Chapter 3: Pyx Chamber

Whitehall Palace, London. 1569.

As soon as Neal exited the vortex, he spun around to help Sara. By now, Peter was usually able to remain upright, but this was Sara's first time. Exiting a wormhole was like being ejected out of a tornado. Maintaining your balance afterward was no easy matter.

This time, though, they were all disoriented—not so much by the wormhole but by their appearance.

"God's Truth," Henry said, with a grin. "What a fine group of worthies you are. You'll note my Elizabethan slang is improving by the minute."

Sara's hair was now elaborately frizzed and adorned with a net of pearls in the back. Her gown of white and tangerine damask, complete with white starched ruff, was based on a painting. Her face had been whitened and her hairline lifted. Only her eyes looked the same.

She approached Neal and stroked his jawline. "Your beard suits you, my lord," she murmured.

"Should I stop shaving?"

"Maybe sometimes," she smiled mischievously. "It makes you look a little devilish. We could get into trouble."

Peter groaned. "There will be no getting into trouble on this mission." His beard was longer than Neal's. It made him look several years older and added an extra note of authority to his countenance. Unlike Neal's russet-colored garments, Peter was dressed in sober black.

Neal's name for the mission was Nils, Duke of Marstrand. Sara was using her same name which was also common in Sweden at the time. Peter was to be known as Lord Kalmar. As for Henry, Sara had dubbed him Lord Henry Bingley.

Neal brought with him a leather satchel containing a quill, the forged letter, and extra paper. All he'd need to add was the name of the traitor, assuming he could identify him. Henry would safeguard the implements till they were needed. Their com-links were secreted inside small pouches attached to their waists.

Henry had picked their arrival point—a hedge bordering a courtyard of the palace. "I've been watching the guests arrive," he said. "There must be hundreds attending. You should have no problem blending in."

"We should all stay close till the cult member is spotted," Peter warned.

"Before we go in, who wants this?" Henry asked, pulling out the compendium.

"Peter should keep it for us," Neal said and was glad Peter didn't raise any objections. He was in the best position to protect their lifeline home. If Neal and Henry were caught stealing the jewel, the compendium could be confiscated, perhaps even destroyed.

"I hope they have food at this shindig," Henry said, seemingly unconcerned about the risks awaiting them. "I already snatched some cheese and a piece of some kind of pie. It tasted like fish. Was it?"

"More than likely," Peter said. "Fish pie was a staple in Elizabethan cuisine. Food should be relatively safe to eat, but don't drink the water."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Who'd want to drink it? I bet it comes straight from the Thames. I lifted some coins and bought a beer while waiting for you to arrive. I'm happy to report the ale scores a thumbs up."

Sara batted her fan of feathers impatiently. "My lords, the reception awaits. Shouldn't we proceed to the palace?"

They didn't need Henry's help with directions. They could simply follow the crowd into a lofty hall. Musicians played on a balcony, but the music was drowned out by the babble of voices. Peter introduced them to the guard at the entrance, who accepted their identities without question.

Once inside, Henry split off. Their goal was to identify Walsingham. If they couldn't find him, their backup plan was for Peter to approach Cecil. The queen had yet to make an appearance. Peter believed Cecil would likely accompany her.

Neal held his arm out at an angle for Sara to rest her hand on, a mannerism she'd demonstrated in Arkham. The formality of the gesture helped remind him he was the son of a king, and his rank was therefore higher than most everyone else present. They'd earlier decided not to introduce themselves unless approached but simply nod regally, counting on their appearance to sell the con.

Neal flinched as the air pressure shifted. A sudden chill sent shards of ice through his veins.

Sara eyed him worriedly. "What is it? Your arm's turned cold."

"Do you sense the cult?" Peter asked in a low voice.

Neal nodded, his eyes flicking from one clump of courtiers to another. "The man in black velvet to our right. He's standing next to a portly man who looks like Falstaff."

"The one with the wispy brown mustache and the elaborate chain of office?" Sara asked.

