The Queen's Dwarf A Novel (29 page)

“Could you test these, Your Grace? For if they are sturdy enough to withstand your efforts, no man can question the marvel I am about to perform.” Boku handed him the implement in question.

Iron rattled as Buckingham strained to open the hasps. At length, he surrendered. “I defy any man to open these,” he said. Boku offered the duke a strange set of keys. Buckingham applied them, turning the keys in the lock with great effort. The lock sprang open.

Boku took the lock and handed it to the page beside him. The illusionist crossed to stand before the queen. “Majesty, you have loaned me your valiant fool; now I ask to borrow something else precious to you. Madame Silken Ears.”

For a moment, Henrietta Maria’s eyes widened in panic. Her arms tightened around her dog. “Mitte has already had a most trying day. She would rather remain on my lap, and I have not the heart to dislodge her.”

“Shall we let Mitte decide?” the magician asked. I could not imagine the spaniel would want anything to do with a man who smelled of the falcon that had nearly killed her. Boku extended his hand. Mitte wriggled free and ran to him, her tail waving like a white plume.

The queen started to protest again, but despite the rough treatment Mitte had received in the falcon’s talons, the spaniel trusted Boku—or had succumbed to the same spell her attacker had.

“You must trust me,” Boku said. “I mean no animal harm.” Boku glided down to the lake’s edge, the page shadowing his every step. Three grooms stood ready to launch a small boat.

Boku climbed into the vessel, Mitte in his arms and the page at his feet as they rowed across the water to the gauze-obscured island. Once they had disembarked, Boku waved his hand, and the gauze dropped to the ground, revealing an apparatus that drew whispers from the crowd.

It reminded me of the scaffold at Tyburn. Was this some clever jibe the Carlisles had planned, alluding to the queen’s ill-fated pilgrimage? Whatever the case, the magician was already far beyond anyone’s reach. My heart started to pound in my ears. No, I realized with a jolt, it was the drums again, throbbing, inexorable.

Boku grasped something bloodred and shook it out—a sack of some kind. He placed the all-too-willing dog inside it, then clasped the bundle against his chest as three sturdy grooms crossed chains about the man’s arms and legs and body, manacling him to the tallest wooden post and locking the bonds in place.

I could hear Henrietta Maria’s nervous voice as she talked to the king, and I saw Charles reach out to pat her hand. She grabbed hold of his and would not let it go.

The men rowed back, leaving Boku and the wriggling sack containing Mitte upon the island alone. When the oarsmen alighted, the page went to the countess of Carlisle. I could see how nervous the boy was. “He’s chained up tight, my lady. We all of us pulled on the locks, trying to open them. We were all to tell you that.” He handed her the strange set of keys.

The countess took care not to touch his fingers, but once in possession of the keys, she offered them to the king. I could tell the queen was almost faint with alarm, but the king soothed her, and she watched the proceedings with wide eyes. Suddenly, the island began to sink slowly into the water.

The guests gasped and the queen shrieked, but not before I heard the low rasp of some sort of mechanism, a sound I recognized from the menagerie’s tricks. I knew those uninitiated in the ways of such “magic” would never detect it.

I did not realize I was holding my breath as Boku’s bright turban vanished under the lapping waves. Then—an explosion; fire and sparks and the island surfacing like Atlantis reborn. The stake—empty. The chains lay coiled upon the ground, the sack a flat puddle of silk.

“Mitte!” the queen cried. “Where is Mitte?”

At that instant, we heard a frantic yapping, and the merry little dog leapt from the platform where Boku had first performed. Around Mitte’s neck, in lieu of a collar, was a bright blue ruffle the hue of Boku’s turban, pinned in place with the ruby that had pierced the man’s ear.

“How is it possible?” the king and queen marveled, the whole company stunned. By the time Boku reappeared, his clothes dry, his bald head gleaming and bare, Her Majesty was laughing in wonder.

“What do you think of your gift, Your Majesty?” the countess asked the king with a triumphant smile.

King Charles beamed. “It is marvelous indeed, although my wife suffered some perilous moments when Mitte disappeared. It would have been dreadful enough had my falcon torn up Jeffrey’s face, but to lose Mitte—that, she would never have forgiven any of us.”

