“But doesn’t that go against — I don’t know — things like people being free to choose who governs them — democracy and all that stuff?”
“There is a place for democracy, in time, and a democratic global state does emerge from this. Eventually. The point is that there are no countries as such. All artificial boundaries are destroyed as the super state develops. At points, of course, as in any historical process, there is brutality and special interests have to be crushed. But you can only achieve stability through strong leadership and control. In the long term, though, what emerges is much better — certainly better than having hundreds of different countries that can’t agree on anything and keep fighting each other.”
As Jack stared at the map of the world in front of him, entirely shaded in yellow, it dawned on him that the ambition of the Revisionists and of Pendelshape was utterly astonishing. They planned to use the Taurus to rip apart the fabric of history and start again. It was mindblowing. Jack could see that this ability to play God would be hugely seductive — particularly for someone like Pendelshape.
“How will you do it?” he asked.
“To begin with it’s very simple. First Spain must defeat England. The new nation that forms from this must then be guided at certain points through the subsequent centuries, with an occasional hand on the tiller from us. The scenario is also modelled to ensure that the Revisionist team and our Taurus are protected. Ring-fenced, if you will.”
“How is England defeated?” Angus asked.
“Ideally, we need to make two interventions. Elizabeth must die. This will result in a power vacuum and internal strife in England — civil war, in fact. This first step is desirable, but not completely essential. Secondly, and more importantly, we need the Armada to succeed. The battle of Gravelines during the Armada was a key English victory. If that can be reversed, then the Armada will succeed, laying the way for a successful Spanish invasion. And with a successful Spanish invasion, order will be restored and we can start the next stage of our work.”
“So this plot that we stumbled across with Marlowe… I guess that has something to do with part one of your plan — the death of Elizabeth?” Jack commented.
“Indeed. We researched the period to identify a suitable opportunity. We considered the Babington Plot and using Mary, Queen of Scots, but we dismissed the idea. Our plan now is to avoid an obvious successor to maximise a period of internal strife in England before the arrival of the Spanish. Of course this period is rife with espionage. Your Spanish friends from yesterday have a well- developed plan and Whitsun, Gift and myself are here to make sure it goes smoothly, hence their presence in Cambridge. When they discovered that you were in Cambridge too, they had to act quickly to remove you, so you would do nothing to inadvertently…”
“Alter your plans?”
“Yes. But Whitsun and Gift failed, of course, and now your actions in the torture chamber have put everything back. The Spanish assassination cell will shortly discover that three of their colleagues have mysteriously disappeared and they will very likely abandon the plot.”
Jack tried to follow Pendelshape’s logic. “So now that this has all happened, your next step must be to infiltrate the assassination cell to make sure that the plot still goes ahead. Right?”
“Correct. With Elizabeth dead, stage one is complete.”
“How do you, er… they plan to kill her?”
Pendelshape refilled the coffee cups in front of them. “That, my dear boy, would be a little too much information. But it is all set out in the letter that Marlowe gave you. That is why it was important to prevent it reaching Walsingham. Without it, and with Marlowe safely in the hands of the Spanish, Walsingham and the crown are none the wiser…” Pendelshape patted his sides absent-mindedly. “In fact, where did I put the letter?” Jack and Angus looked at each other. “No matter — I will find it in a minute… Anyway, we know all the details of the Spanish plot and it will not take much to get it back on track. Everything is in position.”
Jack’s head was spinning as he tried to assimilate Pendelshape’s words. There was one question that their old teacher had not answered.
“Why are you telling us all this?”
Pendelshape paused before he spoke. “We need to make some decisions. Or to be more precise — you do.”
Jack’s brow furrowed.
