Fawkes

  Henry seemed uncomfortable, adjusting and readjusting the dagger. But determination won out and he strode after Knevett, the Baron, and Father.

  He was about to silence Father.

  Of course. He was Dee’s apprentice. And if Father was going to the Tower, he would be interrogated. Though I knew he wouldn’t give away any of our names, he would most certainly expose Dee as much as he could.

  But if Father was infected with the plague, the Igniters would think that he caught the plague as retribution for betraying his country. They would see it as a sign.

  No one realized the plague wasn’t a sign of anything. It was a deadly color Compulsion started by an old alchemist.

  All these years of blaming. Of wars. Of killing. Caused by Dee’s creation.

  Dee was neither Keeper nor Igniter, yet seemingly was against so much. What exactly did he fight for?

  The same thing most men fight for.

  Enlighten me.

  Themselves.

  Suddenly the night felt too old. Too short. I had no time. I needed to stop Henry. I needed to stop Dee. I needed to find Wintour to tell him the plot was up. I needed to warn the others who were also under Catesby’s spell.

  One step at a time. You’re not alone.

  Right. I hurried after the entourage headed for the Tower. Henry was creeping closer and closer to Father’s bound silhouette. One slice in Father’s calf. One cut to his throat. One prick of that stone blade and the plague would send its roots into Father’s body.

  I couldn’t see the dagger, but I focused on the colors. Grey stone. Carved bone. And before sending the command, I thought of White’s voice around me. In me.

  “Come to me.”

  The dagger flew from Henry’s fist to my shadowed hiding place so fast I lurched backward to avoid getting struck in the face. I didn’t think it would obey so willingly.

  Perhaps the plague was tired of being controlled. It was ready to be defeated.

  Henry spun in my direction. But before he could come after the dagger, I sent it into the gutter. With any luck, the color Compulsion would be null soon.

  Father had been delivered to the guards of the Tower. The gates closed. Henry had lost his chance.

  As much as I would have liked to remain and fight him, I needed to stop Dee from catching Percy. I needed to stop Dee from doing anything.

  And I needed help.

  Emma came to her window at the Strand house within seconds of my knock. Clothed, masked, intimidating. She had been waiting for the Baron and Henry to return.

  She recoiled when she saw me and moved to pull the window closed again, but I caught the edge with one hand and lowered my mask with the other. The moment her eyes met mine, she gasped.

  I expected questions. A “How?” or “What happened?” But she stared, then brushed her gloved fingers along my jawline. “You’re whole.”

  I savored the moment and then grabbed her hand. “Emma, I need you.” Father would be ashamed to hear me sounding so dependent on a woman, but I felt only relief. Because Emma and I were fluid—two streams who became a river when out on the streets together. She brought a calm and understanding that no one else could.

  She asked no questions, just left the window for a minute and arrived at the back door with her cloak. She took my hand. “What is going on?”

  I tugged her toward the street but then pulled up short. What was I doing? Emma could be killed. I faced her. “Dee is the plague. He has been spreading it his entire life. It’s all one giant color Compulsion.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “He helped with the plot for a time, but my letter caused him to switch back to the Igniter side. He’s helped send my father to the Tower and now he’s after Percy. I need to stop him before he exposes and kills all the plotters. And I can’t do it alone.” My chest heaved as I expelled this unspoken request.

  Emma didn’t move or say anything for a long time. I tried not to grow impatient. I needed to go—but I couldn’t expect her to risk her life on impulse. It needed to be her decision. But then I realized something else might be stopping her.

  “I know these friends of mine are Keepers. Assassins. They don’t deserve rescue or warning, but . . .”

  “Everyone deserves a chance to make right.” She lifted her chin and straightened her mask. “Besides, more than that, Dee must be stopped if he is truly the perpetuator of the plague. I will help you, Thomas.” Excitement bled into her voice with that last statement.

  “You could die. We could die. I ask you because you’re the strongest mask I know.”

