by C. S. Quinn
He followed the pattern of the light. It formed a long finger on the floor, with the arched tip pointing to the centre of the church.
‘The light makes a kind of arrow shape,’ he suggested. ‘The light from the window is stretched further at sunset.’
‘It points to the nave,’ said Lily, turning to look. ‘But there’s nothing there.’
They stared into the empty space, shadowed in the dwindling evening light.
‘Something astrological?’ pondered Charlie. ‘A constellation reflected somewhere else in the church?’
Lily looked around. ‘Taurus, Leo, Aquarius and Scorpio,’ she said. ‘I can only see ordinary saints and images from the Bible.’
‘Thorne wasn’t religious,’ said Charlie. ‘At sunset make your pledge. Perhaps there’s a deeper meaning.’
Outside the church the sky was growing dark.
‘The light will soon be gone,’ said Charlie. He was looking at the evening sun flooding through the church window, painting the floor with coloured light.
Leading in the stained glass cut the tinted light into distinct shapes – rectangles, squares and diamonds. It was like a magnificent painting on the plain floor.
Something occurred to Charlie. Slowly he unfurled his mother’s tapestry, holding it taut.
‘The stained glass makes a pattern on the floor,’ he observed. ‘What if the sampler fits into that somehow? Reveals something?’
Lily turned to the vast pool of coloured light. ‘Perhaps there,’ she suggested. ‘It makes a rectangle around the right size.’
Charlie laid the tapestry carefully on the floor, allowing the rainbow of refracted light to fall on his mother’s sewing. Beams of red, green and blue cascaded on to the stitched cherubims. It fitted perfectly, the edges of the tapestry squaring off with where the thick leading of the large window broke the light.
They both stared at the tapestry. But no obvious answer appeared in the cloth.
‘Can you see anything?’ asked Lily, looking at the light.
‘No,’ said Charlie. He assessed the dappled colours. ‘The light from the window blends in places,’ he pointed out uncertainly.
Lily looked up at the window. ‘Maybe we’re too late,’ she said. ‘The sunset time is almost gone.’
Charlie thought for a moment. Then he twisted the sampler around. ‘Perhaps if we align it,’ he said, ‘so the picture on the sampler is in the same direction as the window . . .’
‘There!’ Lily pointed excitedly. ‘The colours make a shape! Look!’
Chapter 76
‘My marriage was not like modern marriages,’ said Queen Henrietta. ‘My King was God’s appointee on earth.’
She eyed Amesbury, daring him to disagree. He said nothing.
‘My husband confided in me,’ continued Henrietta. ‘Thorne was building him a very powerful weapon. But in order to build it, certain practices were carried out.’ She hesitated.
‘What practices?’ pressed Amesbury.
‘Dead reckoning,’ said Henrietta. ‘Thorne was studying dead reckoning.’
‘Dropping a weight from a ship to gauge the speed of the current?’ confirmed Amesbury, surprised that the Queen was familiar with the term.
‘Thorne was using floats to gather information on the movements of the moon,’ she explained. ‘The tides and currents give valuable information.’
‘Floats?’ asked Amesbury uncomfortably.
‘Thorne wanted access to Dead Man’s Curve,’ continued Henrietta, ‘to observe the moon’s influence on the tides. He tried all kinds of ways to chart the flow of the Thames. But all were frustrated. Anything he put in at London Bridge was fished out and stolen by mudlarks.’
She was silent, leaving the general to infer the rest.
‘The only things that made it downriver,’ Amesbury supplied in a tired voice, ‘were corpses.’
‘My husband never told me . . . exactly,’ said Henrietta. ‘But I know convicts were taken from the prisons. I saw the King’s face when he returned from his meetings with Thorne. And I was at his side when he kneeled in chapel every spare moment, praying for forgiveness.’
‘The old King thought he had offended God?’
‘Thorne insisted on returning the bodies to the river as some kind of offering,’ said Henrietta. ‘Some heathen practice.’ She shuddered again. ‘Their souls were damned in any case.’
Amesbury considered this. ‘Someone is copying Thorne’s work,’ he said. ‘Bodies are washing up once more.’
