The Devil's Looking-Glass

by Mark Chadbourn

  At the hall’s great door, he turned back and looked across the Unseelie Court. Waving the tip of his rapier towards Mandraxas’s face, he announced, ‘Your King has betrayed you. He has conspired to leave your Queen a prisoner of men so that the Golden Throne can be his alone.’

  ‘Lies,’ Mandraxas bellowed.

  With a smile and an arched eyebrow, Meg dug her blade deeper into the King’s neck and breathed into his ear, ‘Quiet now, my sweet. I can cut out your tongue and still keep you alive. For a while.’

  ‘Trust not my words,’ Will continued, his voice clear and strong. ‘Seek out your court’s wise adviser, Deortha, who is now incarcerated, upon your King’s orders. Free him from his cell where he has been locked away along with the truth and listen to what he has to say. Then you will learn that we are not so different, Fay and men.’

  Will turned to Jenny and drank in all the things he had missed, the sparkle in her dark eyes and the way her brow knitted as if she was always questioning, and the colour in her cheeks and her lips, in case this was their last moment. Gently, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. She showed no resistance. He closed his eyes. Their lips met and he felt a jolt run through him, and all the lost years melted away. Once again he was in Warwickshire with the sun on his shoulders and the future ahead of him. Blood throbbed through his head, driving out all thoughts. And when he opened his lids, he watched a light appear in her face as if she were waking from that dream. All is illusion, and sometimes the truth is hidden, he thought with a surge of pure joy, the first he had felt in many a year. But it is here, now.

  Turning back to the ranks of glowering faces, he called, ‘Our time here is done.’ He bowed deeply, flinging out his left arm with a flourish. ‘And so I bid you farewell.’

  And with that, he pushed open the doors and led the others out into the dark alleys of a fortress teeming with the Enemy.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  TORCHES HISSED ON the black basalt walls. In and out of swooping shadows, six figures ghosted along the narrow, labyrinthine ways, bundling a seventh. Darkness as thick and impenetrable as the grave shrouded the spaces in between the too-small pools of light. Will ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, wondering how long they had before their pursuers caught them.

  At a crossing of the ways, the fleeing figures pressed back into an archway as two grey sentries marched past. Once they had gone, the spies slipped by, but at every turn more Fay drifted like ghosts emerging from churchyards at dusk. Will’s chest tightened. It was only a matter of time until their escape route was discovered.

  ‘Can you not use the mirror to predict where these foul things lie in wait?’ Meg hissed as they huddled by a wall.

  ‘Without Deortha’s guidance it is useless to me,’ he replied, ‘but to keep it out of their control is victory in itself.’ He squeezed Jenny’s hand, never wanting to let it go, and she returned a wan smile, but the light of recognition gleamed in her eyes with increasing brilliance.

  ‘You damn yourself with each step you take,’ Mandraxas snarled. His head was pulled back, his long hair held in Launceston’s fist, his throat bared for a simple, swift slash of a blade. ‘Your agonies will be never-ending.’

  ‘Keep a close eye on our guest,’ Will warned the Earl. ‘Given half a chance he will violate your wits with his whispered words and turn you upon yourself, or he will use his magics to leave you nothing but a straw man ripe for the harvest bonfire.’

  It was then that he noticed Carpenter. The man was tearing and scratching at his face as if insects crawled there. ‘John? Are you sick?’

  ‘He is well enough,’ Launceston cut in, too quickly. ‘I will watch over him. Your task is to guide us safely through this hell. Or lead us to a quick death, at worst.’

  Barely had the words left his lips when the funereal tolling of a bell tore through the hot dark once again. Will felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

  ‘The night unfolds and releases its terrors,’ Mandraxas whispered with a low laugh. ‘Run. Run.’

  Across the City of Gold, they could hear the wind rising. In the high eaves and along the twisting alleyways it moaned. Doors crashed open. Feet pounded on stone. A high keening, of inhuman voices raised in anger, tugged at their ears.

  ‘The sands have run out, my love,’ Meg said with an edge to her voice. ‘This is no time for caution.’

  Urging the others to follow, Will broke into a run, following the directions Deortha had whispered in his head. But the alleyways twisted and turned in a confusing manner, and the dark lay heavy around them.

