The Scar-Crow Men (46 page)

‘I knew of their foul work beneath the seminary in Reims, and of their Scar-Crow Men.’ Henri’s smile darkened. ‘Those damnable things …’

‘And you used me to save him,’ Meg pointed at Will, ‘so you could entice both of us into your web.’

‘And who better to use, my sweet?’ Henri smiled, teasing. ‘You fit in so well everywhere. And you refuse to fail, even when faced with the most daunting odds.’ He eyed Will. ‘And England’s greatest spy. How could such a man turn his back on this plot once he became aware of it? Why, he might even pursue my enemies into the heart of France itself, and undermine the foul works being carried out at Reims that were beyond my ability to influence. He might even – could this be – unseat the High Family themselves – a clan, I am told, that he has had some success against before.’

‘You should have told me your plan,’ Meg blazed. Will thought she was about to throw her flask at the King.

‘You are always more effective when you are left to your own devices, my sweet.’ Henri winked at Maximilien, who replied with a conspiratorial smile.

The Irish woman set her jaw. ‘And in what other way did you play me? Tell me now, for if I find out for myself later my temper will know no bounds.’

‘And your temper is a fearsome thing to behold. Then let me speak truly. As deep as my affection is for you, my sweet, I would not trust you with alms for the poor.’ The monarch waved a finger when he saw Meg clench her fists. ‘And I know you well. How could I not?’ he said, softening his harsh assessment with a tender note. ‘You love your country, and your people, and I knew you could not resist trying to steal Dr Dee away from under English noses. Which is why I had my own men waiting to steal the good doctor away from you.’

‘I thought those men at Petworth were there to save me,’ the woman exclaimed. Will held a hand out to restrain her. She glared at him.

Henri gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Sadly, Master Swyfte thwarted that part of my plan. I half expected that would be the case. But Dr Dee is a prize that all the countries of Europe desire.’ He bowed to Will. ‘Yet he is not truly valued in his own land. That is always the way. Keep a hold of him, Master Swyfte, or else your defences will become
someone else’s.’

Meg rounded on the spy. ‘You have been the King of France’s performing ape,’ she blazed. ‘Where is your anger? He has had you dancing to his tune, tumbling and falling and fooling. And you have cleaned up his dirty business in Reims with your own life at stake.’

Will shrugged. ‘Though it pains me to say it, I have had worse jobs in my time.’

Meg gaped, incredulous.

‘Master Swyfte understands this business well, Mistress Meg,’ Henri noted. ‘He now has the soon-to-be-crowned King of France in his debt. That is a good card to hold in your hand in any game. So, what now, sir?’

‘Now we head to Paris, Your Majesty, and if you can find a way to get me past the city walls and into the very heart of the Unseelie Court’s forces, that would go some small way to repaying me for the work I have done on your behalf.’ Will gave a deep, ironic bow.

‘I think I can help you there, Master Swyfte. Yes, indeed.’

‘I am joining you,’ Meg snapped.

‘So you can thrust a dagger between my shoulder blades when I least expect it?’

‘I would not resist her request, sir.’ Henri laughed louder.

‘Very well,’ Will sighed. ‘Perhaps I can throw you to the Unseelie Court as a distraction.’ The spy could see the Irish woman was restraining herself, yet despite her betrayal at Petworth he was surprised at how appealing he still found her company.

‘Good,’ the redhead replied. ‘Then I will go and make my preparations.’ She flounced out, ignoring Grace, who stood outside the tent’s entrance and stuck out her tongue as the Irish woman passed.

Will’s tone darkened. ‘The Unseelie Court have something which could destroy the Scar-Crow Men in the blink of an eye. It is the key to ending this business.’

The monarch looked to Maximilien, whose expression became grim. ‘They gather at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. It stands on an island in the river and will be nigh on impregnable with so many of those bastards swarming around. You journey into hell, Master Swyfte.’

‘That place holds no surprises for me.’ The spy knew the immensity of the threat that awaited him, but he felt no fear for himself. All men died – it was a matter only of when, and how. ‘But we must set out immediately. The High Family know my intentions and will do all in their power to prevent me reaching Paris.’

‘Very well. Maximilien, give the men their orders,’ Henri said.

