On the very next mortal day, Vidal Gated to Otstargi's house. The nearly mindless servant was still there. The house was clean, the bedchambers ready; Otstargi's receiving room was the only chamber that had the feeling of long vacancy. The rest of the house, the parlor and dining room, were obviously in use and Vidal found evidence, clothes in a wardrobe, toilet articles on a dressing table in one of the bedrooms that Albertus lived there.
He looked in the servant's mind, somewhat more carefully than in the past, remembering that he had almost killed the creature and that if he did so he would have to rework another mortal. But he did not need to delve deep to discover Albertus's habits of coming and going. Generally Albertus was absent all day and returned to the house shortly before dark. Vidal told the servant to bid Albertus wait for "his master" and went back up the stairs.
He was about to Gate Underhill when it occurred to him that he was totally ignorant of current events in the mortal world, except for what Aurilia had told him and what Albertus might say. Since he did not trust either of them, he decided to have dinner out at a popular inn and see what news he could gather.
Standing before the cheval glass in what was called Otstargi's bedchamber, although he never slept in it, Vidal took on the guise of a prosperous merchant. He did not want to be recognized as Otstargi so he was careful to make his round pupilled eyes blue and his hair a nondescript brown. A bland expression completed a friendly and harmless appearance.
Fortunately, staid merchant garb did not change the way the garments of lordlings who followed fashion did. Vidal felt safe garbing himself in the same kind of clothes Otstargi had last worn. He uttered an obscenity as the suit formed on him; he had forgotten how much the effort to dress himself here in the mortal world would drain his well of power. Nonetheless, he sacrificed more power to ken coins for his purse.
He would not forget again, Vidal told himself, that he could not renew his power in the mortal world. For now, however, he did not expect to need to do any more magic, and since he had already made the effort, he went out.
Eating in the mortal world was never a pleasure. Beef and mutton, always overcooked, could not compare with human flesh, well tenderized by beating and terror; however, the information he gathered, swiveling his long ears this way and that under their human illusion, was worth the effort he had made. Picking such information directly out of one man's mind was never safe; it was too colored by that one person's interpretation. General conversation provided far more reliable news.
Aside from the general state of the realm and of trade, Vidal heard of the young king's mortal illness (in whispers with anxious glances around to note who might hear) and of the attempts of the Court to conceal it. He had known Edward was dying but not about Northumberland's cronies and servants who made the rounds of inns and drinking houses to insist to anyone who would listen that the king was recovering, was almost well.
Just when he felt he could linger no longer over his dinner and ale, his attention was drawn to a hissing whisper. A well-dressed man, whose jacquette gaped open to expose a crucifix as he bent toward a companion, confided that the Lady Mary had been seen to weep after she had visited her brother as long ago as February.
This was nothing new to Vidal, but the companion shook his head and, not whispering now, said he wondered why the Lady Elizabeth had not also come to visit the king. Was she not said to be dearer to her brother than Lady Mary? A third man snorted contempt and said she would come, was just waiting . . . he paused significantly and finished . . . for the time to be ripe.
Vidal ordered another pot of ale and listened intently, both ears pointed at the group who, he now detected all wore crosses in one form or another. But though a few more vague hints of distaste for Elizabeth passed, no one even guessed when she might leave Hatfield. He gave up after he got rid of the ale. Several other inns brought him no new information, except the unwelcome fact that the first group he had heard speak of Elizabeth were the only ones who had any ill to say of her.
He discovered by questioning the landlord, who never recalled the question nor who asked it, that the men who wore crucifixes and crosses were very likely those who worshiped in the old faith. He had hoped that no one would rise to Elizabeth's defense if he arranged that she be attacked, but apparently those he first overheard were a rabid minority. Elizabeth was much loved. There was no chance a mob could be incited against her. But he could use a rabid minority.
As the light faded, Vidal made his way back to Otstargi's house. He dropped the illusion he had worn as soon as the servant had closed the door behind him, indifferent to the fear in the dull eyes when "Otstargi's" appearance was revealed.