"That's the one. He has an aura of grey smoke around him just like Nigel and Raquel did at the castle ruins last month." Neal continued to study the man. His physique was similar to Nigel's. Could he be the same person?

The courtier's appearance appeared to dissolve in front of his eyes. Neal blinked rapidly as the hidden identity grew apparent. A brilliant red stone in the center of his necklace emitted the distinctive shimmer of algolnium radiation.

"The monks of Nyarlathotep on Tirelia also possessed auras," Peter said. "Don't stare at him. Continue walking. Let's aim for the opposite side of the hall. I don't want Neal anywhere near him." Peter turned and scanned the crowd. "Where's Henry?"

"He's under the musicians' balcony," Sara said, "and heading our way." She tugged at Neal's arm impatiently. "Keep moving, we need to distance ourselves."

"The alcove under the balcony is a good area for us to talk," Peter said. "We'll be less noticeable."

Neal fought the instinctive urge to hide. The amulet was reassuringly warm on his skin. He suspected it was glowing. He caught Henry's eyes on him and flicked a quick jerk of his head to the far corner of the alcove. Henry gave a brief nod and adjusted his direction.

The crowd was continuing to increase, helping to mask them from the cultist. Even so, when they arrived at their targeted spot, Peter had Neal stand next to the wall with the others shielding him from view. When Henry arrived, Neal pointed the man out.

"I'd seen him earlier in the day," Henry said. "That's Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk."

"He has another name," Neal muttered. "Nigel Griffin."

Peter stared at him, shocked. "The British cult leader?"

Neal nodded, clasping Sara's hand. "And Sara's former boss at the International Herald Tribune. Nigel has somehow possessed Howard's skin."

Henry's brow furrowed. "You told me ghasts could also hide within people. Does that mean Nigel's a type of ghast?"

Neal shook his head. "I don't think so. A ghast looks human but can't talk."

"You're sure it's Nigel?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "The outer skin is translucent. I can see Nigel's face underneath it."

"Perhaps he traveled here the same way we did," Sara suggested. "His appearance was transformed to resemble the real Howard who was either killed or is being held a prisoner by the cult."

"No, it's a different technique," Neal insisted. "When I look at Peter, I can't see through his beard to his clean-shaven face. And there's something else. That large red stone in the center of Nigel's chain of office is an Elnath ruby. I bet that's a crystal to escape back to Tirelia once his task is accomplished."

Henry nodded his head thoughtfully. "I gotta give the guy credit. He's hiding it in plain sight where it will always be readily available. It's a smart move on his part."

Peter frowned. "That crystal complicates our mission. We'll need to acquire it as well before we head back."

"You better leave the snatch and grab to me," Henry said. "I'll work something up."

"Did you have any luck in finding Walsingham or Cecil?" Sara asked Henry.

"Only a confirmation that they haven't arrived."

"Since the queen's not here, I doubt Dudley is," Peter said. "That gives us a window to complete the forgery."

"And I have just the spot," Henry said. "It's a small antechamber behind the musicians' gallery."

"Neal, you should head there with Henry," Peter urged. "Stay as far away from Nigel as possible. He may be able to detect you just like you did him." Peter turned to Sara. "Let's put your investigative skills to work and find out the status of Walsingham and Cecil."

#

Neal and Henry's departure from the hall allowed Peter to breathe a little easier. The odds of Nigel recognizing him and Sara were not as high.

Sara worried her lower lip as she watched Neal and Henry disappear into the crowd. "I wish I'd done more to change Neal's appearance."

"It might not have helped," Peter said, seeking to console her. "If Nigel zeroes in on him, the algolnium in Neal's body or the radiation emitted by his amulet could be just as likely a culprit."

Sara nodded reluctantly. "And if Nigel's an algolnium sniffer, he could detect it in us as well." She took a breath. "Are you familiar with Howard?"

"He's a cousin to the queen, a wealthy landowner, and one of the most powerful men at court."

She winced. "In other words, ideally placed to help the cult, just like in London. This time, though, he's in an even more powerful position."