After the adviser had left, Will added, ‘If I can make good, I will need a ship to take me to England. It may already be too late if matters at home have taken an unfortunate turn. Speed is of the essence.’

‘That too can be arranged. I have a galleon moored upon the mouth of the Seine at Le Havre-de-Grâce.’

Lowering his voice, Will said, ‘I ask one further thing.’

‘Go on.’

‘If I am not to survive, look after my friend Grace. She is an innocent in these matters and she has suffered greatly. England may not be safe for her if we fail.’

The King gave a concerned smile. ‘I will care for her as if she were a member of my own family. But I warn you, Master Swyfte, if we fail there may be no safe place anywhere.’

When he stepped out of the tent, Will paused briefly to look at the stars in the vast vault of the heavens. He felt oddly at peace.

When she returned from the camp fire, Grace saw it too. ‘You seem changed,’ she said, peering curiously into his face. ‘That black mood that has gripped you for so long has lifted.’

And Will was surprised to realize she spoke the truth. Although death was closer than it had ever been, he had rediscovered the urge to live. He would have laughed if it would not have unsettled the young woman.

Thunder rolled out across the warm landscape, and the horizon flashed white with lightning.

‘Oh,’ Grace said, puzzled. ‘The weather has turned. How odd.’

The spy watched the black clouds rolling with unnatural speed across the hills. He knew what came with the storm.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

STANDING ON THE HILLTOP IN THE BUFFETING WIND, WILL LOOKED
down at the twinkling lights of Paris and felt the stress of the last nine days’ hard travel begin to ease. The running could stop; now the fighting would begin.

A sparkling island in the night-dark sea, the city was alight with lamps on all the municipal buildings and candles glimmering in the windows of the houses that faced the streets. Contained in its old walls, Paris squatted on the plain of the river that flowed through its heart. The spy had first considered the river to be the best route into the capital, but Maximilien, the King’s adviser, had warned him that the Unseelie Court had ‘set things roaming there to slaughter the unwary’.

‘And so we reach the end of the road,’ Meg said, brushing back a strand of her damp red hair. She loosely held the reins of her horse. The animal frothed at the mouth from its exertions.

‘Not in more ways than one, I hope,’ the spy muttered.

Grinning, the King strode over and clapped his hands. Will was impressed by the monarch’s seemingly inhuman good nature in the face of the last few days’ hardships. ‘Hup-hup, no time to rest! You have nations to save. And, of course, lives to risk.’

‘I thank you for reminding me,’ Will replied. He was distracted by the bulk of the great
cathedral rising up from the island in the centre of the river. His gaze followed the walls around the city’s perimeter, but he could see no way of slipping into Paris unnoticed. Waiting until dawn and hiding in the back of some cart was not an option. Xanthus was an hour behind, possibly less.

The spy glanced back at all that remained of the King’s men. They were exhausted and scared. Night after night soldiers had stayed behind to try to slow the Hunter’s progress, and now, Will guessed, their bodies littered the countryside all the way back to Reims.

At least Grace was safe and on her way to the waiting galleon, with two of Henri’s most trusted men for company.

With thunder rumbling like distant cannon-fire and spitting rain caught in the wind, they rode down the hillside to the city. Moving along winding, dusty tracks, the riders came to the remnants of an abandoned quarry not far from the city walls, where yellow grass and lichen covered mounds of extracted rock. Dismounting, Maximilien ordered the King’s men to guard the path and then led Henri, Will and Meg through the quarry to a ragged black hole in the hillside.

‘Paris sits on the edge of an abyss,’ the monarch explained, peering into the dark. ‘Quarriers have dug mines here for three hundred years, perhaps more. Most of the stone was removed outside the city walls, and few know of the old tunnels that stretch deep under the city.’ He turned to Will and grinned. ‘I promised you safe passage and here it is.’

‘Keep to the left in the first cavern and the tunnel will present itself to you,’ Maximilien growled. ‘Were it more spacious it would have been of use during our siege, but only one man may pass through it at a time.’

The spy glanced up at the black clouds rolling overhead. ‘No time to lose. Your dancing ape thanks you for your aid, Your Majesty, and I hope we will meet again in this life.’ He bowed deeply.

