The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II (24 page)

“No.”

His face drooped in mock disappointment. “That was my finest hour.”

“Why do you have to flatter the queen? Is she mad at you?”

“It breaks my heart to say it”—he gave a comically sad sigh—“but yes.”

“Why?”

A look of real discomfort crossed his face. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just say I disappointed her.”

“Well, I don’t see how a bunch of words is going to make her like you.”

“You are wise beyond your years, my sweet No One Special. But it’s my fate to do things I regret, and say words that don’t matter.”

Petra decided to do what Kit always encouraged in fencing. She made an aggressive move. “Did you know Gabriel Thorn?”

The man’s expression darkened. “The West? Of course! He’s the reason I’m stuck here in the shadows. And you know this, don’t you?” He narrowed his eyes.

She shook her head.

“You do! You
must
. The whole court knows. Why, just the other day that busybody John Dee was asking me about him, wanting to know where I was on the morning of Thorn’s death. I’ll tell you truly, I’d spit on Thorn’s grave and laugh about it, but I wouldn’t be the only one, as Dee himself knows very well!” The man stood, crumpling the paper in his fist, and stormed off.

Petra watched him go, wondering if this man was the murderer. After all, he clearly hated Thorn, and had just admitted to having done things he regretted.

Kit would tell her more about the poet. The only problem was that Kit was nowhere to be seen, so Petra drifted over to Madinia and Margaret. They chattered away, used to Petra’s silence. Petra was wondering why Kit had been so insistent about her coming to this ball if he wasn’t going to bother to show up, when Madinia (for once) fell silent.

“Mmm.” Madinia was looking over Petra’s shoulder. “I suddenly feel an enormous urge to take fencing lessons . . .”

Petra turned. It was Kit. She told herself there was no reason to feel nervous. But her heart stuttered, and she was sure that if she looked down at the thick cloth of her dress, it would be trembling with her pulse.

Kit was finely, though somewhat shabbily, dressed. His eyes lit up when they found Petra’s.

Margaret was good at recognizing a lost cause when she saw one. She took in Madinia’s admiring gaze, Kit’s eagerness, and Petra’s flushed cheeks. Then she said to her twin, “Look at the Essex boys standing over there. Let’s see if they’ll ask us to dance.”

“Ooh, let’s!” Madinia pulled her sister in the direction of the two young men.

Left alone, Petra watched Kit approach.

When he reached her, he bowed in the same manner as all the gentlemen in the room were doing when they encountered a lady. Petra should have curtsied in response, but didn’t.

“You look very different,” Kit said.

“Don’t I know it.”

Kit was startled.

I think you just sounded arrogant,
Astrophil observed.

What? When?

When Kit said you looked different and you said—

I know what I said, and of course I look different! I look like a stuffed doll, or a monkey that’s gotten into its mistress’s things, or—

Astrophil poked her scalp.

Petra bit back a cry.
What’d you do that for?

I did that because I am not large enough to grab you by the shoulders and shake you!

Then she realized that Kit was touching her sleeve. “That’s samite,” he said, rubbing the fabric under his fingers.

“I guess,” she said, and knew she sounded rude. But she was just saying whatever words sprang to mind so that she could buy herself time to think about why warm hope gushed through her when she felt Kit’s hand on her arm.

His hand fell to his side and his expression changed. She saw the disappointment, and then he just looked cold.

“The Dees keep you well,” he said. “Samite is a very expensive fabric.” Kit looked across the room, and Petra followed his gaze to see John and Agatha Dee speaking with Queen Elizabeth.

“The dress is a hand-me-down.”

“Well, then, it’s an
expensive
hand-me-down.” He looked at her again, but warily. “Let’s show it off.” He gestured at the dancers.

“No,” Petra said. Then, anxious not to be misunderstood again, she added, “I can’t. Not like that. I only know folk dances. What they’re doing looks . . .”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Unnecessarily complicated?”

Petra found herself wanting to keep the half smile on Kit’s face, so she said, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“You can, but you’d better not, but I can’t
resist
a question like that, so yes. Tell.”

Petra, do be careful.
Astrophil clutched her braid more tightly.

Petra ignored him. She said to Kit, “You were right about me.”

“Of course I was! But, er . . . right about what, exactly?”

“I don’t belong here. I feel really out of place.”

“Well, that’s no crime. Not like murder.” His voice was teasing. “I hear that you’ve been grilling poor Walter Raleigh about Gabriel Thorn.”

“Walter Raleigh? The poet?”

“The
bad
poet,” Kit corrected. “But he’s other things, too.”

“How do you know what we talked about? I met him only a half hour ago, and you weren’t even here then.”

“You noticed.”

She blushed. “I want to know how you know,” she insisted. “Do you have a magical gift for eavesdropping or something?”

“I am offended.” Kit laid a hand on his heart. “Here I am, trained from the time I was a toddler to be a spy, and you mistake intelligence and skill for magic. You want to know how I heard about your tête-à-tête with Raleigh? He told me. You really upset him, Petra. I saw him in the hallway as he was leaving. As I’ve said before (once? Twice? Hmm, I must stop bragging), I know a lot of things about a lot of people. How did this come to be? I trade secrets. I have built up a system of favors. If I tell Courtier X that Lady So-and-So is cheating on her husband, then Courtier X owes me a secret later on down the road. Sir Walter Raleigh decided to ask me if I knew something about a pretty, prying, strange girl with gray eyes who was bothering him about Gabriel Thorn.”

