Excerpt from A Prisoner in Malta by Phillip DePoy, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" Marlowe asked, not quite aware of his old friend's strange behavior.

"All black. It's too somber for a young man," Lopez insisted.

"This from a man in a flame-red cape." Marlowe shook his head.

"You lend your money too freely," Lopez went on, "and you quarrel entirely too much."

"But I always win," Marlowe answered impatiently. "And I'm always good-natured about it. Rodrigo, what are you doing here?"

Marlowe stopped walking. They were nearly to the Parker Library. All of the students were gone; classes had started. The relative silence made it easier to hear noise from the street, beyond the church, where some minor commotion arose.

"You haven't yet become your true self," Lopez explained. "A man's only genuine occupation in this life is to discover who and what he truly is, and then do his best to become that. Most never manage it."

"This is quite a lot of advice," he said, "from a Portuguese Jew who's pretending to be a Protestant in England."

"Chris," Lopez said quietly. "I am to become Her Majesty's physician-in-chief."

Marlowe took Lopez by both arms.

"What? At last! My God!" Marlowe's voice boomed. "That's why you've come to Cambridge, I understand now: to tell me this wonderful news."

"Please lower your voice," Lopez said. "That is not the reason for my visit."

"Look, honestly," Marlowe suggested, ignoring the older man's comment, "just wait here until my session in poetics is concluded, and then you and I will go to the best pub in Cambridge."

"No, I'm sorry." Lopez looked around as if to make certain no one was looking at them. "You're not going to your class."

Marlowe blinked. "What?"

"You're coming with me to London. Now."

Lopez flicked his cloak and a coach appeared out of nowhere at the other end of the yard, headed toward them slowly. It was an ornate closed cab with a spring suspension, four wheels, and two muscled horses. It had been the source of the commotion out in the street. Marlowe recognized it as a very new Boonen construction—the kind built exclusively for the Queen.

Marlowe eyed the conveyance with suspicion.

"I'm not getting into that thing," he said.

"You have to," Lopez said simply.

"I might ride a horse to London," Marlowe ventured.

"Get in the carriage, please." Lopez held out his hand politely.

"That thing? No. It'll rattle my brains out."

"But it will keep us from being seen as we travel," Lopez whispered. "And, I insist. You are riding at the request of the Privy Council, and we are expected before midnight."

"The Privy Council." Marlowe's mood sobered. "Well. I've had the strangest notion that something odd was going to happen. Just as I concluded it was my encounter with Pygott, here comes a very expensive coach."

The coach pulled up beside them. Lopez opened the door. Marlowe peered inside.

"Do I really have to?" he asked.

But he knew the answer. The Privy Council had summoned. Not a living soul in England could deny such an order.

"Go on," Lopez insisted.

As soon as they were inside, the driver took off. Lopez closed the shutters. Light leaked in through the spy holes, but the cab was still very dark. The seats were covered in black leather, worn and softened. The wooden doors were scratched a bit, as was the floor. This was not a ceremonial vehicle, it was a workhorse.

"We're headed west," Marlowe said cautiously. "London is south."

"We're bound for the River Cam," Lopez explained. "We'll turn there and follow the water awhile."

Marlowe grasped the idea immediately. "If we're being followed, we'll see it when we turn south at the river."

"Exactly."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me why I've been summoned?"

Excerpted from A Prisoner in Malta by Phillip DePoy. Copyright © 2016 by Phillip DePoy. Excerpted by permission of Minotaur Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.