Free The Tudor Vendetta by C. W. Gortner

we must examine it first. I have asked Lord Robert to have the dog’s body brought to the cellars. With Your Majesty’s leave, I can perform a necropsy that might help determine the type of poison and its origin.”
    Elizabeth hesitated and Cecil drew her to the alcove. As they engaged in urgent conversation, Walsingham stepped to the hearth. “Excellent,” he murmured, so that only I could hear, “already you’ve made yourself indispensable, the hero who saved the queen’s life. But, you’re about to make an error, albeit an understandable one, given your experience. Don’t you think it wise to sift through the evidence first?”
    “My squire perished like that dog,” I said. “I’ve seen this poison before. It is odorless, tasteless; it strikes within seconds and leaves no trace. You can cut that dog up in pieces and it will tell you nothing.”
    “Indulge me. Have you searched the box?”
    I started. In the uproar, I had not considered it. Abandoning the hearth, I gingerly righted the box by Elizabeth’s chair. It was, as I had supposed, empty, save for a crumpled lining. I reached for the lid. The same fine cloth upholstered both; as I took up the lid, something crinkled under my fingers. I paused, probing. “Walsingham,” I said.
    He rose from his crouch over the tissue, striding past Elizabeth and Cecil, who broke off their argument to stare at us. “I think there’s more paper under this.” I patted the lid. “Not tissue. By the feel of it, it could be a letter parchment.” Even as I relayed the information, I was pulling my poniard from my boot to slash at the covering.
    “Careful,” warned Walsingham. “Some poisons release their toxin when exposed to air. It could be a trap, in case the first attempt failed.”
    “Or it could be a message,” I said, “because the assassin anticipated that the attempt would, in fact, fail.” Still, I did as he instructed, meticulously slicing the fabric and rocking back on my heels, to avoid being directly over it as I gripped the shorn edges and ripped them apart.
    A folded parchment slid out—unsealed.
    Walsingham’s mouth curved into an icy smile. “He plays with us. Allow me.” He removed gloves from within his doublet. My breath stalled in my lungs as I braced for the worst, but he unfolded the parchment without incident. Passing his gaze over it slowly, he went still as if contemplating its significance. Then he removed his gloves and passed his fingertips deliberately over and around the paper.
    “Well?” Elizabeth demanded warily after enough time had passed and Walsingham had not started foaming at the mouth. “Will you tell us what it says, sir?”
    He turned to her, dazed, as if he had forgotten she was there. “I cannot, Your Majesty. Though it does appear to be a letter, its code is unfamiliar to me.”
    “Then it must be deciphered,” said Cecil. “And while that is being done, Her Majesty must leave for Windsor at once, the coronation postponed until we can ascertain—”
    Elizabeth held up her hand. “No.”
    Cecil gaped at her. “But Your Majesty, I must insist. An attempt has been made on your life. This monster could try again and Whitehall is too large to protect you. We have too many people coming and going; if we restrict access to your person or post extra sentries, it will rouse suspicion that something is amiss—which is not the impression we wish to convey.”
    She regarded him as though she were counting seconds under her breath. I knew that look; I had seen it before. Elizabeth was not going anywhere.
    “I am afraid,” she said. “Terrified, in fact. But I’ll not be chased from my own city before I have even been crowned, with every sovereign in Christendom expecting me to fail. A queen who flees at the first sign of trouble is not long on her throne.”
    “This isn’t mere trouble,” I said, bringing her attention to me. “If it’s what I suspect, Your Majesty’s life could indeed be in grave danger.