The Scar-Crow Men

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘Those are not the usual vapours that come off a body in a state of flux,’ Will said, coughing. The acrid smell burned his nostrils and the back of his throat. ‘And certainly not three years after the passing. It reminds me of the odours that used to emanate from Dr Dee’s rooms at the Palace of Whitehall.’

  Taking the candle, the spies tied kerchiefs across their faces and crawled to the edge of the hole. Inside lay a plain wooden coffin. With Carpenter gripping his ankles, Will lowered himself down and ripped off the lid of the box. The candle revealed the linen shroud that had been used to wrap the old spymaster’s body, now stained from top to toe. Setting his jaw, the spy grasped the rotting shroud near the head and tugged until it tore free. The flickering light revealed a death’s-head, the lower jaw hanging down so that it appeared that Walsingham was screaming his torment.

  Carpenter let out a cry and then cursed loudly at his weakness. Dark holes stared where the eyes had been, the skin clinging to the bone like parchment, a mane of black hair still attached to the scalp.

  ‘God’s wounds,’ the scarred man exclaimed. ‘The colour of him!’

  Walsingham’s corpse was bright blue. Will gave another tug at the shroud and part of it came away in his hands. The edges looked like they had been burned, and beside the corpse there was a similar scorching in the wood of the coffin. In some places holes had appeared.

  ‘What has happened to him?’ Carpenter gasped, once his companion was safely back on the cathedral floor and well away from the burning smells rising from the burial vault.

  ‘Poison.’ The two spies started at Launceston’s whispery pronouncement. He had come up silently behind them while they peered into the hole.

  ‘I fear Robert is correct,’ Will said, the candle flame dancing in his dark eyes. ‘In the months before his death, when he was suffering fit after fit, his physician provided him with numerous concoctions. And as you know, despite all attempts to save Sir Francis’ life, he deteriorated rapidly, almost as if the prescribed medicine was doing him more harm than good.’

  ‘Then you think the physician murdered him?’ Carpenter whispered, glancing towards the grave.

  ‘Either that, or the concoctions were adulterated before they reached our master’s lips,’ Will replied.

  Launceston tapped one white finger on his chin in thought. ‘A subtle murder that would not draw attention to itself. Walsingham was the architect of our war against the Unseelie Court. With him gone there was a hole at the heart of our defences, and no obvious candidate to fill it.’

  ‘The Enemy has planned this for three years?’ Carpenter hissed incredulously.

  ‘It was indeed the beginning of their slow unveiling of the plot,’ Will replied. He stood up, cupping his hand around the candle flame to stop it going out. ‘With our master gone, there was no one to protect Dr Dee, the other prime mover in the long struggle with our supernatural foe. You recall his advice was soon being ignored and then he was dispatched to Manchester to be warden of Christ’s College.’

  The Earl flicked a piece of rubble into the grave with the toe of his grey shoe. It landed with a soft thud. ‘Dee was heartbroken to be dismissed so,’ he said flatly. ‘After guiding Her Majesty in her youth, and then giving his all to the security of the nation, it must have felt like betrayal to be sent away as though he were worthless.’

  ‘That never made any sense,’ Carpenter grunted. ‘With Dee gone, who was supposed to ensure our magical defences would stay strong?’

  ‘Our master’s death left only chaos,’ Will mused. ‘Cecil and Essex jostling for the Queen’s ear. No good advice getting through the whispers, deceits and rivalry. Only confusion. While we continued blithely with our lives, thinking all was well, the Unseelie Court silently set their plot in motion. In the shadows they moved their pieces into place, unnoticed, shifting ever closer to the heart of our nation. Now we stand on the brink of destruction and it may already be too late to raise the alarm.’

  Will strode to the edge of the grave and held the candle over the hole. The blue, screaming face loomed up out of the dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘TIME IS SHORT AND I MUST BE QUICK,’ WILL SAID, PEERING FROM Nathaniel’s chamber window over the sunlit palace grounds. ‘You will have many questions, but for now all I can tell you is that we are surrounded by great danger.’

