As Will pulled on his boots Grace cast an irritable glance around the room. “Walter, where in damnation’s fires did you put my sea clothes?”
Walter pointed to a closet. “They’re in there.”
Grace yanked open the closet door and peered into the gloomy interior. As she did so, Walter vaulted off the bed and shoved her inside. He slammed the door shut and jammed a table up against it.
“Raleigh, you miserable measle!” Grace cried, beating her fist on the door. “I’ll bury my blade in your backside! I’ll string you up by your innards!”
“That’s a mean trick, Walter, considering she saved your life,” Will said, raising his voice over the tide of obscenities issuing from the closet.
“She’ll be a lot safer if she’s out of the way,” said Walter, grabbing Dee’s book, “and so will we. Come on!”
“But we still don’t know what the Devil’s Fire is,” Will reminded him. “Only Grace knows what it means.”
“Oh that doesn’t mean anything,” said Walter dismissively, “but if you want to wait here and ask her about it, you’re a braver man than I am.”
29 The Stage is Set
“I don’t see why we couldn’t just ride up to the front door,” said Will.
“I told you,” said Walter, “this whole thing is a trap. If we go barging in shouting warnings we’ll scare off the very men it’s designed to catch. And then Walsingham will have my hide for a hearth rug.”
Arriving at twilight, they had tethered Walter’s horse just outside the grounds of Mortlake. Now they were making their way through Dee’s orchard towards the house. The trees were hung with lanterns and coloured ribbons trailed from the branches, catching the light like fiery streamers. The whole orchard shimmered like a fairy forest and beyond the trees Will could make out the garden where the play was being performed.
The Queen and her entourage were seated with their backs to the house, which was dimly lit as ever in spite of the occasion. Against the dark mass of Mortlake House, Queen Elizabeth was conspicuous as a pillar of snow in her gown of white silk and pearls. She was seated upon a throne of gilded wood while at her side a man in sumptuous blues and greens sat upon a smaller throne. Occasionally he leaned over to whisper a comment in her ear.
“What is it you’re going to do if you won’t raise the alarm?” Will asked, his nerves jumping.
“I’ll have a quiet word with Walsingham,” Walter replied calmly, “and he’ll ensure the duke is protected.”
Burning braziers had been set round the stage area and by their light Will could see the players. There was Henry Beeston as Pluto and Kit as his queen. Ralph was playing Theseus with Tom as Hippolyta . Other members of the troupe were dancing round them, tossing flowers in the air. Will recognised the scene as the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta, which meant the play was nearly over.
“There’s not much time left,” he told Raleigh. “If those plotters of yours are going to make their move, it will be soon.”
“I see Walsingham there among the royal party,” said Walter, “the man dressed in black.”
He quickened his pace but was stopped short by three unearthly figures who stepped out of the cover of the trees to bar their way. Their cloaks glistened like fish scales and each one of them had the head of a beast: a fox, a wolf and a crow.
Will was stunned. His first thought was that these must be spirit beings Dee had conjured up as a demonstration of his powers. Then at second glance he saw the animal heads were merely masks and that these were just men in costume.
“They’re Walsingham’s men,” Walter told him, “disguised to look like part of the play.”
The three men swept back their cloaks to reveal the swords hanging at their sides.
“Let me pass!” said Walter. “I have to talk to Sir Francis right now!”
The fox raised a hand to stop him. “You’ll stay right here. Walsingham will have words with you once this entertainment is over.”
“Then it will be too late!” said Will, his voice almost a wail.
Walter clenched his teeth and huffed like a bull shut up in a pen. In a flash he pounced upon the beast men, swinging his fists with the fury of a storm. All three fell back before him, but kept themselves between him and the house.
“Go, Will, go!” Walter yelled, pressing forward his attack.
Will ducked past the crow man as Walter bumped him off balance and raced through the trees. He had to go straight to the queen, no matter what danger that might expose him to. He didn’t care about Walsingham’s devious plan. He had to save the duke.