"I wish we knew whether Nigel replaced his body or is simply impersonating him, but it's irrelevant for our purposes. Howard's profile is just as useful for us as it was for the cult."

"What do you mean?"

"Howard was executed in 1572 for having plotted to overthrow Elizabeth and replace her with Mary. This eliminates any guilt we might feel over destroying his reputation in this timeline."

Sara relaxed into a smile. "It was already meant to be." She puffed out her sleeves with her fingers as she eyed a cluster of women standing to one side. "Those women look like they enjoy a good round of tittle-tattle. Wish me luck. I hope to find out more about the queen and Dudley."

When Sara departed, Peter set his sights on Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, a man he'd recognized from his portrait. The courtier was one of Cecil's close friends. In the untainted timeline, he was also a trusted advisor to Robert Dudley. Had the cult managed to lessen his influence so that now Howard filled that role? Throckmorton could also be working for the cult. Peter had to assume the worst, but even so, Throckmorton might help him identify Walsingham and Cecil.

#

When Neal and Henry returned to the hall, Sara strolled over to meet them. Neal spotted Peter standing next to a distinguished man clad in black garments similar to Peter's clothes.

"Still no sign of the queen?" Henry asked.

"Not yet." Sara nodded in the direction of two elegantly clad women. "I chatted with two of her ladies-in-waiting. The queen is expected any minute. Dudley will probably be with her. The women believe the queen wants to announce a wedding date, but Cecil is advising her to hold off."

Neal passed her the letter. "We should head out."

She nodded wistfully as she secreted the document in a hidden pocket of her gown. Neal knew Sara would love to go with them, but in her finery, it was impossible. "Godspeed, my lord husband," she said, making a curtsy.

"You've got a treasure," Henry said as they left the hall. "Don't let anyone steal her away."

"I'll do my best."

On the way to Westminster Abbey, Neal stopped to call Mozzie. The countdown to steal a ruby had begun.

Earlier in the day, Henry scouted out the location of the abbey, a short ten-minute walk from Whitehall. The crown jewels were stored in the Pyx Chamber, a vaulted space in the undercroft of the monks' dormitory next to the abbey. According to old records, the massive oak door was secured by seven keys of varying dimensions and was kept heavily guarded at all times. This was one door Henry wouldn't be able to use his lock-pick expertise on. Instead, they'd devised a workaround.

They planned to conceal their courtier outfits under the black vestments worn by the clergy. "Borrowing" the garments would be Henry's challenge. The next step would be up to Neal.

Mozzie had prepared what appeared to be a marble such as was common in Elizabethan times. In reality, it was a sophisticated homing device crafted to Milly's specifications. The marble looked like wood but was made of a rubber-like substance to dampen any sound of rolling. Neal would need to place it next to the entrance door. Mozzie could then use the signal transmitted from the marble to calculate the precise location Neal and Henry needed to appear within the chamber.

Mozzie used the Star Trek term beaming to describe the process. Neal would go first. If anyone was in the chamber, he'd press the emergency button on his com-link to be beamed out. Otherwise, Henry would then be transported in to join him.

While Henry sneaked into the dormitory to borrow vestments, Neal took the opportunity to explore the Chapter House. He'd visited the chamber when he was a student at Oxford, but to see it in its Elizabethan splendor was a revelation. The central octagonal space was now lined with tall oriel windows of magnificent medieval stained glass.

After only a few minutes Henry slipped into the Chapter House, carrying a dark bag. They ducked behind a column to slip on the black cassocks.

"I found the entrance to the chamber," Henry whispered. "It's been walled off from the rest of the dormitory. Unfortunately, we won't be able to get very close before you'll need to turn invisible." He frowned. "The time you'll need to remain invisible could be longer than you've ever attempted. To lessen the risk, I'll create a diversion and try to lure them away."

"Putting yourself in greater danger? Forget it. I need you in the Pyx Chamber. Don't worry about me. Necessity is a great motivator."

Henry eyed him unhappily, but Neal knew he had to go along with the original plan as it gave them their best chance of success. "I'll be just outside," Henry reluctantly agreed. "At the sound of any commotion, I'll charge in guns blazing."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Don't forget the Prime Directive."

