by David Walton
"You're going to make a void in that?"
"Relax," Matthew said. "I've done it over and over."
He shut the box, turned the crank, and waited. After a few moments, they heard a sharp pop. Matthew opened it and showed Parris the inside. Empty.
"Complete destruction," Parris said, unnerved. "What's the good of it?" It disturbed him that Matthew was so interested in what was essentially a destructive force. And now he was talking about making a weapon with it. Once created, it couldn't be uncreated. It might help them defeat the tamarins, but then what? Who else might get hold of it?
Matthew put down the box and picked up a larger one. "This is a double box," he said. "It has two layers of beetlewood, one box inside the other, with a gap between them." He threw some twigs into the inner box and some in the gap between it and the outer box, carefully fastened the lids, and pulled the lever. He showed Parris the result: those in the gap were gone, but those in the inner box remained untouched.
"You faced the waxy side of the beetlewood in different directions," Parris said, "so that when you create the void, it's trapped in the gap. But I still don't get the point."
"It was Catherine who first gave me the idea." Matthew said. "He tried again, this time putting a piece of bread in the inner box. When he opened it, Parris expected to see the bread untouched, as the twigs had been. Instead, he saw a pile of sand.
A chill ran down his arms. "That bread was made from sand."
"Yes."
"When you activated the void, you isolated the bread from the flow of quintessence around it."
"Yes."
"Thus reverting it to its original state." Parris laughed and clapped Matthew on the shoulder. "Just like it would if we returned to England!"
"Exactly."
"If we can reproduce what it's like to go back home, then we can test possible solutions to the problem. And if the solution works in this box, we'll know it's safe to return."
"Matthew! Dr. Parris!" a woman's voice called.
They ran downstairs. One of the bell coders was excitedly waving a scrap of paper. "One of the scouts reports seeing a ship."
Parris thought he must have heard wrong. "A ship? Like on the ocean?"
"That's what he said, my lord. A ship in the bay."
A ship! A ship could mean more men and more guns. But where had it come from? How had it found the island?
They ran to tell Sinclair, and soon everyone knew. Most wanted to meet the ship at the dock, but Sinclair selected a welcoming committee: himself, Parris, Bishop Marcheford, Oswyn Tate, and three of his soldiers.
When they reached the bay, they saw it at once, still tiny in the distance, but unmistakable. Parris lifted a spyglass to his eye. The ship was sleek and streamlined, majestic in full sail, shorter in the beam than the Western Star, and without the Star's high forecastle. It was a galleon, made for war. Fluttering proudly from the mainmast was a flag, but it was not England's red cross on a field of white. It was quartered instead, with two castles and two crowned lions. Parris felt cold, despite the bright sun, and a heavy stone sank in his stomach. The ship was from Spain.
Chapter Twenty-six
THE Spanish galleon tacked gently alongside the dock, the deep bay easily accommodating her hull. It made the Western Star look like a child's toy. There was no point in trying to fight. About a hundred Spanish soldiers lined her decks, sharp-peaked helmets in metallic rows. There were even some war horses tethered on the foredeck, nickering and no doubt anxious to get solid ground under their hooves again. Parris watched mutely from shore as sailors shimmied down ropes, secured them, and lowered a ramp from the main deck.
"How could they possibly have found us?" Parris said.
Sinclair was grave. "The other beetle."
"The one that escaped in my house? But it flew through the wall. No one could possibly have retrieved it."
Sinclair shrugged. "Then they couldn't possibly be here. Yet they are."
The man who descended the ramp on the back of a white stallion was not Spanish. He wore a wide- brimmed hat with a sweeping green ostrich plume, an embroidered doublet, and flaring lace cuff s.
Parris opened his mouth, but couldn't speak his cousin's name.
"Francis Vaughan," Sinclair said.
Vaughan doffed his hat and made a courtly bow from the saddle. "Sir Vaughan now," he said with an amused smile.
"The queen knighted you?" Parris said.
"She rewards faithful service."
"Then how do you come to travel on a Spanish vessel?"
Vaughan laughed. "Her Highness is betrothed to marry Philip of Spain. Or will already have done, by now. Spain is our ally and friend."
"Usurper, is more like," Marcheford murmured. "If she bears him a son, then England will be no more than a Spanish province."
"Mary has subjected England to a foreign power?" Sinclair said.
Spaniards disembarked and gathered around Vaughan. "Not subjected," Vaughan said. "Philip and Mary are partners, divine representatives of God to spread the glory of his Church throughout the world."
"In other words, Philip is draining the English treasury to fight his wars in France and Italy," Sinclair said.
A man pushed to the front, a giant with a head of black curls. He towered over the others and was dressed, as in England, in a simple black cassock. "Be careful of your words," the giant said. "You are subjects of the queen. To malign her royal husband is treason."
