Deathscent: Intrigues of the Reflected Realm. Robin Jarvis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he said quietly. “Her Majesty will recover.”

      “You overreach yourself!” Arvel spat in outrage. “Her true life is yet to begin, far from here. That is where Her real destiny lies, that is what matters – not this ephemeral sphere.”

      The assistant crouched next to Mistress Ashley and fingered another disc.

      “No more!” Arvel protested. “You interfere too much.”

      “She has been exposed to the infection,” Bosco-Uttwar said simply. “You had best garner the Lady Sidney before I put the remedy upon her.”

      Infuriated by his assistant’s irresponsible behaviour, Arvel pressed the glass instrument to Lady Mary’s brow. But the woman groaned and turned her head away. Again he tried, but she squirmed and pushed the device from her.

      “I cannot continue,” Arvel declared. “She will awaken if I persist.”

      With a third small disc ready in his hand, Bosco-Uttwar came forward.

      “No time for that,” Arvel warned, irritably knocking the cure from his assistant’s fingers and snatching the packet away. “She is reviving too soon. We must be gone. Don your outer garments – quickly.”

      Returning everything to the apothecary box, he swept up his rain-sodden cloak and hat. Unhappily his assistant did the same and presently their outlandish features were concealed once more.

      Pulling on his gloves, Arvel glanced back at the bedchamber and moved towards the door. In the grand room beyond, the councillors were bickering in hushed voices. The babble ceased, however, as soon the physicians emerged, wisps of purple smoke still clinging to the folds of their cloaks. Immediately, Robert Dudley dashed across to push by them, but they would not let him enter.

      “An hour must pass before the chamber may be disturbed,” came Arvel’s insistent whisper. “The purgative we have set to smoulder must do its work without interruption. Mistress Ashley and Lady Mary are now versed in what should be done.”

      Dudley relented. “There is hope then?” he asked.

      “As much as we may give,” came the cryptic response. “Now we must depart.”

      “You cannot leave,” another voice objected, as Lord Sussex came swaggering forward. “Not whilst there can be any doubt.”

      From the deep shade his hat afforded, Arvel eyed the man warily. Sussex trusted no one and he searched for ways of placating him. All that mattered now was for Bosco-Uttwar and himself to escape this place with their great harvest.

      “There are medicines we must bring before daybreak,” he said quickly.

      “Does it require the pair of you to fetch them?” asked the suspicious Sussex.

      “Indeed it does,” Arvel insisted. “There is a great deal of preparation involved. Four hands may barely have sufficient time.”

      Sussex fingered his neat little beard. His instincts told him that something was amiss but, before he could speak again, Sir William Cecil came to the physicians’ defence.

      “Let the gentlemen be,” the Queen’s adviser demanded. “You seek for conspiracy and treason in every corner.”

      Scowling, Lord Sussex backed away and Cecil escorted the cloaked strangers towards the long gallery which led to the main staircase.

      “Till before the dawn then,” he said. “Let us hope the new day will bring us glad and hopeful news.”

      The physicians bowed, but in that instant there came a terrified scream from the Queen’s bedchamber.

      “Mary!” Lord Robert cried. Forgetting Arvel’s false warning, he flung the door open. “God’s blood! What is this?”

      Rousing from the effects of the incense, Lady Mary Sidney was staggering around the room, shaken and afraid.

      Leaping into the chamber, Dudley rushed to the bedside where the Queen appeared as pale and as near to death as ever. With a glance at Mistress Ashley who was still lying upon the floor, Lord Robert flew out of the room, tearing his sword from its sheath. “Hold those men!” he yelled.

      Arvel and Bosco-Uttwar were already running down the long gallery, fleeing for their lives. Their cloaks flapping about them and their large, booted feet scattering the rushes, they charged past astonished courtiers, desperate to reach the stairs.

      “Assassins!” Lord Robert roared, haring after them, while Sussex and the other nobles fell in behind. “Stop them! Guards! Seize them!”

      Battling through the gallery, Arvel thrust blustering officials and shrieking ladies-in-waiting aside, and his assistant did the same. The stairs were not far now, but even if they managed to elude capture long enough to get outside, their lives were surely forfeit.

      “It’s no use, Arvel!” Bosco-Uttwar cried. “We’ll never escape this place. There are too many – they will hunt us down.”

      His superior said nothing. A stout, florid-faced man suddenly stepped into their path and threw his arms wide to catch them. Not checking his pace, Arvel lashed out and grabbed the front of the man’s doublet.

      Exhibiting incredible strength, the physician lifted the wailing obstacle off the ground and hurled him high over his head. Up into the ceiling the flailing man went rocketing, cracking the moulded plaster when he struck it with a crash. Then down he fell. Accompanied by a shower of white dust, he went spinning to the floor, just in time for Lord Robert to hurdle over him.

      The way to the stairs was clear now and the cloaked strangers went bounding down them, jumping three at a time. Soon they would be out into the grounds, where the dark, drenching night might hide them. With only ten more steps to freedom, their hope was shattered when a company of guards came bursting into the hall. Swords and spears raised, they swarmed up to meet them.

      Clutching hold of the banister, Arvel and Bosco-Uttwar slithered to a halt.

      “Back!” Arvel shouted, retracing their galloping strides. “Back, up – up!”

      Hard on his heels, his assistant was panicking. He had never known such fear before. He understood too well what kind of barbaric punishments these creatures meted out to those they considered their enemies. He had witnessed countless executions and afterwards seen the spikes of London Bridge adorned with the victims’ heads and limbs.

      Lunging on to the topmost step he whirled wildly around. They were trapped. Dudley and the others were already streaming from the gallery to the right, and the stairs seethed with armed guards.

      “Where now?” he gasped.

      But Arvel was already hastening down a narrow corridor away to the left. “After me!” he called back. “There may yet be a chance, if we can only reach it!”

      Bosco-Uttwar did not wait to be told a second time. Up from the stairs the palace guards came surging to join forces with Lord Robert and, as one fearsome column, they rushed after the terrified physicians.

      The corridor was dimly lit by solitary candles, their thin flames wavering in the СКАЧАТЬ