  “You are not the only voice asking me to help save lives.”

  She likes me more than you.

  I grinned, bolstered. But I’m better looking.

  Only because of that mask I made you.

  We broke into a fast stride. “Where is Henry?” Emma steered me toward the stable.

  “Last I saw at the Tower—but he might be back any moment. He was trying to cut my father with one of those daggers—” I skidded to a stop. “Those daggers. They’re the same ones that were used by the thugs who tried to cut your arm.” I rounded on Emma. “They weren’t trying to check your Igniter status. They were trying to plague you. If they’d succeeded in cutting you . . .”

  Her eyes widened behind the mask.

  Had my blood not already been aflame, this would have set it to boiling. Dee had gone after Emma. My Emma. Probably to infect an Igniter family to get to King James.

  I wondered if Henry knew this about his mentor.

  Soldiers filled the night streets, holding lanterns aloft and knocking on doors. We pressed against a wall and watched, not wanting to raise suspicion.

  “Awake! Get up!” They turned the lords out of their houses. “There is a warrant for the arrest of Thomas Percy. Find him!” I caught some of the descriptions and commands. “Tall man . . . stooping shoulders . . . broad beard . . . white hair . . . Keep him alive.”

  “Wait here.” I left Emma and darted to the Duck and Drake a few buildings down. Most of the patrons were awake from the hubbub in the street. I passed the whisperers, the fire, the inn man, and took the back steps two at a time until I was pounding on Wintour’s door.

  It opened within seconds, and though his sword wasn’t drawn, he wore his cracked mask and looked ready for a fight. “Who’s—Thomas?”

  I saw first the frown of confusion—my plague was, after all, completely gone. I kept my mask on my belt beneath my cloak.

  “Father was caught.” My voice pinched at the words. I wanted to say more but feet pounded up the steps behind me. Both Wintour and I spun. Kit—Jack’s brother—barreled down the hall.

  “The matter is discovered,” he panted. “I overheard Lord Worcester summoning the Baron Monteagle and going to fetch Northumberland. People are looking for Percy.” His message delivered, his face fell and he dropped to a knee.

  Wintour helped him back to his feet, showing a strength of sorrow in his composure. “Then you must hasten to Percy’s lodging and bid him begone.”

  Kit gave a fierce nod and stumbled back to the stairs.

  “What of you?” I took Wintour’s arm. “You must flee.” Did he catch the fact I didn’t say we?

  “I will stay and see the uttermost.”

  I wanted him to leave. He had always been kind to me, and if somehow Father gave up the plotters’ names, then Wintour would—No. Father would not betray anyone.

  “Dee has betrayed us,” I said.

  “But Catesby trusted him.”

  “He is the cause of the plague. It is a color Compulsion that has caused war and abused England.”

  This revelation broke through Wintour’s composure and he fell against the doorframe. It took a moment for him to recover. “He knows Catesby’s location. He knows—he knows the plans. We are undone.” Then, as though remembering I was there, Wintour grasped my shoulder. I thought to help stabilize himself. “You must warn him, Thomas.”

  A repeat of
Father’s command. I must obey. It was my last duty to Catesby, even though I doubted more than ever that he would listen. Perhaps the others might—Keyes, Bates, Jack . . .

  I squeezed Wintour’s arm, sending what reassurance I could. It felt rotten. Like I was still acting the role of a plotter, yet all these things had happened because of me. Because of my letter.

  When I exited the inn, Henry had Emma’s arm in his grip. I lurched into a shadow and slipped my mask onto my face so that if he did see me, he wouldn’t recognize me.

  “What are you doing out here?” Henry demanded, dragging her back to the Monteagle house. I followed, inching along the walls.

  “I was left alone in our house with soldiers shouting on the streets. I came out to help.”

  “There are murderers on the loose, Emma!” He darted a glance around. “Go back inside and bolt the door.”

