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  The king seemed to Will more saddened than he should be by what he had witnessed. He held out a limp hand and took the quill knife back. ‘I think you have changed since last we met…’

  ‘I’ve grown up. When last we met I was but a lad.’

  ‘Whereas now, we see, you are educated in the ways of power.’

  ‘I’ve learned how best to deal with certain difficulties.’

  ‘And in so doing you have lost your innocence.’ There was more regret than accusation in the king’s voice. Delicate fingertips played with his ring of state. He wore only one ring, his personal seal. ‘We pity you.’

  Will bowed his head, feeling admonished. ‘It’s the way of things these days. I regret it, your grace, but if we are to live in the world as it presently is…’

  ‘Aye…if.’

  The moment lingered strangely, but then the king’s next gesture disposed of the matter and he tried to pass over it. ‘Ah, well. You would rather be elsewhere, we suppose, for there is much that needs mending in this Realm, but since you are here in this city we hope you might spare us a moment. As for our own feelings, we greeted Trinovant with a heavy heart. This is no city of ours, however much the churlish folk seem to delight in us. We have no stomach for kinghood, you see. We would much rather our place was filled by another, our sceptre lifted from us, our balm washed off at last. We would that no knee might bend, no lord call us king, no humble suitor press us for favours. For how can poor Hal help the common man when he cannot help himself?’ He left a space that seemed like a sigh. ‘But still, we are king, and born unto it, and no man may take that away. King we must be until we die – that has been our sovereign promise.’

  ‘I understand, your grace.’

  ‘Though…there are many these days who say that promises are like piecrusts.’

  ‘Piecrusts, your grace?’

  The king gave a wan smile. ‘Aye, made to be broken.’

  Will bowed his head even lower, feeling for the lonely monarch whose reign had been such a disaster. Hal was not used to making light conversation. He did not have the directness that Will was used to among men of power, nor did he understand the humour of the common crowd. His only ambition was to be left alone to study his papers and to write what he would in peace.

  Silence stretched out almost beyond endurance while Hal tucked a wisp of grey hair under his hat. ‘Our days are as simple as we can make them. We make a friend of habit. We enjoy nothing better than to sit here at this desk, or to go down with the only trusted servant who remains to us, to search ancient records.’ He brightened. ‘We are compiling a “Historie”, you see. This is our great work, done in dark and dusty places, with the squeak of rats our only music. It is a labour that is, as the Duke of Ebor has told us, “as pointless as counting crows,” but we value it. And we would say this to him if we could: he who thoroughly knows the past may come in time to know something of the future. And those who are ignorant of the past are doomed forever to repeat it. Do you not think that is correct?’

  Will was losing patience. ‘I suppose it must be, if it please your grace.’

  The king’s expression softened, and he almost smiled. ‘But now we want you to tell us something.’

  ‘If I can I will, your grace.’

  ‘Then say all that you know about the Ebor children.’

  The request surprised Will and he let his surprise show. ‘What sort of thing would you have me say?’

  ‘Whatever you wish. But we would rather you were truthful.’

  Will considered. Not only had it been a while since he had lived among the duke’s family, there was politics to consider. What was the reason Hal had asked him to speak? And what decisions hung upon his answer? Nevertheless, Will had encountered several of the duke’s brood about the palace, and he had picked up bits of news from Willow about the others. And what harm could there be in telling the king bare bones?

  ‘The older children are hardly children any more,’ he began slowly. ‘The Lady Anne is now twenty-one. She’s married to Henry, Lord Exmoor who attended the Great Council that your grace called at Castle Corben. Lord Exmoor fought against the duke at Delamprey. He did not attend the last Great Council, nor is it thought he’ll attend the next.’ He paused, knowing that Anne’s marriage was a failed political ploy, that Exmoor had sided with Henry of Mells, Mad Clifton and the Hogshead, helping the queen to gather forces secretly in the north. But it was hardly the time to broach the matter of the queen’s continuing struggle, so he said, ‘After the Lady Anne comes Edward. He’s now twenty, while the second son, Edmund, is yet seventeen. After them comes—’

  ‘Tell us more about the two sons.’

