Deathscent

by Robin Jarvis

  Their faces pressed against a window, Adam and Henry stared in amazement at the unfolding scene. Lit by the soft glare of the amber lamps, the shadowy expanse of sheer rock rolled by, gradually giving way to the rim of that enormous, arch-shaped opening – the gateway of Malmes-Wutton.

  “Duck’s plums!” Henry exclaimed. “You could drive three galleons abreast through there and still have room either side.”

  “Hold her steady,” Thomas Herrick commanded the helmsman. “The current will catch us any moment.”

  Drifting towards that great hole in the rock, the apprentices beheld the eternal, star-pricked night beyond and knew that soon they would be out there, setting a course between the uplifted lands.

  The night barge gave a sudden jolt and the timbers trembled as a howling wind began to whirl outside, and the craft was dragged into a funnelling squall which battered the canopy, buffeting and whooshing against the canvas.

  “The tide has us,” Herrick called calmly. “Keep her on course.”

  Standing back from the window, Brindle looked questioningly at Lord Richard.

  “We are riding the breath of the Almighty,” Richard Wutton told him. “It gales continuously about the entrance but twice daily allows passage through to the Outer Dark.

  Ploughing deeper into the twisting strait, the night barge sailed under the vast arch and Brindle stared searchingly out of the window. Through the spiralling gloom, set into the towering sides, he saw what appeared to be roughly hewn designs gouged into the rock.

  “Once more the consummate science concealed behind crude imagery,” he said softly. “I did not suspect the special ambassadors of such artifice. What pleasure they must have drawn from their hidden playground.”

  “Who do you mean?” Adam asked.

  “Stand by,” Thomas Herrick called before the Iribian could answer.

  With a final rush of swirling air, the night barge was through, shooting out into the empty void. The bagging canvas was given a last pummelling and an eerie calm descended. They were outside the isle of Malmes-Wutton.

  Henry and Adam dashed to the stern where a smaller window showed them a spectacle they had often dreamed of but never witnessed.

  Their home.

  Up from the rocky archway the night boat floated and the rugged crags sank behind it until, abruptly, the encircling wall in which the firmament was set finally came into view.

  The leaded panes were of the deepest blue and, although no glimpse of the estate could be seen through them, it was a ravishing sight. Thousands of refracted facets gleamed and dazzled in the harsh, unfiltered sunlight. To the apprentices, it was as if they were gazing upon the most monstrous jewel ever quarried from the mines of God.

  At the western edge of the island, the links of a gargantuan chain were plainly visible reaching out into the distance, joining with the neighbouring land of Saxmundham. Every corner of Elizabeth’s uplifted realm was connected in this way, anchoring and uniting each manor and county. Adam had heard that the same was true for the isles of Europe but he gave no thought to them; for the moment this was enough.

  Even Henry had no phrase to describe it and they continued to gawp out of the window. The covered island dropped below them until they could see the place where Brindle’s craft had shipwrecked and was wedged permanently in position.

  Then the oars of the night barge were lowered and Herrick’s men began their back-wrenching work. Away from the island they pulled and the apprentices watched its gradual retreat in thoughtful silence. Out into the immeasurable regions of the night the scarlet vessel journeyed, its merry decoration of amber lamps glimmering through the endless cold.

  Brindle looked out at the brightly burning stars but failed to recognise any of them.

  “Excellency,” Thomas Herrick began, leaving the forecastle and nodding towards a small door at the stern. “This modest craft does boast one comfort. I have a cabin yonder where we may speak privily. I would talk of the Queen with you; She is greatly interested to know from whence you came and many other matters of intrigue and import.”

  The Iribian’s reply clearly showed his irritation with the man. “I am a merchant only,” he said. “I trade in perfume and balms and see no reason why your sovereign would wish to see me. I am stranded amongst you without hope of returning to my own sphere, and with nothing of worth to exchange or reward Lord Richard’s great kindness unto me.”

  “Hardly nothing of worth,” Herrick remarked with a nervous laugh. “Your gracious society alone is above price. Then there is your noble wit and wisdom. But come, let us remove to my cabin where we may discuss this more freely and away from vulgar hearing.”

