Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

“And you shall have him. There is certainly nothing better I would like than to live out my life beyond the magical portals of the Troy Game.” His face now lost all trace of humour. “I would like Silvius to walk the streets of London, not that foul glamour which Asterion created.”

Louis looked about. “Where do I go from here?”

“Forward,” said a new voice, and Louis turned to see Long Tom standing just inside the doorway that led into Silvius’ private chamber.

Long Tom held out his hand, and Louis walked forward.

As he drew closer to the doorway, he saw that beyond lay not Silvius’ chamber, but the forest.

Elizabeth was setting out one of Catharine’s gowns when another of the queen’s women, Lady Northard, entered and informed Elizabeth, with a sniff, that there were two disreputable boys waiting in the servants’ courtyard to speak to her.

Elizabeth thanked her, then walked swiftly to the courtyard, trying to quiet her nerves. What could they want?

She found the imps waiting for her in a shadowed corner.

“What is it?” she said, taking care not to stand too close to them.

“Weyland wants to know,” said one, “if you have anything interesting to report on our majesty the king’s movements last night. Did anything of note take place?”

Little beast, Elizabeth thought, but was careful to keep the distaste off her face.

“No,” she said. “He spent a quiet night in bed with his queen.”

“And how could you be so sure of that?” said the other imp. “Did you hide behind the curtains, and peep at them while they fornicated?”

“They spent the night together. In bed. I saw this for myself, for early in the morning, well before dawn, the queen called me to her side—‘twas my turn, last night, to sit awake in case she needed me—in order that I might empty her chamberpot, for she’d passed a particularly foul—”

“Yes, yes,” said the second imp, wrinkling up his nose into a score of shadowy lines. “It is the king we are interested in, not the queen’s bodily stenches.”

“In that case,” said Elizabeth, “I shall tell you that the king lay awake, concerned for his wife.”

“Concerned at the reek, more like,” the first imp muttered. Then, louder, “And you are sure indeed that it was he? Not some stable lad pretending to be the king?”

“It was he,” Elizabeth said, her voice calm, her eyes steady.

The nearer imp to her reached out suddenly, and closed sharp-nailed fingers about her wrist. “Really?” he said softly, and Elizabeth felt darkcraft seethe through her.

She gasped, sure that her lie would be discovered, but the imp only peered intently at her for a moment, then sighed, nodded, and withdrew his hand.

“It was a horrid reek, indeed,” he said to his brother. “The king quite lost all lustful thought he had for his queen.”

Then the imps both looked at Elizabeth. “Don’t get too comfortable,” said the first imp. “Weyland might want you to come home, you know.”

At that they were gone, and Elizabeth leaned momentarily against the wall in sheer relief.

Then she smiled, remembering what had happened last night when the Lord of the Faerie returned to the chamber.

He had greeted Catharine, then Marguerite and Kate, and had then turned first to Elizabeth and then to Frances, kissing each girl warmly on the mouth.

“Weyland will never know,” he’d said. “Tell him, if he probes, only that my lady wife needed you to empty her chamberpot, and that as you did so, you spied myself, sleepy, in the bed.”

“Well,” said the first imp, “I’ll pop back to Idol Lane, shall I, and tell Weyland what she said?”

“Aye,” said his brother. “And then hurry down to the wharves, for there awaits us a berth on the Woolly Fleece, bound for the Low Countries. Weyland shall see us no more for a few weeks, I think.”

The Great Founding Labyrinth within the Tower of London

“Tomorrow morning,” said Jane to Weyland that evening as they sat at supper, “Noah and I must leave you for the day. It is time she began her training.”

His gaze was hooded and watchful. “Very well. That was part of the bargain I made with Noah. If she lay by my side at night,” those eyes slid Noah’s way for a brief moment, “then she and you had your freedom to do what you needed. Tell me, where do you go?”

“You do not need to know,” Jane said. “It is a matter which concerns only Noah and myself.”

