The Devil's Looking-Glass

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘As I said before, all we want is our Queen returned. When she is seated once again upon the Golden Throne, there will no longer be need for struggle. We are no different, you and I. We want the same things.’ Lansing repeated the sentiment in a honeyed voice, the words almost dreamlike as they wove among Carpenter’s thoughts. The spy felt himself falling under their spell. We are the same. We want the same things. Lost. ‘Dee’s hands are drenched in blood. You know as well as I that few would call him a good man. He has no honour. What a small sacrifice he would be to achieve such a great end.’

  And on Lansing spoke, the steady beat of his quiet words an enchantment that swept Carpenter’s wits away. Little of what followed did the spy recall, only the great swell of his yearning as he thought of fleeing his blood-drenched work for a simpler life.

  And then he heard Lansing say, ‘Will you help end this war?’

  And he replied, ‘I will.’

  Though it was dark, he was sure the Fay was smiling. ‘We would join you with us, so we can whisper our secrets. Guide you. Comfort you.’

  ‘Why do you need me?’ he murmured. ‘You can raise the dead to do your bidding. You have your Scar-Crow Men. I am but one man, and a lowly one at that.’

  ‘One man who gives himself freely can achieve greater things than an army of mere flesh devoid of thought.’ Lansing’s footsteps drew closer once again. ‘Do you give yourself freely?’

  ‘If it will bring an end to this war and this suffering. If we can have peace once more, and lives without strife.’

  The Fay lord knelt beside him and struck a flint. Carpenter screwed up his eyes as the white light blazed in the gloom. Once a candle had been lit, he saw that Lansing held a silver casket in the palm of one hand. ‘This path must be chosen,’ the Fay said. ‘We can no more enforce it than we can turn back the wind.’

  Carpenter shook his head, trying to dispel his hazy stupor. An insistent voice echoed deep inside him, but it was too faint to comprehend the words.

  Lansing flicked open the casket lid to reveal a silver egg lying upon folds of purple velvet. ‘It is a Caraprix,’ he said with an odd hint of fondness. ‘So simple in appearance, yet containing such great power.’

  ‘It lives?’ the spy asked.

  Lansing’s lips twitched. ‘Yes, it lives. It will be your most trusted companion, should you let it. Oh, the things it will whisper to you, the wonders it will unfold.’

  ‘And it will help me achieve the ends we both want so fervently?’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘Then free my hands, and let me hide it in my pouch. I would be away from here and bring an end to this madness sooner rather than later.’

  ‘You do not need your hands,’ the Fay said in a calm voice which Carpenter found inexplicably troubling. Before he could probe further, Lansing delicately lifted the silver egg out of the casket and balanced it on his palm in front of the spy’s eyes. The unblemished surface gleamed in the candlelight.

  ‘We will become one,’ Lansing said with a cold grin.

  Legs sprang out of the Caraprix’s side. Like a beetle, it scurried across the Fay’s palm and leapt on to Carpenter’s face. He cried out in shock as the sharp tips of those legs bit into his flesh and held fast. It crawled down, and though he clamped his mouth shut the spindly shanks wormed their way in between his teeth and forced his jaw apart. As it wriggled past his lips, he felt its smooth surface as warm and yielding as flesh. Sickened, he tried to yell, but only a strangled cry came out.

  The Caraprix forced itself further into his mouth, towards his throat, filling up every space until he choked. Darkness closed around his gaze. As Lansing’s emotionless face filled his vision, he could only think how weak he had been, and what terrible things were now to come.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN, and the sea bellowed its fury. Iron waves hammered the Tempest as it crashed towards the rocky fangs protruding from the swell. Wrenched back and forth in the grip of turbulent currents, the galleon seemed caught in a battle it was impossible to win. ‘Hold fast to the course,’ Courtenay bellowed, his gaze fixed on the flashes of white water ahead. Sparks of orange light glittered across the dark sea from the vessel’s blazing lanterns, yet the channel ahead remained pitch black.

  ‘God save our souls,’ Strangewayes called to the heavens. He clung on to the rigging for dear life, his shirt and breeches sodden from the surf gushing over the rail with every dip and crash.

