Chantress Alchemy (12 page)

“Has she responded to our emissaries?” was the King’s next question.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Knollys said. “She says she did not order these people to come with her, but she cannot prevent them from following her if they choose. She will not drive them off when they have nothing. She still maintains that she is coming to Greenwich merely to obey your summons, Your Majesty. When we suggested she come alone, she refused. She said we must have misunderstood your instructions, for the King would never fear his own people.”

“Shades of Wat Tyler,” Lord Roxburgh said.

“Surely not,” Sir Samuel protested. “That was three hundred years ago.”

“What does that matter?” Wrexham growled. “His name lives on, and so do the stories: how Wat Tyler took over London with his thieving peasant followers, how they murdered and pillaged as they went. We need to stop Boudicca before she does the same.”

“I’m not convinced—” The King broke off, and I heard nothing but murmurs. Then the King spoke again. “My lords and gentlemen, the Chantress wishes to speak with me. I must leave you for a short while. You will, of course, make no decisions while I am gone.”

Moments later, the King and his steward came through the
door. At a word from the King, the steward rushed away, and the King came toward me. “My lady Chantress. How good to see you!”

“And you, Your Majesty.” Although it had taken me a while to reach him, now I was glad I’d persisted. Up close, the King looked strained—he had shadows under his eyes, and stubble along his pale jaw—but he seemed genuinely glad to see me.

“What news do you bring?” He guided me through another door, this one leading into what appeared to be a small study. Set against its elaborately carved walls was a vast desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“News?”

“About the crucible.” He gazed at me eagerly. “That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? You’ve thought of a magic to find it?”

I shook my head. “No, Your Majesty.” I didn’t dare tell him that my magic was dangerously broken. I wasn’t sure he’d believe me, and even if he did, he might react badly. “The trail is cold,” I said instead. “I have thought and thought about it, but at this point I see nothing that can be done.”

The King’s face fell. “You cannot help us?”

“I would if I could, Your Majesty. I am sorry.”

The King crossed his arms over his chest. “You have no hope to offer? Nothing else to say?”

This was going to be a more difficult interview than I’d thought. But there was no point waiting to put my case to him. He had interrupted a meeting for me, and he was not an easy man to see. “Yes, I do have something to say, Your Majesty. Not
about the crucible, but about another important matter: this business of marriage.”

“Yes?” He was still listening, but his face was now set in stern lines.

“You cannot do it,” I said. “You cannot let your Council marry me off.”

“
Cannot
, Chantress?”

Despite the warning in his voice, I couldn’t contain myself. “Surely I have a right to decide for myself—”

“No,” the King said.

His flat denial floored me. “No?”

“Legally speaking, you have no such right,” the King said. “With all due respect, you are a female, under the age of majority—”

“I’m a
Chantress
. That makes a difference.”

The King frowned. “Yes: it makes it all the more vital that the Council take a hand in determining your future.”

I couldn’t believe quite how much he had changed. “When I was last at Court, you cared as much about my opinion as that of the Council’s.”

The King didn’t blink. “Your opinion still matters to me, of course.”

“But not as much as the Council’s?”

“Should it, when you chose to leave me, and they stayed by my side?”

I stared at him. Was that how he saw me? As a deserter?

“You had your reasons, I am sure,” he said without rancor. “But still, that is the truth of it. Since you left, the country has had
to weather many crises, and I have needed to lean heavily on my Council to get through them. Whatever their individual failings, I could not keep the kingdom together without them.”

I remembered what Nat had said:
Wrexham has the power to split England in two.

“To rule is to make hard choices,” the King said. “I have to think always of the country as a whole. And that means I must ask everyone to compromise.

“But let us try to find common ground,” he went on. “You are loyal to me, I know; you swore your fealty. And I know, too, that you love your country. So this should not be so difficult. All I ask is that you serve your country as best you can. Your magic must strengthen us, not weaken us.”

“I agree.” He had spoken of compromise, so perhaps there was room for hope. “What I don’t understand is why that means the Council should choose my husband.”

