Dark Stars (The Thief Taker Series Book 3)

by C. S. Quinn

Chapter 106

  A crew of shouting Dutch sailors pulled De Ryker from the water. He emerged on the deck of the Eendracht dripping wet, a determined glint in his eye.

  ‘Janus is dead,’ he said. ‘The Eye is gone. Pass me the spyglass.’

  A terrified sailor handed the spyglass to his captain. De Ryker moved to the prow of the massive man-of-war, spyglass glued to his good eye. He saw the Lucifer, now far on the horizon, the wind blowing her west with Charlie Oakley still on board. Angrily he swung the spyglass.

  ‘We approach Chatham,’ he observed.

  His quartermaster, Cornelius, moved forward, the only man brave enough to approach the half-drowned admiral.

  ‘We’ve made it this far without the Eye,’ ventured Cornelius, ‘and Chatham seems unmanned. Perhaps something can be salvaged from the situation.’

  De Ryker made no answer, surveying the scene, picking out ships he recognised. The Royal Charles, the Loyal London, the Royal Oak. They were all here. England’s greatest ships. But there was something strange about them.

  The admiral gripped the spyglass tighter, trying to work out what was amiss. Then he realised. The masts were down. England’s greatest ships weren’t set to sail.

  King Charles has mothballed his navy.

  De Ryker’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. England had nothing with which to defend her waters. It was all shored up at Chatham. The country must be even more destitute than he’d imagined.

  De Ryker’s mind whirled over this incredible advantage, deciding what terms he would negotiate, which colonies Holland would demand.

  Then a terrible juddering sound echoed out from under his feet. He knew instantly what it meant.

  ‘Aground!’ shouted a terrified Cornelius. ‘We’ve run aground!’

  De Ryker roared with frustration. He could see England’s navy, so very close, so undefended. And here they were, beached on a mudbank, with King Charles’s greatest ships less than a hundred yards away.

  De Ryker knew reinforcements must be on the way. Amesbury was clever and would be heading for Chatham. If the general arrived to find the Dutch flagship beached in Chatham docks, he’d use the docked ships to blow them out of the water.

  ‘Can we fire on the English?’ suggested Cornelius. ‘Destroy their cannons?’

  De Ryker shook his head. ‘We can’t turn our ship,’ he said. ‘We’re sitting ducks.’

  ‘The tide is rising,’ said Cornelius. ‘We’ll be free in under an hour.’

  De Ryker’s mind was whirring. If Amesbury caught them here, they were dead men. But an hour . . . De Ryker scanned the tides.

  ‘It could be enough time,’ he decided, ‘to make our escape.’

  ‘You mean us to retreat?’ asked the shocked Cornelius.

  ‘Charlie Oakley destroyed the Eye,’ said De Ryker. ‘We have no means to navigate these waters.’ He looked across the wide Thames. She seemed so calm, so inviting.

  ‘A ribbon of water leading straight to London,’ said De Ryker with a sigh.

  His quartermaster knew better than to answer.

  De Ryker’s attention was now fixed on Chatham docks, thick with expensive ships.

  ‘They make better men-of-war than us,’ he observed. ‘England has deeper ports to make low hulls. Good for stability. See all the guns?’

  He pointed to the nearest, sitting low in the water with the weight of her cannons.

  ‘The Royal Charles,’ he said, eyeing England’s magnificent flagship. ‘She chased us back to Holland last time we engaged. They’ve repaired her scars.’

  The deck gave a sudden lurch. The tide was rising faster than they’d predicted. It swirled around the banked ship and she began righting.

  An idea occurred to De Ryker.

  ‘How many grappling hooks do we have?’ he asked.

  Cornelius looked surprised. ‘Perhaps twenty,’ he estimated.

  ‘Long ones? Enough to tow a man-of-war?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said the quartermaster. ‘We keep enough to pull a second rate, in case one of our ships becomes unseaworthy in combat.’

  De Ryker turned his face to the sun. The breeze was picking up.

  ‘There’s a good wind,’ he said. ‘As soon as we lift from this mudbank, throw the grapples at that ship.’ He pointed.

  ‘You want to take England’s flagship?’ confirmed Cornelius.

  ‘The Royal Charles,’ stated De Ryker. ‘We’ll carry her from England’s own waters and serve King Charles a humiliation he won’t forget.’

  Chapter 107

  Amesbury rounded the curve in the river. The old general spurred his steed, panting. The clustered masts of Chatham dockyard were ahead, and Amesbury saw with surprise he was not too late.

  De Ryker’s ship had not yet reached the dockyards. The remaining force of England’s beleaguered navy floated peaceably. Amesbury could hardly believe it.

  Then he saw De Ryker’s ship in the far distance. He held the spyglass closer against his eye, his heart lifting.

