by C. S. Quinn
‘The English will not expect such boldness,’ agreed Cornelius, ‘as to attack the Thames.’
‘No navy has ever assailed the Thames,’ said De Ryker. ‘She is a slippery mistress. We shall be the first, Cornelius.’ De Ryker smiled. ‘Do not forget,’ he added, ‘Janus is bringing us the Eye.’ He looked out into the dark deck of the ship. ‘The English have made atrocities on our people,’ he said. ‘We will teach them the price of their horrors.’ He looked proudly at their latest fireship. ‘Our night attack on the Queen Catherine showed the English our might,’ he said with a smile. ‘Now we will show them what we’re truly capable of. Our latest fireship is the fleetest and deadliest yet. She will take fire straight into the heart of their fleet. We’ll blow the heart from their navy.’
Chapter 25
Charlie found Lily lounging against a wall near to Mother Mitchell’s house.
‘I’d heard the Dutch fireship pilot is searching for the Eye,’ she pondered as Charlie explained what he had learned. ‘He seems to have links with the Marshalsea prison. Perhaps he and the Judge are both involved in the Deptford murders.’
‘You think the Judge is helping this fireship pilot?’ surmised Charlie.
‘Perhaps. The Judge disappeared at sea for the last two years. Plenty of time to turn traitor. We should be alert in any case. What else did you discover?’
Charlie told her.
‘So our rings match the Aquarius and Leo cherubim,’ she said when he told her what he’d discovered. ‘Which leaves Scorpio and Taurus still to find. And you think the Eye is an emerald. We’re hunting a jewel?’
‘Could be,’ said Charlie. ‘Could be something else.’
Lily considered. ‘A jewel cannot locate ships at sea,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it has some other value – for bribery or buying arms.’
‘Did you keep watch for our Dutch-pipe-smoking friend?’ Charlie asked. ‘The man who followed us from the Marshalsea prison?’
‘We must have lost him,’ said Lily. ‘I doubled back when you went into Mother Mitchell’s house, and there was no sign of him.’
‘Good,’ said Charlie. The man’s presence had made him distinctly uneasy. He had a bad feeling Judge Walters knew what they were looking for.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Lily. ‘Shouldn’t we be looking for the Cipher? He was the codebreaker at the time the rings were made. Maybe he even made them. You’re the best thief taker in London,’ she added coaxingly. ‘Surely you could find him?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘The Cipher is more of a legend than a man. There are whispers about him. That he’s a ghost. He’s run mad. Anyone who searches for him ends up dead. Besides, it would take me weeks to track him, and we only have days until Halloween. I’ve a feeling,’ he added, ‘All Hallows’ Eve is tied up in finding the Eye. After that our chance might be lost.’ He didn’t add that Maria predicted London might also fall.
‘If only we knew where Ishmael Boney was,’ she said.
‘There are a few possibilities,’ said Charlie, turning over what he knew. ‘Ishmael Boney never visited Mother Mitchell’s. Which is strange for a wealthy man.’
‘Particular tastes?’ suggested Lily.
‘That’s what Mother Mitchell suggested,’ said Charlie. ‘Though she makes it her business to cater to every unusual whim.’
‘I’m well aware of it,’ said Lily archly. ‘I worked for her, remember?’
‘Mother Mitchell also said Ishmael was a favourite with the King. So there’s another place he could be.’
‘Which is?’
‘I think,’ said Charlie slowly, ‘we should look for Ishmael Boney in the Maze of Lost Souls.’
Chapter 26
The astrologer was looking nervously at Janus.
‘I’ve seen your chart before,’ he said finally.
Janus remembered the astrologer’s grimy room. The larger, meandering building housed a variety of murky trades. One rickety door led to a woman manufacturing sheep-gut contraceptives. The apothecary across the dark hallway sold abortion potions, and his rank green fumes crept under every doorway.
‘Years ago,’ agreed Janus, his eyes drifting over the familiar desk. There were charts, papers and a heavy metal globe depicting the stars in the heavens. ‘You told me my destiny was set,’ added Janus. ‘The stars decreed an evil in my soul that couldn’t be remedied.’
It was strange repeating the words now. Janus remembered his terror. The realisation that long after escaping Thorne’s dark room of horrors, his life would be one of death and fear.