"Go tell Master Albertus to come to the parlor," he ordered, understanding when the servant at once went up the stairs that Albertus was in the house.
Vidal himself stepped into the parlor, where he flicked a hand at the kindling and logs in the hearth. Although the day had been warm, the evenings had a chill even at the end of May. He stood watching the fire for a few moments, then frowned with impatience, but before he could act, Albertus arived.
"My lord?" Albertus bowed nervously. "I hope you do not think I can do more for King Edward. Nothing I can do will prolong the king's life even so much as a few weeks more. By the end of June or the beginning of July, he will be dead."
"That will be long enough," Vidal said, nodding. "However, you are to continue to attend him. Whether you offer hope or tell the truth I do not care, so long as you remain free of the Court. I want you there because I have an important 'gift' which must be bestowed a week or so before Edward dies. This is a ruby ring for the new ambassador from the Empire, Simon Renard. Also you are to make sure that Baron Rich still wears the yellow diamond ring he had from Otstargi." Vidal smiled thinly. "I will know that the gift was received because Renard will come or write to Otstargi soon after he receives it."
"I am not such a fool as to think of stealing from you, lord prince—" Albertus's voice cut off abruptly and his hand flashed up to pull on the gold chain around his neck. "What must I call you here, master?" he gasped.
So Aurilia's curb on Albertus's tongue was still working well, Vidal thought approvingly. That handsome gold chain Albertus wore tightened a warning at any reference to Underhill and would strangle the man if he did not take the warning. Since there was no man who could be called "lord prince" in this house and Vidal was a prince only Underhill, the chain had tightened.
"Master Otstargi would be safest," Vidal said, adding contemptuously, "That way you will not need to remember anything complicated."
He smiled slightly again when rage flickered in Albertus's eyes, but then he lost interest in the mortal and stared past Albertus's right shoulder until the man began to twitch with discomfort. Vidal smiled more broadly at the sign of uneasiness.
"Another task, equally important," Vidal said, "is that I want you to form a private fighting force for me."
Albertus looked alarmed. "That will not be easy, m— Master Otstargi. The fate of the last men I hired to kill Lord Denno and Lady Alana is not unknown. I doubt I would be able to convince—"
Vidal gestured and Albertus fell instantly silent. "No, I don't want criminals this time. I want men who cleave to the old Catholic rite, men with a hatred for the reformed religion, or men with a grudge against the present government. The single binding factor is that all must wish to fight to see Lady Mary as queen and Catholicism reestablished."
Albertus had lowered his eyes; Vidal thought he was considering what had been said, then realized his gesture had gagged the man. He twitched a finger. Albertus expelled a long breath, drew another. He had not lifted his eyes and the hate in them was hidden from Vidal who, mindful of Aurilia's warning, did not wish to invade the mortal's mind except for a significant purpose. Vidal knew that Albertus would report everything to Aurilia, but he had nothing yet to hide from her; he was sure she would agree with what he was doing.
"That gives me a wide range of choice," Albertus said finally, looking up with a thoughtful frown.
Vidal shrugged. "Not so wide as you think," he warned. "I will need at least fifty men and one or two leaders who can think out for themselves how to accomplish a purpose set for them."
"You will not direct them closely, my lord? I could not. As God knows, I am no fighting man."
"No, you certainly are not." Contemptuous again, Vidal shook his head. "Beside that, I do not want any of them to know that Master Otstargi pays their wages."
Albertus lowered his head again for a moment, then lifted it. "Then I must not be known to pay the wages either, my lord. I am sorry I did not forsee this eventuality when the Lady sent me here to help attend the king. I needed a direction at which I could be reached, and gave them the tale that I was Master Otstargi's house-watcher while he was journeying. I thought I was saving the Lady the labor of ken—" His voice checked and his hand flew up to the gold chain. "—of finding money for my lodging."