  ‘Here, in Nonsuch?’ Grace asked incredulously, her eyes still sleepy at that early hour.

  ‘Especially here. Our Enemy has placed agents among us. People we once relied upon may now be working against us. No one can be trusted. Do you understand?’

  Concerned now, Grace and Nathaniel nodded.

  It was 4 June, three days since Kit had been laid in the ground. After their hard ride from London, Will, Launceston and Carpenter had slipped past the dozing guards into the still-sleeping palace. Speeding through the empty halls, Will had woken his assistant and the lady-in-waiting to warn them of what was unfolding.

  ‘For now, I would that the two of you remain safe,’ he continued. ‘At the first sign of trouble, leave the palace.’ He turned to Grace and added, ‘Go with Nat, to the village where his father lives. I will meet you both there if I can. In the meantime, I have work for you.’

  Alert now, the assistant ran a hand through his unruly hair. ‘Tell me, I am ready.’

  ‘Go to my chamber and retrieve Kit’s play. My hope is that the cipher will reveal important information to help us to uncover the plot.’ Will stepped away from the window when a girl collecting eggs for the morning meal glanced up as if she had heard something.

  ‘You have broken the code?’ Nathaniel asked.

  Will smiled tightly. ‘In the beginning was the word, and the word was poison.’ He went to the chamber door and opened it a crack, peering out into the still corridor. Turning back to his worried friends, he added in a hushed voice, ‘Now, return to your business and keep up the pretence of normal life. At all times, you must act as if you know nothing. Do not draw attention to yourselves. Keep safe.’

  Easing into the sun-dappled corridor, Will found Carpenter and Launceston skulking at the top of the stairs where he had left them. The clatter of feet and the call of friendly voices told them the palace was rapidly waking.

  ‘Visit Robert Rowland,’ Will whispered. ‘He was always a faithful servant to Sir Francis Walsingham, and as the keeper of the records of our business he will be able to locate what event united Kit and Griffin Devereux. Then perhaps we can get to the bottom of this matter before we end up at the bottom of a hole in the earth. And if the worst happens and I am taken, it will be down to you to bring a stop to this plot.’

  ‘Two men against the Unseelie Court,’ Carpenter laughed bitterly. ‘And should we stop the Spanish at the same time, just for sport?’

  ‘In your spare time, find who has been murdering the spies,’ Will continued sardonically, clapping the Earl on the shoulder. ‘Robert, I feel you have an understanding of the mind of the man who kills.’

  Launceston nodded thoughtfully. ‘He has strong tastes, certainly, and a fire that burns brightly in his mind. I will try to divine the way he thinks.’

  Will shook the other men’s hands in turn. ‘We have been down in the ditches for a long while, but now is the time to stand and be men. To business, friends, and if that business involves blood, so be it.’

  At the sound of two giggling maids climbing the creaking stairs, the three spies separated, Will striding purposefully towards Cecil’s chamber. For once the spymaster’s bodyguard, Sinclair, was not smoking sullenly outside the door, casting a murderous eye over anyone who dared approach his master’s room. Without knocking, Will entered.

  Cecil was leaning across a table scattered with charts of Ireland, sheaves of paper and the remnants of scrambled eggs and bread. He started when he saw Will, his eyes darting uneasily to the spy’s rapier. ‘What is the meaning of this intrusion?’ he hissed.

  ‘We must talk,’ Will said in a grave voice.

/>   ‘The time for talking is long gone. The Privy Council meets this morning to discuss your fate. Although, I would say, it was sealed the moment you decided not to honour them with your presence yesterday.’

  ‘There is more at stake here than my fate, or yours, for that matter.’ Seeing the window was open, Will went to close it so they would not be overheard. As the spy pulled it shut, the Little Elf darted around the table in an attempt to escape. Will was between him and the door in an instant, holding up one hand ready to push the frightened man back to the table if necessary.

  ‘Lay a finger on me and your punishment will be great indeed,’ Cecil said in a tremulous voice.

