Will led the way through the choking smoke and burning refuse to the edge of the harbour wall where a rope dangled down into the water, unseen in the confusion. Hauling himself up, he crouched behind a pile of sacks waiting to be loaded onto a merchant ship. Once the others were with him, they peered over the top at the abject confusion along the entire length of the harbour.
Men ran with buckets of water as they feebly attempted to put out the conflagration at the far end of the row of buildings lining the edge of the harbour nearest to the town. Foot soldiers raced to oversee the Puental and to keep guard at the end of the harbour in case the Tempest sent landing parties. Lining the shore, watchmen peered into the dark in case more galleons were on their way. Across the length of the harbour, merchants bellowed their con tern in a babble of conflicting tongues—French, Dutch, Spanish, and a variety of dialects from the North African coast just across the straits.
“Look at it—it is madness,” Mayhew said approvingly.
“We asked Captain Courtenay for cover to mask our arrival in Cadiz. I think he served us proud,” Will agreed. He scanned the hectic mass of bodies. “Now, where is our man?”
In the shadows of one of the many alleys linking the town’s large plazas stood a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. The glare of the fire revealed the lower half to be clean-shaven, and that he carried a walking stick with a handle carved into the shape of a swan.
“There,” Will said. “Stay here. I will make the introductions in case there is a problem.” Edging around the sacks, he waited for the fast flow of townsfolk to pass before darting into the alleyway.
“De Groot?” Will asked.
Eyeing Will’s sodden clothes, the man nodded. “You found the rope easily?” He spoke English with a strong Dutch inflection.
“You did well.”
“I ran here as soon as I heard the trumpet signal.” He glanced back up the alley. “This way, I think. We must move away from the harbour. There are men of many nations here, but wet Englishmen will soon draw attention.”
More gunfire from the Tempest crashed against the far end of the harbour followed by a futile return of fire from the battery. In the confusion that followed, Will summoned his men. But as they sprinted towards the alley, a cry rang out from one of the watchmen, who had by chance been looking back towards the fort.
“Quickly,” de Groot urged from the depths of the alley. “I cannot be seen or my use here will be over.” He ran off into the dark.
Cursing, Will saw four foot soldiers give pursuit as Carpenter, Mayhew, and Launceston darted into the alley. The route was steep and wound round so tightly it was impossible to see more than ten feet ahead or behind. As they moved away from the harbour, the sound of gunfire became muffled, replaced by the crack of their boots on the cobbles and the intermittent tolling of the fort bell signalling the alarm.
As they ran, Will made a chopping motion with his hand, and the others melted quickly into doorways on either side. Will ducked behind a water barrel and waited until the foot soldiers neared. As the first passed him, he lunged up with his knife and thrust it straight into the soldier’s throat. A gout of blood gushed onto the cobbles.
The other soldiers cried out in alarm as the first pitched forwards, gurgling and clutching at his throat. Will instantly engaged the second with his sword, while Mayhew and Carpenter took on the third soldier and Launceston slit the throat of the final one with a silent, fluid movement. The soldiers were poorly trained and overweight. Will ran his opponent through in an instant. By the time he had cleaned his blade, all the soldiers were dead.
De Groot emerged from the dark further up the alley and beckoned them on. Within five minutes they were in de Groot’s rented house on the Plaza de San Francisco overlooking the San Francisco Church and Convent, the white walls glowing in the light of lanterns strung along the eaves of the red-tiled roof, and in the branches of the sprawling orchard beside it.
De Groot, a merchant who plied his trade between Flanders and Spain, was a dour man who had been recruited by Walsingham three years before. His heavy-lidded eyes and hollow cheeks gave him a cadaverous air, but he was friendly enough. He provided Will and the others with clean clothes that would allow them to blend in, and then brought them hot food and drink.
“There is jubilation across all Spain at the moment,” he told them. “Word has spread far and wide of the size of the Armada and the martial power it wields. The common man believes England already defeated.”
“They may be correct,” Mayhew muttered before Carpenter fixed him with a contemptuous glare.
“Our job here is to make sure the Spanish are thwarted,” Will said. “We can do nothing about the Armada, but we may still upset their wider plans.”
“And what are those wider plans?” de Groot asked, as he rapidly refilled Mayhew’s goblet. He caught Will’s eye and nodded. “Questions for another time.”
After Reidheid’s betrayal in Edinburgh, Will was not about to trust any other spy quickly. Shifting allegiances were, it seemed, as common to the fraternity as an early death.
“We seek information on a ship that would have dropped anchor within the last few days,” Will said. “Among its passengers would be a Spanish nobleman, lion Alanzo de las Posadas.”
“Yes, yes, I know the ship.” De Groot nodded enthusiastically. “There was talk of it in the taverns along the harbour. It dropped anchor in the morning, but a boat containing several passengers was not sent ashore until the dark had fallen. One of them was indeed lion Alanzo. He spent a while trying to procure several carriages to take him to Seville.”
“Then that is our destination,” Will said.
“One other thing that may or may not be of importance,” de Groot continued. “He was insistent that before he left he should call at both the San Francisco Convent and at the cathedral.”