"Stupid clot," Vidal muttered, then shrugged again. "Well, you have just cost your Lady the trouble of making an amulet that will disguise you when you deal with the troop you are going to hire. Do you at least have any idea where to look for such men? I am aware you have friends in the muck at the bottom, but it would be well if these were respectable men."
For a moment Albertus did not answer. Then he swallowed, cleared his throat, and said, "Oh, yes, my lord. I know of one man who would be perfect. He is a by-blow in the duke of Norfolk's family."
"Norfolk's by-blow?"
"I am not certain of that. He was not recognized by the duke, although he used the name Howard during the old king's reign. After Surrey was executed he began to call himself Mowbray, but if the Lady Mary becomes queen, I am sure he will be Howard again."
Vidal frowned. "He does not sound the kind to hold hard by a purpose. I need men who are willing to die for a cause."
"Possibly not, but he is a clever fellow, quite devious enough to accomplish a set purpose without any previous plan. And I think he knows others of his ilk—base-born sons of the nobility. Among them, it is possible I will find a devoted Catholic who will be able to recruit others."
"How long will it take to buy these men?"
"I could have Howard-Mowbray in two days, three at the longest, but fifty men . . . That will take time."
"Speak to this Howard-Mowbray then and discover whether he can assemble a troop large enough to attack Lady Elizabeth's cortege when she comes to visit her brother."
"Is she coming to London? I heard a rumor at Court that she had written for permission to visit and it had been denied."
"Mary visited. Elizabeth cannot do less than her sister. She must show herself no less loving. I will arrange for listeners in the inns and drinking houses around Hatfield so I will know at least a day before she leaves. Your man will need to be able to call up his troop within that day to accost her on the road."
Albertus was clasping his hands together so hard that the fingers whitened. Slowly, hunching his shoulders against his fear of punishment, he shook his head. "I do not believe Mowbray is the right man for such a purpose. He is brave enough and likes to fight, but he would not attack if the odds are not in his favor."
"That will suit me well enough," Vidal said calmly. "If her cortege is too large, he should not attack. Elizabeth and her guardians will remain ignorant of any danger and will not be warned for the future. Then Mowbray will be able to gather more men to take her on the way back to Hatfield."
Vidal was pleased to notice a slight gleam, almost of enthusiasm, in the mortal's eyes, but all Albertus said was, "Very well, my lord. I will seek out Mowbray as soon as possible. How can I let you know what he says?"
It seemed to Vidal that Albertus was also eager to be rid of Elizabeth. Perhaps he was attached to the old faith. So much the better if he was. Vidal felt almost pleased with the mortal, but he decided quickly not to tell him to Gate back to Caer Mordwyn. It would be best to keep Albertus away from Aurilia while he was using the man. Aurilia had a more delicate touch with minds and Vidal knew he would not be able to tell if she had set some ideas into Albertus that would forward Aurilia's purposes instead of his own. He preferred she have no chance to touch Albertus's thoughts.
"I will return tomorrow and give you the ruby ring, perhaps some other trifles. Do not give them out until the king is almost dead. You can tell me tomorrow what Mowbray said."
Denoriel, Aleneil, Rhoslyn, and Harry were seated at a table in the Inn of Kindly Laughter, talking desultorily. Each looked impatiently at the doorway and then looked aside. Rhoslyn had a very faint flush on her cheeks that might have indicated embarrassment. Harry reached over and patted her hand. She started to speak, then turned her head abruptly to the door. Pasgen walked in, smiling faintly. Denoriel shifted closer to Aleneil so there was a space for Pasgen beside his sister.
"Why are you always late?" Rhoslyn asked sharply as Pasgen sat down beside her.
"Mostly because I am working and I forget it is mortal Tuesday," Pasgen replied with an amused grin. "But today I was with Hafwen and Gaenor in the Unformed land that makes by itself. We have been watching it closely since Vidal escaped."