“No? Think what would happen if you were to fall in love with a scoundrel or a schemer, Chantress. Don’t you see that the whole country could be put at risk? That’s why we need to find a man who can look after you properly, a man who has the good of the country at heart.”

A man to look after me?
“You don’t think it’s enough that
I
have the good of the country at heart? I am the one who restored your kingdom to you, after all.”

I had gone too far.

The King looked at me, his gaze hard as steel. “You did, yes. And I am grateful. But that is exactly why we must be so careful.
You have a great deal of power, and it must be managed wisely.”

The world fears women with power. . . .

“I really don’t see—” I began, but the King cut me off.

“Enough. I ask no more of you than I ask of myself. My own marriage is a matter of state as well. My wife will be determined by the deliberations of the Council. That is a burden that those of us with great power must bear.” His eyes looked more shadowed than ever. “I regret any pain it causes you, but truly, our lives are not our own.”

I started to speak, but he was already halfway over the threshold. “The next time you come to me, Chantress, I hope you bring better news.”

As he slipped back into his meeting, the steward appeared at my side. Although his offer to show me the way out was couched politely, I knew I had been dismissed.

Unwilling to be treated this way, I turned to the door that the King had walked through, then froze as I heard Wrexham shouting behind it.

“The Chantress refused to help? How dare she!” A thump and a scrape like a chair being pushed back. “Is she still out there?”

The King started to say something, but I didn’t wait to hear more. Racing after the steward, I left the state apartments as fast as I dared.

After escaping the King’s apartments, I wanted to barricade myself alone in my rooms. But I knew Margery would be waiting for me there, so instead, I wandered in whatever direction seemed quietest. I felt sunk in defeat. Nat was right: the King was not going to listen to me. Not when he saw the Council as the true power in the kingdom. Not when Wrexham was his right-hand man.

What was I to do?

Up ahead, a clutch of young men crowded together. Fearing they might be more suitors, I darted away through a narrow doorway—and bumped into Penebrygg.

“My dear!” He fumbled for his hat, which had slipped down to meet his spectacles. “I’m afraid I walked right into you.” And then, after straightening his spectacles, “My dear Lucy, are you quite all right?”

It was quiet around us; no one was there to overhear. “No,” I
said. “No, I’m not.” And I told him about the audience with the King.

Dear old Penebrygg! His brow furrowed in sympathy as I spoke.

“. . . and so there’s no hope,” I finished.

“I would not go quite so far as that, my dear. It is not a good situation, I agree. But of course there is hope. As of yet, the Council cannot agree who is to be your husband. As you can imagine, it is a contentious subject. The Earl of Wrexham, for instance, has suggested it should be his son—”

“His son!”

“You might not want to speak quite so loudly, my dear.” Penebrygg looked cautiously about. Seeing no one, he continued in a low voice, “Really, it shouldn’t surprise you: Wrexham craves power, after all, and he would like to commandeer yours for his family. Yet there are obstacles. For one, his son is not yet fifteen, which is rather young for marriage.”

“And rather young for me,” I put in.

“Yes. And it’s said he takes after his mother and is rather frail. Wrexham denies it, of course, but we all notice he has yet to bring the boy to Court.”

It sounded as if a match with Wrexham’s son was not so likely after all. My spirits rose a notch.

“And, of course,” said Penebrygg, “others on the Council wish to advance candidates of their own—sometimes even themselves.”

“So I’ve gathered.” And I had a mountain of bouquets to prove it.

“Indeed, there are so many rival candidates that the Council
has been deadlocked. I expect it will be some months before any decision can be reached. And perhaps before then you will be able to put an end to the discussion altogether.”

“How can I do that when the King won’t even listen to me?”

Penebrygg pushed back his velvet cap. “He would listen to you, my dear, if you found the crucible for him.”

It was true: if I could find the crucible, the King would almost certainly grant me a hearing—and possibly much more than that. I remembered how eager he’d been to reward me the last time I’d helped him.

“But I don’t know any song-spells for finding it,” I told Penebrygg.

