Midnight Never Come Read Online Free PDF Page A

himself crawling away from court one day, bleary-eyed and bankrupt.
    Checking his purse, he corrected that last thought. Perhaps not bankrupt, judging by his apparent luck at cards the previous night. But such winnings would not finance this life. Hunsdon was right: he needed to borrow money.
    Deven suppressed the desire to groan and shook Peter Colsey awake. His manservant was in little better shape than he, having found other servants with whom to entertain himself, but fortunately he was also taciturn of a morning. He rolled off the mattress and confined himself to dire looks at their boots, his master’s doublet, and anything else that had the effrontery to require work from him at such an early hour.
    The palace wore a different face at this time of day. The previous morning, Deven had been too much focused on his own purpose to take note of it, but now he looked around, trying to wake himself up gently. Servants hurried through the corridors, wearing the Queen’s livery or that of various nobles. Outside, Deven heard chickens squawking as two voices argued over who should get how many. Hooves thudded in the courtyard, moving fast and stopping abruptly: a messenger, perhaps. He bet his winnings from the previous night that Hunsdon and the other men who dominated the privy council were up already, hard at work on the business of her Majesty’s government.
    Colsey brought him food to break his fast, and departed again to have their horses saddled. Soon they were riding out in morning sunlight far too bright.
    They did not talk for the first few miles. Only when they stopped to water their horses at a stream did Deven say, “Well, Colsey, we have until Michaelmas. Then I am due to return to court, and under orders to be better dressed when I do.”
    Colsey grunted. “Best I learn how to brush up velvet, then.”
    “Best you do.” Deven stroked the neck of his black stallion, calming the animal. It was a stupid beast for casual riding — the horse was trained for war — but a part of the fiction that the Gentlemen Pensioners were still a military force, rather than a force that happened to include some military men. Three horses and two servants; he’d had to acquire another man to assist Colsey. That still earned him more than a few glares.
    By afternoon the houses they passed were growing closer together, clustering along the south bank of the Thames and stringing out along the road that led to the bridge. Deven stopped to refresh himself with ale in a Southwark tavern, then cocked his gaze at the sky. “Ludgate first, Colsey. We shall see how quickly I can get out, eh?”
    Colsey had the sense not to make any predictions, at least not out loud.
    Their pace slowed considerably as they crossed London Bridge, Deven’s stallion having to shoulder his way through the crowds that packed it. He kept a careful hand on the reins. Travelers like him wended their way one step at a time, mingling with those shopping in the establishments built along the bridge’s length; he didn’t put it past the warhorse to bite someone.
    Nor did matters improve much on the other side. Resigned by now to the slower pace, his horse drifted westward along Thames Street, taking openings where he found them. Colsey spat less-than-muffled curses as his own cob struggled to keep up, until at last they arrived at their destination in the rebuilt precinct of Blackfriars: John Deven’s shop and house.
    Whatever private estimate Colsey had made about the length of their visit, Deven suspected it was not short. His father was delighted to learn of his success, but of course it wasn’t enough simply to hear the result; he wanted to know every detail, from the clothing of the courtiers to the decorations in the presence chamber. He had visited court a few times, but not often, and had never entered such an august realm.
    “Perhaps I’ll see it myself someday, eh?” he said, beaming with unsubtle optimism.
    And then of course his mother