The edge of the orchard was close now and he was taking a breath to shout out when he was grabbed by the arm and wrenched to a halt. He spun round, thinking he had been caught by another of Walsingham’s guards. His captor, though cloaked and hooded, was someone he recognised at once.
“Grace!” he gasped.
Grace tossed back her hood. “Why so surprised, Will? I’ve broken out of the deepest dungeons in Ireland. How long did you think a cupboard was going to hold me?”
Will tried to pull away, but she kept a grip on him. “You should have come by river like me,” she said. “It’s a lot faster. Now just show me where the two books are and I’ll let you be,” she promised.
“There’s no time for all that now!” Will exclaimed. “I have to get to the Queen!”
Grace gave a puzzled frown and he started to slip out of her grasp. Then Will saw it was too late. Four men had emerged from the shadows of the house with stealthy speed and taken up position directly in front of the Queen. Before anyone could make a move to stop them they had drawn swords and formed a cordon around her.
Henry Beeston broke off his climactic speech and joined in the general amazement. A number of men in fairy costumes who had been standing around him now threw back their cloaks to expose their weapons and started forward.
“Back!” one of the conspirators warned. “Give us our say and none need come to grief!”
The Queen sat silently as the duke spoke to her rapidly in French. The conspirators gestured to Walsingham and the other attendants to back away.
“Grace, we have to do something,” said Will.
“What are you talking about?” said Grace. “If your English soldiers were worth anything they’d have taken them by now.”
Observing where the Queen and Anjou were seated, and remembering how the play was meant to close, Will had a sudden inspiration. “Follow me, Grace!” he said.
He set off towards the area where the play was being staged, keeping within the tree line. Grace strode along beside him looking baffled and aggravated.
“Where are we going, Will?” she asked. “What in perdition are you up to?”
“One of those men is an assassin,” said Will. “He means to kill the Duke of Anjou.”
Grace was unimpressed. “And what’s that to you or me?”
Will stopped and grabbed her by the edge of her cloak. “If that happens we’ll be at war with France and every Catholic in England will be blamed for it. Now will you help me?”
“Oh, Will,” Grace moaned, “I’ll die a pauper thanks to you. Lead on then!”
As they made their way towards Theseus’ wedding party they could hear the lead conspirator making a speech about the ancient ties between France and England, the blessings of marriage and the duties of a sovereign. When he was done, he and his three companions laid their swords down on the grass and knelt before the Queen like obedient subjects.
Will plunged into the bushes behind the marriage pavilion where Theseus was to be wed. Everyone else was too transfixed by the scene before them to pay any attention to what he and Grace were up to.
“It’s all over, Will,” said Grace. “You’re making a great fuss over nothing.”
Casting aside their disguises Walsingham’s soldiers moved in to arrest the conspirators. Three of them gave themselves up but the fourth suddenly leapt up and drew a pistol. Backing away from the guards he pointed th
e gun directly at the Duke of Anjou.
“Stay clear,” he warned, “or my shot might go astray and hit the Queen.”
Queen Elizabeth raised an imperious hand and ordered her men back. Anjou stared aghast at the assassin and gripped the arms of his throne like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood.
“Or maybe you’re right after all,” Grace said.
Will gazed at the scene and bit his lip. He hoped desperately his plan would work. “Here, look at his,” he said, pulling aside some loose bushes to expose John Dee’s mechanical scarab.
“God’s mercy!” cried Grace, drawing her sword on the monster.
“It’s just a piece of machinery,” said Will, “a stage prop. But we can use it to save the duke.”
Quickly he explained his plan to Grace then crouched down beside the gigantic insect. It was attached to a taut length of rope that ran from this spot in the garden right up to the highest storey of Mortlake House. The Queen’s party had been seated directly below this line so they would have a perfect view of the beetle god as it soared overhead, carrying the king and queen of fairies.
