The Silver Skull

by Mark Chadbourn

  It was Sunday, August 7. The Revenge was at anchor at the head of a fleet that appeared to be sleeping. At the rear, the Tempest was ready to be called into battle if the Unseelie Court showed its hand, but Will, Carpenter, and Launceston needed to be in the forefront for what they expected to be a decisive night.

  The English fleet was upwind of the Armada, with the floodtide in their favour. It was a strong position, but a little further along the coast in Dunkirk, Parma had gathered his invasion force, ready to join the Armada in barges sent from ports along the Flemish coast. No one on the English side knew the level of preparedness of Parma’s army, nor their numbers, but it was clear they had been in regular contact with Medina Sidonia. Everything might have been different if Will had not killed Hawksworth, but that matter had passed and they had to deal with the situation before them.

  All was not yet lost. Dunkirk was blockaded by Justin of Nassau and his ragged but fierce Dutch Sea Beggars, but that would crumble if Medina Sidonia sent ships to drive the Dutch away. If the Spanish broke through the English fleet with Parma’s army, England was only a few miles away. There were so many vagaries, and everything was crucial; and the Unseelie Court had yet to show its hand.

  Drake turned his face to the last of the sun, and for the first time Will saw none of the braggart and only the devout man who was prepared to sacrifice everything for his God and his country. “I must lead the men in prayer,” he said, “and impose upon them what is at stake for their families and their country if we fail this night.”

  After Drake had departed, Will joined Carpenter and Launceston. They were both introspective as they prepared themselves for the night ahead, although Will noticed a strange fire in Launceston’s eyes. Without conversation they toured the ship, watching the stern-faced men working silently and pensively at their stations, stacking the shot and the powder on the gun deck, preparing the water to dampen any fires on board, eyeing the rigging and the sails on the main deck ready for the order to sail. In the infirmary, the ship’s surgeon had his tools already laid out.

  And then it was only a matter of waiting for the tide to turn.

  From the rail, Carpenter studied the eight ships that had been selected. “I do not know which is the worst death,” he mused. “Frozen in the forests of Muscovy, or burned alive in an inferno. But there is one common factor in both.” He eyed Will.

  “You say I am some pariah, leading you to mishap?” Will replied wryly.

  “I say nothing. But if you see a connection, perhaps there is some truth in it.”

  “Fire or ice, heaven or hell, we are always caught between two sides, John. The only debate that concerns me is wine or beer, and we can decide that in the Bull when we are safely back in London.”

  “Fair comment.” Carpenter shook Will and Launceston’s hands in turn. “For England, for the queen.”

  He left quickly, but Will thought he saw a surprising glimmer of the Carpenter he had known before their experiences in Muscovy. Will envied the peace Carpenter appeared to have found.

  They were each transported to one of the three central ships in the formation of eight where they watched the tide turn and waited for midnight. By the time the moon glimmered silver on the water, the ships were pulling at their anchors in the strengthening tide. The creak of timbers drowned out any noise the few crew members made as they completed their final preparations.

  When midnight came, Will glanced to his left to Carpenter and to his right to Launceston and gave the nod. Across the eight vessels came the dull thud of the crew chopping the cables that held them fast, and within seconds the ships were caught in the tide and moving downwind towards the Armada in complete silence.

  Relieved that the waiting was over, Will moved quickly around the deck where clutches of men waited with flints. Their apprehensive eyes flickered towards him. Acknowledging their bravery, he nodded to each in turn and then checked on the helmsman, who had set the course for the heart of the Armada and was busy lashing the helm in place. In the holds, more men waited, cupping their hands around smouldering match. Here the smell was almost too much to bear—pitch, brimstone, gunpowder, and tar—and the men coughed and covered their faces with scarves.

  “On my mark,” Will said loudly, counting the steady beat in his head, as he knew Carpenter and Launceston would be too. The ship built speed, the waves crashing loudly against the hull. Eyes white in the gloom, the men all turned their faces towards him as he raised his hand.

