“You think very highly of yourself. I have no interest in you, whatever title you give yourself, nor in your society of rogues. All I require is the return of an item that belongs to Her Majesty’s government.”
“I think not. I know your kind. Your pride has been hurt.” Pickering motioned to the wooden frame and the taut bonds. “You would have to return to teach one such as me a lesson.”
“I have far better things to do.”
Pickering flinched as though Will had slapped him. “I am king here. I rule. I command men and women to do my bidding. I have riches at my disposal. I may act upon any whim. I have my own army. Your kind would prefer I did not exist. You think I—and all these good men and womenfolk—are the dirt beneath your feet. But you cannot dismiss me. And especially now, for I hold your life in my hands.” Pickering fought to hide a quaver in his voice. Will gave a knowing smile that only angered the King of Cutpurses more.
Raising one hand imperiously, he snapped his fingers. From behind the prisoners, two of Pickering’s men brought out a tall figure in a black robe. The Silver Skull glowed like the moon. With great bearing and dignity, hands clasped calmly in front of him, he looked directly into Will’s face.
“Fine workmanship indeed, but that is little silver for a man of your standing,” Will said. “Why, I would give you the same amount in gold to buy back that entertaining mask.”
“You think me a fool too,” Pickering noted. “The value of the thing lies beyond the silver.”
Will looked deeply into the shadowy eyeholes of Pickering’s mask. “And what did your cousin Bulle the hangman tell you of this thing?”
“I know that it is more than a mask. That some think it has a great power hidden within it. And I know interest in it reaches far beyond our shores.”
Will’s attention fell on the Spanish prisoners who glowered among the armed guards. “That is an interesting way to negotiate a sale with Spain.”
“Do you take me for a traitor?” Pickering snapped. “Again, you show your contempt for me. I am as good a man as you, a true Englishman.”
“Then I admit I am confused.”
“It was my intention to arrange an exchange with the Spanish, and then to steal their gold. However, they proved their untrustworthiness and attempted to trick me first. Like you, they did not give me the respect I deserved, and so paid the price.” He turned to examine the Spanish spies. “Or will do before the hour is out.”
Since he had awakened, Will had been testing the bonds, but they were fastened with the thieves’ reek-wort knot, considered to be unbreakable. “English gold would be much more rewarding,” he said.
“And that will be my next port of call. Once you are dead, and there is no one to trace this business to me.”
“You will not escape so easily. You have woken the beast now.” Will’s hard smile only emphasised the weight of his words.
“Do you fear death?” Pickering asked sharply.
“There are worse things than death. I have seen them.”
“Will?” The female voice drifted out from the back of the prisoners, quizzical and slightly dazed. Will recognised it immediately.
“Grace?” He instantly regretted showing any sign of recognition, for Pickering immediately snapped those black, unblinking eyes towards him, and Will got the impression that beneath the mask he was smirking.
Pickering motioned for the guards to allow Grace to come forwards. Throwing back her hood, her eyes glistened with tears. “I am sorry, Will. I persuaded Kit to tell me where you had gone. The Spanish knew you and I were friends and they followed me here.” She appeared dazed.
“Did they hurt you?” Will asked.
“No … no … They thought they could offer me in exchange if you acquired the item for which they were searching, but then we were all taken.”
“Let her go,” Will said quietly.
Pickering didn’t answer, but Will could see he had no intention of freeing Grace. No one who had witnessed the role Pickering played could be allowed to leave Alsatia.
“Free her now,” Will continued, “or, God help me, you will pay a price far in excess of anything you plan to do to us.”
“You are in no position to make demands.” Basking in the adulation of the cheering mass of criminals, Pickering stood for a moment with his arms raised to the sky. “Is it time for our entertainment?” he called across the fair. The crowd bayed its response. “Is it time for good sport?” Howls now, feverish eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “Let us celebrate our good fortune. We are the masters here. We can do anything.”