"I hope it was not angry," Denoriel said. "Elizabeth has a real fondness for that place and would be heartbroken if it became dangerous and we needed to appeal to Oberon to . . . I am not sure what he could do, but take away its initiative."
Pasgen's brows rose. "And how would I be supposed to know if an unformed mist was angry?"
"Somehow," Denoriel said without any humor in his voice, "I think it would make its temper clear to you."
"Then, no." Pasgen's response was dry. "It is not angry." He sighed and shook his head. "But it is doing something."
Everyone looked appalled, but before anyone could speak one of the very odd servitors of the Inn of Kindly Laughter—odd even for Underhill—slithered up to the table. Now everyone looked at the thick, snakelike body, furred in alternating stripes of yellow and green. The fur was a short, soft-looking plush, and did not cover the completely human head and face. That had no hair at all, being bald and without eyebrows and eyelashes. Regardless of its appearance, the creature radiated good humor.
"Your party is complete," it said. "How may I serve you?"
"Beefsteak," Harry said, "with lots of onions and mushrooms. And a pot of ale."
Rhoslyn sighed softly, then smiled. "Fruits," she ordered, "with a light, sweet sauce. Wine . . . muscatel." However she did not look at the server but kept her gaze on her brother.
Aleneil and Denoriel repeated Rhoslyn's order, except that Denoriel asked for a dry red wine, and Pasgen wanted stew, any kind, and aqua vitae. Everyone turned to look at Pasgen, who was more likely to ask for fowl's breast or ham in paper thin slices than stew. No one even noticed as the servitor slithered away.
"Don't you dare go into that mist to find out what it is doing," Rhoslyn said anxiously.
Pasgen laughed aloud. "You think I am fortifying myself for some hard endeavor? No, love, but I am afraid I forgot to eat last . . . Hmmm. I don't know when, but I am hungry."
"Rhoslyn is right," Harry said. "That Unformed land is dangerous."
"Not by intent," Pasgen insisted, and raised a hand to still Rhoslyn's half-uttered protest. "You should come and meet it."
"The Chaos Lands can do great harm without evil intent," Denoriel said.
Pasgen sighed. "I promise I will not leave the Gate platform—at least not yet." He frowned around the table at the troubled faces. "There is no need to be bringing Oberon into what the Unformed land is doing. Hafwen has a fine nose for detecting evil—she nearly fainted when the elder Sidhe and I took her to Alhambra—and she has scented no ill in that Unformed land. And Gaenor is trying to explain to it that we would like to know what it is making, not to interfere but to admire."
"I do not think you should lie to it," Aleneil said, her eyes wide, her voice anxious.
"Nor I," Rhoslyn agreed.
Pasgen looked from one to the other and then at Denoriel who nodded agreement. "Very well. I will speak to Gaenor. It does learn. It no longer reaches for us when we are on the Gate because we used to Gate away when it sent tendrils toward us. And Hafwen believes she detects a kind of pleasure when we are there, as if it likes company but has learned it must not touch us." He sighed deeply. "Fascinating. Utterly fascinating."
His head turned as if he could look through the mad mysteries of Underhill to that place.
"Pasgen!" Rhoslyn laid a hand on his arm and shook it. "I wish you would put aside playing with that Unformed land. I am worried about Mary."
"No one in the Bright Court is threatening Mary, no matter how little we look forward to her as queen," Aleneil said quickly.
"No, no, I know that," Rhoslyn agreed. "But there was a nasty accident yesterday. A servingman tripped and bumped into her as she was going down that wide stone staircase at Hunsdon. Fortunately I was near and quick enough to catch her."
"You think he did it apurpose?" Harry asked, looking worried.
"Servants do stumble," Denoriel said. "But if you have reason to doubt the intentions of this one, have him dismissed."
"That is not so easy with the lady Mary. She is very softhearted and very reluctant to dismiss any servant. I even went so far as to remind her that the same man had not long ago dropped a fur at her feet so that she nearly fell into a rock-rimmed pond. If she had hit her head and drawn water into her lungs . . . She would not hear of dismissing him. She said all the more reason not to send him away, since he was clumsy and likely could not find another position."
