Keeper of the King's Secrets (27 page)

“Hold the casket over the water.”

Susanna dragged her gaze from the spot where the boatman floated in the river and lifted shocked eyes to his.

“The casket—hold it out over the side of the boat!”

She scrambled to the edge of the boat and thrust the casket out, holding it with both hands. The weight of it took her by surprise again and it dipped dangerously low to the water. She lifted it a little higher.

Parker turned to see if Jean had gotten the message, and saw he had. The assassin had lifted his crossbow so it was pointing to the sky.

“You found it.” His words carried across the water.

His voice was filled with wonder, and Parker realized Jean hadn’t known they had found the Mirror until now. He had come to kill them.

“Shoot either one of us, and Susanna drops the casket into the Thames.”

Jean set his bow in the boat behind him and lifted both
hands. “I will not shoot.” He sat and his boat kept pace with theirs, to the right and slightly back.

“What now?” Susanna pitched her voice low.

“Now he thinks he has only to wait for us to land, before that crossbow is in his hands again.” Parker took up the ropes of the boat and trimmed the sail, trying to remember the tricks he had learned in his youth.

Susanna drew the casket in. “This is heavy.” She sat right up against the side of the boat and put the small wooden box in her lap. “What do we do about Jean?”

The wind tugged back against his hold on the ropes, and the boat surged forward. It was an old boat but well made, and it seemed to skim just above the water, rather than on top of it.

“The tide is out.” Parker pulled the sail again. “That means the bridge will be unpassable.”

“So we are trapped. We have to dock at Old Swan, and Jean knows it.” Susanna spoke calmly, and he was struck again by her courage.

He watched her, grim. “Not if we shoot the bridge.”

She did not answer him, and turned away toward the left bank. Bridewell was coming up around the bend, their original destination, but Jean would have a bolt through each of them and the casket in his hand if they tried to dock there. It was too crowded and busy for a quick getaway.

At last Susanna swung back, her face set. “We shoot the bridge, then.”

He nodded. Turning his head to check where Jean and his boatman were, he saw they were gaining a little.

The bow was in Jean’s hands, and Parker frowned. What was the Frenchman up to?

He understood when the first bolt went through the sail. Jean was trying to slow them down. After the first shock of realizing they had the Mirror, he had had a chance to think. And he knew they were as unwilling to see the Mirror in the Thames as he was.

“Sit low.” His call to Susanna came just as another bolt sliced through the sail, punching a hole through the middle of it.

Susanna slipped off the bench onto the boat bottom and balanced the casket on the edge of the boat. A nice reminder to Jean of their advantage in this. Then she lowered it over the side, and skimmed it on top of the water.

Parker had to stop himself from calling to her to bring it back up.

“Stop!” Jean’s eyes were on the casket. He set the bow down again, and then lifted his gaze to Susanna. Parker saw a look pass between them.

There was a respect in Jean’s eyes; determination in the set of Susanna’s mouth.

They were coming up to Queenhithe now, the dock busy with the loading and unloading of grain, and up ahead, a line of boats waiting out the low tide.

This low on the river, Parker could see the churn and ripple of water at the bridge arches, and he wondered what the drop would be. Last time he’d shot the bridge, it had been a man’s height—but an experienced boatman had taken him through.

Susanna’s face was composed. She was ready for what was to come. She had the casket on her lap again, clutched with both hands.

“You come before that damned jewel.” He risked a look behind him to check Jean’s progress, then back. “Don’t hold on to it if it means you won’t be safe.”

She nodded, and looked over her shoulder to see the bridge coming up. The boats waiting the tide out were clustered to the left, near Old Swan, and Parker swung the boat right to go around them.

The tension in the ropes was more flaccid since Jean had put two holes through the sail, but the boat still moved sweet and true through the water. Parker heard calls and whistles from the boatmen as they rounded the little fleet, then cries of alarm as they headed straight for the arches.

“Wait!” Jean’s shout carried over the hiss and roar of the churning water coming up, and Parker twisted on the bench toward him.

The assassin had his bow in his hand, and deliberately dropped it into the water. “Don’t do it. I won’t shoot.”

Too late.

The current gripped the craft and spun it, and Susanna cried out as she was thrown across the boat.

The box flew from her hands, sailing over the side.

As they were sucked through the arch he heard a scream, and the last thing he saw before the darkness of the tunnel was Jean leaping into the Thames.

Because the King of France would have made a thousand excuses, and the others would have raised a thousand fears.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 25

H
ell was noise and wet and darkness, with an inexorable force hauling them through the long arch toward the light at the end.

Susanna’s hair flew about her face as they shot through the water.

“Brace!”

Parker’s call was unnecessary. She was on the floor of the boat, gripping the bench so tight her hands ached. She lifted her head as the vessel went airborne, saw the foam and the spray all around her.

The boat dropped, smacking down hard on the water. The floor vibrated under the blow, shaking her like a leaf in an autumn wind.

The front dipped, held there a moment … and then rose up again. The current turned them in a slow and lazy pirouette, once, twice, until Parker had control of the craft again.

In silence, he took them to the closest dock and helped her off.

There in broad daylight, he bent his head and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth; holding her close and tight.

Her legs were weak and she let him hold her up.

