by C. S. Quinn
‘So this,’ he said to Thorne, ‘is where you have been hiding.’
Amesbury’s gaze had settled on a pile of jeweller’s tools.
Thorne smiled thinly. ‘I’d tell you more,’ he said, ‘but I fear you have more pressing matters to discuss with me. The King wants you to torture me. But I will not tell you where I hid the Eye.’
Amesbury shut the door behind them. ‘What about the girls?’ he said. ‘Will you tell me of them? Seven corpses washed up dead at Deptford.’ Amesbury moved closer. ‘Did a man of your great bloodline think,’ he said, ‘a few commoners wouldn’t be missed?’
Thorne put his head in his hands. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he whispered.
‘Then tell me what to think,’ said Amesbury. ‘The court is alive with rumours about you. Your tastes. The friend who was burned.’
Thorne’s eyes blazed suddenly.
‘I heard,’ said Amesbury gently, ‘you never recovered from the death. Your interests turned to Roman gods. Sacrifice.’
Thorne tensed as the general picked up a wicked-looking awl.
‘I would guess,’ said Amesbury slowly, ‘that you used these tools to make the Eye.’
Thorne said nothing.
‘I would also assume,’ continued Amesbury, ‘that a man so skilled would use the same apparatus to hide his creations. Not in this room, however,’ Amesbury decided, watching Thorne’s face. ‘A man like you, a man of such genius, a stargazer, he would choose somewhere . . . symbolic.’
Amesbury’s hand grazed a few more tools. A chisel of exquisite precision, tiny pliers, a jeweller’s hammer.
‘I think,’ he said, walking towards Thorne, ‘that the tools that hid the Eye might also be able to reveal its location.’
Thorne breathed out, his face pale.
Amesbury loomed closer. He was so large, Thorne found himself shrinking back. Amesbury eyed the door, then lowered his voice.
‘We are brothers, you and I,’ he said quietly. ‘Bound by blood oath to protect England.’ He paused. ‘But I do not believe,’ he continued, ‘that the old King still holds England in his heart.’ He pushed tools into Thorne’s hands. ‘You will need these,’ he said, ‘to destroy the Eye.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘I cannot,’ he said. ‘My apprentice—’
‘Will be better without such a legacy,’ interrupted Amesbury. ‘If you try to leave your apprentice the Eye, you will be captured and killed.’
Thorne was silent.
‘What about you?’ he said. ‘When the King discovers your betrayal . . .’
Amesbury gave him a good-natured thump on the shoulder, jolting Thorne’s thin frame.
‘My allegiances have changed,’ he said. ‘I mean to seek my fortune with Cromwell.’
Amesbury was the only man Thorne knew able to say something so ludicrous convincingly. He spoke as though he would simply stroll on to the battlefield and take off his Royalist sash.
‘They will call you a turncoat,’ said Thorne.
Amesbury shrugged. ‘They have called me worse,’ he said. ‘I have already undertaken secret naval missions for Cromwell. I mean to defend England.’ He considered for a moment. ‘The old King’s son. He could have promise. Brave lad. Full of feelings. But he has a lot of growing up to do. Perhaps one day he’ll be fit to rule with his head, not his heart.’
Amesbury glanced at the door again. ‘I’ll see you’re not disturbed,’ he said. ‘Go now. Get to Deptford Docks and don’t look back.’
Amesbury realised Henrietta’s dark eyes were narrowed at him.
‘You expect me to believe you know nothing?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Amesbury, ‘I thought I knew who Thorne’s apprentice was. But I was wrong.’ He paused, choosing his words. ‘The apprentice would have been young at the time,’ he said. ‘Barely a man. Perhaps a sheltered boy with an interest in astrology.’
Henrietta caught the implication, and her whole body tightened. Her narrow face seemed to retract in on itself.
‘I’ll have you gutted,’ she whispered. ‘Your head will be paraded on a pike.’ She closed her eyes tight.
‘I made no accusation,’ said Amesbury calmly. ‘Named no name.’
‘The Dutch seem to think they can find the Eye,’ continued Amesbury.
Henrietta gave a little start in her chair.
‘If you tell the truth,’ she decided, ‘my sons are in great danger.’
