by Robin Jarvis
“Is the wizard’s imp!” he exclaimed, crossing himself. “It see too much. No let it escape. I order you!”
Lowering Henry to the floor, the Torture Master rounded on Lantern, dwarfing him with its monumental size. The brazier glowed inside its metal ribs and it took a lumbering step nearer.
“Crumple and smash it!” de Feria commanded.
Lantern’s head whisked about to glare at him and in that moment a powerful arm came sweeping from the side to knock him off his feet. The tubby secretary tumbled backwards and went bowling through the door on to the landing where his pedalling legs were thrust either side of a banister post. The Torture Master went lurching, crashing over the wooden floor in ponderous, splintering paces.
Behind it, Adam squirmed to Henry’s side and stared at the awful burn which striped his forehead.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The Wattle boy nodded, but his face was wrung with pain and he was shivering from shock.
“We’re going to get out of here,” Adam promised. “Don’t worry.”
On the landing, Lantern pulled his boots from the banister, flipped himself upright and went charging back into the room, impatient to rejoin the fray. His adversary planted its great spurred heels wide apart in an assured, aggressive stance. Spreading its arms, it spanned the room and when the secretary came capering through the door, the Torture Master reached out to seize him.
The mannequin ducked and leapt aside, valiantly dodging the tools of torment as they came hacking and lashing for him. But the craftsmen of Spain had endowed their vile creation with many infernal instruments and, as Lantern hopped to avoid the row of four savage claws which rushed towards his feet, a spiked club swooped in from the other direction and drove into his back.
There was a battering of copper as the spikes pushed ugly dints into the polished surface and Lantern was hurled to the ground, clattering like an empty kettle.
“Come on, Lantern!” Adam yelled desperately. “Get up – you must!”
But Doctor Dee’s assistant seemed incapable of lifting himself from the carpet and his round eyes could only watch hopelessly as the Torture Master raised one of its heavy iron feet, swinging it directly over his head. From the grille in Lantern’s tall hat, the candle flame went licking up to cast its wavering light on to the large metal foot above. One forceful stamp and the secretary would be flattened beyond repair.
“Finish it!” the ambassador squawked, banging his fist on the cushions of his chair. “Crush him!”
The Torture Master whirled its head about in order to see the horror graven upon the apprentices’ faces and gloated at what it saw there. Then the frightening mask spun around again, but Lantern was no longer lying on the floor – he had rolled swiftly out of danger and was already back on his feet and stooping to grab hold of the carpet’s edge.
Too late the Torture Master understood what the dwarflike mannequin was about to do. Before it could lurch clear, Lantern heaved at the carpet with all his mechanical strength and the Spanish nightmare was sent toppling backwards. Like a felled tree it plummeted, a vision of collapsing might as the branching arms thrashed in vain. Its awful weight thundered down, the room shook as the floor splintered and snapped, and the frightening mechanical was on its back, the many spikes of its shoulders skewering the wooden boards.
Not wasting an instant, Lantern bounded forward, dragging the carpet with him to throw over the Torture Master’s stricken form. Then he hopped on to the chair and began tearing down the tapestries while de Feria ran, wailing, away from him.
“Stand!” the Count commanded, darting to the carpet under which the Torture Master writhed, already ripping his spikes out of the floorboards.
Jumping from the chair, Lantern dragged the hangings with him. Even as the iron monstrosity started to lift itself up, he cast the tapestries over its head and, tearing a long strip from the bottom of one, he capered around the smothered mechanical and tied the hangings tightly.
Bound in the thick cloth, the Torture Master’s bellows roared murderously. The ambassador hurried to release it, only to be hurled blindly aside. Shrieking in Spanish, the Count de Feria called to his men below. Lantern gave a little hop, picked up the chair and, holding it before him, charged straight for the ambassador, propelling him clean out of the room.
