And Less Than Kind Read online

  "That is what Pasgen said," Rhoslyn admitted, "and the lindys is quiet, but I cannot help worrying."

  Denoriel shook his head. "Aleneil is not coming either. It seems true enough that when one thing goes wrong, everything else does too." He hesitated. "I wonder if the trouble Pasgen has found is anything to do with Elfhame Cymry's problem."

  "Cymry?" Elizabeth repeated. "I hope nothing serious is wrong there. I like visiting Cymry. Yes, Vidal tried to snatch me from there, but that was years ago and I enjoy the place. Mortals actually seem safe and happy there."

  "Yes, well, that seems to be the problem," Denoriel said. "Cymry prides itself on the happiness and safety of their bound mortals. The Sidhe of that elfhame do not use magic for common tasks; they have mortals who farm and are servants so Cymry always has more power than they need. The Cymry Sidhe took a terrible vengeance on a Dark Sidhe who violated their rules, but recently several mortals have disappeared. Ilar came to fetch Aleneil to Cymry because sometimes she can See what has happened."

  Elizabeth felt cold and alone, not because Alana was in Cymry but because she knew she would be deprived of her ladies if she were suspected of treason. She had been pleasantly distracted by the news about events Underhill. She was not worried about Pasgen, who could take care of himself, and she had complete faith that the Sidhe of Cymry would find and rescue their mortals. She did not want to be reminded of her danger. Soon she knew she would need to ask Da what he knew about the possibility of a rebellion, but not yet . . . not yet.

  "So will you finally order something or are you all going to sit here all night talking?"

  The pole of revolving stripes was standing beside the table. The white ball atop was not featureless all around. Apparently she had seen only the back of it when she and Denno had entered the inn. In the front, it had large eyes which seemed painted onto the surface; they had long, curling lashes. There was a line for the nose and two short curved lines to indicate nostrils. The painted mouth was formed into a slight smile. Elizabeth blinked. She could not decide whether or not she had seen the mouth move when the creature spoke.

  "Oh, yes," Rhoslyn said. "I think I would like a light wine and some kind of fish."

  "Broiled, baked, poached, breaded?"

  Again, although she had been watching, Elizabeth could not decide whether the painted mouth moved. And she was sure it was the same server who had been the caterpillar and the besom broom. There did not seem to be any arms connected with the pole so it could not write down the orders as the kitsune who had taken its place wrote them down. And the way it had appeared when she did not want to talk about the coming rebellion. And the way the table she wanted had appeared when she was disappointed. It was all very strange.

  Of course the Bazaar of the Bizarre was always strange, but Denno had remarked that the Inn of Kindly Laughter was peculiar, even by Sidhe standards. Elizabeth looked intently at the server, but it seemed as solid as any pole she had ever seen, except for the constantly rising stripes.

  "Ah, broiled and medium spiced," Rhoslyn said.

  The round, white ball nodded or, rather, rolled slightly forward and then back into position, since there was no neck to nod from.

  "And you, little mortal?"

  "Where do the stripes go?" Elizabeth asked.

  A faint, chortling sound came from the interior of the pole. "That would be telling."

  "So it would," Elizabeth said. "Please do tell. That is why I asked."

  "What will you give for an answer?" the server asked.

  Denoriel opened his mouth to protest, just as Harry said, "Elizabeth, be careful."

  Elizabeth cast them both an irritated glance. "Fish," she said. "I will arrange for you to get a barrel of fresh-caught mortal fish if you will tell me where the stripes go."

  The server emitted a gusty sigh. "I would like the fish," it admitted. "But I have no idea where the stripes go. I saw this barber pole and I liked it . . . so I copied it."

  "What is a barber pole?" Elizabeth asked. "I know what a barber is and what a pole is, but together . . .

  "This," the pole said, turning around so Elizabeth could see all sides of it, "is a barber pole." If a painted face could have a smug expression, the features on the round, white head certainly did. "Broiled fish medium spiced for one lady. What will the other have?"

