Chapter 7: Reset

London, March 1667.

The sound of laughter woke Annick from her nap. She'd taken a seat on a bench in the courtyard of the Dog and Whistle and dozed off. She smiled sleepily at the sight of Jack playing skittles with her great-grandchildren. The girl was ten, the boys twelve and fifteen. As for Jack, the seemingly twenty-year-old more often than not acted like the youngest of the group.

"How could you sleep to that racket?" Goody Alsop said, sitting next to her. "You missed out on young Jeffrey's best toss."

"Just because you don't need to sleep anymore, don't mock me," Annick thought, pulling her shawl closer around her. She was beginning to appreciate the benefits of being a ghost.

Susanna drifted in to sit on the bench beside her. "Mary's spells are improving by leaps and bounds. She has more ability than young Jeffrey."

Goody nodded in agreement. "Someday all three will be worthy additions to the Gathering."

Annick smiled at having the ghosts next to her. Before long she'd join them.

Susanna chuckled as Mary and Jack broke into an impromptu dance. "No one would think Jack has a care in the world."

"He hides his feelings well," Goody said cryptically.

The bell tower had been one of the first structures to be restored. Central London was being rebuilt at a faster rate than Annick thought possible. Father Hubbard's financial reserves were much greater than she realized.

Susanna watched Jack thoughtfully. "Such an unusual lad. He doesn't fit any of the molds, does he? He's certainly not a typical wearh. By inclination, he's always struck me as being a daemon. And his loyalty to our family makes me feel like he's an adopted son."

Goody had once confided that Jack's threads were a jumble of warmblood and creature, and they hadn't changed since he was reborn, but she'd never elaborated. Annick had tried untangling the cords to make sense of them, but she hadn't succeeded.

Her daughter Annie entered the courtyard and placed her hands on her hips. "Break time is over. Boys, your father needs you inside, and Mary, your crewelwork isn't finished."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do?" Jack asked.

"I could use your help with a tisane," Annick said.

"Coming right up."

#

Later in the day, Jack would help a family move into their new quarters, but on a Sunday morning, his time was his own. Annie asked him to take the tisane to Annick and keep her company in the courtyard. Annick was a treasure. After her husband's passing, she was the only link Jack had to the earlier generation of Susanna and her boys.

He considered it a gift from Philippe to be able to stay in London with Father H, Leonard, and the Normans. The Dog and Whistle was thriving, particularly since so many similar establishments had been destroyed in the fire. Many witches lived at the inn while their houses were being completed.

Annick had grown frail, but her family provided excellent care. Jack realized the time when she was a part of his life would soon come to an end. First Susanna, then her son Jeffrey . . . but as they passed, new Normans took their place. No one seemed bothered by the fact he was a wearh. He wouldn't be able to have children of his own but he could enjoy the Normans' offspring.

"You seem troubled," Annick said. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

Jack smiled and patted her hand. "I was just thinking how lucky I am to count you and your family among my friends." He glanced around the courtyard. "The inn reminds me of the Hart and Crown. It was the location for my happiest memories." He stopped and swallowed, forcing his voice to be lighthearted. "Until now. Paris can't hold a candle to what I have here."

"That's obvious. You don't have family there."

He didn't contradict her. Since he wasn't recognized by the de Clermonts, he supposed she was correct. "Sometimes I feel like Goody Alsop and Mistress Susanna are here with us," he confided. "I can smell Goody's tisanes, Susanna's burnt sugar and chamomile scent." He stopped before Annick thought he was too pathetic for words.

She had a curious look on her face. Leaning toward him, she murmured, "That's the witch in you. They are here right now. Goody's to your left. You're practically sitting on top of Susanna."

Startled, Jack jumped up. "A thousand apologies, mistress."

Annick laughed. "Relax, you can't hurt them. They're ghosts."

"Still, she couldn't have been very comfortable."

"Witches never truly leave us, Jack, but usually only other witches can sense ghosts. You probably have at least a little witch blood in your ancestry."

Jack grinned at the thought. "I'd love that. If I'm ever able to cast a spell, I'll let you know."

"What kind of spell would you cast?"

He hesitated. He couldn't mention most of his wishes. A reunion with the Roydons was forbidden to discuss. His eyes drifted to the skittle pins in the courtyard. "Someday kids of my own, but I don't think even a powerful witch could grant me that." He shrugged, feeling awkward about the admission. He never discussed his wearh nature with warmbloods. Those who didn't know what it was like could be envious. They didn't realize all that was sacrificed.

Annick didn't say anything but appeared to be listening to something. "Goody suggests I scry your future. We may not see anything but would you like to try?"

Jack was filled with excitement mixed with nervousness. Long ago, Annick had foretold he should never feed on warmbloods and he hadn't. If she scried now, would she find something else wrong with him?