Twisting the chair around in the doorway, the secretary wedged it securely, trapping the Count on the landing. Then he scurried past the mountain of heaving tapestry to where the apprentices still crouched huddled in the corner. Briskly he reached behind the boys’ backs and, with a twang of his strong fingers, snapped each set of manacles in two.
“Thank you, Lantern!” Adam cried, nursing his raw wrists as the mannequin proceeded to prise apart the locks which shackled their feet. Henry nodded gratefully, then stared past the secretary’s shoulders and sobbed in fear.
Lantern whipped around and saw that the tapestries were beginning to smoulder. Threads of black smoke poured up from the charring cloth and tongues of flame suddenly leapt upwards as a white hot poker came ripping through the burning fabric.
Quickly, the copper mechanical pulled Henry to his feet then pushed both boys towards the window. They scrambled on to the sill and peered out through the broken leads. A pile of barrels had been stacked against the building, forming an easy stair for their escape, and the apprentices hastily lowered themselves down.
Within the room, Lantern waited a moment before joining them. Hungry fires were consuming the tapestries and, out of the searing heats, rose the hideous head of the Torture Master.
On the landing the ambassador was joined by his men who pushed past him and kicked the chair out of the door frame. Into the room they surged, but were driven back by the intense flames.
Dashing to the table, Lantern snatched up the wine bottle, hurled both it and the glass at de Feria’s head, then dived for the window.
Silhouetted against the blazing fires, the blackened frame of the Torture Master lunged after him – but was too slow. Doctor Dee’s secretary leaped from the room, somersaulting into the night.
“After them!” the wine-soaked Count raged, smacking the faces of his men while gingerly touching the place where the bottle had struck him. “I forbid you to let them escape. Despatch all guards. Seek them out, scour the streets – find them!”
His soldiers pounded down the stairs and the ambassador glanced furiously into the inferno-filled room.
“Out! Out!” he yelled to the Torture Master. “We have made this island too hot to hold us. We must hasten to my ship and be ready to leave at once.”
From the swirling flames the towering mechanical came stomping. But the burning floorboards could no longer support its lumbering weight and, with a burst of showering sparks, they collapsed and the metal giant went crashing down into the room beneath.
“Holy Mother!” the ambassador muttered with a shake of his head. “Is useless as a rope of sand. Someone pack that thing in its chest and send it to the night boat. And be fetching many buckets to quench this unbearable hotness!”
Running for their lives, Adam and Henry fled the grounds of de Feria’s isolated residence. The squat figure of Lantern quickly overtook them and he guided the apprentices along an unlit, hedge-lined lane. Behind them they heard the cries of the Count’s men as they came rushing from the burning building, and the hope that had blazed just as brightly in their hearts died.
“I can’t run any more,” Henry panted, stumbling to a halt. “That devil’s crushed my shoulders. I think the bones are broken.” Lantern ran his gauntleted fingers gently over the boy’s bruised skin.
“Is it serious?” Adam asked.
The secretary paused as he pressed Henry’s shoulder. The apprentice winced and cursed loudly. Lantern appeared satisfied and beckoned them on.
“Seems you’ll live,” Adam said.
“Doesn’t feel that way to me, Coggy,” Henry answered through gritted teeth.
The shouts of the amb
assador’s men grew louder and the apprentices could hear their feet pounding over the gravel towards them.
“Henry!” Adam hissed. “Hurry!”
But the other boy knew it was impossible. “You go,” he urged. “I’ll hide. I really don’t think I can …”
The agony of his experience engulfed him and Henry Wattle fell to the ground as Spanish voices called out close behind.
“Henry!” Adam cried.
At once Lantern crouched beside the unconscious boy. There was only one chance left and he slung the apprentice over his own copper shoulders, then up the lane he raced and Adam hastened after.
They did not have far to run, for the narrow road cut across an area known as Paris Garden which bordered the Thames. With Henry still upon his shoulders, Lantern tottered down the river stairs where his small rowing boat was waiting and carefully placed the boy inside. Holding the craft steady while Adam clambered aboard, the secretary jumped in and took up the oars just as de Feria’s soldiers came rushing down to seize them.