  Somewhat bemused, Elizabeth ordered baked goose and then Harry and Denoriel ordered. The server rolled its head toward Elizabeth again and tipped it forward.

  "Respite has been granted," it said. "You must now gather your courage and grasp the nettle."

  "What nettle?" Harry asked. "I swear that server gets stranger and stranger every time we come."

  "I don't think it is a server," Elizabeth said softly. "I think it is one of the great mages who has made this place as a place of relief . . ." She let her voice fade and shrugged as the others looked at her. She knew that great mages were seldom altruistic. "So, let me grasp my nettle. Da, a man called Sir James Croft came to Ashridge today, and I am very much afraid he was sent by Gardiner to trap me into admitting I knew of the rebellion."

  Denoriel took her hand and kissed it. "Elizabeth, you cannot be trapped. No one can really hurt you. I will come and take you away from any threat."

  "I know that," Elizabeth whispered. "I know you can save me, but . . . that salvation would be hell to me. Oh, I love you my Denno, I love you with all my heart, but I cannot live Underhill. I cannot. Underhill is too easy. I . . . I want to be queen. I see what Mary does wrong and I burn to set all right . . ."

  "And so you shall, my love," Harry said, and smiled. "In any case, you need not fear that James Croft came to trap you or was a spy for Gardiner or any member of the Council. He has no part in Mary's government. He is a strong and confirmed Protestant, and he is part of the brewing rebellion. In fact one of my informants tells me he has been talking to Courtenay about joining it."

  "But his father was a counselor to Mary," Elizabeth said.

  Harry shrugged. "That was many years ago. Counselor . . . hmmm . . . Sir Edward was no Catholic. Most likely he was trying to find a way to reconcile Mary with her father. Anyway Croft himself is so strongly attached to the reformist rite—and so unwilling to hide his convictions—that he was dismissed from his position as deputy constable of the Tower of London. He went off to Wales to raise men for the rebellion."

  "Oh, God's merciful Grace!" Elizabeth exclaimed, her lips thinning. "He is a clever liar. He told Sir Edward that he went on a mission to Wales. Sir Edward thought he had been sent by the queen or the Council. We should never have let him into Ashridge."

  Harry frowned. "What did he say? What did you say?"

  Elizabeth repeated to the best of her ability, which was very good indeed, the conversation between her and Sir James. Halting at first, the tale flowed more smoothly as Harry nodded and the frown eased off his forehead. When she was done, he shrugged.

  "It would have been better if you had not received him at all . . . no, perhaps not. No matter what you do, no one will believe that you had no knowledge at all of the rebellion. This way you can blame Croft for your knowledge if questions are asked."

  "Questions?" Elizabeth's voice was not quite steady. "You mean the rebellion will fail and I will be suspect."

  Denoriel took her hand again.

  Harry sighed. "You must be prepared, my love. I am not Aleneil and cannot see the future, but I know men and their weakness. If the plans laid out for Courtenay by Croft are actually carried out . . ." He shook his head and sighed again. "No, I do not believe the rebellion can succeed, although there is much bad feeling over the introduction of the Catholic rite and Mary's plan to marry Philip has brought the anger to a boil. Some will rise."

  "I do not care about that," Denoriel said grimly. "I want to know how to make Elizabeth safe."

  "I do not know," Harry muttered, looking down at his own hands. "I would have begged her to forget the stupid mortal world, to come here and live with us, but you heard h
er answer to that already." He set his teeth for a moment, then said, "Elizabeth, you are much loved in the country. I do not believe Gardiner will dare harm you if there is no proof of treason." He reached out and touched Elizabeth's cheek. "You must remember and trust in your true innocence and never confess to supporting the rebels—"

  "I never did support them," Elizabeth protested.

  "That will be your defense."

