ She reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of dried herbs. ‘Let us go, and I’ll fix these for you. But you have no more than a minute before it’s too late.’

*

Emily followed Frida through the alley to the rear gate. They got there just as Kurt entered the alley with the horses. The outlaw saw the two shapes and he reached down and rested his hand on the knife in his belt. Warily, he came closer. The shapes began to take form and he relaxed. Just two girls.

The taller of the two came closer and he could just make out her face. Not bad, he thought. Not beautiful, but pretty enough, and curved just right.

Frida kept walking towards the end of the alley. She bowed her head and raised her eyes at Kurt as coquettishly as she could. He smiled, and found himself wondering whether he had a minute or two. He couldn’t see the second one but it didn’t matter. The first was good enough.

‘Evenin’, lass,’ he said.

Frida brought her head up and smiled. ‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Fine horses. They look powerful and strong-willed. Must take a good man to ride them.’

‘That it does, that it does,’ said Kurt, grinning lecherously. ‘But they know who’s master.’

‘That’s plain for all to see,’ Frida said, looking directly into his eyes. Kurt licked his lips.

‘’Ere, why don’t yer friend just hold the horses fer a minute and I’ll show yer how to gentle a horse.’ He leaned past Frida and handed the reins to Emily. He started, then drew back in surprise.

‘Yer that brown girl’s friend!’ he exclaimed. ‘Wh––’

Frida hit him, hard. Kurt didn’t think a woman – a girl – no matter how tall, should be able to hit that hard. Her fist cracked into the side of his head and he staggered back against the horses.

‘You little –’ he started, then Frida’s fist hit him again. He yelped in pain as he felt his nose break. Screaming curses, he launched himself at Frida. She felt herself being pushed backwards, then she stumbled on the cobblestones and fell. She landed hard, Kurt’s weight crushing her.

Kurt pinned her with his knees. She wriggled and fought, but she couldn’t dislodge him. His eyes were murderous and his nose poured blood over her face and neck. She felt one of his hands around her throat, and the other squeezing her breast. She spat his own blood at him and he raised his fist to hit her.

Something looped round his neck, once, twice. He heard a slap, like a hand hitting a horse’s flank. His eyes went round as plums in panic, then he felt a searing pain in his neck as the reins tightened. He thought his head had been pulled off his shoulders as he was jerked back. He flew at least a dozen paces before he crashed on to the cobbles. The last sound he heard was the rhythmic drumming of hooves echoing in the alley.

Emily helped Frida to her feet. They watched the horses go round the corner, Kurt bumping and skipping behind them.

‘Thank you, Emily,’ Frida gasped. She wiped the blood from her face with her tunic. ‘Do you think he’s …?’

Emily was trembling. ‘I-I don’t know. I didn’t mean to … I didn’t think …’

Frida hugged her and they clung to each other. Then Frida pulled herself upright and wiped her face again.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Jenny’s still in there.’

They walked quietly to the gate and listened. There was silence on the other side. It seemed no one had heard the commotion in the alley. Just as Frida pushed on the gate, both girls felt a hand on their shoulder. A big hand. A man’s hand.

‘Evenin’, ladies,’ said Pitch.

The warden suddenly found himself with the arms of two young ladies wrapped round his neck.

‘Pitch! You frightened me so!’ Emily said, with more gratitude than reproach.

‘Tom told us you were ’ere. I should be angry at yer both. I am angry at yer both, but we’ll save that fer later.’ Pitch pointed down the alley where the horses had bolted. ‘Did you two …?’

Frida and Emily nodded.

Pitch grinned. ‘Mebbe we should go back ’n put our feet up, Harcourt, ’n let these two ladies finish what they started,’ he said to the alley behind him.

Harcourt stepped out of the shadows.

‘I would, but then I’d have to face Rayker. I’ll face ten of whoever’s in there first,’ he said.

‘Rayker and Swift are round the front,’ Pitch explained to the girls. ‘You still countin’?’ he asked Harcourt.

The other man nodded. ‘I think that’s two hundred. Better go in now.’

Harcourt drew his sword. Pitch took a stout club and a knife from his belt.

‘Stay ’ere,’ he ordered the girls. ‘Unless we cry fer help. Then come and rescue us.’

