The Devil soa-3

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘You are a courageous man.’ Will shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked out across the azure sea.

  ‘I am a fool and never you forget it. Only one thing troubles me now: the devil’s looking glass. Tell me you were not such a simpleton as to bring it here.’

  ‘I left it in your chamber at the Palace of Whitehall,’ Will lied. So Dee would not see his face, he ducked down to pick up a pebble.

  ‘At least some sense resides in that thick head of yours. I have spent my life keeping that mirror out of the Fay’s hands.’ His face darkened. ‘So much power resides in that thing it could change the course of this war in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘You have mastered it?’ Will asked. He threw the pebble out into the crashing waves.

  ‘I have heard tales,’ Dee mumbled, clearly knowing more than he was saying. ‘It keeps its secrets well. But the Unseelie Court could unlock it. Never must it be allowed to travel anywhere near those pale-skinned bastards.’

  Will swallowed his guilt. Another gamble, worse by far than all the others. Yet the mirror was his only link with Jenny and he could no more give it up than his own life.

  Reflecting on what he had learned, he lowered his eyes to watch the crab take shelter in a crevice in the rock pool. ‘It is so easy to hate our eternal Enemy for the miseries they have inflicted upon us — upon me, and Jenny. The Unseelie Court think us the wicked ones in this game. And there are many times when I am inclined to agree.’ He furrowed his brow, his voice reflective. ‘We have committed some terrible crimes in pursuit of victory, doctor. Yet, what a mess this business is. How simple it all seemed when we thought we were on the side of the angels, fighting devils. Now we know there are devils masquerading as angels on both sides.’

  Further down the shore, a longboat pulled up and two sailors clambered out and splashed into the surf. They began to haul their vessel up the sand. Amongst a group of onlookers, Will saw Carpenter, Launceston and Strangewayes, and Meg and Grace.

  ‘Here is my question, doctor,’ he added. ‘When we fight monsters, must we become monsters?’

  Dee shook his head, his face preternaturally sad. ‘Set me free from this damnable island,’ he muttered. Without answering the spy’s question, he strode across the beach towards those gathered on the shore. After a moment, Will followed.

  Picking up her skirts, Grace hurried to meet him. ‘It is true, then?’ she enquired, her eyes gleaming with hope. ‘You travel to the home of the Unseelie Court to rescue Jenny?’

  ‘Do not think for a moment that you are accompanying me, Grace.’

  ‘I am coming,’ she snapped, her cheeks flushing. ‘Do not try to abandon me here on the brink of discovering my sister’s. . my sister’s fate, Will Swyfte.’ She was close to tears.

  ‘When I return-’

  ‘And if you do not return? How can I live my life knowing I came so close to the answers I have prayed for and then walked away? No, I am coming too. And if you try to put me back on the Tempest, I will leap into the waves and drown myself.’

  ‘Grace-’

  ‘You have no power over me. I make my own decisions.’ She glared at him.

  After a moment, he nodded. Grace was no different from him; she deserved a resolution too, for good or ill. Over her shoulder, he saw Strangewayes look at him, his eyes daggers. Will knew he had made a bitter enemy in the younger spy, and he wondered if there was any way he could change that. Tobias was misguided, nothing more. He only wished to protect the woman he loved, but he could never understand the deep currents in Grace and Will, and the ties that bound them. ‘And you?’ he called over to the little group.

  ‘Why, my sweet, I could not leave you to look after the children.’ Meg blew him a kiss. Grace scowled at the other woman. Will recognized the truth, and the tragedy the Irish spy tried to hide. She had failed in her purpose and now was a woman without a country. An enemy in England, with Dee returned to London she had betrayed her chieftain and risked pain or death if she returned to her own home. And yet, knowing what was at stake, she had aided Will every step of the way. He walked towards them, relishing the sound of his feet scrunching on the sand.

  ‘I wish you well,’ Carpenter said, an unfamiliar smile of relief upon his lips, ‘but I have no desire to die young. I will ensure the doctor reaches London safely, and then I will leave this mad world behind and find a new life, though Cecil and his dogs pursue me to the ends of the earth.’