  "Why will the rebellion fail?" Rhoslyn asked. "If I can offer some comfort to the queen, she will be less inclined to give in to Gardiner's and Renard's demands to remove Elizabeth."

  "Croft and Carew should never have approached Courtenay, who is loose-lipped and weak," Harry said. "I am certain he will betray them. They thought, because Courtenay took it very ill that Mary preferred Prince Philip, he would raise Devon for them. Courtenay believed the queen would marry him because Gardiner urged it. He thought he would be king."

  Rhoslyn nodded. "Mary heard rumors that he had his servants bowing to him as if he were king already. She pretended she did not hear. I do not know why, but she likes Courtenay."

  "Mary cannot hide what she feels and she does like him. I suppose that is what deceived Courtenay," Harry continued. "And Croft is a clever liar—not in words but by implication. He and Carew never intended Mary to marry Courtenay; they are all of the reformed religion. Croft and Carew intend to remove Mary and her Catholicism from the throne and to have Bess and Courtenay marry."

  "Marry Courtenay?" Elizabeth shrieked, fear completely routed by outrage. "No! Absolutely not! Not even to save my life and gain the throne would I consider marrying that . . . that boorish dolt."

  Harry began to laugh. "Courtenay is no more enamored of the prospect than you are. He wants the rebellion to prevent Mary's marriage with Philip and force him on Mary as bridegroom."

  "Yes, but it is nothing to laugh about," Rhoslyn said. "Mary will have Philip—at any price. She is actually in love with Philip. She keeps looking at his portrait. And the trouble is that Courtenay is not only a dolt but a weak one at that."

  "You mean that Courtenay has betrayed the rebellion already?"

  Rhoslyn nodded. "He went weeping to Gardiner with the tale."

  "What am I to do?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Pray that there is no rising," Denoriel said flatly. "And if there is, do not lose your courage. You stood fast when Somerset wanted to use you to destroy his brother and you must do so again."

  "I wish I could say that there is any likelihood Mary will accept your word and the evidence of her own people that you had no correspondence with the rebels," Rhoslyn said. "But there is no hope of that. If there is a rising, you and all your servants will be strictly examined."

  "She will have me beheaded," Elizabeth cried.

  "No she will not!" Denoriel snarled. "Always keep within reach a token that will permit me to open a Gate to you. Remember, I will not permit anyone to hurt you. Do not let yourself be overmastered by fear."

  "No," Rhoslyn said. "There is danger, but I have made her fear any harm to you will somehow rebound on her, and I have reminded her constantly of how much you loved her as a child. Whatever she orders cannot be carried out in a moment, and as soon as she has time to think, she will refuse to order your death."

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Not relief. Execution was an all too common reality in her life. Her mother, her cousin, her would-be lover, her meek and innocent school-mate had all died under the ax. That was one reality. That she had escaped similar threats by defending herself against her accusers was just as real.

  The calming thought together with the determination to endure made Elizabeth long for a new subject. That seemed to conjure the barber pole, who suddenly appeared at the table with a serving cart. Rhoslyn, whose lips had parted to continue what she was saying, sniffed instead.

  "That smells lovely," she said. "I am almost sorry I ordered just the fish."

  "No need to be bound by your order," the server said, and a set of empty plates accompanied by knives and forks floated onto the table.

  Then the dishes of food followed. Each dish was set closest to the person who had ordered it, beside the empty plate. Serving pieces appeared beside each platter.

  "Help yourselves and pass it along," the barber pole said. "I have other clients to serve."

  As it glided away Elizabeth made a small frustrated sound. "I cannot tell whether the mouth on that thing moves or not."

  "We need Pasgen," Rhoslyn said, spooning fish and noodles garnished with sauce into her plate. "He is sensitive to spells."

  "Mmmm," Elizabeth sighed as she took a mouthful of the goose and forked up some of the roasted, mixed vegetables. "This is as good as it smells." She pushed the plate to Rhoslyn. "Here, have some."

