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precautions, however. Go to bed, boy. I shall be late tonight restoring my energies and making plans.”
    * * *
    Luke’s thorniest problem the next morning was how to gain entrance to the palace. To march in as Luke Ballard, apothecary, known to mix with the poor and ill in the midst of an epidemic of sweating sickness, would be to earn himself an instant change of abode from the Outer Green upriver to the Tower. Even his position as Privy Inquirer would not save him. Henry’s terror of any type of sickness would be heightened by the Queen’s pregnancy. After almost seventy years of the Tudor dynasty, the need for an heir was still paramount.
    The easiest way would be to disguise himself as a merchant and use a shimmer spell on Joss, for only court dogs were permitted in the palace. The spell would render her an indeterminate shadow, unidentifiable and unnoticed.
    He had dreamed many times since the previous summer of confronting another sunderer. In his imaginings, he always saw through the fine feathers to the loathsome evil thing beneath, but, in reality, he could not hope for that. Sunderers were cunning. It must have galled the breed to know that a mere journeyman elemancer had defeated a powerful sorcerer. Asmodeus’s failure to achieve his aim would have sharpened their craving for vengeance.
    Luke shook himself and concentrated on the problem at hand. He did not just need access to the wall near the Chapel Royal, which should be reasonably easy, but into the Queen’s privy apartments, which would most certainly prove much harder. After a little thought, he went upstairs and sat on the bed, preparing himself for a ritual that, although easy, needed concentration. Joss lay across the doorway, ensuring that he remained undisturbed.
    Once Luke was happy with his state of relaxation, he unstoppered a vial of perfume containing the same ingredients as the one that Queen Anne used. Inhaling the rose and musk he concentrated on her and softly spoke the words of the auditory connection spell.
    “Anne Boleyn, Queen Mother. I beg an audience.”
    Luke waited. A few moments later, he heard her voice, sharp with annoyance.
    “You disturb our rest, Master Apothecary.”
    “I crave pardon, Your Grace. I must gain access to the Queen’s chamber where the girl was killed and also the wall where the writing appeared.”
    “Why?”
    “To test a theory, Madam.”
    The air around him thickened and he sensed a quickening interest piercing her irritation. He heard her take an inward breath as if she were about to speak, but she said nothing. Focusing, Luke realized she had been interrupted by someone for when her reply came, her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it.
    “We will send Gwenette with instructions,” the Queen Mother replied, breaking contact.
    * * *
    Mistress Paige appeared at the shop doorway an hour later, a shawl covering her head. An awkward silence ensued, as seemed to be the custom these days when Luke and Gwenette were alone.
    “You come from Queen Anne?” he said in a brisker voice than he had intended.
    “Aye,” Gwenette said, frowning. “There is no need to use that tone, Master Ballard. I know you consider me little more than an annoyance.”
    Luke bit his lip. He could not do right for doing wrong where Gwenette was concerned. He knew that in a tight spot, she was as steadfast a friend as any man could hope for. That much she had already proved. Would that she was as straightforward in other ways as men were. For all that, he would not hurt her for the world.
    “I beg pardon, Gwenette,” he replied, hoping that the use of her given name would soften her. “I did not mean to insult you. This is the beginning of what I believe will be a parlous business. I am distracted. Forgive me.”
    She sketched a curtsey. “Recent events have left those closest to the family more than a little anxious, too. My mistress begs me to escort you to the Queen’s rooms whilst the court is at meat. You are