By Slanderous Tongues Read online

  He gestured while he spoke, and soon Rich’s eyes became just a little glazed. He did not seem to notice when Vidal took his hand, slipped off his seal ring, and under it slid a narrow gold band. The inside was inscribed with words that Rich would not be able to read—if he ever noticed the ring. For now the spell the ring carried would have little effect; Rich’s thinking and behavior would be perfectly natural. Bit by bit, however, the man would grow dependent on Fagildo Otstargi.

  One aim Vidal did not accomplish was to gain admittance to Thomas Seymour. He sent a message. It was ignored. He tweaked Wriothesley’s chain and the chancellor—he had not yet been deprived of office—sent Thomas a message. That too was ignored. Vidal went himself to Seymour Place, Thomas Seymour’s house, wearing the Don’t-see-me spell—and it was a waste of power that nearly drained him dry in the mortal world. Thomas was not at home and he could not discover from the servants’ talk where Thomas was, only that everyone knew the place and did not need to name it.

  Dangerously weakened, both from use of power in the mortal world and from the excess of Cold Iron weapons and locks and decorative grills in Seymour Place, Vidal decided to deal with Thomas Seymour at some other time and Gated back to Caer Mordwyn. His workroom had been restored to order. The pieces of imp had been removed, probably eaten by the cleaners. The twisted agony of the figures hung on the walls and from the roof beams was soothing, but they offered no advice.

  Vidal Gated again, this time to Aurilia’s living quarters in Caer Mordwyn. Fortunately she was there, lying on a long, opulently padded chair with a high back and arms that supported her. The ever-present glass of cloudy blue liquid was on a small table beside her, but the glass was full. Her eyes were bright, she did not start or wince at the magic when Vidal appeared, and her brows lifted in easy question.

  “My own creature,” he burst out “has gone mad and is planning to bring about peace between England and Scotland.”

  “Ah,” Aurilia breathed. “I see why you are angry. You cannot permit peace with Scotland. We have been strong and well fed by the war that King Henry waged.” She looked toward the glass of cloudy blue liquid but she did not lift it to sip from it. “Your creature? How did you let your creature get so out of hand?”

  Vidal snarled and flung himself down on a sofa opposite Aurilia. “I was sure Wriothesley would follow the path he had pursued as long as Henry lived. But the king’s death seems to have broken him loose from all common sense. He had always been so clever at following the main chance. How was I to guess he would of a sudden be afflicted with conscience over his stupid faith? All the years he was the king’s servant he followed Henry’s will in such matters without a qualm. And all because of a form of worship. Mind, it is the same god, just how to worship him that he sticks at—and because of that he will lose his place as chancellor.”

  “So?” Aurilia drawled the word. “Forge a new tool.”

  “I have already set that in motion,” Vidal snapped back. “But meanwhile, that madman has presented a plan to the Council to end the war and get the little Scottish princess for Edward’s wife.”

  Now Aurilia frowned and swung her legs off the long chair to sit more upright. Her back was to her glass of cloudy liquid and she did not glance at it.

  “But that is just what the Scots do not want,” she said. “They fear to be swallowed up by England and will fight forever to escape that.”

  “Except that Wriothesley’s plan—and it seems he has already presented it to Paget and others on the Council and they think well of it—offers the Scots autonomy in politics and religion.”

  “No!” Aurilia exclaimed, leaning forward in her anxiety. “They might believe it but in the end it would mean the two lands would be one. We will starve! You must stop Mary of Guise from agreeing.”

  “Yes, but I cannot do so without returning to Scotland, and that would mean that I would not be able to watch the English court.”

  Aurilia relaxed again and tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair thoughtfully. “I see that,” she said after a moment, “but I do not see why it is important. Let the government be formed while you stiffen the Scots’ resistance. When you return you will be able to fasten your hooks firmly into your new tool and through him push the Council in the direction of a new war with Scotland.”

  “And what of my plans for Elizabeth? And Denoriel and Aleneil?”