‘No,’ said Henrietta. ‘That cannot be.’
Amesbury blinked. ‘Why not?’
Henrietta fixed Amesbury with her mean little eyes. ‘Thorne realised he’d been mistaken. Charting the stars was only part of what he needed to develop the power of the Eye.’
‘Then what did he need?’
‘He asked for jewels, exotic woods and gold,’ said Henrietta, ‘Thorne locked himself away with many tools. My husband never forgave himself. Those dead girls had been for nothing. So as you see,’ she continued, ‘it was a mistake that my husband spent the rest of his life trying to atone for.’
Chapter 77
Inside All Hallows church the sun had almost set.
Charlie stared at his mother’s tapestry. A large portion now matched the light from the window exactly – red to red, blue to blue, green to green.
‘The tapestry was made to reveal something when placed under this window,’ said Charlie. ‘Some kind of shape.’ He pointed to the stitching.
Standing out against the matching colours was a dark patch. It made the shape of a cross, with a distinct spot of red light in the corner.
‘A cross with a red dot?’ said Lily. ‘What does it mean?’
Charlie’s mind addressed the problem logically, forcing down the growing panic that finding no answer could forfeit his brother Rowan’s life. His finger followed the shape of the cross. Then the answer presented itself from the tapestry in front of him.
‘It’s a map,’ said Charlie. ‘This church is a cross shape. It’s a plan of the interior.’
He stabbed a finger at the red spot of light. ‘So this must be the ruby ring.’
Charlie sprung to his feet, staring around All Hallows.
‘If the tapestry makes a floor plan for the church,’ he said, ‘the ring would be over there. In that far corner.’
They both turned, assessing the direction the stained glass revealed. At the back of the building was a large stone statue, exactly matching the red dot of light on their map.
‘There’s something there,’ said Lily. ‘A saint statue.’
They raced over to it.
‘St Lucia,’ said Charlie as they reached the statue. ‘Saint of Light.’
The statue was a grey stone girl dressed in a flowing dress and holding a torch. She had a crown bearing a five-pointed star.
‘Lucifer to Lucia,’ said Charlie. ‘She even wears the Morning Star.’ He touched the pentagram at her crown.
‘We’re in All Hallows church,’ Lily pointed out. ‘The name represents the season of Venus.’
Charlie’s trained eye was moving carefully over the stonework. ‘Lucia wears a ring,’ he said. ‘Unusual for a saint.’ He raised a finger and tapped it. ‘Clay,’ he said. ‘Not stone. This was added later.’ He took out his knife and scraped at the stone ring. Dusty clay showered down. A glint of red shone out.
‘The ruby!’ said Lily excitedly, moving to help pick away the pieces of clay.
‘It must have been here all these years,’ said Charlie. ‘Hidden in plain sight. And no one noticed their saint had a new ring.’
Charlie had a sudden surge of hope. Midnight was hours away. Perhaps they could find where Thorne had hidden the Eye and use it to gain Rowan’s freedom.
Lily was pulling off the ring. ‘There’s something wedged inside,’ she said. ‘A roll of paper.’ She uncurled it. ‘It looks like . . .’ She frowned. ‘A list of ingredients.’
Lily read t
hem aloud.
3 pints vinegar
4 oz. alum
1 oz. gum Arabic
4 oz. finely rasped Brazil wood
She turned to Charlie in puzzlement.
‘What does it mean?’ she asked.
Charlie contemplated.
‘Brazil wood is used to make fine furniture and instruments,’ he said. ‘A highly smuggled commodity. Pirates are always on the lookout for it. It’s worth a fortune.’
‘Queen Catherine’s dowry came with Brazil wood furniture,’ said Lily uncertainly. ‘It’s displayed in Whitehall.’ She frowned. ‘Why would anyone want to shave it down and mix it with vinegar?’ asked Lily, looking at the recipe.
‘Perhaps it has some exotic purpose,’ said Charlie. ‘Some Aztec medicine. Alchemy. Though I’ve never heard of Brazil wood used that way.’
‘The recipe was put there deliberately,’ said Lily. ‘A clue to finding the Eye?’
‘Could be,’ said Charlie. ‘We now have all four rings. Let’s fit them together and see what happens.’
