by Robin Jarvis
In the woodland Brindle and the others stood within the clearing that had been made around the oak tree and the newly constructed scaffold. The lustrous contours of his strange vessel loomed high overhead and cast a deep shadow over the bare ground.
“Are you ready?” Lord Richard asked. “If you do not feel strong enough to climb, it could wait till the morrow or the following day. None shall enter your night boat meantime. They have been bidden with the strictest command, although I truly believe they are a little afraid of it.”
The Iribian averted his gaze from the peculiar shape above and, looking Lord Richard steadily in the eye, said, “I will ascend.”
And so, accompanied by Jack Flye and Adam o’the Cogs, Brindle began scaling the scaffold.
Feeling it to be his duty, apart from being intensely curious, Richard Wutton followed, but he was not as spry as he used to be and huffed and puffed more than the others. Up past the branches of the oak they clambered until eventually the topmost leaves were left behind and the keel of the night boat was within reach.
At the top of the scaffold a wide platform butted against the side of the Iribian vessel, close to the opening from which Brindle had originally fallen. Heaving himself on to this ledge, Adam accidentally caught a glimpse of the ground far below.
He had never been this high before and, throughout the climb, had concentrated on the way up rather than looking down. Now he saw for the first time just how far they had risen. Suet was a small speck, pacing about the poles beneath and the apprentice’s stomach turned over.
“I pray they built this thing stout and well,” he murmured.
Jack Flye and Brindle were standing on the platform, heedless of the dizzy height. Jack was running his hands over the hull of the Iribian’s night boat, marvelling at the perfectly smooth metal and aching to explore inside. Brindle, however, was waiting for Lord Richard to join them before entering and was presently absorbed in the inspection of the firmament.
The panes of the curving sky leaned low over the scaffold’s summit and the Iribian studied the sections of opaque azure glass with shrewd and critical observations.
“Again the deceptive simplicity,” he said, tapping the adamantine material. “This people have not the knowledge to forge such a shield, yet it masks itself in a manner fitting to their perception.”
Bringing his face close to the coloured panes he could almost see through to the faint glimmer of stars beyond, but their configuration was unfamiliar and again he wondered how far he had journeyed.
Gazing across at his vessel, the Iribian’s mind reeled at the advanced science which had trapped it. The thick webs of lead that now gripped the craft ensured that it could never be released; even if the night boat were undamaged, it was imprisoned in the Malmes-Wutton sky forever more.
“What a spectacle!” Lord Richard’s voice exclaimed as he finally pulled himself on to the platform. “’Tis larger than my barn.”
Staring in awe at the blunt, cone-shaped prow of Brindle’s night boat he spluttered and cooed his admiration. “To think that yet more of this projects outside the firmament,” he marvelled. “Such a size, for a single mariner.”
Brindle smiled at him. “I have need of the capacity,” he said. “As a merchant there must be somewhere to store my wares.”
“Of course,” Lord Richard nodded. “Shall we enter?”
The Iribian bowed. “Indulge a want of manners if I proceed,” he began. “’Twould be safest if I lead the way.”
No one demurred at that, so Brindle moved to the opening which gaped in the side of his vessel and disappeared within. Lord Richard followed and then, with an excited wink back at Adam, Jack went after. Exhilaration flooded through Adam’s veins and, taking a sobering breath, he stepped from the planks of the scaffold and into the mysterious craft from a distant sphere.
Soot and cinders crunched underfoot when he crossed to the night boat and an oily film coated every surface. The inferno that had raged had left a bitter tang in the air and Adam wondered what Brindle’s fine senses made of it.
Down a narrow corridor with featureless, curving walls Brindle led them. But, away from the entrance, the interior became dark and Lord Richard called a halt.
“We cannot stumble about in this blind night,” he declared, his voice echoing along the passage. “Is there no lantern to be had?”
