The Scar-Crow Men soa-2

by Mark Chadbourn

  The spy gave a deep bow. ‘Dr Dee. My life has been darker without you in it. May I introduce my companion, Mistress O’Shee?’

  The Irish woman gave a seductive smile. ‘I am honoured to be in the presence of such an exalted personage,’ she breathed. ‘You may call me Meg.’

  Without a hint of embarrassment, the alchemist’s eyes slid slowly over her frame and then a serpent tongue flicked out between his lips. Thrusting Will out of the way, Dee offered a hand to the red-headed woman and led her into his chamber. ‘Your beauty brightens this dark, northern town,’ he said with a lustful laugh.

  Despite the summer heat, a fire blazed in the hearth. Dry rushes were scattered on the stone flags and there was an acidic reek of sweat in the air. The room was cluttered. A high-backed chair stood near the fire, alongside a pair of stools, a bench and a stained, chipped table, but almost every available space was taken up with stacks of books, charts and rolls of parchment. A faded tapestry marked with magical symbols hung on one wall. Circles of polished glass lay on the table, glinting in the candlelight.

  ‘I apologize for the heat in my rooms,’ the alchemist said as he guided Meg towards the bench. ‘I find it impossible to get warm these days.’

  As Dee hung over Meg, whispering comments at which she giggled in an uncharacteristic but practised manner, Will’s attention was drawn to a circular mirror made of highly polished obsidian.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, reaching for the object.

  The magician leapt across the room to slap Will’s hand away. ‘Leave that!’ Dee yelled, his eyes blazing.

  The spy took a step back, concerned at the passion he saw in the elderly man’s face.

  The alchemist appeared to recognize he had overreacted and adopted a nonchalant manner. Waving a hand towards the mirror, he said, ‘It comes from the New World, part of a haul of Spanish loot. An ancient magical item, it is said to have been treasured by the age-old race which inhabits that region, and was considered sacred to their god Tezcatlipoca, who protected rulers, warriors and sorcerers. Does that answer your question?’ he added with a snap.

  ‘And you use its undoubtedly great magical powers for communing with angels?’ the spy asked, feigning innocence.

  With a snort, Dee turned back to Red Meg. ‘I fear I am a poor host,’ he said, pressing his hands together. ‘We should have sustenance. Wine, perhaps, and beef. These aged legs of mine are feeble, however, and can barely carry me across my chamber. Could you help an old man? Pray hurry to the chaplains and ask them to order the servants to deliver food and drink to my study.’

  With a polite smile, the Irish woman rose from the bench. ‘Of course,’ she replied, and left.

  ‘Old man?’ Will snorted. ‘You could strangle a blacksmith and still have the strength to torture a lawyer or two.’

  Dee jabbed a finger angrily. ‘Do not speak to me about games of deceit, England’s greatest spy. Now, she will be gone for some time — the chaplains are away tending to the poor. Tell me — can she be trusted? Does she work for the Irish? I presume you have investigated her motives.’

  Picking up a book, Will flicked through the creamy pages with a wry smile. ‘I thought you had been enchanted by her smile and dazzled by her generous form.’

  ‘I am no fool, Master Swyfte. You know that.’ With irritation, the alchemist took the book and replaced it on the stack.

  ‘I would not trust her entirely, though I have found no reason to doubt her.’ The spy’s tone darkened and he beckoned for the older man to take his chair near the fire. ‘But that is neither here nor there. We have grave matters to address.’

  Easing himself into the high-backed chair, the alchemist listened intently as Will related all he knew: of the Scar-Crow Men, and the plot to murder spies by the devil-masked man, of Marlowe’s death, and his play with its hidden code, of Kit’s secret spying work, and of Griffin Devereux. ‘I would understand how all these questions connect, but more, I would know who killed my friend, Kit Marlowe, and for what reason. Then I will seek revenge.’

  The candles in the room appeared to dim, as if even talk of the Unseelie Court had drawn a cold darkness to them. Dee stared into the depths of the fire for a long moment. Will had never seen him so grim. ‘You require my help?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘I need you, Dr Dee. England and the Queen need you before the last of our defences fall. Yes, we are few. Yes, the forces ranged against us are overwhelming. But we are fearless, and bloody-minded, and a resistance group this small can be fleet of foot. It may already be too late, but if there is one chance we can strike back, we must take it.’