Weyland looked intently at Jane for a moment, but eventually he nodded. “I am pleased you do this, Jane.”

“Are you not in the smallest bit concerned at what I might teach Noah?”

Weyland laughed. “You forget I know you, Jane. I know every piece of you, every thought you’ve ever entertained, every ounce of power you think to wield. I know what you are capable of, and what you are not. So, no, I am not in the least concerned. You can do no harm.”

An hour later, he took Noah by the hand and led her upstairs to his Idyll. Jane looked carefully at Noah the next morning, but saw nothing in her face save some excitement intermixed with apprehension. Having breakfasted—Noah eating very little—they departed, walking down Idol Lane to Thames Street and then turning left towards the Tower.

“Where will we meet Ariadne?” said Noah as they approached the Tower. The vaguely square-shaped complex loomed before them, the original Norman keep, now known as the White Tower, rising in the centre from amid a motley collection of roofs. Ill-repaired walls, sprouting shrubs here and there throughout their height and punctuated at intervals by gloomy bastions, surrounded the complex. A stinking, stagnant moat lay beyond the walls.

“She said she would wait for us by the Lion Gate,” Jane said, referring to the medieval gate and towers that guarded the bridge over the moat, which gave access to the Tower.

As she spoke they turned the final corner, walked up the incline leading to Tower Hill, and saw the Lion Gate directly.

A woman and a man stood there, arm in arm, the woman of a dark exotic beauty and clothed in red silk (the gown of contemporary English design rather than ancient Minoan), the man dressed in the uniform of an Officer of the Tower.

Ariadne, and her lover, the Gentleman of the Ordnance.

“What’s he doing here?” Noah said as they approached.

“Presumably she needs him to get us inside,” said Jane.

“But why—” Noah said, and then could say no more, for they stood before the Lion Gate, and Ariadne and her gentleman advanced towards them.

“My friends!” Ariadne said, and taking first Noah’s, then Jane’s, face between her hands kissed them soundly on both cheeks. “I am so glad you could come!” Then, almost without drawing breath, she said to Jane. “Thank you for bringing Noah, Jane. You may return towards dusk to collect her again.”

Almost panicked, Noah said, “You cannot go home, Jane! Weyland thinks that you—” she stopped, looking at Ariadne’s lover, who was regarding the women before him with amused blue eyes.

“I am not that silly,” Jane said. “I shall spend my day about Tower Fields, gathering flowers.” And with that she was off, striding briskly along the western perimeter of the Tower complex towards Tower Fields.

Ariadne put her arm through Noah’s, and turned her towards the waiting man. “Noah, may I introduce my protector, Frederick Warneke, who is the Gentleman Officer of the Ordnance.”

Noah dipped her head slightly at the man. “Gentleman Officer, I am most pleased to meet you. An unusual name, and most certainly not English.” She raised an eyebrow.

“My father was a German merchant,” Warneke said. “He settled here many years ago.”

“Ah,” said Noah. “Did he prefer London to his home, then?”

“Very much so,” said Warneke. “He liked to say it was his spiritual birthplace.”

Noah laughed, liking the man. He was plain of aspect, with thinning fair hair and a luxuriant ginger moustache, but with such lively, humorous blue eyes that they lifted his presence from the ordinary to the attractive.

Warneke led Ariadne and Noah through the Lion Gate and then across the bridge towards Bell Tower and into the Inner Ward. The Tower complex was filled with many buildings: the ancient Norman keep, the White Tower, which dominated the entire site; medieval halls and residences; more recent armouries and storehouses; barracks for troops; galleries and chapels; and a few large open spaces consisting of stretches of green and squares of gravel. Warneke nodded at a long building to their left. “My quarters,” he said, “where you may refresh yourself if desired.”

Noah hesitated, looking to Ariadne for guidance.

“Noah and I have much to talk about,” she said. “We shall walk a while in the grounds, and once we feel the pangs of hunger and thirst we shall sup with you.”