The Shadow of Albion (36 page)

search for the Christina, and hopes that he can count upon Your Highness to do the

same. However – “ Wessex nodded toward de Sade „ – there are some elements

that might complicate His Majesty’s ability to carry out such a search.“

„I do not care.“ The Prince got stiffly to his feet and did his best to glare down at

Wessex, who unfortunately, was taller man he by several inches. „You vill find my

daughter and return her to me – and then perhaps we vill discuss the matter of this

treaty further.“

„I am sure His Highness would not choose to make a dangerous enemy lightly,“

Wessex said confidingly in French, as though making a casual comment to de Sade

about me weather.

Prince Frederick stopped in the middle of turning away and stiffened as though he

had been struck. His already florid color deepened alarmingly, and for a moment

Wessex feared that the Prince Regent would explode into the same sort of

extravagant fury for which his Royal father was noted.

„Find my daughter!“ the Prince roared, swinging back toward Wessex. Without

waiting for any reply he strode to the door concealed behind the velvet drape in the

back wall, thrust the hangings aside, and strode out through the secret door. There

was a faint dull impact as the concealed door closed, and suddenly the room seemed

much smaller.

Wessex stood as he had been left, watching the dull gold velvet swing slowly

back into its original position. His message had been delivered, and some small

amount of information had been gained. Now Wessex was free to make what further

inquiries he could, but his finely-honed instincts warned him already that there was

little enough for him to find within the walls of the Amalienborg.

„Oh, Duc d’Anglais, I think you handled that so very well,“ de Sade said softly in

French. The little man moved toward the desk, though the Prince had given neither

of them leave to go… or, in fact, to move at all.

„Do you think so?“ Wessex answered pleasandy in the same language. „I thought

that perhaps my approach lacked something of subtlety… but no. I bow to the

perceptions of one far better versed in these matters than I. It was well handled.“

„Well! It speaks a civilized tongue,“ de Sade said, concealing his astonishment at

Wessex’s response.

„Alas, French has forfeited that claim in recent years, for a language must be held

to partake of the virtues of those for whom it is their native tongue,“ Wessex said in

tones of regret. „But perhaps at some time in the future,“ he added kindly.

„Mock if you wish, English Duke! But France shall have the last laugh as we bury

you English. The Emperor is one in ten mousand – such a man will not be born

again for a century! What he proposes shall come to pass – and he proposes that

France shall be me master of Europe. In his lifetime he will redraw the map of

Europe,“ de Sade gloated.

„And when he dies, we shall simply redraw it once again,“ Wessex drawled,

unimpressed with de Sade’s rhetoric. „I do not think that you can refine too much

upon your ability to make away with one ship! A ship is not, after all, a nation. Or

even a regiment.“

Though Wessex was not completely certain of French complicity in the matter of

the Christina’s disappearance, this meeting with the perverse French magician might

yield valuable information. De Sade must have been at the Amelienborg before the

ship sailed… could he have somehow arranged for the Christina to disappear? Or

did he simply know who had made such arrangements? i But oddly enough, braggart

though he obviously was, de Sade did not rise to this particular bait. He smiled his

reptilian smile at Wessex and the gems on his fingers glittered wet as he worked them

about his fingers.

„Oh, let us be frank with one another, English Duke. The little princess is far less

important than that which you have actually been sent to find. We know who you

are, you of the White Tower. The English King’s hellhounds – and you think France

unaware of what game he has set you to course this time. Is it here, I wonder? Or

have you simply come to divert suspicion while others do your hunting for you?“

Wessex did not allow one iota of the baffled amazement he felt to appear on his

face – nor the chagrin that de Sade knew him for what he was: a spy.

„My very dear Marquis,“ he said lightly. „You should know that an Englishman’s

greatest joy is the hunt. As for the location of the covert I draw, perhaps it will

amuse you to attempt to discover it, M’sieur le Marquis.“

„What is de Sade doing here?“ Wessex asked without preamble, striding into the

library of the small, nondescript house situated on a back street near the center of the

city.

Sir Gavin’s residence – it was nothing so grand or definite as an embassy or an

office – was indistinguishable from the houses which surrounded it here in this quiet

side street. Unlike London, which had constantly been renewed, phoenixlike, by the

series of fires which had swept away the construction of previous generations,

Copenhagen was still very much a medieval city, narrow and grey. The Augustan

sweep of the Royal family’s rebuilding fervor had not extended to the city itself; in

most quarters buildings of stone and timber stood much as they had three centuries

before.

Sir Gavin MacLaren studied Wessex for a moment without answering. MacLaren

was a tall, spare Scot, whose ancestors had fought for the Stuart line during

Cromwell’s Great Experiment in the seventeenth century. His good-humored

Presbyterian virtue stood him in good stead amidst the austere ardor of the Danish

court, and for many years he had been King Henry’s representative to this most

difficult of political posts – not so much an ambassador or official representative as

a solver of problems great and small. And the disappearance of the Princess was a

very large problem.

„De Sade has been here for the last three months, replacing the previous

ambassador, an odd notion in itself,“ Sir Gavin finally said. „I have been unable to

uncover what he may be doing here, other than supporting French interests, of

course. There is, unfortunately, no way for me to get rid of the cursed creature,“ Sir

Gavin added, shrugging. He gestured toward the sideboard, where a row of

decanters gleamed in the pale northern light. „And he has not – yet – done anything

unspeakable enough to make himself persona non grata – odd in itself, as Frederick

is notoriously puritanical.“

„Fine talk, coming from you,“ Wessex said with a grim smile. He crossed to the

sideboard and poured himself a whiskey.