  ‘The defences could fall at any time.’ The alchemist’s voice was almost lost beneath the crackle of the fire. ‘The Enemy already has its puppets in place. Once they are secure, they will come for us first, you know, and our suffering will be worse than a thousand hells. You are mad to fight this. Run. Hide.’

  One foot upon a stool, Will reached out his hands, imploring. ‘There is hope, doctor. The Enemy has expended great effort in hiding whatever Kit Marlowe discovered. Why would they send a Hunter at my heels unless they feared I might discover one chink in their plot that could bring it all crashing down?’

  Dee nodded thoughtfully, but was still unconvinced.

  The spy saw his opportunity. ‘I have travelled the length of England in the most perilous circumstances for one reason: to call upon the great and powerful Dr Dee. You are the terror of the Fay, the man who locked those foul creatures out of the land they had tormented for generations. I have risked all because with you on our side anything is possible. The Unseelie Court fear you, sir.’

  Dee’s eyes blazed. ‘Those popinjays should never have dismissed me from the court. That grand betrayal after all I did for the Queen and England. This would never have happened if I had been there.’

  Will smiled to himself.

  ‘But where would we begin?’ the alchemist mused, tugging at his beard. ‘The defences will need to be repaired. But that takes weeks, perhaps months.’

  The spy paced the room, feigning deep thought, although he had planned his strategy long ago. ‘Who would be privy to Kit’s secrets?’ he muttered. ‘Someone must have knowledge of that mysterious business of his.’ He paused theatrically and raised one finger. ‘Wait. Griffin Devereux spoke of a clandestine group … the school that meets at night, he called it. Have you heard of any such thing?’

  In the gleam in the alchemist’s eye, Will saw all he needed to know.

  Dee weighed how much he should say, and then came to a conclusion, waving a cautionary finger at the spy. ‘There is much you do not know about your friend, Master Swyfte. He lived another life far removed from the one he shared with you.’

  ‘Kit did not want to endanger my life or taint my reputation, such as it is.’

  The alchemist rose from his chair and cracked his knuckles. From a hook in one corner, he fetched his cloak of animal pelts, a grotesque assemblage that still retained the heads of the beasts. ‘What would you say if I told you Master Marlowe was part of a conspiracy that threatened the very stability of England?’

  ‘Kit was no traitor.’

  ‘Oh, he was, Master Swyfte. As am I.’ As Dee pulled on his cloak, he came to resemble some country poacher rather than one of the most feared men in all England.

  ‘Do not play games with me,’ the younger man cautioned, more sharply than he intended.

  The magician spun round, his eyes narrowing at the implied threat. ‘I speak the truth, you rump-fed pignut. Within England there is a group of men who oppose the government, yes, and the Queen herself.’

  ‘You are Papists?’

  Dee gave a mocking laugh.

  ‘Those accusations were levelled at Kit.’

  ‘Come now, Swyfte. You have played this game for a long time now. You know as well as I that when power speaks, it never says what it means.’

  ‘The accusations of atheism the Privy Council made against Kit?’ Will prowled
the chamber, keeping one eye on the older man.

  ‘You are closer to the truth with that, but only a little. Atheism covers many sins, and it is a suitable tool for the government to use to frame Master Marlowe as, shall we say, a certain kind of offender who carries no weight in the eyes of God-fearing folk.’

  ‘A slur, then. The Privy Council tried to demean him. Make him appear worthless. And Kit was never worthless!’ The spy grew angry.

  ‘I know this: the Privy Council feared young Marlowe’s ideas more than the Catholic plotters, more than the Spanish. Yes, more than the Unseelie Court.’

  Will turned to Dee and glared. ‘Are you suggesting it was not the Enemy who killed Kit? That his murder was at the bidding of the Queen, or Cecil, or one of those other bastards?’

  The alchemist hesitated.

  ‘If they did, I will have their blood.’