  Will trod carefully. ‘Edward is the Ebor heir. You must have seen him many times. He’s now much concerned with affairs of state and the maintenance of his father’s army, whereas Edmund, having been touched in the past by an illness, has been declining in health. He’s the one who limps and has a withered arm.’

  ‘We have noticed the lad. Was it sorcery that struck him down?’

  Will had meant to gloss over the matter of Edmund. He had not wanted the king to question him on the matter because he feared mentioning the Dragon Stone, which had been the real reason for Edmund’s infirmity. Instead of the intelligent, considerate youth that Will remembered, Edmund had been ruined in body, and, some said, in mind also, though Will had seen no sign of that.

  ‘It is not sorcery, your grace, but an old accident that has not yet come right. After Edmund—’

  ‘Tell me: does Edward behave well towards his brother?’

  ‘Towards Edmund?’ The question gave Will pause. ‘I would say so, your grace. A little while ago I asked him, “Is your brother still afraid of the dark?” and Edward’s reply was short and to the point. He said, “My brother is not afraid of anything.”’

  ‘That is well. Go on please…after Edmund?’

  ‘After Edmund comes the Lady Elizabeth, who is sixteen. Her marriage to the Earl of Southfolk was arranged long ago, though she has still not seen her prospective husband, and complains loudly of that. She is much taken up with perfume, paint and powder. As for the Lady Margaret, she is fourteen – quiet and no fit company for her sister, who has become somewhat…shall we say, flouncing. The Lady Margaret would rather have a book in her hand than a looking glass. Sadly, she is by no means the beauty that was portrayed in the painting recently made of her. The two girls are chalk and cheese, and I shall leave it to your grace to decide which may be which.’

  Will’s attempt to make the king smile failed. Hal said only, ‘Perhaps, if ever the Lady Margaret thinks kindly of her king, she might come and read to us. In the afternoons, when the light begins to fade.’

  ‘Perhaps she will do that, your grace. If her mother will let her.’ Will smiled briefly.

  ‘And what of the younger two boys? George and, ah…?’

  ‘George and Richard. George is now, let me see…eleven years old. He’s bluff and about as clever as a doorpost. He’s always trying to persuade people to do things for him, and he throws fits of temper when he doesn’t get his own way. On one occasion not so long ago, he got amongst his father’s wine and had to be dragged out, reeling drunk, on the orders of Tutor Aspall. Sir John Morte took him to a water tub to have his head soused!’

  ‘And the last boy?’

  ‘Richard? Oh, he’s sharp and handsome of face. I’ve sometimes watched him from afar. Despite being a year or so younger he cleverly taunts George, then shuns him when he tires of his sport. He’s a lonely child who sets himself apart. He showed my wife where his collar-bone had not set properly after a fall, but his main interest in coming to see us was to look in upon the lodgings of the Wortmaster during his absence. He wanted, I think, only to satisfy his curiosity about what might be there. He has an inquiring mind, you see.’

  ‘But what do you make of his character, Master Willand?’

  It seemed an odd question for a king to ask about a lad who was not yet
ten years old. Will thought it opened a window on the morbidly tender mind of the monarch. ‘Young Richard takes his lessons and his duties seriously. He’s at once inquisitive and suspicious, but there’s something about him – something I can’t quite put my finger on.’

  ‘Try. For us.’

  Will blinked. ‘It’s…small things. He stares too long at his own shadow and fears steps that lead downwards. He dislikes dogs – says they always bark at him as he passes. And it’s true. It’s as if they smell something that raises their hackles.’

  ‘What is it they smell?’

  ‘I don’t know, your grace.’ Again Will tried hard to put the feeling he had about Richard into the clumsy medium of words. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Richard seems to me to be a little boy who has looked into his own future and seen there only a mess of disappointments. I can say no more than that.’

  The king deliberated on what he had been told, then he said, in a way that made Will realize the brief audience had come to an end, ‘We thank you. We think you have been candid and most patient with our tiresome questions.’

