Chapter 2: Spymaster
Peter reluctantly agreed to Neal's request. El would eventually need to know about the issues associated with Neal turning invisible, but under the circumstances, he could wait to inform her. Neal's presence was essential for the journey. It was up to the rest of them to keep him safe.
When they reconvened in the library vault, Peter assigned himself the task of devising a strategy to persuade an imperious monarch to break off an engagement. That period in Elizabeth's reign was dominated by William Cecil. He was her chief advisor, serving as both Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer. More than anyone else, he had the queen's ear. Had he been infected by a zoog? Was there any way for them to know? The only previous known cases had been diagnosed after an inspection of their cranial cavities.
Neal's sensitivity had increased several-fold since the days of Martin Keller. Perhaps he'd be able to detect a zoog parasite. If there were ghasts lurking within humans at court, Peter should certainly be aware of it, but Henry and Sara might not yet have sufficient algolnium in their systems.
Peter scanned the group. They'd spread their materials on the central reading table in the vault. Sara, Neal—even Henry—had a stack of books in front of them. Lavinia and Mozzie were carrying on a low-pitched conversation at one end of the table.
They'd decided to dispatch Henry the next morning. Thanks to the time distortions inherent in a wormhole, Henry could, in theory, spend months in Elizabethan England and then return to their timeline at a prearranged time which in this case would be a few hours later. But as a practical matter, he should conduct his work as quickly as possible before causing any further disruption to history.
"We've got a date!" Mozzie said excitedly, breaking into Peter's thoughts. "The queen held an elaborate reception to welcome the new French ambassador in May 1569. It was only a week after the betrothal announcement."
"Where was the reception held?" Neal asked.
"Whitehall Palace," Mozzie said. "The palace no longer exists, but during Elizabeth's time, it was her primary London residence. For our purposes, the location is ideal. It's conveniently located near Westminster Abbey. The Pyx Chamber where the Tudor Crown is stored is part of the abbey complex."
Peter exhaled, his qualms rising unbidden to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Neal, Henry, and Sara were all clearly excited at the prospect. Mozzie would be the last one to exercise caution. Lavinia alone wouldn't likely be swayed by the emotions of the moment so he turned to her. "Assuming we're able to appear at the reception without being tossed into the Tower, will the language amulets work with Elizabethan English?"
She nodded calmly. "You used them successfully in ancient Egypt. England will be much less challenging. Milly will even be able to program them for you to have a foreign accent. For instance, you may wish to be a delegation from an overseas country."
"Like Sweden," Neal suggested eagerly. "Peter, you'd like that. You've always had an affinity for Vikings, and the country is remote enough, I doubt strongly there's normally any Swedish representation at court."
"I'll find out," Henry offered. "If there is, you could be Finnish instead."
"I wish I could go with you," Mozzie said, heaving a regretful sigh, "but my place is here. Milly and I need to be available to lend assistance. Our primary challenge will be to create a suitable replacement for the ruby. The Tudor Crown is only depicted in one painting of questionable accuracy. You'll need to use your com-link to relay an image of the ruby so we can create an exact duplicate. I'll then transmit the replacement through the wormhole."
"Are you certain the com-links will work through a wormhole?" Peter asked, floored by the notion that they could be in contact with their group despite the vast time difference.
"It's a simple matter of gravity wave resonances within the algolnium aether," Mozzie said, "or at least that's what Milly affirms. We'll hold up our end, but how will you break up the royal engagement?"
"The key is William Cecil," Peter said. "He needs to believe that either Dudley is a traitor or that he's being manipulated by traitors. If we can do that, Cecil will convince the queen for us."
"Walsingham is your best bet," Lavinia said, tapping the book in front of her. "He's known as Elizabeth's spymaster and employed cryptographers on his staff. If he receives an incriminating document from a source that he believes is trustworthy, he'll take it to Cecil who will then alert Elizabeth."
It seemed illogical that an alien could be such an expert on Earth's history, but Lavinia claimed that ever since she arrived on Earth, she'd been preparing for precisely the sort of crisis they now faced. Meropians had long considered that at some point Azathoth and his fellow Ymar would resort to time travel to acquire the crystals they needed. And if they were able to reenter Earth, the entire galaxy would once more be accessible to them.
