by C. S. Quinn
Lily was looking around in horror. ‘It’s an old slave quarters,’ she said. ‘You must have packed them in like cattle.’
‘This old hulk was my first slave carrier,’ confirmed the Judge, seeming pleased at her reaction. ‘The cargo decks are still very useful. Very secure.’ His single eye settled on Lily. ‘A great deal of your kind were once sold from this ship, along with the negroes. We trade with faster craft now, and when I have the Eye I’ll buy an entire fleet.’
Charlie was thinking of Rowan, held captive somewhere. He tried not to imagine the hundreds of desolate people who’d been chained here, sailing to terror and servitude.
Judge Walters’s pearly eyepatch twitched. ‘My prison guards always enjoy a keelhauling,’ he added. ‘A gypsy will make particularly good entertainment for them. They’re making the arrangements for you now.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You’ve never seen a keelhauling?’ he guessed. ‘It’s a trick I learned from pirates. String a rope from stern to bow, attach your prisoner to one end and pull him underwater the full length of the ship.’
The Judge gestured to indicate the great size of the hulk, watching Lily’s face closely for a reaction. She was staring at him, eyes burning with hatred.
‘I’ve made some improvements to the practice,’ he continued. ‘You’ll see them soon. Unless,’ he added, ‘you tell me how to find the Eye.’
Lily was about to spit a retort when Charlie stopped her.
‘We told you the truth,’ he said, ‘about the rings and the paper. But we know more than you. If you leave them with us, we can tell you where the Eye is hidden. We only need time.’
Walters considered this. ‘Very well,’ he said, pulling them from his coat. ‘I’ll grant you one last request.’ He eyed the dwindling twilight cast from the open trapdoor. ‘You have an hour,’ he said. ‘If you don’t reveal it, I’ll have an answer out of you by force.’
The Judge turned, and they watched his silver-buckled shoes ascend the narrow ladder. Guards followed behind and the trapdoor slammed shut. They heard a heavy bolt sliding into place.
‘He’s a monster,’ said Lily, looking around. ‘Charlie, we can’t give him the Eye. I’d rather drown.’ Her eyes burned fiercely.
‘It might not come to that,’ said Charlie. He took in the dark quarters, his eyes landing methodically on each prisoner. Then he saw a small man with his arms wrapped around his knees, sitting as far away as possible from the other prisoners.
He had dark skin, thick curling hair and his clothes were scholarly – a black robe finished with a neat collar.
Charlie approached. ‘Ishmael Boney?’ he asked.
Two brown eyes looked up. They scanned Charlie and rested on the key at his neck.
‘It’s you,’ he said. ‘Charlie Oakley.’
Chapter 81
Charlie and Lily stared at Ishmael. The dark prison brig rolled underfoot.
‘You know me?’ said Charlie finally.
‘No,’ he said, ‘but I recognise your key. Thorne told me about you.’
‘Did you know Thorne?’ asked Charlie.
Ishmael pressed his lips together and looked away sadly.
‘We hoped,’ pressed Lily, ‘you might be able to help us.’
The astrologer stayed silent.
‘We found a chart,’ said Charlie, ‘with your papers. A Chart of All Hallows’ Eve once belonging to a man named Thorne. I think you knew him well.’ He paused, watching Ishmael’s face. ‘I think you were his lover.’
Ishmael’s eyes flicked up sharply. ‘What do you know of Thorne?’ he said after a moment.
‘He knew my mother,’ said Charlie. ‘Sally Oakley.’
‘Sally.’ Ishmael gave a faint smile. ‘The wife.’
‘They were married?’ said Charlie.
‘A marriage of convenience,’ said Ishmael. ‘Arranged by the families. I don’t know if they ever saw one another for more than a few hours after the wedding day. Thorne was not inclined to a bride.’ His eyes met Charlie’s. ‘As you seem to know.’
‘It’s true then,’ said Charlie. ‘You were his lover?’
Ishmael nodded. He looked very sad.
‘I was Thorne’s apothecary for a short time, just before his imprisonment. He had nightmares of being burned, and I prescribed him sleep tinctures. We were both interested in astrology and our friendship became something more.’