  “I will take care of that.”

  Vidal snorted. “As you took care of the death of that maid? You do not know the mortal world, Aurilia.”

  “No.” She smiled. “But I now have a most faithful servant who does. Who is mortal.” There was a moment of silence while Vidal stared suspiciously at Aurilia. She laughed musically. “You ordered him brought to me yourself.”

  A spasm of anxiety so brief that Vidal hoped Aurilia had not noticed touched him, but she had. She laughed again.

  “No, your memory is not at fault,” she said. “It was a matter of such small importance to you that you did not bother to remember. It is the human healer that you bid Pasgen find for me.”

  He frowned. It seemed a mighty frail support to hang their hopes on. “A healer? What good is a healer for my purpose?”

  “Oh, Albertus will do nothing himself, but he can serve as my conduit to instruct and hire those who kill for money. Although he is happy here, I think Albertus would like to visit the mortal world. There are things he misses.”

  “Visit the mortal world?” Vidal repeated. “And boast of what he has seen and done Underhill?”

  “I do not think he will do that,” Aurilia said calmly. “He is no fool and must realize that no one would believe him. Moreover, he knows I will set watchers on him and that if he speaks he will never be allowed to come back here—and that his life in the mortal world will not be long.”

  Ah. Better.

  “And I can furnish him with a handsome gold chain for his neck that will tighten if he speaks of Underhill or of magic and will strangle him if he persists.” Vidal nodded.

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Aurilia protested. “He is too valuable to me. Let it cause him great pain but not kill. I want him back.” She gestured behind her at the potion.

  Vidal looked at the full glass. “You do not seem to need it anymore, but perhaps a tame mortal healer is useful.” Then he frowned and shook his head. “Yes, a healer? How would a healer know those who kill for money?”

  Aurilia smiled. “He is quite taken with me and is more than willing to linger in my company. Thus he has told me much about himself—” she laughed aloud “—it was true, too. I had him bespelled to speak only the truth.”

  “So what is the truth?”

  “Common enough among mortals, where strength and cleverness often go without reward. Albertus was a good healer, but never grew rich enough, fast enough in his own opinion. Thus he did many things that are against the stupid mortal laws. He was found out by a clever rival, accused, and would have been burnt alive.”

  Vidal laughed. “No wonder he was so willing to come here with Pasgen.”

  “No, that was years ago. He was eager to come Underhill because he is growing old. But when he fled, he was so nearly caught he could not take money enough to go abroad. All he could do was hide in the worst parts of the city where what they call the Watch does not go. The mortals—” she laughed again “—call it the underworld. There he still practiced as a healer … healing criminals and providing drugs and means for murder.”

  Vidal sat for a few moments considering. Finally he said, “Good enough. I see that he might well know such as would serve our purpose. Do you set your spies on him. I will bespell the neck chain and send it to you.”

  “Send it?”

  “Yes. I will not return here from my workroom. I will Gate to Scotland and pretend I have just come there from France. Now, to get your Albertus to London … Yes, why not. I will also provide an amulet that will permit him to Gate to Otstargi’s house. The servant there is so dull of mind that he will not interf
ere and probably will obey any order given him. But you had better warn your Albertus that he is not to meet with his hirelings there. Otstargi is still useful. I do not want him associated with any other crime than fortune telling.”

  Aurilia looked sidelong at Vidal. She did not really like the way he had repeated “your Albertus,” but she did not wish to argue with him either. The amulet that would permit the healer to Gate to the mortal world would work for anyone, giving her an easy way there. Slowly she leaned forward again and stretched so she could touch Vidal’s knee with one finger.

  “I will see that Albertus commits no offense, my lord,” Aurilia said softly, “but you are angry and your mind is troubled—no mood in which to cajole those stupid, stubborn Scots. Surely there is no need for you to make such haste to Scotland. You can bend the time to make your arrival earlier. Linger here with me a while to drink a cup of wine and perhaps rest … or not rest … in my bed for a few hours.”

