Lord Ashcombe didn’t like what he was hearing. Fortunately, the rules didn’t apply to him. “With me,” he said. I followed him inside, sticking as close as I could, Bridget tucked in the crook of my arm.

The Scotsman at the gate was outraged. “Why does he get to go in—Ashcombe! Ashcombe! Don’t pretend you can’t hear me!”

I looked up at Lord Ashcombe as we strode into the court.

“I’m not pretending,” he said. “I just don’t care.”

Lord Ashcombe appeared to know where we were going, which was good, because with the way the palace corridors twisted and turned, I was completely lost.

“Remove your pistols,” he said.

“My lord?”

“Only guards enter the king’s presence armed.”

Right. I unbuckled my belt. “What do I do with them?”

“An attendant will take them. The bird, too.”

We finally reached our destination: a somewhat overdecorated antechamber, walls plastered with portraits, the tables layered with Oriental rugs. I was relieved to see Tom and Sally were already there. They’d changed out of their traveling clothes and now looked rather fine: Tom in a sharp blue doublet, black breeches, and hose, and Sally in a reddish gown that matched her auburn hair rather prettily.

As for me, I suddenly felt self-conscious. Still dirty from the road, I smelled of mud, smoke, and horse. And was that Simon’s blood on my breeches?

Behind the others were a pair of guards, both with halberds, and another pair near the door. Three servants hovered against the wall; one of them stepped forward to relieve me of my pistols, and, with a slight look of distaste, my pigeon as well. I felt a pang of regret as the man hurried from the room. I’d get Bridget back, of course. I wasn’t so sure about the guns.

A second servant brushed as much of the dirt off me as he could, clucking his tongue in disapproval. He positioned me next to Tom, who looked nervous, sweating.

“What took you so long?” he whispered, voice cracking.

I hardly knew where to begin. But I didn’t want to say anything in front of all these strangers. “Why is the palace locked down?” I whispered back.

Sally spread her hands. “We don’t know. But soldiers are everywhere.”

Then there was no time left to say anything. The guards slammed the butts of their halberds against the floor and opened the door.

And the king entered the room.

CHAPTER 6

WE’D MET CHARLES II BEFORE—TWICE, actually—but I still felt the thrill of meeting our sovereign. Sally smoothed her gown nervously, then clasped her hands to keep them still. Tom, who loved His Majesty the most, stared straight ahead, trembling and sweating. I shrank a little, embarrassed by my ragtag appearance.

Charles, flanked by four of the King’s Men and a pair of servants, cut an imposing figure. Except for Tom, he was much taller than anyone else here, around six-foot-two, with a curly wig that fell past his shoulders. He wasn’t the most attractive fellow: long face and heavy brow with a dark complexion and sagging cheeks. But he carried himself with extraordinary grace, and his smile, always ready, made you feel like you were the most important person in the room.