  Running feet echoed on all sides. Will could feel the rising anxiety of his friends as the activity milled closer. But just as he feared the worst, he saw the landmark he had been searching for, a golden globe spinning with no visible means of support at the centre of a small courtyard. He ran forward, only to be confronted by a high, black, featureless wall. Despairing glances darted among the others as they realized they were trapped.

  Footsteps and calls echoed all around. The Unseelie Court were drawing near.

  ‘Why do you tarry?’ Carpenter barked. ‘Make haste before we are undone.’

  Jenny squeezed Will’s hand as he scanned the length of the wall. ‘What is it you search for?’ she asked.

  ‘A door. Deortha told me our path of escape would begin here, at his chambers.’

  ‘The sorcerer has betrayed us,’ Launceston snarled, glancing back.

  ‘Deortha keeps his secrets well,’ Jenny said. ‘With him, nothing ever lies in plain sight.’

  Will weighed her words. After a moment he snatched a sizzling torch from the wall and reflected its ruddy light with the obsidian mirror. Lines of silver filigree glimmered on the basalt: stars, a moon, a sun, a host of magical symbols of the kind he had only ever seen before in Dee’s shadowy chamber in the Black Gallery. And there, at the centre of them, the faint outline of an arched door shimmered. Handing the mirror and torch to Grace, Will pressed round the edge of the shape until he heard a click and the hidden door slid open.

  The spies dragged their prisoner into the dark space. It was not a moment too soon. The tumult crashed against the edge of the courtyard as the door whispered shut behind them. His hand trembling, his face pale, Carpenter levelled his rapier, ready to repel any who followed. Shrieks and cries rang through the stone wall, but after a moment they began to pass by. Carpenter exhaled, his shoulders sagging as his blade fell.

  Will took the torch and held it high to reveal a flight of stone steps disappearing down into the dark. As they paused to catch their breath, Grace could contain herself no longer. She threw her arms round Jenny, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder. Awkward and unsure, Jenny’s hands wavered over the younger woman for a moment before she returned the embrace.

  ‘Do you know me yet?’ Grace said between juddering sobs. ‘My heart will break if you remain a stranger. So long have I yearned for your return.’

  Jenny held her sister’s tear-streaked face between her hands and gazed into the young girl’s eyes. Her brow cleared, and she smiled. ‘I remember holding a little girl’s hand as we searched for wild flowers in the wood. And telling stories under the covers when we were supposed to be asleep.’ She stroked the centre of her forehead. ‘I thought it a dream, insubstantial. But now I see you here, the visions grow clearer by the moment.’

  As she pulled back, Grace bit her lip. ‘I feared you dead. Oh, I lost faith, Jenny. Only Will . . .’ She choked back the words. ‘Will never lost his belief that you would return to us. Even in the darkest days, he kept a candle in his heart, and that in turn brought comfort to me.’

  Jenny looked beyond her sister’s shoulder to where Will was beginning to descend the stone staircase. While Meg and Launceston pricked Mandraxas with their daggers to follow, Will sensed Jenny hurrying to catch him up. Looking back, he saw her glance at the Fay and whisper, ‘I beg you not to hurt him.’

  ‘He is our foe and I have reached agreement
with Deortha to take his life in exchange for our freedom. Your freedom,’ Will replied, ignoring a pang of jealousy.

  ‘Whatever you might think of him, he has shown me many kindnesses during my long years in the City of Gold.’ He felt her breath on his ear as they descended into the dark.

  ‘You love him? Even though he stole you from all you knew?’ he whispered, his voice sounding too harsh in the stillness.

  ‘When I was first brought here, I cried every day. I cried for the man I had lost.’ She swallowed and added quietly, ‘And you?’

  He nodded, feeling the rawness of the memory, even after all the time that had passed.

  ‘But over the days and years, the life I had faded like a dream,’ she continued. ‘Soon this place, and Mandraxas, was all I knew. And he was gentle and caring, and he showed me love—’

  ‘They are not capable of love,’ Will interrupted, his voice hard. Moisture now glistened on the walls.

  ‘They are,’ she protested. ‘They are no different from us.’

  ‘And did you love him?’ Will asked coldly. He paused, looking into her face. From further up the steps, he heard the shuffle of feet as Grace, the other spies and their prisoner descended cautiously.

