The Silver Skull

by Mark Chadbourn

  His head still spun from the knock it had taken when the carriage crashed over, but he was resolute. Will had survived so many close encounters with death, Nathaniel had long since learned there was no point wasting time worrying about what might be. Instead, Will had trusted him with a matter of great import to England, and he would not let his friend down.

  Slipping the amulet into his pocket, he sped on into the unfamiliar city. It was the easiest way to lose himself, the closes and wynds ran out from the king’s High Street like the tiny spikes along the spine of a fish bone, numerous, narrow, dark, filthy, and rat-infested. If he reached out both arms he could touch the walls on either side, the buildings soaring up so high that only a tiny patch of star-sprinkled sky was visible. No moonlight reached the ground. Excrement and urine sloshed under his feet, thrown from the surrounding houses, and rotting domestic refuse was piled everywhere, seething with rats.

  Pausing to catch his breath, Nathaniel leaned against the wall and looked back to see if the dog was pursuing him. Instead, he saw silhouetted figures searching near the entrance to the close.

  As the figures darted into the dark close, an inexplicable fear overwhelmed Nathaniel, greater than he should have felt with Spanish agents at his back. Instinctively, he recognised there was something more here, and much that Will was not telling him.

  Although he ran on in the gloom, his pursuers were remarkably fleet-footed. He could hear them searching the doorways and other potential hiding places as they passed, yet still they drew nearer; he was sure he would not be able to outrun them. What, then, when he broke out of the other end of the close and into the open?

  “Quick! Tell me. They are coming?”

  Nathaniel jumped at the voice, and was surprised to see a grey-haired old woman crouching in a doorway, peering back along the close.

  “There are enemies at my back, yes,” Nathaniel hissed.

  “Enemies. That is a good word for them.” The old woman peered at him with black eyes, her brow knotted, but whatever she saw appeared to convince her for she threw open the door to her hovel and urged him inside.

  From the room, a rectangle of light flooded out into the close like a beacon. Behind, Nathaniel heard the voices of his pursuers rise up.

  “They will know where I am!” Nathaniel said.

  “Inside! Now!”

  Torn, Nathaniel hesitated until the woman grabbed him with a strength that belied her age and dragged him inside. The door slammed shut behind them. Hastily, the woman poured a fragrant line of salt and chopped herbs along the doorstep, and then ducked down to floor level, urging Nathaniel to do the same. He saw a row of charms hanging above the door and along the length of the wall, animal bones, twisted pieces of metal, feathers, and painted jewellery.

  “They will sense you are somewhere nearby, but they will not know where,” the woman whispered. “And even if they come to the door they will not be able to enter.”

  “Have you lost your senses?” Nathaniel hissed. “They saw the light! They will be inside in an instant!”

  The woman waved him silent as running footsteps slowed outside. Nathaniel’s breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed movement along the gap beneath the door. He estimated there were three or four people outside, moving slowly along the close, pausing every now and then to listen. One hesitated outside the door, slow breaths clear in the silence. With widening eyes, Nathaniel focused on the door handle, waiting for it to turn. Silently, he mouthed a prayer.

  After a moment when he thought his heart would burst, his pursuer moved on, and the running feet continued along the close until they faded from hearing. Bowing his head in relief, Nathaniel inhaled a gulp of air.

  When he had recovered, he snapped at the woman, “We were fortunate. You could have doomed me. Believing in your magic!” He indicated the charms with contempt.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at him with equal contempt. “I saved your life. You are a fool if you think otherwise. They prey on our people continually. Do you think we have not found ways to keep them at bay?”

  Nathaniel snorted, although the woman’s words caused unsettling ripples deep in his mind that he refused to contemplate. As he turned to examine the room, Nathaniel saw they were not alone. Twelve other adults crouched along the far wall, their faces pale and fearful. There was a baby, and children of all ages, too, all dressed in poor clothes, their hollow cheeks detailing their daily struggle for survival. But they, and their house, were clean, and the woman had offered Nathaniel the hand of friendship, even at risk to herself.