The jewel at Brindle’s throat crackled with its soft sapphire glare as he apologised. “Forgive me,” he said, the ghostly light shining up into his scarred face. “I had forgot you are so reliant upon your eyes. I fear that we have no choice; the heats have destroyed everything and there can be no gleam to guide you.”
Lord Richard muttered gruffly. “Should have foreseen this,” he upbraided himself. “Well there’s nothing for it, one of us will have to go back and fetch lamps.”
“No need,” Jack answered, highly pleased with his own resourcefulness. “I have pockets filled with candles.”
Lord Richard applauded the lad’s sharp wits and a moment’s labour with his tinder box kindled a bright flame from which three candles were lit. Jack passed them around and Adam received his eagerly. The darkness was pushed aside and they ventured deeper into the passage until Adam wondered if they were still in the confines of Malmes-Wutton or if they were now standing in that portion of the vessel which extended out into the cold darkness. It was a strange sensation but there was no time to dwell on it for, without warning, the corridor opened out into a spacious chamber and they all stared about them.
A pall of acrid smoke still lingered here, obscuring the upper reaches, but the flickering glow of the candles revealed arching walls, ribbed with graceful ridges. They were made of a translucent, chestnut-coloured substance, shot through with branching threads of amber and cinnamon. Yet the fires had scorched and blackened it, and in many places the material had melted completely, disclosing knots of tangled wire beneath. Dribbled stalactites of the stuff speared down from the unseen ceiling and, when Adam touched them, he was astonished to find them as strong and firm as iron.
The burned-out remains of peculiar counters and desks, shaped like the growths which sprout from rotting trees, jutted from these ruined walls. Bringing the candle flame closer to them, he saw that they contained a jumble of furnace-cracked lenses and bizarrely fashioned tubes.
To the front of the room the roasted wrecks of three large chairs stood before a huge oval frame, but the picture within was utterly destroyed. Adam wondered why it had been backed by a mesh of peculiar looking wafers of crisscrossed metal.
One large desk curved halfway around the chairs and, though it too had been incinerated, there were still tokens of its former usage. Tall levers protruded from the sagging, carbonised mass and gourd-like pods filled with shattered glass were fixed upon articulated stalks. More unusual shapes were suspended from above, many bearing rows of coin-sized discs which depressed when touched, rather like a mechanical’s stilling crest.
It was unlike anything Adam or the others had ever seen.
Examining this bleak interior, Brindle shook his head then strode purposefully to the rear wall which was riddled with deep, recessed shelves.
“This is the wheel house?” Lord Richard asked, holding his candle aloft.
Brindle made no answer – he was too occupied searching among the sooty debris which littered the irregular-shaped niches. Finally he let out a glad cry as he found what he was looking for and tore it from the ashes.
With every flame raised to him, they all saw that he held a small box which might once have been silver. Struggling with the clasp, he wrenched it open and looked anxiously inside. There was a tense silence, then the Iribian choked back a grieving sob and let the box fall from his hands.
The glitter of broken glass shone in the candlelight and Adam knew what it was Brindle had found and why his despair was so passionate and profound.
“Your children?” the boy asked.
Brindle turned away. “The ampoules of their si
gnature scents were damaged by the fire,” he uttered. “There was a cargo of fluvial lotion and bendren oils on board. They burn most fiercely.”
His words failed and he squeezed his eye shut, forbidding the pain of loss to overwhelm him. “No matter,” he said, mastering his anguish. “The joy of our reunion will be all the greater.”
Stiffening, he moved quickly to the curving desk and took one of the hanging pods in his hands. His long fingers moved rapidly over the metal discs, then he leaned across to where a circular grille was still visible in the melted mess of the counter and inspected it closely. After several minutes he pulled back. The glint of hope had perished in his eye and the dejection was wretched to see.
“All is dead,” he whispered.
“What were you trying to do?” Lord Richard asked. “This night boat will never set sail again.”
Brindle ran his fingers through his long hair, wondering how he could explain. “My people have a method of communing,” he began, “in which speech can travel as fast as thought across great distances. If the heats had not wrought so much destruction I could have contacted them.”
