Free Raleigh's Page by Alan Armstrong

need someone rougher in manner than you, someone the foreign agents have never seen here.”
    Andrew thought of Tremayne. He was rougher than Mr. Harriot, he spoke French, and he was no part of Mr. Raleigh’s circle.
    “Perhaps my teacher at home?” he suggested.
    He told them about Tremayne.
    “Will he do it?” Mr. Raleigh asked.
    “I think so, sir.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he is all for England in America.”
    Mr. Raleigh smiled, then he narrowed his eyes.
    “Do you trust him with your life?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is his manner courtly?”
    “As courtly as mine.”
    “Courtly enough, then!” said Mr. Raleigh with a friendly laugh. “Write your teacher that you need to see him. Your message must be something only he will understand. Do not sign it. I’ll read it before you write it final in the onion ink. You must assume now that everything we write here is read by others as soon as it leaves Durham House.”
    Andrew warmed at the prospect of being sent back to Plymouth on a secret mission. He pictured some of his old schoolmates seeing him in Mr. Raleigh’s livery. He imagined letting out a hint of what he was about.
    “What shall I say when I see Mr. Tremayne?” he asked.
    “You will ask in my name if he will help us get the map.
    “You will say nothing of this to anyone,” he added. “No one here, no one at home, is that clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” the boy said, looking down, sure that Mr. Raleigh had read his mind.
    “You will travel in your country clothes.”
    As Andrew was leaving, Mr. Raleigh called after him, “You will tell Peter and William I am sending you back because you are homesick.”
    Andrew stopped like he’d been smacked.
    “That last I don’t like, sir,” he said more quickly than was polite.
    Mr. Raleigh gave him a sharp look. “You make bold to say so!”
    Andrew stood silent as Mr. Raleigh glowered.
    “You don’t like telling the others?” he asked.
    Andrew nodded.
    The man’s look softened. “I have pretended much and done many things I didn’t like,” he said. “I’m not asking of you a tenth part of what it took me to get here. You don’t like wearing a mask? That’s all I’m asking—that you wear a mask.
    “Disguising is part of our work. Masks hide our purposes. In what we are about it’s dangerous for anyone extra to know who we are or what our business is. So we go in disguise. Do you understand now?”
    Andrew nodded slightly.
    “Tell me,” Mr. Raleigh asked, “have you ever met a stutterer?”
    “Yes. One of my schoolfellows.”
    “Did you notice he was not afflicted when singing or acting a part?”
    Andrew thought for a moment. It was true.
    “Yes.”
    Mr. Raleigh opened his hands. “You’ll find it is the same with you. Some tasks are easier if you do them playing at being someone else.
    “It’s like laughing when shamed. I hear you do that well. You have it in you to be one of my actors. Go play your part!”
    Andrew half-smiled to himself as he left. He liked it that Mr. Raleigh thought he had it in him to be one of his actors. He could pretend homesickness as an actor. That wouldn’t hurt his pride.
    He went to his desk and wrote Tremayne: “Pray meet at my cross midday Wednesday next. Yours for Eden.”
    That the note was from Andrew and what they were to meet about, Tremayne would figure from the mention of Eden. With Andrew’s name in mind, he’d know their meeting place to be St. Andrew’s Church.
    Mr. Raleigh nodded when he read it.
    “Good. Now copy it in the onion ink. It may even puzzle the Spanish ambassador. He’s their chief spy here.”
    Andrew turned to leave.
    “Wait!” Mr. Raleigh called. “I want to try your nose once more.
    “What’s this?” he asked, pushing a vial of black liquid to the boy’s face.
    Andrew sniffed and jerked back. It smelled like strong tar. It made his eyes water.
    “Naphtha of the Persians,” Mr. Raleigh said with a grim smile. “Now match the glasses again.”
    Andrew couldn’t. He