‘I hope we will never meet again, Swyfte,’ Dee grumbled, ‘but I doubt the course of my life will ever run so smoothly.’ As Cecil approached, he climbed into the carriage and shut the door, knocking on the roof to urge the driver to move away.
When the spymaster arrived, Will bowed so deeply that it could only be considered a taunt. ‘Sir Robert. How fares the Queen’s eyes-in-the-shadows?’
‘Keep your sharp tongue in your mouth, Master Swyfte.’ Cecil’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment, and then his gaze flickered elsewhere, his expression a combination of embarrassment and annoyance. ‘It seems the decision to end your employment was . . . rash. I was, of course, preoccupied with the troubling business in the Low Countries and had no notice of this affair until the papers had already been issued. But know that the offending secretary has been reprimanded . . . most forcefully, I must add . . . and that the matter has now been resolved.’
As Nathaniel joined them, Will raised one eyebrow at the spymaster’s bluster and lies. ‘Then your signature and seal was a forgery? A conspiracy reaches to the very heart of England’s security. Why, ’tis good I am away from this intrigue, Sir Robert, for if we cannot trust those in highest office, we are all at risk.’
The Queen’s Little Elf glared, knowing he had no choice but to allow the other man his moment.
Will held out his hands. ‘And yet, I have those papers, and my stipend, and Warwickshire has many comforts at this time of year—’
‘Damn you, Swyfte.’ Cecil flushed. ‘The Queen herself has requested your continued service. Even you cannot refuse Her Majesty.’
‘The Queen, you say?’ Will glanced in the direction of Dee’s trundling carriage.
‘I have kept Her Majesty aware of your many successes,’ the spymaster said, attempting to flatter though his expression was sullen, ‘and she found your recent exploits in the New World of particular interest. You tweaked the beard of the devil himself, Master Swyfte, and returned from Hell to tell the tale. Any man who can achieve such a thing must surely be needed in the Queen’s service.’ He paused, moistening his lips. Will thought he saw a flicker of unease in his eyes. ‘Particularly in the turbulent times that lie ahead.’
‘Why, perhaps my master is England’s greatest spy after all,’ Nathaniel said, his nose in the air.
Cecil looked daggers at him, but Will cut in. ‘What are these turbulent times you speak of?’
‘While we dwelt on our all-consuming struggle with the Unseelie Court, other shadows were moving beyond our attention.’ A strong wind blew, whipping the dry leaves into gold and brown waves. Cecil shivered. ‘In Venice, across the course of this last month, six of our agents have been found floating in the canals at dawn, eviscerated, as if set upon by a wild beast. There is talk of an English spy turned traitor, a young man with fiery red hair who has spoken widely of his hatred for one Will Swyfte.’
Strangewayes? Could it be that he had somehow escaped Manoa before the way closed, and now, scarred by his failure, was seeking revenge for all that he had lost?
‘In Muscovy,’ Cecil continued, oblivious of Will’s ruminations, ‘the court of the mad Tsar is gripped with fear at tales that the dead have risen from the frozen earth, Mongols from the horde that swept across their land in times gone by. And in the far Orient, in China, comes word of something darker still, a plague of devils . . .’ The words caught in his throat as he eyed Nathaniel. ‘But that is a discussion for another time.’ He watched Will’s eyes for a long moment and then smiled tightly at what he saw there. ‘Very well. Assemble your men, Swyfte, and await further orders.’
When the spymaster had departed, Nathaniel sighed. ‘I suppose this means I must unpack your boxes of doublets, cloaks and shoes, which only this hour I had finished packing.’
‘No rest for you, Nat, and none, it seems, for the swords of Albion,’ Will replied with a grin. As he watched the young man walk away, his thoughts abandoned Whitehall and London and journeyed across the world. Venice, Muscovy, China, one true road ran through all of them. From every fiend he encountered, he would prise the knowledge he required until he had found the key he needed to unlock that way between worlds.
‘And then, Jenny,’ he whispered to the wind, ‘I will come to fetch you home, and no man nor devil will stand in my way.’
For a moment, he waited there alone in the golden autumn light, remembering. And then he turned back towards the throng. There would be blood, he knew, and strife, and there would be an ending. But not this day.
About the Author
Mark Chadbourn was raised in the mining communities of South Derbyshire, and studied at Leeds University before becoming a journalist. Now a screenwriter for BBC television drama, he has also run an independent record company, managed rock bands, worked on a production line and as an engineer’s ‘mate’. He is a two-time winner of the British Fantasy Award and author of the acclaimed The Dark Age, The Age of Misrule and Kingdom of the Serpent trilogies. The Swords of Albion adventures – of which The Devil’s Looking Glass is the third – were in part inspired by the famous ‘Corpus Christi portrait’. Dated 1585, this painting of a young man bears the motto Quod me nutrit me destruit – ‘That which nourishes me, destroys me’ – and is believed by many to be the only surviving depiction of the playwright and alleged spy Christopher Marlowe.
Mark Chadbourn lives in a forest in the Midlands. To find out more about him and his writing, visit www.jackofravens.com
Also by Mark Chadbourn
THE DARK AGE:
THE DEVIL IN GREEN
THE QUEEN OF SINISTER
THE HOUNDS OF AVALON
THE AGE OF MISRULE:
WORLD’S END
DARKEST HOUR
ALWAYS FOREVER
KINGDOM OF THE SERPENT:
JACK OF RAVENS
THE BURNING MAN
DESTROYER OF WORLDS
LORD OF SILENCE
THE SWORDS OF ALBION:
THE SWORD OF ALBION
THE SCAR-CROW MEN
For more information on Mark Chadbourn and his books, see his website at www.jackofravens.com
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
First published in Great Britain
in 2012 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Mark Chadbourn 2012
Mark Chadbourn has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448126989
ISBN 9780593062494
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009
ayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Devil's Looking-Glass Page 35