Amesbury nodded.
The old woman pursed her lips. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you.’
Chapter 72
Charlie and Lily had climbed back down into the secret tunnel under Custom House, leaving the attacking mob behind them. They reached the smashed map of the city, breathing hard.
‘The last ring,’ said Lily. ‘We need to find the Temple of Venus. Quickly,’ she added. ‘It’s only hours until sunset.’
Charlie closed his eyes, willing himself to think. Rowan’s life depended on it.
Lily was looking at the broken mosaic of London.
‘Much of the map is missing,’ decided Charlie, ‘but there are only seven Roman gods in astrology. Maybe we could find Venus by elimination.’
‘We’re assuming Venus’s Temple is now a church?’ asked Lily.
‘An old church,’ agreed Charlie. ‘One of London’s originals. We can discount St Olave’s as Neptune,’ he added, ‘symbolised by a trident. And St Ursula’s is the Bear Goddess. Diana, the Moon.’ Charlie studied the rest of the smashed mosaic. ‘I think this was an upturned arrow here,’ he said, pointing, ‘joined to part of a circle. Mars?’ he added, calling to mind the symbol from Lily’s almanac.
Lily nodded.
‘It’s on the site of St Martin’s Church,’ said Charlie. ‘And something like it is also near Clerken Well and Aldgate. That’s where St Martin’s the Great and St Martin’s on the Wall are today.’
‘Mars became St Martin,’ said Lily. ‘Four remaining.’
Charlie scrutinised the wall. There were no clues left. He racked his mind for what he knew of Roman gods.
‘What’s missing?’ said Lily. ‘Which churches aren’t on this map?’
‘Many,’ admitted Charlie. He scanned the broken pieces. ‘All,’ he admitted. ‘And even if we knew which saint was Venus, she probably had several temples, like Mars and Jupiter. He pointed at the remains of the trident. ‘There are at least three St Olave’s churches inside the city too,’ he added.
Something else occurred to Charlie. ‘All Hallows’ is the old festival of Venus,’ he said. ‘It’s her season. Libra is ruled by Venus. Halloween is when people bob for apples and make marriage games.’
‘Which means?’
‘I think Venus,’ said Charlie, ‘is All Hallows church.’
Lily’s eyes widened as she considered the possibility of this. ‘But there are many All Hallows,’ she said finally.
‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie. ‘All Hallows by the Tower. All Hallows on the Wall.’
‘It would take us a day to search them all,’ said Lily. ‘All Hallows’ Eve is tonight.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Charlie. ‘My mother’s sampler mentions sunset.’
‘When the sun goes down, you shall return your pledge to Him,’ said Lily, remembering.
‘There is an All Hallows famed for sunsets,’ said Charlie. ‘All Hallows by the Tower. It’s the oldest church in London. People used to come from outside the city to see the sunsets through the stained glass. It’s one of the few windows not smashed by reformers in Cromwell’s time.’
‘Sounds like a long shot,’ said Lily.
‘Maybe not,’ said Charlie. ‘There are also Roman remains there. Thorne was fascinated with the old gods. Perhaps the tapestry was my mother’s clue to find the last ring.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Although that does leave us with a problem,’ he concluded, his thoughts drifting anxiously back to Rowan.
Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Another one?’
‘The last
sunset before All Hallows’ Eve is less than an hour from now,’ said Charlie. ‘And All Hallows by the Tower will be filled with smugglers tonight.’
‘Smugglers go to church?’
‘Not generally,’ he said, ‘but they do on All Hallows’ Eve. Sailors are the most superstitious men you’ll ever meet,’ he added, ‘and smugglers have a lot of dead friends.’
Chapter 73
The Judge stood over Ishmael Boney. He held the almanac.
‘I’ve heard stories,’ he said, ‘from my pirate prisoners. They tell me of an Eye of Lucifer. A Temple of Venus hidden in London.’
Ishmael sighed. He didn’t seem unduly frightened.