‘Did Thorne have an apprentice?’ asked Charlie. ‘A boy named Janus?’
‘There was a boy,’ agreed Ishmael slowly. ‘Under Thorne’s protection. I think his identity must have been important. He was kept confined for his own safety.’
‘Confined?’ asked Charlie. ‘Thorne was cruel to his apprentice?’
Ishmael shook his head. ‘Thorne was strict with the boy from necessity. It was a terrible war and important children were in danger. Thorne was a genius,’ he added. ‘He was never recognised for it. People spoke of him as evil. But he was a good man, tortured in his soul. He loved that child.’
‘You never knew who the boy apprentice was?’ pressed Charlie.
‘All I know is Janus’s identity was a close secret,’ said Ishmael. ‘If you knew who he was, you could likely defeat him.’
‘I don’t want to defeat him,’ said Charlie. ‘I only want for us to escape here and free my brother.’
Ishmael nodded. ‘Thorne spoke of passing on wisdom,’ he said. ‘He left me a letter, requesting I publish his Chart of All Hallows’ Eve a few weeks before tonight’s eclipse. He never told me what the Eye was, and I respected his wishes and didn’t ask. But he did tell me that if the Eye wasn’t found before midnight it would be destroyed. Lost forever.’
Charlie felt hopes for his brother slipping away. Midnight was only a few hours away. Unless Charlie was able to use the Eye to bargain, Janus would have no reason to keep Rowan alive.
‘The Dutch know about the Eye,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re set to find it tonight. Thorne’s apprentice has turned traitor.’
Ishmael’s eyes widened. ‘That cannot be,’ he said. ‘The Eye is powerful. If it falls into the wrong hands . . .’
‘Help us,’ said Charlie, tapping the paper. ‘Help us discover it.’
Ishmael’s eyes dropped to the chart.
‘I can’t solve this,’ he said.
Lily moved forward. ‘Please,’ she said, taking his dark hand in hers. ‘You must try.’
But Ishmael only shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘This chart is not true astrology. It’s a nonsense.’
‘What?’ Charlie shouted the word in his surprise.
‘Thorne’s Chart of All Hallows’ Eve,’ said Ishmael, ‘maps no future planetary movements. As an astrological chart it’s completely meaningless. He must have made it for some other purpose.’
Chapter 82
The rings and Chart of All Hallows’ Eve were laid out on the swaying floor of the prison brig. Charlie and Lily were staring at Ishmael.
‘The star signs on the rings symbolise only the ring bearers,’ said Ishmael eventually. ‘One for each. Nothing more that I can see.’
He was turning the cross of rubies carefully in his hands.
‘But they must read the chart!’ Lily’s voice had risen in frustration.
Ishmael tapped the markings on the Chart of All Hallows’ Eve.
‘Thorne was a far greater astrologer than I,’ he said, ‘but his Chart of All Hallows’ Eve doesn’t show the planets as they move. Even I can tell you that. Saturn is high, but it will not collide with Jupiter. Such a thing isn’t possible.’
‘Why would Thorne do that?’ asked Lily. ‘Why would he make a false chart?’
‘We know the Chart of All Hallows’ Eve is coded,’ said Charlie. ‘Perhaps it’s part of the code. The rings must tell us more,’ he added. ‘They must give the exact location. But how?’
They were all silent. The clues seemed to have run out.
‘What of the recipe?’ said Charlie, pulling out the slip of paper they
’d found inside the ring.
Ishmael regarded the list, scanning it. ‘Vinegar, alum, gum Arabic,’ he read, ‘and powdered Brazil wood.’
‘Perhaps Brazil wood is used in astrology,’ said Charlie hopefully, ‘to make some astrological tool.’
‘I’ve only seen Brazil wood used for its good red colour,’ said Ishmael, ‘to make furniture, violins and the like. It’s not used in astrology.’
‘Some metals are signified by planets,’ suggested Charlie. ‘Wood also?’
Ishmael spread his dark hands. ‘Iron for Mars, lead for Saturn,’ he agreed. ‘But not wood. That is something of druids and pagans. And Brazil wood wasn’t known in those times,’ he concluded.
They examined the rings again.
