Lucy's Blade

by John Lambshead

  "Doctor Dee. You are the foremost expert on navigation in the land," said William. Dee waved his hand in an unconvincing display of modesty. "So why waste your time and mine? You know we can't sail diagonally across the ocean."

  "Why not?" Lucy asked, genuinely puzzled.

  "Because it is easy enough to know the latitude of a ship using a cross-staff," said William. He looked around and pointed at a wooden structure that consisted of a long staff with two cross staves on at right angles. "See, Doctor Dee has one there. With that, I can measure the angle that the sun makes with the horizon at midday. From tables, I can deduce how far south the ship is. So to reach Bimini, we sail down the eastern Atlantic until we reach the correct latitude then sail along the latitude line. But to sail diagonally across the Atlantic I would need to know the Swallow's longitude as well as her latitude."

  "And that cannot be done?" Lucy asked.

  "No. Oh, men have tried. One can guess at longitude by dead reckoning. That is, trying to measure the ship's forward speed and keeping a record on a chart. Another way is to calculate the difference in angle between magnetic north and the pole star. But these methods are wildly inaccurate. And if the ship is not where the navigator thinks she lays then you can sail her straight onto a reef. I can't risk the Swallow and all aboard," here William looked at Lucy, "with such foolishness."

  "Indeed not. But suppose you had an accurate clock, Captain?" asked Dee.

  "If I knew how many hours west of England the ship was then I would know how many degrees west the ship had travelled. Know you of such a clock, Doctor?" William asked, rhetorically.

  "As I told you, Captain Hawkins. That clock is accurate to a second." Dee pointed to his gleaming engine. The pendulum underneath swung rhythmically backwards and forwards.

  William laughed. "Bless my soul, Doctor. You theoretical scholars should get out more. Such a machine would never survive a voyage. That pendulum would be wrecked before we reached Gravesend."

  "I am not such a ninny that I cannot recognise that," said Dee, testily. The Doctor went to the corner and opened a chest. He searched within and retrieved a packaged wrapped in an oiled cloth. He opened it reverentially.

  "Johannes Trimethius' Steganographia," said Dee. "After Trimethius died, his fellow monks read his manuscripts. So shocked were they to discover that he had been working on demonic magic that they burnt all the copies that they could find. That is why there are but three copies left."

  "It cost the secret service twenty pounds, as I recall," said Walsingham.

  "Scholars still argue whether it is a book of magic masquerading as a code book or the other way around," said Dee.

  "Which is it, Doctor?" asked Simon.

  "Why both are true, young man. It is really a book about all aspects of secret communication.

  "Now, Captain," said Dee. "Suppose you had a way of communicating with someone in England from the deck of your ship. Hmmm?"

  "Someone with an accurate clock who could tell me the time in England when the sun was overhead on the ship," said William, excitedly. "Know you how to do this, Doctor?"

  "In this book," Dee waved the Steganographia "is a spell that causes two candles to become magically harmonised. What someone says into one will be heard from the other."

  "Why isn't everyone doing this if it only takes two candles and a spell?" Walsingham asked.

  "There is a snag," said Dee.

  Walsingham groaned. "I thought so. There is always a snag when magic is involved. What is it?"

  "It's demonic magic." Dee paused and seeing no one grasped the point, continued. "You need a demon to power the candles."

  Lucy was staring out at the river. She turned her head to find all eyes on her. "What!" she said. "What are you all staring at?"

  Act 19

  Leaving London

  William kicked the tufts of grass. He thought he saw traces of brown. This was so unlike the lush, green Westcountry. London desperately needed rain. He glanced at the sky. It was completely cloud covered but not a drop of water fell.

  William was not in a good humour. The sailors recognised his mood and hurried to load the Swallow with enough food and stores for an oceanic voyage. St. Katherine's dock was a hive of activity. William hunted out the dockyard attendant. The man noticed him and attempted to scurry off. William would have none of it. He pounced and seized the man by the arm.

  "I am afraid that I am busy, Captain." The attendant tried to disengage his arm but William held it firm.