But he wasn’t scared now.
‘I’d never seen a chart with so much Saturn,’ agreed the astrologer. He was wall-eyed and tiny – only just able to see over his own large table by a raised chair. His voice shook as he spoke. ‘I was certain it was some mistake.’
Janus remembered the astrologer all those years ago flipping through papers, his fingers tracing at a chart.
‘Saturn,’ the astrologer had mumbled. ‘And Saturn again. A deadly man,’ he’d said more to himself than Janus. ‘You’re certain your birthdate is correct?’
When Janus had nodded, the astrologer reverted to his books, verifying, dipping his feather pen into ink and making notes.
‘It is very bad,’ he concluded, ‘a very unlucky chart.’
The fortune teller was looking at Janus intently now, though his crossed eyes made it difficult to read his expression.
‘You told me before that something very bad happened in your past,’ he said. ‘Someone misused you badly when you were a boy. You saw things no child should see.’
The way the astrologer said it reminded Janus of him. Thorne. So sure of his own cleverness. So unable to understand the feelings of others.
Janus was suddenly glad of his disguise. The handkerchief mask and low hat. He didn’t like people to see his face when he was reminded of the Bad Thing.
‘I don’t come for my fortune,’ said Janus. ‘I want you to make a chart.’
He took a slip of paper from his coat and handed it over.
The astrologer hesitated. ‘Charlie Oakley?’
‘He’s a thief taker.’
‘You know a great deal about him,’ said the astrologer. ‘The hour of his birth. His family connections.’
‘I knew his father well,’ said Janus. ‘A lowly sailor named Tobias Oakley,’ he added disapprovingly.
The astrologer hesitated. ‘I cannot help you,’ he said. ‘Your old master was an evil man. A traitor.’
Janus felt suddenly uncertain. Did the fortune teller know who he truly was? A sick feeling bloomed. He’d been so careful to keep his identity secret.
‘Thorne was a god,’ said Janus. ‘You could never understand the things necessary to such a powerful man.’
‘Thorne hurt you?’ the astrologer suggested quietly. ‘Hurt other children?’
Janus hesitated. It had been hard to know what truly happened. Only that Thorne was a dark creator, to whom painful sacrifices must be made.
‘Thorne protected me,’ said Janus. But he was suddenly uncertain. Anger at the astrologer flooded through him.
‘I cannot aid a man of Saturn so near to the eclipse . . .’ the astrologer began.
Black rage bloomed in Janus’s heart. Suddenly he was standing up and the large table had been upended. The astrologer lay on the floor, a stunned expression on his face. Then Janus had the heavy globe in his hand, his fist striking again and again.
Thorne’s face was floating before his eyes, mocking him.
You promised me you’d leave me the means to find it. You promised me.
Janus looked down to see that the astrologer’s eyes had glazed. His own hand was slick with blood. He let the metal globe fall.
Despair rippled through him.
The astrologer is right. You are evil to the core.
The dead man’s eyes seemed to confirm the voice in his head.
Janus righted himself. He took a breath.
Embrac
e your dark stars.
It was the lesson De Ryker had taught him over and over again.
Chapter 27
‘You don’t have to be so cryptic,’ complained Lily as they headed back through the ash-strewn streets towards Whitehall. ‘Can’t you just tell me where Ishmael Boney is?’
‘I did tell you,’ said Charlie. ‘The Maze of Lost Souls. It’s part of the Palace of Whitehall. A place where all the hidden people go. The ones under the King’s protection at least,’ he added. ‘The others go to London Bridge or the bottom of the Thames.’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Lily with a slight smile. ‘Do no spies hide there?’
‘Spies bad enough to need the Maze’s protection tend to die first.’
The smile slid from her face.
Charlie’s eyes were darting from building to building. He froze.
‘We’re still being followed,’ he muttered. ‘The man with the Dutch pipe.’
Lily glanced back nervously. ‘I don’t see anyone,’ she said.
‘It’s the same man as was behind us at the debtors’ prison,’ said Charlie. He sniffed the air. ‘Smell that? That’s wet tobacco. Dutch. You don’t get much of that in London. He’s close by.’