"Then make sure that that servingman never again has occasion to come near Mary," Harry said.
Rhoslyn's dark eyes glittered hard. "I would have done more than that. He would have had a serious accident himself, which would surprise no one . . . clumsy as he had shown himself to be. But he disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Denoriel exclaimed. "As in used magic to become invisible? But Vidal would not send anyone to harm Mary. He wants Mary to come to the throne. He thinks she will bring in the Inquisition."
"No, I did not mean disappeared in that way. I do not believe Vidal had anything to do with this. I mean the servingman ran away." Rhoslyn tapped her fingers on the table uneasily. "No one else thought it was strange. Everyone thought he was just frightened of being punished for nearly pushing the Lady Mary down the stairs, but now I do not know who to watch."
"I do not understand," Aleniel said. "I swear it is no doing of the Bright Court and I also agree with Rhoslyn that the Dark Court would offer no harm to Mary. And she has always been a kind and thoughtful person. Who—"
"Northumberland," Harry said grimly.
Denoriel opened his mouth but did not speak. The servitor had returned. It now had arms almost as long and thick as its body on which rested a variety of dishes. These slid along the arm as if each dish had little feet until the dish came to the edge of the table where the person who had ordered the food sat. Harry, still fascinated by the wonders Underhill, seized his plate of steak and lifted it up so he could look underneath.
To his mild disappointment, there were no feet. Despite her concern over Mary, Rhoslyn smiled at him.
"It's the arm," she said, and Harry looked at the arm as she lifted her bowl of fruit off it. Under the bowl were little flat fingers that withdrew as Rhoslyn placed the bowl and her cup of wine on the table.
There were some moments of silence while everyone began to eat, Pasgen with considerable eagerness. After a while, however, Denoriel, who had been frowning, repeated, "Northumberland?"
"Would he dare?" Aleneil asked.
"He faces ruin if Mary comes to the throne," Harry said a little thickly as he swallowed steak, onion, and mushroom, and then more clearly, "Why should he not dare to try to be rid of my sister Mary, especially if it can seem to be an accident."
"Would he really be ruined?" Aleneil asked. "I know he would lose his power and not be able to add to his wealth when Mary is queen, but ruin?"
"Ruin," Harry said firmly. "Do you think Mary will forget how he plagued her to accept the reformed religion? Will she not press him as hard to renounce reform and profess himself Catholic?"
"From what I heard of Northumberland from Lady Denny," Denoriel said, "Northumberland cares very little about which rite he worships by. So why not become Catholic?"
"I suspect Mary will require some more substantial evidence of his conversion than his simple word," Harry said dryly, "like the return to the Church of any lands he received in the dissolution of the monasteries."
"Oh, my," Aleneil breathed.
Harry nodded. "And he would be watched very keenly, indeed, for any slip for which he could be accused of treason. Oh, yes, for Mary to come to the throne would be ruin for Northumberland."
"Nor is he such a man as Norfolk," Denoriel remarked, with a wry twist to his mouth. "Norfolk served Henry devotedly all his life—never mind that he profited greatly while he served—but only said when that ungrateful king condemned him to death that if his master wanted his life, that, too, he would give."
"So what you are all saying is that Mary's life likely is being threatened." Rhoslyn sighed. "I will warn Susan Clarencieux and Jane Dormer. Among us we can make sure that no servant approaches her. And I can just touch the mind of any visitor, but what if I detect danger to her? I know well enough how to kill a man and one I can be rid of but not more."
"No, indeed!" Harry exclaimed, pushing away his near empty plate. "If one man's heart gives out and he dies in Mary's presence, that is a tragic accident. If two or three suffer the same ending, someone will be called a witch."
"Let us see what happens before we act," Pasgen said. "If worse comes to worst, Rhoslyn has a way to call me to her and I can take on the seeming of one of the guards. For a guard to kill any man who attacks Mary is an act of duty and heroism, and will not arouse suspicion or merit punishment."