Indeed, the situation was a hundred times worse than that, though I didn’t tell Penebrygg so. He was a good friend, but the fewer people who knew how weak I was, the better.

“Well, that’s a pity,” Penebrygg said. “But I wouldn’t assume all is lost. Something may come to you. And you might be able to set us on the right trail without magic. Singing isn’t your only gift. You have a good head on your shoulders too. Perhaps you will see something the rest of us have missed.”

“After all this time?”

“Time is often the friend of truth,” he said. “And of course I will help you in any way I can.” He pushed his spectacles down his nose. “It might be useful, for instance, if you knew a bit more about alchemy—and about the crucible as well. Sir Isaac gave a good summary yesterday, but there’s more to learn if you care to hear it.”

As ever, there was something cheering in Penebrygg’s commonsense approach to even the most deplorable circumstances. If nothing else, he made me realize that I was accepting defeat too easily.

“All right, then,” I said. “I’d like to hear more about the crucible. And about alchemy, too.” Whatever Nat thought of the Philosopher’s Stone, it was clear Penebrygg was staking everything on it. And when it came down to it, he had far more experience than Nat had—and so, of course, did Sir Isaac. I ought to learn as much as I could from them. Perhaps it would help me to see the situation more clearly.

Penebrygg’s eyes gleamed. “It’s a fascinating subject, my dear—”

He broke off as a footman came racing up to us.

“Doctor Penebrygg!” The footman bowed, panting for breath. “The Inner Council calls you to the Crimson Chamber. They have questions about the alchemical furnace. You’re to bring the calculations on fuel.”

“Ah.” Straightening his floppy cap, Penebrygg gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid the Inner Council waits for no man, my dear, especially on a matter concerning alchemy. I must go. But shall we talk again soon?”

“Please,” I said.

After he followed the footman out, I walked on, feeling encouraged for the first time since my magic had gone. Penebrygg was right: I might not have magic, but that didn’t mean finding the crucible was impossible. I could keep my eyes and ears
open—and while I was at it, I might also discover some clue to why my magic had gone.

Long odds, perhaps, but it seemed a better prospect than huddling in my room with Margery.

I could start, perhaps, by visiting the Treasury and talking to the guards. Or by going to the alchemy laboratory myself—

Slippers tapped behind me. I whirled around.

“There you are!” Sybil bounced toward me, her carnation skirts swaying like petals in a storm, her hair charmingly topsy-turvy. “You must come and visit me. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Have you?” I made myself smile, but it was difficult. A visit with Sybil wasn’t part of my plan.

“Oh yes. Your maid is quite upset with you for vanishing, you know. But never mind.” Sybil laced her arm through mine. “I’ve found you first, so I shall claim you. Come see my rooms.”

She tugged my arm, but I remembered Nat’s warning and slipped free. “I’m not sure I can. I need to”—it seemed unwise to tell her the truth—“to see the seamstresses.”

“Oh, that’s all settled. I heard your maid say that you’re to visit them this afternoon. But that’s not for a few hours, so you’ve plenty of time to stop by my rooms. They’re just around the corner.” She looked closely at my face. “My dear, are you sure you’re quite well? Perhaps I should call Margery after all.”

So she knew my maid’s name. Hardly sinister, I supposed, but it threw me. Surely they weren’t allies?

“No,” I said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I didn’t have breakfast, but—”

“No breakfast? Then you really must come to my room.” Sybil took my arm again. “I’ve loads to eat.” When I still hesitated, she teased, “If you don’t come, I’ll tell Margery you’re on the verge of collapse. And then your life won’t be your own.”

Her voice was merry and kind, but she’d boxed me in. Seeing no way out, I agreed to go with her.

With a squeal of delight, Sybil whisked me off, and I wondered what was in store for me.

Sybil’s rooms, unlike mine, were locked. A slender key sufficed to open them, and she led me in. The main chamber was smaller than mine, but it was hung with equally fine tapestries—of the moon goddess Diana—and it had an equally warm fire.

It also held a great many nosegays.