Will Shakespeare and the Pirate's Fire

by Robert J. Harris

  “I’m helping Dr Dee with his play,” Will answered reluctantly, hoping the adventurer wouldn’t ask for details.

  “Poet, eh?” said Walter. “I’ve jotted down a few odes myself from time to time. Maybe I’ll give you a look at them some time.”

  Will’s heart shrivelled at the thought of more bad verses. “I’m sure that would be interesting,” he said flatly.

  “I must get back to the palace now,” chimed Madame Thomasina, sliding off her chair with a rustle of silk. “Her majesty will be pleased to receive your messages, doctor.”

  “I also will take my leave,” said Lok, bowing.

  “Are you sure you can find the way out?” Walter joked. “There are jungles more navigable than this palace of confusions.”

  “Leave him in my care,” said the dwarf lady. “I have it all mapped out in my head.”

  As the door closed behind the curious pair, Dr Dee directed Will to a chair. Walter fetched a jug of wine and three cups. “Here, take a drink with us, Will,” he said,

  pouring a full cup for each of them, “and tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” said Will, taking a hesitant sip. The wine was so strong it made his tongue burn. “I’ve been travelling with Master Henry Beeston for…well, quite a long time now.”

  “Travelling?” said Walter, half-mocking. “Is that what you call it?”

  Will shrugged. “It’s further than I’ve ever been before. I’m not sure I want to go any further. Certainly not to that country of Master Lok’s.”

  “He’s from the far north of America,” said Walter, with a sweep of one long arm to indicate the enormous distance. “His land is a frozen desolation where days and nights stretch on for weeks at a time. His people live in houses made of ice and hunt seals for food.”

  “I – see,” said Will doubtfully. He took another sip, a larger one this time.

  “It’s all true,” Dr Dee assured him. “He was brought to England a couple of years ago by Frobisher’s expedition. He was so fascinated by the sailors’ shiny coins that they named him after the expedition’s treasurer, Michael Lok.”

  Will noticed that there were various maps and charts spread about the room. “Are you planning an expedition of your own?” he asked Walter Raleigh.

  Walter smiled and threw back his cup of wine. “I just got back from one,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Storms and pirates drove us back to England, but next time I’ll have a better course plotted.”

  “I was never much good at geography,” Will confessed.

  “Not good at geography?” said Dr Dee. “But, Will, it’s the most important thing in the world. In fact, it is the world.”

  “You look like a sturdy fellow, Will,” said Walter, pouring himself a fresh cup of wine. “You might make a brave sailor yourself.”

  “Not me,” said Will decisively. “The stage is a dangerous enough deck.”

  “When I was your age, lad,” Walter said, “I was already fighting as a soldier in the Low Countries, helping the Dutch break free of their Spanish masters.”

  “When I’m your age,” said Will, “I hope I’ll have no reason to fight anybody.”

  “Well answered,” Walter conceded. “But don’t you ever yearn for a glimpse of what lies over the horizon? I could get you on a ship for the Americas.”

  Will wrinkled his nose. “Why would anybody want to go there? It’s all swamp and savages.”

  “Is that what you think?” said Walter with an amused twinkle. “You mark my words, Will, there’s good farming land out there, and more riches besides.”

  “Like what?”

  Walter’s eyes lit up. “Gold. Mountains of it, so plentiful they use it to make doorstops and buttons. At least that’s the tale.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “I believe I should go look for myself. But I promise you this: one day highways will cut through that wilderness and cities rise from the plains, new Londons, Bristols and Yorks.”

  The wine was making Will’s head swim. Struggling to stifle a yawn, he said, “I think you’ve a wilder imagination than Dr Dee.”

  “You’re tired, Will,” said Dee, getting up to fetch a candle. He handed it to Will. “Take this and get off to your bed. Walter and I have many more things to discuss.”

