And Less Than Kind Read online

  "Oh, are you sure they will work for me?" Dakari faltered.

  Aurilia's lip curled in disdain. "Give them an order—" she smiled again this time at the furious pair bound by her will to stillness and silence near the door "—an order they will not like, and see whether you are obeyed. Perhaps when you are through with them, they will have learned that it is unwise to be insolent to and careless about obeying my commands."

  Dakari looked at the tall dignified looking witch whose face was twisted with rage and hate. "Dance," he commanded, touching the amulet in his right ear.

  He judged doing a dance to be what the witch would least like to do and the most mortifying to her dignity. He could see her throat working with curses, but she could not make a sound, and dance she did. So did the werewolf when he was so ordered, though he was less graceful. Dakari laughed. Aurilia laughed too.

  "Good for you, my little Dakari," she said. "You have a sense of humor, which I never would have expected."

  The approval bolstered Dakari's courage. He bowed, almost with panache, to Aurilia, and she laughed again and gestured him to leave.

  "Come with me," he said to the witch and the werewolf.

  They would have followed dancing despite the expressions of horror on their faces, but the habit of centuries drove Dakari not to draw attention and he ordered them to walk. Then relief mingled with venom, with the silent threat of future harm, glared from their eyes. Dakari grew cold as they came to the stair down to the outer doors. What if this were all a cruel trick of Aurilia's? What if they were less in his control than he believed and would turn on him? Throw him down the stairs, then fall upon him?

  "Go down the stair ahead of me and wait at the door," he ordered.

  That command, too, they obeyed and Dakari grew a little more confident as he bade them leave the palace and go to the nearest Gate. He remembered that placing Wahib and Wahiba in his power was not a whim of Aurilia's. She had done it because Prince Vidal wanted him to clear the sigils of iron and silver from Alhambra to make that palace available to the the Dark Court. It was unlikely that Aurilia would play a trick on him until that task was completed.

  Dakari Gated from Caer Mordwyn to the Goblin Market, changed Gates, Wahib and Wahiba now trailing obediently behind him, and then Gated to Alhambra. He had always used that path, fearing that some taint of the Caer Mordwyn Gate might linger in the Gate at Alhambra and warn those of the Bright Court of his visits.

  Usually he was far more cautious, trying to sense whether the Gate had been recently used, but today he did not care. If the accursed FitzRoy and his puling ancients were there, he would set Wahib and Wahiba on them. He would have plenty of time to escape and if they killed Wahib and Wahiba, Aurilia would simply have to find him another pair to clear the iron and silver from Alhambra.

  The breathtaking palace was empty, however. Dakari glanced at it indifferently; he was accustomed to the gleaming, delicate minarets which rose into what seemed a clear, blue, sunny sky, to the lacework of stone that adorned the many balconies and doorways, to the gardens, once rotting and now restored with myriad flowers that bloomed in intricate patterns and scented the softly moving air.

  The stunned expressions on the faces of the witch and the werewolf made him look at the palace again, but he still could not understand at what they were staring with such admiration. The place was too bright; it hurt his eyes. A little black slime running down like tears from the many windows would improve the view.

  Dakari could not fathom why Aurilia had set her heart on living here; that was not important. Possibly the whole Dark Court would leave Caer Mordwyn and settle here . . . Now that was a fine idea; he would have the Caer Mordwyn palace to himself.

  With a little effort, Dakari shook off that pleasant dream and reminded himself that it would be typical of Aurilia to time her amulets to fail as soon as the silver and iron were removed. Then Wahib and Wahiba could tear him apart and Prince Vidal would not need to give him any reward for bringing the Evil to agree to the Dark Court coming.

  For once it seemed that Aurilia had outsmarted herself. In a firm voice, he ordered the witch and her werewolf son to search Alhambra thoroughly and remove from it every trace of Cold Iron or anything that contained iron. They were to wrap everything they found in silk hangings removed from the palace, bring all the iron carefully wrapped to the Gate, and to take the iron to . . . Dakari hesitated for a moment and then started to laugh.

