by Dan Davis
‘Fine, then,’ Bede said. ‘We will wait for the royal idiot to climb from his ridiculous carriage.’
‘What is being discussed here?’ Bacon said.
‘It is no concern of yours, Bacon,’ Cedd said, glancing over his shoulder.
The Lord High Alchemist stood straighter. ‘You will tell me,’ he said. His voice sounded deeper, stronger.
Bede scowled. ‘Prince Rupert intends an all-out charge with his Cavaliers on the right. Earl Digby intends to attack as fast as possible with his men, too.’
‘Interesting strategy,’ Bacon said. ‘I suppose both would rather risk the loss of England than lose face to the other.’
Bede growled. ‘If Cromwell’s men do not break immediately then we will be slaughtered.’
‘I ordered them to hold until Cromwell’s men attack us,’ Cedd said.
‘You ordered?’ Bacon said. ‘You hold no position. You cannot order a Prince or an Earl.’
‘I advised the King to hold,’ Cedd growled. ‘And the King listens to me.’
‘You have entranced him with your spells, more like,’ Bacon replied.
‘You should not be here, Bacon,’ Cedd sneered. ‘You have no powers to defend yourself.’
‘I may be a useless, broken old man,’ Bacon said. ‘But the King of England appointed me Lord High Alchemist. My place is here.’
Bede cackled. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed, you fool.’
Bacon remained perfectly calm. ‘Many will be killed today,’ he said. ‘War is a madness. A curse. Worst of all, it is a waste.’
‘War is an opportunity,’ Cedd said. ‘If you have not learned that by now, young man, then there’s no hope for you.’
‘And how many wars have you been in recently, Cedd?’ Bacon asked and chuckled when Cedd just scowled.
‘Your career was a failure,’ Bede said. ‘You allowed Dee to take everything you worked for—’
‘Be quiet. We do not have time for this,’ Cedd said. ‘Go and make your preparations, Bede. Maerwynn, stay back with the Lord High Alchemist and prepare your protection spells. With Prince Rupert and Earl Digby in command, I fear you shall have to use them.’
‘Wait,’ Writer said. ‘I need to ask you a question, Bede.’
‘Can it not wait?’ Bede asked, tutting.
‘No,’ Writer said. ‘Not if you want my help.’
Bede sighed dramatically and beckoned her to him. ‘What is it, my Writer?’
‘The Elixir of Life,’ Writer said. ‘You gave it to Archer. That much we know because it healed his wounds. But what about the rest of us. Did you give it to me, too?’
Bede huffed. ‘Now? You want to know now? Can it not wait?’
‘I may be wounded in this battle. I need to know. And what if you are killed in it? Then I shall never know the truth. Have I not done everything you asked since you brought me here? You must tell me now. Please.’
‘What did you say he did, girl?’ Bacon asked, his hand to one ear.
The alchemists looked at each other. Cedd shrugged.
‘I obtained many samples over the centuries,’ Bede said. ‘Senior Alchemists’ Guild members were pathetically easy to bribe. I tried different combinations on different people and animals. Most died, one way or another. Finally, with you and your friends I perfected the substance. I administered it while you were, to some extent, fixed in time. That way I allowed the substance to work on you slowly and perhaps avoid some of the common errors and unwanted effects.’
‘You what?’ Bacon cried. ‘You gave the Elixir of Life to this girl? To other children?’
‘Stay out of this, Bacon,’ Cedd said.
‘You monsters,’ Bacon said.
‘I perfected it,’ Bede said, stick his nose in the air.
‘Why are they monsters?’ Writer asked Bacon. ‘I mean specifically in this instance.’ But everyone ignored her.
‘I know you renegades spit on the Guild and all it stands for,’ Bacon said, wagging a bony finger at them. ‘But our rules and our code are designed to stop precisely this sort of madness.’
Bede opened his mouth to reply when trumpets sounded.
‘We have a battle to win,’ Cedd said. ‘You two can argue about this later.’
‘But you have told me nothing,’ Writer said but they walked away from her and Bacon drew her back.
‘Let them prepare for the battle,’ Bacon said, gently. ‘And you have vital work to concentrate on yourself, do you not?’