Annick called for Annie to prepare the infusion. When she returned with the pot of simmering liquid, she said, "I won't stay. The pies are about ready to come out of the oven." Her eyes darted to either side of Annick and she broke into a smile. "Besides, you already have more than enough witches for one scrying." She briefly clasped Jack's shoulder. "Remember, no matter what you see, you still need to help the children with their lessons this evening."

Jack relaxed into a smile. Annie had the knack of grounding him. "No chance that I'll forget. I have something special in mind." He planned to demonstrate Tom Harriot's trick for stacking cannonballs. Jack used to play that with Mistress Roydon, substituting billiard balls for the real thing. Master Roydon would bellow at the racket they made but then he'd join in too. Jack's smile faded. Had Master Roydon fully recovered? Pierre had assured him that would be the case, but Jack hadn't gotten to see him after he was lifted out of the cellar.

"Jack? Would you rather me not scry?" Annick asked.

He looked down at her concerned face and quickly refocused his attention. "Nay, I can't wait although likely as not, all you'll see is the stack of chores Father H has lined up for me."

He brought over a small three-legged stool for the pot and placed it in front of Annick. She used a needle to pierce her finger, letting a drop fall into the hot liquid. He then pierced his finger with his sharp eyetooth and added a drop of his blood.

Jack crouched in front of Annick as she studied the infusion. He smelled the heady aroma of herbs. Moonwort predominated. His thoughts drifted.

"You are right to think of us as family," she said softly. "The threads of our bloodlines are intertwined. That's why we feel like family."

"You mean I'm related to you?" Jack asked, flummoxed at the thought. He didn't know who his parents were.

"I can only speculate. Perhaps you share a common ancestor with the Normans." Annick paused as if she was listening to someone. "You should look into the infusion. Let me know if you see anything."

Jack leaned over the hot liquid in the iron pot. The steam made his vision blur. After a moment, a shadowy shape emerged. She twisted and soared, breathing fire from her mouth. Jack laughed aloud. "Corra!"

"Who's she?"

The vision quickly faded, but it was etched into his mind. "Mistress Roydon's familiar—a firedrake."

"The one you painted in the crypt?" Annick asked, looking astonished.

Jack nodded, his grin still threatening to split his face. "I haven't seen her in decades. Thank you!"

#

"Why didn't you tell him what you saw?" Goody asked.

Annick frowned. "Would that be wise? Bind him to a vision of someone he's never met? She could be from the past or the future. Their paths may have already crossed." She shook her head. "That's a risk I can't take." But she'd remember the girl's dark-skinned, intelligent face and laughing eyes.

Susanna huffed impatiently. "For those of us who don't know what you're talking about, a little explanation, please."

"Annick saw the image of a girl in the potion," Goody said. "She was a Norman and a witch."

Susannah stared at her, horrified. "I hope you're not suggesting a witch and a wearh are meant to be together."

Goody shrugged. "It's happened before. Need I remind you of Diana and Matthew?"

"And they discovered their destiny on their own," Annick thought. "The same should be true for Jack. For all we know, the girl was a distant ancestor."

Goody was eyeing her skeptically, but didn't debate the point. "Jack's threads are so snarled, it's plain the future won't be kind to him."

"Why do you think he saw Corra?" Annick asked. "I didn't."

"Nor did I," Susanna said and turned to Goody. "Did you?"

"No," she said slowly, looking thoughtful.

"So what was it?" Annick asked. "Simply his imagination?"

"Perhaps, but I don't think so." Goody frowned. "So little is understood about the nature of familiars. It's conceivable a loose bond still connects them."

Annick hoped that was the case. Jack needed to be strong for all their sakes. She'd heard rumors of a wearh forcing himself on a weaver in Scotland. Others said she was complicit. She'd been arrested and tried for witchcraft. During her trial, she claimed to have had intimate relations with the devil. An ominous sign of coming troubles between their two races? So far, Andrew had succeeded in maintaining harmonious relations between witches, wearhs, and daemons. Envious wearhs had tried to destroy him and failed. But the Congregation was going stronger, and most of its members frowned upon creatures mingling. Would London continue to be the exception?

#

Jack hoped to draw Corra's image when he returned to the bell tower, but Father H called for him as soon as he arrived. Jack found him in the crypt. The St. James Garlickhythe Gathering had resumed meeting there a few months ago. His murals had miraculously escaped being damaged by the fire. Now he wondered if somehow Corra had protected them.

Jack skidded to a stop in front of Father H. "Reporting for duty!"