  ‘Your grace.’ Despite himself, Will was touched by the remark. He stepped back, and where other men would have bowed he made a wizard’s gesture of respectful parting, though he felt like an impostor in doing so. He knew it was not his place to ask uninvited questions of a king, but he thought himself entitled to know the answer to one at least, and so as he reached the door he said, ‘Your grace, may I ask…why did you want to learn about the duke’s family?’

  The king looked back at him with sad eyes. ‘It is because we believe we might have found a solution to our stalemate. Another Great Council approaches and we must make an important decision, but first we wished to know a little more about those who would be king when we can be king no longer.’

  Tonight the draw was strong. The feeling would not go away, so he decided to leave the palace by the water gate and go down towards Southfolk Steps. There boatmen sometimes drew alongside at night hoping to hook late wayfarers who wanted to return into the City after dark. It was dangerous to go out by the tilting yards where the annual jousts were held. At night no one travelled the roads that joined at the Charing unless in the company of armed men. Those wishing to avoid the sightless stare of the Fellowship were forced to creep through dangerous back alleys, for a single unmolested sentinel stood at the crossroads every hour of the day and night, heeding neither heat nor hard weather, but silently serving his masters. That man took note of each item of traffic that passed to or fro and made report of it.

  But no trade was headed for the City now. The gates were closed at sundown and not reopened until morning, which hour still seemed a long way off to Will. It was a cold night and dark, and the stars crowded in such multitudes as to form a solid mass that moved with him as he hurried along. No better proof could have been offered for the way in which the old world was still clinging stubbornly to its truths, he thought. And yet it was easy to believe that tonight these stars that tracked his steps were a lot further away than usual.

  ‘Hey, you!’

  The rough voice shouted out from behind him. Will spun on his heel to face a familiar figure in studded leather brigandine and an iron kettle hat. He had two palace guards at his back.

  ‘Captain Jackhald,’ Will said evenly.

  Jackhald approached and grabbed a fistful of Will’s jerkin. His words were hissed low so his men heard nothing of what passed. ‘Is this how you repay me, Willand?’

  Will did not resist. ‘Repay you, Jackhald? What do you mean?’

  ‘When I put a man on a door I don’t expect him to be suborned and given the terrors by a crow – ‘specially after I’ve stretched out my neck to find that crow and his kin fine lodging.’

  Will realized that Jackhald was talking about the guard on King Hal’s door. ‘Jackhald, he’s reporting.’

  ‘Of course he’s reporting. He’s a guard ain’t he? It’s part of his pay to sell what he sees and hears.’

  Will sighed and made a display of his disappointment. ‘Oh, not you too? Is everything in the Realm falling into corruption and self-seeking?’

  ‘Earners are earners, and you should know you’re poking your sticky beak in where it’s not wanted.’

  ‘It’s what crows do, Jackhald. We turn over rotting leaves to see what worms there may be sliding about underneath.’

  Jackhald let go of his jerkin and walked back towards his underlings. He jabbed a blunt finger. ‘I’m watching you, Willand. Remember that, my friend. And don’t say you haven’t been warned!’

  Will straightened his clothing. He turned and headed down past Palace Steps where the royal boats waited. He allowed himself a small smile at Captain Jackhald’s performance. It had all been for the benefit of his men, of course, a little demonstration of authority, and Will could almost hear Jackhald embroidering it: ‘I told him straight and no mistake: you don’t mess with my boys!’

  Yes, that’s it, Will thought, rubbing his chin. At least I hope so.

  A low-lying fog hugged the marshy shores of the river. It had seeped into every ditch and trench along the road like a rising tide, and curled slow, wraith fingers up from the water’s edge to drown out the lower stars. The way underfoot was iron hard in Greene’s Alley for there was no moon to light the way. No one would track Will tonight, for there was no one about to do the tracking. Not even those chancers who usually lay in wait beside dark roads imagined that tonight was worth the game.

