Maid of Wonder (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Lower Ward is bursting with activity, and Walsingham and I walk into the throng with the air of two people desperate for distraction. We are granted it. The scents alone would be enough to turn anyone's head—the savory aroma of meat pies, the rich smell of cinnamon, even the sharp tang of mulled wines fill the air, as the villagers resign themselves to the season drawing to an end. With winter seeming to come on earlier and earlier every year, the blessings of the harvest have become more important; and the celebrations of food and ale to stave off the long winter's privation, more merry.

It certainly is an auspicious omen for Elizabeth's reign, I think, as I meander through the brightly colored stalls. I should be glad to see her people filled with joy and hope as she closes in on the end of her first year as Queen. This time last year she was naught but a princess kept under close watch, her relationship with her own half sister, Queen Mary, fraught with tension. She did not know what her future held, or when her station would change for good or ill.

What a difference a year has made in her life.

What a difference in my own as well.

Walsingham takes his leave of me, and I suspect he is as happy for us to part ways as I am. It is one thing to know you can ask the angels any question. It is another to live with the answers they provide.

“So pensive, Miss Sophia, and on such a pretty day?”

I turn to see Marcus Quinn by my side, his eyes guileless as he regards me with open interest.

“Indeed, sir.” The scowl I give him seems to have no effect, so I draw myself up stiffly. “Have you decided to simply follow me in open sunlight instead of muttering over a scrying table to track my path into the spirit realm?”

His smile grows broader. “Why do you believe I followed you there at all?”

“Because Dee told the Queen I had a vision,” I say coolly. “And how could he have known that, but that you told him?”

“Did he say such a thing?” Marcus shrugs the matter away. “Well, it was
all
I could tell him, really. Yes, he bade me look for you, and yes, I saw you enter the angelic realm. But then the entire place was overtaken by infernal winds. I could not see you through it, and the sound was like to kill me. Not even Dee could decipher my ramblings.” He crooks a brow at me. “Were you on the other side of that gale, or in the thick of it?”

I lift a haughty brow, remembering my dance with the dark angel. “I was in its very arms.”

Marcus grins at me. “Then the storm was quite lucky, I know from fond experience. But say, Dee is all caught up in
the evening's convocation. I would be a poor retainer if I did not ask you: Have you solved the Queen's riddle?”

“What? You jest!” I blink at him, amazed. “You cannot expect me to give up my position so easily.”

“You
have
, then!” His eyes are alight with merriment. “Dee is quite satisfied as well. I can't imagine how the Queen plans to choose a winner, if all three of her champions put forth the same information.”

This does make me frown. “Dee knows?” I ask, thinking of Walsingham's gaunt face. “He has seen who was—is—to be killed?”

“I do not think he's put so fine a point on it as that.” Marcus shakes his head. “Be fair. He's had only a few days to assemble all his charts and measures. He has studied the astrological markers, however, and is quite sure of what he does know: the timing of the death, and the nature of the victim. He seems quite beside himself with pride, I will say that.” His face softens as he looks at me. “If you have the answer as well, then so much the better.”

“Seems a poor attitude for an eager retainer to take,” I say.

“'Tis mine all the same. Here. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks.” Marcus stops at a market stall selling pies, the small fire at the cart's side tended by two children with open grins. The pastry is too hot for my hands, and he gives me a fine handkerchief to wrap it, appearing not to care that the buttery pastry will ruin the cloth.

“And how is it you have such coin that you can spend it on pastries on market day?” I ask. “Dee pays you so well as that?”

“Dee is a miser who would spend his money on naught more than books if he could.” Marcus laughs. “But he realizes that I am his only link to you, and for that he must make an exception.”

“How sad you will be when this day's work is done, then, and you've no reason to track me down in this world or any other.”

I recognize the words for what they are—clear flirtation. Still, I cannot stop them.

Marcus looks at me intently, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes. “Who says that I have any wish to stop?”

The force of his gaze burns into me. I try to smile, but I cannot quite make my mouth curve, and my words, when I do form them, seem foreign to my ears. “You cannot stay with Dee forever, Marcus,” I say. “Eventually he will tire of sending you after me.”

Marcus's words are equally soft. “I would not need to track you in the angelic realm at all, Sophia, if you would allow me to court you in this one.”

“Court me?” My words are overloud, my shock serving to make me coarse and unrestrained. I straighten and proceed again more civilly, though my heart has begun thudding once more. To have Marcus look at me as Rafe looks at Meg, as Alasdair regards Beatrice . . . But still, neither of those relationships have the Queen's blessing. And given her need of me, I cannot believe she will countenance this distraction either. “You cannot court me, Marcus.”

“Whyever not? You are unmarried, I am unmarried. I cannot see the objection.” His eyes light with amusement. “I
can't stay forever with Dee, as you say, and you can't remain in service to the Queen the whole of your life.”

I think again on the Queen's words, the tightness of her grasp as she held me to her side. “I wouldn't be so sure of that.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus says. “And I am sure your uncle would approve the match.”

“I can only imagine.” My words are less certain, and I struggle to match his easy banter. “Though you might find he would expect you to work afterward for free.”

“A price I'd gladly pay. Here, give me that, since you aren't eating it anyway.” Marcus plucks the meat pie out of my hands and tosses it to a passing child. He turns back to me and entwines his fingers in mine, bringing them to his lips. “Give me the word, Sophia, and—”

“Marcus, no.” I draw my hands away from him, glancing around. Surely, in this crush, there are no guards watching us. And yet I cannot allow any whispers of impropriety to begin. I have enough of every
other
sort of whisper following me already. The line of them stretches halfway around the castle! “I serve the Queen. You know that. My time is not my own, my hand is not my own. They are both given over to Her Grace, to do with what she wills.”