The rest of the company laughed. I found his humor less amusing.

“In reparation for the strain the queen suffered, I will not keep your gift for myself. Let your conjuror serve a mistress his skill has already saved from grief. Boku will join Her Majesty’s Menagerie of Freaks and Curiosities of Nature.”

“Majesty, no!” I protested, the idea of this strange man joining our troupe ill news indeed.

Buckingham objected, as well. “Fool Jeffrey looks to your interests, Your Majesty—though he should be reprimanded for impertinence. The queen has a host of rarities to entertain her. It is admirable you have retained your father’s fool, but you are owed better diversions than Archie Armstrong can provide. Keep this illusionist for yourself.”

“As always, you look to my comfort, my friend, but I have made my decision. Jeffrey may pay for his impudence by serving as the conjuror’s guide among Her Majesty’s Curiosities. What better home could there be for a magician who can charm falcons from the sky?”

I saw Lady Carlisle suppress a frown and Buckingham’s nostrils flare in frustration. But the queen beamed at her husband, their gazes intimate in a way I had never seen before. Only one expression in the company did not change. Boku’s elegant features remained emotionless as onyx.

By the time the royal party returned to Whitehall, the moon was a curved knife blade culling unwary clouds. The king and queen had reined their horses so close together, the skirts of Her Majesty’s riding habit lifted on the wind as if to caress her husband’s thigh.

He would visit her bed tonight. I envied him, and took some small comfort that King Charles—another shy, small, awkward man—would woo Henrietta Maria and win her smiles.

Whitehall blazed with candles as we entered the queen’s side of the palace. I expected some reaction from Boku as we walked through the magnificent halls. If I, an English village lad, had been overwhelmed by my first sight of royal wealth, surely this man from a land of godless natives would be even more stunned.

I could not rein in my questions another moment. “How did you do it? Charm the falcon? Get loose from the chains?”

“Next time, I could put you in the sack instead of the queen’s dog, if you wish to find out.”

“No, thank you. I’m not an animal.” Did he understand the edge beneath my reply? Realize that I had caught the strange undertone to his statement? I could not tell.

Boku did not shift his gaze to me any more than to the majestic vistas around him. He stared straight ahead. Neither awe nor curiosity insinuated itself into Boku’s features as I performed the office Will Evans had done for me, taking him to the menagerie’s lodgings. A hush fell over the troupe as each dropped whatever pastime they’d been involved in—Sara, the headdress she was embroidering; Goodfellow, the sketch he was working on; Simon, the trick he was teaching Pug; and Dulcinea, the rope she was examining under Will’s watchful eye. No one bothered to hide their stares. Even Simon Rattlebones’s constant chatter was dulled.

Only Pug, the monkey, seemed eager to welcome Boku. The creature scampered over to him, deserting Rattlebones. Deserting
me.
The magician and the monkey drew apart from the rest of us as if to share memories of hot climes and the loss of sweet fruits England would never taste. It made me wonder how the conjuror and the animal had been captured, what cages they had been imprisoned in, and whom they had left behind.

It grew late, the clock on the mantel chiming. None of us seemed to have gotten far in our chores since the stranger had entered our lodgings, upsetting the balance among us.

I remembered my first night in the queen’s household back at Denmark House: Will Evans giving me his bed, helping me out of my armor, fashioning a nightshirt for me out of his stocking. But I was not Will Evans. Besides, this native nearly got my eyes clawed out and threatened to put me in a sack underwater. For all I knew, Archie Armstrong was right about Boku. He could be a cannibal and eat me in my sleep.

I strung out conversation as long as I could, determined to delay the moment of reckoning, but even curiosities of nature had to sleep sometime.

Sara and Rattlebones surrendered first, stealing a last nervous glance at the silent newcomer before they wandered off to their separate beds. Robin Goodfellow snapped another stick of charcoal he was sketching with and tossed the pieces onto the table in frustration. He scooped the scattered charcoal, the paper, and other tools into a paint-smeared casket and prepared to shove them on a shelf.

For the first time, Boku spoke. “You wish to capture souls upon that page? Take three shavings and stand with your back to the fire. Cast the shavings over your right shoulder and the souls you seek will surrender.”

“Heathen nonsense,” Goodfellow blustered.