They took out the other three rings and joined them. The jewellery clicked seamlessly into place to make a large ruby cross, banded by gold, with the circular bands hanging down on the underside.
Charlie turned them in his hands, hoping for clues as to how they might solve a code. But there was nothing.
‘The rings don’t seem to make any shapes or signs,’ said Charlie disappointedly, turning them in his hand. He passed the rings to Lily and took out Thorne’s Chart of All Hallows’ Eve.
‘Nothing I can see,’ said Lily, looking at the rings. ‘Is there something on the chart that could solve it?’
Charlie scanned the Chart of All Hallows’ Eve, shaking his head. He looked over to where his mother’s tapestry lay on the floor, under the dappled light of the stained glass, thinking it might help them.
Charlie froze. The tapestry was gone. Instinctively his gaze spun to the door. A dark figure stood blocking entrance.
‘Well, well,’ said a cold voice. ‘Looks like the little gypsy thief and her thief taker have found us some treasure.’
Chapter 78
Janus was sailing east to Deptford, where he was certain the Eye was concealed.
With the wind behind him, Janus felt calmer. On passing Custom House he’d learned of a fracas from the local boatmen. This could only mean one thing – Charlie Oakley was still hunting the Eye.
This realisation had initially disconcerted Janus. The thief taker wasn’t as sentimental as Janus had expected. He’d underestimated his opponent – perhaps Tobias Oakley’s son was a worthy adversary after all. But even if Charlie Oakley found all the rings, Janus would easily beat him to where the Eye was hidden.
He smiled bitterly. Who’d have thought a simple man of no rank or birth could challenge Janus, with his fine name, his legacy?
He turned the little ship, catching the wind, and let the breeze carry him downriver. Janus still had enough time to get to Thorne’s lost treasure before it was destroyed at midnight.
The Thames was beginning to curve now, churning the river to a fast-moving eddy. Janus dropped the sail and prepared to let the water take him.
He saw a dark shape on the water. The bloated body of a dead calf had been carried downriver. Something about it tugged at his mind.
The sacrificial remains in Thorne’s cellar.
Janus closed his eyes, trying to chase away the helpless boy inside. He saw himself dangling from the grip of the dark god, his flesh torn by the bared teeth. Then he was back in the familiar nightmare, where the silence of the dark Thames closed over his screams, cold water rushing into his ears, his mouth.
But now Janus considered, he had never seen Thorne bring the children back. Only seen the bones mount up and known the master meant to kill him next. His eyes settled on the stinking corpse on the river. How long did it take for flesh to strip away from bone? Months? Years?
Janus felt suddenly as though Thorne’s godlike status was peeling away, and his own self with it. He put a hand on the undulating prow, trying to draw stability from the hard wood.
It’s no evil thing I did, he reminded himself. Those people were condemned to hell. I only mark them with the star of Venus, the Love Goddess. They go to a better afterlife than the church offers. The silver coin pays their way.
Janus fixed his concentration on the sails of the tiny ship. He negotiated the bulging waters expertly, letting his sails bloom again in the wind and righting his course east to Deptford. But his hands were shaking.
Suddenly he couldn’t be certain what about his past was real and what wasn’t.
Thorne had made a great revelation before Janus fled to Holland. The stars didn’t hold all the answers. The Broken Things and star charts were important. But ultimately Thorne’s attention had been elsewhere in those last few months in England.
Had Thorne taught him everything and nothing at all?
Chapter 79
Charlie looked towards the door.
There stood Judge Walters, a pistol directed at them. He was flanked on both sides by two burly men. Prison guards from Marshalsea by the look of them, Charlie decided. Not men he wanted to cross.
‘You.’ The Judge was pointing at Lily, his pale face tight with fury. ‘You stole something belonging to me. I will have it back and watch you drown for your crime.’
Charlie felt Lily’s hand drop to where her knives were.
‘Perhaps Ishmael Boney was right after all,’ added the Judge. ‘The legendary Eye is real and you may lead me to it.’
Charlie logged this. So the Judge knew where Ishmael was.
The Judge moved closer to Charlie. He pointed to the rings and Chart of All Hallows’ Eve.