Each man took a deep breath, then they pushed open the gate and crashed through the kitchen door.

*

John gave a snort of disgust. He moved to Jenny and grabbed the berry from her hand. He looked at it, rubbed the black from its end, and threw it on the floor.

‘Holly! A bloody holly berry!’ he yelled.

Antrobus groaned and sagged. Milly dug her elbow into his ribs and hauled him upright.

‘You mean I’m not going to die?’ Jack spat.

‘Not unless she isn’t dead in a few seconds!’ John shouted. ‘Kill her now, or I’ll kill you instead!’

Hatred for Jenny raged inside Jack. She’d made him show fear; a tiny slip of a girl had panicked him and the others had seen it. He’d show her. One hand shot out to grab her tunic. The knife in his other hand went straight for her throat.

Desperate, Jenny tossed the herbs in his face. Instinctively he flinched, then felt her toe catch his kneecap. It was a weak, glancing kick but it infuriated him even more. Then he saw her turn and throw herself on Perroquet’s body. Jack lunged at her and she rolled on to her back. In her hand was Perroquet’s dagger.

Jack started, then laughed. ‘I’m going to enjoy this!’ he crowed.

Jenny slashed at him. He twisted aside easily and scored her wrist with the tip of his knife. The dagger dropped from her fingers. Jack bared his teeth in a wicked smile.

The sound of the kitchen door shattering as it was torn off its hinges stopped him in his tracks. He looked towards the kitchen and at Milly. He nodded and turned back to Jenny.

The front door seemed to explode as it burst open. Rayker and Ewan were in the hall before Jack or Milly could move. Rayker’s sword was out and Ewan’s staff was in his hands.

Rayker didn’t hesitate. His sword snaked out and Jack parried it wildly with his knife. He flipped his weapon in the air, and while it was still arcing above him, he drew his sword. He caught his knife with his left hand and slashed at Rayker.

Milly ignored the sword at her hip. The hallway was narrow and crowded. Instead, with her left hand, she drew a basilard, a long triangular dagger. With its double-edged blade, it was more a short sword than a knife. She thrust Antrobus aside and advanced on Ewan.

Seth and Walt were just coming down the stairs into the kitchen when the door crashed open. Splinters of wood showered the room. Harcourt was nearest them. Seth threw his pack at him, then leapt past Walt, drawing his sword. He attacked Harcourt with fast, strong swings, forcing him back through the doorway. Seth didn’t believe in finesse. He knew he lacked skill. But he also knew the effectiveness of brute strength and relentless hacking.

Walt was slightly slower, but Pitch had over balanced. He stumbled and righted himself – and found himself staring at the open barrel of Walt’s pistol. He saw Walt’s left hand reach across his body and pull back the hammer, then Walt’s finger move on the trigger. The pistol barked and Pitch felt himself spun round as the ball hit the soft flesh of his left arm. He slumped to his hands and knees.

Pitch heard the clatter of the pistol as it hit the floor. He knew what was happening behind him. Walt had tossed away the pistol and had drawn his dagger. He was hurrying to Pitch, not wanting to give him time to recover. He would not want to do anything fancy; just finish Pitch quickly with a dagger blow to the neck.

He heard Walt’s steps coming towards him. He felt the club in his hand. He forced his weight on to his injured arm, freeing his club hand. Walt was just behind him. Pitch whirled and swung the club hard into Walt’s knee. He heard it crack and he heard a scream of pain. Walt collapsed to his knees beside Pitch and screamed as his shattered knee hit the floor. Pitch’s heavy club thudded against Walt’s temple and the outlaw fell.

Harcourt was too old and too irritable to play Seth’s game. He let Seth swing fiercely, each time angling his blade to deflect the force of the blow. Then Seth swung too wildly, and with far too much force. Harcourt angled his blade even more and Seth was thrown by the lack of resistance. He stepped awkwardly, off balance. Harcourt didn’t think. His sword flicked out and its point ended Seth’s life.

*

John turned. He gave a glance at the saddle pouch near Perroquet’s body. For a moment it looked as though he was going to pick it up, but then he saw his father move towards him. Walt’s terrible scream decided for him. He took to his heels and fled. Jenny saw Antrobus lurch after him and she crawled over Perroquet to follow her master. She cast a glance at her father, then went still, horrified as she saw the look on his face.