  ‘And good luck to you,’ Will said. ‘You have earned it.’ He turned to Launceston, who was cleaning his nails with a knifepoint. In the sun, his skin seemed paler than ever.

  ‘John is incapable of looking after himself, and so it is my burden to watch over him,’ the Earl said, his face expressionless, though Will thought he saw a surprising hint of humour in his eyes.

  When the two men had walked back to the longboat, Strangewayes muttered to Will, ‘I will accompany you.’

  ‘Very well.’ Will nodded. ‘We are going to take the Corneille Noire and I have asked Captain Courtenay to supply a handful of men to crew her. Once we reach our destination I will send them home. I would not have their deaths on my conscience.’

  ‘And how exactly do you intend to return?’ Dee asked. He eyed Will from under his overhanging brows.

  In reply, Will smiled tightly.

  A cry from the longboat interrupted their debate. Carpenter was bent double, clutching his stomach. After a moment he appeared to recover. He exchanged a few words with Launceston and then the two spies trudged back along the sand to the others. Will frowned at the sight of Carpenter’s ashen face and sweat-lined brow. ‘What ails you?’ he asked.

  ‘My conscience,’ Carpenter croaked. ‘I cannot allow you to sail to your doom alone. Another sword. . or two. . might mean you return with your life. We will join you.’

  Will grinned, shaking the other man’s hand firmly. ‘Brothers in adventure, then,’ he said cheerily, adding in a more serious tone, ‘I would thank you, John. With a man like you at my side, who knows what we will achieve.’ Yet the compliment seemed to fall on deaf ears. Carpenter’s expression darkened and his eyes skittered. Will thought he saw a hint of despair there, although he could not guess what it meant. He banished it from his mind.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ he continued, looking around the assembled group. ‘Put steel in your hearts, for this day we take the fight to the Enemy.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Sunlight glinted off the waves in the bay. Out on the rising swell, the Corneille Noire strained at anchor. The full-throated shanties of the seamen preparing for sail drifted over the water. Carpenter squatted in the thin shade of a barrel among the last few provisions on the beach, watching Strangewayes glowering at the galleon where his woman waited with that guile-filled Irish spy.

  He shook his head, struggling to dampen his rising despair. A puppet, that’s all he was, with strings tugged by the Enemy so that he danced when they played their tunes. Deep inside him, the Caraprix squirmed, flooding his head with its whispers. Why had he been so foolish? A new life free of worry had seemed close enough to grasp when Lansing had woven his deceitful promises, but in his weakness he had set in motion the events that would deny him his heart’s desire. He’d been so close, too. One foot placed upon the longboat that would take him to the Tempest and the first leg of his journey back home, and then the hated thing inside him had snatched him back and propelled him in the opposite direction; away from freedom, away from hope, towards only doom.

  He jerked his head up at the crunch of sand and saw Will and Dee deep in conversation, their heads nodding seemingly in time as they walked towards the cove where the Tempest lay at anchor. Carpenter noticed what seemed to be an unfamiliar bond between them, a new understanding, perhaps.

  He overheard Dee saying, ‘When you leave this island, you must pass through the Pillars of Medea.’ Carpenter watched as the old man pointed out to sea, past the galleon to where two columns of black rock protruded from the waves in the
hazy distance.

  ‘Why there?’ Will asked. ‘Surely it is safer to sail around them.’

  ‘They are a gateway. Once you have passed the pillars, you are in the territory of the Unseelie Court, may the gods have mercy upon your soul.’

  As the two men made their way along the sand, Carpenter hauled himself to his feet and trudged towards the treeline where he had seen Launceston prowling earlier. He had begged the Earl not to accompany him on Swyfte’s mad voyage of the damned, but the aristocrat would have none of it. Carpenter felt only more guilt at that loyalty. Not only was he dooming himself, he was dragging Launceston down with him.

  When he stepped into the shade of the trees, he breathed deeply, tasting the sweet scent of the pink blooms. Unfamiliar birdsong rang out through the gnarled branches, whoops and cries that reminded him of the chatter of the women who hung the dyed cloth out to dry on the tenter grounds beside Moor Fields. A red butterfly as big as his hand fluttered by, the green eyes upon its wings mocking him.