‘You say you’re a man of the stars,’ he said. ‘Surely you recognise the pentagram of Venus.’ When the Judge didn’t reply, he continued. ‘Lucifer,’ said Ishmael, ‘means “light” in ancient Latin. It’s another name for Venus. The Morning Star. The brightest star in the sky.’ He spanned his hands. ‘A long time ago,’ he said, ‘Christians decided the Roman goddesses were unholy. Venus and her pentagram became Lucifer, the fallen angel with his apple of temptation. And since Venus is Goddess of Love, Lucifer became associated with lust and sin.’
Ishmael held two hands apart. ‘Lucifer,’ he said, waving one, ‘fallen angel of lust. Satan, the angel of death. They’re two different gods. But we’ve interwoven them.’ He knitted his hands together. ‘The two old gods became intermingled and confused. One Devil representing death and darkness, lust and sin. Venus’s apple became forbidden fruit, the temptation of Eve and reason for the Fall of Man.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said the Judge, ‘that this pentagram isn’t a sign of Devil worship.’
‘To astrologers it’s a sign of heavenly love,’ said Ishmael.
‘And the Eye of Lucifer?’
‘The third eye.’ Ishmael touched his forehead. ‘The higher understanding man forgoes to enjoy Venus’s apple and pleasures of the flesh. It can gift men the power to see as no other sees. Venus’s season is now,’ he continued. ‘Have you never wondered why we make marriage rituals and eat apples on All Hallows’ Eve? Even our old churches celebrate the Love Goddess.’
The Judge managed a thin smile. ‘All Hallows by the Tower,’ he said slowly. ‘The stained glass . . .’ He paused, picturing the windows. ‘Then you have just told me where I might find my errant gypsy.’
Chapter 74
The sun was already setting as Charlie and Lily neared All Hallows by the Tower.
All around were Londoners celebrating Halloween. Beggars and actors went from door to door, their faces painted ghoulishly, offering to chase away evil spirits for a few scraps of food. The scent of soul cakes was heavy on the air as poor children trooped to each house, offering prayers to the dead in return for fruited bread.
Apples hung on strings along the backstreets, and young people jostled to try and bite them or threw the peel over their shoulders to discover the initial of who they would marry.
‘Many fear the eclipse,’ said Lily, noting the hanging charms. ‘Those people read Armageddon from the Bible.’
A trembling group of ragged Londoners lay on their backs looking up at the stars, praying fervently. Play-acting mummers had dressed in ghoulish masks and were casting their reflections to scare away evil spirits. Elsewhere people had barricaded their homes.
‘You were right,’ said Lily as they came close to the church. ‘Smugglers.’
She was eyeing a couple of burly men sat tending a little fire. Locals were keeping a wide berth. The smugglers were standing next to the small carved bust of a woman.
‘They’ve placed a ship’s figurehead,’ said Charlie, ‘to show they’ve claimed All Hallows church for Halloween.’
The wooden figurehead was tiny by the standards of King Charles’s grand warships. It stood a foot high, carved with a large ruff at her neck and a golden crown stretching over her wavy hair.
‘Queen Elizabeth,’ said Charlie. ‘Sailors think her lucky.’
Charlie took in the lingering shafts of sunlight, racking his brains for a way to get inside the church. His eyes rested on a west-facing stained-glass window.
‘Look,’ he said.
Lily followed his line of sight. ‘The four cherubim are pictured in the window,’ said Lily, ‘just like in the almanac.’
‘And on my mother’s tapestry,’ said Charlie.
He breathed out, praying for Rowan’s sake they’d found the right place. Thorne’s Temple of Venus.
‘Now all we need do is oust an entire crew of murderous smugglers,’ said Lily sardonically. ‘And the sun is nearly set.’
Charlie let his gaze track around the outside of the church, looking for opportunities. A patch of the roof was missing. Either tiles had been raided or weather had damaged it. But whatever had happened left Charlie with an idea of how to clear the church. If they could get up on the roof, the plan just might work.
Charlie considered the angle of the sun, assessing where light would fall.
‘I have a plan,’ Charlie assured her, ‘to get those smugglers out. Do you think you can charm those mummers out of their mirror for a few minutes?’ He nodded to an enthusiastic group of play-actors casting masked faces into a mirror to scare away the dead.
Lily assessed the troupe. ‘Easy enough,’ she decided. ‘They’re all men.’
‘Good. We need to get the guards away from that figurehead.’