  The Eendracht was sailing away.

  Then Amesbury saw what she was sailing with. De Ryker had captured England’s flagship. The King’s magnificent Royal Charles was being towed back to Holland.

  Amesbury’s mind flashed with variations on how to present this mortification to the King. He heard the faint sound of boisterous singing drift towards the dockyard and guessed De Ryker’s men had struck up a mocking chorus as they passed the English towns and villages along the Thames.

  Naseby’s horse drew level with Amesbury’s.

  ‘De Ryker withdraws,’ he said, sounding amazed. ‘Why now?’

  Amesbury dropped his spyglass and saw a great wash of mud floating in the water a little way from the dockyard.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he decided, ‘De Ryker didn’t have the means of navigation I feared. It seems as though his attempt on the Thames was made of bravado and some good fortune. But it ran out at Chatham.’

  ‘They were here?’ said Naseby, taking the spyglass. ‘Beached?’

  ‘From the height of the water, the rising tide only just saved them,’ said Amesbury regretfully. ‘If we’d been here an hour earlier, they would have been helpless.’

  ‘De Ryker must have tried his luck after all,’ said Naseby. ‘You have to admire the bravery of the Dutch,’ he added begrudgingly.

  ‘I’m of the same mind,’ agreed Amesbury. ‘Though it doesn’t seem a strategy a man of De Ryker’s experience would employ.’

  They both watched as the pride of England’s navy disappeared slowly downriver, the catcalls and hoots of De Ryker’s men drifting away on the breeze.

  ‘A good day for England,’ decided Naseby. ‘They’ll have bonfires in London when we announce the foiled attack.’

  ‘Better they save their wood for the coming winter,’ said Amesbury. ‘De Ryker knows our weakness. He’ll be back to take England.’

  Chapter 108

  King Charles had been silent for a long time.

  The huge throne room seemed to loom around them. Amesbury wondered for a moment if the monarch had actually heard him.

  ‘I returned from Holland on the Royal Charles,’ said the King finally. ‘To reclaim England.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Amesbury.

  ‘We laughed at the doubters. Those who said England would stay a republic.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘Now she’s with De Ryker. It’s a humiliation.’

  Amesbury left a tactful silence before speaking.

  ‘The loss of a first rate from our own waters is mortifying,’ he agreed, ‘but more disturbing is De Ryker now knows the extent of our weakness. He’ll be back to invade,’ he said. ‘Soon.’

  Charles hardly seemed to hear him. There was a long pause, then he spoke.

  ‘She’s gone, Amesbury,’ said the King, raising his brown eyes sadly.

  It took Amesbury a moment to realise Charles was talking about Frances Stewart rather than his first-rate ship.

  ‘She wants to marry Buckingham.’ C
harles was fiddling with one of the heavy rings on his fingers. ‘Queen Catherine says I should give them my blessing.’

  Amesbury was temporarily struck dumb. He was trying and failing to understand how a thirty-six-year-old man could be infatuated with a fifteen-year-old girl when his country was about to fall.

  ‘I would have married her,’ concluded Charles morosely.

  ‘Such talk is foolish,’ tutted Amesbury. ‘Your Majesty, for a king to marry his lady-in-waiting – a man might as well take a shit in his hat and clap it on his head.’

  This raised a ghost of a smile from the King.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Amesbury, a thought occurring to him. ‘Frances’s beauty is her youth. Have her painted. Then you might always keep a piece of her, just as you love her now. Let Buckingham have the hard reality of a wife.’

  For the first time in weeks, Charles seemed to lighten a little.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sitting up a little. ‘Yes, that is a very good idea. The Royal Mint is looking for an image for our coins. I was thinking Britannia in her armour would very well represent the English spirit. Frances will model for it.’

  ‘A Roman emblem?’ said Amesbury.

  ‘Such things are very fashionable,’ said Charles. ‘We’ll give her a helmet like Athena, and she can hold Neptune’s trident to show we rule the waves.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Amesbury. ‘Frances as Britannia will be on every silver coin in the land.’

  ‘Buckingham may marry her,’ said Charles, ‘but every time he spends his money he’ll see his wife and I. Two sides of the same coin.’ There was a glint of malice in his eyes. ‘Perhaps Frances’s beauty will grace English coins long after my reign is over,’ Charles added.

  The thought seemed to please him. Then his face darkened.

  ‘My children,’ he said, ‘I swore they would have a safe and comfortable home, never fleeing to safety, never fearing for anything.’ The King turned to Amesbury. ‘So now,’ Charles decided, ‘we must address matters of war.’