  Through the fronds, he glimpsed a grey shape: Launceston wandering among the flora, he guessed. But then a low whine rolled through the undergrowth and Carpenter stiffened. Fearing the worst, he dashed across the twisted roots and burst into a small clearing lit by a shaft of brilliant sunshine. Blinking, he discerned Launceston on the far side, hunched over something. He felt his heart sink.

  As he edged round the clearing, the object of the Earl’s attention fell into view: a wild pig, not yet fully grown. It appeared to be half stunned; a bloodied stick lay nearby. The Earl hovered over it, knife at the ready. Carpenter watched a look of disgust cross his colleague’s face. When Launceston saw his friend, he murmured dismally, ‘I thought I could still the urges within me with the life of a beast, but, God help me, it is not the same. I hunger still for a human life-’

  His anger searing through him, Carpenter felt all control drain away. In a blaze of white heat, he flung himself at the Earl, knocking him to the tangle of half-buried tree roots. His blows rained down as he took out all his self-loathing and hopelessness upon the other man. Finally, he realized Launceston was not defending himself. Rolling off, he sat with his head in his hands, fighting to contain the rush of emotion and the sobs that threatened to follow.

  ‘Damn you, Robert. Why can you not control yourself?’ he croaked. ‘Must I spend the rest of my days pulling you back from the brink of another atrocity?’ He laughed bitterly. ‘This is my life in essence.’

  After a moment, he heard the aristocrat climb to his feet and move to stand in front of him. Carpenter bowed his head, waiting for the blow. When none came, he looked up to see Launceston holding out a hand to help him to his feet. The pallid face was dappled with bruises.

  ‘I realize this is a burden for you. I cannot control my urges alone,’ the Earl said, his whispery voice almost lost in the rustling of the leaves.

  Carpenter sagged, his guilt magnified. ‘We are both lost souls,’ he muttered. Dazed, the wild pig lurched upright and with a squeal crashed away through the undergrowth.

  The aristocrat slipped the dagger into his grey breeches. ‘The world can look as black as pitch, but there are things which bring a little light in. When I first recognized my desires, on the third night of my incarceration in the hole beneath the cellar, with the rats and the beetles scurrying around and my father above ordering the fiddler to play louder to drown out my cries, I thought I would follow a solitary path for the rest of my days. But when you offered me the hand of friendship in my bleakest moment, I realized there was still some hope, even for a rogue like me.’ He hauled the other man to his feet. ‘We are who we are, and we do our best to struggle down this long road, but the journey is better for having someone at your shoulder.’

  Carpenter sucked in a calming gulp of air. ‘Then I have a request, from one friend to another.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘If there comes a time when I ask you to kill me, you must do so without a second thought.’

  Launceston blinked slowly, the endless depths of his pale eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts, nor any dismay he might have felt that such an act of friendship would condemn him to the life of loneliness he feared. Carpenter strode away, without waiting to hear if an answer would come.

  Back at the beach, he helped load the remaining provisions into the rowing boat, sweating in the mid-morning sun. When they were done, the two men sat in silence for the journey across the waves to the Corneille Noire.

  With everyone now aboard, the small crew spared by Courtenay prepared the ship for departure. Sails were unfurled and the anchor raised. An apprehensive mood seemed to have fallen across everyone, Carpenter noted. On the forecastle, Swyfte leaned against the rail watching the shore where Dee still stood. His mood seemed to have darkened. Was he now regretting taking a path that could only end in death for all of them, Carpenter wondered? Did he feel anything?

  As the anchor burst from the waves trailing glistening diamonds, a low, plaintive howl rolled out across the lonely island. Carpenter felt the hairs on his arms prickle at that sound, and he shuddered. Had the Mooncalf somehow survived the destruction of the tower? But when he glanced to the prow, he saw a curious thing: Swyfte was smiling.

