KATH-ER-INE!” JOHN DEE SANG OUT AS HE hurried into their hastily pitched tent on the other side of the encampment from the scene of the fire. He saw she’d been scrubbing at the dirt spot on her skirt, for her ministrations had turned a circle of the dark green damask black. Besides her wash bucket, around her lay scattered items from their four saddle packs, so she must have been unpacking. “What is it?” she cried, looking up. “I’m hungry. We are to be allotted some fine fare while we’re here, aren’t we, I mean, considering your status? Why, you seem at her beck and call every bit as much as her secretary Cecil.” “Good news!” he told her, chortling. “Your wish has come true, my dearest.” “To meet her? Now—with my best gown all blotched up?” “Ah, better than that. The queen and a small retinue are coming to visit us at Mortlake on the morrow.” “Tomorrow?”