"How will we be able to forge a document that will pass muster with a spymaster?" Sara asked worriedly.
"Neal's an artist," Mozzie said. "I'm sure he possesses the latent genes of an expert forger who's been impatiently waiting to rise to the surface." He smiled benignly at Neal. "We intend to give you that opportunity."
"In 1569, the air was poisonous with plots," Lavinia added, appearing to accept Mozzie's assertion even as Neal stared at his friend in shock. "Most of them revolved around Mary of Scots. Walsingham was instrumental in exposing several attempts to depose Elizabeth and replace her with Mary. Your task will be to persuade Walsingham that the cult wants to do precisely that."
#
El frowned at the article in her lap. She would have much rather spent the evening in the library vault than in the perusal of medical journals. Satchmo and a cup of herbal tea were her lone companions. "Little one, your adventures will be much more exciting, I promise," she murmured to their baby.
Was it any wonder she drifted off to sleep? She was awakened by the sound of a key in the lock. While Satchmo rushed to the front door, she hurriedly righted her pillows.
"Still up?" Peter asked, stepping into the room. "It's almost midnight." He took off his overcoat and tossed it onto a chair.
"You know me. There's nothing like a fascinating article on psychiatric comorbidity to keep me wide awake."
He chuckled and leaned over to kiss her before sitting on the couch. "You were fast asleep, weren't you?"
"But now I'm not." She curled her legs underneath her so there'd be more room for him. "I'm eager to hear what's been decided."
"We have the framework of a plan," he said. "I'm to be an ambassador, from Sweden no less. The city of York was a stronghold for Scandinavian settlers since the days of the Vikings. I intend to tell Walsingham that I stopped off in York on the way to England. There, one of my contacts told me of a plot he'd intercepted. A cult member has turned a naïve Dudley into an unwitting pawn in an effort to depose Elizabeth in favor of Mary, Queen of Scots."
"Do you think you'll be able to convince him?"
"We hope to," he hedged. "Neal's working on a forgery of a letter that will supposedly be from King Philip of Spain. He was a known ally of Mary and supported numerous attempts to overthrow or assassinate Elizabeth. Walsingham was already aware of his machinations in 1569, the date we've chosen. There are copies of documents written by Philip in the library. Neal will be able to prepare the letter in advance. All he'll need to do in England is add the name of the traitor."
"Assuming you can identify them," El pointed out. "From where I'm sitting that's a huge challenge."
"Not quite as much as you might think," he countered, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her toward him. "For the queen to be swayed, the enemy has to be highly placed. A reception for the French ambassador will be a draw for all the powerful members at court. During this period, England was attempting to encourage greater tolerance for Huguenots in France. Before history was rewritten, Walsingham voiced his support for a marriage between Elizabeth and one of the French king's brothers as a means to further influence the French court. Walsingham can't be in favor of the betrothal to Dudley. It's yet another reason he should embrace our news."
As El listened to Peter's explanation of the strategy, his excitement was palpable even though he was attempting to temper it. Restoring history was heady stuff for anyone but especially for someone with his interests.
"Henry will leave tomorrow morning," Peter said. "His destination is Whitehall Palace. He'll arrive a couple of days before a planned reception in honor of the new French ambassador. Henry's job will be to determine if we'll be able to plausibly infiltrate the reception."
"If Henry pops into a palace, won't he immediately be thrown into a dungeon for being an intruder?"
"I'm not happy about it either, but it won't be as dangerous as it sounds. Security was much more relaxed than it is now. Mozzie will select a location along the Thames near London Bridge. Henry recommends a midday arrival. He asserts the chances of him being spotted when the streets are crowded will be much less than if he were to arrive in the middle of the night. There were no bobbies on patrol in Elizabethan England. The richness of Henry's attire will make others automatically treat him with respect. Garments were an indication of status. He's confident he'll be able to bluff his way out of any unpleasantness."
El smiled. "I'm sure he relishes the opportunity. Henry was probably getting bored with quiet Arkham." She could have raised a hundred other concerns, but the decision had already been made. If Henry found himself in a situation he couldn't handle, he could use the compendium to blast himself back to the present time.
