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272 Pages • 6” X 9” Paperback • ISBN: 978-1-935585-80-0 www.FireshipPress.com

“The de Subermore Mystery Series is a must for any devotee of the

Elizabethan Era.”

December 1599. A grimy, plague-ridden London is beginning its painful emergence into a great city; but there is treachery afoot as yet another plot is developing to assassinate Queen Elizabeth I.

Young, impetuous Michael de Subermore, is sum-moned to Whitehall palace, ordered to infiltrate the suspected conspirators, and uncover their plans. Amid plots, counter-plots, bouts of amnesia, duels, and back-alley murders, Michael survives by using his sword to defend the Queen, his honour, and the life of the woman he loves.

Historical people and events are beautifully inter-woven into a hard-to-put-down, fast-paced, grip-ping story.

Chapter 1

“Bates!” Sir Michael de Subermore’s exuberant call echoed through the small, stone house he called home. Michael’s manservant pattered up. “Yes, master?” Michael looked at the small man with affection. Bates had tended him since he was a baby, guarding his comforts, supervis-ing his affairs. “The signal is up. Do you despatch someone to row over and retrieve the message.” “Cast your eyes seaward, Sir Michael, and you will see Albert under way.” Michael picked up a glass and looked through it. “Tis Peterkin with the message. My father must want me urgently,” “We can but wait, master,” said Bates. They did not wait long. The rocky islet on which the house was built was just off the coast, a ten-minute row in good weather, but a formidable barrier when gale-blown western seas rolled in from the Atlantic and crashed against its rocks. In less than a half hour, Sir Michael was reading the typically terse note from his father.

A letter has come for you, with a request that its contents receive my blessing. Make haste and let us sup together.

As Michael read, Bates passed him the information he had gathered from Peterkin. “It seems the courier was attacked and

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killed soon after he set out with the message, my lord. The miscre-ants escaped, and with his dying breath the messenger charged the innkeeper, where he had stayed the night, to see the letter safely delivered. It has passed through several hands before coming to your father.” Knowing Michael well, Bates cautioned him to cool his mind and wait until he had read the letter itself. It was wise advice, but his charge was in a fever of impatience while they rowed across and collected their horses. Baron St. Ives’ castle was high on a mainland promontory from where it had guarded this section of the far west coast of England for many years. Michael rode into the castle keep, tossed his reins to a servant, and strode into the great dining hall, where his par-ents greeted him. He embraced them both, before saying, “You sent for me, father.” “Thank you for responding so promptly. A letter has come that I want you to read; but we'll sup first. It is good to cultivate pa-tience.” He clapped his hands and servants began to bring in the dishes. The Baron ate steadily, but at last took pity on Michael’s impa-tience, and passed his son a crumpled letter. Michael twice read the bloodstained and perforated paper, then crumpled it again, and tossed it to one side. “You will let me go, father?” The Baron looked at his son and sighed. “We have kept you here too long. It’s time for you to learn more of the world. You may go with my blessing. I charge you though. Do not be reckless in the pursuit of your aims. Do not dash heedlessly into a fray. Remem-ber there is always someone bigger, faster, and craftier than you. Try to curb your natural instincts and think first.” He reached to touch his son’s hand. “I have no fear but that you will acquit your-self honourably.” “It appears but a journey to London, sir, and an introduction to people there. `Twould seem little likely to produce danger. But if it comes, I will be ready to meet it.” “Someone cared sufficiently about the letter to kill the courier,” the Baron reminded him. For the first time his wife spoke. “Michael. Your father is right. We have guarded you o’erlong. While I know it is time for you to make your mark, I beg you listen to your father. You are so like him when he was your age, tall, Norman-dark and handsome, with

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a spirit eager for action. He has learned patience and caution over the years. So must you.” Her son looked at her fondly and smiled. “I do not expect my patience to be tested, Mama, but I am almost twenty-two now. Drake of Devon sailed with Hawkins at twenty, and thereby started his voyagings to fame and wealth. Mayhap this will be the start of my voyagings.” The Baroness stretched out her arms and enfolded her son. “I pray God to protect you and bring you back to us safely.” Michael clasped both his parents and kissed them. Then he tore himself away. “Bates. Bates, man. Come a-running.” The little manservant appeared as by magic. “Bates. Do you pack all we may need for a stay of some length, and send it on by coach. Then organise what we need to carry with us.” “And to where shall the bags be sent, may I ask?” “Why to London, Bates, to London.” Michael gestured to the crumpled letter. “The address is contained therein.” He sobered momentarily. “Men have risked their lives to see that delivered. One died for it. Be sure our weaponry is available at all times.” Excitement spilled out again and he snapped his fingers. “The weather bids fair, good Bates. We will go by sea. Albert and his son can sail us into London harbour. We will get there more quickly than overland, and mayhap without unpleasant surprises on the way, such as the poor courier received.” Under the bustle of arrangements, the Baron once more read the personal note that had enclosed the message to his son. “I have need of someone, presentable but unknown, to pursue some enquiries on behalf of the Queen. Your son Michael fits my bill. I will introduce him to the court and know, if he is anything like his father, he will acquit himself with honour. The enclosed is my formal invitation which you may hand him or not as you wish.” With a sigh, the Baron crumpled this letter too, and threw it alongside the first.

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About the Author

David Glenn

David Glenn has been a professional musician, actor and singer. He started writing in Prince Edward Island, where he was playing Matthew in the long-running mu-sical version of Anne of Green Gables. Finding time on his hands, he put it to good use.

In 1999 he won the Canadian Authors Short Fiction award for a story titled Da Capo. Since then he has won other awards and published a number of articles and stories. In addition, David has recorded almost 400 books onto tape for the handicapped. He was runner-up for the prestigious TORGI award in 2001

David and his wife live outside Vancouver, British Columbia