  ‘Only Bloody Jack can do that now,’ Will shouted back. His fingers ached from gripping the greased rope.

  The ship careered into the dark like a leaf caught in a flood. For one queasy moment, the prow pointed towards the glittering stars, then plummeted down into a sable valley. A deluge thundered over the prow. Before the brine had sluiced across the deck, the ship crested another wave. Seasoned crewmen flew from their feet. Had the island lured them in, only to dash them on the rocks, Will wondered?

  His ears rang from the thunderous roar as they neared the long line of white-topped breakers crashing against the lethal rocks. It seemed there was no path through, but Courtenay stood like a sentinel on the forecastle, unmoved by the furious heaving.

  ‘This is madness. We will all die,’ Strangewayes cried. ‘I should be at Grace’s side—’

  ‘There is nothing you can do for her now. Hold fast or you will be thrown over the side,’ Will called back.

  The galleon heaved as a loud grinding echoed through the hull from the rocks scraping along the side. Any moment Will expected the jagged reef to tear through the pitch-covered oak. In those violent currents, the ship would break up in no time.

  He gritted his teeth as the grinding grew louder, until he feared the end had come. The Tempest lurched. Men crashed to the deck. Then, suddenly, the grating sound stopped and the galleon swept free of the clutching fingers of the black rocks. Relieved grins leapt to the harrowed faces of the seamen caught in the wildly swinging lanterns. The violent shaking faded, the seas grew calmer, and a cheer rang out from all on deck.

  When the Tempest reached placid water, Courtenay gave the order to drop anchor. As he strode the deck, the men showed him their respect with broad grins or bowed heads. Bloody Jack only laughed louder, clapping his hands together in triumphant glee. ‘We have stared death in the face, and once again the bony bastard has backed down,’ he bellowed as he passed.

  The night was cool and smelled sweetly of fresh vegetation. Now the danger had passed, Will wondered where his plans would take him next. He found his thoughts swinging wildly between hope that one day he might see Jenny again and dread that Grace had been lost because of his own failings.

  Strangewayes cast one eye towards the island. ‘Is this the place mentioned in the captain’s journal ’pon the abandoned Spanish galleon?’

  ‘We will find out in good time, Tobias, but there have been tales of many a devil-haunted island in these parts. Perhaps the influence of the Unseelie Court grows stronger with each step closer to their home.’

  ‘Then let us pray we draw no nearer.’ He glanced up, past the men hooting and chattering as they scrambled up the rigging, and then strode towards the captain’s cabin to see how Grace fared.

  Once the sails had been furled and calm had descended on the galleon, Will sought out Courtenay on the poop deck, where the captain was swigging from a cup of wine by the light of the moon. Aware of the dangers that might lie ahead, they agreed no landfall would be made until sunrise. Eager as he was to discover Dee and Meg’s fate, Will took the opportunity to snatch a few hours’ rest in a corner of the main deck while the men played cards and drank in the berth.

  Sleep came quickly. Through the dark he sailed, deep into dreams.

  Once again, he walked with Jenny through the garden of the cottage she shared with her father and mother and Grace in Warwickshire. In the sun, honey bees buzzed lazily past the marigolds on their way to the hives at the end of the garden. Purple-topped lavender swayed past their legs. His gaze flickered
towards the dark band of woods ahead, like a storm cloud on the horizon, and he felt uneasy as he sensed that something watched him from their depths. Though he could not see it, for some reason he couldn’t fathom he believed it to be a raven. Those black glass eyes lay upon him, heavy with judgement, he was sure. And then he realized that Jenny was speaking to him, her voice insistent, and when he turned he saw worry in her features. She was telling him not to go on, to turn back, forget everything, live life, for the west was where the dead went. Turn back. Turn back.

  The world skewed and shadows rushed out from those dark woods to swallow him. When his head had finished spinning, he somehow knew it was the night of Jenny’s disappearance. He had spent hours searching the lanes and fields around her home, desperation, then fear, then grief, burning a hole in his chest. No sign of her anywhere; no sign of her ever again in Arden. And he was washing his hands by the well, washing furiously to rid himself of the stain, but he knew that it would never go, that it lay deeper than flesh. He was changed for ever. No longer William Swyfte the poet, with a fine career ahead of him after he departed the debating halls of Cambridge University. No longer innocent. And then he turned, as he had, and Grace was there, little Grace, pleading for news of her missing sister. He tried to hide his hands so she would not see. He tried—

  Rough hands were shaking him awake.