“I am sorry that after all that, we lost the Mirror.” He twined his fingers through her hair.

She looked up. “I hope not.”

“It flew from your hand—”

Shaking her head, she fumbled for her money pouch. “The box flew from my hand.” She lifted up the Mirror, glittering and dazzling in its brilliance. “This didn’t.”

F
or safekeeping Parker sent Susanna to Bridewell, into the nest of vipers, where they would least likely expect her. Hiding her in plain sight.

There were many things to accomplish, and too many powerful men who meant her harm.

She took her paints, and Gertrude Courtenay met her in the Queen’s outer chambers.

“The princess is here today, so the Queen hopes you can begin to paint her picture.”

Susanna curtsied and waved Parker farewell, but he didn’t
leave until he saw her safely escorted into the Queen’s inner rooms.

The Mirror weighed heavily in the inside pocket of his cloak, and he moved toward the King’s chambers with the knife up his sleeve loosened and ready.

Wolsey had left the palace that morning, he had been told, and Parker could only think it was a strategic retreat.

He could prove nothing against Wolsey, and Wolsey knew that.

But the Cardinal could run as far and as fast as he liked. Parker clenched a fist. He would make certain Wolsey paid his account in this.

The guards at the Privy Chamber fell back and opened the door for him, and Parker strode into the room. It was full of courtiers, milling and sniping, but the King was not present.

“He’s in his closet.” Will Somers peered at Parker as if inspecting a strange new creature. Then the Fool put a hand on his arm. “I saw your lady the other night. Is she well?”

“Well enough.” He pulled his arm back, but Somers kept his grip.

“She did not look well at the time, and I would warn you that after she left, the Duke of Norfolk began all manner of whispers about her.”

Parker cut his gaze to the corner where he’d noticed Norfolk earlier, and saw the Duke was watching him. Watching the exchange. “So I heard.”

“Ah? You know?” Somers dropped his hand and smiled,
the gleefully evil smile of a gargoyle. “I look forward to your retaliation.”

Parker did not bother with an answer. He dismissed Norfolk with a jerk of his head and made for the closet. Somers’s chuckle followed him.

The guards at the closet looked set to deny him, but at the last moment opened the door. Parker stepped into the room and stood just within, and saw the King sitting with his secretary.

He seemed pleased with the interruption.

“News, Parker?”

“Aye.”

Henry waved the secretary out, and when they were alone, Parker reached into his pocket and drew out the Mirror.

Henry stared at the jewel, then reached out his hand and took it. “I’d forgotten how magnificent it is.”

“It has cost many lives to get it back.” Parker thought of the boatman just an hour ago, of Norfolk’s hapless spies. Of Jens. He rubbed his shoulder. “Too many.”

“Who did this, Parker?” Henry ran a thumb over the facets. “Who?”

“I have no solid proof. And those who could give the proof will not, because it implicates them, too.”

“Then a name without proof. I trust you have it right.”

“You will not like it.” Restless, Parker walked to the fire, and then to the window. He had always been truthful with the King, but this truth could sink him. Henry would not want to hear it.

Henry was quiet.

Parker turned and saw he was watching him, a look in his eye that was hard to decipher.

“I hear many things these days I do not like. I will not kill the messenger.”

Parker braced himself. “Wolsey.”

Whatever the King had expected, this was not it. His mouth gaped, and he stared at Parker with unblinking eyes. He tried to speak; cleared his throat. “Why?” The word came out on a croak.

“He arranged it months ago, when the King of France had an alliance with Rome. The Emperor has promised often to advance Wolsey as pope, and has failed to carry out his promise each time. Wolsey thought to bribe the French with the Mirror of Naples to do it this time.”

“But the alliance is over now.”

“Aye.” Parker kept his eyes on the King, watching for a change in mood. “When the deal went sour, Wolsey tried to stop it. But the man he’d hired to take the jewel had already done so and hidden it, and Wolsey could not find where he’d put it.”

“Wolsey made some accusations against you the other night. How do I know this is not your retaliation against that?”

Parker shrugged. “You do not. The French could confirm it, but they will not. They don’t want the finger pointed at them in this.”

Henry rubbed stiff fingers against his forehead. “He is my right hand.”

“Aye. And I have no real proof. There is nothing to be done. But you asked me, and I told you. Wolsey did this. And the French cleaned up after him, killing all who could stand witness against either of them.” He moved again, too restless to do anything else.

“This does not sit well.” Henry rose, too, and joined Parker at the window. “What is your recommendation?”

“At the very least, wear the jewel soon. Show it is in your possession.”

“Aye. That is good counsel.” Henry lifted it to the light. “There is a spectacle with emissaries from Venice tonight. I will wear it then.” He moved the Mirror this way and that, creating rainbows. “I would go to war with France, but Wolsey insists we have no money. Each day that the Emperor delays in sending word that he will support me in an invasion bodes worse for a swift attack. Retrieving the Mirror from France’s grasp is at least some show of strength.”

Parker said nothing. The sun shining through the window warmed his face. For a moment he longed for nothing more than his bed, and he closed his eyes.

“You look the worse for wear, Parker. This”—Henry flicked the pearl hanging below the diamond—“has come at a personal cost.”