Hammering their cudgels on the cobbles as they pressed in on every side, the mob appeared on the brink of rushing forwards to tear the prisoners limb from limb. The crowd parted as Pickering walked towards them in a parody of stateliness. At a snap of his fingers, four guards lifted the wooden frame from its mountings, and Will and the others were paraded through the fair behind the Spanish prisoners. Missiles rained down from all sides and the noise of bloodlust became deafening. Fearful, Grace eased herself close to Will’s side, her hands pressed together in prayer.
On the far side of the fair, Pickering led the procession up the steps of a circular wooden arena about twenty feet across. The crowd eased around the perimeter, resting against a fence. “It is time for you to shake hands with Hob!” Pickering announced with a theatrical flourish.
In the pit below was a large brown bear, blind in one eye, patches of fur missing and covered in scars. From its roars and wild flailing it appeared half mad at the pain that had been inflicted upon it. In the centre of the small arena was a post used to tether the beast with a chain, but the bear had been set to roam free.
Pickering took his seat in a high-backed chair behind a long wooden table. A plate of hot pork and a flagon of ale were quickly laid before him by eager hands, and then the crowd began to chant. “Hob! Hob!”
Will watched the bear crash around the pit, swatting at the taunting spectators just out of reach of its claws. “I have danced with some ferocious partners, but that is the worst, no doubt,” he mused.
Pickering pointed to one of the Spanish prisoners. A guard cut the man loose and before the prisoner could protest he was thrown into the pit. With a terrifying savagery, the bear tore him apart in a matter of seconds. Inflamed by the blood, the crowd cheered loudly.
Regally, Pickering waved for a second Spanish prisoner to be tossed to his death. He went silently and defiantly, with a proud bow to the Spaniard who was clearly his leader.
Sobbing, the third prisoner pleaded in babbling Spanish. It amused Pickering for a while until he became frustrated by his inability to understand and gestured for the prisoner to be sacrificed. With a scream, the Spanish agent plunged into the whirl of snapping jaws and raking claws.
Grimly, Will watched the spectacle. The bear moved awkwardly, the result of an injury to its left back leg. The blind eye also hampered its movements.
“My time is being wasted! Commit me now before I die of boredom!” he called.
Falling silent, the crowd looked to Pickering. Under their scrutiny, he flinched, fearful of losing face. “I accept your offer,” he responded quickly. “But the bear appears to be winning this bout. Shall we make more competition?” The crowd cheered its response.
As Will was released, Pickering ordered the final Spanish prisoner to be set free too. Rubbing his wrists, the prisoner approached Will and said, “Don Alanzo de las Posadas.” He bowed.
“Will Swyfte.”
Pausing, Don Alanzo fixed Will with a quizzical eye. “England’s greatest spy?”
“If my assistant, Nathaniel, were here, he would have a quick reply. But I have been called worse names.”
Don Alanzo bowed again. “And I am the world’s greatest swordsman.”
“And a spy too. We have much in common. Though I would be forced to challenge your title, in another place, at another time.”
“For now, we are associates in battle.” Don Alanzo tu
rned to the bear pit. “Though I would have preferred more equal competition.”
“We could give the bear a sword?” As he stepped towards the edge of the pit, Will whispered to Don Alanzo. “Stay on his left side.”
Before Pickering’s men could throw them in, Will and Don Alanzo jumped into the gore-splattered pit. In the enclosed space, the bear’s roars were magnified, and the baying of the crowd faded into the background. The bear lunged with a massive swinging paw. Will ducked beneath it, the claws tearing chunks from the wooden planks covering the walls. Taking Will’s advice, Don Alanzo danced into the bear’s blind zone.
“Do you have a plan?” he called.
“Yes. Not to die.”
“I expected something more detailed from someone with such an impressive reputation.”
“Your patience will be amply rewarded.” Will had a brief but shockingly evocative flash back more than a year to a snowy landscape and another bear threatening to end his life, but the image was lost as he fought to stay ahead of the claws.
