Witchborn

by Nicholas Bowling

  ‘You have seen her before – we saw her in the courtyard just the other day . . .’

  ‘No, before that.’ They’d reached the chamber door, and she whirled around. ‘She was the woman from Bedlam. The one who tried to kidnap me the first time.’

  Solomon looked at her and blinked. Faintly they could hear the sounds of the audience again, babbling as they finally found their way outside.

  ‘That is madness,’ he said at last.

  ‘I swear. It was her. And another man.’

  ‘No,’ said Solomon firmly. ‘That’s ridiculous. What does she want with you? It wouldn’t make any sense anyway. You said they were witchfinders. She’s not working for Mary Stuart, is she?’

  ‘Well, exactly.’ Alyce’s brain furiously tried to sort and connect the information. ‘That can’t be true. So let’s say they weren’t who I thought they were. That points us in the other direction: perhaps she was trying to stop Mary and the real witchfinders from getting their hands on me.’

  She pushed into the room and started throwing off the various pieces of her costume.

  ‘But why?’ said Solomon distantly.

  ‘I still don’t know that,’ Alyce said, peeling off her tights. She watched Solomon wandering aimlessly around, his woman’s gown rustling in agitation. ‘Come on, get changed! We’ve got to leave, Solly. Go. Now. Far away. This is all too much.’

  The clothes that Solomon had lent her were still backstage in the Great Hall, so she had to throw on the tatty old smock that she’d been wearing when Solomon found her in the street. It was still cold and damp, and reeked of stagnant river water.

  She fought her way out of the smock as though she were trapped in a bedsheet, and saw that the boy still hadn’t moved.

  ‘Solomon . . .’

  ‘I’m just thinking . . .’

  ‘Think later, Solly.’

  ‘No, listen.’ His serious expression was slightly undermined by his giant red lips. ‘Maybe Elizabeth is the one your mother wanted you to find. If she thought Doctor Dee was her closest advisor – and there’s no reason why she would have thought him a traitor – he would be the best way of putting you in touch with the Queen. I mean, it’s not like you can just turn up at the palace and demand an audience.’

  ‘But my mother didn’t know Elizabeth . . .’

  ‘Did you ever ask?’

  Alyce didn’t say anything. Now, it seemed, Solomon was the one talking nonsense. But then, there was a logic to his theory.

  ‘How would Queen Elizabeth have known I was in Bedlam in the first place? My mother didn’t have time to write her a letter too.’ She suddenly stopped. ‘Hold on, where’s Pecke?’

  They’d left the raven in the room when they went to the Great Hall, but now he was gone.

  As if to answer the question, the chamber door crashed open, and the great black bird flapped to Alyce’s shoulder. Behind him, standing on the threshold, was a lean, athletic man, with a close-cropped beard and moustache, and a pearl earring in his left ear. His dark brown curls were starting to recede a little in the lamplight, but his face was youthful, his eyes bright. He looked as though he spent most of his life being amused by other people.

  ‘Good evening Alyce,’ he said. That voice sounded familiar too. ‘Time to pack.’

  He produced a sack from under his travelling cloak, and as it parted it revealed a dazzling white doublet and ornate sword hilt underneath.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Not now. I’m taking you to the Tower. Alone. By order of the Queen.’ Then he grinned, and handed her a handkerchief. ‘You might want to wipe your moustache off, first.’

  The only things that Alyce’s could call her own were her mommet and the clothes she was wearing, but Solomon insisted on giving her an undershirt, a pair of breeches and all of his mother’s books.

  ‘Those aren’t mine,’ she said, as he threw them into the bag.

  ‘Take them. I can’t use them. And they might help you, wherever you’re going.’

  She wanted to protest, but the man was watching them closely.

  ‘Solly…’ she began, but then found herself with nothing to say. There wasn’t anything to say, because she had no idea what was actually happening. It didn’t make sense. If she was heading to the Tower as Queen Elizabeth’s prisoner, why was she being allowed to pack her possessions? Why wasn’t she being dragged off in chains?