  "Too bad," William said, rudely. "Those spars, there, are rotten and warped. I am not putting to sea until you produce some decent wood." He pointed to a stack of materiel.

  "That's the best I've got. Take it or leave it. Think you that I have premium stores for every provincial who blows in to town? You may be a big man in Plymouth, sunshine, but this is London." The attendant sneered.

  William took a firm hold of the attendant's shirt and lifted him on tiptoe.

  "Unhand me or Cousin Jacob and a dozen of his men will be out to fix you, Captain," said the attendant, completely unfazed.

  William considered calling up a few of his crew to show the man what real violence looked like but he realised that he had a better way to enforce his will. He dropped the man and patted him down.

  "That's better," said the attendant, smugly.

  "Fair enough, I'll just go up to the Tower and tell Sir Francis Walsingham that I can't obey his orders. It can't be done because some dockyard whoreson has taken his money and cheated him out of decent stores. I'll do that shall I?"

  "Sir Francis Walsingham is the backer of this cruise?" The attendant licked his lips.

  "The very same. You know the one; sits at the right hand of Her Majesty, has an office in the Tower, runs the scariest spy service in Europe, puts traitors on the rack before beheading them. That Walsingham—you must have heard of him. No doubt he will be well impressed when you threaten him with Cousin Jacob."

  "No need to do anything hasty, Captain," the attendant said, ingratiatingly. "Perhaps I can locate what you need."

  "Excellent," said William. "I thought we could arrive at a satisfactory solution. I have some business up at the Tower but I'll be back in some little while to see how you are getting on."

  The Tower was just a few minutes walk as the raven flies but the whole point of a fortification is that one can't just walk into it in a straight line. It was a good half hour before William conferred with the gunner at the armoury.

  "Captain," said the gunner, touching his cap.

  William watched a crocodile of sea dogs moving barrels and bags of shot on small carts. "Everything in order, gunner?"

  "Yes, sir. The armourers have been most helpful. We will be fully loaded with munitions by tomorrow."

  "Good, well—carry on, gunner."

  William continued up the Tower Hill to the north curtain wall where Walsingham had his apartments. He found Simon Tunstall, who was greeting a florid, rather round man. The fellow looked like a countryman, come up to market.

  "Captain Hawkins, may I introduce Master Paxman. Master Paxman, this is Captain Hawkins of the galleon Swallow."

  The two men shook hands and exchanged conventional greetings. "Are you by any chance related to . . ."

  "John Hawkins is my cousin," said William. He was used to the question and he answered with good grace, as he was proud of his cousin.

  "Ah," said the countryman.

  "Master Paxman farms a sizable number of acres in the county of Surrey," said Simon. "This is his daughter, Margaret."

  The girl looked about thirteen but was probably a year or two older. William gravely bowed to her. "Greetings, lady."

  "Your servant, sir," she squeaked nervously, and attempted a curtsey.

  "You are up to town on business?" William said to the farmer, in effort to make conversation.

  "In a manner of speaking, sir," said the farmer, expansively. "It is my intention to betroth my daughter to Master Tunstall and we await Si
r Francis Walsingham's blessing."

  William could not have been more astonished if the farmer had announced his intention of declaring war on France and leading a force of crack cowherds to assault Paris. "My, ah, felicitations, Master Tunstall." Then realising how weak that sounded added, "Warmest congratulations. Let me look at the bride to be."

  She really was a pretty little thing, although clearly exceedingly nervous. "My, my, how beautiful she is, Simon, no wonder that you kept her well hidden from all us rough sailors. Ah well, another dainty little fish swept from the sea."

  "Thank you, William," said Simon. At that point a servant beckoned. "I believe Sir Francis will see us now, if you will excuse us."

  Simon showed the Paxmans into Walsingham's reception room. Sir Francis and Lucy were present. "Sir Francis, may I introduce Master Paxman and his daughter Margaret." The men bowed and Margaret curtseyed. "Mistress Paxman regrettably died earlier this year."

  "My condolences, sir. This is my niece, Lady Dennys," said Walsingham, setting off another exchange of bows and curtseys. "Wine for my guests." A servant hastened to comply. "She is a dainty catch, Simon," said Walsingham gallantly. "How fortunate you are."