“It’s your choice really. You can come with me and join the Revisionists — as we suggested before. Your father is right — just like VIGIL we must also seek to train the next generation. The irony of this great power we have — this power to change history — is that we are still mortal. I will not be here for ever. We need to recruit and train new followers to continue our work. They will ensure that the course of history continues to be maintained for the benefit of the human race. Who better than yourselves to start this process? With you on our side, your father, with his great intellectual gifts, will rejoin us and nothing will stop us then. VIGIL will be destroyed and we will change the world and then keep it changed — for good. This is the opportunity before you.” His eyes glinted. “To spell it out — I am offering you one final chance.”
“And if we don’t join you?”
Pendelshape quietly reached into his holster and pulled out the gun they had seen him wield in the cellar. He pointed it across the table at them. “If you choose not to — I’m afraid you leave me with no option. I do not have the same family concerns as your father. If you continue to side with VIGIL and meddle in our plans, you must be removed. If and when I see your father again, I will explain, with great sorrow of course, that you were — what’s the expression? Collateral damage.”
He cocked the gun.
“I need your decision, gentlemen.”
Appointment at the Palace
Pendelshape held the gun steadily, less than a metre from Jack’s face. Jack’s heart raced. He had already witnessed the casual attitude that Pendelshape could take to a human life. His whole demeanour would change, bringing a cold, dead look to his eyes. Pendelshape had that look now. Jack had no doubt that he would carry out his threat. The irony was, of course, that Pendelshape was giving the boys exactly the opportunity that Inchquin had hoped for when VIGIL had sent them back. Their mission was to gain Pendelshape’s confidence and infiltrate the Revisionists. On the spur of the moment at VIGIL HQ it had seemed like a good idea; but now, faced with the reality, it was frightening and confusing. Without contact with Tony and Gordon, they had no support, no back-up and no way of communicating with VIGIL. But with Pendelshape’s pistol hanging menacingly in the air in front of them, it looked like they had no option.
Through the small kitchen window Jack heard a strange noise. It was a sort of muffled jangling. Suddenly, an object appeared outside the window. The object arced slowly from the left side of the window across to the right. As it moved it bobbed up and down. Through the fog of the steamed-up window it was difficult to make out what it actually was. But it was colourful. In fact, it had yellow and red stripes. As far as Jack could discern, for some inexplicable reason, a large jester’s hat was flying backwards and forwards outside with no visible means of support. Pendelshape was understandably distracted by the strange apparition. He rubbed the misted window to get a better look.
“What on earth…?”
Suddenly, the small wooden door on the opposite side of the kitchen flew open. Harry Fanshawe stood in the doorway brandishing a full-length musket — he looked almost as scared as Jack and Angus had been feeling. For a moment the musket wobbled uneasily in his hands. Pendelshape swivelled away from the window and jumped to his feet, levelling his gun at Fanshawe. Fanshawe panicked, shut his eyes and pulled the trigger of the mighty blunderbuss. The flintlock slammed down into the breach and there was an odd delay before the powder inside ignited. When it did, it was as if the whole house had been detonated. The musket recoiled so hard it lifted Fanshawe off his feet and threw him nearly two metres back through the kitchen door. Pendelshape screamed as th
e crude lead shot embedded itself in his thigh. He immediately fell to the ground, clutching his leg with one hand. Somehow he had the presence of mind to retain his grip on the gun and he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew into the ceiling and a shower of plaster rained into the room.
Before Pendelshape could fire again, Angus heaved the wooden kitchen table on its side and, using it as a shield, he and Jack retreated from the kitchen. Pendelshape squirmed on the floor, but with the boys protected by the screen of wood, he was unable to get a clear aim. He roared in frustration and fired off a volley of shots. The table in Angus’s hands jarred violently as each bullet hit; the wood splintered but the bullets did not get through. They reached the door and Angus dropped the table, leaving it as a horizontal barrier across the threshold. They pulled Fanshawe back to his feet and sprinted out of the cottage into the yard, leaving Pendelshape inside, trapped but still armed.
Outside, Trinculo and Monk had the horses ready. Trinculo put away his jester’s hat which, with a large stick poked inside, had been the source of Pendelshape’s distraction. Jack rode up behind Angus.