  While she ruminated, Solomon came forward and embraced her in his long, spidery arms.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said.

  Alyce didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. She held him just as tightly.

  The man in the doorway sighed. ‘Come on,’ he said, fingering his moustache with impatience. ‘No time for romantic farewells.’

  They parted and Alyce picked up the bag. The man ushered her out of the room, followed by Pecke, who flew ahead of them.

  ‘Don’t try to follow us,’ the man said as they left, resting a hand meaningfully on his sword hilt. ‘I suggest you return to Sussex’s Men. There’s a fair bit of tidying to be done.’

  Alyce got one last glimpse of Solomon standing alone in the bedchamber, looking all the more sad and absurd in his women’s clothes. Still she couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘Sorry,’ perhaps, but that hardly seemed to cover it. Then the door closed, and her heart convulsed. I’m never going to see him again, she thought.

  The man directed her to the left, in the opposite direction to the Great Hall, down the passageway towards the servants’ quarters. The raven was already out of sight.

  ‘You probably don’t remember me, do you?’ he said brightly.

  ‘No,’ Alyce said.

  ‘Last time I saw you, you were doing your best to ensure that I never father any children.’

  It took her a moment to work out what he meant. And then she remembered who he was. She pictured him doubled over and clutching his groin in pain as she bolted for the open door. Here he was, then, the Queen’s accomplice.

  ‘Still feels a bit bruised, sometimes,’ he continued, shifting his weight as he walked. ‘But I think my lineage is safe. I don’t blame you. Should have expected you to be a bit spirited, given your—’

  He coughed and abruptly stopped speaking. Alyce was still totally confused. For someone who was supposedly her captor, this gentleman was being remarkably friendly. Friendlier than Doctor Dee, at least.

  Past the servants’ lodgings, the passageway opened up into a courtyard, this one smaller than the one in front of the Great Hall. The cobbles had turned white and glassy in the light of the moon. They crossed into a corner and entered a narrow alley, which ended in a set of slick, black stairs descending into the waters of the Thames. Tied to a post at the bottom was a battered rowing boat, bobbing like a dry leaf on every ripple that reached the riverbank.

  ‘So you’re in this together, are you?’ Alyce said at last.

  ‘Hmmm?’

  She’d stopped at the top of the stairs, and the man didn’t seem particularly concerned about forcing her down them.

  ‘You and Elizabeth. You’re working together?’

  ‘Yes. Incidentally, she sends her apologies that she can’t be with us at this very moment, as much as she would like to be. Now that we have you, she wants to keep an eye on Doctor Dee.’

  ‘You know about him? You know he is—’

  ‘A craven, dog-hearted villain? A vain, fawning, two-faced, milk-livered miscreant?’ He took a couple of breaths to compose himself. ‘Yes. We know. And we know about Mary.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Later, Alyce,’ he said. ‘We can’t spend all night chatting.’ He extended a hand to her. ‘Careful now, we don’t want you cracking your head open when we’ve nearly got you safe.’

  ‘Safe? I thought we were going to the Tower.’

  ‘We are. You’re going to the Queen’s private quarters. And I mean private private. Safest place in England.’

  Alyce was totally confused. Maybe Solomon’s theory had b
een right. Maybe her mother did want to send her to Elizabeth.

  She looked at the black waters lapping the bottom of the staircase.

  ‘Um . . . Is this even safe?’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, girl. Tide’s nearly out, it’ll be a millpond, you’ll see. And I do have a little experience in sailing.’

  He winked at her again, as though there was some joke she was expected to get, but she didn’t know what he meant. He threw her bag of possessions into the stern, and then stepped down into the boat, the hull ringing hollow under his boots. He obviously hadn’t been joking about his sailing prowess, because he had impressive sea legs – as much as the vessel rocked and spun, he never lost his balance, and stayed standing with his arms outstretched to catch her when she came off the stairs.