“I’ve seen
heathen nonsense
wake the dead,” Boku said. “To capture a soul on paper is small magic indeed. If you are satisfied to be a commonplace artist, you need not try it.”

After a moment, Robin took down his paint box. He plucked what must have been bits of wood and charcoal from the casket’s confines, then walked over to the fire, carrying out the little ritual. Boku nodded in approval as Goodfellow scurried from the room. Dulcinea smiled. “Have you any advice to help me when I dance upon my rope?”

“Do not fall,” Boku said. I would have laughed had I not been so worried about where to dispose of him for the night. Dulcinea was not so amused. She flounced out. Only Will and I were left with Boku.

I feigned a headache—the skill acting the queen’s masques had stood me in good stead. I knew it was a cowardly thing to do, but I could not think of any other way to shift the burden of our new “curiosity” into Will Evans’s hands—much larger, more capable hands when it came to these matters than mine would ever be. Even as I slipped away, I felt I had taken advantage of Will.

I did not expect to hear the scratch of someone at my door an hour later. I crept to the door in the dark, opened it, half-afraid it would be Boku. It was Will. He stood there rolling the brim of his hat in his hands, a nervous habit Dulcinea hated.

“I’ll buy you a dozen goose quills to make up for deserting you down there, Will,” I said. “I did not want to get stuck with him overnight. I kept thinking of tales of Raleigh and savage natives and figured that if Boku tried to take a bite of
you,
at least there would still be enough of you left to object to being made his main course.”

I expected to be rewarded by one of Will’s chuckles, but he only shrugged. “I offered to take the man to my lodgings, but he would not sleep in a bed. He rolled himself in his cloak and slept by the window. I told him it would be warmer by the fire, and tried to offer him cushions, but he would have none of it.”

“He’s probably searching for ways to poison us,” I grumbled, longing for our accustomed banter. Will remained silent. “You have missed your cue, sergeant porter,” I complained. “It is time for you to scold me for being cynical and warn me not to be like Archie.”

“There are more pressing worries than Archie or Boku to bedevil me at the moment.”

“That’s because you did not see what that conjuror can do! Will, he—”

“Jeffrey!” Will cut me off more sharply than he ever had before. “When I was passing Dulcinea’s chambers, I saw a page leave a bouquet of flowers beside her door.”

“This is what you’re worried about when we have a cannibal in our midst? I’m certain most of the serving men in the queen’s household would be Dulcinea’s gallants if she let them.”

“This was not the gift of some moonstruck lad. It was one of Buckingham’s pages and the stems were tied with Buckingham’s colors.”

“It would be better if he showed his appreciation in something useful, like coin.”

Will started to speak, then stopped. His jaw clenched. “I do not trust His Grace. He and the countess of Carlisle mean mischief. This Boku has been placed in the queen’s household for some purpose.”

I concealed my own twinge of guilt by saying, “Boku was not supposed to be placed in the queen’s household. The countess intended him for the king. She and Buckingham were most unhappy when His Majesty insisted such a skilled magician was better suited to the queen’s menagerie.”

Evans looked a little chagrined. “Hmm. I might have welcomed him more warmly, then.”

“You can leave him some flowers.” I meant to tease, but he spun and stomped away. “Will, it was just a jest,” I called after him. He did not answer. I crossed to the door, locked it. Against what? I wondered. The kind of menace that stalked me was of a breed that seeped between the cracks in walls and windows, down chimney flues, and under the skin.

I lay awake pondering Will’s anxious words. What danger would Boku carry into the menagerie’s lodgings at Lady Carlisle’s bidding? More troubling still: What had the countess and Buckingham planned for this day that Mitte’s misadventure had foiled?

S
EVENTEEN

In the weeks that followed, Boku’s presence permeated the menagerie’s lodgings like the scent of strange spices that wafted from his skin. His clothes, despite exotic touches stitched by costume makers, were stout English wool.

I caught myself watching him a dozen times a day and wondered if this was how people who gawked at me felt—fascinated, a little repulsed, unanswerable questions whirling in their minds. Had I the power His Grace had, I knew I would have stripped the velvet gauntlets off of Boku to see what was beneath them—whether the conjuror wanted me to or not.