Free Quintessence Sky by David Walton

beard rushed forward and gripped Ramos by
both shoulders. He kissed Ramos on both cheeks and laughed. "My old
friend, you look half starved."
    Ramos grinned. It was Juan Barrosa, secretary
to the king, and an old friend. He returned Barrosa's embrace and
introduced Antonia.
    "Antonia! I remember you when you were no
bigger than my knee. My, what a beauty you've become."
    Antonia seemed pleased, but whether she
understood the words or not, Ramos couldn't tell. "I've never been
to Africa. It must be a fascinating place," she said.
    "Ah," Barrosa said sadly. "She is . . ."
    "Yes," Ramos said.
    "I am so sorry."
    Ramos was bursting with questions about his
summons by the king, but Barrosa waved them away. First they had to
get back on a boat, he said, a wherry this time, and travel the
rest of the way down the Thames into London. Once they were aboard,
he continued to shrug off Ramos's questions, saying only that the
king wanted Ramos to cast Queen Mary's horoscope.
    "Truly? It is permitted to forecast for the
queen?" In Spain, it was illegal to cast the king's horoscope or
predict the day of his death.
    Barrosa shrugged. "It is if their Majesties
command it."
    "Are there no trained astronomers or physics
in all of England, that he dragged me a thousand miles from home
for so simple a task?"
    "Do not press me, friend. There is much more
to tell, but without the king's permission, I dare not speak."
    Ramos remembered that for Barrosa, coming
here with the king was something of a homecoming. Though a
Spaniard, he had been born in England to one of the
ladies-in-waiting of Queen Katerina, the Spanish first wife of
Queen Mary's father, Henry VIII. He wondered how much of the
country Barrosa remembered.
    The watermen pulled on their oars with the
strength of a lifetime plying their trade. The wherry rounded the
Isle of Dogs, and London came into view. It was Ramos's first sight
of the world's largest city, and he wasn't impressed. Sprawling,
dirty, and vast, it had none of the glory of Madrid or Granada. The
decaying St. Paul's Cathedral was big, certainly, but with none of
the pure white splendor of the cathedral in Toledo. London Bridge
sagged out over the river, top-heavy with layers of shops and
houses. The massive starlings that held up the bridge were so wide
they nearly dammed the river, leaving a visible difference in the
water level from one side to the other. The water sluiced through
the passage, forcing the wherry to fight its way against the
current, lurching sickeningly and throwing up sprays of water.
Ramos gripped the side and clutched his stomach, but in a moment
they were through. On the far side, they maneuvered through a
labyrinth of boats and approached Whitehall Palace, where the
queen's swans sailed gracefully near the bank, snapping up morsels
tossed to them by the royal swanherd.
    The wherry pulled up to the palace dock and
was met by servants who took their ropes and tied them fast.
Barrosa stood to disembark, and Ramos noticed what he should have
seen earlier.
    "Your limp," Ramos said. "It's gone!" Barrosa
had walked with a bad leg since childhood; now he crossed the
uneven dock with ease.
    "God has been good," Barrosa said, but an
impish smile played across his face.
    "What is it? What are you hiding?"
    Barrosa's smile vanished. He helped Ramos
step out of the boat, but held onto his arm, and his voice was
grave. "When you read Her Majesty's horoscope, and the king asks
you what you see, do not lie."
    Ramos shrugged him off, stung. "Of course
not."
    But Barrosa didn't let go. "No matter what
the horoscope shows you. Tell the truth."
     

     
    THE QUEEN'S privy chamber was packed with
courtiers: an ocean of silk, velvet, taffeta, camlet, pearls,
tinseled satin, and cloth of gold. A few of the courtiers were the
queen's attendants, loyal friends who had stood beside her in the
difficult days when her father, King Henry VIII, had thrown her
Spanish mother aside for the Protestant Anne Boleyn. Most, however,
were