Cedd and Bede took the battlemages forward a few yards. They stood in position by the mounds of bombs and barrels of gunpowder and flammable and poison substances that were to be their missiles. Writer’s job was to protect the stock of bombs from any missiles or other attack. A stray shot landing in amongst it could create a vast fireball that would engulf her and the battlemages and probably many others.
There were also a dozen barrels of water that she was supposed to use to douse any flames that threatened the battlemages. Even more important was the King, who was beyond what was reckoned extreme cannonball range but still at minor risk of a raging fire.
Cedd had repeatedly told her that the very first puff of white from the very first cannon fired could send a ball into their gunpowder. A single vast explosion could effectively win the battle and the war. Their defence would be Writer casting her protection spell immediately on seeing such a shot fired.
No matter her true feelings on the battle and her effective captivity, she felt that it was a huge responsibility. She concentrated on the enemy ordinance and cannon in the landships.
The two armies faced each other. And then, other than the endless streams of messengers and servants, neither side moved.
Time stretched on.
After a while, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate.
No one shouted orders. Soldiers stretched their muscles or sat on the ground in their ranks, chatting and eating. Horses were walked up and down, up and down. Water and wine was passed round.
‘Do you think we shall get to see your friend’s dragon taking part in this battle?’ Bacon asked. She was surprised to see that he had obtained a stool and was sitting perched upon it next to her.
‘I hope not,’ Writer said, dragging her eyes back to the enemy cannon. ‘And I doubt it. Last time I saw him he was in chains. Even if he was not, I would not expect him to be anywhere near a battlefield. He is not a very brave creature.’
‘A shame. And it is a real dragon?’ Bacon asked her. ‘Looks like a snake with the body and hind legs of a lizard and the wings of a bat?’
‘I suppose so,’ Writer said. That was as good as description as any.
Bacon whistled, as if impressed. ‘It doesn’t truly breathe fire, does it?’
Writer shrugged. ‘He never hurts anyone with it. Almost never.’
Bacon muttered something to himself before he spoke to her. ‘So that is how Bede was able to power his spells for all those centuries.’
‘I think so,’ Writer said. ‘But I was never sure how he could do that. Take the power from a dragon. What is the power of a dragon?’
Bacon cleared his throat. ‘Demons are trapped by stone. Did you know that glass is a type of stone? Conjuration stones resonate in certain frequencies of vibration. My crystal ball was powered by demons, before I gave it up.’
Writer realised Bacon was losing his focus again. ‘What does this have to do with dragons?’
The armies kept waiting. Staring across the hills at each other. Waiting.
‘All I know about dragons comes from ancient scrolls, you understand, Bacon said. ‘Half-remembered stories written long after they were told. It always seemed absurd to me but many of the most trustworthy texts from the ancients were certain they existed. They said the dragons were created long ago, in the east. Babylon, perhaps. Some said China or India. By alchemists long forgotten. Their bodies are covered in scales made of stone and iron. They are living containers for a demon. Some alchemists were able to dra
w power for their spells from the creature, in some way. The demon can be fed and it shall never fade over time like normal, conjured demons. And a side-product the power generated by the demon creates a flammable liquid inside the gullet, and also a great heat. This is why they breathe fire. Did you say that your one breathes fire?’
‘Yes,’ Writer said, thinking that she must tell Keeper. Warn him.
‘If Dee was to get his hands on the dragon...’ Bacon shuddered. ‘He could use the dragon to power not only his spells, as Bede did, but also his mechanical devices. He would be unstoppable. And if he were mad enough to place a dragon in a Conjuration Chamber... but no. No, no one would do such a thing.’
‘Why not?’ Writer said, she looked round at him.
Bacon shrugged his knobbly shoulders. ‘It is possible that our world, the Physical Plane, would be destroyed.’
Writer could not quite comprehend what he was telling her. ‘That must be what Cedd meant when he said the dragon was the most dangerous creature on earth.’