The Duke of Anjou was trying very hard to keep his nerve before the Queen. “I do not know what your quarrel is with me, monsieur,” he said to the assassin, “but if you would have me ransom my life, I will pay any price you care to name.”
“I didn’t come here to be bought off with gold,” the conspirator answered disdainfully.
The queen rose slowly to her feet and stood as proud and immovable as a statue. Her red hair was like a halo of flame around her pale, painted face.
“I’ll thank you to lay down that pistol, sir,” she said with cold authority. “This gentleman has done you no harm.”
“Great harm has been done,” said the assassin. “Our country is sunk deep in heresy and none will make a move to stop it. If the defenders of true faith must be compelled to action, then so be it.” His voice grew shrill and brittle as he steeled himself to do the deed.
Will took a hold of the lever that would release the spring mechanism inside the scarab and Grace raised her sword over the rope, gripping the hilt firmly in both hands.
“England is ripe for punishment,” the assassin declared, “so let it come now!” He levelled the pistol directly at Anjou’s head. The Frenchman shut his eyes tight and crossed himself.
30 Deus Ex Machina
With a grunt Will jerked back the lever. There was a clank of gears, a rattle of cogs and the scarab lifted off the grass. A gasp went up from the whole crowd as the monstrous creature soared upward into the evening sky, its legs waving, its jaws snapping, its great wings whirring like an angry wind.
The assassin turned to look and his face changed from the crazed ecstasy of a fanatic to an expression of pure terror. The scarab looked like some demonic fiend unleashed by Satan to carry him off into the bowels of Hell.
“Now!” yelled Will.
Grace swung her blade down and sliced straight through the rope in one stroke. The assassin shrieked in horror as the scarab plunged out of the sky towards him. With a sickening crash it smashed him to the ground, crushing him beneath its weight. The wooden framework broke apart under the impact and pieces of machinery spilled out like metal entrails.
The duke jumped from his throne and let out a high pitched giggle of relief. Soldiers rushed forward to drag the assassin, injured but still living, out from under the wreckage of the scarab.
“Will!” Henry Beeston cried out in delight. “Why, you’ve saved the day, my boy!”
A wave of cheers spread from the players right across the garden to the queen and her courtiers. Ralph, Kit and the others gathered round Will to congratulate him and bombard him with questions.
“There’s a name for what you just did,” Beeston told him. “On the stage we call it deus ex machina, a god from the machine.”
“Well, here’s an unlooked for sight!” Ralph exclaimed, stepping rapidly away from Grace. He eyed her sword nervously. “You’ve changed your costume since we last met, Mistress Maddie.”
Grace winced at the name. “A lot has changed since then,” she said, gazing around. “But where’s Walter Raleigh?”
As if in answer to her question, the three guards in their animal masks emerged from the orchard, escorting a disarmed and captive Walter. Dr Dee hailed the men and ordered Walter’s immediate release. Slipping away from the players, Grace and Will strode across the garden to join them.
“Well, that was a scene neither you nor Master Beeston could have invented,” said Dee. “You played your part particularly well, I thought, Will.”
“You built the scarab,” said Will. “Without that I don’t know what would have happened.”
Dee cast a frowning eye upon Grace. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve missed me something terrible,” said Grace with a smirk.
“Don’t worry, John,” said Walter, clapping Dee on the shoulder, “I’ve brought your book back.” He pulled the Meta Incognita from inside his doublet and handed it over.
“Well, that’s splendid!” Dee beamed.
The general air of merriment was suddenly shattered by a fearful scream. It was immediately obvious what had caused it. Flames were belching from one of the windows in the west wing. Mortlake House was on fire!
“Is this it, Grace? Will asked. “Is this the fire you warned us about?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think he’d really do it!” gasped Grace with a shake of her head.
“Who?” Dee asked her sharply.
“Caleb,” she replied. “He told me how he hates you and your books.”
