Deathscent: Intrigues of the Reflected Realm - Robin Jarvis

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      “I wouldn’t sleep easy this night if I were you, boy!” the groom chuckled unpleasantly. “Don’t you know who that were?”

      Adam shook his head. The name “Doctor Dee” had meant nothing to him.

      Holding the reins of all five horses, the groom gave him a leering smile. “Astrologer to the Queen, that’s who,” he said, affecting a hollow, sepulchral voice. “Invented the new Kalendar, he did, and more besides if rumours be true. Decent folk are scared of him, more so than they are of my master.”

      “Why?” Henry demanded.

      The groom’s eyes slid quickly from side to side as if afraid of the surrounding shadows. “They say he digs up corpses,” he hissed. “Grubs up the churchyard dirt and, by his wicked arts, speaks with the dead bodies.”

      Henry snapped his fingers in disbelief. “Donkey warts!” he said.

      “Is it?” the man murmured. “Jenks here thinks not. An imp from Hell does his bidding, that’s no lie – there’s plenty enough who’ve seen it. A crafty, clever man is Doctor Dee, but also a mighty dangerous one. You’d best watch out, lad, if he takes notice of you – no knowing what might come for you in the night to cart you off.”

      Adopting Henry’s sceptical stance, Adam managed a feeble laugh but he did not like the look of the groom. The man had a suspicious face and, when he saw that his attempts to frighten them had failed, his mouth twisted into an arrogant sneer.

      “Now then,” he began, his sly glance darting around the yard, “where are my master’s steeds to be housed?”

      Adam returned the hostile stare. “There’s the barn yonder,” he answered with an impudent tone which set the man’s lip curling again. “Over there, behind the piggery.”

      “The barn!” came the insulted response. “Do you know how costly these beasts are? Have you no proper stable?”

      The boys shook their heads. “We don’t have horses here no more,” Henry said. “But when we did, I reckon they’d have been even better than your fancy one with the bronze shoes. Even Old Dritchly could cobble up something like that if he had a mind to.”

      Strolling forward for a better view of the creature, he asked, “What are the innards like? How many pendulums do it have and how big are the cordial vessels?”

      “Don’t you even think of coming no closer,” the groom growled. “That’s far enough. These ain’t none of your peasanty clankers, specially not Belladonna here. If anyone touches these fine beasts, Jenks’ll cut their throats for them, you understand?”

      Leaving the threat hanging in the air, he led the mechanical horses over to the barn and the boys stared after him, mouthing insults to his back.

      “Who wants to see the workings of your old nags anyway?” Henry grumbled.

      “What do you think the extra horse was for?” Adam asked.

      “To carry the baggage,” Henry suggested. “Had a dirty great chest strapped to it.”

      Adam was not so certain. “No,” he said, “there’s something weird and secret happening here. Lord Richard didn’t like it and nor do I.”

      As he spoke he tapped the mouthpiece of the recorder against his lips until he suddenly realised what he was doing and gave a horrified yelp.

      “The instruments!” he cried. “We should have took them inside ages ago.”

      And so the two apprentices raced into the manor house and the tragic events that were to occur that fateful evening were set in motion.

       CHAPTER 2 O Mistress Mine

      Within the banqueting hall, Sir Francis Walsingham brusquely appropriated the place of honour at the table. Anxiously, Lord Richard sat beside him. The secretary and Doctor Dee assumed their seats and their host eyed the food spread before them with considerable relief. At least here there was nothing to be ashamed of or which might cause offence. Mistress Dritchly had worked miracles in the kitchen and the board was covered with a respectable variety of dishes. There was fine white manchet bread, miniature pastries filled with spiced chicken, generous cuts of boiled mutton, a large onion tart, a sallat and a cheese pie with herbs. It might not have equalled feasts at court but few of the country gentry in the neighbouring isles dined upon grander fare than this.

      The best plates had all been sold, so the guests were obliged to eat off wooden trenchers and drink from earthenware cups. There were only two jugs of wine, but it was the best Lord Richard’s depleted cellar could provide and when that ran out there was always the strong October ale.

      “Pray commence and help yourselves,” he encouraged. “Mistress Dritchly is a fine cook, as you are about to learn.”

      Leaning forward to take some slices of mutton, the secretary, who had readily introduced himself as Arnold Tewkes, smiled ingratiatingly. “I am always eager to partake of such lessons,” he said. “A more willing student would be difficult to find.”

      As he was a small, thin-boned man whose head jerked about like a bird with faulty neck springs, that statement was rather difficult to believe, but he attacked the food with surprising zeal.

      Doctor Dee busied himself with one of the pastries and a slice of cheese pie, but Lord Richard observed that Walsingham partook of nothing and wore such a stony expression that his own appetite withered within him.

      Several difficult minutes passed during which not a word was uttered by anyone and Lord Richard swigged his first cup of the evening.

      The banqueting hall of Wutton Old Place was panelled with oak and the ceiling mouldings were painted bright colours. Four large iron candlesticks, each bearing ten candles, gave a warm illumination to the room and at the far end, upon a little stage, Master Edwin and Jack Flye were busily placing the mechanical musicians in position.

      Sitting stiffly in his chair, Walsingham regarded the activity with significantly more interest than he bestowed upon the food.

      “A little entertainment for later,” Lord Richard explained, “to accompany the compotes and marchpane. I find music aids the digestion.”

      Sir Francis made no reply and continued to stare in that unsettling way. Like a hawk viewing some remote and unsuspecting morsel, Lord Richard thought unhappily.

      “Most excellent onion tart,” Master Tewkes declared, trying to soothe the tension. “It would appear that I am graduating the Dritchly College with honours. The mutton also was very flavoursome and cunningly done. You are very lucky in your cook, My Lord.”

      “I’m glad to hear it,” Richard Wutton answered. “My Lady Fortune has been noticeably absent from these estates of late. I thought she had abandoned me.”

      Brushing pie crumbs from his beard, Doctor Dee commented, “If a man slams the door in the face of sound advice and refuses to listen to all good sense, then what else is she to do but depart?”

      His host opened his mouth to respond, then caught sight of Walsingham still sitting like a forbidding gargoyle and thought better of it, settling for another draught of wine instead. Old arguments and resentments could wait but, try as he might, Lord Richard could not guess the errand that had brought these important visitors here. He grew more and more concerned as wild suspicions frothed up in his mind.

      “If Your Lordship wishes,” he began again, desperate to glean anything at all

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