"Sara is also over the moon to be going along. She's preparing detailed descriptions of our wardrobe needs. Mozzie's assured us Milly will be able to configure the appropriate attire when we're in the wormhole."
"You said the com-links are supposed to work. I'll insist on seeing all of you in your silks and velvets. Who will most resemble a peacock?"
"It better not be me. I've already nixed any slouchy caps with long plumes."
"As an ambassador, you may have no choice." El chuckled. "I'm sure you'll be very handsome in your tights and doublet." She paused for a moment. It was becoming more difficult to conceal her concern about the dangers they'd face. "What are the issues you haven't told me about?"
Peter groaned. "We'd be up all night if I enumerated them. Here's just one of many. Assuming this works, we'll drop into Whitehall Palace and mingle with the aristocracy not to mention the queen herself. The information we'll acquire will be staggering. Not just about the people, but the buildings, many of which no longer exist. Much of London went up in flames in 1666. Whitehall was destroyed about twenty years later. We'll have to force ourselves not to divulge anything we've learned. That knowledge is not meant to be ours in this timeline."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Your notes will go into the vault along with so many of your other findings."
He nodded glumly. "At least with the Neolithic artifacts, they can be put on display even though we can't mention anything about the alien races associated with them. Your husband will be very frustrated." He gave a rueful smile. "I'll try to keep my grumbles to myself."
And she would as well. It didn't escape her notice that of all the concerns Peter faced, he picked the most lighthearted one. Her thoughts were more on smallpox, cholera, the bubonic plague, and a host of other diseases they'd be exposed to.
She didn't pursue the subject. They'd already gone over their greatest fears. Peter's concern was that if anything went wrong, he wouldn't be here for her and the baby. Her rebuttal was that if he didn't go on the mission, the world awaiting their baby could be a far more dangerous place.
Her thoughts drifted to Sara. This would be her first mission through a wormhole. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight.
#
When Peter left to return home, the rest of them decided to reconvene at Mozzie's lab in the science building. Lavinia supplied them with book bags for their reference materials.
As they walked to Derleth Hall, Sara was glad Lavinia was along to serve as a reminder to be cool and professional. But what a kick! She could select the fabrics, the colors, the styles, and then let Milly the wizard transform them into actual clothes.
The queen was known to be fond of dancing. The reception for the ambassador was bound to include music. Sara had taken some dance classes in college but knew very little about historical practices. Giving herself—and the others—a crash course in the customs of the period would be tomorrow's assignment.
Sara groaned that she hadn't started preparations months earlier. She should have been spending her free time studying historical costumes and customs. Learning how to cook was so low on the list of priorities, she might as well go ahead and scratch it off.
Who knew where they might need to go next? Paris during the time of Napoleon? Ancient Rome? Medieval Italy? Henry was right. Skill in swordsmanship was essential. Archery would be useful too.
She turned to Neal. "Do you know how to ride a horse?"
He looked at her blankly. "I thought we were infiltrating a reception."
"That's this time. What about the next mission? Horsemanship is just as valuable as skill with a blade."
"Sara's right," Lavinia agreed. "Assimilation into a foreign culture presents an array of challenges that you would all be well advised to work on. I regret I didn't have more time to study Earth's culture before I arrived." She glanced at Neal. "If I'd been more familiar, I could have avoided several painful mistakes."
"You did remarkably well under the circumstances," Neal quickly said. "I hope we're able to come up to your standard."
Henry was eyeing them thoughtfully. It was the first time Sara had heard Lavinia acknowledge inadequacies, although she must have regretted abandoning Neal on the streets of Arkham when he was a small boy.
"We'll take our lead from you, Sara," Neal said. "With your acting experience, you won't have any difficulty in pretending to be a member of court. I'm the one who should be nervous."
"Not after all the fake dates we went on," she retorted. "You were able to fool your students and they can be a tough audience. Since the courtiers don't know you, they'll be much easier to deceive."
"What's this about fake dates?" Henry asked, his eyes narrowing. "Somehow you neglected to mention them. As head of security, I demand details."