  Chapter 109

  The Bucket of Blood tavern was hosting a puppet show. Above its large barrels, homespun marionettes caroused and waved wands. Below, the puppeteers squeaked songs of foolish astrologers and false eclipses. A saucepan to symbolise the moon had been covered in red cloth.

  Charlie watched as the marionettes bounded away from it, wooden arms waving in terror. The assembled drinkers cheered and banged their tankards.

  ‘You decided to stay then?’ said Charlie to Lily. ‘No sea voyages?’

  She smiled into her tankard of foaming ale. ‘For now. London hasn’t yet lost all her charms.’

  She gave Charlie a careful glance, then looked away again. He smiled to himself. Then he noticed a familiar face. Bitey had entered the tavern. Charlie called for the tap boy and gestured he should bring another pint of beer.

  When it arrived, he handed it to Bitey. The old poacher toasted him enthusiastically and took a long sip.

  ‘The Eye was real then?’ asked Bitey, wiping foam from his beard. ‘Everyone is saying you found it and it might have guided ships in longitude.’

  ‘Might have,’ agreed Charlie. ‘We’ll never know. It’s at the bottom of the Thames.’

  ‘A pity,’ said Bitey.

  Charlie thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. ‘Thorne wanted the clock for a better time,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t think nineteen years was long enough.’

  He was remembering the slave brig, where he and Lily had been held. The sad chains to hold people to be sold as cattle.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Bitey. He turned his gaze to the cavorting puppets. ‘Someone else might invent something just as clever one day.’

  A meaty bellow of joy echoed around the pub. Charlie glanced at the puppet show. A wooden ship bearing a satanic effigy of De Ryker popped up from behind the beer barrels. Another, waving an English flag, was chasing it away.

  ‘We’ve seen off the Dutch right enough,’ said Bitey, raising his tankard in toast. ‘You can smell the bonfires all over London.’

  Charlie nodded. The air was thick with woodsmoke. After plague and fire, Londoners were desperate for something to celebrate, though rumour was fast spreading that their victory was more hollow than had been reported.

  ‘The Dutch will be back,’ said Charlie. ‘They’ve seen how weak we are and have taken a prize ship.’

  ‘The Royal Charles should satisfy De Ryker for a time at least,’ suggested Bitey.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Charlie. He was remembering De Ryker’s sun-worn face, the determination etched in his old features. ‘Another man perhaps. But I think it will only make De Ryker more hell-bent on taking London.’

  ‘He’ll have to find a way to navigate the Thames,’ said Bitey, ‘and it sounds as if that one chance was lost to him.’ He chinked Charlie’s tankard. ‘Shame you came away with nothing valuable.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Charlie, looking at Lily.

  She was entranced by the puppet show, following the weaving and bobbing.

  A woman with a tray of pies had entered the pub, and Charlie signalled her over. He bought three meat pies and handed one to Bitey and one to Lily. She took the food absent-mindedly and beamed him a smile.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Bitey, taking a grateful chomp with his wooden teeth. ‘Some victories are less obvious than others. And it seems to me,’ added Bitey carefully, ‘there’s more to know about that key of yours.’ He nodded to the double-sided key around Charlie’s neck.

  ‘De Ryker claimed he knew my father,’ agreed Charlie thoughtfully.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ asked Bitey.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Charlie. ‘Perhaps his secrets are best buried with him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Bitey good-naturedly. ‘Bit of quiet might do you good in any case.’

  Charlie drained his beer. ‘Maybe,’ he said, looking at Lily, ‘but I’ve a feeling London won’t stay quiet for long.’

  Truth is stranger than fiction. One of the below events is fictional. Can you guess which?

  The Dutch tried to invade England in 1666, getting as far as Chatham, where they stole the Royal Charles, England’s flagship man-of-war.

  Barbara Castlemaine engaged in seductive warfare on Frances Stewart, including a theatrical same-sex wedding.

  London streets were still smoking several months after the Great Fire.

  Longitude experiments included using an injured dog and sympathetic magic to tell the time.

  An image of Frances Stewart as Britannia now adorns the English fifty-pence piece.

  Answer correctly to unlock a free secret history of Dark Stars. You’ll discover more about Barbara Castlemaine’s shocking sexual proclivities and the truth about Frances Stewart’s marriage and the Dutch attack on London. Go to www.thethieftaker.com/darkstars

  About the Author

  Photo © Richard Bolls

  C.S. Quinn is the bestselling author of The Thief Taker and Fire Catcher. Prior to writing fiction she was a travel and lifestyle journalist for The Times, the Guardian and the Mirror, alongside many magazines.

  In her early academic career, Quinn’s background in historical research won prestigious postgraduate funding from the British Arts Council. Quinn pooled these resources, combining historical research with first-hand experiences in far-flung places to create Charlie Tuesday’s London.