  His eyes snapped open and he peered into Strangewayes’ face as the spy loomed over him in an excited state, his fists gripping Will’s shirt. ‘Come,’ he urged with passion. ‘Come.’ Shaking the last of the dark dream from his head, Will staggered after the other man. His heart beat faster when he saw Tobias dash into the captain’s cabin. Inside, Grace was sitting up in her berth, her head in her hands, her lank hair falling across her face. When she looked round as the two men entered she appeared baffled and Will feared the worst, her wits burned away by the searing touch of the Unseelie Court. His breath caught in his throat. Yet after a moment she forced a weak smile and said, ‘You both look so troubled! What is wrong?’

  Relief flooded Will. ‘You gave us a scare, Grace,’ he said, beaming. ‘You have been a bundle of trouble as long as I have known you.’

  She rolled her eyes and sniffed. ‘Men call a woman trouble when she does not dance to their tune. I am proud to be so described.’

  The two men laughed, their moods lightening for the first time in days. Will knelt beside Grace and tested her memory and her wits with several questions. She answered every one clearly, her puzzlement moving to annoyance until finally she told him she had had enough of being mothered. Promising he would explain everything to her soon, he insisted she rest and build up her strength, for there were more tribulations ahead.

  Outside the cabin door, he closed his eyes and put his head back, letting his relief show. ‘Never would I have hoped for such an outcome,’ he breathed.

  ‘It seems Grace is stronger than you think,’ Strangewayes said, his voice hard. ‘You see the little girl you first knew. But she has grown into a woman as courageous as any man.’

  ‘In that, you are correct. I have misjudged her. When she has regained her strength, I will reveal all she needs to know about the Unseelie Court and their foul ways.’

  ‘Do not expect forgiveness,’ Strangewayes said. ‘This time we were fortunate, but Grace should never have been placed in that danger.’ He stalked away before Will could respond.

  The night drew on, and on. Will climbed up to the forecastle and watched the shore, feeling unease begin to replace his jubilation. When footsteps drew near, he turned. Men slept on the decks under the lit lamps. Courtenay strode past them, his brow furrowed, and the spy knew he was not alone in his worries. ‘The sun should have been up long ago,’ Bloody Jack said, eyeing the full moon and the milky sweep of stars as he neared, ‘yet this night stays and stays. How much longer are we to be tormented by strangeness?’

  ‘It is a strange world, captain, and an island where night outstays its welcome is not the worst thing in it.’

  Courtenay shrugged. Vertiginous seas and blood-crazed pirates were as nothing to him, but Will could see that the unnatural dark troubled him deeply. ‘Well, we can’t sit here waiting till Doomsday,’ the captain muttered. ‘I’ll assemble the shore party. But you must watch yourself out there, Master Swyfte.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE ISLAND BROODED in the deep dark. No fires or lanterns glimmered, no voices carried, no sign of human habitation showed itself anywhere. There was only the creak of the Tempest at anchor and the wind across the waves.

  Uncommonly subdued, Courtenay disappeared below deck and returned with ten of his fiercest men. Will watched the rowing boat pull away as it ferried the sailors to the shore. It disappeared into the dark, and after what seemed an age, lanterns flickered to life in a circle on the beach. He joined the last boat with Strangewayes, who would not meet his eye. ‘You must put aside your feelings until we are back aboard ship,’ Will said in a low voice. ‘Our survival could depend on us looking out for each other.’

  Strangewayes did not reply.

  Through the gloom they could make out white-topped waves lapping on to a small beach which led up to a dense line of trees silhouetted against the night sky. The dark beneath the canopy was impenetrable. The sweet scent of cooling vegetation drifted on the night breeze.