"For another time," Neal said firmly, flicking a glance at Lavinia.
When they arrived at Mozzie's lab, they once more divided into teams. Neal and Henry turned a corner of the lab into forgery central. Lavinia had collected several samples of the Spanish king's handwriting for Neal to copy . . . once he learned how to use a quill. And that turned out to be the greatest challenge of all. The inkblots he made would be worthy additions to the Rorschach test.
Cyrus was working in his chemistry lab on the floor below. His task was to prepare an analysis of the current Black Prince's Ruby. The information would be relayed to Milly to guide her in fabricating an exact duplicate.
Lavinia offered to work with Sara on costumes. Sara knew the Meropian was a student of history but fashion was a different matter. How could a woman who routinely dressed in an old-fashioned tweed skirt and jacket be any help? But Sara didn't want to hurt her feelings and expressed her gratitude for the assistance.
"Have you taken status into account when you chose their attire?" Lavinia asked. "It would be inappropriate for Neal and Peter to be clad in the same manner. And what have you decided on beards?"
Sara swallowed. "I hadn't gotten to facial appearances yet." Mainly because she hadn't realized she'd have to configure them too.
"Beards are essential," Lavinia declared firmly. "Otherwise they'll be considered sickly, but they must be carefully trimmed. Their hair length will all have to be adjusted, of course."
"Of course," Sara murmured, scribbling notes.
"Show me what you picked out for Peter," Lavinia ordered.
Sara opened an art book to show her the painting she'd selected. It depicted a group of courtiers surrounding the queen. "I thought the man in emerald-green velvet looked particularly fine," she said. "The color suits Peter. Do you think Milly will have any issue with the plumed hat?"
Lavinia scowled. "The style you chose is unacceptable. Peter is supposed to be an ambassador. He should be clad in black, similar to the man standing behind the queen."
Sara sighed. The portly fellow seemed to be a poor role model. The breeches were baggy, his jacket ill-fitting.
The corners of Lavinia's lips twitched into the hint of a smile. "But the look you chose for Peter will work well for Henry. And for yourself, as a princess, your dress should be appropriately regal." She removed a book from Sara's stack and skimmed the pages rapidly. "This one should do nicely with a pearl net to contain your hair."
Sara blinked at the gown Lavinia had chosen. It was much more resplendent than the one she'd picked out. Her heart sang as she imagined herself dancing in it.
"You realize your face will need to be whitened. Fortunately, there won't be any need for you to use the lead paste that was so popular at the time." She paused to study Sara. "Your hair can remain red but Milly will need to heighten your hairline by at least an inch."
"I had no idea you were so knowledgeable," Sara admitted. "I would have made a hash of things without you."
Lavinia chuckled. "You assumed because of my clothes I knew nothing about fashion."
Sara felt heat rise to her face.
"Don't be embarrassed. That's exactly the impression I wanted to give." Lavinia leaned forward and whispered, "Don't tell the others. This will be our secret."
Lavinia could transform herself to resemble anyone, but what did she look like on Merope? Sara longed to ask her but she could already predict Lavinia would refuse to answer.
When Lavinia finally ordered a halt, it was well past midnight and everyone was dragging. Even the librarian's dark brown skin was lined with fatigue.
Since Sara's return from London, she and Neal had taken turns staying at each other's home on weekends. Today she'd already planned to spend the night with him in the loft. Her red Beetle was in a campus lot reserved for faculty. Since Neal didn't own a car, he'd stuck his permit on the windscreen.
On the way home, they dropped Henry off at his apartment with the promise to meet him at the lab the next morning. A thousand tasks continued to spin in Sara's mind, and she wasn't alone. Henry needed to contact Fei Hong in London to fill her in on their plans. The Meropian was in charge of Gideon Talmadge's financial empire while he was away. Last month Gideon decided to relocate Talmadge Holdings to Arkham. Henry was responsible for procuring office space and having it customized to Fei's specifications.
If the mission went as expected, by Sunday evening everyone would be safely back in Arkham. It seemed incredible that Sara would return to her news desk Monday, but such was the nature of time travel. Neal would be back teaching classes, and she already knew he planned to finish reviewing papers before going to bed. Perhaps that was for the best. They didn't have the time to get nervous.