‘Throw down the jewellery,’ he said, ‘and the paper. Or you’ll watch the gypsy die slowly.’
‘Don’t,’ whispered Lily.
Charlie shook his head. ‘I’ve already endangered my brother,’ he said. ‘I won’t risk you.’
He threw down the rings and the chart. The Judge darted forward and scooped them up.
‘The map to the Eye of Heaven,’ he breathed. ‘And the rings to read it. This is some treasure indeed.’ A nasty expression of triumph crossed his features. ‘My trade shall rule the oceans,’ he said. ‘Every heathen and gypsy shall be shipped back to their rightful servitude.’
‘I am in the King’s employ,’ announced Lily.
‘You’re a thief,’ spat Walters, ‘like all gypsies. You’ll die without your spymasters even knowing we met.’
Lily opened her mouth and shut it again.
‘Where is it?’ demanded the Judge. ‘Where is the Eye of Heaven?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Charlie.
‘Take a knife,’ hissed Walters to the nearest guard, ‘and cut off the gypsy’s fingers.’
‘Wait!’ shouted Charlie as the man grabbed Lily roughly. ‘I’m telling you the truth. It’s a mystery we can’t solve.’
‘So London’s famed thief taker is finally bested,’ said Walters with a humourless smile. ‘Somehow I can’t believe that.’ He considered them both for a moment.
‘You can’t make us talk,’ said Charlie.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Lily. ‘This isn’t a man to be baited . . .’
Charlie touched her arm. ‘Trust me,’ he whispered.
‘Very well,’ said Judge Walters. ‘If you think yourselves so brave, a spell on my prison hulk will afford us some entertainment.’ He turned to the guards. ‘Take them to the ship. We’ll see how tight-lipped you are,’ he added, ‘when you see what tools I have for my convicts.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ said Lily as burly men grabbed them and pushed them from the church.
‘So do I,’ said Charlie. ‘We can’t solve the code without Ishmael Boney. And I think we’ll find him on the Judge’s ship.’
Chapter 80
The guards led Charlie and Lily up the gangplank of the dark prison hulk. Up close
it was even more mouldering and dank than it looked from the water. The huge round-bellied hull had been extended upwards with several rambling roofed structures. They shuttered off most of the open decks, making the ship dark and enclosed.
‘We need to solve Thorne’s code before midnight,’ explained Charlie. ‘This is the fastest way I could think of.’
Lily’s eyes widened. ‘Are you insane?’
They’d entered a warren of rotting wooden corridors shambolically erected on deck. Over their heads they could hear the squawks of nesting seagulls, who had made the meandering rooftops their home.
A smoky fire had been lit and a vast cauldron of indiscernible slops bubbled. The Judge and his guards led Charlie and Lily downwards through a narrow set of stairs and then down again. Now the only daylight visible was from tiny portholes, over which had been hammered heavy bars.
‘I think Ishmael Boney is down there,’ said Charlie. ‘Think about it. We face a painful death if we don’t discover where the Eye is hidden. Ishmael Boney could be our chance.’
‘That’s your plan?’ said Lily. ‘To give the location to Judge Walters?’
Her face bore an expression of deep betrayal.
‘The Dutch are coming,’ said Charlie. ‘All will be chaos by All Saints’ Day tomorrow. If the Judge finds it at all, he’ll likely be too late, and the extra time might give us a chance to escape.’
They passed by a thick stench that told Charlie deceased prisoners were housed in an adjoining room, before the ship sailed downriver to offload on Dead Man’s Island.
‘What about Rowan?’ asked Lily quietly as the smell was gradually replaced by rank odours of close human occupancy. ‘You’d risk your brother for me?’
‘I have to be realistic,’ said Charlie, not meeting her gaze. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I thought you didn’t care about Rowan.’
‘I don’t,’ said Lily, ‘or Judge Walters.’
‘Then who do you care about?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
A guard was opening a large gridded trapdoor, and the Judge turned to address them.
‘You’re fortunate,’ he said. ‘Most died of cholera this week, so it’s not so crowded. We’re waiting on another consignment from the Marshalsea.’