  "Take it all to Wormgay Hold," he said. "You hear me? Nod your heads if you hear me. To Wormgay Hold."

  Fear and hate distorted both faces, but each nodded and set off for the palace. Dakari first sat down on the edge of the Gate platform until he reminded himself that the accursed Bright Sidhe might come through at any time. Then he removed himself to a bench in the garden where a rose arbor would conceal him. It took a long time for Wahib and Wahiba to remove the iron but at last they did not return from the Gate. Yes, they were gone and all the bundles of silk-wrapped iron too. And the Gate looked all right.

  Dakari giggled. He wondered if the witch and the werewolf had been trapped in Wormgay. That hold sucked power out of anyone who had the misfortune to come there by accident or evil intent. The Gate that brought one in would not take anyone out, and the Gate out was not self-powered as most Gates were either. To make the Gate work, the being wishing to use it had to supply the power. He did not know whether Wahib and Wahiba knew about that. Dakari giggled again; he did not care if they died there.

  However, he had better get about his part of the business while they were gone and he did not need to watch them. He walked into the palace by the great main doors. Unlike the usual shining twilight that suffused most of the Bright Court domains, the whole of Alhambra seemed flooded with golden light. Dakari squinted.

  When his vision cleared, he saw how the pointed arches on open doorways to each side of the entrance hall seemed to lift the whole structure. He felt as if he might rise through the air to the top of the huge dome that covered the entryway, and he shuddered and lowered his eyes.

  Ahead were two tall doors of worked silver. They were closed, but Dakari had crept in here after the Sidhe and the Oberon-marked mortal had departed. He knew that behind the doors was a room where the golden light was not pure but dark and reddish and in that room was a great block of stone. Perhaps it had been white and gleaming once, like all the stone in Alhambra, but it was black now, veined with a dull, slightly pulsing red. There, near the block of stone that once, perhaps, was an altar, the feeling of Evil was strongest.

  The open space, the golden light pulled at him. Dakari hated the feeling that if he let himself fly limitless joy would be bestowed upon him. Who wanted the endless sound of laughter, the murmurs of love?

  Shuddering, Dakari hurried to the silver-worked doors and pulled them open. Then he stopped, staring in suprise. The altar stone, which had been black and pulsing with red life, was now a pallid grey. What had been thick arteries of red were shrunken to dull bluish threads. The Evil was indeed much diminished.

  Dakari paused and thought over the possibilities. With the Evil so much weakened, he could simply go back to Caer Mordwyn and tell Prince Vidal that the Evil no longer had enough power to do them harm. They could take possession without asking permission.

  A sound from the great entryway behind him made Dakari whirl around, but no one was there. Only a light breeze had flapped a hanging that had been pulled loose. But it was stupid to leave the doors open. It was possible that Wahib and Wahiba would escape, even possible that Aurilia had not put a limit on the amulets and they would return.

  As he reached to shut the doors, Dakari hesitated. If he was to return and tell Vidal the way was open, he could just go now. But second thoughts brought him to close the doors. Instead of being grateful and rewarding him for news, Vidal likely would be angry. He wanted the Evil as an ally from whom he could ask, and get, favors. Dakari began slowly to walk toward the altar. Should he simply do as Vidal had bid him? Make a
n agreement with It for the Dark Court?

  Just before he reached the altar Dakari stopped. Before he decided what to do, should he not make sure the Evil would listen to him? The last time he spoke to it, either it would not or could not answer him.

  "Great Evil," Dakari said "Will you speak to me?"

  No answer. Dakari bit his lip and ground his teeth. Stupid thing, you are almost gone; what right have you to ignore me?

  Sneering, not realizing himself how much he had been emboldened by the power Aurilia had fed into the amulets in his ears, Dakari stepped forward and slapped a hand down on the sickly grey stone.

