Will was stunned by the cruelty of Cavillex’s scheme; the unnecessary death and suffering, purely because their supremacy had been challenged.
“Your nation will be crushed by the magnitude of the blow struck against you,” Cavillex added. “And that will only be the beginning of your country’s agonies.”
Will examined the Shield in the palm of his hand. “So, without this artefact you cannot unleash the full fury of the Skull and survive. You will be corrupted too, here at the heart of the whirlwind.”
Will backed up the stairs another step. “The cost of this item is high,” he said, holding the Shield up so Cavillex could see it. “How many of your lives will buy it?”
“You are a lesser creature and you have already taken too many of our lives,” Cavillex replied. He gently led Grace forwards. “As you value life so lightly, your friend’s death will be meaningless to you.”
Will hid his concern. “If you wish to barter the girl’s life for this trinket, think again. That route has already been tried. My loyalty lies with queen and country … and seeing the destruction of your kind.”
“You misunderstand. I do not barter. We will take the Shield from you when we slaughter you. The loss of this girl’s life is a punishment for your brutality. The sight of her dying—the consequence of your actions—will be the one you take with you to the grave.”
Will stepped forwards, but the other members of the Unseelie Court closed around Grace. He would never reach her.
“You claim to be the injured party, but slaughter comes easily to you. If you kill without regard, if you murder your own, even, over arguments about religion and politics, if morals do not guide you, then how can you expect us to act any differently?” Cavillex continued.
“You have forced us down to your level.”
Cavillex’s laughter was harsh and mocking.
“Again, this is about survival,” Will said. “We do not have the luxury of morals or gentility when we are being preyed upon.” Even as Will spoke, he could hear the hollow ring to his words.
Tired of Will, Cavillex turned to Mayhew and said, “Make her die, now, in a way that will scar his mind forever.”
In Mayhew’s hesitation, Will saw a chink and acted quickly, “Do not do this, Mayhew. Grace is an innocent. Kill her and you will be damned for eternity.”
“He is already damned,” Cavillex said lightly. “That is the least of his concerns.”
“Mayhew,” Will pressed. “Do not ally yourself with these monsters. Whatever rewards they have promised you, they are not enough to tempt you to turn your back on your fellow man, or on your own humanity.”
“Do you think we bribed him with gold? You truly do not understand us,” Cavillex said. “We know every part of you. We understand your weaknesses, your flaws, and we play them like a musician plays his instrument. A personal weakness makes you its mare, and it rides you hard, and you cannot throw it off, whatever you do. None of you are that strong. The only way he will be free of his torment—the only way he will be free of the mask—is to do my bidding.” He pointed a slender finger at the Silver Skull and then directed it to Grace. “Kill her. Now.”
Mayhew turned his face to Will as if offering his apologies, and then raised his hand to Grace’s forehead.
“No, Matthew,” Will pleaded. “Grace does not deserve this.”
Mayhew hesitated for the briefest moment, and then planted his hand on the nearest member of the Unseelie Court. In the swimming dark, Will glimpsed convulsions, boils, blackening skin, eyes growing thick with pus, a foaming mouth. Mayhew turned to the next, and another, both hands reaching out.
The inhuman shrieks were so loud Will thought his ears would burst. As the shadows whirled, he had the impression of Cavillex throwing himself away from Mayhew towards the trapdoor. The red-rimmed eyes, with no glimmer of humanity in them, would haunt him forever.
“You do not know us as well as you think,” Will called after him. “Our weaknesses do not define us.”
As the Enemy fell around Mayhew, Cavillex lashed out. Will caught the glint of a blade driving towards Grace, and with an instinctive lunge yanked her out of its path. The blade continued into Mayhew’s chest.
Cavillex’s voice set Will’s teeth on edge: “Some part of our account will be balanced this day. Your queen will die.” And with that, he was gone.
Still gripped by the Unseelie enchantment, Grace stood blissfully as Mayhew lay beside her in a growing pool of blood. “Take care of Mayhew in his final moments,” Will called to her, unsure if it would have any effect. He paused briefly beside Mayhew and whispered, “At the last, you did right.” And then he was down the steps in pursuit of Cavillex, for the life of the queen.
HAPTER 50
nly the musket-shot crack of Cavillex’s boots disturbed the dawn stillness of the palace as he swept into the range of buildings that would eventually lead him to the queen’s quarters. Will was close behind.
Through the windows, he could see the grey shadows of more of the Unseelie Court patrolling the palace grounds, oblivious to the drama that was unfolding. If Cavillex gained the opportunity to raise the alarm, there would be nothing Will could do to protect the queen, or himself, or any of them still alive there.
But Cavillex appeared consumed by a furious rage, driven by the deaths of his associates and the failure of his intricate plan, his only thought revenge of the most brutal kind.
Rounding a corner, Will caught up with Cavillex among three more of the Unseelie Court. Cold faces snapped towards him, black eyes devoid of all compassion; his mind squirmed under their attention. Doubling back quickly, he bounded up the stairs to the next floor and took an alternative route.
