The Devil's Looking-Glass

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘A stowaway, lads, stealing the food from our barrels,’ he roared. ‘Over the side with ’im!’

  ‘Stay your hand.’ Will bounded down the steps from the poop deck. With the cold efficiency for which they were known, two sailors had already hauled their captor half over the rail. They glanced back towards Will, unsure.

  ‘Do as ’e says,’ the first mate muttered. He eyed the spy from under low brows, making no attempt to hide his irritation at being overruled.

  The sullen sailors dragged the writhing stowaway back from the brink and threw the cloaked figure to its knees. When the first mate yanked back the hood to reveal the stranger’s identity, a shocked murmur ran through the watching crew.

  ‘A woman!’ the first mate exclaimed.

  ‘Grace?’ Will uttered, stunned.

  The young woman looked up at her former protector with defiance. ‘I could have remained hidden for days longer, if not weeks, if that rat had not startled me. What a foolish girl I am.’

  The spy reeled. ‘Are you mad?’ He couldn’t help but think of the dangers she now faced.

  At the outcry, Strangewayes, Launceston and Carpenter stumbled from below deck where they had been drinking sack and playing cards in the captain’s quarters. The young spy gaped when he saw his love.

  ‘Say nothing,’ Grace snapped, eyes blazing, ‘or I will be forced to show you the edge of my tongue.’

  Launceston shook his head, bored. ‘I thought this would be a matter of interest that might relieve the tedium of this long journey. Who would choose a life on the waves? Only jolt-headed malt-worms, that’s who.’ He eyed the crew with contempt, either oblivious or uncaring of the murderous glances they shot back, and sauntered below deck once again.

  ‘This woman of yours will not be satisfied until she has ended all our lives,’ Carpenter blazed. ‘I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on the reckless sow.’

  ‘Still your tongue,’ Will ordered. Grace feigned an air of haughty indifference and looked away.

  ‘From this day on, we will have to risk our own necks to keep her safe. As usual,’ Carpenter continued.

  ‘I said, be silent.’ Will’s voice crackled with anger.

  Strangewayes’ face had drained of blood. He held out a hand to help the woman he loved to her feet and she took it as if she were accepting an invitation to dance. ‘Why did you do this, Grace?’ he murmured.

  ‘I am no weak little thing,’ she said with defiance. ‘If this matter concerns my sister, I would be a part of it.’

  ‘Your sister?’ Carpenter said, baffled. ‘Have you taken a knock to the head?’

  Will’s heart sank. Was that what she had taken from their parting words? His conscience was already on its knees, and here was another burden for it.

  Strangewayes stepped closer to her and hissed in her ear, ‘You are aboard a ship full of lustful seamen who will not feel a woman’s soft embrace for many months.’ He looked around the silent crew. ‘But that is the least of your worries. Do you have any notion of the terrible situation you have placed yourself in?’ His voice cracked with despair, and he looked at Will. ‘We must turn back.’

  ‘No,’ Grace exclaimed, her eyes widening. ‘You cannot abandon this voyage because of my . . .’ Will watched her choose her words carefully, ‘foolishness. Too much is at stake. Too much invested in this expedition. You would not be able to raise the funds for another voyage for months, if at all.’

  ‘She is right,’ Carpenter whispered in Will’s ear, bracing himself against the movement of the deck beneath his feet. ‘If we turn back, we lose everything. You have no right to make that decision to save this woman, however much she means to you.’

  ‘Please,’ Strangewayes begged, arms outstretched. The word was almost lost beneath the creak of the rigging and the boom of the wind in the sails. ‘Grace has been foolish but she should not pay for that error with her life.’

  Will hid his dismay and beckoned to Grace. Carpenter was correct; he had no choice. Holding her chin high, she followed him back on to the poop deck where the crew could not overhear their conversation. ‘What have you done, Grace?’

  ‘I can cope with any hardship. I have in me the heart of a lion, like our Queen.’ She turned away from his damning gaze and looked out over the heaving blue-grey swell.