  Dee eyed the younger man. ‘Even the Queen’s?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘We both gave our all to the powers that govern England, doctor, and we have not been repaid with kindness. In the end, you must ask who you really trust. Who matters most. Who decides what is right or wrong.’

  ‘Why, Master Swyfte, I fear you are finally leaving callow youth behind,’ the older man mocked. ‘You are now entering a twilit world where there are no longer any easy choices. Are you up to the challenge?’

  ‘We shall see. So, Dr Dee, can I count on your support in this suicidal endeavour?’

  The alchemist returned to the obsidian mirror on the table and stared thoughtfully into its depths. ‘How could I possibly resist?’ he replied sourly. Becoming animated, he clapped his hands once, loudly, and then stabbed a finger into Will’s face. ‘If we are to halt the terrible events that are in motion, we must act quickly. The one who is killing the spies will follow a prescribed pattern. Time, place, the stars in the heavens — all part of the ritual. When he failed to slay you, he was forced to wait for the right moment for his next victim. I cannot know what path he follows. It is in the hands of the gods now, and all we do may already be futile. But we must try, eh, Swyfte, for that is who we are?’

  ‘Throw caution to the wind, doctor, and let us strike fast and hard.’ The spy’s grin faded when he realized the alchemist was staring at him in a curious manner. ‘What is wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘You have two shadows.’

  The spy glanced back and saw that Dee was right. Stretching behind him was his own shadow, and, beside it, another, over-lapping, but twisted, monstrous.

  ‘What have you done?’ the elderly man asked in a small, troubled voice.

  ‘It appears I can never be afflicted with loneliness,’ Will said, attempting to make light. When he saw Dee’s expression remained unmoved, he added with a flamboyant sweep of his arm, ‘Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?’

  ‘Well you may ask.’ The alchemist circled the spy, examining him this way and that. ‘You have been cursed.’

  ‘My devilish companion was conjured during the performance of Marlowe’s new play, a warning from Kit.’ Will gave a shrug to show he was unmoved by the threat.

  ‘Then in his aid your friend has damned you.’ Will was surprised, and troubled, by the hint of pity in Dee’s voice.

  ‘This curse can be lifted?’

  ‘By the one who set it. And he is dead. I wish it was within my power to provide a solution, but for all my subtle skills there is nothing I can do when such a thing has been raised by another.’ For a long moment, the magician plucked at the sleeves of his gown in reflection, unable to meet the younger man’s eye. ‘The devil will burrow deeper into the heart of you until he destroys you from within, and there is nothing you can do about it. There is no way for me to sweeten this bitter pill, Swyfte, and I know you would not want me to. You are a strong man, and you have shouldered much suffering in your life, and I have no doubt you will face this with the valour I see in you. I would not have it this way, but there it is. You are doomed, and the end will not be pleasant.’

  ‘Enough, doctor,’ the spy interrupted. ‘I have carried burdens before, and I am more concerned with surviving tomorrow, and the day after, than with what miseries may or may not await me in the future.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Live for today, and let the devil take what may be.’

  The alchemist appeared oddly touched by the young man’s words. He moved rapidly to the clutter at the rear of the chamber, knocking over piles of books until he found a large wooden chest. ‘A little help in the battle to come would not go amiss, eh?’ From the depths of the chest, he pulled a wooden tube and a velvet pouch and offered them to the spy.

  Will examined the object: the tube was hollow and the pouch contained small, sharp arrows.

  ‘Our adventurers treat the New World men as savages, but their knowledge is quite profound. That is a blowpipe. Tip those darts in poison, slip one in the end …’ Dee mimed a blowing action. ‘They travel far … farther now that I have improved the design.’

  ‘Poison, you say?’

  The alchemist drew several small cloth bags out of the chest. ‘I have refined the potions over the years. The blue paste …’ He grinned. ‘Even those white-skinned bastards will recoil from that one.’

  Will slipped the gifts into the secret pockets in his cloak.

  ‘One final thing.’ Dee held up another tube which appeared to be made of iron, but which the spy could see was much lighter. The elderly man pressed a hidden knob and four hooked arms snapped out.