As Cavillex passed the foot of another flight of stairs, Will flung himself off the steps with no thought for the stone flags below. The force of the impact drove Cavillex to the floor. With his knife, Will fought like a wild animal, every moment of suffering and misery he had endured driven into each stab. The blade plunged into muscle and bone, tore through features and chest, arms and guts. Blood flowed, but he couldn’t tell if it was his own.
It felt like he had a fox under his hands. Cavillex thrashed and fought, writhing from Will’s grip. Finally, he broke free and threw himself on top of Will, gripping Will’s head in his hands. Pressing his face close, Will swam in deep shadow and those hideous red-rimmed eyes. They burned deep into Will’s mind, turning over his thoughts, driving into his memories, abusing the most private part of him.
Throughout his body, he felt a sickening change: muscles knotting, every fibre straining, and he remembered the scarecrow in Alsatia that had once been a man.
With a tremendous effort, he brought the knife up hard into the side of Cavillex’s neck. The inhuman shriek made Will’s thoughts fizz. Cavillex lurched up, catching Will with a sharp backhand as he staggered away, clutching at his wound.
Dazed, Will sprawled across the flags, but he could already feel the pains deep in his body diminishing. By the time he had recovered, Cavillex was gone, but blood trailed in his path.
When Will reached the queen’s chambers, Cavillex was already ransacking the room with three other members of the Unseelie Court. They rounded on him instantly, more animals then men. Will had a second to realise Elizabeth was not there before he was forced into such a furious ballet of parrying and thrusting he could only act on instinct.
A loud crash echoed across the room, but Will couldn’t afford to divert his attention for an instant. Driven back by the intensity of the onslaught, he fought for his life, seeing only steel and cold eyes and mouths that snapped and snarled like the beast that had attacked in the frozen Russian forest.
But then one of his opponents fell forwards, a blade protruding from his chest, and another clutched futilely at his throat, across which a knife had been swiftly drawn. The third was so distracted by the sudden slaying of his associates he was unprepared for Will’s thrust through his chest.
Carpenter and Launcesto
n stood over the bodies, already turning to confront Cavillex, who stood by an entrance to a passageway behind the panelling. He could barely stand from the injuries Will had inflicted on him.
Cavillex snarled something in his unsettling language and darted into the dark space.
“The queen!” Carpenter exclaimed.
Will bounded past him into the secret passageway. Cavillex was already lost to the dark, his urgent movements echoing back. Careering into a room, Will found Cavillex wrestled against a wall by Nathaniel. His friend attempted to stop Cavillex reaching Elizabeth, who cowered in a corner next to Walsingham and Dee.
“Nat! Leave him!” Will barked, too late.
Leaning in, Cavillex whispered into Nathaniel’s ear. As Cavillex unburdened his secret horrors, Nathaniel’s eyes became glassy. The blood drained from his face and a fixed expression of dread gripped him. Swaying for a moment, he slithered to the floor, head in his hands.
Though terribly wounded, Cavillex still managed to give Will a look of triumph.
Lost to rage, Will beat Cavillex so hard bone shattered and blood flew under his knuckles. He was about to draw his sword to run Cavillex through when Carpenter grabbed him forcibly and pulled him away.
“Wait,” he said. “There are worse things than death.” His unconscious echoing of Cavillex’s words brought Will up sharp. Carpenter indicated Launceston standing in the entrance to the passageway, ghastly in the gloom. “Let Robert spend some time with him.”
“What?” Will began. “Why—?”
“Trust me,” Carpenter whispered. “This is my gift to you, to draw a veil over our past disagreement. Launceston has a … specific touch.”
Not understanding, but his anger now spent, Will allowed Carpenter to guide him away so he could turn his attention to Nathaniel, lying broken on the floor, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond the walls of the room.
Will knelt next to him. “Nat. What have I done?”
He was half aware of Launceston stepping by him, grabbing the beaten Cavillex, and thrusting him into the room at the back. The door closed. The lock turned.
Walsingham helped Will to his feet. As Dee quickly led out Elizabeth with all the concern and affection of the man who had tutored her since she was a child, Walsingham said, “There is still time. We may be able to aid your assistant, if we act quickly. Leave him with me. Go, and run these foul creatures from the palace. Kill as many as you find.”
Will was reluctant to leave Nathaniel, but he understood Walsingham was right. Flashing one deeply concerned glance at his friend, Will entered the passageway with Carpenter, but he couldn’t escape the memory of Miller, hanging from the rafters, slain by a whispered word. Some slight comfort came to him as he stepped out into the queen’s chamber. Echoing along the passageway from the secret rooms came Cavillex’s agonised cry, continuing unbroken until Will had left the rooms far behind.
They scoured the palace grounds, but they could find no sign of the Unseelie Court. It was as if Cavillex’s invading force had vanished with the coming of the dawn.