"To hell with the Prime Directive and Star Trek. But if you want to cast yourself as Spock, go ahead. That means I'm Kirk, and he's always right."

Neal hadn't planned to assume the Spock mantle but he wouldn't mind having the Vulcan's coolness under pressure. He stuffed his plumed hat inside his doublet and placed the black cleric's cap firmly on his head. Henry led the way to the dormitory and down the stairs into the undercroft. They kept their eyes lowered as if they were deep in prayer. Neal had placed the marble in the pocket of his cassock where it would be readily available.

"Ahead is the staircase leading to the Pyx Chamber," Henry murmured. "You'll have to cloak yourself for the rest of the way."

Neal grinned. "So now I'm a Romulan Bird-of-Prey?"

Henry muffled his snort. "Just be careful, okay?"

They retreated into the shadows where Neal removed his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he directed his thoughts to the celaenite crystal in his amulet. As he focused, the crystal slowly expanded in size until he seemed to be within the faceted structure. He glanced down at his chest. It along with the rest of him had turned translucent greenish-blue. He was ready.

He darted down the staircase, in plain view of the two armed guards sitting in front of the door. The door was as massive as Peter predicted but there was about a half-inch gap at the bottom between it and the floor. If Neal could roll the marble underneath, there would be less chance of it being detected and it would pinpoint their destination.

So far no one seemed aware of his presence. One of the guards was looking straight at Neal as he inched closer. He had to wait till they started talking or they might hear the sound of the marble. His knees began to shake from the effort of maintaining his invisibility.

"When is Robin showing up?" a guard growled. "Wasn't he already supposed to be here?"

When the other grumbled about the hapless Robin's tardiness, Neal raced to the door, shoved the marble into the opening, and fled for the stairs.

His concentration faltered as he reached the first step. After a few more paces, his knees buckled. He dragged himself near the stone wall and fought his way upward. The guards were still talking. Hopefully, they didn't hear anything. Only two steps left to go.

By now he was fully visible. When he heard a sound, he attempted to raise himself. Henry popped into view as he was frantically framing a plausible excuse.

"Cutting it pretty close, weren't you?" Henry whispered, hauling him upright.

Neal nodded, saving his breath till they were back behind the column. "The marble's in position. I rolled it under the door."

"We'll need to wait till you're steadier before proceeding."

"I just need a minute," Neal insisted. At Henry's scowl, he added, "Okay, two at the most but we can't afford to delay."

It took almost five precious minutes before Henry agreed to proceed. Neal spent the entire time picturing someone entering the Pyx Chamber and finding the marble, but if anyone had, they weren't shouting about it.

Finally, Henry called Mozzie on his com-link. "The marble's inside the chamber. Scotty, beam us in."

"Aye, aye, captain," Mozzie said in an atrocious Scottish accent.

Within seconds they were both inside the vaulted chamber. Mercifully it was devoid of anyone else. About the size of a small chapel, the room was strewn with large wooden chests. With no lights, it would look completely dark, and even with Neal's enhanced vision, he wasn't much better off. But they'd come prepared with miniature flashlights. And the obscurity guaranteed that there were no guards inside.

#

"Right on target," Henry whispered to Mozzie. "Our algolnium sniffer is examining the chests." Neal was walking without an assist. When Henry found him on the stairs, his face was bleached whiter than Sara's makeup. Neal didn't look fully recovered, but most of the muscle weakness seemed to have left him. Henry knew wormhole travel healed wounds and injuries. Had the algolnium radiation present in the beaming process been sufficient to recharge his batteries?

Neal beckoned Henry to an oak chest in the back. "This is it!" he whispered excitedly. "I can sense an energy source inside."

The chest was roughly the size of a footlocker. Unlike the others in the chamber, it rested on four short legs and was elaborately carved. Neal held the flashlight for Henry while he got out his tools. Although the lock was embellished with elaborate metalwork, the mechanism itself was straightforward. When Henry cautiously raised the lid, he let out a silent gasp. Man, what a haul!