  “Now! “

  Along the hold, match plunged into pitch and flints were struck. Sparks glowed like stars, flames flickered, caught, surged into life, and after a moment smoke quickly began to fill the dark space. Will waited until the last man had dashed to the steps and then followed onto the deck where tiny pockets of fire were already whipping up in the night wind.

  Their faces lit orange, the men waited anxiously against the rail.

  “Well done! Heroes all!” Will called. “Your work here is over!”

  Relieved, some of the men leapt directly into the sea as the flames surged at their backs, while others swung on ropes to the escape skiffs towed alongside.

  Will turned to see an amazing sight: castles of fire growing larger on either side as each of the eight ships sprang alight, all at full sail. Red and gold danced across the black water, and the ruddy halo surrounding every ship made it impossible to see what was happening away in the dark. Deafened by the roar of the fire rushing along the boat from stern to prow and licking up the rigging towards the sailcloth, Will barely heard the cries of alarm from the Spanish lookouts. Heat roasted his back and neck, but still he was determined to wait until the last, scanning the waters ahead.

  As expected, pinnaces moved out from the Armada at speed towards the flanks. Hurling grapnels, the Spanish sailors struggled to overcome the flames. Will knew they would be gripped with fear that the ships were packed with gunpowder and stone like the “Hellburners” used at Antwerp three years earlier, but the English did not have the resources to duplicate that feat.

  As they fought to steer the two outer ships towards the beach, Will saw Carpenter and Launceston both dive into the water, satisfied that the main body of the fire ships would reach the Spanish fleet. But just as he was about to follow, another pinnace sailed rapidly towards the fire ship alongside his own and held station between the two English ships. On board, the Spanish sailors parted to make way for a man cloaked and hooded as protection against the fire. Clutching a bag against his chest, he swung onto the grapnel rope now strung between the two vessels and began to make his way towards the burning ship.

  Intrigued by the sailor’s clear insanity and puzzled by what he could possibly be intending, Will steadied himself with one foot on the rail and watched. The sailor crossed the gulf between the two ships rapidly, but as he landed on the burning deck, his hood fell away and Will saw it was lion Alanzo.

  On the brink of throwing himself into the water, Will paused, realising that here was unforeseen danger. Don Alanzo would not risk his life without reason. From his bag, he pulled an object Will instantly recognised it: the shimmering globe from the cabin of the grey-sailed ship, though at that moment it remained dull and lifeless.

  Will didn’t wait to see what lion Alanzo was attempting as he hunched over the globe amid the raging fires. Plucking a grapnel that one of his men had used to lower himself into a skiff, Will hurled it across the water where it caught in the Spanish pinnace’s sail. Without a second thought, he swung across the gulf.

  Relieved to feel the cool night wind after the blazing heat of the fire ship, he heard the rip of the sail before he landed heavily on the pinnace deck. The four Spanish sailors were taken by surprise. Will had thrown two overboard before the remaining two rounded on him. He drew his sword, but rather than face him, the frightened sailors both chose to abandon ship.

  Reclaiming the grapnel, Will made it catch on the fire ship’s rail. As he swung out against the hull and began to climb, he had the strangest s
ensation that the vessel was starting to slow. Glancing back, he saw it was true. The pinnace and all the other fire ships were now slightly ahead.

  The heat was like a furnace as he pulled himself over the rail and onto the deck. A sheet of flame roared up the rigging and ignited the main topsail and the main course sail. Ribbons of burning sailcloth fell to the deck all around so that it appeared to be snowing fire. Pitch blazed across the deck in channels to the quarterdeck where flames licked out of the door to the officers’ quarters.

  Don Alanzo had pulled his hood back up to protect him against the heat, and Will saw now that his cloak had been soaked in seawater. Acutely aware he had no such protection, Will drew his sword and advanced quickly.