"And you are?" Sinclair said.
"Diego de Tavera, formerly of Valladolid, now sent to the island of Horizon by His Holiness the Pope. I am envoy of His Grace the King of Spain, with a special commission by Her Grace the Queen of England to redeem this colony from heresy and bring it under the proper authority of the crown."
Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "Just full of important people, aren't you?"
"Soon Their Graces will be the most powerful rulers on earth," Tavera said.
"As soon as they collect enough gold to win their wars," Sinclair said. "Which is why you're really here, isn't it? You were sent to find the gold and bring it home."
"As were you," Vaughan said. "We're here to make sure it actually happens."
Sinclair swept back an arm as if to show the way. "Welcome, then. Though at present we don't have the accommodations to put up so many fine men. Most of you will have to stay on the ship. I'm sure you understand."
"I'm afraid it's you who doesn't understand," Vaughan said. With a flourish, he produced a roll of paper, sealed with red wax and tied with ribbon. He handed it down to Sinclair, who opened it. Parris read over his shoulder. In flowing hand, the document proclaimed Francis Vaughan the new governor of the Horizon colony. "I will have your house, for a start," Vaughan said. "Then your people will provide what ever accommodations are lacking for my men."
"You should watch your hands," Sinclair said.
"What?"
"It's what happens when you pick up something you don't understand. You get burned."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Warning you."
"Enough of this," Tavera said. His deep voice resonated and made Vaughan's seem faint and shrill. "We will discuss these matters when our men are fed and housed. Sinclair, fetch a crew of men from the colony to help unload the ship."
Parris could see Sinclair was burning with fury at being ordered about, but he swallowed his pride, bowed, and left. The shore grew crowded with the ranks of Spanish soldiers. They showed some signs of malnutrition, but most looked better off than the passengers had on the Western Star. Parris supposed they had managed not to be swindled when taking on supplies in the Azores.
"Cousin Parris," Vaughan said. "I brought a friend with me. Someone you know well, I think." He stepped aside to reveal the small woman standing behind him. She was thinner than Parris remembered, and her clothes were ragged and stained, but she wore the same expression of cold rage he had last seen on her face.
"Joan!" Parris said. "How . . . ?"
&n
bsp; "Tell me she's alive," Joan said.
"What are you doing here?"
"Tell me she's still alive, Stephen!"
"She's alive. She's healthy and happy and thriving. I was right to bring her; we never could have figured out how to save her at home." He didn't add that a physic with less knowledge might have tried giving her mercury as a general tonic, and thus cured her at home, by accident. "Why are you here?"
"You took my daughter away from me. I told you I wouldn't let you win."
"Then . . . it was you . . . ?"
One side of Joan's mouth turned upward in a sly, bitter smile. She reached into a bag, produced the pale box Parris had first seen in his parlor so long ago, and snapped it open. Inside was the beetle.
"How did you find it?"
"It was caught in a box of candles."
"In the storeroom! I knew it had flown in there; I assumed it flew right through to the outside." This still didn't explain everything, though. "How did you know how to use it?"
Her lips formed a thin line, and she raised her chin. "You're not the only one who can figure things out."
WHEN Catherine saw her mother, she burst into tears. The last time she'd spoken to her, it was in bitter argument about whether or not she would be permitted to go with her father to Horizon. She flew into her arms. Mother gripped her tightly, though, as always, her eyes were dry.
"I'm taking you home," Mother said into her hair. "A week or more to fill the ship with goods, and we can head for England."
Catherine pulled back a bit, still holding her mother, so she could see her face. She didn't want to antagonize her so quickly after their reunion, but neither did she want to give a false impression. "I don't want to go home," she said. "I belong here."
Mother's gaze flitted from building to building, their sparkling diamond walls diffracting beams of rainbow colors. Instead of awe, her face showed only a wary distrust. "Belong here? What do you mean?" she said. "This is a colony. It's a means to an end, not a place to belong."
"Look around," Catherine said. "This isn't a wooden village ready to fall down at the first big storm. This could be a city, in time. Generations living and working. And we're doing so much. We can make food from sand! All the buildings are lit from the inside at night— you should see how beautiful it is. We're finding out new things every day. All the animals here have special properties, things we can copy and learn from, and . . ." The image of Maasha Kaatra tumbling into the void played in her mind for the thousandth time. There was a dark side to these wonders. Sinclair had trusted her to do her part, and she had let him down. Now a man was dead.
Mother opened her mouth, and Catherine knew what was going to come out. Give up this charade, Catherine. You're only a girl. Stop pretending to be a man. But it didn't. Mother paused, checked herself, and stroked Catherine's face. "I missed you so much," she said instead.