“But what of your heart?” Marcus insists. “Surely she cannot lay claim to that as well.”

“And yet you would?” I laugh at his boldness. “You would lay claim to such a thing, having met me only a few short days ago? I question your sincerity, good sir.”

“Never that.” He shakes his head. “Doubt my honesty
about my work with Dee if you must, but never doubt that my affection for you is sincere, Sophia. Would that I could prove it to you—”

“Pardon!” Marcus's words are cut off as a woman jostles us. It is Agnes the dove seller, her face a mask of fear. “Forgive me, miss, but have you seen my mother? I stepped away for only a second, and now she's wandered off. I cannot find her anywhere!”

“Bess?” I scan the space. With all these people packed into such a tight space, how in the world could we find one small woman? “Have you asked the stall-keepers where you were standing?”

“They remembered her, of course. How can you forget a blind woman?” Agnes shakes her head. “But they didn't see her when she slipped away. She does that more and more, it seems, never mind that she can't see! She says her feet have eyes of their own and guide her way.” She wrings her hands. “She could fall and no one would notice, in such a throng as this.”

“We will search.” I look to Marcus, and he reaches out to squeeze my arm.

“Seems logical she might head for home, if her feet have eyes,” he says, and I do smile at him now, grateful for his aid. “I'll head to the King's Gate and ask the guards if they've seen anything awry.”

“Thank you!” Agnes says as Marcus strides away. “I'm worried for her, I tell you plain. I would swear I saw Maude in the crowd.”

I stiffen. “I thought you said she wasn't here today.”

“I thought she wasn't. Maybe she still isn't.” Agnes twists her hands in her skirts, as if she's decades younger. “I thought I saw her just for a moment, but a moment was all it took to strike me through with fear. I went to collect Mother, and of course that was when she decided to disappear.” Worry tightens her lips. “I suspect she does it simply to unnerve me. I'm going to retrace my steps to where I lost her.”

I nod. She is aiming left, so I will aim right. “Then I'll search this way.”

Agnes dashes off, and I turn resolutely forward, then consider something else. The dove seller's mother is no ordinary woman. Her mind is touched, and she is near death. And I saw clearly how easily the angels slipped within her, speaking to me their words of prophecy from her own mouth.

I can find a woman like that, for I have the eyes to See her.

And with any luck, Marcus won't be looking this way, to witness me shining, fire bright with the Sight. Although, if he did, would I mind so much? I cannot deny drawing some pleasure from the fact that
someone
understands the paths I walk. That someone else has seen what I've seen, heard what I've heard. That someone knows my gifts, as well as my challenges.

Enough of that,
I think grimly.
For now, your challenge is to find Bess.

I blink, accustoming my eyes to the Sight once more. Around me, thankfully, there is nothing to suggest that evil has returned to Windsor Castle. The market day bustle remains robust and cheerful, and there is no sense of darkness here.

I refocus on the crowd and immediately sense the old
woman, deep in the thick of the carts and vendors. I plunge forward, threading my way into the throng, and catch sight of her. I am immediately taken aback.

She is running. Or running as fast as a blind old woman might, her body taut, her hair streaming behind her. She reaches out with wild hands, touching this person and that, so lightly that they cannot notice her as she speeds through the crowd. What is she running from?

I scan the carts behind her, but they seem too closed in, too dark all of a sudden. I am reminded of another market day, when Maude drew all the carts together, hemming in the doves, the people . . . even me. But I do not see Maude here, and I cannot worry about her.

I give chase. My legs are stronger by far than the old woman's, but it's still a trick to catch up with her, as thick as the crowd is. At one point she turns, glancing over her shoulder, and I catch her wave of fear. Someone is definitely chasing her. Someone means her harm!

Confusion washes through me. Who could possibly seek to harm an old blind woman, soft in the head? But as I dash forward, I am convinced she is trying to evade me as well. I get close enough to shout, and the word comes out almost harshly, my own fear welling up. “Bess!” I cry.

The old woman halts with a jerky clumsiness as a space opens up between us at the edge of the carts. Then she wheels around. Her milk-white eyes are wild, her manner frantic. “No!” she gasps, and I sense her looking past me, as if even in her blindness she could see some horror racing up behind us. “No!”

I try to turn, but it is already too late. A body crashes into me, round and soft, and I feel a narrow blade sink deep into the skin at the base of my neck. A dagger! Fiery pain explodes downward, and I can almost feel the slick surface of the knife plunging through my entire body, whatever liquid smeared on its blade surging through me like a sickness.

The death you don't seek is the one you should fear. It aims for the blind, but catches the seer.

“No!” I struggle, but the pressure lifts immediately, and I am shoved away. Arms windmilling, I regain my balance and whirl, only to see Maude grinning, her fists now on her round hips, her manner both surprised and delighted.

“Well, then!” she exclaims. “That was unexpected, but bless me if it doesn't make me 'appy just the same.” She leers at me. “Gave ol' Maude a fright, you did. I wasn't looking where I was going and bumped right into you! Silly fool, I am! Are you well, girl?”

I lift my hand to my neck and draw it away. I felt a pinch there; clearly I was cut. But still, there is so little blood!

“What have you done?” I growl, and Maude wags her finger at me.