  ‘You must understand, it was all I knew—’

  Will turned away and continued his descent, his expression unreadable. ‘My plans for the King’s future were made long ago. Nothing will alter them.’ He increased his pace before she could protest.

  The staircase opened out on to a long, low-ceilinged chamber barely lit by the glow of four candles arranged on the cardinal points of a circle inscribed on the dusty flagstones. Along the walls, a multitude of gilt-framed mirrors each as big as a man glittered in the reflected light. As Will stepped into the room, rapier drawn, shadowy figures formed in several of the mirrors, each one growing more distinct as if they were stepping out of a thick fog. He recognized several members of the Unseelie Court’s High Family, including Malantha, seductive and cruel, the silver-haired Lethe, a grotesquely fat, bald Fay he had glimpsed in Paris the previous year, and others he did not know. Each seemed to be standing in a different chamber, at courts across the world, Will guessed, where they wove their manipulations of men. And among them stood Deortha, his eyes ringed with shadow, the bird and mice skulls braided into his hair trembling with each faint movement.

  ‘What is this?’ Carpenter muttered, shuddering. ‘Are we betrayed?’

  ‘I am sure the High Family care little for us at this moment,’ Will murmured in reply. ‘Greater matters must now occupy their minds.’ He nodded to Meg and Launceston, and they forced Mandraxas to his knees in front of the mirrors. The Earl pressed the tip of his dagger against the nape of the King’s neck.

  ‘They are here to pass judgement,’ Will said to Carpenter. And to witness an execution? He wondered how much Deortha had told the other members of the High Family. He watched Jenny look along the row of Fay lords, her face cold, and knew there was no love lost there. She took Grace’s hand in her own, perhaps an unconscious desire to protect her sister from these predators.

  A faint click echoed from the shadows behind them, but as Will peered into the gloom Mandraxas turned his face towards his siblings and uttered, ‘You will not judge me. I am King.’

  ‘King.’ Deortha shaped the word with cold precision. ‘You keep the Golden Throne safe for our Queen at the pleasure of the High Family. It is a privilege.’

  Mandraxas’s brow knitted as he looked along the row of emotionless faces. Silence swaddled the chamber. After a moment, Will realized that the cold-faced Fay were communicating in some manner beyond speech. The King’s features darkened, and he flashed a threatening look at Deortha before he glanced back at Will.

  ‘I will not be your prisoner,’ he said.

  It was then that Carpenter cried out, stifling the sound with a trembling hand. Will turned to look at the man. It was not in his nature to be scared of any Fay, Will thought, not even one with the power of a King. Yet tears now streamed down the man’s face, and his brow was beaded with sweat. Muttering under his breath, he lurched out of sight behind Will as the latter turned back to the mirrors.

  Deortha’s pale eyes shone like the moon, urging the spy to complete their agreement and take the King’s life. Will felt Jenny’s apprehensive gaze heavy upon him too.

  With a hard smile, Mandraxas was saying, ‘Nothing is left to chance.’ As Will struggled to understand the context of the King’s words, he glimpsed Meg’s brows snapping together and heard Grace’s startled gasp. Movement flashed on the edge of his vision.

  Dagger drawn, Carpenter lunged. The blade shimmered as he thrust it towards Will’s right eye.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  THE GLINTING STEEL filled will’s vision. And one thought seared: Carpenter’s great betrayal had doomed them all. He jerked back in anticipation of the blade’s sinking into his skull, just as he sensed a flurry of movement and a sudden impact. His attacker spun away. The deflected blade ripped through the flesh above his cheek and tore into his tangle of black hair. Blood dripped on to the flags.

  In agony, he stumbled back, wiping at the burning wound with his sleeve. His gaze fell upon Carpenter, who was sprawled across the stone floor, pinned down by Launceston. ‘Kill me,’ Carpenter pleaded, staring into the aristocrat’s pale, impassive face. ‘Do it now, as you vowed.’ When the Earl didn’t respond, Carpenter blinked away tears and wailed, ‘If you do not end my life, I will betray you again and again until I have slain you all. You will not leave this place.’

