Perfect Shadows

chapter 6

Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland looked up impatiently at the interruption, but composed his features at the sight of his visitor. “You have news for me, Master Poley?” he asked, motioning the spy to take a stool near the table.

“I have, my lord,” Poley said, looking expectant.

“News first,” Northumberland replied shortly and Poley shrugged.

“It’s arranged. Marlowe dies at the end of the week. He’ll expect to meet with Walsingham in Deptford, but his host will be a somewhat grimmer one,” Poley grinned, and outlined the scheme. Northumberland nodded, then took a small bottle from a casket on the table before him.

“You may need this,” he told the spy. “It is a mixture of manicon and poppy—put it in his wine if his head for drink turns out stronger than you suppose. And here is your pay,” he added, dropping a fat pouch beside the bottle. It chinked comfortingly. Poley shook his head, but took the poison and the pouch and made his exit.

Northumberland stood and began to pace. This would be the test, then. If the rash and improvident poet had been changed by his association with the ones Doctor Montague named as vampire, and he did meet his end there in Deptford, he would rise up from his grave like Lazarus, and he, Percy, would at last have immortality within his grasp.

The older vampires would be far too hard to catch, to use so and then be rid of, but Kit, wild, headstrong and impetuous Kit, would be easier meat. Always supposing of course that the victim did not smell a trap in Deptford and so delay his dying day. Not likely, Percy thought, not at all likely, and he began to lay his plans.