  When she was sure Vidal was gone, Aurilia rose from her bed and went to look at herself in the long mirror that was fastened to the wall between two windows in her bedchamber. The light was wan. A gesture caused it to brighten. Aurilia hissed lightly between her teeth and then smiled. She was bruised all over and one of her breasts was torn and bleeding.

  A gesture brought a troubling of the air that resolved into a squat, black, winged creature, which squalled as it was caught and suspended. Another caused a door at the far side of the room to open. In a moment a bent and wizened figure clad in filthy rags, with hair in tangled ropes and a long, twisted nose sporting several black and hairy warts appeared in the doorway.

  “Quickly,” Aurilia said. “Mend the damage.”

  The crone hobbled forward, almost seeming eager if one had not glimpsed the hatred shining from her eyes. Aurilia had, but she only laughed, and when the crone reached her and placed a hand over the savagely bitten breast, she glanced up at the black imp hanging impotently in the air. Although she winced slightly as her flesh was drawn together, her attention was on the imp, which she directed to bring Albertus.

  “And mind, none of your tricks with Albertus. Tell him politely that I want him, or you will have no wings and be walking on sore feet for a long time.”

  The breast was healed. Now blood showed on the crone’s rags but her nose was almost normal in size and appearance. The bruises began to fade on Aurilia’s body and the crone whimpered slightly as the pain was transferred to her. At the same time, some of the lines smoothed from her face and her lips filled as teeth returned to her jaws.

  “Enough!” Aurilia said. “And do not think you can pray for me to be hurt again so that you can regain your youth and strength by healing my hurts. I will know, and worse will befall you. But you are learning. When you are thoroughly obedient … who knows.”

  A gesture sent the old woman hobbling from the room, and another closed and locked the door behind her. Aurilia looked in the mirror again, muttered a few words. The faint remnants of the bruises that still showed on her body disappeared, her lips reddened and became fuller, her hair thickened and glowed a richer gold, her eyes became more luminous.

  A last gesture brought two female Sidhe through the main door of the room. Both showed the too-fine hair and faded eyes of the aged, but they were not reluctant to serve Aurilia. They went at once to the east side of the bed where the wall seemed to be made of elaborately carved panels. Each placed a hand into a half-hidden slot and gently pulled. The carved panels withdrew, showing within a fabulous wardrobe.

  On racks on the floor were shoes, some leather, some satin, some fur. All had gilded or silvered heels and soles; all were inset with precious stones. Above were gowns of heavy, shining, slubbed silk and of diaphanous veiling. The colors began on the left with silver and slowly intensified from pale to brilliant, from brilliant to deeply rich and on, at last, to black.

  “Cerise, I think,” she said.

  One of the Sidhe lifted a heavy silken gown from where it hung and carried it tenderly toward her mistress. The other removed a tunic of the same color, but of fabric so fine it looked more like mist than woven stuff, coupled with full flowing trousers of just a slightly thicker weave.

  “This will cling like a second skin to your body,” the Sidhe with the silken gown said. “Not to the eyes, but to the senses will you be naked, thus exciting without offering any compromise of yourself.”

  “This,” the second Sidhe lifted the tunic, which floated upward, “is invitation as well as temptation. Which will you have, madam?”

  “The human is old and needs more blatant stimulation,” Aurilia said, pointing to the tunic and trousers.

  The first Sidhe went to hang the silk gown in the wardrobe and shut the doors while the second gestured down her mistress’s body where undergarments appeared. Aurilia bade the first Sidhe wait in her sitting room for the healer and then stepped into the trousers. The tunic went over her head.

  A last glance in the mirror showed her hair in place, her eyes glowing, her lips full, red, and inviting. She smiled at herself and went into the adjoining chamber where, on the table beside the glass of cloudy liquid, lay a thick and intricately woven gold chain. She leaned over to touch it, felt the hum of power, nodded, and lay down on the sofa.