  ‘Make a fire here on the strand,’ Will ordered when he stood in the circle of lamplight. ‘It will be a beacon for us as we explore the island.’ While the men collected driftwood and dry brush from the treeline, Will clambered over the rock pools at the edge of the horseshoe-shaped cove. Though he gained a different perspective of the island, still he could see no sign of life.

  Once he had glanced towards the beach to ensure he had not been followed, he crouched down and removed the obsidian mirror from his leather pouch. It felt cool and comforting in his hand. How much he had gambled, bringing such a powerful object so close to the redoubt of the Unseelie Court. And yet it had proved the source of such hope.

  He laid the looking glass on a seaweed-covered rock and peered into its depths. It seemed to glow of its own accord. Long moments passed, but just as he began to lose hope the mirror clouded and Jenny appeared in the glass once more. She smiled but her eyes looked unaccountably sad.

  ‘You knew I was here, wishing to speak to you?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘The mirror is powerful. It calls out to . . . to this place. And . . .’ she lowered her eyes, trying to hide the depth of her feelings, ‘I look out for you, Will. To see you again . . . after so long . . .’ She shook her head, grimacing. ‘No. I am being weak. You must ignore my words. Stay away, Will. There is too much at stake here. I am worth nothing.’

  He shook his head with vehemence. ‘You are everything to me. And I will risk everything to bring you home.’ Her tears welled and she screwed up her eyes to stifle them. Will felt overwhelmed by a rush of memories, sensations and emotions: crunching through crisp gold and orange leaves in the woods with Jenny beside him; their eyes meeting at the Christmas feast amid the scent of cloves and hot, sweet wine, and the world seeming to hang though the dancers whirled around them; a kiss, on the day he left for Cambridge, thinking that surely there could be no worse pain than this parting. If only he had known.

  ‘I have many questions,’ he continued, aware that time was short, ‘but first: tell me, have they harmed you in any way?’

  ‘I am well,’ she replied, so quickly that he knew she was lying and his blood boiled.

  ‘Who took you, Jenny, and why?’

  ‘Why? Who can fathom the minds of these creatures?’ she replied in a strained voice. ‘Who?’ She paused, swallowed. ‘I was taken on the orders of Mandraxas, the King of these people, and the first of the High Family.’

  ‘Then he is the one who must feel the bite of my blade,’ Will replied, his voice cold. ‘One day I will find my way to you, and then—’

  ‘You can never do that,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘This fort
ress is impregnable. High, strong walls and many guards. And to enter this land of the Fay, you must first pass through one of the gates into the place where the two worlds overlap.’

  ‘How will I find them?’

  She sighed. ‘Will—’

  ‘Tell me, Jenny,’ he pressed.

  ‘The Unseelie Court say you will find the gates if you ever need them, though it is much harder to leave. Twin pillars of stone, they are, in the sea around the New World. You will surely know them, for the rules of the natural world do not hold sway around them.’

  While he reflected upon her words, a cry of alarm rang out. He looked round, and when he turned back the looking glass was clear. His heart sank, but only for a moment, for he knew now that Jenny was looking out for him too.

  Another cry rolled across the strand. Will stood and saw Strangewayes lit up by the ruddy flames of the crew’s bonfire, beckoning him back. One of the men was pointing out to sea. Following the line of the man’s arm, Will discerned lights bobbing far out on the dark ocean beyond the reef. Another ship was sailing towards the island. When the Tempest’s gun cracked, Will could only imagine that the new arrival was Jean le Gris’s devil-haunted pirate galleon. The warning shot from Captain Courtenay would let their enemies know they had little hope of sailing through the rough waters beyond the reef in one piece.

  At the bonfire, the men had made burning brands with pitch-soaked sailcloth wrapped around fallen branches to light their way through the thick woods. ‘We must use well what little time we have,’ Will told them. ‘Search for any paths leading away from the beach. But stay in sight of each other’s torches.’

  ‘And if we find nothing?’ Strangewayes muttered.

  ‘Pray that we do, Tobias.’

  As they moved into the trees, the dancing torchlight glowed like fireflies through the branches. A symphony of subtle sounds surrounded them: the whisper of leaves, the groan of dry wood underfoot, and the distant call of some night bird. Soon the dark swallowed the beach and the bonfire. No one spoke.