  Poor Margaret blushed again. Probably, she had not ever received so much attention in all her short life. Walsingham tactfully turned to Simon. "And what brings your new bride to the Tower, sir? Are there not prettier places in London to visit?"

  "I will take her to see the crown jewels later," Simon said. "But first, we have come to ask your permission to marry."

  "But there is no legal requirement for my permission," said Walsingham.

  "Nevertheless, I ask it," said Simon.

  "Well, well, then you shall have it," said Walsingham, clearly pleased with the respect that he had been shown as Simon's patron. "I consider this a good match. You are an excellent young man and the girl is worthy of you. How old is your betrothed?"

  "Margaret is fifteen, Excellency. But she will turn sixteen this autumn," said Paxman.

  "So you will marry when you return from the Americas?" Walsingham asked. It was unnecessary to add the qualifier "if you return from the Americas." Simon assented. "Have you sufficient funds to keep a wife? You will continue to live at Barn Elms when convenient, of course, but you should also have your own establishment."

  "Master Paxman is to settle a farm on his daughter for a dowry," said Simon.

  "Even so," said Walsingham. "A wife is expensive and with such a pretty young wife there will soon be more mouths to feed." He chuckled. "We must think of a suitable wedding present for you and an increase in your stipend."

  Margaret was blushing again and looking increasing uncomfortable. Lucy spoke for the first time, seeing her distress. "Fie, Mistress Paxman. The men will now discuss the sordid details of money and contracts that are so unbecoming for a young lady's ears."

  Lucy waved a hand, airily, to indicate her distaste for such matters. She took a firm grip on the young girl's arm and propelled her out of the door. "Take you a turn in the grounds with me and tell me all about yourself. We shall be firm friends when you come to live at Barn Elms."

  The farmer watched them go with an expression of deep satisfaction. The Dennys family held considerable landholdings in Surrey and Master Paxman knew exactly who they were. Simon knew that he brought little in the way of material wealth to the match but he brought something just as important—connections. Few farmers' daughters from the county would ever meet the likes of Lady Dennys, let alone be "firm friends" with them. Master Paxman would consider his gift of a farm an excellent investment. Margaret began to relax and giggle at some sally of Lucy's as the pair moved out of sight into the Tower's grounds.

  Lucy kept Margaret close to the apartments, engaging her in conversation, so that they were at hand when Simon and his future father-in-law emerged into the courtyard some moments later.

  "Will you take your betrothed on a sightseeing tour now, Master Tunstall?" asked Lucy. "If so, may I act as guide? I have spent some little time here on my own lately and I have explored. Did you know that they have a wonderful map of London in the library? After examining it, one can go right to the top of the turret and see London spread before you, just like the map."

  "I thought access to the turrets was restricted," said Simon.

  "So it is," said Lucy. "But I have discovered that a bearer of the Queen's ring can go almost anywhere." She held her hand up her hand.

  "The Queen herself gave you that," said Paxman, clearly impressed.

  "Off her own finger," said Lucy, proudly. She then laughed. "You must think me very boastful, Master Paxman."

  "Not I don't, Lady Dennys, not at all." He clearly meant it. The farmer obviously belonged to the "if you've got it, flaunt it" school.

  "Shall we go?" Lucy said. "I suggest we first see the chapel where Anne Boleyn prayed before her execution. I am a distant cousin of the lady."

  Simon offered Lucy his arm. "What, sir, you offer me your arm when your betrothed stands unescorted? How ungallant of you. No doubt Master Paxman will do me the honour of his arm." The farmer hastened to accede.

  "My apologies, madam. I am unused to my situation. Please allow me." Simon bowed to Margaret and took her arm. Lucy led off, chatting animatedly, her hand resting lightly on Paxman's arm. The farmer had insisted on being present with his daughter at the interview with Walsingham. He was a careful man and wished to assess Simon's position in Walsingham's favour with his own eyes. Simon approved; a prudent man would raise a prudent daughter. Lucy had copper-bottomed Simon's suit.