Carpenter snorted. “Saying his prayers to clear the stain upon his soul.”
“The cathedral perhaps, but at a convent?” At the window, Will peered through the jumble of buildings falling down the slope towards the harbour, where he could make out the Tempest in the light of the burning debris in the water. Now they were safely ashore, Captain Courtenay had ended his barrage and was sailing back out to open water. He tried not to think of Grace and what she might be enduring, but the unbidden thoughts fell across him like a shadow.
“We do not let small things pass us by, for greater things may lie behind them,” he said. “But even if there is nothing more to it, a man’s religion in this world may well be a weakness we can exploit to our own use.”
HAPTER 33
ill crept along the top of the whitewashed wall like a cat, stalking the woman who hummed a lilting melody as she took her constitutional in the orchard. Dappled by the sunlight through the leaves, her head was bowed in reflection, her white cloak caught by the cooling breeze. A glance back to the convent revealed they were alone.
Dropping silently to the grass, Will darted through the trees, keeping enough cover between him and the nun in case she looked back. It was a bright, glassy morning, shortly after dawn, already warm, and likely to get a great deal hotter.
De Groot had worked wonders in the hours of darkness. The spy admitted openly that he worked for gold and nothing more, not love of England, nor hatred of Spain. Walsingham paid him an annual stipend to pass on all the information he gained along the trade routes, and every year he threatened to go over to the Spanish, only to be bought back to the cause. It was a game that all sides understood. Will promised him a significant one-off payment, and in the early hours he had sent the local girl who cleaned his house to the convent under the pretence of arranging a donation from de Groot. After the nuns had finished their morning prayers just before first light, the girl spent an hour casually chatting until she had gathered the information Will required.
The nun never heard him until his hand was clamped across her mouth and another pinned her arms to her sides as he bundled her t
o the rear wall of the orchard. She struggled and tried to cry out, but he was too strong.
“Sister Adelita, I have no wish to harm you. I require your help,” he whispered in fluent Spanish.
On hearing her name, she calmed a little and allowed herself to be pressed against the wall. Her eyes were large and dark as they searched his face, but steely defiance lay within them. She was beautiful, with the delicate bone structure of a noblewoman, dusky skin, and black hair pulled back beneath her head covering.
“I am about to remove my hand,” he continued. “Please do not call out. I have no desire to overpower you.” He allowed the hint of a threat to lace his words.
Once he had taken his hand away, she narrowed her eyes. “How dare you trespass on this sacred land? We allow no men in this convent.”
“My apologies, Sister Adelita. If I could have approached you in any other way, I would have done so. But time is short, and matters urgent.”
“You are English,” she spat, identifying the hints in his pronunciation. “Your people were responsible for the attack on my home yesterday?”
Ignoring her, he said, “I must talk to you about lion Alanzo de las Posadas.”
“My brother?”
The connection surprised Will, but he didn’t show it. “He visited you here at the convent the other day.”
Sister Adelita nodded, her thoughts racing. “Why do you want my brother?”
“I would know of what you spoke.”
“No!” she replied indignantly. “Those are private matters between brother and sister. Who are you to ask?” She grew suspicious. “I will tell you nothing. You wish to harm him.”
“Untrue. I saved your brother’s life, and he mine. We are divided by our homelands, but I have only respect for him.”
“Then what is your business with him?”
“A friend of mine is in great danger, a woman I have sworn to protect. She was taken by evil men who claim to be allies of lion Alanzo, but may be just as much of a threat to him. I want to save her, and take her home. If Don Alanzo said anything of her to you, please tell me.” Will wondered how far he would go to get the answers he needed if she did not answer of her own accord.
Sister Adelita searched Will’s face for any lies and what she saw appeared to satisfy her a little. “She is the woman you love?” A half smile ghosted her lips.
“No. She is the sister of the woman I loved,” he said with such honesty she was taken aback. “There is little enough room for love in this world, Sister. It is a hard place, filled with duplicity, and violence, and loss, and we must seize our moments for comfort when we can, for they are stolen from us when our guard is down. The man I am now was forged by the loss of my love, and I will not see others go easily down that path. This woman I speak of … she is young and filled with hope and all the opportunities for joy that life lays before her at that age. She deserves her chance to achieve them, and I will do all I can to ensure she gets it.”
“Even though it might harm you in the process?” Sister Adelita pressed.
“My moment for love is gone. I am, to all intents and purposes, dead to the world. I have nothing left to lose.”
“I do not believe that,” she said.
“‘Tis true.”
He could see his words had touched her, but she still continued to probe. “And you believe this is the path God has chosen for you? A selfless duty to protect others on the hard, dark road?”
“I wish I had your faith, Sister. I do what I do.”
She smiled tightly. “And there is no benefit in this for England?”
“I have spoken truly.”
“I am sure that is correct … of the words you have spoken. But there are many more unspoken, are there not? I know the ways of spies. Yes, I see that is what you are. I lived with my brother long enough to understand that the spaces between words are more important than the things that are said.” Her voice hardened and her eyes flashed. “I understand the deceit that is set in the very fibre of your nature, and the lies you tell yourselves to do your job. I could not trust my brother. I will not trust you, even with your gentle talk of love and yearning hearts.” She stared deep into his face and added, “However true that may be.”