But they were not quick enough. Lantern dipped the oars into the water and the little vessel shot out into the middle of the Thames, leaving the men stranded upon the stairs.
“You did it!” Adam shouted, throwing his arms about the mechanical’s crimped copper collar. “You rescued us!”
Lantern’s green eyes glimmered back at him and the boat journeyed upriver, back to the palace.
CHAPTER 6
Scrying the Shew Stone
“Witch widdle!” Henry’s voice moaned as he came to. “I feel like Death has battered me with a stick and pinched me black and blue all over.”
Adam had ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt sleeve and dipped it into the river to dab on Henry’s blistered brow and the cold water had awakened the boy from his swoon.
“Where are we?” he asked in a scared voice as the memory of their plight came crowding back. “What’s happened?”
Adam reassured him that all was well. “We’re nearly at the Whitehall steps,” he said. “Then we’ll be safe behind the palace walls.”
“We have to tell Brindle,” Henry added. “He has to know what that stinking Spaniard tried to do – the Queen must be told as well.”
Pulling one last time on the oars, Lantern let the boat glide towards the palace stairs where it bumped to a stop and he hopped out to help the apprentices ashore.
Following the tubby secretary, the boys entered the rambling palace once more and every Yeoman of the Crown that they met let them pass without question. The imp of Doctor Dee was known to them all and they were too afraid of him to dare deny them entry.
Lantern led them through unfamiliar halls and courtyards and Adam became increasingly confused.
“You are taking us to Her Majesty?” he asked.
The mannequin gave a skip but offered no other answer. They travelled a little further until they arrived at a wall of ivy in which a stout, studded door was the only feature not to have been choked by the rampant, strangling growth. Lantern pushed the door open and the boys discovered a spiral of stone stairs winding up into a tower. Inside all was dark and silent, the only illumination coming from the candle within the secretary’s tall hat. The many punctures in its conical sides threw golden, dancing lights over the blank, curving walls.
Up and up the three ascended until at last they reached an arched entrance covered by a black cloth embroidered with silver stars. Here Lantern bowed low and, beyond the curtain, they heard a sombre voice.
“Enter, you credulous hotheads. What fevered malady of the wits drove you forth this night?”
When Adam and Henry pushed past the curtain, they found themselves standing in Doctor Dee’s dimly-lit apartments. Sitting before a large, circular window and with a great book open upon his knee, the astrologer glared at the boys from beneath his snowy brows. The latticed glass behind him was painted with images of the sun and esoteric, magical symbols. Beyond the firmament the bright stars came glinting through in brilliant colours to glitter and gleam over his fine white hair. He looked every inch the dangerous wizard that many people considered him to be and even Adam was disconcerted by his appearance and solemn manner.
“Sit you down,” he said sternly. “Here is food and drink. Satisfy your hunger, then tell us of your ludicrous doings.”
Only then did the apprentices notice that another figure was sitting in the half shadow beyond the reach of the solitary candle flame which burned steadily at the Doctor’s side. When Lantern stepped past them, his own cheerful light shone full into that person’s face and the boys recognised it at once.
“Lord Richard!” Henry cried.
The master of Malmes-Wutton nodded a greeting. His hair was damp and his face pink as though he had recently plunged his head into cold water, and he eyed them with a bleak seriousness which they had rarely glimpsed in him before.
“Do as the Doctor instructs,” he told them. “Pull up that bench and sit at this table. The ale is not worth the gulping but the cheese and manchet will fill you.”
The boys obeyed gladly while the copper secretary set about putting flames to more candles. Gradually, the chamber swelled with light and Adam and Henry gazed about them, crumbs falling from their open mouths.