Petra tried not to be distracted by the fact that she had been called “pretty.”
Raleigh’s word,
she told herself.
Not Kit’s.

“I would have said
silver
eyes, not gray,” Kit continued, “but maybe that’s just me.”

“What did you tell him?”

He shrugged. “Not much. I don’t know much.”

“But what did you
say
?”

“That you were Dee’s distant cousin and I’d been hired to teach you fencing. Nothing more.”

Petra relaxed a little, but still demanded, “Tell me about Raleigh.”

“Even if that means you owe me?”

Petra
, Astrophil warned.

But she was tired of listening to him, and tired of being safe. “Yes,” she told Kit.

He looked smug. “What do you want to know?”

“Why is the queen mad at Raleigh, and what does that have to do with Thorn?”

Kit seized her hand. “I’ll show you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t you have a sense of adventure?”

“Yes.”

“Then follow me.”

Kit led her away from the Watching Chamber and down narrow hallways. Petra hadn’t been in this part of the palace, but it looked familiar. Then she realized why: the dimly lit halls reminded her of the underground part of Salamander Castle where all the servants worked. “Are we going to the servants’ quarters?”

Kit glanced back at her and gently tightened his hand, which Petra took to mean yes.

He opened a rough wooden door, and they stepped into the
kitchen. It was bustling with activity, but one middle-aged woman wasn’t too busy to notice who had just entered her domain. “Kit! Have you come to talk me out of a cut of the queen’s finest beef?”

“Why, no, Jessie. But if you’re offering . . .”

She ruffled Kit’s cropped hair with greasy fingers. “Well, what do you want, you rogue?”

“I’d like to show my friend Raleigh’s gift to the queen.”

“Oh, that! Go ahead, lad.”

“Petra, do you remember what I told you about Drake, who stole gold from Spain?” Kit asked as he brought her into the pantry. “Well, Raleigh’s an explorer, too. He’s an experienced sea captain, and many people thought that Drake’s assignment should have gone to him. But Thorn spoke up at a councillors’ meeting and said, ‘Why should that brainless Raleigh get the plum job? Drake’s your man. Send Raleigh to America instead, Your Majesty. That’s the place for dreamers like him.’ So Drake went one way, and Raleigh went the other. Drake brought back a boatload of gold and was knighted for it. Raleigh brought back this.” Kit opened a bin and pulled out something that looked like a clod of dirt. He placed it in Petra’s hand.

“What is it?”

“It’s called a potato. You eat it.”

Petra looked at Kit incredulously.

“Now you see,” he said, “why Queen E isn’t so happy with Raleigh, and why he thinks he was cheated out of a different destiny by Gabriel Thorn. You know”—Kit took back the potato—“this thing isn’t half bad.” He stepped back into the kitchen. He reached behind Jessie for a knife, and turned to the wooden table to chop the vegetable. Petra sat on a stool nearby, watching him and remembering her last experience in a castle kitchen. It seemed so long ago.

Kit swept the white cubes into a skillet, added a pat of butter,
and placed the pan on the wood-burning stove. Servants scurried around him as he cooked. They didn’t seem to think there was anything out of the ordinary about Kit frying a potato in their kitchen. They all knew him. It was Petra who drew curious glances.

When the cubes had browned, Kit tipped them onto a plate. Then he pulled up a stool and sat next to Petra, the plate balanced on his knees. He and Petra ate with burning, oily fingers.

“Delicious,” Petra declared.

“You can’t eat gold,” Kit agreed. “Raleigh deserves more credit than he gets.” When Kit set aside the empty plate, he said, “In the Watching Chamber, you seemed very much against the idea of dancing. Do you really hate it?”

“No. I’m just not good at it. I used to dance with my father sometimes, at festivals in my village.” She fell silent.

“Petra, about my system of favors and secrets . . . You don’t owe me anything for information about Raleigh, or about anyone else,” Kit said, “
if
you dance with me.”

“What, here? Now?”

Kit grinned, and Petra realized that she could hear a muffled piping. The servants had disappeared from the kitchen, and Petra guessed they were in a room close by—perhaps in their dining hall, where they had shoved aside the wooden table and benches to clear a space for dancing.

“I won’t know the steps,” Petra warned.

“Am I not a good teacher?” Kit pretended to pout. Petra rolled her eyes. But it was she who led the way toward the piping music, and when Petra and Kit danced with the servants of Whitehall Palace, she stepped on no one’s feet. She easily mastered the steps Kit taught her, and had no trouble keeping the fast, whirling beat of the music.

P
ETRA SLEPT IN LATE.
She hadn’t done this for a long time, since before she ran away to Prague. When she woke, she remembered that other Petra whose life had been just about perfect. Now, her cheek still on the pillow, she felt older—but also less sure of herself, which really didn’t seem fair. Weren’t you supposed to feel
more
confident with every year?

She thought about Kit’s hand on her sleeve and how lightly she had turned in his arms as they danced. She wondered if he had been as nervous as she, and as thrilled.

Petra scowled. She hated feeling confused. Well, then, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t think about Kit at all. She knew what was important: her goal. She clung to its ice-cold clarity:
Outwit Dee. Go home. Find Father.
A boy she liked too much had nothing to do with her plans.