  “I apologise for my poor manners,” Nathaniel said to her with a bow. “You gave me refuge, and it is a truth, I think, that you saved my life. I am very grateful.”

  “Apology accepted.” The woman hauled her old bones to a chair near the range.

  “I will arrange for my master to send you a reward—”

  She shook her head forcefully. A cold eye warned him not to continue.

  “Then I will be on my way,” he said.

  “Are you in your cups?” One of the men bounded forwards and grabbed Nathaniel’s arm forcefully. “They are still out there.”

  “I can slip back the way I came—”

  “They can see a rabbit in a field ten miles distant. They can hear the breaking of an ear of corn from the same. They can smell the sweat of your fear on the wind.”

  Nathaniel tried to laugh off the man’s concern, but there was no humour in his drawn face.

  “You do not know what hunted you?” the man asked warily.

  “Spanish agents.”

  He laughed contemptuously and spat on the floor. “They are—”

  “Hush!” the old woman shouted. “We do not talk of them! Once they notice you, your time is done.”

  Hesitating, Nathaniel pieced together the woman’s words. “You say they are—?”

  “Hush,” the woman said quietly, turning her attention to the pot bubbling on the range so she did not have to meet Nathaniel’s eye.

  “You are welcome to stay for a bowl and some bread.” The man’s voice had the unsettling sympathy of an adult talking to a child who had not grasped that a relative had died.

  “Yes … thank you,” Nathaniel replied, feeling a weight growing on his shoulders. “But I must reach a house in Cowgate.”

  “At dawn,” the man said. “It will not be safe then, but it will be easier. For now, take your rest on our bed in the back room. We will call you when the food is ready.”

  His thoughts racing, Nathaniel allowed himself to be guided into the dark rear room. As he sat on the bed, listening to the dim, restrained talk through the door, his thoughts returned to the time in his life when everything changed. He was nineteen, and had been offered work as an apprentice in the nearest town, to start three weeks hence. His lodgings had been found, and his plans made, and then he had woken suddenly in the night to find his father missing.

  HAPTER 26

  he harvest moon framed the silhouette of the church steeple and caught the wayward flit of bats from their roost in the bell tower. Across the churchyard, shadows cast by leaning tombstones and yews gently swaying in the breeze lay stark against the well-tended grass caught in the brilliant white moonlight. One yawning grave held the attention of the crowd of fearful villagers gathered around the lych-gate. None of them spoke, and it was as if they could not draw their eyes away from the black hole and piles of earth scattered all around.

  Hurrying from the cottage, Nathaniel had found his father, the churchwarden, standing among the villagers with the air of someone wrestling with a harsh choice.

  “Father,” Nathaniel said, still half asleep. “What is this? The grave has been disturbed again?”

  “Go back to bed, Nathaniel. This is not for you.” His father was distracted, but his face looked grey under the moon’s lantern, and much older, as if his features were attempting to catch up with his hair, which had turned white overnight after the death of Nathaniel’s mother.

  “Ca
n this not wait till morning? I will help you fill in the grave—”

  His father rounded on him, gripping his arm. “Anne Goodrick is missing. We fear she is within the church, taken there by … by … ” The words died in his throat and he looked away quickly in the hope that Nathaniel would not see the horror in his features.

  “Then this is not the work of grave robbers,” Nathaniel said. “There is more to this. A plot.” He considered for a moment, and then said, “Catholic sympathisers. They do this to disturb our faith. Is that it?”

  After a moment, his father replied, “Yes, Nathaniel. You are correct. But now young Anne’s life is at risk. “

  “Then we must storm the church to save her! All of us together can overcome any opponents, however well armed they might be—”

  “No!” Nathaniel was shocked by the fury he saw in his father’s face, who was always a gentle man. “You do not venture into the churchyard, do you hear me?” His father turned to the other villagers and said loudly, “Whatever might transpire, do not let my son follow me in there.”