Denoriel had signaled for another glass of wine and the server came with refills for all the drinking vessels. He sipped and put down the cup. "Do you think Elizabeth is safe from Northumberland?" he asked Harry.
Harry pursed his lips. "I wish I could be sure. On the one hand, he and Elizabeth have always got along well, and he has gone out of his way to please her—so much so that if you remember, there were rumors he intended to put his wife aside and marry Elizabeth."
"I remember all too well," Denoriel said dryly.
"That was never meant seriously," Rhoslyn said. "Well . . . if the idea had met an enthusiastic reception it might have become more serious. But Lady Catherine, who is Mary's woman at the Court, has heard him call Elizabeth a willful bitch."
Denoriel uttered a brief snort of laughter. "And so she is."
"Yes, but—" Harry's gesture cut off what Rhoslyn was about to say, "—that is why I am not certain of Northumberland's good will toward Elizabeth. With her advent he would not be ruined, but he would soon be powerless. He is devious and long-sighted and I am afraid he sees too clearly what Elizabeth is. Northumberland would not rule as he does now if Elizabeth were on the throne."
"But there is no one else," Aleneil protested.
"The duchess of Suffolk, Frances Brandon that was, is named in Henry's will and in the Act of Succession," Harry said. "She and her husband are both stupid beyond belief so Northumberland could twist them any way he liked."
Pasgen slowly shook his head. "I know nothing about mortal affairs," he said, "but stupid people, even Sidhe, are often stubborn and even more often prideful. If your Northumberland is as clever as you say, he would not put on the throne stupid adults. A stupid child is something different; a child could be trained up in the pattern he wanted it to follow."
Denoriel sighed heavily. "I hope you are right, Pasgen. Then I would have one less threat to Elizabeth to watch for." He grimaced. "And you are all sure that Vidal is not only free of the thinking Unformed land but again ruling Caer Mordwyn?"
"Yes. And more than ruling it, rebuilding it." Pasgen's lips thinned. "He is also ruling much better than before he was made prisoner. His punishments are just as cruel and public, but they are much more rational. The Dark Court is quieter, but Vidal has found sufficient mischief for them to do that they are satisfied."
"I do not like that, not at all," Aleneil said.
"I cannot say I like it myself," Pasgen agreed. "I am sorry to say it, but I believe that Vidal is more in control of himself than he has been since he was damaged by Harry's metal shot."
"I could attend a Dark Court and try to discover whether he has made plans against Elizabeth," Roslyn offered, but she did not look happy.
"No!" Harry exclaimed. "That could be dangerous if Vidal suspects why you are there."
Rhoslyn smiled at him and a faint flush colored her cheeks. "It would not be dangerous. I could say with perfect truth that Elizabeth is a danger to Mary—"
"No!" Now it was Denoriel who protested. "Vidal hates Elizabeth enough. Let us not give him any real reason to urge him to do away with her."
"And he might try to hold you Rhoslyn," Pasgen said with a worried frown. "I prefer not to come to an open confrontation with him. I was stronger than he when he fell into the mist's embrace, but from the work he has done on his domain, I am not so sure I am still the stronger."
"Then let him be, Brother," Aleneil said. "For you to confront Vidal is a total loss to you, no matter who turns out to be stronger. If you lose . . ."
"Likely I would be dead."
"And Rhoslyn with you," Harry said bitterly, taking Rhoslyn's hand into his own.
Aleneil nodded grimly. Neither she nor anyone else doubted that in any fatal confrontation Rhoslyn would be right beside her twin, supporting him to her last breath.
"And if you win, you would be prince of Caer Mordwyn." Suddenly she laughed. "Which, from the expression on your face is to you a fate worse than death. It would be best, I think, if both you and Rhoslyn avoided Vidal as much as possible. I will speak to the other FarSeers and see if the great lens will tell us anything new."