“Impossible,” Jack said. “’Tis the fancy of wizards.”
Lord Richard hushed him. “Continue, friend,” he prompted.
“What use is there?” Brindle answered. “It is all beyond repair, even if …”
The blue stone fizzed and flared as a sudden idea gripped him. The Iribian rushed to the far wall again, where he dropped to his knees and hunted in another of the recessed compartments. Swiftly he fished out two circlets, identical to the one he was wearing, but Adam could see that they were both blackened and burned, their gems fractured.
“The flames have done their worst,” Brindle groaned in defeat as he threw them down. “The torcs are spoiled – what evil influence dogs me?”
Stooping, Lord Richard picked the collars from the ground. “What did you hope to gain from them?” he asked. “What virtue would there be in three such devices?”
“Two is all I plead for,” Brindle replied. “With elements taken from both I could have set up a beacon for my kind to follow. But no, providence would not allow it; no mercy for one so shunned. This torc alone is not enough. I am marooned in this land of strangers, isolated and alone – never will I see my family again.”
Richard Wutton put his hand upon his shoulder. “I know what it is to lose those dearest to your heart,” he said gently. “I am sorry, my friend.”
Brindle hung his head and a bitter laugh rang from the stone at his throat.
“We have double cause to lament,” he cried. “It was in my power to restore the fortunes of your estate a thousandfold. My race would have paid the highest prices to revel in the fragrance of your rose garden. I could have been the sole merchant for this benighted territory and you would have had the monopoly. I regret that now I am unable to repay your many kindnesses to me, My Lord. I wished it most dearly.”
Richard Wutton gripped his arm. “Never let avarice or greed govern your soul,” he told him. “We have our lives and the good opinion of our friends – what more is there?”
“Would that my people had heeded such advice in the long years past,” Brindle murmured. “We are all accursed and deserve whatever sour fate awaits us.”
There did not seem much point in exploring any more of the vessel. Brindle was too despondent to continue and his first day out of bed was beginning to take its toll.
Jack was keen to press on but Lord Richard would not hear of it. “It can wait,” came the firm instruction. “This craft will be here for many years yet, Master Flye. You shall have ample opportunity to tire of it in the time to come.”
It was a disheartened group that descended the scaffold, although Suet’s glad welcome did much to revive Adam’s spirits. They and the rest of the villagers set off out of the woodland. No one had seen anything of Old Scratch all day and for that they were all grateful.
“Mistress Dritchly has recovered,” Adam said suddenly, seeing the woman’s large outline standing at the entrance of the manor.
A look of displeasure darkened Lord Richard’s face. “There’s fresh mischief been done,” he uttered.
“If it’s more of Henry’s …” Jack began.
Brindle interrupted him. “That boy is innocent in this,” he said, diverting his thoughts from his private distress. “There are foreign scents in the air. A mechanical not of this estate stands in the barn, and in the house a man awaits. The odours that envelop him are like no other I have experienced in this land.”
Lord Richard’s features became even more severe and he strode the remaining distance in stern silence. Mistress Dritchly rushed across the yard to meet them. It did not need the refined senses of an Iribian to notice how distressed and anxious she was. “Oh, My Lord!” she cried, wringing her hands. “Whilst you were out, a messenger came.”
Before she could say any more, Lord Richard and the others saw that a man in fine clothes had left the house and was standing upon the step, overblown with self-importance.
“Sir Richard Wutton?” he called, his voice barely concealing his disdain for one so out of favour.
The master of the estate nodded. “I am he,” he answered, marching over to him. “And you, Sirrah?”
“Thomas Herrick, bidden with an errand from the isle of London, My Lord.”
“London, is it?”
The man bowed in honour of that great city. “Aye, from the palace of Whitehall, from Gloriana herself, Her Majesty, Elizabeth of Englandia – the Queen.”
Richard Wutton took a step back and Adam was shocked to see that the colour had all but drained from him. Mistress Dritchly stifled a gasp of dismay.