  The villagers nodded, but in their shame at their inactivity they would not look his father in the eye.

  “What? You cannot mean to go alone? If there is danger, it would be wise to enter the church together, and well armed.”

  “No arms will help us,” his father muttered. In a surprising show of emotion, he hugged Nathaniel to him and whispered, “You must take care of yourself, Nat. This is a dark and dangerous world. ” The moment he had spoken, he darted under the lychgate and into the churchyard.

  Nathaniel made to go after him, but the strong hands of the blacksmith and his son gripped him tightly, and however much he fought he could not shake them off. They continued to restrain him after his father had slipped into the church, but gradually their grip eased, as they watched in anticipation. No sound came from within. The mood of the vigil gradually became darker as the minutes stretched on, and in the intense silence Nathaniel’s anxiety spiralled and turned to fear when he realised his father was not coming back out; he was a prisoner, or worse.

  Before his panic sent him into a frenzy, the crowd was disturbed by hoofbeats drawing near at a gentle pace.

  Confusion at who could be riding into the village at that time of night took the sting out of Nathaniel’s thoughts. A man not a great deal older than he rode up, dressed all in black, with black hair and black eyes and well-trimmed chin hair. Despite his appearance, there was no dourness to him. Nathaniel recognised a confidence, amplified by a touch of playfulness that in itself was dark, and a deep, reassuring strength.

  “My name is Will Swyfte,” the stranger said, “sent here from London to aid you with your difficulty. “

  “How did you hear of our problems?” the blacksmith asked suspiciously.

  “Word of such matters travels quickly. The queen has good men everywhere who watch and listen for any threat to the nation. “

  As he dismounted, Nathaniel pressed forwards and said urgently, “My father has ventured into the church, and not come out. I fear … I fear … “

  Will rested a hand on his shoulder and said, “We all do. Tell me what has transpired here. “

  “Three days ago, Nicholas Goodrick was buried.” Nathaniel indicated the open grave. “He was … not a good man,” he added hesitantly. “We thought some of his enemies had caused this desecration, but there was talk that Nicholas had been seen abroad, as if he were still alive.”

  “Your manner suggests you do not believe these stories. “

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Of course not. Dead is dead. We are not all superstitious fools. This is a time of knowledge and understanding” He cast an eye over his neighbours and saw the gulf between him and them.

  “You have a strong will. I like that. What is your name?”

  “Nathaniel Colt. “

  Will nodded. Nathaniel could see he was an educated man, storing away any information that might be of use to him. “And the corpse was gone?”

  “We searched for it, but … These things happen, sometimes. Nicholas was—”

  “Not a good man, yes. So you filled in the grave?”

  “And the next day it was open again. There was a space beneath it, and tunnels leading under the churchyard and beyond. Animals … ” He paused. “Though bigger tunnels than any animal could make.”

  “And more talk of Nicholas Goodrick at large. “

  Nathaniel explained the suggestion of a plot by Catholic sympathisers, or even foreign spies, and was rewarded with a reassuring nod and smile from Will. “And now they have taken Anne Goodrick,” Nathaniel continued, “a cruel blow when she was finally free of her father. ” At Will’s quizzical glance, Nathaniel added quietly, “It is common knowledge that he thrust an unnatural relationship upon Anne. Many times I found her crying, but she would never talk of it.”

  Will’s expression darkened, and he looked back to the church. “And now she is in there, with her tormentor. Tormentors. “

  “Help my father,” Nathaniel urged. “He is a good man, and only wished to aid Anne. “

  Nathaniel received a clap on the shoulder that he found oddly reassuring, and then Will drew his sword as he loped towards the church. Fearing another long silence and an uncertain outcome, the villagers were fixed on Will as he entered the church. At first the quiet confirmed their darkest thoughts, and then suddenly lights flashed inside as though lightning crackled across the nave. As one the crowd called out. Shortly after, bloodcurdling cries that were barely human echoed from inside the church, followed by the sound of fighting from within the bell tower.

