Midnight Never Come by Marie Brennan Page B

will,” Anne promised. “As soon as I may.”
    M EMORY :
December 21, 1581
    M any parts of the subterranean palace consisted of adjoining chambers, one opening into the next with never a break. Some were arranged around cloistered courtyards of sculpture or night-blooming plants; others connected via long galleries, hung with tapestries and paintings of rich hue.
    But there were other passages, secret ones. Few fae ever saw them, and almost no mortals.
    The man being escorted through the tunnel was a rare exception.
    Of the other mortals who had been brought that way, most were attractive; those who were not held influential positions at court or in trade, and compensated for their lack of handsomeness by their use. This one was different. His cowl taken from him, his clipped, mutilated ears were bared for all to see, and though he was not old, cunning and suspicion — and at the moment, fear — robbed his face of any beauty. Nor was he a powerful man.
    He was no one. But he knew a little of faeries, and now his investigations had brought him here, to a world whose existence he had never so much as suspected.
    A door barred the way at the end of the passage, bronze-bound and painted black. One of the escorting fae, a hunched, goblinish thing, raised his bony-knuckled hand and knocked. No response came through the door, but after a moment it swung open on oiled hinges, as if of its own accord.
    The chamber into which the mortal man stepped was as sumptuous as the corridor outside was bleak. The floor was bare of either rushes or carpets, but it was a fine mosaic in marble, strange figures that he would have liked to study more closely. Cool silver lights gleamed along the walls; out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw wings moving within their depths. The walls were likewise marble, adorned at regular intervals by tapestries of colored silk studded here and there with jewels. The ceiling was a masterwork display of astrological notation, reflecting the current alignment of the stars far above.
    But all this richness was dominated into insignificance by the curtain before him.
    Was it black velvet, worked elaborately in silver? Or cloth-of-silver, painstakingly embroidered with black silk? His escort, his guards, stood between him and it, as if he would have approached to examine it. Some of the gems encrusting the fabric appeared to be diamonds, while others were more brilliant and alive than any diamonds he had ever seen. Pearls as large as hummingbird eggs weighted its bottom edge. The curtain alone displayed wealth only the crowned heads of Europe could hope to equal, and not even all of them.
    He was not surprised when one of his escorts kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to the floor.
    The stone pressed hard and cold against his knees as he waited.
    And then a voice spoke from behind the curtain.
    “You seek after magic, Edward Kelley.”
    “I do.” The words came out rusty and faint on the first try; he wet his lips and said it again. “I do. And I have found it.”
    Found more than he had ever dreamed of.
    A soft sound came from behind the curtain, a cool laugh. The voice was melodious and controlled, and if the face that accompanied it was anything to match, she must be the most beautiful faerie lady to ever call England home.
    -Lady — or queen? Even among fae, he doubted such riches were common.
    The lady spoke again from her concealment. “You have found only the meanest scraps from the table of magic. There is more, far more. You wish to know the secrets of creation? We have them bound in books. You wish to transform base metal into gold? ’Tis child’s play, for such as us.”
    Faerie gold. It turned to leaves or stones before long — but a man could do a great deal with it, while it still shone. And though it was a poor substitute for true transformation, the Philosopher’s Stone, learning of it might advance his alchemical work.
    Yes, there was a feast here for him.
    “I would