"Such enthusiasm is commendable," Father H said drily. "Make sure you maintain it throughout the upcoming tasks. The Coopers are ready to move into their house. Leonard sent word their cart will arrive midafternoon. But before you leave, we have another matter to discuss." Father H paused for a moment as he contemplated a scene depicting Mistress Roydon and Goody Alsop. "The fire proved that no location is completely secure. The crypt may not be so lucky next time. I too am not indestructible."

Why was he mentioning this now? Jack scrambled to find a reason as Father H went to the far wall of the crypt. His fingers pried along the edges of one of the stones then removed it to reveal a cavity. Jack stared transfixed as he extracted a leather folder from the recess.

"How did I miss this?" Jack exclaimed. "I'd resurfaced much of the stonework in preparation for painting the murals."

A smile ghosted across Father H's face. "But you didn't examine the lower stones. Let this be a lesson to you."

"Of what? That hidden treasure lies everywhere? Does Leonard know about this?"

"No, and you shouldn't tell him," Father H admonished. "With secrets comes responsibility." He opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of parchment. It was decorated with a curious design of dragons.

"It's a page from an illuminated book," Jack said, growing serious as well. "An alchemy text, perhaps."

Father H nodded. "That's what I believe. It was sent to me by an alchemist. His name is Edward Kelley. Do you remember him?"

Jack considered for a moment. "The name sounds vaguely familiar. Did he live in Prague?"

"Aye, he was there when you were in Prague with the Roydons. Edward used to be a member of my flock." Father H frowned. "I disapproved of much of his behavior. He was unscrupulous and immoral. Frankly, it was a relief when he moved away. I received this page from him not long after the Roydons left London. Edward said Diana should have it."

Mistress Roydon was also an alchemist. She could have met with Kelley in Prague. Jack studied the page more closely. "The designs are similar in style to a book the Roydons acquired from the emperor."

"The one you helped them recover? That thought occurred to me as well." Father H took a slow breath. "I have no idea when you or I will see Diana, but we must keep this safe for her until that time arrives. My responsibility is now also yours."

"Thank you for entrusting me with the secret," Jack said, his heart leaping. His desire to reunite with the Roydons had suddenly acquired a tangible purpose. He wasn't simply being selfish. He needed to stay alive to ensure the manuscript's delivery.

Father H was watching him, a sympathetic look on his face. "Finding meaning and purpose to our lives isn't easy. Every wearh must decide for themselves what course to follow." He pulled out a letter from his cassock. "I received a letter from Philippe this morning. He has a suggestion for your future. I appreciate that he approached me first."

"Does he want me to return to Paris?"

"Is that what you want?"

Jack hesitated as he considered how to respond. "Eventually, but it's not home," he admitted, hedging his answer.

"How do you feel about Cambridge? It's close enough that you can visit London whenever you like."

"What would I do there?" Jack asked, shocked. Art commissions and concert performances would be hard to come by so far from court.

"Go to university. Philippe believes the time is right for you to further your education, and I agree."

Jack's mouth dropped. He'd never considered the idea and frankly had never been interested in it. Universities were for clerics and scholars, and he was neither. "I thought Cambridge University was closed because of the plague," he said, reaching for an easy way out.

"It's reopening this spring. You're not nervous, are you? It's quite an opportunity Philippe is giving you. I fully expect you to make me proud."

Jack swallowed. He hadn't expected to be given a choice on his next task, but he'd assumed it would be something suited to his training. What could his sieur hope to obtain by shipping him off to Cambridge?

"Philippe will arrange for your admittance. He's particularly interested in you working for a young daemon named Isaac Newton. I've heard about him. He's a good lad and a brilliant mathematician. Some of his work in optics and astronomy relates to Tom Harriot's. Philippe is confident that Isaac will appreciate the work you did for Tom. He needs a draftsman."

Now it was more understandable, but still . . . Jack had hoped to join Leonard in the King's Company. Was that the real reason Father H agreed to ship him off to Cambridge?

#

After the debacle at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Gerbert dispatched Aurora to Rome. She was useless to him in France. She would probably consider her time away from him a form of penance, and perhaps it was. He was unable to determine how much she was to blame for what happened. The de Clermonts had outplayed them this time but the game was far from over.

Once he'd completed his reassessment, he summoned her to his castle in Aurillac at the foot of the Cantal Mountains. It was a place she didn't like to visit. She found the location too isolated and the buildings had seen few modifications since the twelfth century. From his perspective, the remoteness of the castle provided an ideal location to plot his next move.

Three days after Aurora's arrival, he summoned her to his study, high in one of the turrets.

"We underestimated the de Clermont pack," he grudgingly admitted. "It won't happen again."

"We may be able to salvage the plan," she suggested. "Louis will continue to be susceptible to women."

