It seemed that Fanshawe was also becoming impatient, unlike the rest of the audience who, judging by the delirious shrieks and whoops, were settled in for the afternoon. Fanshawe knew that he had already wasted enough time. His business with Shakespeare complete, he could no longer delay delivery of the precious letter to Walsingham and the generous reward it would bring. He nudged Trinculo to indicate that they were leaving — but Trinculo, Monk and Shakespeare seemed to be engrossed in the proceedings in the bear pit and elected to stay. Thus Jack and Angus’s short relationship with William Shakespeare came to an abrupt end and they left the greatest genius of the English language to while away the afternoon watching various animals being mauled to death.
They left the bear-baiting pit and continued west along the river bank. On the other side, they could see St Paul’s Cathedral silhouetted against the grey winter sky. Its spire was oddly stunted as a result of damage from a lightning strike years before. In the far distance were the Abbey and Palace of Westminster. Also across the river, but nearer to them, were the palaces of Whitehall and the Savoy along with other dwellings of the nobility. Their gardens extended all the way down to the river and most had water-gates for easy access to the boats.
“The Paris Gardens,” Fanshawe announced airily as they entered an open park next to the river. “We will take a boat back across the river from here.”
They moved through the gardens and approached the pier, where riverboats and wherries touted for business. A tall man approached them. Jack thought he looked a little out of place compared to the other river men. For a start he had a rich tan. His clothes appeared to be well made and he wore a fine black cloak.
“Gentlemen — please take my boat. Much warmer and more comfortable.”
At the back of the boat was a large area enclosed by a canopy, which protected its passengers from the elements.
“Why not?” Fanshawe said. They boarded the boat and sat under the canopy. Outside they could hear two or three other people boarding and a creak of oars as they glided away from the pier.
After a while the tall man ducked beneath the canopy. He was followed by a second man who also had dark skin and a swarthy, powerful frame. He had one badly disfigured eye and a scar that stretched from his forehead, across the side of his eye and down his cheek. There was something oddly familiar about him, but far more worrying was that both men were pointing heavy matchlock pistols at them.
The tall man spoke. “If you make any noise you will die.”
Into Thin Air
Their hands were tied behind their backs and hoods placed over their heads. Fanshawe began to sob.
The man repeated his threat. “I said no noise.”
It was difficult to tell in which direction they were going, but after twenty minutes, the rocking of the boat stopped. Jack felt a jab in his ribs and then a heavy hand guided him, still blindfolded, from the boat onto some stone steps that rose up from the river. By peering down his nose, Jack could just make out the terrain and avoid stumbling.
“Where are you taking us?” Angus demanded.
Jack heard a dull thud and Angus groaned.
“I said no talking.”
They could not have been far from the city, yet, wherever they were, it was oddly quiet. After a few minutes, they entered a building. Despite the hood, Jack could tell that they were in a reasonably large place because there was stone paving beneath his feet, and the sound of their marching footsteps made a slight echo as they were ushered inside. Was this one of the large houses that they had seen from the south bank of the river? They stopped and Jack could hear the men talking among themselves. They were not speaking English and Jack strained to decipher the language. Then he recognised it — Spanish — and the rest of the jigsaw fell into place. Their captors must be the men they had evaded in Cambridge.
He heard a key turn in a lock and they were pushed forward again.
“Down,” the man said.
Jack stepped down a stone staircase that led beneath the house. It smelled damp and musty. Without daylight filtering through his hood, everything was completely black. The rope around his wrists was beginning to rub. They reached the bottom of the staircase and Jack felt himself being manhandled across a room and pushed up against a cold wall. A kind of metal cuff was placed around his ankle and he heard the clanging of a heavy chain. The hood was suddenly ripped from his head. At first he did not understand what he was looking at, but then, as the features of the room slowly came into focus, he felt an overwhelming sense of terror.
All three of them were manacled to a brick wall which formed one side of a large cellar. The only light came from candles flickering in the gloom. Directly in front of them was a rectangular wooden frame, slightly raised from the ground. It had rollers inserted into it and two metal bars at each end. Attached to the bars were looped rope fasteners. There was a large lever on the top bar and this, in turn, linked to a system of chains and pulleys within the structure. With growing horror, Jack realised what the strange machine was: a torture rack. The limbs of its victims were tied to the bars with the rope fasteners. Turning the handle and ratchet attached to the top roller would gradually increase the tension on the chains, which in turn strained the ropes, eventually dislocating the victims’ joints. The machine before them was designed to tear its victims limb from limb. The pain would be excruciating.
Fanshawe howled uncontrollably. Without hesitation, the swarthy man with the scar slapped him across his face with the back of his hand.
“Silence!” he said.
Fanshawe’s howls degenerated into intermittent sobbing.
“Enough.” The tall, well-dressed man stepped forward from the shadows.
He gestured to the rack. “You like our potro? Or if you wish we have the garrucha.” He pointed at a beam on the ceiling to which an elaborate pulley-system was attached. On nearby wooden tables there was an array of stone and metal blocks. The torture consisted of suspending a victim from the ceiling with weights tied to their ankles. As they were lifted and dropped, the victim’s arms and legs suffered violent pulls and were sometimes dislocated. Fanshawe could not control himself and wailed again. The thug raised his hand and this time it was enough to silence Fanshawe.