‘Is there nothing?’ said Lily desperately, ‘nothing else in the pattern of the astrology symbols?’
Ishmael shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Nothing that I can see. Thorne had a chance to flee with me to Holland,’ he added, closing his eyes tight at the memory, ‘but he insisted on returning to a secret workshop to hide the Eye. That was when they captured him.’ His dark eyes looked up at Charlie. ‘If you knew where his workshop was,’ he said, ‘that’s likely where the Eye is hidden.’
Above them they heard the trapdoor creak and open. Dark shoes descended the wooden ladder. And then Judge Walters was down with them.
‘Your time is up,’ he said. ‘Do you have an answer for me?’
‘You promised us an hour . . .’ began Lily.
Walters raised a hand. ‘My guards are anxious for their entertainment. I am not of a mind to afford a thief any more courtesies. I have been more than generous. It’s time for justice.’
Chapter 83
As the prison guards pulled Charlie up on deck, the piece of paper he’d found in the last ring fluttered to the ground. One of the guards swooped down triumphantly and snatched it up.
‘What is it?’ demanded Judge Walters impatiently.
‘Perhaps a clue to the Eye,’ said the guard, passing the paper.
The Judge grabbed it in his pale fingers. ‘It’s nothing,’ said Walters dismissively. ‘Only an old ink recipe.’
He held it up, letting the breeze take it fluttering over the side of the ship and into the dark waters below. Charlie watched it fall helplessly, realising it might have been their last chance to solve Thorne’s code.
An ink recipe.
Things were matching up in Charlie’s head. But he couldn’t quite bring them together.
‘Keelhaul the gypsy,’ said the Judge. He gave an evil smile. ‘We have a different style of torture here,’ he said, watching her face for a reaction. ‘Pirates duck men lengthways to drown, but we don’t do that.’ He waited for Lily to respond, and when his victim’s answer was unforthcoming continued speaking. ‘We keelhaul side to side. That way you drag across the hull, where the barnacles are. This old hulk hasn’t had her undersides scraped in ten years,’ he concluded. ‘You won’t drown on the first ducking and my men take bets on whether the lacerations kill you before you breathe water.’
‘I would never give you the satisfaction.’ Lily’s face was set in cold defiance.
The Judge smiled. ‘We’ll see.’
Two guards grabbed Lily by her small shoulders.
‘Wait!’ Charlie stepped forward.
The Judge glared. ‘Your turn will come,’ he said.
‘She can help you find the Eye,’ said Charlie desperately. ‘If you kill her, it will be lost forever.’
The Judge’s face twisted into a smile. ‘How pathetic,’ he said. ‘London’s famed thief taker has been seduced by a gypsy whore.’
Lily writhed against her captors, trying to strike at the Judge. He paused, taking in her face.
‘I remember the night you stole my ring,’ he said. ‘You had the same rage in your eyes when I told you about my gypsy slave ships,’ he added, ‘but the fight in you won’t last long underwater.’
Lily struck back against the guards holding her and this time she managed to get a hand free. Her nails raked across the Judge’s face, leaving a trail of bloody claw marks. He gave a hiss of pain and stepped back, holding his scratched face in rage.
The Judge gestured to his men, clicking his fingers irritably.
‘Duck the thief taker first. Bring the gypsy to the side of the ship. Let her watch the life bleed out of her friend.’
‘No!’ The colour had dropped from Lily’s face. ‘Please,’ she whispered.
Charlie felt rough hands take hold of him. Two large guards were pushing him to the edge of the deck.
He glanced at Lily, trying to signal she should attempt an escape. But her face was a mask of devastation, her lips moving silently.
The guards slammed Charlie against the side of the ship. A dripping rope was brought up from the deep. He felt strangely detached as the guards pulled it tight around his waist, as though it was happening to someone else. Below him the swirling Thames mirrored Charlie’s churning thoughts.
An ink recipe. The rings. Thorne’s Chart of All Hallows’ Eve.
Lily was looking down, her lips moving in silent prayer. The Judge grabbed her long dark hair and forced her head towards the side of the ship.
‘I want to be sure you watch,’ he said. ‘We’ll see if you’re so defiant when you know what awaits.’
One of the guards holding Charlie leaned in close.