The boy studied the newcomer more closely. He had a youthful face, but it was not a pleasant one. Although Thomas Herrick might mislead many in thinking him handsome, that day nobody was deceived. The blond, swallow-tailed beard was overly mannered for one so young and the pale blue eyes were hard and selfish. There was too much ambition simmering beneath the surface for any pleasing impression to be sustained without constant effort. Needless to say, he made no attempt to hide his boredom and irritation from the inhabitants of this mean estate and his mouth curled with disparagement.
Adam guessed he was annoyed at being away from court for, judging by his clothes, that was certainly where he believed he belonged. He wore a velvet cap with a bag crown of the Italian style that was so fashionable in London and done in the new pale green colour known as willow. It sat at a jaunty angle upon his head and was embellished with an orange plume. His clothes were of the same bright shade and positively Venetian in pattern, with the bottom corner of the short cloak draped affectedly over the opposite shoulder. In the presence of other aspiring nobles he undoubtedly cut a striking figure, but Adam o’the Cogs was ignorant of such trends and thought the man looked a complete fool, dressed up to resemble a spring lettuce.
“What does the Queen desire?” Lord Richard muttered in a flat, leaden tone.
The envoy looked squarely at Brindle and, with a want of courtesy, addressed his remarks to him. “She has heard rumour that a celestial visitor did fall into this land. My errand was to see the truth of it and that I clearly do.”
“What else?” Lord Richard demanded, irritated by the man’s insolence. “For more there most surely will be.”
“You are requested at court, My Lord – you and your singular guest. The Queen does wish to view him for Herself.”
“Requested?” Lord Richard’s voice rapped sharply.
Thomas Herrick gave a simpering smile. “Commanded then,” he said coldly.
CHAPTER 5
Hunting the Devil
It was useless for Lord Richard to offer any protest – defying a royal command was treason. The journey to London would take two days and Thomas Herrick told him that the Queen was expecting them no later than the evening of the seventeenth.
“But we shall have to leave at first light on the morrow!” Lord Richard
cried.
“Not at all,” came the haughty response. “You have until an hour before noon till we must depart. More than sufficient time to organise the affairs of this modest estate. There is room for two more of your household should you wish to bring them. I shall await you on board the night barge within your Stygian boat house.”
With that, the ridiculously overdressed man led his mechanical horse out of the barn and rode from the yard.
“No later than eleven of the clock!” he called over his shoulder. “Or you shall earn not only the Queen’s enmity but Her steel also.”
Lord Richard and the others watched him canter through the village. Then, with the air of a man who has an appointment with the axe, the master of Malmes-Wutton went silently into the manor house to begin the necessary preparations. Mistress Dritchly drew a hand over her moistening eyes as she regarded his retreating figure. “I cannot bear to see him so,” she sniffed. “His back all bent and bowed. Has he not paid penance enough?”
Brindle moved to go after him. “This is my doing,” he said. “If it were not for my presence this would not have occurred. Your Lord’s kindness to me has earned him naught but trouble.”
“Oh, bless you – stay!” the woman called him back. “Let him be awhile, till the black mood leaves him. In no way are you to blame. This is the doing of a stony heart – I thought it then and say it now. Whilst She reigns there can be no peace for him. This is vengeance and spite for a devotion done these fourteen years past.”
No one understood the widow’s words and she dabbed at her eyes with the corners of her apron. It was Adam who finally dared ask what he had always wanted to know.
“Why was Lord Richard banished?”
But Mistress Dritchly refused to answer, and bit her lip as she shook her head, fighting to staunch the tears which were now streaming down her flushed face.
Brindle put his hand upon her arm to comfort her and, looking up at his ravaged features, a fierce glint shone in the woman’s watery eyes. “Why not?” she cried. “Why should you not be told? It’s hushed I’ve been these many years but not any longer, ’specially not in front of you, my angel. If you’re to face that woman you’d best be warned what manner of cold-blooded creature She is.”