“… or maybe the tortura del agua?” Again the man gestured casually to a number of large flagons of water set out on the stone floor.
“Agua.” Despite his fear, Jack recognised the word. He tried to remember what it meant. Water. Waterboarding. He’s talking about waterboarding. He had heard the expression on the TV. It consisted of putting a cloth over the head of the victim, and pouring water over them so that they felt as though they were drowning. It was barbaric.
The tall man spoke good English. He was calm and polite, his manner contrasting with the horror of the instruments in front of them. It somehow made the threat worse.
“You may call me Senor Delgado.” He nodded towards the two thugs who glowered back at them. “My friends here are Hegel and Plato. Now, so we are all clear, I do not wish to use any of our special equipment. But my friends here, I am afraid, need little encouragement. You understand, of course. So you will help us?” He walked over to Fanshawe, who stood next to Jack, and smiled at him. Then, he reached down inside Fanshawe’s doublet. Fanshawe squealed. Delgado pulled out the sealed envelope that Fanshawe had placed there for safe-keeping.
“Finally, we have it.” He broke the seal and opened the letter, holding it close to one of the candles. There was an eerie silence as he read.
“As we thought.” He placed the letter back on the table.
“You will tell us all you know about this letter. How you got it and what else you know of our plans.”
“I don’t know anything. I have not even read it,” Fanshawe gibbered.
Without hesitation, the man clicked his fingers. Immediately, Plato and Hegel approached, unshackled Fanshawe and dragged him over to the rack. He kicked and screamed as they lowered him onto the evil device. They were m
uch too strong for him and in a second they tied his legs to the lower bar and his arms to the upper bar. Plato put both his hands on the long lever and looked across at his boss. He grinned, eagerly awaiting the signal to continue.
“Wait!” Jack shouted. Delgado wheeled round. “We were given the letter in Cambridge…”
“Quiet!” Delgado spat in frustration. “Marlowe works for us — and he is safe now — he told us what happened. You were going to kill him unless he gave you details of the plot. You forced him to write the letter. We arrived before you could finish your work. You escaped us in Cambridge, but now we have you. You work for Walsingham and you know Walsingham’s other spies. We want their names.”
“That’s rubbish,” Angus shouted out furiously. “We were asked to deliver this letter for money. That’s all we know.”
Anger flashed across Delgado’s face. “You lie!” He clicked his fingers and Plato pulled the lever. There was a creaking of rope and wood as the rack strained. Fanshawe screamed.
“Your friend will die there, if I do not have the truth.”
“Marlowe’s tricked you!” Jack shouted in desperation.
“Before we continue, we search you for more papers.”
The man pointed to Hegel who loped over to Angus and pawed at his clothes. Angus writhed, straining against his chains. “Get off!”
Their situation was desperate. They had no information to give. Jack fought his panic and fear, struggling to think clearly, to come up with a way — any way — they could buy some time. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he had an idea. It was a long shot, but…
Jack hissed over at Angus, “Let him — let him search you!”
Angus looked back at Jack, angrily. “What the hell…?”
Jack said firmly, “Let him!”
Hegel reached into Angus’s doublet searching for anything that might be valuable or useful. He patted the breast pocket of Angus’s under-vest and felt a lump. He looked over at Delgado with a curious leer.
“What is it?”
Hegel wrestled with the fasteners and then slowly removed the slim object from the pocket. It was his time phone.
Hegel held it out to Delgado with a look of confusion. Delgado approached.
“What is that?” he demanded.
Angus looked at Jack with an expression of extreme agitation.
“It’s a kind of lucky charm. We have them, er, where we come from,” Jack said.
“Is it valuable?”
“Not really — but you can open it.”
“Show me.”
“You’ll have to untie me.”
Delgado nodded at Hegel to release Jack’s hands — but he remained firmly chained to the wall by his feet. Jack rubbed his wrists which were already raw from chafing on the rope.
“It is a wondrous thing,” Hegel said in awe. “Plato — come look at this!”
Plato left Fanshawe tied to the rack and ambled over to where his friends toyed with the time phone.
“It is made of a strange smooth material — like shell.”
“Carbon fibre compound, actually,” Jack said, under his breath.
“And you say it opens?”
“Yes — you slide that on the side… and… there.”
The VIGIL time phone slid open and the three men’s faces lit up with wonder as the intricate display and controls were revealed.
“Like a jewel — do you have others?”
Before Jack could say anything, Plato was searching him roughly and quickly located Jack’s time phone and the two others — which they had taken from Whitsun and Gift.
“Four!” Hegel exclaimed.
The Spaniards now had all the time phones. Jack had won them a temporary reprieve but then he noticed something else. From inside the first time phone, the yellow bar winked brightly at them. There was a time signal.
“It produces a shimmering light…” Delgado said.
“It must be magic,” Plato whispered in wonder.
Jack knew what he needed to do next and he knew he was taking a huge risk. But it was their only option.