"True, but we've lost our advantage now that he's been alerted to the use of poison. Still, your efforts are not without positive results. The de Clermonts have proven themselves to be linked to the Bourbon rulers. When the Bourbon line falls, they will too."

"And when it does, you'll establish a ruler of your choosing?"

He nodded. "The Habsburgs will be our unwitting allies. The connections I've established over the past century will stand us in good stead. You should begin preparations to leave for Vienna. You'll find Leopold much more pleasant than Louis. He's a gifted musician and a devout Catholic." He allowed a smile to cross his face. "You'll find him and his wife quite malleable."

She didn't look as pleased as he would have expected. "Are we going to cede France to the de Clermonts?"

"That's exactly what we'll do. For now. Philippe's family is his vulnerability. It will take time, but one by one we'll dupe them into serving us. That won't be your task. You are too well known to them."

"I may be of assistance with Freyja," she countered. "I doubt her presence at court was simply a coincidence. Knowing who aided her will gain us valuable leverage."

"Do you have someone in mind to spy on her?"

She nodded. "Domenico. He often frequents the same circles."

"You have my permission, but don't let him do anything to arouse her suspicion. She succeeded in banishing you from court. She may still be monitoring you."

Philippe didn't inject himself into English politics—a severe error in judgment. The English had no love for the French. By feeding on their distrust, he aimed to place France in a vice. Louis would be more easily steered if he was hemmed in by the Habsburgs and the English. The Dutch could also prove to be a valuable resource.

"When do you wish me to leave for Vienna?" Aurora asked.

"We'll both depart in five days. I'll travel with you partway."

"Are you returning to Venice?"

"Not yet. Cairo is my destination." His target was Matthew de Clermont, but disclosing that to Aurora would accomplish nothing. The fewer who shared a secret, the less chance for leakage. He'd given a great deal of thought on how to neutralize the manjasang Philippe relied on more than anyone else. Gerbert's informants had provided the solution, but he would personally select the vessel.

Matthew's son Benjamin was Gerbert's wild card. He'd hold him in reserve for now, but Benjamin's hatred of the de Clermonts would make him a useful tool at the appropriate time . . . if Gerbert could control him.

The key was Benjamin's obsession to have children with a witch. He believed the rumors that such a union was possible, although he'd so far been unsuccessful. The latest example in Scotland had undoubtedly ended the same way. Gerbert could maintain a tight leash on the manjasang by a judicious application of rumors and innuendos.

#

Jack reined his horse to a halt in front of the simple stone structure in Lincolnshire. The well-maintained farmhouse was built of limestone. He'd spotted numerous sheep in the surrounding fields. They reminded him of the sheep on Tom Harriot's property in Norfolk. Isaac Newton appeared to be cast in the same mold. Both men were mathematicians and daemons. What other similarities would he find?

He tied his horse to the hitching rail and rapped on the door. Father H had written Isaac a couple of weeks ago, giving the date of his arrival. It was midmorning. Most everyone would be working in the fields, but Isaac should be home. Until the university opened, he was conducting his experiments at the family farmstead.

When no one answered, he peered in through one of the small glass windows. Not seeing or smelling anyone, he headed for an apple orchard near the front door. Spring had arrived early with a few blooms already present on the trees. His ears picked up the sound of hooves on the lane and the rapid beat of a heart. He spun around to see a horseman in the distance. Jack stood in place, watching the rider approach.

When the man dismounted at the farmstead, Jack retraced his steps. The rider appeared to be a few years older than him. A small telescope sticking out of his travel bag alerted him this was likely his new employer. Isaac's dark wavy hair was worn loose. A brilliant red neckcloth contrasted with his dark frock coat.

"Are you Jack Blackfriars?" Isaac asked.

"Aye, I'm your new draftsman."

"And much more, aren't you?" he said, giving him a sharp look. "Did Hubbard tell you, I first rejected you?"

Jack stifled a sigh. "He failed to mention that."

"Then he told me who you really are. Your nature," Isaac added in a low hiss. "Is it true you worked for Thomas Harriot?"

"He was my guardian when I was a child," Jack replied. "We remained close friends until his passing."

"Did you help on his optics experiments?"

"Those as well as astronomy. I used to chart the sky for him."

A smile crossed Isaac's face. "You better remember everything you did with him. Did he conduct alchemical experiments?"

"Tom didn't but Sir Henry Percy did."

"You knew Percy?" Isaac's smile broadened. "I'm glad I took a risk on you, Jacko. You and I will get along fine."

Notes: In 1662 Benjamin had an affair with a witch in the Scottish Highlands where he was known as Nickie-Ben. Isobel Gowdie was the name of the witch. He left her soon after, never knowing she was a weaver and had conceived what would be his Bright Born child, Janet Gowdie.

In my next story, Gamesmanship, we'll jump forward to 1704.