  For some time the table was silent, except for the sound of the platters sliding over its surface and brief comments of satisfaction. The light wine Rhoslyn had ordered had come in a large flask and was also passed around. It did not cause any surprise that there was plenty of food and drink for all.

  At some time during the meal, Denoriel was heard to mutter, "A great mage? But why?"

  No one argued, but no one answered either. Elizabeth smiled to herself. It was true that she lost her power to see through illusion and feel magic when she left the mortal world, but she could still feel purposes no matter what the being. Eventually everyone pushed away plates empty but for a few scraps and bones.

  Rhoslyn picked at a tiny shred of fish clinging to a bone and said thoughtfully, "The trouble is not with Mary. I can bend her opinion, but I cannot bind her to that opinion. Renard and Gardiner both push her to be rid of you, Elizabeth. They both hiss into her ears that you are a snake in her grass and if she does not cut off your head, you will poison her and her faith."

  "Why?" Elizabeth asked, her hands clenching. "Why do they hate me so?"

  Rhoslyn shrugged. "For Gardiner it is not hate. Your death is good politics. The people love you, Elizabeth, and you can be used as a symbol to rouse them. There is no other heir to the throne that they would follow as they would follow you."

  "But I have not tried to lead anyone!"

  Harry snorted. "That has nothing to do with it. Remember the crowds that came out to watch you pass and cheer you when you moved to Ashridge? Also others use your name. Thank God these rebels have kept their cries to 'Stop the Spanish Marriage' rather than 'Crown Elizabeth.' "

  "It is a matter of faith also," Rhoslyn said. "Gardiner is a devoted Catholic, more devoted because he weakened once and obeyed King Henry. As you know, he was imprisoned during Edward's reign because he would not conform to the reformed rite. And Gardiner knows that when Mary dies, if you rule you will not enforce the Catholic faith—not if it means subservience to the pope."

  Elizabeth's lips thinned. She had never made any comment about Mary's plan to reconcile with the pope, but that was one aspect of Mary's return to Catholicism with which Elizabeth had no sympathy at all. She did not care a pin whether worship was carried out with gilt chalices and swinging censers of sweet incense or in an unadorned chapel, but to make England obey papal decrees was anathema to her.

  "Well, he is right," Elizabeth said coldly. "I will break all relations with Rome as soon as I am empowered to do so . . . or let Rome break relations with me when I refuse to pay Peter's Pence. Perhaps Parliament will not wish openly to renounce Rome again, but I am quite sure they will agree to withhold papal taxes. I can keep my mouth shut as long as Mary is queen. I can go to Mass. But I will not promise to obey the pope."

  "And there is no hope of Renard countering Gardiner?" Denoriel asked. "He has more influence on Mary than anyone else."

  "No." Rhoslyn was flatly certain. "He wears a ring, a yellow diamond. It stinks of Vidal and glows with an inner light whenever Elizabeth is mentioned. The one small hope with Renard is that he does know that Emperor Charles does not want Elizabeth dead."

  "Vidal," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "I had occasion to stop at the inn in the town o
f Ashridge the other day and there was not an imp to be seen or smelled. There were always imps in the inns in Hatfield. Could Vidal have lost interest in me?"

  "I do not believe that for a moment," Rhoslyn said. "I think he does not wish to attack you for fear it will somehow spoil what he thinks is going his way. Likely he hopes Mary and Gardiner will take care of you. And I know he has not abandoned his interest in Logres. Mary has a new physician, introduced to her by Renard, and the man stinks of the Dark Court."

  "Renard urged a Sidhe physician on Mary?" Elizabeth asked, wide-eyed.

  "Not a Sidhe physician. The man is entirely human. He is a good physician too; he attended King Edward and did what he could for the poor boy, but he carries an amulet devised by Aurilia to carry him back to Caer Mordwyn and I can read the touch of Vidal on his mind." Rhoslyn frowned. "Vidal's touch is light, Aurilia's more marked."