‘Then he was taken to the New World?’ With a trembling hand, the Little Elf tapped an insistent finger on the table to gain the spy’s attention. ‘To what end? Hugh O’Neill needs Dee now, to protect Ireland from our great Enemy.’
‘It seems that Red Meg O’Shee bit off more than she could chew when she stole Dee from under our noses. This detour was not planned by the Irish.’
‘And the mirror?’
‘Gone too,’ Will lied. Before any further questions came, he moved on to describing the alchemist’s dreadful transformation in the rooming house, and watched the blood drain from the spymaster’s face.
Cecil prowled to the fire and watched the flames for a long moment. ‘Is this the work of the Unseelie Court or of some other agency? Or has Dee himself finally gone mad?’ he uttered in a low, strained voice.
‘The doctor always skirted the edge of sanity. Whatever the cause, this matter is not yet over.’
The spymaster spun round, his eyes narrowing. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ His hands flew to his head. ‘We stand on a precipice. Without Dee, what hope do we have of fending off the bloody revenge of the Unseelie Court?’
‘You and I are not alike.’ Will sauntered from the table to pour himself a flask of sack. ‘You surround yourself with shadows and see only the dark. But the more I move into this night-shrouded world we have created for ourselves, the more I look towards the light.’
Cecil snorted. ‘Then you are a fool. Or you are ignorant of the true state of England in those days before our Queen encouraged Dee to build his defences, when our Enemy had full, brutal rule over all corners of this land.’ He perched on a stool, a hand across his eyes, looking like a child at prayer. ‘When I was a boy of no more than seven years, I travelled with my father and three servants to Child’s Ercall in Shropshire, where we had family.’ His hoarse voice rustled out in the still room. ‘While my father was at business, the woman who cared for me, a kindly soul, Jane . . . Jane . . . I cannot recall her full name! Oh, how poor are my wits! How broken am I.’
As his troubled memories rose, Cecil seemed to have forgotten Will was there. The spy thought how sad and small his master now looked, all the hardness of the court manipulator stripped away to reveal the infant that lurked at the heart of everyone.
‘Jane, goodly Jane, she never once mocked my misshapen back, never raised a hand to me or called me fool or jester or . . . or Little Elf. She would tuck me up at night and brush the hair from my brow and whisper “Sweet angel” . . .’ The words choked in his throat for a moment, but then he gathered himself and rose, turning back to the fire in the hope that Will would not see him blinking away tears. ‘There is a pond on the edge of Child’s Ercall, surrounded by willows and reeds, the water black as night. The local people say there is no bottom to it. Indeed, that it reaches down to Hell.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Despite the warnings of the villagers, I played along the edge of that foul place, chasing dragonflies in the sun. Jane, who was wiser and more fearful than I, came to fetch me back to the house. At once there was music in the air, pipes and fiddle, a reel that tugged at the heart and spun the head. I saw Jane stop and stare and her face freeze in terror, and I followed her wavering gaze to a beautiful woman with hair like the sun and skin like milk, rising from the water. A part of me knew, even then, that it was not a woman, and that that face was not the one Jane saw. A dreamy state came upon me, all sun on water and lazy, buzzing flies, but I recall as clear as day Jane’s visage as she walked towards that woman. She looked as though she made her way to the executioner’s block. The one in the water spoke with a voice that rang through my mind like a bell, though I understood not a word. And Jane continued to walk, into the pond, sinking deeper with each step until the black waters closed over her head. The woman who had summoned her turned to me and nodded slowly, her face growing paler by the moment, her eyes darker, her cheeks hollow, and she reached out her arms to me. I ran crying back to my father, and told him all that had occurred. But there was no comfort for me. He chastised me and sent me to bed, because he believed every word I said and was afraid of it.’
Cecil fell silent, watching the flames dance. Will felt moved by the intensity of his master’s feelings. Cecil had always seemed cold and untouched by the suffering of others, but perhaps they had more in common than he had come to believe.