  ‘You have led a sheltered life—’

  She spun round, her cheeks colouring. ‘Sheltered? My life was destroyed when my sister was torn from the heart of my family, as was yours. If I can survive that misery, I can survive anything.’

  Will saw her pain, still raw after all those years, and changed his approach. ‘I know there is steel in you. But even with all that you have endured, you have barely scraped the surface of the dangers that exist in the world. You must trust me on that.’

  Seeing that he had only her well-being at heart, she softened. ‘I know you wish to protect me, as you have always done, but I have had my fill of being pushed aside like a girl and told only what is good for me. I believed Jenny dead, but your unwavering faith has given me hope and that, somehow, is more painful by far.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Over the years, I have grown to understand the secrets hidden in your words, and between your words and behind them.’ She laughed, brushing the teardrops aside. ‘Perhaps I would make a good spy.’

  ‘And what secrets have you learned?’

  She lowered her eyes and whispered, ‘The ones in your heart, the ones in mine. I would rather be dead than suffer any longer in this twilight world filled only with ghosts and what-might-have-beens.’

  Will understood, completely, and hated himself for it. ‘You vex me, Grace,’ he sighed.

  She smiled, taking it as a compliment. ‘When Nat returned to the palace with your message, I made him tell me what you had planned.’ She saw his face harden and added hurriedly, ‘Do not blame Nat. He is a good soul and I can twist him round until he tells me anything. He thought he was doing me a kindness by telling me you had survived, but while his back was turned I took a carriage to Tilbury.’

  ‘And you crept on board and hid away.’

  ‘On the orlop deck, sneaking down to the bilge when anyone came.’

  Despite himself, Will felt some admiration. ‘You are very determined,’ he said, showing a stern face. ‘But now you have created a great problem for me. I fear what you might see on this terrible journey. And whatever you may say, my men cannot help but try to protect you when danger arises, and by doing so they will put their own lives at greater risk.’

  ‘I would not see any of them hurt on my behalf.’

  ‘Nevertheless, that is the grave situation in which we now find ourselves. How to proceed?’ His brow knit, he glanced out to sea, but saw only that strange, troubling cloud on the far horizon. What had already seemed dire was now fraught with even greater dilemmas. ‘I must think on this awhile. Go to Tobias, but do not distract him from his duties. He will find you a berth in the captain’s cabin and curtain it with sailcloth. You must stay away from the men at all costs, do you understand?’

  She nodded. In her brightening eyes, he thought he saw a glimmer of excitement. For all the danger, she was enjoying her great adventure. At the top of the steps, she glanced back. ‘Will, I am sorry if I have angered you, but to ease this pain in my heart, I would risk anything.’ He held her gaze for a long moment, and then she descended to find Strangewayes, ignoring the lingering stares of the crew.

  ‘Master Swyfte,’ Courtenay bellowed from the main deck, ‘I would have that course now. The Atlantic is not the pond at Baldock Green. We can sail around here till Doomsday without ever stumbling across our destination.’

  ‘Prepare your charts, captain,’ Will called back. ‘I will have your settings in no time.’ His hand fell to the leather pouch hanging at his side, feeling the weight of the secret he had concealed. All the risks he had taken, all the deceptions, and all the plans he had made, were coming to a head. This ship of fools had passed the point of no return and only darkness l
ay ahead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE NAKED WOMAN bucked and writhed above the old man. The rhythmic creak of the narrow bed echoed around the captain’s dusty cabin, accompaniment to a symphony of moans. The waves lapped. The hull groaned. Flushed from their ardour, Red Meg O’Shee wiped the sweat from her pale forehead with the back of her slender hand. Beneath her, Dr Dee grunted, his grey eyes glassy. Though she ground her hips and swung her breasts and used every love-making skill she had mastered in her hard life, the Irish spy felt that the magician was almost oblivious of her presence. She knew he was aroused; his hardness inside her was testament to that. Yet his gaze searched only an inner horizon and his lips moved in whispered conversation with things she could not see. Sometimes she thought she heard responses from the corners of the cramped cabin, and then her arms prickled into gooseflesh.