Catherine didn't know what to say to that. She was geared up for a fight; she didn't know how to respond to a gesture of sympathy. "I missed you, too," she mumbled, even though she thought it was probably a lie. She hadn't thought very much about Mother, with all the crises onboard ship, and the excitement of arriving here and all they'd found. When she did think of her, it was with a strong sense of guilt that she buried as quickly as she could. In another sense, Mother had always been there, lurking behind her thoughts, as that voice in her head telling her she wasn't good enough, and that she was fooling herself to think so.
"The last time I saw you, you were unconscious," Mother said. "One day you were coming with me to Derbyshire; the next your father was dragging you unconscious onto a ship from which you would never return. When I found that beetle, and finally realized what it was, and that I could use it to follow you— that was the first time I let myself hope that maybe you were still alive. I thought that, if you were, you would be ready to come home by now."
"It doesn't matter. I can't go home," Catherine said. "And neither can you."
"Like Chelsey's ship, you mean? We would turn into statues?"
"Exactly."
"Your father promised me that problem would be solved."
"He's been trying."
Mother held her close. "I can wait. As long as I'm with you, I can wait." She looked suddenly grim. "Your father may find he's under a little more pressure to solve that problem now."
"You mean the Spanish?"
"Yes. Listen. Stay away from these Spanish, that Tavera especially. He's not a good man."
"But you brought him here!"
"It was the only way I could get back to you. I can't sail a ship by myself. He has a mission from the king and queen, and he'll perform that mission. Just stay out of his way. Promise me that?"
A Spanish soldier appeared behind them. "Lord Tavera commands everyone to gather in the church," he said in strongly accented English.
"So now it's 'Lord' Tavera?" Mother said.
"Everyone," the Spaniard repeated.
As the colonists crowded into the church, Blanca found Catherine and caught her arm. Her face was pale, and strands of her dark hair hung down from under her cap. Her hands trembled. "It's him," she said. "Tavera."
"Did he see you?"
She nodded. "He didn't recognize me. He looked right past me."
"We'll have to tell my father what we know about him."
"Catherine? I'm scared."
Catherine held her and stroked her hair. "I know. Me, too."
Tavera introduced himself in a deep, carrying voice. He praised Their Majesties King Philip of Spain and Queen Mary of England, and reminded them all of their due allegiance. He told them that their ship, their provisions, and their settlement were investments by the crown, and that a return on that investment was expected. He also informed them that the Protestant heresy was illegal in all English lands, and the worship of the True Faith compulsory. Almost as an afterthought, he introduced their new governor, Sir Francis Vaughan.
Throughout his speech the murmurs increased, until the church buzzed with angry noise.
"It's as I expected," Tavera said. "There's no discipline here, and no love for the Church. Only sorcery and greed. I am hereby granting, starting this day, a Term of Grace to last ten days. Any man found in possession of an English Bible after this term, or denying the flesh and blood of the Supper, or in any way rejecting the authority of the Church of Rome will come under the instruction of the inquisitors. Heresy will be rooted out."
"Amen," said Francis Vaughan.
JOAN moved into the house with Parris and Catherine and Blanca. Parris couldn't work out how he felt about her being there. For not the first time in his life, he was dazzled by the strength of her character, the wit and nerve and fierce love that would enable her to mobilize a royal expedition to find her daughter, when she had no money or authority of her own. It was the kind of thing that had attracted him to her in the first place, so long ago. She was so strong, so certain of what she believed, so intensely loyal. He hadn't realized how much he missed her, nor how rare and beautiful a woman she was.
On the other hand, the easy atmosphere of their home, so often visited by Society members and filled with lively conversation about new discoveries, was now tense and awkward. She had, after all, brought their enemy down on them, and the fact that she'd done it out of love for Catherine only absolved so much. She was risking the destruction of all they'd worked for.
"How can you be on their side?" Parris asked.
"It's the right side," she said. "Mary is the rightful queen, the divinely appointed ruler of England. She's brought the old ways back."
"Has she forced the lords to give their lands back to the monks and nuns?" Parris asked.
"She can't do that; they'd all rise up against her. But she will, once she's strong enough. I believe in her, and so should you."
Parris shook his head. "This man Tavera . . ."
"He's not a kind man," Joan said. "He's more like a weapon. The queen sent him here to force allegiance."
"H
e's a brutal killer. And Vaughan— he seems eager for the ten days to be up so he can start torturing people."
"Recant. Give up all this foolishness and come home," Joan said.
"I can't do that."
"And if they kill you?"
"You brought them here," Parris said. I hope your conscience can rest easy."
Did she really hate him that much? That she was willing to see him killed rather than let Catherine stay with him? He had taken Catherine away from her against her will, and he supposed she might never forgive him for that. Eventually, Catherine would have to choose for herself. In the meantime, he hoped their battle for their daughter wouldn't destroy the colony altogether.