#
Neal awoke to his shoulder being shaken. He looked up at Sara groggily, for a minute forgetting why she was there.
"You need to come to bed," Sara insisted. "Those student papers can wait till Monday morning. Trust me, as a former student, I can remember vividly my joy at not receiving homework back."
Neal smiled as he rubbed his eyes. "Can I use the excuse that the demands of forging a document prevented me from grading them?"
"It works for me." She tugged on his chair. "Come on. Normally, I don't have to ask you twice to join me in bed."
When he dozed off, Sara was sitting beside him reading a book on Elizabethan etiquette. Now she was clad in one of his pajama tops and apparently nothing else. The sheets were folded back invitingly.
He quickly stripped and joined her under the covers. Sleep could wait. No matter what happened the next day, the night was theirs, and he wasn't about to squander the moment by bringing up the side effects of algolnium energy.
Earlier that evening, he'd discussed the subject with Henry as Peter had requested. But the talk hadn't been necessary. Henry said both he and Sara were already aware of the difficulties but weren't making an issue of it. They all had limitations as well as strengths. Based on what Henry said, there was no need to discuss it with Sara. If Neal were to bring it up now, she'd be concerned that he didn't feel he was ready for the mission. This was hardly the time to show weakness.
To have any chance of success, she needed to believe that somehow he'd be able to discover who the cult member was. Henry might be able to replace the ruby without his assistance, but no one else could identify the traitor. Peter's adage of faking it till it becomes real came to mind. Neal needed to project self-confidence even when there was precious little of it.
#
Henry reported to Mozzie's lab promptly at eight o'clock the next morning. He'd stopped on the way over to load up on hot bagels from the bakery. Mozzie had said he'd provide lox and cold cuts. This would be the last regular meal Henry would have for a while. In a few hours, he'd have to live off whatever Elizabethan fare he could scrounge.
Sara wanted to instruct the travelers in dance, but Henry had a higher priority. Neal's thief skills were nonexistent. Henry had already tasked himself with the delicate work of extracting a jewel from the crown and replacing it with a forgery. But if something went wrong, Neal might need to replace the jewel instead. They only had a few hours to practice before Henry was due to depart. Fortunately, Neal was a quick learner. Playing the guitar had provided good training for his new life as a thief and con artist. Not, of course, that Henry used those words. They were scholars dedicated to restoring Earth's timeline and preventing an alien invasion. Henry was even getting to the point he could say that with a straight face.
His first trip in a wormhole . . . no wonder he hadn't slept the previous night. He was used to slipping into unusual surroundings, but normally he was in disguise before he left. Here he was ready to blast off to Elizabethan London, and he was still in jeans and a flannel shirt.
The moment to leave arrived all too quickly, and with it, doubts began to surface. "You're sure the wormhole will transform me?" Henry asked Mozzie.
"I have programmed the date correctly." The female voice coming from within the armillary sphere still sounded creepy. Milly was supposed to be a vivacious woman with short curly blonde hair, not an assemblage of brass hoops. "Your appearance will be exactly as Sara requested."
"Call us as soon as you can to alert us you made it safely," Neal said. "We'll be able to see your attire then."
"Henry will be fine," Peter told Neal. "I have it on good authority that armillary spheres never lie."
"You've got your compendium and your com-link," Neal asked for the umpteenth time, not appearing reassured by Peter's comment.
"Relax, man. This isn't nearly as dangerous as my usual job." That was stretching the truth but they didn't need to know that. Going into hostile territory without a weapon was not his preferred method of operating, but Mozzie assured him a dagger would appear along with his clothes once he was in the vortex. "Let's get moving. What should I do?"
"Simply stand in front of the machine." Mozzie directed him to face a monitor which displayed multicolor waves.
"See ya in a few hours," Henry said, slapping a confident grin on his face. "Hit it, Mozz."
#
"Welcome to our world," Mozzie told Neal after Henry departed. He didn't appear at all sympathetic to his frustration. "What you're suffering from is wormhole-envy. We've all been there. The first time is the roughest. You'll quickly grow accustomed to it."