‘Jane’s body was never found,’ the spymaster continued. ‘No search was made of that pond for her drowned form. Three nights later, I woke from sleep and went to the window. Jane stood below, her dress sodden, her hair plastered to her head and filled with rotting pond leaves, and she reached up her arms and silently called to me. And I wanted to go, God help me, for I knew from that moment I would be alone in the world. But then I saw the shapes dancing in the night beyond her, and I was filled with such dread that I thought I would die. I ran back to my bed, but for nights after I sensed her out there, calling to me, and I thought how could one so kind become so cruel. And that notion told me all I needed to know about this world.’
He turned back to Will, his face drawn. ‘We have all had our lives blighted by the Unseelie Court in some way. You . . . it was some village girl, was it not?’
‘A childhood friend,’ Will replied, feigning disinterest, but the vision of Jenny in that haunted cornfield blazed across his mind.
Cecil stalked forward, his hands raised and clutching in the grip of his passion. ‘Think, then, sirrah, what England will be like without Dee to offer a modicum of protection against those night-terrors. When the Unseelie Court have freedom to do as they wish, my nightly visits from Jane will be nothing compared to the horrors foisted upon every man, woman and child.’
The spectre still visited Cecil? Will reflected on the scars that must have been inflicted upon his master through that relentless haunting by the only one who had ever been kind to him. ‘Yes, for the Enemy will want even greater revenge for England’s betrayal,’ he snapped, surprised by his own rush of emotion. ‘For stealing their Queen and holding her prisoner when they thought we were offering the hand of peace.’
Cecil gulped like a codfish. ‘You are never to speak of that thing!’
‘Why? We are among friends, are we not?’ Will swigged back his sack and tossed the flask aside. Cecil squirmed under his cold gaze. ‘Despite the play you make to the world, there are no heroes here. We are all tainted.’
‘England had no choice, you know that. Our “betrayal”, as you define it, was a matter of survival—’
‘And that is justification?’
‘Yes!’ Cecil roared. ‘The survival of our Queen, of England, of us all, a life free from the shackles of fear. That is worth any action. And you know, too, that the Faerie Queen is the heart of Dee’s defences. The power that rages within her like a furnace burns the night away from this land.’
Will’s thoughts returned to the story as he had been told it, his own Queen Elizabeth meeting the Faerie Queen on windswept Dartmoor to seal a pact that might end the long years of conflict between the two races who lived side by side on England’s green land, though one in day and one in night. The meeting had been hard-won, the mistrust both sides felt barely overcome. But after that night the Unseelie Court would never trust the mortals again. England’s forces emerged from their hiding places among the gorse and granite, slaughtered the Fay cohort and took their Queen prisoner. And in her meagre cell she had resided for more than thirty years, her miserable incarceration keeping England safe. Will shrugged, fighting to contain his simmering anger. ‘Let us not squabble,’ he said, pretending he cared little when in truth he found it harder by the day to tell friend from foe.
Cecil rested both arms on the table and released a weary sigh. ‘Oh, for your simple world, Swyfte, where the only concerns are fresh wine, doxies and a bowl of the ordinary.’
The Secretary of State searched through the heap of yellowing charts until he found the one he wanted. Will recognized the outline of Europe stretching to the far Orient. ‘We now know
the Unseelie Court have been planning for this moment for many a year. Word has reached me of the Enemy’s maintaining positions of influence in the great courts. One of those fiends advised the rebel leader Severyn Nalyvaiko as he led his Cossacks through Galicia, Volhynia and Belarus in his struggle against the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth. Another has the ear of the Doges in Venice and Genoa. Philip of Spain, I fear, is still troubled by Malantha of the High Family. The story is the same in Hungary, in the whispers that prompt the Serbs to rebel against the Ottomans, in Tuscany, Austria, Malta, even in Rome itself. All around us, they move their pieces.’
‘Their aim?’
‘To burn this world. After the indignities they have suffered – yes, at our hands – they have decided the time of man has passed.’
‘Then all of humanity will pay for England’s grand betrayal.’
‘Leave it be!’ Cecil’s spittle flew across the stained chart as he roared. ‘If I did not know better, I would think you revel in the suffering about to be inflicted ’pon us. That is treason.’ The spymaster sagged. The hopelessness he had tried to contain rose in his features and he flapped a feeble hand towards Will. ‘Enough. This tires me. I do not know why you wish to provoke me in this dreaded hour, but . . . enough.’