“Hates me?” said Dee, baffled.
“Yes, he said he’d brewed up something called the Devil’s Fire and that it would burn the whole house down.”
“Why didn’t you tell us all this before,” Walter demanded, “instead of leaving us with a damned riddle?”
“If you’ll recall, there wasn’t much time for conversation!” Grace threw back at him.
“Buckets! Fetch buckets!” yelled Dee, running towards the house. “Bring water from the well, from the river!”
Everyone ran after him to help fight the flames, but Will found himself rooted to the spot. He knew something about this wasn’t right. The fire was too small. And why set it in that unimportant part of the house?
“That’s not it!” he shouted after the others. “It’s just a distraction, a bit of stage business!”
No one paid him any attention, but Will realised now exactly where to find Caleb and the Devil’s Fire. He ran to the house and barged through the front door. He was sure there were only minutes left before all would be lost.
31 The Brimstone Circle
The library was as wondrous as ever, the tiers of books rising up like cliffs on every side. But there was something disturbing in the air. Will sniffed and detected the odours of oil, sulphur and other materials from Dr Dee’s alchemical laboratory. Up ahead a sickly yellow light flickered over the tops of the shelves.
Will knew time was running out. He turned the last corner and arrived at the centre of the library. There before him was exactly what he had feared.
Working by the light of a dying lantern, Caleb was emptying the last dregs of his chemical brew out of a stone jar. He had spread it in a circle all around him and from this circle further oily trails spread out to every corner of the library.
The brimstone stench was almost unendurable, but Will forced himself to move forward. As soon as he noticed he wasn’t alone, Caleb dropped the jar and snatched the lantern up off the table.
“Don’t take another step,” he warned darkly. “I only have to dash this lamp to the floor and the flames will take us both. You won’t be able to escape.”
The lantern reflected balefully off the slick, sulphurous liquid and Will saw his toe was almost touching the edge of it.
“I don’t believe you want to harm anybody,” he said. “That’s why you sta
rted that small fire first, to make sure the house was evacuated before you set off the real blaze.”
“If you stay here you will die,” said Caleb. “I spent weeks making my mixture right. At the touch of a flame it will consume this whole house.”
“The Devil’s Fire,” said Will.
“That’s what I call it,” said Caleb.
The lamplight cast dark shadows over his face, lending him the appearance of a gloating fiend. But Will had seen many times how easily mere appearance could deceive.
“But why?” he asked. “Didn’t you say your family used to own this house? Why would you want to destroy it?’”
Caleb bared his teeth in an anguished grimace. “I spoke to the clerk at the church who keeps the parish records,” he said. “He told me my family never owned land here, not this house, nothing.”
Will felt the pain in his voice. “So it wasn’t true,” he said. “But that’s not the ruin of everything.”
“Isn’t it? What have I left? I have searched and searched among these books, these cursed books, for the one thing that might still raise me up, the secret of the alchemist’s gold, but I couldn’t find it. So, since I can’t make gold, I learned to make fire instead.”
“But there are so many other things to learn,” Will pleaded, “better things.”
“Do you think I didn’t want to learn?” Caleb retorted bitterly. “The Doctor said he would teach me, but he always had something else to do, something more important. For me there was only keeping the house, tending his needs, and what have I to show for that?”
He looked up at the rows and rows of books as if they were a wall imprisoning him. “It’s these books he cares about, not me. And when they are gone, he will be nothing, no better than you or me.”
Will looked at the wavering flame of the lantern. If Caleb delayed long enough in carrying out his plan, the flame would burn out and he would not have the means to ignite his chemical brew.
“Are you going to kill yourself for something as empty as revenge?” Will asked.
“I belong in the fire. You don’t understand, Master Shakeshaft. You don’t know what I am.” His voice had taken on a sinister edge that made Will’s skin crawl
Will Shakespeare and the Pirate's Fire Page 16