"I don't want to get used to it," Neal protested. "This is like watching the shantaks fly off into the sunset."
Sara crossed her arms. "Do you really want to remind your unlucky teammates that we haven't had the opportunity to ride one?"
Neal winced. "Sorry."
Lavinia tapped her watch with one finger. "If you can manage to pull yourselves away from whining, we only have a few short hours to prepare. June has invited us to her house. Her larder is much better equipped than Mozzie's."
"Milly and I will stay here and monitor for anomalies," Mozzie said. "We've reconfigured all your com-links so that any transmissions will be recorded here as well."
"I'll meet you at June's," Peter said. "El wants to attend the preparations. I'll stop by the house first and pick her up."
Lavinia rode with Neal and Sara back to June's. She used the opportunity to lecture them on the powerful people they'd likely encounter at court.
Neal realized that the weekend was passing like a dream sequence where time had little meaning and nothing appeared logical. The wormhole that would transmit Henry's com-link signal was programmed such that all his bulletins would arrive within a narrow window of three hours. At four o'clock that afternoon, they fully expected to undertake the trip themselves.
Henry called Neal's com-link shortly after they arrived at June's. "The Eagle has landed," he whispered. "Can you see my thumbs up?"
"As well as your beard!" Neal said, grinning at his new look. Henry's hair was a little longer than before. The beard was neatly trimmed to a point.
The others all clustered around to view Henry in his Elizabethan attire. "You look the image of the Renaissance courtier!" Sara crowed. "I can't wait till we join you."
"Any difficulties?" Peter asked.
"Nope. I heard Mozzie tell Milly to blast me to England, and the next second I found myself on a quay next to the Thames. Get ready for the stench. London smells worse than a latrine."
Neal was already prepared for it. With no sewer system, the inhabitants dumped chamber pots directly onto the streets.
"I'm calling from the courtyard at Whitehall," Henry continued. "I'm behind a hedge, so no one can see me but I better keep this short. The main news is that the reception is no longer two days from now. It's being held this evening. According to the church bells, it's currently just after four o'clock. The festivities begin in two hours. Mozzie, did you catch that?"
"I'm reading you loud and clear," Mozzie said. "I'll make the necessary adjustments."
"Good, in light of that, I don't plan to return to Arkham. There's no need."
"That will simplify my task," Mozzie said. "Milly can use your signal to determine the arrival point for the others. Have you picked an appropriate site?"
"Yeah, lock onto my present location. If you wait to arrive at the great hall till after the reception has begun, there should be so many people milling around that a few additions won't merit much attention."
They agreed to meet Henry shortly after the ringing of six bells. He wouldn't call them again unless he ran into difficulty. He planned to spend the afternoon scoping out the Pyx Chamber where the crown jewels were held.
Neal exhaled. So far so good. Soon they'd be joining Henry. Sara's eyes were sparkling with excitement. Even Lavinia relaxed into a smile.
"I wish I could go with you," El said wistfully.
"Perhaps someday our child will be accompanying us both," Peter said, clasping her hand. "But for now you'll have to let your husband, the Swedish ambassador, represent the Gilmans."
Neal's cover was a younger son of John III, King of Sweden. Sara would masquerade as his wife. He'd decided to call himself the Duke of Marstrand and hope no one in Elizabeth's court had ever visited the charming seaside town. He was fully prepared to talk in Swedish if necessary.
Sara's hope of teaching them Elizabethan dances was dashed as there was barely enough time to practice the elaborate courtly bows. Anything else they'd have to improvise. Sara grabbed each of them for wardrobe consultations then rushed back to Mozzie, equipped with a picnic hamper of food.
Promptly at four o'clock, Neal, Sara, and Peter took their positions in Mozzie's lab. Team SCAGR was ready for liftoff.
Notes: Henry was quoting Neal Armstrong when he said, The Eagle has landed." Armstrong used the expression in 1969 when the lunar module landed on the moon. Mozzie's remark about Neal having the genes of a forger sounds like he has inside knowledge about a certain Neal Caffrey. Readers of A Caffrey Christmas Carol know where his information comes from.