“Let’s go!” Fanshawe shouted and they galloped off.
But Angus waited. “Are we just going to leave him there?”
“What choice do we have? He’s well equipped — he’s not going to die.”
“That’s what I mean, Jack. We could end it all right here.”
“He’s armed — in case you didn’t notice.”
“We could burn the cottage down or something.”
Jack punched Angus in the back. “You’re not serious? He might be mad and he might be okay with going around killing people randomly, but we’re not — remember?”
“Yeah, right, sorry. So what then? Try and take him prisoner or something? Remember our mission.”
Their conversation was cut short. The front door of the cottage flew open and Pendelshape staggered towards them, zombie-like, brandishing his pistol and firing wildly from a fresh magazine.
“Okay — screw the mission.” Angus jabbed his heels into the horse and they shot off down the farm track after Fanshawe and Trinculo.
It took them two hours to travel back into London. They eventually located a small pub in one of the many roads off Eastcheap. As usual, the city was mobbed, and even assuming Pendelshape recovered from the wound that Fanshawe had inflicted, he would never find them there.
“So why did you come back, Harry?” Jack asked as they huddled around a small table at the back of the inn. Fanshawe had ordered bread, cheese and a round of ale. They talked between mouthfuls.
“It’s simple, Jack — you saved my life and I could tell that man was trouble. I decided to follow you.”
“To the farm?”
“Yes. Late last night I returned to find help and Trinculo and Monk agreed to come with me this morning. We got the musket from the Rose. It is used on stage sometimes. We brought it just in case. But then everything happened so quickly.” There was a pause as Fanshawe looked at Jack with a serious expression. “What’s going on, Jack? Who are all these people — the Spaniards, those men in Cambridge? And, and… what did you do to those men in the torture cellar?”
Fanshawe, Trinculo and Monk stared at him. There was silence as Jack searched for inspiration. “We are not sure either, Harry, but we seem to have got ourselves caught up in something that we shouldn’t have. I think it all started when we met Marlowe. The letter from Marlowe describes a Spanish plot against England. Marlowe is a double agent — he works for the Spanish but also for Walsingham. He betrayed us to save his own skin. They tracked us down to London to stop us giving the letter to Walsingham and uncovering the plot.”
Fanshawe looked confused. “But what about — Pendelwright — what did you call him?”
“Pendelshape.” Jack had to lie. “We learned that Pendelshape is one of the plotters too. He is a fanatical Catholic. He removed us from the house because it was too dangerous there and was trying to get more information out of us — but we don’t understand why he let you go.”
“And then…” Fanshawe’s eyes opened in wonder. “Your magic orb — how did it make them disappear?”
Jack’s imagination was working overtime. “It’s a weapon, Harry. Italian — they’re always coming up with strange stuff. We got to know a couple of older students from Genoa… when we were at Cambridge… they, er, sold one to us. You know what it’s like these days, you need to be able to defend yourself.” It was a terrible lie — but it was the best Jack could come up with. Anyway, the truth was far harder to believe.
Fanshawe nodded and took a sip of beer. “Well that’s true. But they just disappeared…” He stared, unblinking, into space as he recalled the moment.
Jack shrugged. “Sorry, Harry, I can’t really explain it — there are more things in heaven and earth and all that…”
“So shouldn’t we warn Walsingham?” Trinculo said.
Jack shrugged. “Perhaps we should — but what would we say? We don’t really know anything about the plot — who and what it involves — if you think about it,” Jack said. “Maybe we’ve already done enough through our actions to scare off the plotters. And I think there are plots and counter-plots going on all the time — we’d probably just draw more attention to ourselves.”
Fanshawe took another long draught of ale and wiped his beard. Suddenly his demeanour changed and he smiled.
“Well at least we have some good news. We nearly forgot to tell you!” he nudged Trinculo. “My fine friend Trinculo has been busy.” Fanshawe poked Trinculo in the ribs. “Go on then.”