  Alyce then wobbled her way into a seated position next to her bag. The man sat opposite her, grinned, and untied the rope that moored them to the side of the palace.

  ‘Oars, please,’ he said, nodding to the side of the bench.

  Alyce picked up one by its handle, and accidentally thrust the blunt paddle between the man’s legs. She only looked up when he cried out, slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent it echoing over down the whole river.

  ‘Stop doing that! What argument do you have with my manhood?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, but couldn’t resist a snigger. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose, honestly.’

  ‘I don’t think I believe you.’

  She carefully handed him the second oar, and he fixed them both into the boat’s rowlocks. Then he rowed them a little way out into the river, the plop and splash of his strokes beating a slow, peaceful rhythm against the silence of the night.

  ‘So you’re a sailor, are you?’

  He laughed in between straining on the oars. ‘A sailor? I am Walter Raleigh.’ He waited expectantly for her reaction.

  Alyce shrugged. ‘I’ve never heard of you.’

  ‘Really?’ He paused again. ‘Oh. Right. Yes, I am a sailor, among other things. A captain, actually. I have sailed to the New World more often than . . . Well, lots of times.’

  ‘My mother told me about the New World. I always thought she was making it up. It sounded like a faerie story. Some untouched country at the ends of the earth.’

  ‘I can assure you, it’s quite real. You might even get to go there, one day. But believe me, the Atlantic Ocean is a little choppier than this.’

  ‘Why do you go there?’

  ‘Mostly because Bess asks me to. In secret sometimes, which is no mean feat given the size of the ship and the crew I have to take.’

  ‘What are you, her servant or something?’

  Raleigh’s moustache twitched with amusement. ‘Feels like it most of the time. But no. What am I? Difficult to say. I’m too young to be her advisor, or her lover. She doesn’t trust me enough to make me her confidante. I don’t know what that leaves. Her plaything, perhaps? I suppose the important thing is that we share certain . . . interests. Pursuits of a specific nature. But, yes, let’s just leave it at servant. My orders tonight are to get you out of the palace in secret and then somewhere safe as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s for her to tell you, I’m afraid, but—’

  ‘Let me guess: later?’

  He nodded.

  Before Alyce could press him, there was rush of feathers overhead, and Pecke descended out of the night to perch on the prow of their rowing boat.

  ‘Aha!’ exclaimed Raleigh. ‘You’ve decided to join us after all, Master Pecke?’

  Alyce gaped. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Of course. He’s the reason we know about Dee. And all about you, of course.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  Raleigh suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be saying all of this so soon.’

  ‘So soon?’ said Alyce incredulously. ‘I think I’ve waited long enough for answers, actually.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alyce, I shouldn’t have said anything. Bess wanted to explain herself . . .’

  ‘Does Pecke belong to the Queen?’

  Raleigh’s silence was the only answer she needed.

  She felt like the waters of her brain began to clear, after months of being muddied and dark and swirling. Pecke, that tatty heap of feathers who had perched on the thatch of her old home so many times, belonged to Queen Elizabeth. So, she and her mother must have known each other. That was what the letter had been about. Her mother had been trying to get her to Elizabeth, via Doctor Dee.

  Why hadn’t she said so?

  Alyce watched the lights of the city blinking lazily among the waves, and let her imagination run away with itself. She indulged every fancy. Maybe, she thought, she was going to be brought up by the Queen. In a palace. In several palaces, probably. And Elizabeth had no children of her own, so what would that make Alyce? Desperate hopes and wild fears tumbled into a colourless blur, until she thought she was going to keel over in the bottom of the boat.

  She only returned to the present when she saw Raleigh had stopped rowing, and was looking over his shoulder.

  London Bridge was fast approaching in the darkness. She could even make out Vitali’s strange house under the arch on the opposite side of the river, its windows blank.

  ‘Hold on tight, now,’ said Raleigh. ‘Things can get a bit exciting here, even at low tide.’