  She hid her distaste for what she endured. This was business, no more, and she had long since grown inured to the demands of staying alive in a trade not known for the longevity of its practitioners. But she wondered how much longer she could continue this way. Since she had stolen Dee from under the noses of the English, she had kept him bewitched with her thighs and the stupor-inducing concoctions she had been taught to mix by the wise women in the green hills of her homeland. But after Liverpool, other devils rode him.

  She had watched him weave his magics with mirrors, hunched over their glittering surfaces uttering a guttural language that sounded like pebbles dropped on wood. In response, she had seen the shadows seem to lengthen around the cabin, and move of their own accord. And as of that moment he had been like a man drifting through a dream, ignoring her honeyed whispers as he took command of the vessel. The crew had fallen further under his insidious influence, going about their work in silence with the same glassy-eyed distraction. Captain Duncombe had stood by her at every turn.

  As the west coast of Ireland faded from view, she sensed other, unseen passengers aboard, voices whispering down in the bilge or on the gun deck or the orlop deck, although each proved empty whenever she investigated. Flickers of movement in shadowy corners, gone when she looked directly. The nights were worse, until she had become afraid to sleep. A haunted ship carried her away from all she knew, she could deny it no longer.

  She felt Dee’s muscles grow taut and raised herself off him before he spilled his seed, finishing with her mouth in a manner that would have drawn admiration from the doxies along Bankside. Once done, she whispered in his ear, ‘You have made my head spin, as always, my sweet. I am caught in your spell.’

  ‘I have business on deck,’ he muttered, pushing her aside. Meg flashed a murderous glance, but hid it before the doctor saw, though she doubted he would have cared; he already appeared to have forgotten her.

  ‘Where do we sail, my love?’ she asked, as she had many times, in her gentlest voice.

  ‘West,’ he grumbled, distracted. ‘Where the dead live.’

  She sighed at his usual reply, climbing off the bed to tie back her red hair with a green ribbon that matched her eyes. While she pulled on her white linen smock, Dee prowled around the cabin with the vitality of a man half his age. At ease with his nakedness, he tugged at his beard as he examined charts, then stood at the window and watched the white wake trailing from the carrack’s stern. ‘I know,’ he snapped to no one she could see. ‘We will be there when we are there.’

  Mad, she thought, eyeing him as she slipped on her black and gold skirt and bodice. Mad and drunk with power. A lethal combination.

  When he had pulled on his purple robe, he stepped out on to the deck, his silvery hair flying in the salty ocean breeze. Meg followed. No eyes flickered her way. She was unused to that, for she had worked hard to learn how to draw men’s attention, then steal their gold or their papers or their life while they were distracted. In dreamy silence the crew went about their tasks, mending sails, climbing the rigging to the yards, or drawing the lines to bring fresh fish aboard. No singing, no ribald laughter. Duncombe was caught up in his duties, not trusting these jolt-heads to keep them on a safe course.

  Never had she felt more alone, though she had been a solitary soul since her chieftain had decided to utilize her natural talents for the good of Ireland. It felt as though she was condemned to purgatory aboard a ship of ghosts.

  On the forecastle, Dee peered down at the magic circle he had inscribed in scarlet paint. She watched him take position in the centre of the strange symbols, untroubled by the rolling sea as if his legs were affixed to the deck. For long moments, he bowed his head, beginning one of his monotonous incantations, his words lost beneath the wind.

  Red Meg’s chest tightened and she shivered, not with cold but with unease as the shadows thrown across the deck by the masts and the rigging shifted without explanation. Behind her, she thought she heard a sound like a giant snake coiling on the poop deck. As Dee threw his head back and raised his arms, the wind grew stronger. It lashed his hair and whipped the deep sleeves of his robes. Overhead, the sails boomed as they filled to their limit.

  She watched the doctor as the carrack surged across the waves, and then, satisfied that he would be distracted for a while, returned to the cabin. Sliding the bolt across the door, she hurried to the chest under the window and searched through the jumble of contents until she found one of the gilt mirrors Dee carried with him for his divinings. In her time with him, she had learned some of his tricks.