While Carpenter went to liaise with Courtenay and his men who had sealed off the palace from the rest of London, Will returned to the Lantern Tower where he found Grace slowly coming out of her daze. She blinked and looked around, not knowing how she had come to be there.
Will was relieved, for it meant she would not recall her time with the Unseelie Court. There was still hope for her sanity. He had protected her, as he had vowed, though as much by good fortune as by his own actions.
“Every fighting man needs luck,” he whispered. Confused, she made to ask him what he meant, but he took her in his arms and held her tightly. She nestled into him, and he could feel her emotions acutely, but all he could think of was Jenny and how it should have been her he saved.
After a moment, he pulled away to examine Mayhew, lying dead on the floor. The Key had been taken, and without it the Skull and the Shield were worthless. He felt oddly relieved. Cavillex’s words returned to him: if they could not act to some higher standard, they would deserve to be destroyed, as the Unseelie Court deserved it.
“Oh,” Grace said. “He has left a message.” She indicated the wall, where Mayhew had used the last of his life to carve an inscription in the plaster with broken, bloody fingernails.
“Bury my mother,” she read. “What does that mean?”
HAPTER 59
cross London, the church bells were ringing. In the dead August heat, Will waited in the shade of a soaring elm, trying to ignore the powerful stink of the filthy slums that sprawled along the Thames to the east of the Tower. Majesty and vileness, side by side; that was London, that was his life.
Nearby, Leicester strutted back and forth, revelling in the attention of the thousands of men waiting in their ranks or on horseback, playing the hero in his mind, though he had not been called on to fight. On the ridge overlooking the river, the camp at West Tilbury was a splash of colour, red, gold, and blue pennants fluttering on the slight breeze, flags flying proudly above the white pavilions erected to shield the nobility from the noonday sun.
Eschewing the crowds lining both banks of the river and hanging from the windows of the houses with the best views, Will had opted for a period of quiet contemplation while he waited for the queen to arrive. There was much to consider.
Somewhere in the far north, the Spanish were drowning, fighting devastating seas, ships sunk and torn apart, men washed up on beaches to be slaughtered by the local people. The price that nation had paid—and would pay—for the poor judgment of their leaders was great. But here at home, the English ships were returning to port lauded, every man aboard a hero. A new day was dawning.
As the queen’s barge arrived in a blare of trumpets on its triumphant journey along the river from the Palace of Whitehall, the sense of anticipation mounted. Following the causeway across the foul-smelling marshes where clouds of flies buzzed, she made her way to the camp on a white gelding. Cannon fire proclaimed her arrival.
Led by the Earl of Ormonde carrying the sword of state, and with two pages dressed in white velvet, one carrying her helmet on a cushion the other leading her horse, she strode along the ranks, a silver breastplate shining over a white velvet gown, her auburn wig a blaze of fire, sparkling with diamonds and pearls. The men cheered loudly, and shouted their devotion to Elizabeth and to England.
Will was not moved. Whatever he saw, he knew there was always another face beneath. Walsingham had already given him a glimpse of the carefully rehearsed speech the queen planned to deliver at Tilbury the following day. It was designed as much for the ears of the Unseelie Court as it was for her own people, or Spain. The Enemy would be listening. They were always listening.
“My loving people,” she would begin, “we have been persuaded by some that are careful for our safety to heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes for fear of treachery, but I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects.
“Therefore, I am come amongst you, as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport but being resolved in the midst and heat of the battle to live or die amongst you all and to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust.
“I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain or any prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms. I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns and we do assure you, in the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you.”
Let tyrants fear.
The Unseelie Court would never rest, but
a gauntlet had been thrown down. England would meet them head-on.
Will was soon joined by Walsingham, who had travelled on the second barge with the queen’s closest advisors, out of place in his sombre black gown yet seemingly untouched by the oppressive heat. He stood beneath the elm next to Will, hands clasped behind his back, and watched the queen inspecting her loyal soldiers with an air of gentle pleasure.
“I would say it went well,” he mused.
“Apart from the death and the suffering.”
Walsingham sniffed. “There is always that.”
Relenting, Will nodded. “Yes, we won a great victory.”
“And you played a great part in that, Master Swyfte.”
“And the others: Carpenter, Launceston.” Pausing, he remembered the young man who had joined Walsingham’s band so proudly only to encounter things he never dreamed existed and which stole his life from him. “Miller. They should not be forgotten.”
“Oh, they will be. As will you.”
Will eyed Walsingham askance.
“Your task is to move behind the skin of history, not upon its surface.” Walsingham continued to follow the queen’s progress, nodding approvingly whenever the cheers rose up again. “Your work is by design invisible, and it will remain that way. If it were made public, it would detract from the glory of the queen and the true heroes of England.”
“I have a public face now.”
“Yes. We created the great William Swyfte to provide comfort for the people of England, so they knew they were always cared for, protected from the many hardships that assail this world by someone greater than them. But that will only continue in stories told by the fireside or in the taverns, and soon those stories will die. There will be no public record of the part you played this day, you or any of your band.”
The Silver Skull Page 46