They’d stopped walking, and Charlie had the sense of their pursuer sliding away into the shadows, avoiding being seen.
‘Do you think he knows something about the rings?’ asked Lily.
‘Can’t see any other reason for him to have our tail.’ Charlie thought back to the Marshalsea. He hadn’t noticed anyone listening to their conversation. But perhaps some inmate had overheard something. There were dangerous people locked away. People who knew people.
‘Can we lose him in the Maze?’ suggested Lily.
‘He might know something important,’ said Charlie. ‘If he’s Dutch, or working for Judge Walters, there must be a reason.’
He was watching her face closely. Every time Judge Walters was mentioned, he noticed, Lily seemed to flinch. She noticed Charlie looking and turned away, feigning interest in seeking out their stalker.
‘Judge Walters,’ said Charlie. ‘What haven’t you told me?’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ said Lily. ‘He’s an evil man.’ She was turning the ruby ring on her finger distractedly.
‘An evil man who has likely set a mercenary on our tail,’ said Charlie. ‘Lily, if there’s something more, you must tell me.’
Lily bit her lip. ‘I told you. He enslaves gypsies.’
Charlie had a sudden glimpse of something in her face.
‘What else?’ he demanded.
‘I didn’t tell you the whole of my intelligence,’ she admitted.
‘So tell me.’
Lily took a breath. ‘The Judge went to sea and came back with a ruby ring,’ she said. ‘He’s deeply involved with the Eye, I’m sure of it.’
‘And?’
‘Things filter back, from smugglers, pirates,’ said Lily carefully. ‘Your name was mentioned.’
‘My name?’ Charlie blurted, shocked.
‘Janus seems to have a personal grudge against you,’ said Lily. ‘Or perhaps your family. It’s not entirely clear. There is talk he could be an old apprentice of Thorne’s.’
‘You’re certain?’ said Charlie, his voice thick with disbelief.
‘It’s only whispers,’ said Lily. ‘Nothing firm. It might not be true. I didn’t want to concern you unduly.’
Thoughts were spiralling in Charlie’s head. A Dutch fireship pilot knew something of his family. What? And why was the name Janus attached to a cold feeling of dread? Charlie had a half memory – more of a feeling – of someone who hated him. Someone he’d feared as a boy.
Charlie considered for a moment. ‘If you think the Judge is more than he seems,’ he said, ‘then it might be in our interest to talk with whoever he’s put on our tail. This Dutch-pipe smoker could know something of the Eye or the rings.’
‘What do you suggest?’ asked Lily sarcastically. ‘We call out and ask him to help us?’
‘We might be able to trap him,’ said Charlie. ‘Discover what he knows.’
‘He could be dangerous,’ said Lily.
‘Almost certainly,’ said Charlie, ‘but he could know something important.’
Chapter 28
Frances Stewart allowed the King to lead her up the gangplank of the Royal Charles. Her yellow dress trailed on wet wood, and her little brown curls hung dishevelled around her pretty face.
‘It is more beautiful than I ever imagined,’ she gushed, staring up at the enormous ship. ‘A golden city afloat.’
The gilded ship towered above them, its grand back section tiered in multiple-windowed storeys. Her curving sides bore two layers of cannons, and the poker-straight mast rose a hundred feet into the air.
‘We’ve improved it since Cromwell’s time,’ said the King, waving a hand towards the towering tiers of the mighty ship. ‘The carved crests alone took fifty men a year to complete.’
They reached the elaborately carved balustrade and moved on to the deck. Frances lurched slightly, then righted herself, clutching her stomach.
The ship was a tight network of rigging, with highly decorated doors leading to the officers’ quarters at the back. Gold-painted wood rose up to depict England’s lion, towering high over the water.
Charles pointed up to the deck. ‘And there is the Duke of York! See how well he captains the ship.’
The King’s brother leapt down from behind the tiller and bounded to meet them.
‘Pleased to be back aboard the Royal Charles, James?’ smiled Charles, noting his brother’s energy.
The brothers embraced. They had once looked very alike, with their full noses and hooded eyes. But the strain of kingship had aged Charles, tempering his impetuousness with wisdom. In contrast, James was looking more like his father every day and had the same restless, irritable energy. He kissed Frances’s hand, allowing his eyes to linger.