‘I hate to admit it but Cedd was quite correct. You know what contempt I have for Cedd but at least Bede never used the dragon for anything truly dangerous. So far as I know. He just kept those barriers up for hundreds of years. Quite remarkable, actually. I never heard of anyone doing that before, I don’t think. If it comes down to it, you would be better to give the dragon back to Bede rather than allow him to fall into Dee’s hands. You must promise me that.’
She had no intention of promising any such thing. ‘But Dee is Cromwell’s prisoner. How could you do anything so dangerous?’
‘Unless he has changed beyond all recognition, and I do not believe that man is capable of change, there is not a chance he is working for Cromwell. Cromwell has given him the run of the Tower of London and unlimited resources, which is all Dee ever wanted. England has been scoured for Dee’s works. They say Cromwell has been pouring steel, brass, gunpowder and coal into the Tower for months now. Whatever he is up to in there, Dee will be working for himself and not Cromwell or anyone else. Dee would burn down London if he found a use for the ashes.’
Writer decided that she had learned quite enough about magic now. ‘Thank you for telling me so much without riddles or holding back. That’s more than Bede and Cedd ever did.’
The old man looked at her. ‘Beware men who seek power over other men. Or women. The only power anyone needs is power over himself. Or herself. Look out across at these armies. Do you think that any of these men wish to be here? Wish to die and kill others? Even those motivated by a cause they believe in would rather not be here. Perhaps a few madmen and those broken by war do love battle but most would rather never fight. So why are they here? Thousands of them?’
‘They fight for the King. Or for Cromwell.’ Writer gestured behind and away across the fields.
‘Perhaps,’ Bacon said. ‘But whatever it is they tell themselves, they fight because they feel compelled to by something or someone else. That is true power. And it is not magic.’
‘What were you arguing about with Bede, before?’ Writer asked. ‘When he said he had given me and my friends the Elixir of Life. You called him a monster. But why? The Elixir extends normal life span, does it not? It means that wounds heal in hours instead of days and wounds that would have killed you are survivable. What’s wrong with that?’
Bacon looked thoughtful. ‘It is a sacred substance. Very rare. Many cultures of the necessary materials may be obtained from a single vial but it is a difficult process. It is preserved for only the most worthy. For those who have already lived their life. Many who take it die in the process, and so the idea that he risked your lives to do this to you angers me. But the method by which it extends a man’s life span is that the Elixir greatly slows a man’s ageing. So, if it is given to a child, and their ageing is slowed, how long will it take that child to become fully grown?’
Writer felt a terrible, deep and sinking fear.
‘What is more, the Elixir removes ability of men and women to create children. Another reason why its use must be limited. Can you imagine if everyone wanted long life? There would never be another generation born to take up the torch of their fathers. That is why I was angry at Bede. He went against a tradition that existed for good reason. What is more, he never asked you, nor even told you after the fact. What a hateful, nasty creature he is. I wish I was powerful again, I would do something about him.’
‘Those who take the Elixir never have children?’ Writer heard herself ask. The wind took her voice away.
Bacon shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘So the books say. And yet who knows without performing the process and measuring the effects? Who can truly say?’
‘And I’ll never get older? I’ll never be a grown-up?’ She felt sick. The air was close and stinking. She felt the need to submerge herself in water.
‘Of course you will,’ Bacon said, clearing his throat. ‘Most probably. Bede did say he perfected the substance, so perhaps he resolved these issues. Yes, yes, that is it. I am sure that Bede has resolved such issues and you need not concern yourself. Yes. You should ask him yourself.’
Writer could not breathe. She did not know what to do. ‘I hope you are correct.’
‘Bede is a monster,’ Bacon said. ‘But he is a genius. Do not worry your little head, girl.’
Writer pressed her lips together and clasped her hands before her, lest she say or do something to harm her best source of information.
Something was happening on the battlefield.
There were shouts and trumpets from the far right of the King’s Army. The entire Cavalier right wing — thousands of horse, whole companies, battalions and regiments — surged forward.
Bacon chuckled. ‘Prince Rupert has decided to start the battle, I see.’
‘Forward,’ Cedd shouted at the colonels in front of him who commanded the infantry. ‘You must move to support him.’
Orders were given, drums hammered a marching beat and the first lines of the King’s musketeers moved down the hill, toward Cromwell’s army.