  Will said goodnight and left the doctor and his friend to their talk. His legs felt as heavy as his eyelids as he retraced his steps to his bedchamber.

  “Master Shakeshaft!”

  Will almost dropped the candle at the sight of Caleb’s sallow face looming out of the darkness. He had been lurking behind a corner, as if waiting there for Will to pass.

  Will recovered himself with an effort. “It’s late, Caleb. Why aren’t you asleep?”

  Caleb glanced shiftily to left and right, as if to assure himself they were alone. “When a man sleeps he misses things. You don’t want to miss things here.”

  I’d be happy to have missed this meeting, Will thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Right now I’m missing my bed”. He tried to edge past, but Caleb blocked his way.

  “You’ll not learn their secret, Master Shakeshaft – not without my help you won’t.”

  Will rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Caleb gave him a knowing look. “You are right to have a care in speaking of it. But you know the doctor has powers. Remember the storm that raged when you arrived. It was conjured by the doctor, one of his experiments.”

  “You can’t really think that,” said Will.

  “You must think, Master Shakeshaft,” said Caleb rapping himself on the skull. “Why would a man gather so many books if not to gain that which he seeks above all else?”

  Will stared at him, bemused. “And what would that be?”

  Caleb leaned closer and his voice dropped. “The thing all alchemists seek: the philosopher’s stone that turns base matter into gold.”

  Will had heard of such a thing, but it was just a legend, a fantasy. “I’m sure that’s not what Dr Dee is looking for.”

  “Oh, you know what I speak of, Master Shakeshaft,” said Caleb. “It’s all in his books, you see. Without them he is no wiser than we are. If you will trust me in this, we can share the riches that are due us.”

  “I have too much to do already,” said Will trying to detach himself. “If you think there’s some secret to be found, you’ll have to discover it for yourself.”

  Caleb frowned darkly. “We might have been friends in this, Master Shakeshaft, but if you take his side against me, there’s an end to it.” He slipped past Will and vanished into the dark.

  10 The Mermaid

  While Lord Strange’s Men carried on with their rehearsals, Will climbed the stairs to Dee’s study high in the east wing for what seemed the hundredth time. The script of Pluto and Proserpina was stuffed under his arm. Steeling himself for another discussion of the play’s “merits”, he knocked on the door. At Dee’s Latin response of “Intra!” he stepped inside.

  The doctor was bent over his desk running a finger down what Will could now recognise as an astronomical table. Alongside it were a map of the zodiac and various instruments of calculation.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Casting a horoscope,” said Dee without his usual enthusiasm. “I’d rather not take the time, but the client is very rich and I’m in no position to say no to a jingling purse. Not with these revels to pay for.”

  “Yes, the revels,” said Will. “Who exactly is this all for?”

  Dee gave a guarded shrug and scribbled some figures on the page before him. “Persons of the highest dignity who expect to be royally entertained.” He glanced up and scratched his head with his pen. “Have you finished the play yet?”

  Will groaned inwardly.

  “It’s going very well,” he forced himself to say, “but I do have one or two questions.”

  “Only one or two?” said Dee, looki
ng up from his calculations. “You must be dozing, Will. Well, speak on.”

  Will put down his bundle and teased out the pages he wanted. “This part where Pluto and the others all start falling in love with the wrong people,” he said. “Why do they do that?”

  “Ah, it’s the spirits, you see,” said Dee, as though this were a helpful explanation. “A man never knows how they will move him.”

  Will chewed his lip. “But that doesn’t make for a proper story.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  Will shook his head firmly. Faced with Dee’s expectant stare, he decided to gamble on an idea of his own. “Suppose – just suppose – that some other fairy stirs up the trouble,” he suggested.

  Dee looked intrigued. “And what sprite would make so bold?” he inquired.

  Will took the plunge. “There’s a mischievous fellow they tell tales of in the country. His name’s Robin Goodfellow.”

  “And your intent is that he should work some mischief to stir things up?” said Dee, nodding sagely.