„Ah, hadn’t you heard, Your Grace? Even virtue can become a vice if pursued

with sufficient extravagance,“ Sir Gavin assured him.

„But why is he here?“ Wessex persisted, leaning back against the sideboard and

unbuttoning the high, silver-laced collar of his dress uniform. „De Sade is a

voluptuary, a dabbler in philosophy and the Black Arts. He might be of some use in

Paris as a blackmailer and gossip-monger, but why send him here to offend the

Danes?“

Sir Gavin shrugged without moving from his comfortable seat. „There’s certainly

no sign of de Sade’s line of country here. The Old Races are strong in the

countryside, you know, and they’ve never accepted any part of the White Christ’s

pantheon.“

„And it’s just as unbelievable that a Black Lodge is operating at the Danish court

itself. But if not for de Sade’s special talents, why send him here?“ Wessex

brooded.

„Have you considered the possibility that he is not the only warlock the French

have sent – only the most visible?“ Sir Gavin asked.

„Naturally. But whether he is working alone, or as part of a group, I need to know

why he is here,“ Wessex said.

And why he thinks I am here.

Chapter 15

Summoned as to Tourney

Despite the fact that they were under the constant threat of being overtaken by the

Earl of Ripon, the hours of the journey passed with aggravating slowness. Both

Sarah and Meriel were too overwrought to engage in small talk, and Meriel did not

encourage any discussion of her future plans, so in the end the two fugitives simply

stared out opposite windows in silence as the countryside rolled by.

The horses were changed every two hours, and at noon they stopped for an hour

at a coaching inn in order to partake of the contents of the hamper in comfort and

safety. The inn the outrider selected was quite clean and comfortable enough for

Sarah to be almost sorry that they had brought their own provisions. The ladies were

able to secure a parlor for their private use, and the landlord’s wife contributed hard

cider and strong coffee to their collation, and an upstairs room so that they could

refresh themselves a bit from the rigors of their headlong journey.

But that peaceful interlude was over far too soon, and once more they were on the

road.

„You will have to tell me where you are going sooner or later,“ Sarah pointed out

reasonably. „Unless, of course, you expect John Coachman to drive us right into the

sea.“

The very thought drew a muffled giggle from her companion.

„Oh, no, Sarah. It is just that – I have been planning this for so long, and it is my

only chance….“

And it is so hard to trust anyone, when everyone you meet may be an enemy,

Sarah thought sympathetically.

When they stopped again to change horses, Meriel at last told Sarah where they

were going – not to Dover, but to a small fishing village several miles down the

coast. By the time they reached Talitho (driving slowly to spare the horses, as the

possibility of a change was much less off the main coach road) the sun had set and

sea-mist had begun to creep in toward the land. The lanterns on the sides of the

coach, lit at their last stop, burned with a dim warm glow.

The village of Talitho was a small isolated hamlet tucked into a fold of the

coastline, and seemingly unchanged for centuries. There was a church and an inn

anchoring the two ends of the brief high street; Sarah’s coach passed the one and

stopped at the other.

Sarah pushed open the door to the coach and leaned out, grateful to be stopping

anywhere. She could smell the sea in the air that she breathed, and was eager to get

out of the coach despite the misty rain that fell with soft soaking insistence.

The footman brought the step and placed it on the ground, and Sarah

disembarked. Behind her came Meriel, looking disheveled with the rigors of the

day’s travel but still radiant, like a rumpled rose.

„Simon, go and see if there is a private parlor we can have,“ Sarah said. „John,

take the coach around to the stable and unharness the horses. We must have a fresh

team if we are to go any further tonight.“

She wasn’t sure yet whether to ask about rooms for the night, for the inn was

very small, but lodging could certainly wait until diey’d recovered somewhat from

the journey.

„Well, Meriel,“ Sarah said, turning to her companion as the coach rolled away.

„We have arrived at your destination safe and sound. What do we do now?“

Meriel shrugged slightly, weariness etching lines of strain on her face in the light

from the coachlamps. Sarah took Meriel’s arm, and the two ladies, followed by

Knoyle, proceeded toward the door of the inn, only to be met by the liveried

footman.

„Beg pardon, Your Grace, but me landlord says that the private parlor is already

reserved – for Lady Meriel, Your Grace.“

Who knew we were coming?

Sarah glanced toward Meriel. The girl’s face was drawn and frightened. Meriel

had not made this arrangement herself, then.

In that sudden premonition of disaster, Sarah wished for a weapon. In her

imagination, she could feel the weight of a long gun in her hands, and did not doubt

her ability to shoot, even to kill. The last shreds of the glamourie that Dame Alecto

and the Dowager Duchess of Wessex had set upon her when they brought her to this

alien England was lifted by catastrophe, and Sarah realized at last who she was.

I am Miss Sarah Cunningham of the United States of America, and this is not

my world at all –

But both shock and questions must wait upon current danger. Her warrior’s

instincts awakened, Sarah realized that they dared not walk into this trap. She

clutched at Meriel’s arm again; they would go back to the coach and leave. It was

the only way.

„Simon – “ she began, but the footman was already moving aside to make way

for the man behind him.