He was watching Milly, not afraid, simply not willing. Perhaps her father could see what she had seen in Milly’s eyes, but maybe that wasn’t enough to make Ewan fight her to the death. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it and he didn’t realise how dangerous she was. But Jenny was sure of one thing. If her father didn’t take Milly as seriously as he would Jack or Kurt or Seth or any of the other outlaws, in a few seconds he’d be dead.

Milly feinted with the basilard, then took a step towards Ewan. Her right hand, holding a short throwing knife, flashed at his ribs. Faster than Jenny’s eye could follow, Ewan spun the staff, knocking the knife from Milly’s hand. He spun it back the other way, blocking another thrust from the basilard. In the same movement, he hit Milly hard on the jaw. Her eyes glazed, her legs buckled and she fell to the floor. Ewan dropped his staff and swept his daughter into his arms.

In the end, Jack fared no better against Rayker. Their fight carried them out the front door and into the square. It was not an elegant fight, with gleaming, dancing silver blades. It was brutal and savage. Jack was like an ancient Viking berserker. His rage turned to madness and his fury might have prevailed, but Rayker’s anger was calculating and patient. Eventually, Rayker saw his chance. His sword streaked, straight and fast. Jack saw it, a momentary glint in the moonlight, then he felt it pierce his throat. Jack, the lost man, Queerwood’s Jack-o’-Lantern, lay dead in Fenwick Square.

Chapter 19

The Pledge

The sun burst into the room as Jenny drew back the curtain. It was the first day of spring and the brilliant bright morning and the deep blue sky seemed to promise a year of rich and bountiful rewards. As she looked out of the window, the horrors of the other day disappeared like the few wisps of cloud that smudged the endless blue. The memory was still there, but without the sharp edge of terror that had given rise to strange, half-remembered dreams.

‘Jenny, you beast!’

The muffled complaint came from the mound of bedclothes on Emily’s bed. The mound wriggled and Emily’s face appeared in a small blanket cave. She squinted and blinked before withdrawing back into her lair.

‘You horrible beast! Close it!’ rumbled the bed clothes.

‘Come on, lazy head!’ Jenny teased. She pulled back the blankets. Emily lay huddled in a ball, her head buried in her arms. ‘It’s my Pledge day today. You and Frida promised to come with me to the Mystery.’

Emily peeped through her arms. ‘I lied.’ She made a grab for the blankets but Jenny was quicker and threw them off the bed. Emily sat up and glared at Jenny. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going to wake me in the middle of the night.’ She shivered and rubbed her arms. ‘Besides, it’s cold.’

‘The sun’s been up for ages,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s after seven o’clock.’

‘Ages! The sun doesn’t rise until seven!’ protested Emily. She slipped from her bed and threw on a robe. ‘You don’t have to be there until ten o’clock. It might take you hours to get ready but I can get dressed in a flash.’

Jenny laughed. She had not known it was possible to take as long to get ready as it did Emily, who refused to face the world until she was satisfied that her efforts left no room for improvement. Jenny stole a glance at her friend and wondered whether all pretty young women did the same.

While Emily stared, undecided, at her wardrobe (as she did every morning), Jenny went to fetch a bucket of hot water from the kitchen. When she returned, she was just in time to see Emily slip back into bed and reach for the blankets. Quick as a weasel, she took hold of Emily’s ankle and pulled her from the bed. Emily muttered things under breath (most of which Jenny thought were curses), but she stayed out of the bed and washed.

Jenny opened her wardrobe and took out her colours, together with a small box that had been delivered with them. She laid them on her bed: a long white cotton shift, a sleeveless tunic of dark blue wool and a black woollen cloak with gold, silvery-grey and red embroidered trim. She had never had clothes made of such fine material and she ran her hand lightly over the fabric. Finally, she opened the box. Inside was a pair of simple black shoes made from soft calf leather. She took one out and felt the leather between her fingertips. It was almost as soft and supple as the cloak.

Bertram Humbold was indeed a fine tailor.