  “Yes, he flies around casting spells on the king and queen!” Will exclaimed, waving his hands about in the air. “He enchants Theseus and Hippolyta, and all those other people who keep turning up as well!”

  Dee smiled at his enthusiasm. “The prospect has some merit,” he conceded, “but what’s he to say? He has no lines and I’ve no time to compose any for him.”

  “I could cobble a few speeches together from the verses I’ve…” Just in time Will caught himself before revealing that he had cut them. “From the verses I’ve been saving,” he said. “Because of their exceptional quality.”

  “Excellent!” said Dee approvingly. “You obviously have the matter well in hand.”

  The doctor turned back to his star charts, while Will glanced around the laboratory. He wandered over to another of Dee’s curious devices that stood by the window. It was a curved glass lens the size of a dinner plate set in a wooden casing. This was mounted on a stand so that the glass was on a level with Will’s shoulder.

  Setting the pages of the play down on a nearby table, he stooped to look through the lens. All he could see was a blurred smear of colour that stretched and shrank as he tilted the lens from side to side. He quickly discovered that it could be adjusted up and down as well as left and right.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s a perspective glass,” Dee replied without looking up from his work. “It makes things far away appear much closer. Well, if you’re lucky. Sometimes you can see some of the houses in London from here, but the slightest shift in position and you lose the image entirely.”

  Will experimented, setting both hands on the frame and adjusting it this way and that.

  “If it could be made to work properly,” Dee continued thoughtfully, “just think how useful it would prove. Sailors at sea could spot land from afar, generals could spy on the movements of the enemy.”

  Coming out from behind the lens to peer out the window Will saw Walter Raleigh in the garden below, conspicuous in his silks and velvet. He was making a showy series of passes with his blade, instructing Henry Beeston and Ralph in the proper art of swordplay. Will returned to the perspective glass and turned it upon the scene below.

  First a pattern of mottled greens and browns swam into view, the distorted image of some trees. Next he was presented with a wavering expanse of watery blue. Yes, that would be the Thames, which was rolling past beyond the trees. Will swivelled the frame to the left, then recoiled as a startling image jumped into view.

  “By all the saints!” he gasped.

  It was a woman, thrust upon his gaze so abruptly it was as if she had leapt out of the glass right into his lap. She was lying prone on the grassy river bank. A white robe sullied with mud clung to her wet body and her damp black hair was plastered over her face. It was impossible to tell whether she was breathing but she obviously needed help.

  Will dashed out of the room and bounded down the nearest stairway, three steps at a time. Bursting out the front door he raced across the garden where Walter was beating back a mock attack from Henry Beeston and Ralph.

  “Ho, Will! What’s the alarm?” called Walter.

  “Woman!” Will shouted back without breaking stride. “Lying by the river!”

  Beeston and Ralph halted, nonplussed, but Walter’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps it’s a mermaid,” he joked. “That would be quite a catch!”

  With two quick strokes of his blade he whipped Ralph and Beeston’s weapons out of their hands. The two swords glinted in the sun as they twirled through the air and dropped to the grass.

  “And that’s how you disarm an opponent,” said Walter. Thrusting his sword back in its sheath, he set off in pursuit of Will.

  Hurdling clumps of underbrush, Will skidded to a halt at the riverside, his eyes darting this way and that. He could see no trace of the drowned woman. The thought crossed his mind that what he had seen was an illusion, some trick of Dr Dee’s device. Then he caught a glimpse of white on the far side of a copse of drooping willows.

  In a flash he was on his knees at the woman’s side, leaning in close to check if she was alive. Her breasts were rising and falling beneath the flimsy white fabric of her dress and Will could feel her breath soft on his cheek. Her black hair and dark complexion lent her an exotic air, as if she had come from some distant land. Will drew back, his fingers hovering over her face, wondering if it was safe to touch her.

