In Which Subversion Is Plotted
Lady Haven Fayth was accustomed to skating on thin ice where her relationship with the vile Lord Burleigh was concerned. But cracks of doubt were beginning to show beneath her blades, and she was having to skate faster and faster to stay ahead of his racing suspicions. She could sense that a parting of the ways loomed. She would like to have learned more from him about ley leaping—at least sounded the depths of his knowledge to find out how extensive it was. But time was against her now, and the best she could hope for was to make sure that the inevitable separation happened on her terms, not his.
The Black Earl’s present distraction might be, she reasoned, the perfect opportunity to make good her own escape. Her captor and erstwhile co-conspirator was at the present moment wholly consumed by the Kit Livingstone affair—and not without good reason. Secure in the knowledge that Kit—along with Cosimo, Sir Henry, and Giles— had met his ultimate end and been entombed in the sepulchre of High Priest Anen, Burleigh had come to Prague to collect the latest version of his ley-hunting device hot off the workbench of the emperor’s chief alchemist, Bazalgette. The cunning little instrument was made of brass and was about the size and shape of a cobblestone, but that was about all she knew of it; Haven had only glimpsed it fleetingly and furtively, because his lordship kept it, like much else, entirely to himself. Haven suppressed a laugh, recalling the look of disbelief on Burleigh’s face when he was informed that the presumed-to-bedeceased Kit Livingstone was . . . surprise! . . . alive and well and loose in the streets of Prague.
The resulting chase succeeded only in wounding the coachman, Giles; Kit had escaped and the Burley Men were held to blame for the debacle. For the last four days the Black Earl and his louts had been combing the countryside for Kit. At first they merely searched the physical geography of the area—the hedgerows, villages, barns, and even the river—and when that failed to raise any material evidence the search was expanded to include any ley lines within reach of the fleeing man. They had found a likely ley in the vicinity of their initial chase, but a thoroughgoing search of the destination on the other side failed to raise a trail.
As day gave way to day and reports from the Burley Men brought them no closer to finding the fugitive, his lordship’s temper darkened the more. He was angry at everyone and everything: angry at being lied to—though the Burley Men denied this vehemently—angry at the lack of results, angry that his plans were being stymied by a mere know-nothing nobody, angry at his own failure to get his hands on the one piece of the Skin Map he knew where to find. None of this was Haven’s fault, a fact she was not hesitant to point out. She most strenuously distanced herself from the current disaster, hoping to remain aloof from the steadily mounting storm of his lordship’s wrath.
“There is some deception here that I have yet to penetrate,” Burleigh declared on his return to the inn. It was the evening of the fifth night of the futile search, and his mood was toxic. “Livingstone has been aided and abetted in his escape. That is the only explanation—at least, it is the only explanation that makes sense.”
The weather had turned cold and wet with a foretaste of the winter to come; Lady Fayth was sewing new buttons onto a coat she had bought in the market, replacing the wooden ones with silver. Lord Burleigh sank into a chair by the fireplace and summoned one of the inn’s serving boys to come and remove his muddy boots.
“Clean them and bring them back when you are finished,” he commanded, his German lumpy but understandable. “Have the landlord fetch me something to drink—a jar of mulled ale will suffice for now. Get on with you. And be quick about it!”
The lad scurried off. He had learned to obey swiftly and without question when the earl spoke.
“You say Kit is a know-nothing,” Haven ventured, “and by all indications it would seem that you are correct in your assessment. If that be so, then what can it possibly matter that he has escaped?”
“Because he is a thorn in the flesh,” snarled Burleigh. “He is an increasingly troublesome obstruction to the ongoing search for the map. He is a rival and a threat.”
Haven did not raise her eyes from her work. “Hardly that, I think.”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I doubt it very much indeed, sir,” she replied. “He is as you have painted him—a nothing, a nobody. His only attachment to this enterprise was through his great-grandfather, Cosimo. That tether has been severed, and Kit has no idea what to do or where to go next. In the brief time I was with him he showed no volition and demonstrated no extraordinary understanding of the enterprise in which he was involved.”
“My impression too,” affirmed Burleigh. “Entirely.”
“Why not simply put him out of your mind? Kit Livingstone is of no consequence. Whatever his understanding may be, it can have no bearing on your designs.”
“How is his presence in Prague to be explained?”
“Just coincidence, surely,” she suggested, passing the needle through the button and into the cloth in a single smooth stroke. “Everyone must be somewhere, after all.”
“But why here?” Burleigh growled, watching her. “I think he was here for a reason, and I want to know what it was. That woman at the coffeehouse is mixed up in this—I know it.”
“Who?” Haven raised an eyebrow. “One of the serving girls?”
“No—not a servant, blind you. The other one.”
Haven stared at him blankly. “I cannot for the life of me think who you must mean.”
“The tall one,” he snarled. “The English manageress or owner or whatever—I’m telling you she knows more than she lets on.”
“You are chary by nature,” Lady Fayth suggested, returning to her work. “It does you no good. Here we are, flailing about uselessly when we could be getting on with the hunt. That is surely more important than running down Kit Livingstone.”
“She was poking around the palace, trying to ingratiate herself at court. That’s where I met her, you know—the first time I came here. A right Miss Busybody.”
Haven drew the needle up through the button. “Are we talking about the woman from the coffeehouse again?”