  The current began to sweep them towards the wooden pontoons that jutted from the base of the bridge. The little boat yawed and spun, and Raleigh occasionally dipped an oar on either side to control the rotations. If he misjudged it, Alyce realized as she gripped her bench, they would be smashed to splinters on the bridge itself, or, worse still, crushed under the waterwheels near the bank.

  Pecke abandoned ship. The moon disappeared behind the roofs of the shops overhead, and Alyce shut her eyes tightly. The rush of water was deafening; it echoed around the colossal arch as it swallowed them whole.

  They slammed into the slimy timbers and leant violently over to one side. Alyce opened her eyes to the green darkness and gripped the edge of the boat as they were levered into the air. One of the oars was stuck under the water, and as Raleigh tried to yank it out, all he succeeded in doing was dragging that side further down towards the waves. Alyce saw her bag of possessions sliding away from her, and flung out an arm to save it.

  She shouldn’t have tried. She only managed to snatch a corner – and in attempting to pull it to safety, she simply emptied its contents over the edge of the boat.

  She yelped. Most of the books, Solomon’s clothes, and her trusty mommet disappeared without trace. As soon as the doll hit the water her flesh seemed to freeze and shatter.

  Their vessel finally righted itself – nearly catapulting Alyce overboard – and spun out from under the arch into a calmer stream. They were through. Alyce looked over her shoulder miserably, hoping the mommet might bob to the surface, but the currents were so strong and the waters so dark it may as well have been sunk in tar. Up ahead were the lines of galleons and other ships tied to the Legal Quays, their masts and rigging criss-crossing the moonlit sky.

  All the excitement of the revelations only moments ago seemed to have gone cold, doused by the merciless waters of the Thames. Her mommet. She needed it. It had been her faithful companion for so long. Without it she felt weak, slow, as though she herself was beneath the cold fathoms of river water.

  Raleigh set to rowing again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘About your books. Although, if I’m honest, Bess has always been suspicious of them, so maybe you’re better off without. Your lot know it all intuitively, anyway. It’s only dullards like me and Dee who have to learn the Craft from books.’

  Alyce fished the limp bag out from under her seat and was surprised to find it was still heavy. There was something at the bottom. She carefully placed it on her lap and peered inside to see what had survived.

  It was square and black. She knew what
it was before she’d opened it, or even read the spine.

  She shivered. It was the Necronomicon.

  HOPKINS

  Hopkins was too late. He knew it would be that way. Doctor Dee had wasted too much time trying to contact Queen Mary, then part of the road from Mortlake to London had been flooded, and when they’d finally reached the palace the guards had stubbornly refused them entry. And now the play was over.

  The servants were still clearing the Great Hall when he and Caxton entered through the double doors. They stopped their sweeping and stared with frozen, frightened eyes as the pair of them strode up to the remains of the stage, Caxton’s mask – repaired lovingly by Doctor Dee – casting monstrous, rippling shadows across the flagstones.

  Hopkins hated the theatre. The playhouses had always been full of stinking, rowdy peasants, and it seemed that even at Court the audiences weren’t much better. The Great Hall was a complete shambles. It looked like there had been a riot.

  He not only hated the theatre – he hated actors too, as a breed. He could already hear them braying to each other as they packed away their props and costumes. There seemed to be an argument going on, an argument so forceful it was impossible to tell whether they were still acting or not. Several of the players had turned on one of their own: a thin, crow-haired young man who wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

  There was no sign of the girl.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he called. Animals, he thought. ‘Forgive me for interrupting.’ They all fell silent at the sight of Caxton. One of the players dropped his armful of wooden swords.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked one of the older members of the group – the company leader, Hopkins suspected.

  ‘I very much hope so,’ he said, hopping up on to the stage and perusing the costumes half-stuffed into boxes. There were women’s clothes here, but that didn’t necessarily mean there was a girl in the troupe.

  Men cavorting in public in women’s apparel. Obscene.

  ‘Strange as it might seem,’ he continued, ‘we were wondering if you had a young woman in your company. Name of Alyce Greenliefe.’