Ink and Steel by Elizabeth Bear Read Free Book Online

charged with heresy and sedition are free to rent a mare and ride to Deptford, and not on a rack in the Tower? And you’ll be afforded the same protection.”
    â€œAnd the same enemies.” But it wasn’t just the danger of his own position, or the unwritten things twisting in his brain. He plainly missed Kit.
    â€œYou’ll make enemies any way you slice it, with your talent. Ah, here we are.” Burbage pointed to the scarred sign hanging over a green-painted door, and then led Will down a dim, stinking alley toward the back, where a wobbling wooden stair brought them to the second story. Will clutched the whitewashed railing convulsively, despite the prodding splinters. Although, if the whole precarious construction tumbled down, a death grip on the banister couldn’t save him.
    A door at the top of the stair stood open to catch what breeze there was. Burbage paused at the landing and softly hailed Oxford within, while Will stood two steps below.
    â€œEnter, Master Players.” Edward de Vere did not stand to meet them, but he did gesture them to sit. Stools and benches ranged about the blemished table, and the small room was dark and confining despite the open door: it did not seem the sort of chamber an Earl would frequent. Incense-strong tobacco hung on the air in ribbons, the sharp, musty tang pleasing after the stench of the streets.
    â€œLord Oxford, as you’ve summoned us,” Burbage said, taking a stool. Will doffed his hat, reseated it, and sank onto a bench and stretched his legs.
    Oxford nodded to the player, but turned his bright eyes to Will. “How comes the play, gentle William?”
    The question he’d been dreading, and Will twisted his hands inside the cuffs of his doublet, folding his arms. He almost laughed as he recognized Kit’s habitual pose, defensive and smiling, but kept his demeanor serious for the Earl.
    An Earl who studied him also seriously, frowning, until Will opened his hands and shrugged. “Not well, my lord. The story’s all in my head, but—”
    â€œTimes being as they are.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI understand thou hast tried thy hand at some poetry. A manuscript called Venus and Adonis has been commended to me. Compared to our Marley’s”—Oxford’s nostrils flared momentarily, as if he fought some emotion—“unfinished work. I’d see it read.”
    Heat rose in Will’s cheeks as he glanced down at his shoes. “You’d see my poor scribblings gone to press, my lord?”
    â€œI would. And command some sonnets. Canst write sonnets?”
    Oh, that stiffened his spine and brought his hands down to tighten on his knees. Burbage shifted beside him, and Will took the warning. “I’ve been known to turn a rhyme,” Will answered, when he thought he had his tongue under control.
    â€œI need a son-in-law wooed,” Oxford said. He stood and poured wine into three unmatched cups. Will raised an eyebrow when the Earl set the cups before Burbage and himself. More than mere politeness, that. “Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton: I’d see him married to my daughter Elizabeth, where I can perhaps keep him from trouble. He’s close to Essex and to Raleigh, no mean trick. Kit’d befriended Sir Walter’s lot—their School of Night, so-called—and learned a few tricks by me of the philosopher Dee. It’s trouble waiting to happen: too many of the Queen’s favorites in one place and rivalries will brew.”
    Will’s eyebrow went even higher at the familiar form of Marley’s name. “And you wish me to—”
    â€œDedicate thy book of poems to Southampton. As if thou didst seek his patronage. Afflict him with sonnets bidding him marry. Raleigh is an enigma: there’s no witting which way he might turn in the end. Essex is trouble, though.”
    â€œThough the Queen love him?” Burbage said, when Will could not