  The Spanish spy was hunched over the globe, which now emitted the slow-pulsing white light. As he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye, he drew his own sword in a flash. When he saw it was Will, his shock quickly gave way to malice.

  “Are you charmed? What does it take to stop your foul heart beating?” he snarled.

  “More than you have at your disposal.”

  The ship came to a juddering halt, almost throwing Will from his feet. Don Alanzo laughed at Will’s puzzlement, and then nodded slowly as Will’s eyes fell upon the globe, now pulsing with even greater intensity. Slowly but steadily, the fire ship began to move backwards, towards the English fleet.

  “And so the world turns on its head, and what was a threat to us now becomes a spear driven into the heart of our hated enemy. With allies like ours, nothing can ever be as it seems,” Don Alanzo mocked.

  “Yes, you think you are on the road to heaven when you are sliding down to the pits of hell.”

  Will lunged with his sword, but Don Alanzo parried easily. The ship gathered speed as it moved towards the English fleet. Wind drove sheets of flames at Will and his opponent. It was a nightmarish arena even for two such master swordsmen. The raging heat seared Will’s face and hands, and brought stinging tears to his eyes that blurred his vision as he attempted to attack. With his left arm thrown across his face to shield him from the heat, Don Alanzo was pushed off balance, each thrust a fraction awry.

  Ducking and thrusting, Will tried to get close to the glowing globe, but Don Alanzo continually maneuvered himself in the space between. Whatever the nature of the object, Will could see it was no longer operating as it had in the cabin. Neither he nor Don Alanzo was affected by the globe; its power was seemingly directed into the ship itself, forcing it ever backwards.

  The intense heat sapped Will’s energy. Blazing chunks of wood falling from the yardarm and flames racing across the deck from the burning pitch left him little room to maneuver.

  A wall of flame now enclosed them. Even if the English ships had their lanterns alight, Will would not have been able to see them. If the fire ship crashed into the fleet, all would be lost. The ships were so tightly packed that the fire would spread rapidly from one to another.

  Thick smoke snaked around both of them. The air was now so hot it burned his throat and lungs every time he inhaled, and the fumes from the brimstone made his head spin.

  Bounding back and forth among the flames, he and Don Alanzo performed an intricate ballet. Despite the conflagration drawing closer by the second, he could see in the Don’s fierce eyes that he would not desert his post. His hatred for Will’s slaying of his father burned as brightly as the fires, and Will was convinced his opponent was prepared to go to his death as long as he took Will with him.

  The fire forced them into closer combat, making every sword-stroke even more difficult to direct. Will’s blade tore through Don Alanzo’s steaming cloak. The Don’s missed Will’s cheek by a hairbreadth. But whatever thrusts and feints he executed, Will could get no closer to the globe.

  Smoke rose from where their clothes were singed by the fire, and their skin reddened, and their breath shortened, but still they fought on.

  Will had a sudden shocking vision that he was in hell, that his entire life had prepared him for that moment, and that fire would be all he saw forevermore.

  And then the air was torn by a resounding crack that sounded like the ship itself was splitting in two. The main mast cracked near the base, falling towards them in a cascade of flaming sail, rigging, and yards. Throwing himself sideways, Don Alanzo slammed hard on the smoking deck.

  As the mast rushed towards him, Will propelled himself beneath the falling fire. His boot crashed hard against the globe and it shattered in an explosion of light with a sound like a child’s cry. Will continued his motion in a tumble that took him mere inches away from the mast’s thunderous impact. Flames soared up with a whoosh and the deck crumbled beneath it. Kicking out, Will launched himself towards the rail as the boards fell away beneath him.

  Behind there were only flames. Don Alanzo had either been consumed by the fire or fallen into the gaping, blazing hold.

  Will’s clothes were alight, flames licking up his back. Placing one foot on the rail, he dove. A trail of fire followed him into the black water.