Calming himself, Will walked round the table to the fire, remembering all the times he had seen Dee trying to warm himself but never being able to drive the cold from his bones. ‘I hear plenty about the monstrous acts of the Unseelie Court,’ he murmured, prodding a log with the toe of his Spanish leather shoe, ‘but never anything about what manner of beings they are.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What is their true nature? Their essence? What do we know of them?’ Will turned back to the spymaster, tugging at his chin hair in thought, but he kept one eye fixed on every subtle movement Cecil made. ‘Do they love? Do they care for their children? Do they have children? Or art and poetry and learning—’
‘They are monsters who wish us all dead,’ Cecil interrupted. ‘That is all we need to know.’
‘And you are aware of nothing more? They are what they seem, these pale creatures of the night?’ Will narrowed his eyes, watching the faint muscle-tremor around his master’s mouth.
‘I know nothing more.’ The spymaster looked away at the last, unable to hold Will’s unflinching gaze. He turned back to his charts and pretended to sift through them while he sought to change the subject. ‘For all your many flaws, you have a sharp wit, Swyfte, and you have played your public and private role well in service to the Queen. Tell me your thoughts, for at this moment I would clutch at even a thread to draw me out of the dark.’
Will felt the weight in his chest lighten. Everything was unfolding as planned. ‘We feared Dr Dee had been stolen by the Irish. We came close to losing the mad alchemist to the Unseelie Court, but his transformation saved us from that fate, while at the same time denying us the opportunity to reclaim him. But we must not lose sight of the fact that, at the moment, Dee is free—’
‘Yes, somewhere in the wide Atlantic!’
‘Nevertheless,’ Will replied, throwing his arms wide, ‘he is, for now, at large, and with a fair wind at our backs and the will to achieve it, we can bring him back.’
‘How so?’ Cecil snorted. ‘Do you know where in the New World he travels? Or why?’
Warming to his performance, Will smiled. ‘I know we are in a race, Sir Robert. The Unseelie Court will be in pursuit. Whoever finds Dr Dee first, wins.’
Cecil weighed the words, his furrowed brow revealing the hopelessness he felt.
‘Dee’s carrack will have need to take on supplies for the long ocean voyage,’ the spy continued, ‘and the vessel I saw bore no comparison to our own race-built galleons. Across the stretch of that vast ocean, we can catch up. And,’ he added, ‘I may . . . perchance . . . be able to uncover some clue as to the course Dee’s vessel takes.’
The spymaster’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even if you found the route the doctor has taken, you would have to fight off the full force of the Unseelie Court. You, and a handful of mere men. That is madness. You would be sailing to your deaths.’
‘My life means nothing,’ Will said in all honesty.
Cecil paced around the table, kneading his hands together in thought. ‘But can we prepare a galleon for an Atlantic voyage at such short notice? The cost of food and munitions – England’s coffers are already bare – the shortages of meat and grain after this long, plague-ravaged summer . . .’
‘You will be counting gold when the Unseelie Court arrives at your door?’ Will said with a wry smile.
‘The Tempest is moored at Tilbury. Our best ship—’
‘Not the Tempest. You may need her to defend London, should I fail. Requisition another ship, in the Queen’s name. After the poor trade of this year, there must be many a merchant keen to be reimbursed.’
‘I will see what I can do.’
‘One other thing.’ Will strode to the window and peered out across the moonlit roofs of the Palace of Whitehall. Not far away, a faint crackle of emerald light sparkled in the sky. ‘If I am to risk my neck, I would arm myself with any information that might help.’
‘A reasonable request. Ask of me what you will.’
‘Not you. There is one other who has all the answers I could ever need.’ Will rested an arm on the window frame and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. ‘Take me to the Lantern Tower. I would question the Faerie Queen herself.’