“Sister—”
“No, leave here now and this matter will be forgotten. But if you persist I will raise the authorities on you, and you will pay the price faced by all English spies found on Spanish soil.” Turning without waiting for an answer, she walked back through the trees towards the convent.
For one moment, Will wondered if he should force her to speak. A part of him would do anything to get the answers he needed to save Grace; another part knew that he killed himself a little more with every step he took down that road. Finally, he relented. “Sister, I go now to the cathedral,” he called after her. “If you change your mind, you will find me there.”
She didn’t look back.
Had he given up his best chance to understand the plans of Don Alanzo and the Enemy? Conflicted, he climbed back over the wall.
Most of Cadiz was infused with the bitter smell of burned debris. In every face, Will could only see the ravages of the plague; every woman reminded him of Grace and what she might be suffering. He was consumed by a desperate sense of time running through his fingers like sand.
Launceston, Mayhew, and Carpenter waited in the shade of a large, old tree in the centre of the plaza. In the smart but hard-wearing clothes de Groot had given them, they looked like merchants debating a deal before the start of the day’s business.
“There is nothing for us here,” Will said.
Launceston read Will’s expression. “She did not talk. Then we should take her and offer her some encouragement.”
“Torture a nun. Very good,” Will replied. “Shall we then burn down the convent? Just to teach them a lesson?”
Launceston was unmoved. With a slight shrug, he replied, “She is Spanish.”
“You inhabit a simple and soothing world. I am faintly jealous.” Will surreptitiously eyed the first few townsfolk of the day to wander across the plaza, a couple of merchants, he guessed, a woman off to the market to buy food for one of the large houses. “We should not stay in the open too long. The cathedral and then to Seville.”
“Why waste time at the cathedral?” Mayhew sounded drunk. Will had noticed he increasingly appeared inebriated and wondered if the corrosive despair of the Unseelie Court was finally seeping into him. That could make him a liability in the middle of Enemy territory.
“A man like Don Alanzo would not break his mission to visit the cathedral unless it was on an important matter. I do not see him as someone who is ruled by his religion.”
“Show me a devout spy and I will show you a man about to slit a priest’s throat.” Carpenter’s laugh had no humour.
“Where does that damned Spaniard plan to take the Silver Skull?” Mayhew continued morosely. “What does the Enemy have planned? And why are the Spanish—?” Catching himself, he flailed erratically.
Carpenter clutched his arm roughly and hissed, “Contain yourself.”
“We should turn back,” Mayhew said. “What can we accomplish here, apart from our own deaths? Even if we find the answer to those questions, we will never get near to the Silver Skull. All is lost here. We must find other tactics—”
Carpenter drew his knife and kept it hidden in the folds of his shirt, but he pressed the tip against Mayhew’s chest. “Your weakness endangers us all. Any more and I will be done with you.”
“Leave him,” Will interjected. “He needs some time to recover from the strain of travelling. Take him back to de Groot’s house. I will go to the cathedral alone, and meet you back there. But keep him away from the wine.”
Mayhew appeared devastated by Will’s intervention, but he left between Launceston and Carpenter without another word, shoulders slumped in a pale reflection of the arrogant man who had survived the Unseelie Court’s assault on the Tower. Will was frustrated that he
had not noticed the decline earlier.
As he passed through the town, his unease at being alone in enemy territory was emphasised by the unfamiliar surroundings, the North African influence in the architecture from the days of the Moorish occupiers, the scents of exotic spices and unfamiliar blooms. The town had prospered from the riches brought back from the New World. After the panic of the Tempest’s attack, the now-bustling market was filled with loud haggling over fish and vegetables. Beautiful women enjoyed the appreciative gazes of the traders while pretending not to notice the stir they created in their wake. Aromatic smoke drifted from the street-side food-sellers heating their charcoal to cook the seafood brought up fresh from the harbour.
Skirting the edge of the market, Will kept to quiet, shaded streets until he found the Plaza de la Catedral where the medieval cathedral looked over both the town and the sea. Painted white, it shone so brightly in the early morning sun that Will had to shield his eyes. At that hour, the large wooden doors were bolted and the cathedral was still, the plaza before it deserted.
Conscious of drawing attention to himself, Will retreated to the winding alleys that made the town feel like a mass of rat-runs. They were much cleaner than the streets of his home, and sweeter smelling. He had not gone far into the maze when footsteps echoed behind him, soon joined by two or three other pairs of feet. In the quiet around the cathedral, the sudden activity jarred.
Will ducked into a branching alley. One pair of footsteps followed. Now he could hear more feet drawing nearer ahead of him too. At the junction with the next alley, he peered around the corner. Two soldiers, swords drawn, searched every doorway and open window.
Doubling back, Will darted up another alley, only to find more foot soldiers coming towards him. A net had been cast and was drawing tighter.
The Silver Skull Page 27