Ink and Steel by Elizabeth Bear Read Free Book Online Page A

find his tongue.
    Robert Devereaux, the second Earl of Essex, was thought by many a dashing young man, one of Elizabeth’s rival favorites and a rising star of the court. But her affections were divided, the third part each given to the explorers Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Francis Drake. And there was something disingenuous in the look Oxford drew across them both, just then; Will was player enough to recognize bad playing.
    Sonnets. Sonnets, and I couldn’t write a good word to spare myself the chopping block—
    â€œGloriana,” Oxford said, toying with his wine, “is a shrewd and coy Queen, equal to the title King of England which she has once or twice claimed. Despite her sex. Ah, would that she had been a man.”
    That tripped Will’s tongue. “Do you suppose she mouths those same words, when she feels herself alone?”
    Oxford tilted his head as if he had not considered it. “Master Shakespeare, I would not disbelieve should I hear her Maid of Honor mutter such gossip to the bees.” He stared past his guests to the smoky vista beyond the open door. “So. Thou wilt write me these poems? Or write Southampton these poems? And bring me the manuscript for Venus and Adonis , that the ages might know it?”
    â€œWill you see Hero and Leander published as well?” Will hesitated at the cloud that passed Oxford’s face. He Liked Kit as well. And then Will smiled. Kit had had that about him, the ability to inspire black rage or blind joy.
    â€œIt’s fine work, isn’t it?” Oxford didn’t wait for Will’s nod. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and began to pack the bowl again. “Chapman—another of Raleigh’s group—proposes to complete it and see it registered. In Kit’s name, not his own.”
    â€œDecent.” Burbage rocked back in his stool, rattling the legs on the floor. “My lord, you’ll put Will in a place where, if Southampton is flattered, they may become friends—”
    â€œEven if the courtship fails, we’ll have an eye in Southampton’s camp. There’ve been a dozen attempts on Queen Elizabeth’s life in as many years: your Kit’s sharp wit helped foil two of them, and he was friendly with Essex’s rival, Sir Walter. Now we have neither a hand close to Essex, nor one close to Sir Walter. Intolerable, should what I fear come to fruition. Essex has links to the—” He stopped himself.
    Will observed calculation in that pause. “What you fear, my lord, or what fears Walsingham?”
    Surprise and then a smile. “The two are not so misaligned. We were one group, the Prometheus Club, not too long since. All of us in service of the Queen. But Essex and his partisans are more interested in their own advancement than in Britannia. So, Will. Wilt woo for me, and win for my daughter?”
    Will swallowed, shifting on the hard bench. “I was to write you plays, my lord. And you would show me how to put a force in them to keep Elizabeth’s subjects content and make all well. I was not to spy for you—”
    Oxford tapped a beringed finger on the table. “I’m not asking thee to spy, sirrah. Merely to write.”
    â€œNot plays—”
    â€œNo. The playhouses are closed, Will, and they’ll be closed through the New Year. We’ll try our hand there again, fear not: but in the current hour, the enemy has the upper hand.”
    â€œThe enemy. This plot against the Queen. Closing the playhouses is—a sort of a skirmish? An unseen one?”
    Oxford smiled then softly. “ You begin to understand. They know what we can do with a playhouse. Art is their enemy.”
    â€œPuritans.”
    â€œNaught but a symptom. Walsingham and Burghley are ours, after all—” Oxford drained his cup. “I offer you a poet’s respect. Nothing is so transient as a play and a playmaker’s fame. Except a