  “Is there room there for Lord Richard also?”

  “Why, no – of course not.”

  “Then I shall remain here.”

  Herrick gave a slight cough, then excused himself and snarlingly took his vexation out on the helmsman.

  “Have a care how you deal with him,” Lord Richard advised Brindle with a warning whisper. “I have no doubt that the real reason we are to stall our journey this evening is to give him the opportunity to despatch some tattling letter to the Queen. It would be best not to earn Her anger before you have met Her.”

  The Iribian stared out at the empty darkness. “The man is sore in need of a lesson in humility,” he said. “I like not his manner with you.”

  “I’ve been scorned by better than he,” Lord Richard answered. “Old scars feel no fresh hurt.”

  Following the line of the great linking chain, within an hour the night barge had drawn near to the much larger isle of Saxmundham. Beyond that the other ten islands of Suffolk loomed large and glittering.

  Eventually, Adam and Henry wearied of looking upon the passing estates; the fierce glare of the firmaments strained their eyes and so they sat quietly upon the deck. Adam tried to marshal his thoughts. The loss of Jack was too raw and recent a wound to touch upon. Besides, Henry refused to talk about it. So Adam fished in his pack for the phial of black ichor he had brought with him and mourned for Suet instead.

  It was strange not having the wooden piglet grunting at his heels. When he had returned to the manor the previous night he had gone to the piggery and knelt before Old Temperance. The great sow had stared into his eyes and the boy wondered if she knew what had happened. Without a sound, she had moved away from him and entered the brick sty from where, a short while later, her deep voice lowed and Flitch squealed desolately.

  “Praise be for that dumpy widow!” Henry cried and Adam was yanked back to the present. Henry had been rifling in his travel bag and was thrilled to discover the food Mistress Dritchly had packed for him.

  “Mutton pasties and apple tart!” he exclaimed, shovelling a bite of each into his mouth and relishing the mingled flavours.

  Smoothly the night barge voyaged on. Above and below the uplifted lands it made its way in silence, leaving Suffolk behind and passing over the first of the six isles of Essex.

  By the time the afternoon had slipped into evening, Adam and Henry were restless and had grown to resent the cramped deck with its canvas canopy. They longed to stretch their legs over solid ground and one glance at Brindle told them that he too rebelled at this confining journey. The atmosphere had grown stale and stifling and everyone yearned for the day to be over.

  Thomas Herrick had removed himself to his cabin where, as Lord Richard so rightly guessed, he was engaged in the writing of a report to the Queen, detailing the little he had learned from the celestial visitor thus far.

  “What were you talking of before?” Adam asked the Iribian. “When you spoke of a hidden playground, who did you mean?”

  Brindle seemed to find the question uncomfortable and stared up at the canopy. “I am not the first stranger to come amongst your people,” he said. “There have been others. Every sign points to their presence. The wisdom hidden in the functioning of this vessel alone is testament to them. You are a fine people but know nothing of the force conversion now t
aking place below decks and propelling you through the darkness. Yes, others have certainly been amongst you.”

  Adam considered for a moment. “There have only ever been the special ambassadors.”

  Brindle’s flame-patterned brows arched at that but the boy could not tell whether it was from amusement, surprise or dismay.

  “Did you know them?” he continued. “Lord Richard says that they were kind and helpful to us after the Beatification.”

  The Iribian stared down at his hands. “I knew them,” he answered. “Yes, I knew them. I cannot count the number of times I have cursed the day my people encountered them.”

  An abrupt groan from Henry interrupted any further conversation and Brindle appeared relieved.

  “I don’t feel well,” Henry uttered. “My guts squirm like serpents.”

  “An overstuffed stomach and the motion of this craft do not a happy combination make,” Lord Richard declared, descending from the forecastle where he had been sitting in meditative thought. “You had best lie down, Master Wattle.”

  For another two hours they travelled, during which Adam had no further opportunity of speech with Brindle. Then, at last, as the leaded panes cleared to let in the surrounding night they sailed by, Thomas Herrick was called from his cabin by the helmsman.