  The mistlike fabric of the tunic did nothing to hide the protuberant, dark nipples of her breasts. One of her legs negligently trailed toward the floor; the other was slightly raised at the knee. Through the diaphanous tunic and the scarcely more solid pants, a glint of gold showed where her thighs met.

  She did not need to hold the pose long. The outer door opened; the first Sidhe said, “The healer Albertus, madam.”

  Aurilia gestured and Albertus entered. He bowed at the door, his eyes going at once to the full glass of cloudy blue liquid standing on the table. As he came upright, his brows were raised in query and then creased in worry.

  “There is something wrong with the potion, madam?”

  “Not at all but I find that I need it less and less.”

  The worried frown deepened. “Are you warning me that I am to be cast out? Discarded?”

  “Oh, no! Not at all. Do come closer, Albertus. There is no need for us to shout across the width of the room.”

  As he drew closer, bowing again about halfway into the room, Aurilia examined him. He had claimed to be old and in fear of death when Pasgen—and where in the seven levels of Hell was Pasgen—brought him to her. Well his hair was white, but it was still plentiful; he was only a little stooped; she had given him back his teeth so his mouth was not sunken and while his nose was sharpened with age it did not yet hook toward his chin.

  “I was only trying to explain why I feel comfortable parting with you for a few days,” Aurilia said. “Would you not like to visit the mortal world for a little while?”

  Aurilia’s legs spread just a little farther apart as she pushed herself more upright. She saw Albertus’ eyes flicker from her crotch to her breast and back to her crotch. She knew that none of the female Sidhe had been willing to bed Albertus, and she had not provided him with a construct that any sane man would want in his bed.

  “I am sure there are things and people that you miss in the World Above,” Aurilia went on, smiling. “And I have a small piece of mischief that would be best accomplished by a mortal in the mortal world. Thus, we each will gain—you a chance to satisfy any desires that are not fulfilled Underhill and I to be rid of a pair of nuisances that are interfering with fulfillment of my desires.”

  “Madam …”

  He bowed again. Aurilia thought as much to hide his face and give him time for thought as out of fear and respect. She wondered why she had not in the past used mortals for any purpose other than torment. Well treated they were far more loyal servants than the Dark Sidhe.

  “You know I wish to serve you as best as I can,” Albertus continued, eyes on the floor now, as if he realized what he had betrayed about himself in his hungry glances at her breasts and crotch. “But to do that
I must admit that I was nothing and no one. I had no riches and was no lord of great power to order men to do my bidding. I fear if I … ah … rid you of the nuisances you mention that I would be caught and punished.”

  “Riches are no problem. You will be well supplied with gold. Nor do I wish you in your own person to have any dealings with these nuisances. Surely there are those who would rob a house and do violence to those within or attack a man on the street if they were paid to do so?”

  Albertus’ eyes gleamed. “If I had the means to pay, yes indeed, my lady. There are those who know how to enter a house to steal and would not hesitate to quiet anyone within so there would be no alarm. And there are those who make their living by taking from careless folk in the street, who occasionally die of their carelessness.”

  “I am glad to hear that you think you can serve me in this.”

  “Only there is one problem, madam. How am I to explain where I have been all this time … however long it has been?”

  “You will not need to explain unless you wish to do so. I can put a seeming on you so that no one will know you. But wherever you say from where you come, this place must not be mentioned. There will be watchers to make sure that no hint of your present place or duty escapes you.”

  She reached behind her as she spoke and picked up the gold chain. “You will wear this,” she said, and he took it readily and clasped it around his throat, thinking, she was sure, that it was some kind of listening device. As he fastened the clasp, it disappeared and the chain shortened. He frowned, fear showing on his face, his fingers now trying to pull the chain away from his throat.

  “Let it lie,” Aurilia snapped. “It will do you no harm … so long as you do not mention, even in a hint, that such a place as Underhill exists. If you do … the chain will choke you. For a slight hint, it will merely tighten. For trying to continue to speak of our world here … it will strangle you.”