Jenny thought back to the ride through Queerwood two weeks ago. She thought of herself riding through the forest, stricken with sorrow and resentment. The girl she saw in her mind seemed a different person. There was still pain and grief in her heart, but where there had been resentment and anger there was now fondness. Looking back at her life in the cottage with her parents, she knew it was possible to have happiness without purpose; now, though, she had been renewed by purpose. She was not content as she had been in the forest – pursuing one’s purpose created its own kind of discontent – but she also knew that she could have happiness without contentment.

She listened to Emily, singing as she readied herself, and she treasured the new horizon friendship had given her. Maybe that was one of the reasons her mother and father had not fought harder to keep her locked in the cottage, hidden away among the trees.

The past few days, since that evening in the corner house in Fenwick Square, had allowed them all to recover. Pitch’s wound was not serious and once Jenny had patched him up, he said he couldn’t even feel it. Milly and Walt, with the rest of Jack’s brigands, were locked in the palace dungeon and would appear before Chief Magistrate Trickett in time.

John had got away. They had found Antrobus sitting in the room off the hall, staring blankly at an open panel in the wall. Rayker had immediately sent Harcourt to gather some men to find John, but though they’d scoured the city, there was no sign of him. Jenny was sure Antrobus was relieved that John had escaped, despite what he had done. And she was relieved for her master’s sake.

Cleve denied that he had returned there, or any knowledge of Perroquet’s plot. Relations between Vale and Cleve worsened. There were few people from that rival city at the Gates on market day and trade between the two cities dropped away to almost nothing. There was much diplomatic activity and even more rumours in both. Many of the citizens of Cleve came to believe that Vale had treacherously murdered their best alchemist, who became more revered in death than he had ever been respected in life.

John’s mention of the Duke’s uncle, Charles, who had not been heard of in years, caused a great deal of consternation in the palace. Emeric and Montebray spent hour after hour together in deep discussion. David, Charles’s brother, was recalled from his diplomatic travels and his poor wife, Margaret, despaired of ever having being able to share the burden of being a parent to a wilful twelve-year-old girl.

Dr Styche decided Tom was well enough to recover at home and he left Antrobus’s room. Antrobus took to his bed, and for two days would see no one except Annie, whose pottage and game pie helped him regain his strength.

On the evening of the second day he had come down from his room, told Annie he was not to be disturbed, and had gone into his study and locked the door. Poor Annie had been frantic with worry when he had not emerged by the next morning. She had been much relieved when she had knocked timidly on his door to hear him roar at her to go away. He sounded so much like his old self that she smiled, despite the awful words he yelled through the door. Shortly after, he had come out, asked Annie for some porridge, then to find Pitch and ask him to fetch Jenny. Then he had shut the door and retreated again to the study.

Jenny, Emily and Frida had spent the time discussing the events and reliving them. The girls seemed to have been forgotten by everyone. Only Frida had been remembered briefly. The day after that terrible evening, as they chatted in the sitting room, Rayker was ushered in. He asked to talk to Frida alone; the young woman told him that anything he had to say he could say in front of her friends. Rayker told her enquiries had been made and it was found that Horn had entrusted his money to a private banker in Vale. The money was at her disposal whenever she wanted it. Then he had bowed to the three girls and left.

Apart from that, no one had said anything to them and no one had mentioned the part they had played in the whole affair. They were slightly irked, but knew that there were other matters on everyone’s minds and had contented themselves with congratulating each other. Emily didn’t say a word when she had learned that Kurt had been found on the other side of the city, quite dead from a broken neck. Then she had looked at Frida and the guilt she felt evaporated.

Jenny’s birthday had come and gone, marked only by a letter from her mother and father, accompanied by a small packet. Inside was a delicate figurine, carved from pale ash. It was a woman, her head held high, clutching a cluster of flowers and herbs to her breast. The finely carved face was her mother’s.

Several times the girls had called on Antrobus but he had refused to see them. They had also visited Tom, who did receive them, gladly. He was recovering rapidly and his great regret was that he had been unable to take part in the raid on the house. Lying in bed, he had often imagined it was his sword that entered Jack’s throat and ended his life.

Jenny had been surprised and relieved when Pitch had come to fetch her to see Antrobus. She had gone to Fenwick Square and knocked on the study door.