  ‘Nggh!’ Will stumbled, stubbing his toe hard. He lifted his foot, waiting for the sudden mind-numbing wave of pain to subside. As the ache cleared he opened his mind and felt the distant response of Chlu’s dreams as they began swimming up through deep fathoms of sleep, eager to lock onto his own.

  He closed his mind again quickly. ‘Go back to your slumbers, my brother,’ he whispered into the night, glad that he had succeeded in eluding Chlu’s usual watchfulness. ‘Sleep on, and I’ll be upon you before you know it.’

  And then Will sensed the clinking of a chain.

  It was not a sound, but a feeling, an image in his mind. There were three boatmen, one asleep in his boat, and two more standing by the wooden jetty, both alert and aware of him. They were armed as boatmen always were, with stout cudgels – nothing more, for anyone rash enough to cause a boatman lethal trouble would have the entire guild to reckon with.

  But the chain Will had sensed was not a boat chain…

  He felt a vivid human presence a moment before the hand reached out for him. He turned, prepared to meet the threat, and the movement put the man behind him off balance.

  But no blow was attempted, only a hand placed on his arm, meant to surprise and frighten him perhaps, but no more. He sensed all this in the brief moment of contact, and that was fortunate, because magic had been about to roar out in his defence.

  He did not shake the hand off, but said evenly, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Forgive me.’ It was a deep, hard voice, and not interested in anyone’s forgiveness. ‘In the end I grew tired of waiting for you.’

  ‘And now you’ve come to find me.’

  ‘That—’ the clink of a chain came, heavy and metallic, to pierce the night, ‘-was my hope.’

  Will’s plans drained away like a river tide. He had learned enough about life to know when humility was needed. ‘I’m sorry, Lotan. I should have come sooner.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Lotan’s voice was a growl, his words insincere. ‘Does not one of your most important redes say that a promise delayed is a promise denied?’ ‘I shall make amends.’

  ‘Amends…’

  ‘You don’t believe me. Come, let me prove it to you.’ Will led Lotan back the way he had come.

  ‘My waiting has been worthwhile.’ Lotan seemed to be talking to himself.

  ‘Be warned – I promised you nothing more than that I would try on your behalf. That promise still holds.’

  ‘It is enough.’

  Will cringed at the
big man’s pitiful hope. He tried to soften the blow he half knew must fall when the request was put to Gwydion. ‘But you do admit, Lotan, that you gave away your sight of your own free will? And you understand that by the moral rules of magic this must count greatly against you?’

  ‘I understand. But doesn’t your magic allow that a man ought to be able to make one honest mistake, especially when that mistake harms no one else? If your magic is truly moral in nature as you believe, then there must still be hope for me. Is that not so?’

  ‘I don’t know if magic is that forgiving, though I’d say it should be.’

  The big man groaned. ‘What I would not give to see again a ray of sunshine on a spider’s web, to watch the clouds roll by, to delight in a pretty girl’s face.’

  They came to the North Turret and Will rapped on the stout wooden door that was set within the great gate. A small window opened high up and to the side. It was lavishly barred and banded in iron and though the light inside was only a candle, it was blindingly bright to Will’s eyes. A sharp, suspicious face viewed them.

  ‘Take your hand away from your face and announce yourself.’

  ‘My name is Willand. I’m with his grace the Duke of Ebor’s establishment. You should know me, for it was you who opened the door to let me out but a little while ago.’

  ‘Then step up and be recognized.’

  A lantern was thrust out on a rod. ‘Hmm. What’s your business?’

  ‘No business. I live here.’

  ‘Who’s that behind you in the shadows?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘You can’t bring him in. Standing orders.’

  ‘I don’t mean to bring him in.’

  They waited a leisurely moment while the narrow door opened. Then Will stepped inside and tapped the guard neatly on the forehead. ‘But if he chooses to follow me in of his own accord,’ he told the unconscious man, ‘then I can’t really be accused of bringing him in, can I?’

  Lotan reeled as if from a physical pain. But then he turned sideways and slotted himself nimbly through the gate. He groped after the stricken guard, put his hands on him and tried unsuccessfully to stand him up. ‘Will he live?’