Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon by Lisa Goldstein Page B

confused.
    â€œAye, Alice Wood. She has a stall in the yard of St. Paul’s. You know her, Kit, her station’s next to your friend Edward Blount.”
    â€œNay, I know no one named Alice Wood,” Arthur said.
    â€œShe’s been looking all over London for you. And there’s another man too, she says, who’s been asking questions … Come, tomorrow I’ll go with you to the churchyard. I know she’s been worried about you.”
    â€œAlice Wood is not my mother. My mother was a queen.” Arthur looked angry, dangerous; his hand strayed toward the dagger at his back.
    â€œIf you won’t come with me I’ll ask her myself if she knows you. Perhaps if you see her—”
    â€œI’ll hear no more of this talk,” Arthur said, rising and heading for the door.
    â€œWait!” Christopher said. He followed Arthur out into the street. The moon was hidden and the night had grown very dark; he had to strain to see. Where had the man gone? There was only blackness in front of him. He put his hand out before him but could feel nothing; it was as if the world had vanished. In the strange absence of color his eyes began to play tricks: gold sparkled against the night. The shimmer of gold moved off a little, and he followed.
    Tom Nashe’s friends had all gone home by the time he left the tavern. He stood and pissed against the tavern wall, thinking of the strange questions Christopher had asked. What was the man playing at?
    Tom had heard rumors that Christopher did intelligence work for the queen. Could that be true? Tom prided himself on knowing the latest news, the secrets of the highborn and low, of being on intimate terms with nearly everyone of importance in London. It galled him that there was something he did not know about his friend.
    And what of the man who had called himself king? Was he truly Mistress Wood’s son? Would it be better not to raise her hopes if he turned out to be just another of London’s many lunatics?
    â€œHo!” a voice said. Tom adjusted his clothes and turned around. Arthur stood behind him. “You—the man who knows so much about brownies. Come with me.”
    â€œWhy? Where are we going?”
    â€œâ€˜Ride not by the old pool,’” Arthur said. He pitched his voice higher so that it sounded uncannily like a woman’s. “‘Lest we should meet with Brownie.’ I’ll show you brownies, if you like.”
    Arthur’s natural authority was compelling; Tom wanted nothing more than to go with him. He forced himself to stare the other man down. “Where are they? How comes it that you know them?”
    â€œIn Finsbury Field. I’ve seen them.”
    Arthur set off and Tom followed him. He felt a little unsteady and looked up at the stars to anchor himself. Good—they were still there. No one walked the streets so late; he heard nothing but the soft pad of Arthur’s boots and his own breath. It seemed that something miraculous might happen, that wonders were about to unfold before his eyes.
    They reached Finsbury Field moments later. “Look,” Arthur said, breathing the word. He pointed.
    â€œLook at what?” Tom said. “I see nothing.”
    â€œThere. And over there—look! The faeries are dancing. Do you see them?”
    â€œNay.” Tom tried not to feel disappointed. An intense expression had appeared on the other man’s face, yearning and desire and more than a little fear. Did he truly believe he saw something? It would be a sorry thing for him if he did. And what would Mistress Wood say if this Bedlamite turned out to be her long-lost son? Perhaps it would be a kindness to let her go on thinking he was dead.
    He heard mocking laughter from the fields. Nay, it was a screech owl out hunting, nothing more. But now he could make out faint shapes on the grass, figures clad in white with fire in their hair. Winged creatures, impossibly small, darted