  After the tremendous heat, the cold water was a shock. Striking back to the surface, he saw the fire ship now headed back towards the Armada where the other fire ships were already causing chaos among the Spanish fleet. Upwind, the signal cannon set the English ships in motion.

  The battle had begun.

  HAPTER 53

  drift in the high swell of the night tide, Will struck out towards the distant cliffs of Calais, but the sea was too strong. The blazing beacons of the fire ships cast a ruddy glare across the water, and for a while he thought it was the last sight he would see.

  “Swyfte! Swyfte!”

  His name was barked over the surging waves and the wind, but whoever called was hidden by the rolling swell.

  “Here!” he yelled back.

  A moment later a skiff crested the swell. Carpenter leaned over the prow, searching the water, Launceston and another seaman rowing behind. Carpenter hollered when he caught sight of Will, and they quickly fished him from the sea.

  “We saw you dive from the fire ship,” Carpenter said. “You prevented it from sailing into our fleet.”

  Shaking the saltwater from his hair, Will observed, “You came back for me, John.”

  He waited for Carpenter to claim the moral high ground, but he wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes and only said acidly, “Could we leave England’s greatest hero to drown?”

  “You have my thanks, John, and you, Robert.” He glanced towards the soaring flames. “Together we led the start of the battle here, but there is much more to do. Let us head back to the Tempest, for I suspect those grey sails will soon hove into view.”

  A series of tremendous explosions tore through the night. Near the Armada, the cannon aboard one of the fire ships had exploded, blasting hot metal and burning wood into the scattering pinnaces and small boats. Columns of fire rose from the water, reminding Will of the Templar chamber in Edinburgh.

  The fires of heaven and hell.

  One by one the fire ships’ guns exploded, raining burning fragments on the Armada’s front line. Confusion was already rife among the Spanish fleet as ships raced haphazardly to escape the coming inferno, with most breaking free of the constrictions of the bay for open sea. There were collisions, torn rigging, shattered yards as the panic escalated. Many commanders ordered the mooring cables to be severed by the crew so they could sail away rapidly without anchor, a desperate act that would hamper them regaining any stable position. The defensive crescent formation fragmented across its entire length.

  “Damn them!” Carpenter raged. “The Spanish have the luck of the Devil.”

  Vessels avoided the path of the fire ships by ten feet here, a foot there, but none of the Spanish fleet caught alight. Still blazing thirty feet into the air, the remnants of the fire ships came to rest in succession on the shore.

  Will shrugged. “A bonfire of Philip’s ambitions would have been a good sight, but the confusion itself is enough. We have increased our advantage
.”

  They sculled the skiff back to the English fleet where they could hear the jubilation rising up from every deck. After the protracted fight along the channel, they had finally destroyed the Armada’s formation. The ships were scattered to the four winds.

  On board the Tempest, Courtenay roamed the deck, singing his bawdy shanties at the top of his voice. As the men cheered, and as Launceston looked faintly baffled by the attention and Carpenter embarrassed, Will leapt onto the rail and grabbed the rigging for support.

  “This night we have struck a blow against the forces that wish to stop every Englishman living free, but it is only the start,” he announced to the crew. “A battle like no other awaits us, and we must not rest until every Spaniard is sent fleeing back to their homeland with the fear of all hell in their hearts. No one asks you to lay down your lives. We ask only for the steel in your arms and the fire in your hearts, the courage to stand proud and fight hard for your families, for all who wait in their homes praying you will keep them safe. The flame we ignite this night will burn on through history, a beacon to all oppressed, a promise of hope to those who live in fear and shed tears of despair. For right! For England!”

  The crew joined in Will’s rallying cry. When he leapt to the deck, they mobbed him and slapped his back as he pushed his way through to Courtenay.

  “England’s greatest spy,” Carpenter noted archly as he passed.

  “He plays his part well,” Launceston replied.

  Will flashed them a grin. “We all play parts, friends. Mine just has greater purpose than most.”