  “Havering lies ahead of us!” the Queen’s envoy announced to his passengers. “That is where we shall put in for the night. Thither is a wayside inn which is not too disagreeable.”

  Leaving Henry to moan and clutch his stomach, Adam stared through the window and saw an island four times the size of Malmes-Wutton stretching before them. Through the transparent panes of its gigantic sky, the apprentice beheld darkened fields and huddled, clustering villages, their small windows tiny flecks of orange light.

  Over the expansive firmament the night barge moved, descending in a sweeping arc down to the horizon where the rough stone of the island formed a desolation of deep crevices and jagged ridges. Past this bare wilderness the oarsmen pulled until at last a cavern, far greater than the gateway of Malmes-Wutton, gaped dark and black beside them.

  Two large windows were chiselled into the side of the opening, each the height of a man and, behind the topmost, a lantern burned, glowing through the green glass, signalling to travellers that the way was open.

  “Take us in,” Thomas Herrick instructed. “I have a thirst in me which can only be slaked by good wine.”

  Rolling slightly, the night barge swung around and the oars were raised. Into the great entrance the vessel went coursing until the tidal breath seized its timbers and the canopy began to billow and thump once more as the cyclone spun all around.

  Minutes later, the scarlet craft was sailing serenely through becalmed waters, the canopy was opened and everyone breathed deep lungfuls of the fresher air.

  Adam and Henry looked about them.

  The boat house of Havering was unlike the one they had left behind. This was no cheerless, dank cavern beneath the ground. Here, many vessels were moored to a stone quayside. Lanterns shone everywhere and dwellings had been cut into the surrounding rock.

  When the gangway had been stretched across the gap, Thomas Herrick had a word with one of his men then stepped ashore and bade Brindle to follow him.

  “A night in Honey Lane will revive us,” he said.

  The Iribian hesitated. “What of Lord Richard and my young friends?” he asked.

  “Can they not remain on board?” Herrick inquired. “My purse is not without its bottom and the landlord here is renowned for his high charges.”

  Brindle folded his arms. “But surely your Sovereign will recompense your costs, if I am as intriguing to Her as you suggest.”

  “Of course,” Herrick replied, his face trembling with agitation. “I did but think the children would prefer to remain on board. They did seem to take such pretty delight in it.”

  “Bog cheese!” Henry called, pushing by Brindle and staggering to the quayside. “I need land ’neath me, or I’ll be shouting a rainbow.”

  Thomas Herrick tried to force himself to smile but the effort was beyond him. “So be it,” he relented, tugging on his lace cuffs and steering well away from the ashen-faced Henry.

  A genuine smile spread across the face of Richard Wutton. He knew full well how miserly the Queen was. Thomas Herrick would never see his money again and he resolved to ensure that a prodigious reckoning would be his to pay in the morning.

  At the end of the quay, a wide stair had been carved into the rock and the Queen’s messenger guided them up to where a cool night breeze came pouring in. Soon they were standing under a stone arch beneath the protected heavens and a wide village street lay before them.

  The apprentices had never seen so many buildings gathered together.

  “Is this a city?” Henry asked.

  Herrick laughed. “’Tis naught but a rural hamlet,” he said. “But there is a royal palace several miles along this road and divers merchants and travelling folk make this a stopping point on their way to London. Come, let us partake of the Copper Cow’s hospitality.”

  Across the street stood a half-timbered, three-storied building. High above the entrance to its yard, a post jutted from the whitewashed wall and hanging from this was an old broken cow. It might once have been made of copper but was now striped and streaked with lime and emerald verdigris. Passing beneath it, Adam thought the mechanical looked morose and miserable, and he wondered when it had last grazed in the fields.

  “I could repair that,” Henry boasted.

  Herrick gave a ridiculing laugh.