  ‘You have already told me my fate is sealed, and it is not wise to confront a man who has nothing to lose.’ Will calmed himself, snapping his fingers until his master retreated. ‘We have had our differences, you and I,’ he continued. ‘You have little respect for me, or the work I have done – I do not know why. But we must put all that behind us. We are on the brink of disaster. While we have looked elsewhere, to Spain, and France, and Ireland, the Unseelie Court have been quietly circling us. Their plans have fallen into place, unnoticed, unsuspected, and now an attack is imminent. Indeed, they may already have won and we race around like a hen who has not yet realized her head has been removed.’

  Regaining his composure, the spymaster strode back to the table, refusing to dignify Will with attention.

  ‘I am still unsure if you are a part of this plot, but I am trusting my instinct, which has never failed me before,’ the spy said. ‘You are sly, manipulative, mendacious, and interested above all else in your own advancement, but I do not believe you would ever side with our greatest foe. True?’

  Cecil flashed a sullen glare.

  ‘Agents of the Enemy lurk within this court, perhaps people you yourself trust. They could turn on all of us, on the Queen herself, at any moment,’ Will said. ‘Our only hope is to strike like snakes and drive them out. This very day. I risk everything to be here, now, making this plea, and so should you, Sir Robert. Take control. Lead our resistance, and I will stand at your side. Her Majesty needs you. England needs you.’

  His shoulders sagging, the spymaster rested both hands on the table and bowed his head. ‘You will not judge me. Unlike you, I must fight for my own survival on a daily basis. There are men who move against me, and there always will be. This plot you mention …’ He waved a hand in the air as if all he had heard was a trifle. ‘If it distracts Essex, then all is well and good. But I have heard nothing of it, and I hear and see more than you.’

  ‘You hear and see what you want.’ Will’s voice crackled with anger. ‘You are distracted by your own ambitions while England falls around you. Failure to act will mean a defeat from which we can never, ever recover.’

  ‘If I act as you say and we fail, or no one else joins this crusade of yours, then my power is weakened,’ Cecil snapped. ‘Better to wait until the path ahead is clear.’

  ‘That will be too late.’ Will felt a rising tide of hopelessness. ‘I beseech you, heed me. There is still time to act. If we can find a few trusted allies—’

  The hunchbacked man hammered a fist on the table, over-turning a pot of ink that flooded a black stain across one of his charts. ‘You have been driven mad by your grief for Marlowe. You see plots where there are none, to give meaning to his death.’

  Will drew himself up, his face stony. ‘Very well. Then I must act alone, and you, God help you, must accept the consequences.’

  The door burst open with a resounding crash. Twelve figures filed in, most of them black-gowned with black caps, their faces severe. Among the clutch, Will recognized Lord Derby of the Privy Council, Roger Cockayne, one of Cecil’s advisers, and Danby the coroner, and one woman too: Elinor Makepiece, the Queen’s maid of honour.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ the spymaster barked.

  ‘Sir Robert, leave us, if you will,’ Derby said in a low, stern voice.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the Little Elf scurried out of his own chamber with one uneasy backward glance at the door.

  Coward, Will thought.

  The spy looked along the row of faces, all of them unreadable, but the eyes glittered with a cold light. ‘So now you step out of the shadows,’ he began, his hand moving towards the hilt of his rapier.

  In an instant, those implacable faces transformed as one into seething pits of fury. Mouths tore wide like those of wild beasts, teeth bared and spittle flying, and with a furious roar the men that had become beasts swooped down on Will Swyfte.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CLUTCHING TWO LARGE VOLUMES TO HIS CHEST, ROBERT ROWLAND, record-keeper to successive spymasters, entered his chamber with a bowed head as though he had a lifetime’s problems balanced on his shoulders. The lines on his forehead were stark against his sallow skin, his face muscles sagging so he looked as if he had suffered a palsy.

  Chests and towers of books, bundles of documents tied with black ribbons and dog-eared charts covered the floor of the cramped, dusty chamber. The stale air smelled of vinegary sweat, the rushes unchanged in days.

  ‘Master Rowland. We feared we might miss you.’ Almost hidden behind a pile of books and parchments on the trestle, Carpenter lounged in the record-keeper’s chair. Launceston stood at the window, his back to the room, looking out over the inner ward.

