Free The Alchemist of Souls: Night's Masque, Volume 1 by Anne Lyle Page B

whore of Babylon."
      The blood drained from Philip's face, and she thought he was going to hit her. Instead he growled something under his breath, snatched up his clothing and marched out. It sounded very like You'll regret that, Jakes .
      "You have all the wit of a cow pat, and are less use withal," she shouted after him, but her words were lost in the slamming of the door.
      She gathered up the fallen garments, shook them out and hung them back up. She really shouldn't goad Philip, but one of these days she was going to wipe the smile off his simpering, beardless face.
     
    The streets were becoming busy by five o'clock, as the citizens of London swarmed home for their supper. No doubt that was Walsingham's intent; one more man amongst the throng was unlikely to be noticed.
      Seething Lane lay a stone's throw from the Tower, a narrow street of tall, well-kept houses built close together to make best use of the valuable land. Second to last on the right, Baines had said, with a door knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Mal scarcely had time to lift the heavy bronze ring before the door opened and he was ushered inside.
      He found himself in a bright atrium with white-painted panelling and a black-and-white tiled floor. A wide oak staircase dominated the space, and arched doors led off into the house to either side. The man who let him in wore servant's garb, but his face bore the same guarded expression Mal had seen on Baines's face. Was there anyone working here who wasn't an intelligencer?
      "This way, sir," the man said.
      He opened a door Mal had not noticed before, concealed as it was in the panelling under the stairs. Mal half-expected to see a flight of steps running down to a dungeon. There were many rumours about what went on in the house in Seething Lane.
      Instead he was taken along a short whitewashed passage to a spacious parlour overlooking a walled garden. A gaunt-featured man of about sixty, dressed in a black gown and skullcap, sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace.
      "Maliverny Catlyn, sir."
      Walsingham raised a hand in acknowledgment. The servant bowed and withdrew.
      "Come closer, Master Catlyn."
      Mal approached the Queen's private secretary and stood to attention, eyes fixed on the plasterwork coat of arms above the fireplace. The design was very plain: a horizontal bar on a vertically striped field. Either an ancient blazon, or one chosen by a man with no taste for the fantasies of the modern age.
      "You understand why I sent for you?" Walsingham asked. His voice was deep, and surprisingly steady for one in evident ill health.
      "No, sir." He had a shrewd idea, but he was not about to admit it.
      "Sit down, Master Catlyn." Walsingham gestured to the chair opposite.
      "I prefer to stand, sir."
      "And I prefer not to crane my neck. Sit."
      Mal obeyed. Walsingham leant back in his own chair, and Mal caught himself on the brink of doing likewise. Allowing himself to relax in this man's presence would be a grave mistake. Perhaps literally.
      "You were seen at Court on Tuesday, talking to Blaise Grey," Walsingham said.
      "He and I were at Peterhouse together. Sir."
      "Yes, well, we will come to that later. But as to the present… You would do well to take more care in the company you keep."
      "Sir?"
      "When the son of one of the most powerful men in England rebels against everything his father stands for, you can be sure it comes to my notice. Blaise Grey attracts malcontents like wasps to a wind-fallen apple. For you to seek him out… well, you must see how that looks."
      For once Mal did not have to feign contrition.
      "I'm very sorry, sir, I did not think–"
      "You young fellows never do. What precisely were you up to?"
      "I–" A half-truth was safer than a lie. "Sir James Leland didn't say how long this commission would last, and as I am sure you know, sir, I have no other means of support."
      "Hmm. Well, you