The Silver Skull (61 page)

Walsingham winced; the words were too bald, and he was afraid they would only drive the Enemy into an unnecessary confrontation.

The Faerie Queen's eyes flickered towards Dee. "You have gained a great deal indeed under the auspices of your wise and honourable counsel. " Smiling, she gave Dee a respectful bow. He nodded in return.

"I feared you would use this opportunity to attack us," Elizabeth stated.

The comment stung the Faerie Queen. "We are an honourable people. "

"You can afford to be," Elizabeth responded.

"Now!" Walsingham called.

From their hiding places in covered trenches, the fifty-strong army rose up as one, their pitch-covered arrows ablaze in an instant. As Elizabeth's guards rapidly guided her away from danger, the soldiers fired into the mass of startled Enemy. Many caught ablaze, their cries terrible to hear. Others retreated in the face of the onslaught.

A small group of soldiers grabbed the Faerie Queen and dragged her to Dee, who forced the contents of a small phial into her mouth. As her eyes flickered shut, the Enemy attempted to reach her, but the English soldiers blocked their path and drove them back with more arrows.

The Enemy retreated into the slight indentation in the grassy ground next to the standing stones.

Walsingham could see they were already preparing an assault that would no doubt be devastating.

The thin covering on the ground gave way beneath their feet and they plunged into a gaping hole, one of the pits the local tinners had used for lodeback work. The mine was not deep, but it would serve the purpose.

From their hiding place, the soldiers dragged the barrels of pitch and sulphur, setting them alight and flinging them into the pit one after the other. The screams that rose up would haunt all present for the rest of their days.

When the flames soared so high the soldiers were forced to back away from the edge, the dreadful cries finally died away.

Shielding his eyes from the blaze, Walsingham announced to Elizabeth, "You said you dreamed of a warm fire."

"Enough!" she said with restrained fury. "This night has blackened the history of England! Oh, how can I live with the memory of our treachery!"

Chastened, Walsingham replied, "The ends will justify the means." He gestured to the unconscious Faerie Queen, her wrists and ankles now bound under Dee's direction. "She will be our prisoner for all time, locked away at the top of the Lantern Tower where she will serve as the crux of Dees magical defences for our country. The Enemy will be kept at bay, their power muted."

Elizabeth did not appear convinced.

"This dark night will fade against the golden days that lie ahead," Walsingham pressed.

"England ... finally free of the grip of an Enemy that has hounded our people for sport, slaughtered them, mutilated them, defiled their lives, and spoiled their dreams. The English people have always deserved peace, and now they will get it. "

"I do not share your conviction, Lord Walsingham. " She glanced back at the burning pit and then quickly averted her gaze. "I fear this night will echo down the years forever, and none of us will know sleep."

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00138.jpg-REPLACE_ME

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00105.jpg-REPLACE_ME or a moment, Will was convinced he could smell smoke on the wind, but it was just the enchantment of Deortha's words.

"You understand now," Deortha concluded.

In his pale eyes, Will saw the depth of emotion, and understood so much that had troubled him: what was kept in the room at the top of the Lantern Tower; why the Unseelie Court had risked so much to attack the Palace of Whitehall, and why they needed the Shield as protection when they unleashed the Silver Skull's plague; the comments Cavillex had made in Edinburgh about Dartmoor; and why the Enemy was so determined to destroy England.

"This madness will never end," Will said. "Each atrocity drives worse from the opponent in a spiral of horror."

"It will end," Deortha said firmly, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

"No one can win," Will pressed. "There is no good here, no evil. Everything is tarnished.

Do we even remember why we fight?"

"We remember."

"We continue this war, then, like the dogs tearing chunks off each other in the pits in the inn-yards of Bankside?" His bitterness made the words catch in his throat.

"What your kind did that night can never be forgotten, or forgiven," Deortha said coldly.

"And what you did to England for generation upon generation-"

"Then you understand fully. There can be no peace. We are too much alike."

Will felt as desolate as the dark landscape stretching out into the night.