CHAPTER TEN
EMERALD FLAMES CRACKLED around the tiled roof of the stone tower like marsh lights. Far below, a swaying lantern echoed that glow as a knot of six men processed across the courtyard. Beneath the gentle soughing of the night-wind, the click of their leather heels on the cobbles was the only sound in the still palace. At the oak door studded with black iron, the group came to a halt. The four armoured guards gripped their pikes, their stern faces revealing that they had no notion what was contained within the Lantern Tower. Sir Robert Cecil lowered his eyes, but Will gazed up to the spectral display, his brow knitted. His great gamble began here.
‘Do not let anyone else inside the tower,’ Cecil barked at the guards, looking each man in the face in turn. ‘Defend it with your lives.’ He removed a large iron key from a velvet pouch and unlocked the heavy door. The tumblers clanked into place. Taking the swaying lantern, he stepped inside and closed the door behind Will. The candlelight illuminated stone steps spiralling upwards into the dark. ‘Dee’s magical defences have been disarmed,’ he whispered. ‘We are safe to proceed.’
‘Safe. An odd choice of word.’ Will began to climb the steps. The air was dank and smelled of tallow and burnt iron.
‘Do not concern yourself. She cannot escape.’
‘None of us can escape, Sir Robert.’
The spymaster did not query his charge’s enigmatic response. Perhaps he understood, for he was no stranger to prisons and bars and duty and fear.
They climbed through floor after floor, with the Secretary of State growing more anxious with each step. ‘Who feeds her?’ Will asked.
‘She takes no sustenance as you and I know it,’ the spymaster muttered. ‘In the early days of her imprisonment, I am told attempts were made to bring her meals, but the food rotted in the bowls and was returned untouched.’
‘She has guests?’
‘Rarely. Though Dee has ensured his sigils and spells keep her trapped in place, still all who encounter her fear her power. Sometimes . . .’ Cecil smacked his lips with distaste. ‘Sometimes you can feel her words deep inside your head, like a maggot burrowing. Only that fool Spenser has dallied here awhile, until my father sent him away for fear he had fallen to her wiles.’
Alone, in a cell, for so long. How hot must her rage burn, Will thought. How terrible would be her vengeance if she ever escaped.
The steps ended at another heavy oak door marked with mysterious whorls and symbols inscribed in red paint. Cecil hesitated, looking up at the port
al with dread. Will thought his trembling master was about to fall to his knees and pray for their salvation. The silence was heavy, but it was not the silence of emptiness. Will sensed that the cell’s occupant waited on the other side of that door, listening, dangerous, poised, perhaps, for any opportunity that might arise.
‘Go, then. Ask what you will,’ Cecil whispered. He held up the lantern so that Will’s shadow swooped.
The spy leaned in, his nose almost brushing the wood. He couldn’t imagine the prisoner’s terrible beauty, though he had heard stories: a beauty that could drive a man mad or blind. But he imagined her lips parting in a dark smile.
‘Your Highness,’ he began.
Her laugh sounded like an echo in a deep well.
He dabbed the side of his right hand to his nose where a droplet of blood had formed. ‘My name is Will Swyfte,’ he continued. ‘I am in the employ of Queen Elizabeth of England, and I have dedicated the last ten years of my life to fighting your people for the tragedy you inflicted upon me.’
Another uncaring laugh punctuated by a low scraping. Will pictured her drawing her long nails over the rough oak, perhaps imagining, in her turn, his skin peeling, his eyes being drawn out.
‘I have killed your kind,’ he said.
Silence.
‘You think yourselves greater than mortals, but your lives still pass on the end of cold steel,’ he continued.
After another moment’s lull, her musical voice rolled out. Though muffled by the wood, her words were laced with humour but had a cold, cold core. ‘You speak boldly. Would you do the same if you stood beyond the protective sigils, deep within my cell?’
‘I would. For I speak truly.’
‘Very well.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Is the indignity of my imprisonment not enough, that you have come to taunt me further?’
Will reached his fingertips towards the surface of the door. Just as they were about to brush the wood, something crashed against the exact spot on the other side and he snatched his hand back involuntarily. ‘I have no interest in cruel sport,’ he replied. ‘That is the province of the Unseelie Court. I hold myself to higher standards.’
The Devil's Looking-Glass soa-3 Page 6