  Paxman had ambitions to be president of the county fair at which the more prominent farmers and tradesmen displayed their produce. Next time the committee met, Simon knew that Paxman would wax most lyrical about the time he escorted Lady Dennys around the Tower of London. The wives of the committee members would want Lucy's clothes, jewellery, and manner described most closely. The other contenders for the presidential chain would be hard-pressed to match this coup.

  Simon allowed Lucy and Paxman to move ahead so he could talk to Margaret alone. Propriety meant that he had exchanged few private conversations with the girl. They passed a gaggle of sailors struggling with casks. The sailors were used to Lucy and gave her only passing glances but they gazed at Margaret with interest. Simon pulled her in tighter to him. She looked up at him, slightly puzzled. He smiled at her and she smiled shyly back at him. The match had been arranged for all sorts of practical and sensible reasons. But he was surprised to find that he also found her adorable.

  "Lucy, gentlemen, these council of wars are becoming a habit." Walsingham said. "You have even started sitting in favourite seats. So, Captain, when can you sail?"

  "Tomorrow's tide, Sir Francis. The pilot's advice is that we use the afternoon's outgoing tide to assist us down the Thames. I will give my crew shore leave tonight."

  "I see. Is that wise?"

  "Not at all, but it is traditional and to deny them would only provoke insubordination."

  Walsingham nodded. "Then there is the matter of my niece. Have you chosen a companion, Lucy?"

  "Millie, my maid, has consented to accompany me, Uncle."

  "And where will the ladies be accommodated on the ship, Captain?"

  "At night, Lady Dennys and her companion will sleep in my cabin. I will have a gentleman's berth. During the day, I will need my cabin back as it is my office but I do not think that this will inconvenience the ladies overmuch."

  "I understand that the crew sleep on the deck. Gwilym, you will sleep outside the door to the ladies' cabin. You will kill anyone who attempts to enter when they are inside."

  "I assure you that I maintain strict discipline aboard, Sir Francis. The women will be as safe as if they were at Barn Elms," said William.

  "My niece would not be going with you if I did not believe that to be so, Captain. Nevertheless, Gwilym has his orders."

  William nodded. It would not hurt for everyone to know how the land lay.

  "Lady
Dennys, I suggest that you and your maid sleep onboard Swallow tonight. That way you can try out what we have to offer and allow us to fix any omissions in our hospitality before we leave. Once at sea, we only have what we have, milady." William smiled at her.

  "So, Lucy, its almost midday. Let's put your demon through her paces," Walsingham said. "Are you ready?"

  "Yes, Uncle," said Lucy. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and put Dee's candle in front of her. Walsingham lit it from a fuse and then retreated. Lucy put her hands on her knees, palm out.

  "Are you ready, Lilith?" asked Lucy out loud, so that the whole room could hear.

  'I want you to hold "C"' for me, Lucy. Hold it as long as you can,' thought Lilith.

  William watched Lucy take a deep breath. She sounded a note. At first, it slipped up and down the scale but it eventually steadied on a pure tune. The candle flame danced and flickered then shimmered in time to the note. Lucy's voice faded away but the flame held a steady harmonic.

  'This is extraordinary,' thought Lilith. 'The properties of the subatomic particles that make up the burning gasses are aligning in colour, charm, and spin. I don't really mean colour or spin, Lucy. These are just words to describe properties of particles. All I am doing is flooding the area with gravitons to power the process.'

  'Lilith, you are not making any sense,' thought Lucy.

  'Quantum mechanics isn't supposed to make sense. I mean that the vibrations of the things that make up the flame are all lining up like marching soldiers instead of a chaotic mob, which is their normal condition. I am beginning to see how demonic magic works; maybe I am a demon after all. Try talking into the candle. Your voice will set up vibrations that will change the alignments of the particles in the flame. If the candles are tuned, as Dee claims, then the same should happen at his end and he should hear your voice.'

  "Doctor Dee, can you hear me? One, two, three, um, Mary had a little lamb."

  "Of course I can hear you. What is it about telephonic candles that make people talk drivel into them." Dee's voice sounded from the flame. "Five thousand years of thaumatological research so that you can transmit nursery rhymes."