Ink and Steel

“We’ll wall him in the cellar,” Baines answered, already calculating the losses and advantages of the Inquisitor’s bloody death. “Damme, we’re short a sorcerer.”

“Aye. And moreover, it seems our Kit’s exhumed himself with a touch of the glamourie.” Poley raised a hand and rapped lightly on the window glass, tilting his head as if to assess the rattle of the sash against the frame. “The old bitch must have had him off overseas, or he’s been laying low. Still. As long as he’s living…”

Baines lifted his chin in comprehension. “We won’t have to enchant another, when the time comes. How did he survive a stabbing and a burial, then?”

Poley wiped his blade, unnecessarily, on his breeches and slipped the dagger into its sheath. “Sorcery? If he were a sorcerer, I would know it. A poet, yes, and a good one, but the real use of him was…”

Baines saw Poley’s eyes widen as he, Baines, hesitated. If the light were better, he imagined he would have seen Poley blanch. “You think Mehiel had something to do with it.”

“I think,” Baines answered, considering, “we may find Master Marley difficult to keep dead, if that is indeed what happened to him. An unexpected incidental result.” He shrugged. “But I mastered him once. Can do it again.”

“He slipped your lead once,” Poley reminded.

“Only because de Vere gave him too much rope.”

“Come, Dick. Help me wrap the friar so he doesn’t drip down the hall.” Baines crouched, dragging a woolen blanket from the bed. He lifted de Parma sbody by the sticky dark auburn hair, and heaved in unison with Poley. The little man was strong for his size.

“If our pussycat’s returned to my safekeeping, I can promise you that won’t happen again.”

   Act III, scene i

Orlando:

Then in mine own person I die.

Rosalind:

No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is

almost six thousand years old, and in all this time

there was not any man died in his own person,

videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains

dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he

could to die before, and he is one of the patterns

of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair

year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been

for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went

but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being

taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish

coroners of that age found it was ‘Hero of Sestos.’

But these are all lies: men have died from time to

time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, As You like It

Kit grunted as Will fell atop him. The hard landing broke Will’s startled shout, for all Kit cushioned them both as best he could without losing his grip either on Will or his rapier. Threads on Kit’s doublet snapped, pearls splashing, powdering between bodies and stones.

Will rolled, scrambling to his feet with the dagger at the ready, bad leg dragging. He turned, trying to cover Kit and still stay out of his way, and then hesitated, amazed. “Kit.”

Kit pushed himself to a crouch, wheezing. “Damme, but that was closer than I like them.”

“Where are we?”

“William, my love.” Will dismissed it with a half-formed judgment on Kit’s habitual extravagance.

“Faerie.” Kit dragged himself up the wall as if his ribs pained him.

Will winced.

“Drink nothing while thou here lingerest. Neither shalt thou dine, lest like Proserpine thou dost find thyself obligated to the underworld.”

“Faerie.” Will shook himself, a chill only half excitement crawling the length of his spine. “Why this course? With the Inquisitor dead, I don’t see why you left Baines and Poley.”

Kit straightened, consternation a furrow across his forehead. “I should have had Poley,” he admitted. “I couldn’t see Baines well enough to know if he was armed, and I didn’t dare risk keeping my back to him if he was. It was a mistake.”

“Why did we come here instead of going after Baines, then? And why was he talking to you like that?” The bitter taste of something half understood, which he understood no better when Kit glanced at the floor and turned away.

“Come along, Will. We’ll get you cleaned up a little, and I’ll see if you can be presented to the Queen. Or I suppose I could send you back through the Glass now, safe and sound in your lodging.”

“I’m in Faerie, and all you can think of is sending me home?” Will struggled to keep up; still shedding pearls like snowflakes from his shoulders, Kit caught Will’s blood-covered sleeve and helped. “Before I’ve seen the place?”

“You could lose your life in a night. Or be trapped here.”

“I’ll risk it. Just this once. For an hour. Why did you pass your chance at Baines?”

“Because I wasn’t sure I could kill him.”

“He wasn’t armed.”

“Christ wept!” Kit turned on Will with enough force that Will staggered a step. “I wasn’t sure I could kill him, Will. Why are you after me? I came to help, didn’t I?”

Perversity flared in Will. “Came to help. Aye. And where were you all the long last year, and the one before that, and the one before that? How did you know about Baines?”