The bear was fast, but its age and injuries had taken a toll on its stamina. Even so, Will’s concealed sword was too small to cause any real harm to the beast, and he was afraid the weapon would only serve to enrage it further. Will and Don Alanzo continued to dart left, forcing the beast to flail around in a continual circle. Every time it attempted an attack, they put the central tethering post between them and the bear. Its frustration only made it waste more energy, and once again it began to lash out towards the crowd, who were hanging over the restraining fence, bellowing their frustration. Will caught sight of Pickering’s beaked mask as he leaned forwards, his posture rigid. Will flashed a grin and bowed, which provoked Pickering to berate his guards angrily. They moved closer to the edge of the pit, but there was nothing they could do.
As they continued their baiting, Don Alanzo lost his footing in the grue and skidded into the bear’s path. Driven into a frenzy by frustration, the bear roared and dropped its head low, throwing all its weight into a ferocious attack. Don Alanzo sprawled before it, unable to move.
Reacting instinctively, Will swung himself around the central pole and kicked both feet into the side of the bear’s head. As it lumbered and half skidded in surprise, Will dragged Don Alanzo out of its path.
“Best not toy with him,” Will said.
Barely had he scrambled halfway across the pit when the bear returned furiously, its jaws torn wide. Will flung himself to one side. The teeth snapped air a mere inch beyond his heel. Angered by Will’s blow, the bear had found a new reserve of speed and strength, and it was all Will and Don Alanzo could do to keep away from its jaws and claws.
Each lunge came closer, and at the last Will ran, placed one foot on the wall of the pit, and propelled himself onto the bear’s back, clutching an arm around its throat. The bear’s roar was deafening as it attempted to swat him off. Writhing on its back, he ducked this way and that as the claws came within a hairbreadth of his face. But with each twist, he exerted more pressure on the bear’s throat until its swats became feebler and it began to stumble. Finally, it fell to all fours and Will rolled off its back.
Don Alanzo levelled an unsettled stare at him. “You are insane.”
“We only know we live when our heart beats faster,” Will gasped. “Now, I think we are done here. Shall we be away?”
Before the bear had recovered, Will cupped his hands for lion Alanzo to propel himself to the top of the central pole. Half slipping, he steadied himself on the top and then leapt to the edge of the pit. Two of Pickering’s men rushed him, but he ducked beneath their grasping hands, turned, and thrust both of them into the pit. As they shrieked in terror, he reached an arm down and hauled Will to safety.
In their brief glance was a mutual admission that the truce was over, and as Will turned to his men, lion Alanzo disappeared into the melee. Three of Pickering’s men came at Will with cudgels and daggers. As they neared, confident in their numbers, Will activated the sheath Dee had given him. The blade burst out of its hidden compartment along his forearm, and with one fluid swing he slashed the throat of the first man and planted the knife edge into the heart of the next. Startled, the third man fell before an elbow rammed into his face.
The crowd roared its anger. Bounding to his men, Will slashed the restraining ropes. As they quickly freed themselves and turned to fight, Will fought his way through the crowd to where Pickering was rapidly disappearing into the throng. Before he gave pursuit, Will put his weight against the long table and heaved one end into the pit. The bear hesitated for only a second, and then launched itself up the table.
Chaos erupted across the fair as the bear crashed over the edge of the pit and into the crowd. The screams and shrieks were drowned out by roars as it tore through flesh and bone.
With grim determination, Will rammed his way through the fleeing people, throwing bodies right and left. Two conflicting targets fought for his attention: the Silver Skull and Grace, both of whom had been standing behind Pickering, held tight by his men. Now they were both lost in the swell.
In the confusion, stalls were overturned, their owners fighting furiously with their former customers. Shattered lanterns sent flames leaping to canvas and wood and then up into a blazing column that only added to the panic; in the city, fire was the greatest threat.
Through the whirling bodies, Will glimpsed a gleam of silver bobbing towards the other side of the courtyard. As he neared, he saw Don Alanzo leading the Silver Skull through the throng towards one of the alleys heading off the courtyard. Will cuffed a wild-eyed drunk who stumbled into his path and tossed him onto a stall, but Don Alanzo had now been lost to the torrent of people.