The lodging of Doctor Dee was crammed with the strange paraphernalia needed for his mysterious studies. Highly polished brass cylinders used to measure and map the constellations glowed and winked in the candle shine, as did elaborate astrolabes and sextants constructed to his own meticulous specifications. Mathematical charts shared the walls with drawings of the new zodiac, bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling and glass lenses of various sizes magnified the warm light, casting trembling pools of radiance in every direction. Oddly-shaped bottles containing acids and chemicals lined a long shelf, while books filled every other spare space. Within an alcove, sitting on top of an ebony box, was a human skull and Henry swallowed nervously when he looked into the dark hollows of its eye sockets.
“We only wanted to have a look at the city,” Adam told them. “We meant no harm. What happened after was not of our doing.”
With interruptions from Henry he quickly recounted the events of the evening while Doctor Dee and their master listened intently.
When the tale ended, the astrologer closed the book on his lap and turned to his secretary. Passing a bony hand over the dents inflicted upon his copper casing the old man enquired if he was quite well. Lantern bowed and the doctor took a deep, considering breath.
Lord Richard examined Henry’s wounds. The burn across his forehead would scar him for the rest of his life but although the bruises that blackened his shoulders were horrible to see, they were not serious.
“So,” Doctor Dee said at length, “that sable jackanapes, the Spanish ambassador, is up to his usual mischief. I had not suspected he had smuggled one of their new Torture Masters into this realm. Walsingham will be most interested – but not yet. The Count de Feria’s plots can wait – there are more pressing concerns.”
Swallowing his last mouthful, Henry piped up, “We must warn Brindle that the Spaniards are scheming to capture him. He’ll soon send them running.”
Doctor Dee placed his hands upon the table and looked at him grimly. “It is of your heavenly messenger that I wish to speak,” he uttered.
“Where is he?” Henry asked, leaping from the low bench. “I’ll go tell him.”
“Patience,” the old man commanded. “He is in no danger. When I left the banqueting house but a short while ago he was dancing with the Queen, to the chagrin of Thomas Herrick and those creatures like him. Nay, Her Grace will not tire of the Iribian so soon.”
“But …”
The Doctor rapped the table, demanding that the boy return to his seat. Henry yielded and Adam looked from the astrologer’s melancholy face to that of Lord Richard.
“What has happened?” the boy asked. “There is more to your moods than you are telling. Why did Lantern bring us here?”
“
Lord Richard and I were discussing the science of mathematics,” the old man began vaguely. “A problem has come to my notice which does not … add up. I do so like things to be ordered and quantified. When an enigma presents itself I cannot rest easy till it is solved and understood.”
Richard Wutton twitched in discomfort and came bluntly to the point. “It would seem that John Dee has no liking for our friend Brindle. This dry old snake does not trust him and he shook me from my bed to plague my pickled mind with a volley of infernal questions. I’ve spoken up for our guest but still he is not satisfied. Never could comprehend the meaning of loyalty and friendship, could you, John?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Brindle!” Henry cried hotly. “Don’t you think you’re better than him, for you’re not – wizard or no wizard. Worth ten of you, he is, and I won’t have a word spoke against him.”
The astrologer raised a hand for silence but was not angry at the boy’s impetuous outburst.
“Your devotion does you credit,” he said kindly. “Yet you know more about this stranger than I. Pray, indulge my suspicions. They are not ill meant and I do not wish to persecute him. My one desire is to serve and protect the Queen and Her realm. If the Iribian presents no danger then I will beseech your forgiveness, but there can be no harm in prudence and caution. I would learn more of your unusual friend. Lord Richard has told me much but perhaps you two can enlighten me even further.”
Appeased by his words, Henry calmed himself. “’Course,” he said. “I’ll help Brindle any way I can and prove that he’s the grandest person you’ll ever meet. Saved my life twice, he has. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. He’s the best, ain’t he, Coggy?”
Adam had been listening, wrapped in quiet thought. There was definitely something unsettling about Brindle which disturbed him and when Henry nudged him to speak in the Iribian’s defence he was not sure what to say.
Doctor Dee noticed his reticence and seemed pleased by it.
“Coggy!” Henry insisted. “Tell him how splendid and good Brindle is.”