  "Listen to me!" he ordered, in the voice he had been using to direct Wahib and Wahiba. "You will soon be nothing, leached away by the spells and metals of those who hate you. Make me your vessel, and—"

  Dakari's voice stopped. His eyes opened so wide that the whites showed all around the muddy iris. His mouth also opened wide, wider. His arms sprang away from his body and stiffened. He was rigid, even his hair standing out around his head like an aureole.

  The grey of the altar paled, the ugly bluish veins took on a silvery sheen that, as the stone turned glittering white, grew richer in tone, richer, then became glowing gold. As it was before the mad priest of the Inquisition had carried in the evil in his heart and brain, now it was again. Alhambra the beautiful, the enchanted in loveliness.

  With the king dead, Albertus was no longer welcome in the Court, but he had been careful while he was there to spread pour boire coins among the servants. At first he only urged them to come to him at Otstargi's house to tell him if the king needed his calming potions; later he added a coin or two for news of any importance whether or not he was needed by the king.

  Thus any anxiety he had felt about Mary's accession was soon laid to rest. On July eighteenth one of the grooms of the chamber came, grinning, to tell him that the Council had escaped the Tower. Albertus passed a golden guinea for that piece of news—why not? Either Aurilia or Vidal could ken as many as he needed. Likely news of that guinea was what brought a second groom after dark to tell him that the Council had met in Baynard's Castle, the earl of Pembroke's house. The Lord Mayor of London had been invited there by the earl of Shrewsbury and Sir John Mason and between five and six in the evening the meeting had borne fruit; Mary had been proclaimed queen.

  There was considerable difference from how the proclamation of Queen Jane had been greeted. Albertus himself had gone out into the city to see whether this news would be spread and how it would be received. He found there was a huge crowd milling around the Cross in the Cheap. The Lord Mayor and some aldermen with several trumpeters had a hard time winning through, but at last they reached the Cross where the trumpeters sounded their horns. Even more people rushed into the area. Albertus accosted a merchant whose house was near the Cross and offered good coin for a place at his second story window. There were so many people that he could not see a thing.

  Hearing, however, was different. The crowd was frighteningly silent after the fanfare and the sense of threat and hostility had grown steadily while the Garter King of Arms read out his proclamation until he spoke the name of the proclaimed . . . Queen Mary. Then the dam of silence burst and the crowd roared with joy, throwing their caps into the air and shouting "God save Queen Mary." The rest of the proclamation could not be heard, but it hardly mattered. Mary was queen.

  Albertus brought this news Underhill. Just before he touched the amulet that opened the Gate in Otstargi's house for him, he paused to consider whether to go first as usual to Aurilia or for once to present himself directly to Vidal. He had no doubt that the information he brought would please the prince. Did he want to share the satisfaction Vidal would feel with Aurilia?

  Share? Nonsense. For this news the likelihood was that Aurilia would not even bring him with her into Vidal's presence. She would get all the credit. Was that important? Did he want Vidal to think of him as clever and efficient? He hated the Dark Sidhe's open contempt and he was determined some day to make Vidal suffer for it, but that did not answer the question. Was he better off if Vidal believed him slow and stupid? And how would Aurilia react if he bypassed her to speak to Vidal?

  That thought gave Albertus pause. He had spent so much time recently in the mortal world that he had pushed to the back of his mind Aurilia's cruelty when he had displeased her. And he could not count on Vidal to protect him. Far from it. He was essentially of no value to Vidal; Aurilia actually needed him to make the potion that soothed her headaches. So in the end Albertus did go first to Aurilia with word that Mary had been proclaimed in London, that the rest of the country was following that lead, and that Northumberland was taken prisoner.

  "Hmmm," Aurilia said, lifting her upper lip to show her sharpened teeth. "I intended to recall you from the mortal world. My supply of the headache potion is nearly exhausted. How quickly can you renew that?"

  "If I have assistants to grind and boil and filter, only a few days."

