The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II (22 page)

But . . .

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes still shut. The features of the statue were not beautiful, but they haunted him, and that fact alone made him realize that Petra Kronos had to be special. Indeed, she must be, if she had been able to deceive him and destroy the most important piece of her father’s clock. And she had escaped the Gristleki—how had this been possible? His scouts had hauled back the four blood-soaked bodies. Had
she
killed the Gristleki? All
four
? And
where was she?

The prince was forced to conclude that the girl had hidden talents, and he wanted to know what they were. She would be more interesting to him alive than dead. She could be useful.

Prince Rodolfo opened his eyes, and they blazed with something
that those who had watched him build his collection in the Cabinet of Wonders knew well.

It was possession.

He would have the globes. He
would
. And he would have Petra Kronos, too.

H
AVE YOU
taken leave of your senses?
Astrophil asked.
Do you realize that you have just purchased
Orlando Furioso,
an epic poem in Italian?

Did I?
Petra replied.
I thought it was a recipe book.

Petra walked away from the stall. Astrophil risked poking his head out of her hair for a better look at the book she held against her chest.

But you loathe cooking. And Dee’s servants prepare all the food. And you—you
—he spluttered—
you did
not
think it was such a book. You cannot fool me. Even you are not so oblivious as to think that a recipe book could be so finely bound. Why, look at that Moroccan leather. The letters are tooled with gold, and
—

Astrophil, are you drooling?

There was a pause.
No.

Petra touched her neck and examined her fingers.
Yes, you are.

Late February is a grim time in London. The sky was as gray as slate, and almost as heavy. But life went on, and Petra had a secret that made her smile and hum.

You are quite cheerful for someone who has just wasted money on a book she will never read,
Astrophil said crankily.

Oh, I wouldn’t say I wasted money. I’m sure I can find a use for
Orlando Furioso.
I do need something for target practice, after all. How deep do you think my dagger will go into the book?

Her earlobe vibrated with a metallic spasm.

Astrophil, don’t have a seizure! I’m joking! This book is not for me. It’s a gift.

Really?

Yes, for Madinia and Margaret.

Oh.

Astrophil was silent the entire way back to the house on Throgmorton Street. Petra could feel him drooping on her ear like a wilted flower. He seemed so depressed that once Petra had locked her bedroom door behind her, she couldn’t help telling him the truth. She set the book on the desk. “Astrophil, I have a confession to make.”

“I am not interested.” He lowered himself to the floor and began to creep away.

“Oh, Astro.” She scooped him up. “The book is a gift, but not for Madinia and Margaret. It’s for
you
, for your birthday.” She set the spider down on top of the red book. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but I can never hide anything from you.”

“It is for me?” The spider gazed with awe at the golden title. “For my birthday?” He turned to look at Petra. “You remembered!”

“Have I ever forgotten? Seven years ago, Father”—Petra’s smile slipped—“Father gave you to me. I was so happy.”

“You screamed,” Astrophil corrected. “And at a very high pitch, I might add. I thought you would break the windows.”

“I was scared of spiders. That’s why Father made you for me—so I would learn not to be afraid.”

Astrophil tiptoed across the leather cover and leaned over the edge to peer at the spine. Then he began to jump up and down. “I knew it! I knew it was for me!” He rubbed his forelegs together like a fly. “Open it, Petra! The cover is too heavy for me to lift.”

As the spider raced through the pages, Petra was surprised and guilty to find that, for the first time since she had been snatched out of Bohemia, her heart felt light.

The past several weeks had been hard. She had become stronger, healthier. But she’d also grown more desperate. The only thing that kept her from smashing anything valuable in the house and running as far as her legs could take her was the knowledge that Dee would just yank her back like a puppet on strings.

There were two things that gave Petra hope. One of them was her goal:
Outwit Dee. Go home. Find Father.
Margaret had taught her how to play chess, and Petra quickly learned that she could lose almost any piece and still win. So if Petra had to sit through lessons with Dee, she did it. If she was encouraged to take every meal with Madinia and Margaret, she dined in their rooms. And every moment she looked for a way to end this terrible game in which she had been trapped.

The second thing that Petra clung to was Astrophil.

She sat on the window seat’s velvet cushions, hugging her knees to her chest and watching the spider read. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Something impressively foolish, I imagine,” the spider said dryly. But then he glanced up at Petra. He saw that her pleasure in giving him the book had been momentary, and that it was already gone. He climbed off the book and lowered himself to the ground, then picked his way across the carpet, crawled up her leg, and came to rest on the plateau of her bended knee.

“I also miss our home,” he said. “I miss Master Kronos. I worry about him, too.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Why would that surprise you?”

“You’re always so much more . . . normal than I am. You seem
the same. I don’t feel the same. Sometimes it’s as if nothing bothers you.”

“I am often bothered,” said Astrophil. “It is hard to know, however, what to do with such feelings. I study books partly because I need to know how to hold myself in times like these. Through my reading, I have learned that people can choose to remain silent out of love for others. But there are also moments when a person might share his troubles for precisely the same reason.”

Petra held out her forefinger, and the spider wrapped his legs around it.

“Thank you, Astrophil.”