‘Come in, Jenny. Come in.’

She had entered and found Antrobus with the astrolabe, manuscript and star chart open in front of him.

‘It is a comfort to know that there are greater fools in the world than oneself,’ he said. ‘Morien was a fake and a fraud and, in all likelihood, an idiot.’

He had deciphered the manuscript and found Morien’s process to be nothing more than one Antrobus had tried and discarded years earlier.

‘All that happened did so because of this nonsense. William’s death, and Laylor’s, what happened to Tom, John’s betrayal, Perroquet. All for nothing.’ He seemed very upset by the damage it had caused, but not at all that he did not have the secret of the stone.

It wasn’t the time to ask too many questions, but there was one Jenny had to ask. ‘Why did you write down everything you knew? You wrote the truth. And you thought then Morien really had discovered the secret. Yet you were prepared to give that away. You knew they would kill you anyway, so why did you tell them?’

Antrobus didn’t tell her the full reason: that he realised her life was worth more than keeping the secret. He simply said, ‘It was all I could think of. I knew I was close to Fenwick Square. It was the site of all the potters when the city was young. The earth walls of my prison were dotted with pieces of old pottery and stained from the glaze. I counted on my captors being seen when they went to the house to retrieve what was in the alcove. I hoped the house was still being watched and then someone would see them come or go and become suspicious and follow them. I feel quite smug that I turned out to be right.’

He looked at her with some amusement.

‘And now it is my turn to ask a question. How on earth did you think you could fool John into thinking a holly berry was a rosary pea? That was a dangerous bluff.’

‘It was all I could think,’ Jenny answered. ‘I thought of it as I passed the holly bush in your courtyard. They look very similar, if you don’t look too closely, and I just blackened one end with dirt.’

Antrobus laughed, and then sent her away.

‘I’ll see you at the Pledge. I’ll be there. Don’t worry,’ he promised.

And now, the day of the Pledge had arrived. Jenny was brought out of her thoughts by a knock on the door. She opened it and saw Frida frowning at her.

‘You’re not even ready! I promised to come to the ceremony but I won’t be seen with you if you’re going like that!’ Frida declared. She came into the room and sat on Jenny’s bed. ‘I shall just have to stay here and watch until you’re both dressed!’

As it was, they were in plenty of time. Jenny took her place outside the huge hall doors. There were two others (boys, of course) in her guild, as Kneeler had said. It was evident that some word of what had happened had spread through the city, for the other two stared at her wide-eyed. Frida and Emily went inside through the guest doors and found their seats.

The moment came for all the apprentices to file into the hall. They would then take their seats on the benches marked with the flag of their guild. The doors opened. The apprentices, all in the same tunics, blouse, breeches and cloaks, though each trimmed with their guild colours, made an impressive sight. The enormous hall echoed with their footsteps and the swish of the cloaks. Jenny kept her eyes fixed on the back of the boy in front. She was determined not to make any mistakes. Whatever he did, she would do.

She became aware of a hushed, excited whispering among the other apprentices. Something was up. Jenny looked around the hall. Her eyes went to the guests’ gallery, and she nearly tripped in surprise. There, in the middle of the gallery, sitting with Antrobus, Emily and Frida, were the Duke, Chancellor Montebray, Earl David and his family, and nearly every other important person in the palace. And behind them, looking very much like a wolf among the flock, was Rayker. And beside him, sat Ewan and Lucy Swift. As Jenny came into the hall, every single one of them stood and clapped. When her name was called, she walked to the front of the hall and confirmed her pledge. When she had spoken the words, everyone – guests and apprentices alike – cheered the Guild of Alchemists and Astronomers’ new apprentice.

Table of Contents

Front page

Title page

Imprint

1 Queerwood

2 Vale

3 The Chancellery

4 Rumpkin’s

5 Rayker

6 Secrets and Immortality

7 The Mystery

8 The Price of a Book

9 The Wrong Coin

10 Horn’s Legacy

11 ack-O’-Lantern

12 Parchment and Ink

13 Brigand’s Cave

14 Earth, Air, Fire and Water

15 Lucifer’s Candles

16 Jack’s Goblins

17 The House on the Corner

18 Morien’s Key

19 The Pledge