  When she had studied the charts scattered across the trestle, she set the looking glass in the centre and peered into its depths. The words seared through her mind with such force that she almost recoiled and was momentarily disorientated. Then the mirror clouded over, clearing to reveal a familiar face peering up at her.

  ‘Will Swyfte,’ she said with a seductive smile. ‘How I have missed those dark eyes.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GOLDEN SPIKES OF morning sunlight glinted off glass. Across the low ceiling of the captain’s cabin, shimmering pools flickered as Will peered into the depths of the obsidian mirror set unsteadily on the trestle table. The pounding of the waves on the hull throbbed through the stifling stale air, loud enough to hide any conversation from prying ears.

  In the looking glass, Meg’s lips and eyes teased him as always. Will felt relieved to see she was well. Yet if anyone could survive in that perilous atmosphere, it would be Red Meg O’Shee.

  ‘This merry ocean jaunt is to your taste?’ he enquired.

  ‘I see no reason to wallow in gloom, my sweet. There is always pleasure to be found in every situation.’ The smile was just one of many masks that prevented any man from knowing her true thoughts, he knew. She was a strange woman, the Irish spy. Duplicitous on so many levels, as lethal as any opponent he had ever encountered, yet at her core he had found some well-protected part of her in which he felt he could place some trust.

  Will’s thoughts rushed back across the waves to Liverpool and to that tumultuous night when he had seized the opportunity presented to him and embarked on this desperate gamble. Driven mad by the rush of his new power, Dee had raged through the upper floors of the rooming house while Will and Meg fled down the wooden stairs to the front door. Meg was terrified by the inexplicable transformation she had witnessed and had been gabbling about the alchemist’s ordering her to accompany him on some mysterious journey to the New World. It seemed even her charms no longer had any effect on Dee, and she feared for her life and her sanity.

  How Will’s mind had whirled with the opportunities that chance had suddenly presented to him. Snatching at a single straw, he had decided at that moment to risk everything. From that point on, he knew there could be no going back, though his very life, the Queen and all England, were forfeit.

  When Meg had recovered her wits sufficiently, he had offered her a harsh choice: stay by Dee’s side and glean whatever information she could from him, or be taken back to London to face punishment for her crimes. If the dilemma troubled her, she didn’t show it; indeed, he thought she seem
ed almost relieved that she would not have to return to her homeland, and she had even suggested how they could make his plan work.

  They hid while Dee thundered out into the night, raging about his missing looking glass, which Will had hidden in his pouch. In whispers, Meg quickly related the secrets of mirror-communication that the sorcerer had taught her; though half a world lay between them, they would be able to speak through Dee’s glass, she insisted. And then, her eyes bright, she had kissed him with surprising tenderness before darting out into the street to accompany the alchemist to the quayside.

  Will smiled at the memory of that kiss. He could only presume she saw some advantage for herself in his plan, for Meg was not a woman spurred on by the kindness in her heart. She could not have returned to Ireland if she had failed in her task to kidnap Dee. And Cecil would have ensured there was no safe haven for her anywhere in England. Perhaps she felt the dangers of a sea journey with the doctor were preferable to a flight across Europe, where the malign influence of the Unseelie Court would still be felt.

  Will had not told her that what lay ahead was far worse than she could ever imagine. It was but the first of many quiet betrayals that would no doubt see his soul damned. But it was a price he was willing to pay.

  ‘What news?’ he asked.

  The Irish woman’s beautiful features darkened. She glanced over her shoulder towards the door, and then whispered, ‘I must speak quickly, for Dee will only be briefly distracted, and if he finds me here my punishment will be terrible indeed.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘He is much changed.’

  ‘Have you learned what has possessed him?’

  She shook her head. ‘All I know is that he uses his mirrors to speak with angels, as he did on the road to Liverpool, even when he was under my spell.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Though now he rages against them like a madman. They must be the ones who ride him.’