  He turned to leave, but Emma grabbed his sleeve. “Wait! Henry, where are you going?” I caught true concern in her voice, reminding me of their odd bond—one of shared troubles, but also of Henry’s blackmail.

  “I’m going to battle, Emma.”

  “What? With whom? For whom? Against whom?”

  “With John Dee, the alchemist—”

  “Your master,” she supplied.

  “Ah. You know about that.” He sounded pleased. Proud. “Yes, he’s been training me. He helped expose an assassination plot. He knows where the plotters are hiding out and he’s leading an army there for the king.”

  “The king trusts him?” I could hear the disgust in her voice.

  “Maybe not, but Dee is a mighty warrior and infiltrated the traitors’ group.”

  My fist tightened against my sword hilt. Dee had deceived all of us. And Catesby had trusted him like a fool. Keep talking, Emma.

  “Why must you accompany him? You are no soldier of the mask.”

  “I am a soldier of the sword and flint. And Dee has a specialized armory that will stop these Keepers once and for all. The king does not need to know. All he will see after this battle is how Dee was able to direct the plague into the hearts of the rebels.”

  “The plague?”

  Henry took Emma’s hands in his. “Round shot, daggers, musket balls . . . Dee has bonded the Stone Plague to each. It’s taken him years. Once the king sees how these work, there will be no more wars. England will be the greatest country in the world. England will control the plague.”

  “Henry, listen to yourself—”

  A shout and the fire of a musket broke the night air, followed by screams. Henry shoved Emma toward the house. “Get inside. Stay safe.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll survive this. I’m with Dee.” He swept her into an embrace. I stiffened. Henry saw her into the house, checked the lock, and then ran in the direction of Whitehall.

  Dee was arming the king’s men with plague firearms. He must have sent color Compulsions to each and every musket ball, bonding it with the plague. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the skill or study that would have taken.

  Perhaps it was the reason Dee joined the plot in the first place—to use Father, Catesby, and the rest of us as bait for his plan to unleash his final project.

  The plotters had to be warned. I owed them this much. But what of Emma? I looked toward the Monteagle house. Henry was right. She’d be safe there.

  In fact, I shouldn’t tempt her.

  Tell her I’m sorry.

  I’m not a petty messenger. Tell her yourself. Abandonment is not love.

  Spare me the lecture. I broke into a jog. I’m protecting her.

  And you honestly think she’ll stay behind? Do you even know her?

  It’s easier this way. I exited the Strand and turned right on Charing Cross.

  Now you’re making excuses. You’d be surprised how often I see people do this. It rarely ends well.

  Is that your way of giving advice?

  Is that your way of acknowledging it or ignoring it?

  I pulled up short at St. James’s Park, breathing hard. Footsteps crunched behind me. I spun.

  “It is so much easier to ride in men’s clothing.” Emma rode up on a chestnut mare, wearing dirty servant breeches and an enormous hat pulled low over her masked face. I wouldn’t have known it was her had she not spoken.

  “Emma. Go back—”

  She slid from the horse’s back. “White advised me to retrieve my horse, so I obeyed.” She didn’t even sound perturbed that I’d left without her.

  I tried not to let the exhaustion into my voice. “I’m going to warn the others. It’s two days’ ride north.”

  “But what of Dee?”

  “He could be on his way to Catesby and the men as we speak.” I mounted with effort. “Do what you can here.” I looked down at her. “I don’t know what will happen.” Was I riding to my death?

  “I’ll see for myself, thank you very much.”

  She grabbed the edges of the saddle to hoist herself up, but I pressed a hand to her shoulder. “No.”

  She grabbed my arm. “Thomas Fawkes, I am coming with you!”

  I was going to be sick. “You are an Igniter. In the heat of this plot, they will kill you.”

  She held the mare’s bridle so tight, her gloves squeaked beneath the strain of her clenched knuckles. “Not a single day has been promised to me. Do not deny me this moment.”

  “I need you safe. If I fail, who will finish this?”