  As always, Nathaniel was torn between the religious teachings of his father and his own faith in reason, between a world that could be mapped and understood, and one filled with terror. Conflicting images of the battle taking place within the church fought in his mind.

  The crowd pointed and called out as Will appeared in one of the small arched windows of the bell tower, fighting furiously. A collision made the bell toll loudly, followed by another inexplicable flash of light. All around him, people were cheering their support, and Nathaniel was caught up in the passion and the belief that here was a great man, a protector, fighting a harsh battle on which all their fates depended.

  Finally, Nathaniel caught sight of a shadow vacating the bell tower and passing rapidly across the moon before whisking away across the fields. He told himself it was a trick of his eyes, nothing more.

  Soon after, the church door was thrown open and Will emerged with Nathaniel’s father and Anne. Overcome with relief, Nathaniel ran to his father and grabbed him, before turning to pump Will’s hand. “You saved them,” Nathaniel said with admiration.

  “I did what I could,” Will replied.

  It was only then that Nathaniel noticed Anne’s glassy stare and the expression of abject horror that appeared to run so deep it would never be expunged. Without uttering a word, she trailed away from them towards the lych-gate, pausing briefly to stare into her father’s empty grave.

  Nathaniel’s own father was deeply troubled in a manner that surpassed the curt dismissal of some Catholic sympathisers, even if it was on hallowed ground. He pulled Will to one side and engaged him in intense conversation for several minutes. It appeared to Nathaniel that Will was attempting to reject what was being said, but eventually he relented.

  When he had finished the conversation, he took Nathaniel by the elbow and led him away. “Your father has found you a new appointment. “

  “I have an appointment.”

  “And now you have a new one. You will accompany me to London, to the court, where you will be my assistant. “

  Nathaniel didn’t know what to say. He looked to his father, who wore an expression of deep relief.

  “Gather your things and say your goodbyes,” Will said. “We leave tonight.”

  “He is scared,” Nathaniel said. “I can see it in his face.”

  “It is a dangerous world, and your father wants you safe.”
>
  “And you are supposed to keep me safe?”

  At first, Will didn’t respond. Nathaniel saw deep thoughts and emotions play out across Will’s face that convinced him that here was a good man, as his father was good. Finally, Will said, “I can see, Nat, that you will probably be a terrible burden, with your worryingly quick mind and, I would wager, a quicker tongue. But it is too late to go back on my promise now. It seems we are stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. “

  Nathaniel saw through the words. “And I would wager the burden will be all mine,” he responded in kind. “But if nothing else I suspect there will be interesting times ahead. “

  As Nathaniel headed to the cottage to collect his things, he glanced back and saw Will watching Anne with deep concern etched on his face. Nathaniel sensed dark currents that he didn’t yet understand, but he was determined to learn all there was to know of the world; and of the world this brave, impressive figure inhabited.

  HAPTER 27

  cross a desolate moor where the standing stones raised high by ancient people stood against a lambent moon in a starry sky, Will ran. The muffled sound of fiddles and pipes drifted across the gorse and sedge behind him, and a sickly-sweet smell of honeysuckle tainted the warm breeze. Under his feet, vibrations ran through the soft ground accompanied by a dim clanging, like a blacksmith’s hammers, never slowing, beating out the shape of his past and his future in dark caverns far below. Then, behind him somewhere, a hunting dog howled, familiar and blood-chilling, and within moments the howl was moving towards him at great speed, and he knew he would never escape his fate …

  He woke in a cold sweat, tied to a chair in a shaft of moonlight breaking through a window. His hidden blade was useless to him, bound as tightly as he was. Beyond the dirty glass, he could see tall stone houses, the windows dark. The dusty boards under his feet were bare, the plaster on the wall crumbling. He could smell damp, and a hint of human decay, but also that familiar underlying scent of honeysuckle. He was in the Fairy House.