  A crash among the bushes heralded Walter’s arrival. “Is she drowned, Will?” he asked.

  Will pulled back his hand and shook his head. “No, she’s alive.”

  Walter dropped to one knee at Will’s side. Stripping a kidskin glove from his hand, he brushed the wet, raven locks from the woman’s face. “A pretty mermaid indeed,” he remarked appreciatively. “One of Neptune’s fairest daughters.”

  The woman stirred at his touch and groaned. Then she rolled towards Walter and spewed up a stream of dirty water. Walter jerked back too late to save his satin hose from a soaking. He shot to his feet. “That’s no way to treat your rescuers!” he complained.

  The woman’s long lashes fluttered, revealing brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Her gaze darted fearfully from one side to the to the other

  “Don’t worry,” Will told her, “you’re safe now. What happened to you?”

  Her full lips twitched, but no sound came out.

  “Perhaps she’s running away from an angry husband,” said Walter, using the loose glove to wipe off his hose.

  The woman rolled on to her back and squinted up at Will. “Husband?” she echoed groggily. “Are you my husband?”

  Will’s face reddened. She was at least as old as his mother. “No, no, by all the saints I’m not!”

  “There’s the pity,” the woman sighed, “for you’re a pretty lad, sure enough.”

  Walter left off mopping his hose. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Tell us what your name is.”

  She coughed then furrowed her brow. “I’ve no name,” she murmured, “no name at all. No home, no life.”

  “You must have fallen in the river,” Will persisted helpfully. “Don’t you remember anything?”

  The woman’s eyes flickered and she stared up at the sky. “Only angels,” she said sleepily.

  “Angels?” Will repeated.

  “Angels brought me here,” said the woman, her voice fading. “They brought me here to guide Dr Dee.”

  Her eyes drooped shut and she lapsed back into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  11 The Black Stone

  Dee’s gaze widened. “Angels?” he echoed.

  “What the lad says is true,” Walter confirmed. “For all the sense it makes.”

  “She says they brought her here to guide you,” said Will.

  Walter was carrying a dusty earthenware bottle and two pewter cups from across the room. Uncorking the bottle, he tipped a measure of brandy into each cup. He handed one to Dr Dee, keeping the other for himself.
<
br />   The woman was laid out on the couch in the front parlour of Mortlake House. Dee scrutinised her face as he gently settled a cushion behind her head.

  “Well, I’ve fished some curious things out of the river in my time,” he said, “but none so enchanting as this.”

  “Somebody else must have fished her out,” said Will. “We found her on the bank.”

  “I’ll take the credit for carrying her back here though,” said Walter, ruefully contemplating the mud stains on his doublet. He made a disgusted noise and tossed back his brandy in one draught.

  Dr Dee pressed his cup to the woman’s mouth and coaxed her into taking a sip. She licked her lips and murmured something inaudible.

  “Is it true?” Dee asked. “Did angels send you here?”

  Instead of answering she opened her mouth for more brandy. Dee obliged and this time she took a full swallow. As her eyelids fluttered halfway open, Walter and Will drew closer.

  “I was sunk deep in the cold water, closer to death than life,” she murmured. “Then I felt soft hands lifting me up.” She spoke in a lilting accent that Will didn’t recognise, almost as if she were more used to singing than speaking.

  “I was carried through the air like I was resting on a cloud and set down on the grass. Beautiful faces moulded out of light looked down on me. You’re to go to Dr Dee, they told me. You’re the one that’s to show him the way he seeks.”

  Her voice trailed off and she sank back into her slumber.

  Beaming with excitement, Dr Dee drew Will and Walter aside. “Did you hear that, Walter?” he exclaimed in delight. “Show me the way, she said. This is the sign I’ve been waiting for.”

  “She’s just a woman,” said Walter, helping himself to another brandy, “and one that’s been robbed of her wits.”

  “No, no, I believe she’s far more than that,” said Dee excitedly.