Heavy gold chains, orbs, scepters, rings, and resting on a purple velvet cushion in the center was the Tudor Crown itself. Henry recognized it from a painting Mozzie had shown him. The crown was covered with emeralds, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, and pearls.

Neal pointed to a large ruby embedded in one of the fleurs-de-lis. "That's the one we want. Hold your light on it. I'll call Mozzie."

While Henry illuminated the dark stone, he studied the prongs holding it in place. Compared with other jewel heists, this one would be easy. The stone was so large, the prongs were relatively massive.

The link to Mozzie also went straight to Milly as did all their communications. The armillary sphere was supposedly already calculating the color, size, and quality to fabricate an exact duplicate. For years, the thrill of the heist had been a siren calling Henry's name, and now with Milly, he had the ideal moll. He could scratch his itch and save the universe in one fell swoop.

Neal smiled at Henry's grin. Had he read his thoughts? Or did he know him well enough, he didn't need to?

Within no more than a minute, thanks to the time distortions of wormhole travel, a duplicate ruby appeared on the floor next to the chest. Henry exchanged nods with Neal. The kid was about to experience his first jewel heist.

Henry fished in his cassock for his courtier's cap and nestled the duplicate ruby inside. It didn't seem fitting for it to lie on the floor. The gem looked to be an exact replica. And given all the effort Cyrus had made to duplicate the chemical composition, it was bound to be an authentic spinel ruby. This stone would eventually be part of the Imperial Crown—a sobering thought.

He was relieved to see that when Neal lifted the crown out of the chest and placed it on its side, his hands no longer shook. Henry could have done all the work on his own, but he'd be faster with the assist. Slipping on his magnifying glasses, he set about the delicate task of prying open the prongs. The gold was soft and bent easily. It required the gentlest of touches. After a couple of nudges, he pulled the stone free. When he placed the ruby in his fellow thief's hand, the gem started to glow as if lit by an inner fire. Was it sensing the algolnium within Neal? Henry tagged that question for follow-up and returned to the task at hand.

Neal held the spinel in place as Henry carefully realigned the prongs. He wished it was possible to send the Elnath crystal to Mozzie, but it was up to them to keep it safe till they were transported home.

Once they closed the chest, Mozzie beamed them back to the hallway. They slipped out without incident, hiding their cassocks in a convenient hedge.

Neal was unusually quiet during the walk back to the reception. Henry hoped he'd speak up on his own, but after a couple of minutes, he added a nudge. "What's wrong? We're on schedule. We got the crystal. You identified the cultist. You should be riding a high."

"We still need to take Nigel down," Neal said, a frown settling on his face. "Somehow we have to ensure that he's not capable of carrying out Azathoth's instructions. Will the letter provide sufficient evidence? We won't know since we're not staying around. What if Nigel claims he was framed? We need to make the case so ironclad that he can't escape."

"You have something in mind?" Henry wouldn't try to ease his anxiety. It would have been pointless. Nigel had won over the queen and Dudley. How? Was he taking advantage of some alien ability? Henry longed to get a sample of his blood for testing.

"I do, but Peter will hate the idea."

Henry shrugged. "Some things are better left unsaid."

#

When the queen entered the hall, a friendly courtier helped Peter identify the new arrivals. William Cecil and Robert Dudley accompanied Her Majesty. Walsingham followed a few minutes later and joined a group of several other somberly-clad officials.

In 1569, the queen was thirty-six years old. She was a couple of inches shorter than Peter's Elizabeth and looked surprisingly frail despite her elaborate heavy gown. The heavy makeup she wore didn't completely conceal the ravages of smallpox. Her back was ramrod straight and he imagined that her angular features could cast an intimidating glare on anyone. But, at the moment, she only had eyes for Dudley. Symbolic of the hold Howard had over the queen was the gown she wore. Embroidered with sea monsters lurking among the stylized plants, it appeared identical to her attire in the portrait they'd viewed in Arkham.

Peter approached Walsingham and introduced himself.