“Not magic and not witchcraft — just a plaything. If you like I can show you something else it does. But you need to stand there, all gather round and touch it.”
The three other time phones were discarded on a nearby table while the men gingerly placed their fingers on Angus’s time phone. “Now, sir, it does a special trick… you see that little button there?”
“This one?” Delgado asked, pointing at one of the small control pads.
“Yes, that one. You have to press it quite hard.”
“What will it do?”
“Nothing really, just a little… er… trick of the light.”
Delgado pressed the button and Jack closed his eyes and leaned away.
The air around the three men shimmered. Suddenly the gloomy cellar exploded in incandescent white light. When Jack opened his eyes again, the three Spaniards had vanished into thin air.
Jack turned to Angus. “Now, that is magic.”
An Old Friend
Angus couldn’t contain himself. “Get me out of this!” he cried. Jack was still manacled to the wall but with his hands free he just managed to reach over to Angus beside him and loosen the rope around his wrists sufficiently for Angus to twist them out.
“What about these stupid chains?”
“You’ve got me there.” The heavy iron manacles that still encased their ankles were chained to the wall.
“There should be a key somewhere…”
“Unless it was in our nice Spanish friend’s pocket and it’s been zapped into hyper-space with him… you do realise what you’ve done?”
Jack exhaled. “Sorry — it was all I could think of at the time.”
Angus’s lip curled up in a half smile. “Actually it was pretty cool. Hilarious in fact. What will have happened to them?”
“No idea. Depends on the space-time fix in the time phone. Guess it was still set from when we left — so maybe it will go straight back to the Taurus. Maybe our VIGIL friends back home will have a little surprise when they come face to face with the Spanish Inquisition. Mind you, the phone was not recalibrated before they went, so for all I know they could have ended up on the moon.”
“With any luck they’ve been vaporised. Those guys were something else. I’d love to see their faces. Imagine if the Taurus has zapped them onto the top of the Forth Road Bridge… or the Statue of Liberty or something, by mistake!”
“We’ve got other things to worry about. We have a time signal — great. So all the time phones should be activated. Which means we could time travel out of here, except for the fact that we’re still tied to these stupid chains and the other time phones are over there on the table.”
In the excitement, they had forgotten all about Fanshawe, who was still attached to the rack, in the middle of the room. In contrast to a few minutes previously, he was completely silent. He stared gormlessly from his elevated position on the rack at the spot where the three Spaniards had just… disappeared. His jaw hung loosely from his gaping mouth.
“Are you okay, Harry?”
It was as if Fanshawe had not even heard the words. He just kept staring into space.
Jack tried again, louder, “Harry — you okay? Can you free yourself and get us out of these chains?”
Fanshawe blinked. He whispered, “It is a miracle. We are saved…”
“Yeah. Something like that,” Angus said.
“But… how…?” Poor old Fanshawe had endured complete sensory overload in the last hour. He had been kidnapped, threatened with torture and then seen three grown men vanish into thin air.
Jack sighed in frustration. “Harry… can you try and work yourself free of that thing and unchain us?”
It was no use. Even if Fanshawe had been in the appropriate mental state, which he wasn’t, he was well and truly trussed up.
“What now?” Angus said.
“If VIGIL are doing their job properly, the
y should also have got a space-time fix on our location and time period through the time phones.”
“But the Revisionists’ time phones are also activated so they will know where we are too.”
“That’s if Whitsun and Gift have escaped and reconnected with the Revisionists. Then they’ll have told them that we’ve got their phones, and they won’t be happy.”
“So we just have to wait and see who gets here first…?” Angus pulled on the chain again in frustration. But it was hopeless. They had got rid of the Spaniards, but they were still stuck.
“What’s that?” Jack said, suddenly.
“Footsteps? Upstairs in the house? Someone’s here already?”
“But is it VIGIL or the Revisionists?”
“Or some other joker?”
There was an almighty crash as the cellar door was forced open and splinters of wood rained down the stone stairs. Next, they heard someone gingerly making their way down the steps into the cellar. Angus and Jack craned their heads to try and make out the figure, but from their position, chained to the wall, their view was impaired. Suddenly a powerful beam of light shone towards them.
Jack whispered to Angus, “A torch?”
They didn’t recognise the figure silhouetted behind the bright light at first.
“Good evening, gentlemen. It looks like I got here just in time.” The voice was unmistakable — Dr Pendelshape.
Pendelshape scanned the room quickly to make sure there was no one else there. He then turned his attention to Jack and Angus.
“We don’t have much time. We’ve got to get you out of those chains.”
“Yes, but we don’t know where the key is.”
Pendelshape searched the wooden tabletops. The first things he spotted were the remaining three time phones laid out on one of the tables.
“At least we have those back,” he said. “And an extra one… a VIGIL time phone.” He smiled. “Now that is going to come in handy.” He opened each of them in turn and powered them down. “We don’t want anyone else to know where we are just now, do we?”
He quickly looked through the boys’ backpacks, that had been left on the floor, and found the two pistols belonging to Whitsun and Gift.
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