‘Wait!’ Lily had found her voice and was screaming.
Charlie thought she sounded far away. Pieces of Thorne’s code were coming together, but too slowly. Charlie was certain he knew the answer. But it refused to be dredged from his mind.
‘He knows how to solve the paper!’ said Lily. ‘Look at his face. Charlie is the cleverest thief taker in London. If you send him to his death, you’ll lose any chance to find the Eye.’
‘Enough talking,’ commanded the Judge. ‘Throw him overboard.’
Charlie felt himself raised up to the edge of the ship. A guard leaned close.
‘We reckon there’s colonies of sharp things tall enough to take off your head,’ he grinned. ‘Least that’s what happened to the last man we dragged fore and aft. Enjoy your dip.’ And he shoved Charlie forward hard.
Even as he tumbled overboard, Charlie’s buzzing thoughts were trained on the problem. It was only when he hit the waves that he remembered to breathe in before the water closed over him.
The Thames struck him like a punch to the face and he felt his head fling back at the impact. The rope tightened around his middle, and he was wrenched under, away from the sunlight and down to the deep.
Charlie’s first awareness was the cold seizing his limbs. Then a huge shape loomed. The hull of the ship, impossibly large, appeared before him. It was clustered with mysterious protrusions, misshapen, some several feet in length like enormous fingers. Colonies of razor-sharp barnacles had swelled to outrageously sized groupings from years in mild tropical waters.
Charlie saw the first overgrowth come directly for him at head height. On the ship above guards had begun heaving on his rope, pulling him fast towards the hull. Desperately Charlie made an ungainly underwater roll, missing the towering structure but sending his prone body crashing against the hull.
He put out his hands and felt barnacles lacerate his palms. Then the rope dragged him backwards, grinding his shoulder blades against the rough hull. Charlie gritted his teeth. He swivelled into a ball, pushed out with his feet and managed to clear the next protrusion unharmed.
He could make out the beam of the hull now. There was another half of barnacle-wreathed ship to endure, and he could see blood from his injured hands eddying into the water. As his lungs began to constrict, a muddled image floated up.
Charlie saw the rubies flashing, imagined himself looking deep into their red depths.
The rings are an illusion. Thorne’s secret is in the rubies.
He drove away the floating pictures, refusing to give up. The sharp barnacles came toward
s him again and Charlie thought desperately for a way to protect his hands. He pulled at the thick rope, but the knot was impossible to budge and the hemp cord too sturdy to be cut by the sharp hull.
Then it occurred to him that the strong bindings could be an advantage.
Pulling hard, he tugged back a portion of rope and wrapped it around his bleeding fists. This time, as the barnacles loomed, he extended a ball of tough hemp and bounced off harmlessly.
Now he needed to build a rhythm, letting his protected hands strike the sharp hull at intervals, pushing away with his feet.
The technique almost worked. At one point the rope yanked him hard sideways and he lurched, feeling his arm snare. But for the most part he kept his body and head free. His lungs were bursting now and he looked up. A faraway pinpoint of light could be seen, and he had to prevent himself from gasping in relief.
Moonlight! But it seemed so far away.
The lack of air was blurring his vision now, his hands and feet growing clumsy. They slipped from the hull, bouncing him and opening a long cut on his side.
Don’t breathe in.
A red light was shining through the water. Moonlight, stained from the eclipse. And just like that, Charlie saw it. He saw how the rings solved the code.
Then air broke across his face and he gasped. He felt himself lifted up and out, dangling like a fish on a hook. The hard deck slammed against his back, knocking the air out of him.
He turned on his side, coughing and spluttering, choking out salty Thames water. Through the daze he saw Lily. Warmth oozed from a cut in his side and his palms were on fire, but the relief on her face told him his injuries weren’t severe.
‘He’s barely hurt,’ said the rough voice of a guard. He sounded disappointed. ‘Those barnacles should have cut him all over.’
‘Give him another dip.’ It was the Judge’s voice. ‘We’ll see more blood when he drops unconscious.’
‘Wait,’ said Charlie, the words coming thickly. ‘Wait.’
But before he could get the words out his chest went into spasm, hacking water from deep in his lungs.