Meg allowed the King to kiss her hand while feigning a lack of interest. ‘Enjoy the arms of your love, but remember the times when your passion reached its true heights,’ she told him.

Maximilien handed Will one of the torches he had brought from the cart containing the tents. The spy lit it with his flint, and as the rain began to pound he led the Irish woman into the dark cave. Before they disappeared into the underworld, he glanced back. For the first time since they had met, the King’s face was grim.

Through the dusty-dry atmosphere, the spy and his companion moved into low-ceilinged caverns supported by columns of stone left by the long-departed quarrymen. The rasp of the two cautious travellers’ feet made whispering echoes rustle around the edges of the vast space.

‘Keep four paces to my right and one pace ahead,’ Will said, holding the hissing torch in front of him. ‘Where I can see you.’

‘I walk where I choose,’ the Irish woman snapped. ‘And fear not, I have no wish to be by your side.’

‘Then I presume you will keep your mind on the task at hand, especially as there are no men down here to distract you.’

‘Says the one who has bedded every woman in London, if the stories are to be believed.’

‘Do I hear the merest hint of jealousy? Or is it simply regret?’ he asked.

‘Only in your dreams.’ Meg threw her red hair back, refusing to give Will even cursory notice.

The spy skirted the left-hand wall of the cavern until he found a tunnel carved into the rock, so small he had to stoop to enter. It gave way to rough-hacked caves and tiny rooms before continuing like an arrow into the heart of Paris. Will imagined passing beneath the old city walls, under the cobbled streets and the rough, filth-strewn lanes, the pale-faced men and women cowering indoors, away from the Enemy that now existed among them.

When Will heard a change in the quality of their echoing footsteps, he knew their underground journey was coming to an end. The golden glare of the torch dappled the timber that barred their way. Gently rapping on the wood, Will considered the hollow response and then glanced back at Meg. Her face looked serious and determined, her eyes glinting in the dancing flames.

‘I would step back. I may have to kick this down,’ the spy said.

‘Pray use your head and keep the damage to a minimum.’

Once she had retreated a few paces, Will gave two sharp kicks and the timber burst into a dark cellar. Raising one hand, he listened for a moment and then stepped into the cool space.

The torchlight revealed barrels and glinting bottles in a vaulted stone chamber, the air thick with the aroma of sour wine. Once he had satisfied himself that no one was coming to investigate, Will led the way up stone steps to an arched door that opened on to a wood-panelled corridor. Extinguishing the torch, he darted through the still house, the swishing of Meg’s skirts close behind.

The spy led them out on to a small cobbled street glistening in the rain. Water sluiced from the roofs into black puddles where the reflected candlelight from the windows sparkled and swam.

Meg followed Will’s gaze up to the roiling black clouds overhead. ‘The Hunter’s manipulation of the elements grows more intense with his frustration. Let us hope these magics drain him.’ The Irish woman paused. ‘Though I fear his hatred for you is now so great he would risk everything to see you destroyed.’

‘That is less of an unusual occurrence than you might think.’

Slipping in and out of the shadows close to the walls of the houses, Will tried to get his bearings. At the corner of a broad thoroughfare, he smelled the foetid river and glimpsed the silhouette of the great cathedral rising up against the sky. He brought up an arm to hold Meg back.

‘Hide.’

Ducking back around the corner, they pressed themselves against the wet wall. A faint light washed over the houses on the other side of the broad street. Within a moment, a bone-white carriage drawn by two colourless horses splashed through the pools of black water. Both beasts and vehicle emitted the ghostly light. It was soundless, a ghost-carriage, though clearly it had substance. There was no driver, but Will glimpsed two of the Unseelie Court through the window, a male in a broad-brimmed hat and a woman with hair piled high on her head, both equally leached of colour.

‘They travel so openly,’ the Irish woman hissed once the carriage had disappeared from sight.

‘It is their city now. I hope your former lover sleeps peacefully.’ The spy looked around at the streets devoid of human life, and the houses where nothing moved. Paris was not as populous as London, but it still contained almost two hundred thousand people, even without the many who had died of starvation during Henri’s siege. Many more refugees had fled to the city from the fighting in the countryside. Did they now all quake in fear beneath their beds?