"Lord Kalmar, England is honored by your presence," Walsingham said, making a brief bow. "I hope to have the pleasure of meeting Prince Nils."

Peter returned the bow with one of his own, hoping Walsingham would attribute his awkward rendition to Swedish customs.

In 1569, Walsingham's career had yet to take off. In 1570 he would make a name for himself by unmasking the Ridolfi plot, a scheme to replace Elizabeth with Mary, Queen of Scots. Howard had been one of the prime instigators. His personal objective was to become Mary's husband. When the treachery was discovered, Howard was thrown into prison and later executed on Tower Hill. In the revised timeline, there was no mention of the Ridolfi plot. If Howard weren't stopped, would he succeed in marrying Queen Mary? Queen Elizabeth might be left on the throne but she would be a puppet to the Starry Wisdom cult, while Queen Mary's connections could be used to infiltrate the French court. The Spanish and Habsburg rulers could also be ensnared.

"I was honored to meet your former king, Eric XIV, during potential marriage negotiations with our beloved queen," Walsingham said. "I was highly impressed by him. His death was a blow to us all."

Peter nodded appreciatively. As a Protestant monarch, Eric was undoubtedly viewed as an outstanding candidate. "It is our fervent desire that King John will continue his brother's policies. Our country, like yours, has to be constantly on the lookout for papist elements. The new queen is Polish. Some fear she will strengthen papist influence." Walsingham would undoubtedly make the connection to Queen Mary.

"We must also maintain vigilance in England," Walsingham said. "The King of Spain is suspected of encouraging treasonous factions within England. Sweden could also be targeted."

Peter nodded but held off on immediately presenting his evidence. "I was told the queen has decided on Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester," he said in a low voice.

"Negotiations are still preliminary," Walsingham murmured back.

"The queen is wise to be circumspect." Peter paused to scan the dignitaries surrounding Elizabeth. "I stopped off in York on my way to London." Walsingham would consider that a natural stopover since a large number of Swedes had settled in Yorkshire during the era of the Vikings.

Peter leaned his head toward Walsingham and lowered his voice. "I have been working to ensure that the Spanish king does not interfere in the affairs of Sweden. One of my informants had troubling news about your own situation."

Walsingham's eyes flickered in recognition.

"It is not my place to judge," Peter continued under his breath, "but some believe Dudley and the queen are being victimized by the papist faction." He retrieved from his doublet the letter Neal had prepared and slipped it to Walsingham. "You will no doubt find this informative."

Walsingham glanced at it then secreted it inside his jacket. "Your excellency is staying at the reception?"

Peter nodded calmly.

"I'd like to speak further with you after I've had a chance to review this."

Walsingham quickly left the hall. Meanwhile, the tone of the music changed. The queen had evidently requested dance music. For the moment she wasn't dancing but she commanded her courtiers to take to the floor. As an ambassador, Peter figured he was safe. That was until he saw Sara striding his way.

With a deep curtsy, she smiled up at him. "Why, thank you, your grace. I would love to dance with you." She added in an undertone, "This is an almain. It's slow enough that you should be able to follow, and any missteps will be because it's not well-known in Sweden."

Heaving a slow sigh, Peter held out his arm, letting Sara's fingertips rest on his hand. He reminded himself this was for his Elizabeth.

As they strolled to the center dance area, she murmured, "Your discussion went well?"

Peter nodded. "Walsingham's probably reading the letter now. Keep an eye out for him. I'm sure he'll want to discuss the matter further."

"I also have news. I was able to get close to Dudley. He's wearing the same cologne Nigel wore."

"You're sure?" Peter kept his face frozen into a calm smile, but his thoughts were racing. Cyrus had analyzed it and discovered it had the same key ingredients which were found in Raquel's perfume.

"Positive. You remember Neal and I speculated it might be some form of love potion since the priestess of Isis also wore it."

"Lavinia believed it was possible that it had been designed for humans and had no effect on those who had algolnium in their systems. That could explain why you and Neal were spared."

She nodded. "And why the queen would succumb to it."