  Will saw Meg hovering over Mandraxas with her dagger drawn, Grace and Jenny beside her, all of them gripped by Carpenter’s plight. Blood trickled between his fingers. He saw the truth in the treacherous spy’s words. Sooner or later, Carpenter would attack them again. With a surge of bitter regret for the friend he once knew, he drew his own dagger from his boot.

  As he levelled the blade, Launceston caught his wrist to block the strike. ‘Let him live,’ the Earl said, his voice quiet but his eyes flashing a warning.

  ‘From his own mouth he has damned himself, Robert. We will never escape with a traitor in our midst.’

  ‘He is no traitor.’ The aristocrat pointed a wavering arm at the ghastly figures watching from the mirrors. ‘They have infected him with their vile magics.’

  ‘Is this true, John?’ As he spoke, Will winced in pain from his wound.

  ‘Some foul creature crawls inside my head,’ Carpenter replied, his voice a ragged whine. ‘It rides me like a Barbary mare, forcing me to do its bidding, and, God help me, I cannot resist. Whatever it demands, I must do – even murder my friends.’ He screwed up his eyes to hide the tears of shame and regret.

  ‘It seems our King has long since set his own schemes in motion,’ came Deortha’s voice. ‘The Caraprix can only work its spell when it has been accepted freely.’

  ‘They tricked me,’ Carpenter raged. His voice caught and he choked, ‘I am too weak. I wanted an escape from this life. I should have resisted.’

  Will sighed. More than anyone he understood the manipulations of the Unseelie Court. ‘Robert, the outcome is still the same. John cannot be trusted. We cannot take him with us.’

  ‘No,’ the Earl spat, his face alight with a rare show of passion. ‘I will be his keeper.’

  ‘That burden may be too great, even for you, Robert.’

  ‘I will watch him like a hawk, and whenever that enchantment drives him to commit traitorous acts I will be there,’ Launceston said, his grey, blank eyes fixed on Will.

  ‘Take my life, I implore you,’ Carpenter begged again, his voice cracking. ‘I cannot bear to live this way, with a life that is not my own.’

  The Earl peered into his friend’s tear-flecked eyes for a long moment. Will wondered what thoughts turned in that unreadable mind. He could barely hear when Launceston spoke. ‘You have saved me. I will save you. I can do no less.’ Turning back to Will, he added, ‘This is my burden now, for all our days
if necessary. I am prepared. You must trust me.’

  Will watched Carpenter in his torments and nodded. ‘You are a good man, Robert, for all your weaknesses.’

  A sharp cry of pain echoed across the chamber. Will whirled round. He was a fool; he had allowed himself to be distracted for too long. Mandraxas had made his move and taken Meg by surprise, knocking the dagger from her grasp, and now his long fingers were clamped around her wrist. One touch, no more. But it was enough. The Irish woman’s face had drained of blood. Where the King’s hand gripped, her skin was marbling. Mandraxas smiled in triumph at Will, knowing he could never reach him before the graven transformation had spread to the point of death.

  Will drew his sword as the beautiful Irish spy swooned. Yet he had barely moved when shock flared in the King’s face. Meg tumbled from his grasp. The Fay King staggered back, grasping at the dagger embedded in his thigh.

  Ashen-faced, Jenny stepped back, her hand shaking. Mandraxas stared at her, a look of such sadness and disbelief that it could only have come from a broken heart.

  When Will reached him, the King had barely moved, seemingly drained of all resistance by his love’s blow. One clout from the hilt of the spy’s rapier and he fell to his knees once more. ‘Stay back,’ Will warned Meg, who had staggered to her feet, shaking her head as she fought to gather her thoughts and rubbing furiously at the skin on her arm. ‘He is mine and mine alone.’

  Yet the Fay’s gaze remained fixed on Jenny, weighted with infinite grief. Will hated what he saw there. He thought of Mandraxas and Jenny’s long years as consorts, of caresses and shared moments, of gentleness and intimacy and joy. And love. How much easier it had been when he had thought his love simply stolen. What a stew of confused emotion this was; how bitter it tasted. His sword at the ready, he circled the stricken King, imagining what it would feel like to skewer the one who had torn the heart out of his life so long ago. In his mind’s eye, he saw the gout of blood and the death-rictus on Mandraxas’s face. Hatred seared his chest. He wanted vengeance.