‘At least they won’t expect us to attack them,’ Bacon said, shrugging. ‘We remain spectacularly outnumbered.’
A shuddering, whirring sound rent the air and the ground before her exploded in a shower of earth. The cannonball bounced up and over her head, a tiny black orb spinning through the air. It buried itself deep into the earth twenty yards from the King’s carriage, startling the lords.
Writer held her breath. This was it, she thought. An actual battle. Dozens of cannon firing right at her. She could die. It seemed utterly absurd.
‘Maerwynn,’ Cedd shouted. ‘Attend to your task, you mad fool.’
Writer stared at him. She made no move to help.
Bede was already chanting and his hands were dancing. Around them, Writer saw the shimmering, flickering wavy light that showed a magic barrier. A great dome of force that rose from Bede to arc over high above down to the ground.
More of Cromwell’s ordinance fired from the other hill. Cannonballs thrummed into the magical shield and bounced off the barrier above and away.
The fronts and sides of the landships rippled with flame and puffs of white cloud and the crumpling soft bang sounds followed. Flying shot tore through the air. A series of ripples patterned the surface of the barrier.
Again and again, the landships thudded cannonballs into the protective shell around them with muffled booms.
Two of the shots broke through Bede’s barrier and bounced into the earth near the battlemages. Gouging great rents in the soil, spraying grass and dirt as they continued on, spinning and skipping just above head height.
‘What’s wrong with you, Bede?’ Cedd yelled.
Bede was sweating, holding his palms up above his head and bent over as if holding up an invisible ceiling. ‘It’s too much,’ Bede shouted. ‘Cannot hold. Much longer.’
‘Get those barrels into the landships, you useless fools,’ Cedd yelled at the battlemages. They were supposed to be fl
inging barrels one at a time a mile across the battlefield toward the landships. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Talbot and the others gathered about the heavy wagons. There were dozens of barrels of powder and flammable gasses and liquids to be thrown and ignited. They were arguing with each other. Talbot shoved Charnock, and the others held him back. Talbot chuckled and shook his head.
‘You blasted idiots!’ Cedd roared at them. They ignored him.
Writer decided it was time for her to flee, to join her friends on the other side.
Cedd turned to her, looking furious. ‘Even Bede cannot withstand this bombardment. Throw up your barrier, Maerwynn,’ Cedd shouted at her. ‘Quickly, girl, or we shall be lost.’
The ground itself started to rumble. It was strange. Different than the thudding of the cannonballs. It was something deeper, thrumming up through the earth beneath her feet. At first, she assumed it was something Bede or Cedd was doing. Yet the entire battlefield was effected. Cromwell’s side seemed to be suffering the most. The redcoats in the centre there were pulling backward. Some were even scattering, peeling away one at a time.
It seemed to be coming from the right hand side. The same side that Prince Rupert had charged his cavalry.
‘What is this?’ Bacon said. ‘The very earth quakes.’
‘I have my suspicions,’ Writer said.
‘Where is the King?’ Bacon asked, looking over his shoulder. The lords were streaming after the King’s fabulous carriage, which was charging away from the battlefield as fast as the team of horses could pull it.
‘You should run now,’ Writer said to Bacon. ‘Go back to the city with your King.’
His rheumy eyes were wide as saucers. ‘What about you, girl?’ Bacon asked.
‘Go, now,’ Writer said. ‘Do your duty.’
Gently, she turned his bony shoulders and eased him away to the north, to the King. She watched his bent back bobbing away as fast as he could go and then turned back to the battle.
The distant landships in the centre were tilting and rolling on the earth like ships upon waves. The ground beneath them turned to water and the great machines sank down and tumbled against each other. Some were still firing their internal cannons and clouds of white smoke boiled from the armoured gun ports. Others had men jumping out of the top. One of the landships tipped over on its side belching black smoke, then rolled upside down, wheels spinning in the air. The armour on the side crumpled. Flame spurted out the chimney and then the whole thing exploded in a rush of fire and an almighty bang. The blast of flame engulfed the landship right next to it and that one, too, exploded in a shower of dirty smoke and iron.