“Yes — good news indeed. When you left the bear-baiting yesterday, Shakespeare, Monk and I went back to the Rose to see if we could raise Henslowe. We found him!”
Fanshawe interrupted. “But not only that… tell them, Trinculo!”
“I’m trying to…”
“It would seem that Henslowe has a problem,” Fanshawe continued enthusiastically.
Trinculo was getting annoyed by Fanshawe’s interruptions. “He needs help.”
Fanshawe could contain himself no longer. “Yes! Three of his actors are ill. Very ill. Isn’t that marvellous? They want us to replace them — well, at least temporarily. With any luck they won’t recover. But more than that…”
“It gets better?”
“Much better. Henslowe is in a panic because in only two days’ time his players will be performing at Hampton Court Palace.” Fanshawe was beaming from ear to ear. “It is most excellently providential.”
“Hampton Court Palace — who is he performing for?” Jack asked.
“The queen herself, of course,” Fanshawe replied.
Making an Entrance
No! No! No!” For about the fifth time that morning, Thomas Kyd stormed on stage at The Rose theatre and advanced towards the troupe of actors. Kyd was proving to be demanding, irascible and fussy. Perhaps it was fair enough. In two days’ time they would perform his play in front of the queen, her senior ministers and a good section of the court at Hampton Court Palace. It would be the most important day of Kyd’s life and in the lives of the Henslowe Players. Nevertheless everyone had just about had enough, including the pompous Edward Alleyn who, being the most famous actor of the day, was not used to being bossed around.
Jack and Angus sat at the rear of the stage under the wooden balcony. Inside, The Rose was like a smaller version of the bear-baiting pit, but in place of a large open arena, the theatre housed a wooden stage, raised about one metre off the ground, which projected out into the middle of the standing area. The stage and standing area were ringed by two levels of roofed wooden galleries. The stage itself was given some protection by a raised balcony and large awning at the rear. Otherwise, the theatre was open to the elements. There was rubbish strewn everywhere and the whole place smelled dreadful.
Fanshawe and Trinculo had hit the jackpot winning parts for themselves in the prestigious play though they had Shakespeare to thank for their good fortune. He, of course
, knew Henslowe, who had built the theatre, and was also well acquainted with the famous actor, Edward Alleyn, and the playwright, Thomas Kyd. With three actors taken ill so suddenly, Henslowe and Kyd had been desperate. The stakes could not have been higher. The date at Hampton Court in front of the queen would be the inaugural performance of his masterpiece — The Spanish Tragedy.
There had only been one problem — and for this reason Angus had not stopped smiling since they had been allotted their parts. Unsurprisingly, there was no role for him — but it did not matter, as an extra pair of hands backstage was welcome. Jack was another matter altogether. The only trouble was that the actor Jack was replacing had been a boy who must have been a little younger than him and the role was Isabella, the wife of Don Hieronimo. The roles of women were played by boys or men and, for this reason, Jack was sitting next to Angus wearing a dress. Jack was not impressed.
“Shut it,” Jack said for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have to learn these words by tomorrow.”
Angus laughed. “The things we do for VIGIL, eh? Don’t worry, I think you look really nice.”
Jack ignored him.
After a while, Angus lost interest in baiting Jack and pointed over at Kyd, who was still remonstrating with Alleyn. “They’re still at it,” he said.
Jack glanced up from the script. “Well they better get it sorted — we haven’t got much more time.”
Jack and Angus sat in silence. Since their escape from Pendelshape, both of them had been particularly watchful. For about the tenth time, Angus said, “No time phones, no contact with VIGIL, so we just wait?”
“Yes. At least we’re safe.”
“You think?”
“Safe as anywhere.”
“Well I hope you’re right.” He nudged Jack. “Oh — here we go, looks like you’re on… don’t trip over your dress.”
Jack got to his feet. “You’re hilarious.”
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