  "No, that will not do. If Vidal hears from anyone sooner than he hears from you . . . or, rather, from me . . ." She thought for a moment, then rose and left the chamber without another word to Albertus.

  He stood—Aurilia had not given him permission to sit—trying to keep all expression from his face. The chances were that she had left a watcher and was just waiting for him to show what she would call impudence (sitting down without permission) or resentment. In fact, having been reminded of Aurilia's less appealing characteristics he was less sure than ever whether or not he wanted Vidal's notice.

  He did not need to decide what he felt; whether or not he spoke to Vidal was not a matter or his choice. In another few moments an imp pulled his hair and pinched him, driving him out of Aurilia's chambers and toward Vidal's. The door opened as Albertus approached it and he bowed as he entered. Aurilia, who was seated to Vidal's left, did not acknowledge him. She was frowning abstractedly into the distance.

  "So it is certain that Mary is to be queen," Vidal said. "Very good. Aurilia's potion will have to wait until you complete some minor tasks for me."

  "Yes, my lord," Albertus said, but he glanced nervously at Aurilia and to his relief she nodded curtly.

  "The first is simple enough. Now that Mary is secure and Northumberland has lost his power, Elizabeth may feel less threatened. Perhaps she will start riding out again. Tell Howard that he and his men are to return to Hatfield. They are to watch for an opening to take Elizabeth prisoner or kill her."

  "I will tell him, my lord," Albertus said, cringing a little as he prepared to say something Vidal would not like. "But Howard does not simply take orders. I know that Lady Elizabeth is calling in her dependents. I doubt he will agree to risk himself and his men trying to get at her." He saw Vidal's mouth twist into a snarl and dropped to his knees. "I have a suggestion. Perhaps Howard and some of his men can try to make friends among Elizabeth's guard so we will know what she is doing."

  The ferocious scowl eased from Vidal's face and Albertus breathed again. He had managed to divert Vidal from punishing him because he could not exert the same power over Howard as Vidal could over his servants. Vidal was growing less accepting of Howard's inability to attack Elizabeth than he had been at first. His master's fixed desire to remove Elizabeth from any chance at ruling was one obsession that his imprisonment by the self-willed mist had only driven deep, not affected.

  Then Vidal sneered at him and Albertus had to bow his head to hide his anger. To have Howard's men mix with Elizabeth's was a good idea; it actually might allow them to find a way into Hatfield. Albertus did not want to suggest that because if the plan failed Vidal would be furious with him. In fact the bowed head hid more than Albertus's resentment. It hid his sudden realization that the one hope he had of really hurting Vidal was to see Elizabeth mount the throne of England.

  "That is of some value, or may be," Vidal said grudgingly. "Very well, let Howard try his luck at ferreting out Elizabeth's plans. But there is something more important you must
do at once. I want to hear no excuses. I gave you a ruby ring you were supposed to have Chancellor Rich pass to the Imperial Ambassador Renard."

  "Yes, my lord," Albertus said, bowing low from his kneeling position so that his nose nearly touched the floor. "But I must remind you that Baron Rich is no longer the chancellor—"

  "Remind me!" Vidal roared, glaring at Albertus as if Albertus himself had deprived Rich of his position. "Why did you not tell me of this?"

  "I thought you knew, my lord," Albertus whispered. "Goodrich was made chancellor before you sent me to the mortal world, but by then Baron Rich was back on the Council and active at Court—so I thought you knew and gave him the title for respect." Albertus forced his trembling voice to continue. "And Rich did give Renard the ring. I saw it on the ambassador's finger two days after the king died."

  Vidal's hand had twitched, shimmering blue gathering at his fingertips. Aurilia laid a hand on his arm keeping him from lifting his hand. Albertus stared at the bluish light like a bird fixed by a serpent's gaze.

  "Your purpose is accomplished," Aurilia said. "Renard has the bespelled ruby. Do not deprive me of a useful servant. Now what?"