  “That would be most foolish,” he scoffed. “For ’tis a famed landmark hereabouts. The landlord here was kicked by that beast over seventy years ago and lamed as a consequence. Yet, Hobbling John Chester has had his revenge – he set the beast up there and so it has remained ever since. Once a swarm of bees made a hive in it and their golden yield did rain through the gaps to run oozing over the road. From that time, this thoroughfare has always been known as ‘Honey Lane’.”

  The layout of the Copper Cow followed the usual pattern of wayside inns and was built around a central courtyard. This was a brightly lit space, with lamps hanging from the enclosing balconies and at the furthest end there were stables where the mechanical horses of guests were tethered.

  In the centre of the yard stood a circular wooden fence, in full view of the balconies and Adam knew it to be where the cock fighting and dog baiting took place. Inspecting it more closely he saw that there were even some tin plumes and iron claws still lying in there.

  The ground floor windows were all ablaze with light and behind them moved a press of figures whose voices streamed out in a happy, confused babble. Suddenly one of the inn’s stout doors was flung open and the internal noise came spilling into the night as a man was pushed out.

  “You’ve had your fill,” warned a burly silhouette in the doorway. “Come not in here again this night, nor any other.”

  “I’ll be back with the constable!” the ejected man threatened, grasping a jingling sack in one hand. “I’ll not be cozened. Those birds were weighted against mine and the flicks in your ale house play with bristle dice and fullams.”

  “You and the constable? That’s a tickler, that is.”

  “Watch your foul tongue, halt foot – or I’ll maim your other leg.”

  “Be off, or I’ll set the brass mastiffs on you.”

  The man spat and barged roughly past Adam and the others, his steely eyes trained upon the ground. It was not a pleasant face. Henry caught a glimpse of its sharp, mean features and was reminded of the rats he had made to torment Mistress Dritchly.

  A chuckle came from the figure in the doorway. Then, with a start, he became aware of the group waiting in the yard. “Who’s that there?” he called with a stern ring in his nasal voice. “’Tis long past ten of the clock and the baiting is over. If you’ve come to wager, then …”

  Drawing his breath sharply, he recognised Thomas Herrick and h
is voice switched to that of a genial host.

  “Why, my noble Sir,” he greeted warmly. “I was expecting you and your party well before dusk and did begin to think you had passed us by. Come you in and sluice the dust from your throats. The rooms are prepared.”

  Herrick strode forward and slapped the man’s paunching stomach with the back of his hand.

  “Up to your old knavery, Chesters?” he asked. “A man’s coin must ever be guarded in this establishment. How did you rob that poor fellow? Do the champions of the figging law still hole up here? They’d best not practise their trade on me or any of my company or I’ll have their necks stretched.”

  The landlord of the Copper Cow gave a hasty laugh.

  “I would you had not witnessed that sorry performance,” he blustered. “Clink Kitson never did know how to lose with grace and this night’s seen his pocket depleted more than usual. Came here with a real flimsy rattler of a fighting sparrow and is amazed when it falls to pieces by my prize rooster. Then he tries to win back his pence by gaming.”

  Herrick sneered. “No wise man he then; the dice of this house follow no natural law.”

  “Well, he’s the fool for chancing,” the landlord admitted, denying nothing. “But spare no charity for Clinker; he’s a known padder and will cut some wretch’s purse to quench his temper. Would have tried it in here if he’d stayed longer. I’m not sorry to have him ousted. I’ve half a dozen indoors who’d gladly sink a blade into him, the way he carries on.”

  With that he waggled his hands to usher them in, then gasped as he saw Brindle for the first time and could do nothing but stare at the Iribian’s astonishing features.

  “Lord in Heaven!” he cried. “Why, ’tis true, those fanciful tales that have been buzzing around like wasps these past days. A more fearful face I ne’er did see. What a nose he has!”

  The landlord of the Copper Cow was a large, clean-shaven man whose own nose bore witness to many past fights. It had been broken more times than he could remember and meandered down from his shaggy brows in a lazy zigzag of fleshy lumps. Tufts of grey hair sprouted from his flattened nostrils and ears, one of which gave further confirmation of a rough life for it was huge and gnarled like a piece of proudflesh that had bulged from its mould.