“She implied she knew about my travels, or something of the sort,” Burleigh continued. “I warned the wench in no uncertain terms to keep her nose out of my affairs.”
“Then I am certain she has taken your good advice to heart,” concluded Haven sweetly. “Anyway, she can have no idea about any of this. Living here in Prague and running a coffeehouse—one is hardly liable to stumble across anything of value to our cause.”
“Perhaps we should go talk to her,” he said. “Find out what she knows.”
Haven lowered her work into her lap and gave the exhausted earl a look of sharp appraisal. “The woman is hardly going to cooperate after your heavy-handed intimidation. If she does know anything, you would be the last person in whom she would confide.”
Burleigh frowned, then brightened as a new thought came to him. “You could go.”
“Me?” Lady Fayth feigned disapproval. “I cannot see what good that would do. I can think of nothing worthwhile to say to her.”
“You could come alongside her—woman-to-woman, be her friend, gain her confidence.”
“Do you honestly imagine that will achieve some positive result?” Haven asked, still shaking her head.
“She would talk to you,” insisted Burleigh. “Get her to confide in you.”
“A manageress?” Haven made a wry face. “What could she possibly know that would be of the most remote interest to us, or to the success of our venture?”
“That,” declared Burleigh decisively, “is what you must discover.” He thought for a moment. “No . . . no,” he said slowly. “Better still, gain her confidence and invite her to dinner tomorrow. Lure her here, and I will take care of the rest. Once we get her upstairs, alone, we’ll find out what she knows soon enough.”
Lady Fayth, having given an entirely believable performance of the Reluctant Accomplice, agreed to take on the chore and took herself to the Grand Imperial the next afternoon. She was there, waiting, when Wilhelmina returned from another unsuccessful attempt to locate Kit. The two exchanged a knowing glance and Wilhelmina, after greeting Etzel, filled a pot with fresh coffee and sat down with her ally to share information on the state of the game so far.
“I cannot understand the Black Earl’s interest in Kit,” Lady Fayth mused. “On the one hand he insists that Kit knows nothing useful to the quest. On the other hand he refuses to simply let him go. We have already stayed in Prague far longer than originally intended, and there are no plans at present to leave.”
“Burleigh is not being entirely truthful,” observed Mina. “No doubt the shock of seeing Kit here in Prague, when he thought him dead and buried in Egypt, revived his interest—at least insofar as he assumes Kit must have had help to escape the tomb.” She thought for a moment. “Has he said anything about this?”
“He has vouchsafed nothing specific or germane to the issue at hand. His lordship’s hirelings have borne the brunt of his anger on that account, and they have paid dearly for their lapse.” Her lips curled in a conspiratorial smile. “Nevertheless, they have helped our cause—unwittingly, it must be said—by maintaining the fiction that the prisoners were in the tomb when the wadi was abandoned. To admit anything more would merely bring even greater approbation down upon their sorry heads.”
“Poor things,” Wilhelmina said without the least shred of pity.
“As it stands, Kit is the object of the earl’s present obsession. The quest, I suspect, will not go forward until Kit is found. As to that, our nemesis intends on casting the net wider. He intends to find out what you know about this affair.” Lady Fayth sipped her coffee and watched Wilhelmina for a response.
Mina took this information in stride. “He is grasping at straws.” She thought for a moment. “What form would this interrogation take?”
“You might well ask. He has prevailed upon me to be the agent of his inquiry.” She offered a cheerful smile. “I am to gain your trust and induce you to confide in me. Under the guise of a dinner invitation, he would lure you to the inn, take you prisoner, and menace you into revealing your secrets.”
Wilhelmina’s brow creased with concern.
“Of course,” Haven continued quickly, “it goes without saying that we must decide between ourselves what we want him to know.”
“Then we must think very carefully what to tell him,” agreed Wilhelmina. She reached for the little pewter pot. “More coffee, Lady Fayth?”
The young lady made no move to hold out her cup. “I suspect he knows you are a ley traveller, and I have no doubt he intends you harm.”
Wilhelmina returned her gaze steadily. “He will have to catch me first.”
“It would be unwise to make light of the threat. Lord Burleigh is fully capable of carrying out his nefarious designs, as we both know only too well.” Lady Fayth gave her a solemn nod. “In regards to the dinner tomorrow night—you dare not for a moment even contemplate actually going.”
“But if I refuse,” countered Mina, “won’t that make him even more determined and suspicious?”
“Perhaps.” Haven pursed her perfect lips in thought; she glanced out the window at a man carrying a wicker basket. “Why not go away for a few days? Leave the city, go somewhere—anywhere. Stay out of his way completely.”
“Run away, you mean.”
“Why not? Only for a few days, mind. His lordship will soon grow tired of waiting and leave Prague. We would have departed long since if not for Kit.”
Wilhelmina thought for a moment. “I could go away,” she agreed. “I have been wanting to go back to—”
“Do not tell me,” warned Haven. “It will be better for both of us if I do not know. Only make some excuse and depart as soon as possible. Leave at once.”
Wilhelmina regarded her co-conspirator for a moment in silence, unable to tell if she was keeping something back.
“Please,” urged Lady Fayth. Reaching across the table, she clutched Wilhelmina’s hand and squeezed it for emphasis. “Please go.”
“Very well.” Mina rose and pushed back her chair. “If you will excuse me, I think I have some packing to do.”