‘She’s a lucky ship,’ agreed James. His eyes lighted on Amesbury moving easily across the swaying deck, adjusting his wide sash.
‘Amesbury!’ called James. ‘Remember our first time aboard?’ He took an affectionate look at the deck. ‘The Royal Charles brought the King and I back from Holland,’ he explained to Frances, ‘to return Charles to his throne. She’d been Cromwell’s. We renamed her there and then. Toasted her with wine.’ James grinned at the memory. ‘You must let me back at sea, Charles,’ he said. ‘I cannot stand dull court life.’
The King’s smile faltered. ‘Show us your new discovery,’ he said.
James nodded. ‘In the captain’s cabin,’ he promised, ‘the new dawn in science awaits. Follow me.’
‘It takes two thousand trees to build a ship this size,’ explained Charles proudly, leading Frances across the deck. ‘All English timber. For the mast a man must hunt a whole forest to find the tree tall and straight enough . . .’ He hesitated, catching Frances’s face. She was leaning heavily on his arm. ‘Should you like to disembark?’ asked Charles kindly. ‘The harbour waters are rougher than I expected. I used to get seasick myself.’
Frances shook her head, but her eyes were glassy, fixed longingly on the unmoving dockyard.
Amesbury felt a wave of sympathy for whoever cleaned the King’s carriage. The poor girl was bound to lose her guts on the journey back.
James led them into the captain’s cabin. Through a glass-windowed door was a large office, sumptuously decorated in rugs, carved wood and bookshelves lined with expensively bound tomes. Rolled charts filled another richly carpentered walnut-wood shelf, whilst elaborate tools of navigation were neatly laid on the desk. A gold-plated compass was arranged with a jewelled spyglass and a magnificent globe.
In the office was a neatly dressed man and a dog with a bandaged paw.
Despite her obvious nausea, Frances gave a little squeal of delight to see the dog.
‘This is Mr Bartholomew,’ explained James. ‘He will win us the war
and take England to untold riches.’
Mr Bartholomew bowed. He was a doughty little man with a tight belly parting the gold buttons of his waistcoat. His white wig was grubby, sloping to one side to reveal a patch of pink scalp where his grey hair was thinning.
He bowed low, put a cautious hand to the slipping wig and gestured to the dog. The dog looked at Amesbury. It raised its wounded leg, as if petitioning him personally.
‘If I may explain, Your Majesty,’ said Bartholomew, addressing the King, ‘perhaps you’ve already heard of my bold solution to navigation at sea.’
Amesbury felt despair wash over him.
Bartholomew gave a little cough and straightened his wig. ‘As you gentlemen know,’ he said, ‘no man has solved the issue of keeping correct time aboard a ship. Until now.’
Amesbury looked on cynically. It was true that clocks couldn’t keep time aboard ship. The rolling motion and changeable weather played havoc with their workings. But what had the dog to do with it?
‘The dog is wounded,’ explained Bartholomew. He reached in his coat and brought out a knife. ‘This knife inflicted the wound.’
‘Sympathetic magic,’ agreed the Duke of York enthusiastically. ‘Hurting the weapon will worsen the dog’s wound.’
King Charles looked appalled. ‘Why must a dog be hurt?’ he asked, reaching down to pet the animal, sympathy shining in his brown eyes.
‘And how does that help with navigation?’ demanded Amesbury as the dog barked and licked the King’s ringed fingers.
Bartholomew wagged a finger. ‘We place the dog aboard a ship,’ he said. ‘Back on shore at exactly noon I burn the knife blade.’ He paused for effect. ‘The dog aboard the ship will feel the hurt on the knife and howl loudly.’ Bartholomew grinned proudly. ‘Those aboard ship will know it to be noon in England,’ he concluded. ‘And from this they can calculate their longitude. Their exact position at sea.’
Frances’s little forehead was puckered. ‘What does it mean?’ she whispered to the King.
Charles, who’d been kneeling, patting the dog, stood, pleased to be able to impart his wisdom. ‘Sailors cannot calculate longitude,’ he explained. ‘So they must sail in sight of a coast, in the path of pirates and enemy ships.’