  In shock, Rowland cried out and dropped the two books.

  ‘We offer our apologies for this intrusion,’ came the Earl’s monotone from the window. ‘But matters are pressing, and politeness must wait its turn.’

  ‘What do you want?’ the record-keeper stuttered, gathering up the volumes and heaving them on to the only remaining space at the edge of the table. ‘Did Secretary Cecil send you?’

  Carpenter gave a faint smile, hidden quickly. ‘Of course. Would we be here for any other reason?’

  The Earl turned, tracing one finger through the silvery dust on a large volume. ‘We seek to inspect the records of our former master, Sir Francis Walsingham, in particular those pertaining to the work carried out by Christopher Marlowe. Our interest lies in any task where he may have been accompanied by one Griffin Devereux. I understand accounts were kept of every matter of business carried out under instruction from Sir Francis?’

  ‘They were.’ Distracted, Rowland searched through a heap of parchments for a quill. ‘Every piece of business conducted at home and on foreign soil. But you cannot inspect them.’

  Carpenter jumped to his feet, knocking over a set of leathery books. Two silverfish scurried out from a spine. ‘You would deny us?’

  ‘I would deny you nothing, of course,’ the record-keeper replied, unsettled by the scarred man’s threatening demeanour. ‘But I no longer have those records. They went missing on the day of Sir Francis’ death.’

  Launceston prowled around the table to take Rowland by the shoulders. ‘Who took them?’ he demanded.

  ‘I do not know. I came to put them in order after the body had been interred and there was no sign of them. I could only imagine that Lord Burghley had ordered them to be removed for safe-keeping, but when I asked him, he had no knowledge of it.’ Rowland pulled gently away from the Earl’s grasp. ‘I am sorry. I would help you if I could.’

  Launceston exchanged a glance with Carpenter. ‘Will was right. This plot has been in motion for years, and the track has been well covered.’

  Raised voices echoed from the ground floor, punctuated by angry shouts and the cries of women. Exchanging a silent glance, Carpenter and Launceston bolted from the record-keeper’s chamber. Outside the door, the two men ran straight into a concerned Nathaniel.

  As they hurried along the corridor towards the source of the disturbance, the assistant slipped between the spies without meeting their gaze and hissed from the corner of his mouth, ‘Will’s chamber has been ransacked. Everything of value has been taken, including the play. I saw Roger Cockayne, one of Sir Robert Cecil’s advisers, leaving with the shea
f of papers.’

  ‘Damn them,’ Carpenter growled. ‘You must do whatever you can to retrieve that play. The information it contains could well be crucial, especially now.’

  The raised voices rang off the stone walls. Inquisitive servants and curious ladies and gentlemen of the court streamed from chambers on either side, eager to discover what was causing the outcry.

  ‘If you value your life you will not fail,’ Launceston whispered.

  ‘You do not need to threaten me,’ Nathaniel replied. ‘I am driven by my duty to Will, not fear.’ The assistant slipped into the flow of curious people as they neared the top of the broad stone staircase that swept down into the entrance hall.

  Standing at the back on tiptoes was Alice, her cheeks still flushed from the heat of the ovens, her apron white with dust from that morning’s baking. Her face lit up when she saw the scarred spy. His own face fell.

  Carpenter eased in beside his love and whispered, ‘Alice, you must stay away from me from now on. I am a liability that will cost you your life.’ Although he knew it was right to distance himself, he still felt heartsick and couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face.

  Yet when Alice turned her head slightly to whisper in his ear, her voice was defiant. ‘I will do as I please. You may think yourself my master, but that is not the case. Yes, I will take care – I know the work you do is dangerous – but I survived my last brush with adventure, John, and I will survive the next. That is what love means.’

  Afraid for her, Carpenter returned his attention to the commotion unfolding near the large, iron-studded door in the entrance hall. With Launceston beside him, he edged forward until he glimpsed a battered Will. Two of Essex’s spies gripped his arms and the point of Strangewayes’ rapier was pressed over his heart. Carpenter began to despair.