‹ Prequel: A Good Run
Status: 2 of 7 volumes. Active.
The White Doe
Two
January, 1586.
Durham House, the London home of Sir Walter Raleigh, had played host to many notables of the era. John White knew that his face would not cause any stir if glimpsed by Raleigh's neighbors. He was a comparative nobody, merely an artist, when illustrious figures such as Sir Francis Drake and the queen's astrologer John Dee were regular visitors.
Nonetheless, the meeting tonight, of some famous figures and some nobodies such as he, might hold the fate of the world in balance. White always felt the weight on his shoulders every time he attended. He stepped out of his carraige and drew his cloak about himself more closely. The servants opened the door for him and took his cape, hat and stick, silent as ever, averting their gazes. Excellent men, all of Raleigh's servants. They may be trusted to keep silent.
The harsh sound of arguments greeted White as he entered the private back room. Twenty-two men were crowded into it and they sounded as if all were talking at once.
"...don't care what Dee's bauble shows, the Spanish..."
"...we've missed too many of them, if Dee says it's the New World, then..."
"...take care of the ones we know about before we..."
"John, just the man I wanted." Came a sharp, strong voice in White's ear. "I've got a proposition for you." It was Raleigh himself, grasping White by the elbow and threading his way into the closed-packed room.
White felt calmer at once, despite the discord in the room. Raleigh was such a powerful, imposing figure. Slim and elegant, at over six foot tall he towered over the other men. He was dressed with his usual flamboyant elegance and large jewels winked in his ears and on his fingers. His dark, curly hair seemed black in the dim light.
In the corner of the room, sitting expressionless at a table in front of a large black orb, was John Dee. His eyes glittered in the filckering illumination of candles and lamps. Before him, his Show Stone, upon which the Watchers relied heavily, also caught the gleam of candlelight, but nothing more.
"Gentlemen, please." Raleight's voice, with its heavy Devonshire accent, silenced through the hubbub. "One of the principals in the drama about to unfold has now arrived. Pray you silence and let me tell you where we stand. We have a Watcher taking care of the present Slayer and all seems well in that quarter. Masters Peyton and Dutton assure me that the seventee possible Slayers-in-training are progressing admirably. We are here tonight to discuss the next generation of Slayer and where she might be found. Dr. Dee?"
Durham House, the London home of Sir Walter Raleigh, had played host to many notables of the era. John White knew that his face would not cause any stir if glimpsed by Raleigh's neighbors. He was a comparative nobody, merely an artist, when illustrious figures such as Sir Francis Drake and the queen's astrologer John Dee were regular visitors.
Nonetheless, the meeting tonight, of some famous figures and some nobodies such as he, might hold the fate of the world in balance. White always felt the weight on his shoulders every time he attended. He stepped out of his carraige and drew his cloak about himself more closely. The servants opened the door for him and took his cape, hat and stick, silent as ever, averting their gazes. Excellent men, all of Raleigh's servants. They may be trusted to keep silent.
The harsh sound of arguments greeted White as he entered the private back room. Twenty-two men were crowded into it and they sounded as if all were talking at once.
"...don't care what Dee's bauble shows, the Spanish..."
"...we've missed too many of them, if Dee says it's the New World, then..."
"...take care of the ones we know about before we..."
"John, just the man I wanted." Came a sharp, strong voice in White's ear. "I've got a proposition for you." It was Raleigh himself, grasping White by the elbow and threading his way into the closed-packed room.
White felt calmer at once, despite the discord in the room. Raleigh was such a powerful, imposing figure. Slim and elegant, at over six foot tall he towered over the other men. He was dressed with his usual flamboyant elegance and large jewels winked in his ears and on his fingers. His dark, curly hair seemed black in the dim light.
In the corner of the room, sitting expressionless at a table in front of a large black orb, was John Dee. His eyes glittered in the filckering illumination of candles and lamps. Before him, his Show Stone, upon which the Watchers relied heavily, also caught the gleam of candlelight, but nothing more.
"Gentlemen, please." Raleight's voice, with its heavy Devonshire accent, silenced through the hubbub. "One of the principals in the drama about to unfold has now arrived. Pray you silence and let me tell you where we stand. We have a Watcher taking care of the present Slayer and all seems well in that quarter. Masters Peyton and Dutton assure me that the seventee possible Slayers-in-training are progressing admirably. We are here tonight to discuss the next generation of Slayer and where she might be found. Dr. Dee?"