  She lifted her mask so I could see her face—her beautiful, fiercely confident face. “Safety is an illusion, Thomas Fawkes.” Her statement made me think of White Light and how it told me it wasn’t safe either. “And if you fail, then I will fail at your side.”

  A muscle pulsed in her clenched jaw. Then she linked her hands behind my neck and pulled my lips to hers. The kiss flooded me with that rare sense of full acceptance. As though all of me was enough for her—even with my brokenness.

  The mare sidestepped just as we separated. She held my stare with wide eyes of her own. My chest heaved.

  And then I reached down and lifted her into the saddle, though she didn’t need much help.

  As though sensing that any words spoken after such a moment would be inadequate, the mare hopped away in a trot. Alone, I had felt ill-equipped to face whatever was ahead. But with Emma in my arms, the battle did not seem so bleak.

  She returned her mask to her face. I pulled my own down and we headed away from the Thames. Whether to death, to capture, or to life, we would still ride.

  Together.

  I grinned. “I had no idea how stubborn you are.”

  “Oh, don’t fool yourself. You’ve known all along.” She directed the mare toward the gate. “And you like it.”

  One point for me.

  Forty-Three

  Emma and I made it out of London just as the ports closed and a watch was set on all gates. There’d be no returning without being questioned.

  I ran a mental map of England through my head. We’d studied it many times during Catesby’s meetings. “Let’s head to Huddington Court—Wintour’s brother’s house.”

  That was the last we spoke, for few words could be shared at a canter. The mare couldn’t keep up the pace, so we slowed and rode through the night. It was cold, dark, and my pulse never slowed the entire ride. At one point Emma started to slip, but I caught her.

  She woke and shook her head with an apology.

  “Sleep,” I said. “For I cannot. I won’t let you fall.” She assented and leaned back into me. I took the reins and relished the moment of togetherness. What would happen to us after this? If we survived, then what?

  By the time we arrived at the wattle-and-daub Huddington Court home on the second day, the mare was frothing and had a limp to her right foreleg. My fingers were numb from the chill November wind and the overcast sky removed any possible heat of sun.

  We crossed the stone bridge at a walk and I took in the three-story home with a chimney like a brick steeple. Dormers poked out of the long
thatched roofs. Smoke rose from the chimney. Someone was there. “Stay with the mare,” I told Emma and approached the front door. I tucked my mask into my belt. It would be no good to announce myself as an Igniter upon first greeting.

  I knocked and waited. And waited. And waited. I knocked again. Finally, a short young woman opened the door. “May I help you?”

  Now what? I couldn’t very well ask about Catesby. What side was she on? She looked nervous. I didn’t see a mask.

  “I am a friend of Robert and Thomas Wintour. Are they—are they here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know where they’ve gone?”

  She shut the door so that only her face was visible with narrowed eyes. “There are a lot of strange folk about. I don’t know who you are.”

  I bowed. “Forgive me. I’m Thomas Fawkes. Son of Guy Fawkes.” She would at least know that name and be able to determine if I was trustworthy or not.

  The door opened another centimeter. “Guy Fawkes, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “You’d best come in then.”

  I forced myself not to look back toward where Emma was hiding with the horse and entered.

  “Robert is my husband. You may call me Gertrude. He left here with Catesby and the others this very morning.”

  Well, she trusted me. “Where to? I must find them, for I have an urgent message to deliver.”

  “They already know the plot is foiled.”

  “There is more than that.”

  “They’ve gone to raid Alnwick Castle. They’re going to make a stand at Holbeche House.” At this, she thrust a lace handkerchief to her nose and muffled a sob.

  She didn’t think they were going to come back.

  “Gertrude. Tell me everything.”

  Her story wasn’t long, but it was enough to give me my next destination. She allowed Emma to come in, but both Emma and I hid our masks. Gertrude fed us and we slept—warm for once, but not at peace. At daybreak, we were back on the mare. Gertrude had said she’d offer a horse if she had one, but Catesby and the men had taken all the stable to hasten their journey.