  ‘A grapnel,’ Will exclaimed, taking the device. Attached to the bottom was a coil of rope that was thinner and lighter than any he had encountered before. ‘This is no weight at all.’

  ‘What wonders I could have provided for England’s spies if only I had not been exiled to this cold, wet town,’ the alchemist grumbled. ‘But there you have it. Use the tools wisely and well. Now, let us find your friend. After staring at you, my eyes need some relief.’

  Dee snuffed out the first of the three candles lighting the room.

  ‘We must travel to meet our fellow conspirators, great men all, names that will surprise you, and they will have some of the answers you seek,’ the alchemist said. ‘If what you say is true and the old defences are falling, the journey will be dangerous. I can protect us a little, but even my vaunted abilities may not enable us to survive.’

  ‘So be it.’ Will snuffed out another candle. The shadows closed in around them, with only the flickering light of the final candle and the dull red glow of the dying fire illuminating the room. Dee pulled his cloak around him and stepped towards the door.

  ‘Where do we travel?’ the spy asked.

  The alchemist turned back to the younger man, his eyes sparkling. ‘We go to see the Wizard Earl.’

  Will snuffed out the final candle and the dark swept in.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The Queen of England’s face resembled a death-mask beneath its frosting of white make-up. At Elizabeth’s side, Elinor, her ever-present maid of honour, whispered words that no one else heard as she guided Her Majesty through the clutch of carpenters and artists at work on the scenery for the forthcoming masque. Cecil lurched in her wake, looking like a frightened dog, with the big mercenary Sinclair glowering over his shoulder, and trailing at the rear was Rowland, the record-keeper, distracted by the rolls of parchment tumbling from his arms.

  Standing in a sunbeam where sawdust danced, Grace watched her mistress pass by with growing concern. New faces had appeared at the court over the last few days, men and women who answered to no one, but who seemed to have the Queen’s ear. Who were they? What was their business?

  When Nathaniel entered, Grace joined him out of sight behind a still-wet canvas painted to resemble the greenwood. ‘It is becoming harder to meet,’ the young woman whispered. ‘Her Majesty has appointed another lady-in-waiting, a young girl by the name of Mary Wentworth. It appears her sole task is to follow me wherever I go.’

  ‘T
he Privy Council has this morning agreed the execution of two more traitors. A stablehand and a butcher from Leadenhall who delivered pork for the kitchens,’ the young man replied bitterly. ‘The case against them was flimsy. Their deaths are solely to cause fear at court. If everyone is suspected, attention does not fall easily on the true culprits.’

  ‘And Master Cockayne?’

  ‘Since his return from London, he never seems to leave his chamber. I fear we have lost our best chance to recover Kit Marlowe’s play,’ Nat sighed.

  ‘Among the women who sew together, there has been talk of mysterious lights at night in the fields around the palace, a ghost seen on the Grand Gallery, and voices heard in empty rooms,’ Grace whispered, peering around the edge of the scenery. ‘The portents are growing. And still no word from Will.’

  ‘Why speak of Will? You have a suitor now.’ The young man’s tone was acidic as he nodded towards the door. Strangewayes was looking around the hall.

  ‘Nat, you know my heart is for Will only,’ Grace said unconvincingly. ‘I spend time with Tobias’ — she caught herself — ‘Master Strangewayes for the information he can provide. He has eyes and ears all over Nonsuch.’

  ‘And what if he is part of this plot, and he keeps an eye upon you while you are using him?’ Nat leaned in and whispered, ‘You are playing with fire, Grace. But both of us will be burned if you are wrong.’

  When he walked away, Grace allowed the colour to fade from her cheeks. She was annoyed that her friend treated her like some little girl. At first Tobias Strangewayes had appeared no more than a braggart, swaggering around her and making no attempt to hide his lustful thoughts. She had found it surprisingly easy to manipulate him.

  But on a hot early morn when she had been sent to collect flowers from the garden, she had found him standing among the yew trees, his head bowed in grief. ‘I have received news that my brother, Stephen, is dead,’ he had said in a hoarse voice. ‘In Venice, though the circumstances remain to be explained.’ He had tried to speak further, but the words would not come.