"There is worse to come," Deortha continued. "Cavillex's death is a bitter blow to the High Family, which has already suffered greatly in this conflict. His brothers and sister burn with the desire for vengeance. Your nation will soon fear the heat of their response."

"It never ends," Will said to himself. "Then grant my request. Help my friend and let them take me and punish me for their brother's death."

For the first time, Deortha's laughter was filled with clear contempt. "You think you are a fair exchange for a member of the High Family? If all your countryfolk were put to death, and your nation burned to the ground, it still would not make amends. You mean ... nothing."

Will set his jaw. "Then you will not help me?"

Deortha considered for a moment and then said, "I will help." His smile chilled Will.

"The conditions?"

"You must make a choice. Aid for your friend ... or an answer to the mystery that consumes your nature: what happened to your lost love."

Will was stunned, not only that Deortha had offered such a dilemma, but that he knew about jenny. The slyness around his eyes showed that he was aware exactly what effect his offer would have.

Hiding his shock, Will replied, "Why? You refuse to take me for punishment, perhaps death, yet you gladly offer help if I make a simple choice?"

"Choose."

He could see Deortha revelling in the agonies that consumed him. Knowing the truth about jenny had been the only thing that mattered for so long, it consumed him, drove him on to do everything he did; how could he turn has back on what might be his only chance? Yet how could he knowingly consign Nathaniel to the horrors of Bedlam? He saw the elegant cruelty in Deortha's dilemma: either answer had the potential to destroy him, not in sudden brutality at the hands of the High Family, but gradually, over years, with a slow magnification of pain that would eventually consume him. He was responsible for Nathaniel's suffering. He was responsible for never knowing the truth that would finally give him peace.

"I choose ... my friend," he snapped.

"Very well." The triumph in Deortha's face sickened Will. "There are worse things than death," Deortha continued wryly, as though he knew the phrase had been uttered before. "For the rest of your days, you will be haunted by the knowledge of this night, as we are haunted by the knowledge of that other night. You could have solved the mystery that wrenches your heart. You could have found the one answer that will allow you to sleep at night. Perhaps you could even have brought your love back to you."

"Enjoy your small victory," Will said. "What I have achieved for my friend is worth my own suffering."

"At this moment," Deortha agreed. "In a week's time? A year's? At the end of your days, lying on your deathbed, knowing your entire life has been wasted by the never-knowing?" He shook his head.

"You think you know our ways so well," Will replied. "But you do not understand hope. I have hope that I will find my jenny, and I will do everything I can to bring that about."

"Exactly." He smiled one more time, and then motioned for Will to wait. At some point Will could not define, he disappeared from view, and when he returned he held a small phial.

"Give this to your friend. One drop, on the tongue. He will forget his contact with the flame of our being, and he will recover. And should it happen again," he added knowingly, "administer one more drop. It will only work for him."

Taking the phial, Will held it tight in his palm, afraid Deortha was going to snatch it back once he had finished his taunting.

"You make all your choices with such a poor vision," Deortha said. "You see a week ahead, at best a year. We are long-lived. Our plans move cautiously over years, decades, generations. Connections that are invisible to you fall into relief only when seen from our perspective. You cannot fight us when your reactions to our schemes are based only on the here and now. Who is to say that the things you do are not aiding us? That everything you consider a victory is only a step we expected and factored in to our plans, leading inexorably to our ultimate victory?" He nodded and added pointedly, "Enjoy this moment."

Weighing Deortha's words, Will looked down at the phial in his hand, and when he looked up the Unseelie Court was gone. Yet something glinted in the grass in the moonlight, a meaningless object Deortha had dropped in the warm glow of his cruel victory.

For a moment, Will stared at it, barely believing, and then he plucked it up and made his way back across the moor.

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00069.jpg-REPLACE_ME

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00033.jpg-REPLACE_ME he stage was set, the players ready in costumes of green and gold and scarlet, trying on their expressions for a good fit, their true selves long since forgotten. Yet their private conversations carried subtle, conflicting notes. The dress rehearsal was a pivotal point, the end of the prelude. They were filled with the apprehension of how their performances would be received, yet also jubilant at a new start filled with possibilities.