Above the hubbub, Pickering’s barking orders rolled out. His men drew their attention from the bear, the fires, and the fights towards lion Alanzo, and Will.
Troubled that he could no longer see Grace, Will redoubled his efforts to break through the flow. When he finally emerged from the crowd, he caught a fleeting glimpse of lion Alanzo and the Silver Skull disappearing into the maze of alleys, but the cry of “Clubs!” was already rising up from Pickering’s men as they surged towards him.
Will sprinted across the cobbles, but he had not got far when the chilling howl of a hunting dog echoed over Alsatia.
The Hunter was close and drawing closer.
HAPTER 16
ith her hood pulled low to hide her face, Grace sheltered behind the wreckage of a stall from the yelling crowd of cutthroats and customers washing back and forth between fire and the rampaging bear. Knots of Pickering’s men beat paths through the mass. Certain they were searching for her, Grace regretted foolishly calling out Will’s name; now Pickering would try to use her to control Will.
With frenzied roars, the lunging bear was surrounded by several men with staffs. Shrill screams echoed as raking claws tore one open from throat to groin, but within a minute the others forced the beast over the edge and back into the pit. A cheer went up, and as the bear’s rage subsided, the panic receded. Grace knew she had to secure her escape while there was still some tumult to obscure her passing.
Keeping low, she edged around the stall until she glimpsed a path to one of the four alleys leading off the courtyard. Before she could move, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder.
Her startled cry was stifled by a hand over her mouth, and her head turned to reveal Miller’s kind face. Grace recognised him instantly as one of the men who had been held prisoner alongside Will.
“Mistress, we must get you out of this danger,” he said.
“Please,” she begged, “Will is in great danger. You must help him.”
“Will can take care of himself.”
“No,” she pressed. “I saw him in pursuit of Don Alanzo. The Spaniard will lead him into a trap—the Don has other allies in London. And the King of Cutpurses has dispatched his murderous crew on Will’s heels. You must help him!”
Grace’s pitiful expression moved Miller. “Very well. But stay here
. I will fetch the others to help you—”
“Go!” she interrupted. “I will call if I need them.”
With a nod, Miller threw his great frame in the direction Grace indicated. Glancing around, Grace spied Launceston, Mayhew, and Carpenter, who had now claimed cudgels and knives and were carving a path through Pickering’s men with cold efficiency. They were too occupied to help her.
Determination blazed inside her. She would not be beaten down, nor afraid. Jenny’s death had convinced her that life was hard, and easily cut short, and that living in fear only diminished it further. Setting her jaw, she waited for the path to the alley to clear again, and then leapt from her hiding place and ran.
Few women were there, and most of them were doxies or members of the criminal gang, but she moved swiftly without drawing attention to herself. For a while she was caught up in a hectic attempt to put out the blazes, but eventually the alley appeared in reach. Yet as her heart beat faster in anticipation, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a bird mask fixed upon her, and for the briefest moment, she was caught in Pickering’s unblinking stare. With no men close to hand, Pickering gave pursuit himself. Barging through the crowd, he closed the gap so quickly Grace knew that even if she reached the alley, he would be upon her soon after.
The clatter of his hobnails upon the cobbles rang at her back. With her breath burning in her chest, she slipped into the dark of the alley and only when her eyes adjusted did she realise it was occupied. Her startled cry faded at a familiar face.
“Kit!” she cried. “And Nathaniel!”
With a small group of the queen’s men at their backs, Marlowe and Nathaniel advanced on the courtyard. Marlowe had his sword drawn, but Grace fell into his arms in relief.
“Thank God,” she gasped. Glancing back, she saw Pickering come to a halt when he saw the new arrivals, and then turn and rush back into the crowd.
“Nat urged me to bring help when Will did not return by the appointed hour,” Marlowe said. He turned to the men. “Seal off this courtyard. Let no man escape, for we will have an army of rogues at our back if word gets out that we are here.”
The Silver Skull Page 12