‘How do we do that?’ asked Lily, looking at the burly men with dismay.
Charlie grinned at her. ‘On All Hallows’ Eve,’ he assured her, ‘that’s the easy part.’ He picked up a handful of stones. ‘All we need is a few restless spirits,’ Charlie explained, ‘and those two guards will scatter straight for the church. The hard part,’ he added, ‘will be getting them out again.’
Chapter 75
‘You’re sure this will work?’ asked Lily as they climbed on to the roof of the church. ‘I thought a camera obscura needs to be dark inside.’
‘I’m no astrologer,’ admitted Charlie. ‘It might not work. But we can’t wait until after sunset. It will be too late. If it’s not dark enough now, it never will be.’
They’d surmounted the roof of the church, Lily carrying a piece of broken mirror borrowed from the Halloween mummers and Charlie bearing the small ship’s figurehead tucked under his arm. The hole in the tiles loomed beneath them, giving Charlie and Lily a bird’s-eye view of the interior.
Ranged everywhere inside were smugglers. Some held crosses or offerings to dead friends. Others sipped rum and waved amulets against evil spirits whilst they talked and played cards.
‘If it works,’ said Charlie, looking down at the smugglers, ‘it will cast a ghostly image of Queen Elizabeth on to the ground. On All Hallows’ Eve I think that will be enough to scare a group of superstitious sailors out of the church.’
Lily nodded. The sound of smugglers drinking and carousing drifted up.
‘Where shall I put the mirror?’ she whispered, manoeuvring it.
Charlie called to mind the camera obscura they’d seen in Ishmael Boney’s residence.
‘Angle it that way,’ he said, gesturing under the roof tiles, ‘so the outside light falls on it.’
Charlie pulled the figurehead so she was reflected in the glass. Then he manipulated the mirror so it cast a beam of light on to the floor of the church.
A few smugglers eyed the flash of unexpected light. At first Charlie thought the effect hadn’t worked, that the image couldn’t be seen. Then he heard a hubbub of uncertainty drift up.
The gloomy church was dark enough to show a faint outline of Queen Elizabeth, transparent and ethereal. But it wasn’t the full ghostly effect that Charlie had hoped for.
The smugglers were gathered around the pale image. Several were clutching their amulets or pointing and gesticulating. But they weren’t leaving. Then an unearthly noise echoed through the night sky. Charlie’s blood turned to ice. It was a shriek like the waking dead. Benea
th him the smugglers scattered.
Charlie turned to see Lily, a fist twisted strangely over her mouth. She drew breath, and he suddenly realised the dreadful sound had come from her.
Lily dropped her hand. ‘Did it work?’ she asked. ‘Are the smugglers gone?’
Charlie nodded. ‘How did you do that?’
‘It’s an owl call,’ said Lily proudly. ‘I learned it as a girl.’
‘Come on,’ said Charlie. ‘We can climb down and get into the church through the back window. We’d better hurry,’ he added. ‘It might not be long until the smugglers realise they were tricked.’
Charlie and Lily slipped into All Hallows by the Tower. It was bigger than it looked from outside, with rows of long pews. The remains of a large altar stood at one end, large in the Tudor style.
Lily looked to the west side of the church, where the four cherubim were immortalised in the stained glass, flying around the red cross. The stained glass cast long bands of coloured light in the setting sun. They dappled the stone floor in a beautiful kaleidoscope.
Charlie moved away from the window, taking out his mother’s sampler.
‘You think the answer is in the window?’ said Lily. ‘But how are we supposed to decipher it?’
Charlie held up the sampler. The scenes didn’t match perfectly. But the cherubim were unmistakably the same, their animal heads staring out.
‘The window has been here a long time,’ he said. ‘My mother must have stitched this later. Perhaps the differences in the scenes are significant.’
But so far as he could tell it was just an ordinary window, installed years ago with the others when the church was built.
‘Sunset,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘What changes at sunset?’
He followed the pattern of the light. It formed a long finger on the floor, with the arched tip pointing to the centre of the church.
‘The light makes a kind of arrow shape,’ he suggested. ‘The light from the window is stretched further at sunset.’
‘It points to the nave,’ said Lily, turning to look. ‘But there’s nothing there.’