  On the beach, Dee gave a slow wave and then turned and walked into the trees. Amid the cries of gulls, the Corneille Noire heaved away across the swell, and after a while steered a course for the columns of black rock protruding from the crashing sea. Carpenter felt the galleon judder as it slammed into the currents that swirled around the towering formation. There were easier routes away from the island, but Dee had been adamant.

  Sanburne, the acting captain, was a seasoned voyager and had accompanied Courtenay on many a foray into enemy waters. Lean and weather-beaten, with a shaven head and a gold hoop in his ear, he was more taciturn than the Tempest’s captain, but he commanded no less respect. He kept a weather eye on their destination and the surging currents, shouting adjustments to the line of approach.

  Carpenter gripped the rail as the ship bucked. How much simpler it would be to leap into that blue-green swell, he thought, but even if he found the courage, or the cowardice, he was not sure if the Caraprix would let him.

  Salt spray misted the air. Above the white-topped waves, a haze hung around the looming rocks. The brassy light thinned, and the temperature dropped in the growing wind.

  ‘There is no going back now.’ Swyfte had appeared at the rail beside him, his gaze fixed on the Pillars of Medea.

  ‘An ending is all I want,’ Carpenter muttered.

  After a moment, Will said, ‘I would thank you for accompanying me, John. We have had our differences, you and I, but you are a good man.’ Carpenter felt a spike of guilt in his heart at that.

  And then the shadow of the basalt columns fell across them, and the sea heaved and they could only grip the rail and pray for the calm waters on the other side. In the boiling cauldron between the pillars, the haze closed around them, and the far horizon and the island both fell from view. Gripping on to the stays, Sanburne stood as if made of stout oak, unyielding in the face of the elements. His barked orders rose above the roaring of the ocean and rang out across the deck with the rhythm of a galley’s drums.

  Carpenter craned his neck to look up the length of the black columns. How unnatural they appeared. Through the mist, he thought he could discern carvings of grotesque figures and symbols etched into the rock face, but the tossing of the deck threw him so violently he could not be sure. He shivered in the chill of the shade, but then the Corneille Noire heaved one final time and swept them out of the most turbulent water. The wind subsided, the spray eased, and as the Pillars of Medea fell behind them, the sun beat down once more.

  Swyfte was smiling. Carpenter noticed a faraway look in his eyes and wondered what was on his mind. Was he not afraid of what lay ahead?

  As the galleon turned towards open waters, Sanburne strode up, frowning. ‘Trouble, captain?’ Will asked.

  ‘You might say
that, Master Swyfte.’ In his right hand, he held out the ship’s compass and with his left he jabbed a finger towards the sky. ‘Though I be bound for Bedlam, it seems we now sail in a world where the sun rises in the west.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Blood puddled on the stone flags. Five bodies lay scattered across Queen Elizabeth’s antechamber in the Palace of Whitehall, all good men and true, all despatched in an instant by the thing that had swooped through the open window on leathery wings. Cecil hauled himself on to shaking legs from the corner where he had cowered like a frightened child. His white ruff was now stained, and more blood speckled his right cheek, but he had survived, by little more than the grace of God.

  As he wiped his face clean with his kerchief, he looked around the scene of slaughter and tried to compose himself. How close they had come to disaster this time. The door to Her Majesty’s bedchamber flew open and a rush of bodies swept out: the Queen herself, wrapped in a cloak of midnight blue, her frail body hunched over, her face hidden in the depths of a cowl; Essex at her elbow, aglow in his white doublet and hose as he guided her towards safety; and three pikemen with faces like Kentish ragstone.

  Essex flashed an anxious glance at the spymaster as he went. What passed between them moved from desperation to dread. How much longer could they carry on this way was the question they asked each morn when the sun finally rose. The threat crept ever closer to Her Majesty’s door. Soon they would not be able to repel it.

  Once Essex had led the Queen out of the antechamber, silence settled, but only for a moment. Raleigh slipped in, the pink lining of his half-compass cloak looking unnecessarily flamboyant in that butcher’s shop. ‘Gone, like the wind,’ he said, going over to the open window and looking out across London. ‘Our Enemy never fail to find inventive ways to make us suffer.’

  ‘You speak as if you envy them their skill in murder,’ Cecil snarled.