The yard at the Bull Inn was flooded with early morning sun and crisscrossed with cooling shadows cast by the pennants that had been strung haphazardly from window to window overhead. They were only one of many marks of celebration at the news still coming in of the wrecking of Spanish ships in storms all around the northern coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland.

All yawns and lazy smiles, doxies hung from windows to watch the players run through their final preparations. Scents of honeysuckle and rosewater mingled with the sour aroma of beer drifting from the shadowy interior of the inn.

Leaning against the cool stone in the shade, his arms folded, Will watched the proceedings. It was going to be a hot day.

Marlowe sauntered over in a brighter mood than Will had seen him in for a long while.

He was accompanied by a young man who shyly left before he was introduced to the great hero of England.

"One of yours?" Will nodded to the players running through their lines.

"A shine on the speeches here and there. Nothing more." A dismissive shrug. "I am filled with passion for a greater work. The one we spoke of? A man who makes a deal with the Devil for rewards which only prove fleeting."

A chill ran through Will, but it quickly dissipated in the summer warmth. "I am sure it will be well received, Kit."

Shielding his eyes, Marlowe studied the players approvingly. "I feel better times lie ahead, Will. With the Spanish so roundly defeated. The Enemy pushed back once more. We can get on with our own lives, and there is much I wish to do with mine. Great plays to write. I see years of productive activity lying ahead." Embarrassed, he looked to Will and laughed. "You will think me an impostor."

"I am glad your spirits are high. You deserve some pleasure." Will watched Marlowe's young friend squeezing into a dress before he made his entrance on stage; a role upon a role upon a role. "I will speak with Walsingham," he added, "and smooth this disagreement that lies between you."

"No one has any control over Walsingham."

"I do." Will ignored Marlowe's probing gaze; he was still considering how to use the information he had gained from Dartmoor, and how far he could go with it before he became a liability.

They were interrupted by a carriage thundering into the inn-yard. Onlookers scattered as it came to a halt near the stage, much to the annoyance of the players. Nathaniel climbed out and then offered a hand to Grace.

Marlowe flashed Will a glance.

"He is well," Will said, but offered nothing more.

Two players involved in a furious argument dragged Marlowe away to give them better lines, and he left Will with a wink. Will was pleased to see him at peace; he hoped it would last.

His troubled emotions surfaced thick and fast as he watched Nathaniel and Grace approach, fear of what lay ahead for both of them and doubts about whether he could continue to fulfil his vows and keep them safe. Briefly, he wondered if he was like the Unseelie Court, a too-hot flame that burned all those who came close. But for now they were safe, and after the threat that had hovered over them, that was a victory he could cherish.

"The end of a long night, or the beginning of a long day?" Nathaniel eyed Will and then the open door to the inn.

"Neither, Nat. I am enjoying the sun and the peace of a day away from my duties."

Nathaniel made a disbelieving face. "The Spanish defeated, the country in the mood for celebration, and you are not already three drinks ahead? Something is amiss."

"There is time enough for that. I have been contemplating hiring a new assistant. The old one has a sharp tongue and I feel he mocks me when my back is turned."

"To your front only," Nathaniel said indignantly. "I am not a spy-I am open in my ways."

"And we are all thankful for that, Nat," Grace said warmly. "No news of Jenny?" she asked Will hopefully. She paused, her brow wrinkling as she struggled with the gap in her memory. "Have I asked you this recently?"

He smiled. "No, not recently. Do not worry, Grace. The physician says the blow to your head has left you in good health, if a few memories short. You will soon make new ones. And the answer to your question is, not yet. But I continue my endeavours."

"It warms me that your love for my sister was so strong it still burns brightly even after she has gone. But sooner or later you must let someone else into your life, Will. You deserve warmth, and comfort, and your love returned by a good woman."