S
INCE THE DAY
Petra and Dee reached an agreement in the shallow boat on the Thames, she had tried to find out information about Gabriel Thorn. The problem was that there was a limited number of people she could ask. Dee, she knew, would smirk. She could imagine his response. “What, conceding already, Petra?” he would say. “You do understand that we are
competitors
, and that if you ask for my help, it can only mean you are admitting defeat.”

So Petra tried talking to Sarah.

“Gabriel Thorn?” The servant gnawed her lip. “Never heard of him. Wait—he’s one of the queen’s men, isn’t he? I think he’s visited our house before. Talk to the porter, Jack. He’d’ve seen Thorn come and go. Now stand up straight, dear heart, and let me measure you for a new set of those unspeakable trousers. Ah! You’ve put on weight. There’s a good girl.”

The porter refused to speak to Petra. Jack heard her questions, gave her one disapproving look, and then ignored her.

But Petra was able to glean a little more information from Madinia and Margaret. She saw them several times a day, for the sisters never took meals with their parents (“They have so little
time alone,” Margaret explained). The twins sought out Petra’s presence, so she tried not to throw her fork at Madinia when she criticized Petra’s table manners, and she listened to their endless gossip. Petra was sure that the sisters knew something about Gabriel Thorn, and they did.

“Who would want him dead?” Madinia echoed Petra’s question. “Everybody! No one liked that nasty toad.”

“But he was the West,” Petra said. “The queen must have liked him.”

“That just shows how much you know!”

“The queen doesn’t always give important positions to the most popular people,” Margaret explained, “or the strongest or most capable.”

How wise of Queen Elizabeth
, observed Astrophil, whose English had vastly improved with the help of the stolen grammar book. He was now able to follow conversations easily.

Why is it smart to give power to people who can’t use it?
Petra asked.

There are other female monarchs in Europe, but none of them actually
rules
like Queen Elizabeth. She is very old. She has no children to succeed her, and in some ways must be vulnerable . . . she needs advisers, but what if they were to gain great authority?

Petra understood.
They might overthrow her.

Exactly. It would be easy for a group of truly powerful councillors to decide that their old, heirless female ruler should no longer rule.

“Some of the councillors,” Margaret was saying, “like Robert Cecil, deserve their positions. Others are useless, or despised.”

Petra remembered how respectful Cecil had been of Dee’s opinion, and something occurred to her. “Your father’s the true secretary of defense, isn’t he? Walsingham’s just a figurehead.”

“In some ways, yes,” Margaret said. “A spymaster can’t do his
job really well if he’s always chasing after knighthoods and titles, like Walsingham.”

“He’s not bad.” Madinia shrugged. “Just puffed up.”

“Walsingham has many friends and connections,” Margaret continued. “His underlings respect him—though maybe like you respect anyone who puts money in your purse. But Walsingham wants what’s best for this country.”

“And Gabriel Thorn?” Petra asked.

Madinia looked at Margaret, who replied, “He wanted what was best for himself.”

“And your father?”

“What are you implying, Petra?” Margaret asked icily.

Madinia added, “Dad would give his life for England!”

Maybe so, but Petra knew that he would go to any length to do what he believed was right. “Why would Dee be glad that the West is dead?”

“He isn’t glad!” Madinia slammed her teacup onto its saucer. “And don’t you dare suggest it!”

Margaret didn’t say anything, but she bit her lip in a way that Petra recognized. She always did this when Madinia had said too much. Petra didn’t want to press the sisters too hard on the topic, though, for fear that they would clam up entirely. Thinking of Cotton’s shield and Ariel’s strange words, she changed tack: “Do you know anything about Robert Cotton?”

“No,” Madinia said. “He’s boring, and so are you.”

“He’s a recluse,” said Margaret. “He never comes to court. All he cares about is his library and greenhouse.”

“What about—?” Petra began.

“What about going for a walk down Goldsmiths’ Row to look at jewelry?” Madinia interrupted. “Just to look.”

The twins dodged any more discussion of Gabriel Thorn and the court.

There were two other people Petra could question. One of them was Agatha Dee, but Petra never saw her. If it weren’t for the fact that Petra was able to slip from Czech to English with perfect ease, she would have thought that her encounter with Agatha Dee had been a feverish hallucination. Whenever she asked a servant where she could find Agatha, she was told with cold finality, “The mistress doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

There was one person left: Kit.

She saw him every day. Petra had steadily improved in her ability to fence, and was able to parry and dodge Kit’s sword with natural grace. But she rarely managed to strike a blow of her own, or succeed in a counterattack. Sometimes her sword managed to slip past Kit’s defenses, but Petra was never good enough to put him in any real danger.

Petra often wished that she was able to bring Astrophil with her into the practice room. But there was no good way for Petra to hide him except under her clothes, and Astrophil had immediately put a stop to that idea.

Yet perhaps it was for the best that the spider was not in the room with Petra and Kit today, because he would have disapproved of how close Petra was to asking the boy for help.
Kit said himself that he is untrustworthy!
Astrophil had scolded her when she suggested that they enlist Kit’s aid to find Thorn’s murderer. Nevertheless, Petra wanted to take the risk.