The Silver Skull (60 page)

"The world we inhabit is nothing but madness and brutality. And England's empire will be built upon it," Will replied.

"Then so be it. Better our madness and brutality than theirs."

"The Unseelie Court has been pressed back, but they will not be defeated."

"No, they will always challenge us. That is why we must always be vigilant. But as our strength grows across the globe, so will our ability to resist them, on every front, in every land.

And here at home, Englishmen and Englishwomen will finally find peace."

As Walsingham turned his face to the sun for the first time, Will saw tears glistening in his eyes, and the shift of deep, repressed emotions in his face.

"Not an ending, then," Will said.

"A beginning, of many things." Taking a deep breath, Walsingham steadied himself, then began with surprising sympathy, "I have some troubling news. About your assistant."

Before Walsingham had even finished speaking, Will was speeding from the camp, and beyond the palisaded embankments to where his horse was tethered.

London seethed in the heat as Will raced through the rutted, dusty streets to Bishopsgate.

The church spire was visible above the rooftops, but he could hear the screams echoing through the alleys long before he saw the three stone buildings of the old priory around the cobbled courtyard and the gardens beyond. The dusty, smeared windows were now obscured by bars, the stone worn, tiles missing from the roof, and grass sprouting among the cobbles. Two open sewers ran on either side, filling the air permanently with the stink of human excrement.

Will hammered on the door until the keeper came, a big man with a large belly, long, grey-black hair, and a three-day stubble on his chin, a substantial ring of iron keys at his belt. He eyed Will suspiciously until Will introduced himself, and then the keeper clapped Will on the shoulder and proclaimed the glory of England over Spain.

Will had no time for niceties and demanded to be taken to Nathaniel. With a shrug, the keeper complied. Will could hardly make himself heard above the screams that rang from behind every door and in the long, vaulted cellar where the inmates of Bethlehem Hospital prowled in their own private worlds, clawing at the dank walls or kicking the filthy straw in a frenzy.

Everywhere smelled of dirty clothes, urine, excrement, and vomit.

Noticing Will's pained expression, the keeper said, "This is Bedlam. There is never quiet here."

He led Will to a quieter annexe and unlocked a door that led into a windowless room.

After Will's eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw there was only a bed within. Nathaniel squatted in a corner, hugging his knees.

"The dark is good for those distraught from their wits," the keeper noted, and they must be kept free from all distractions. It is best for him," he added, seeing the dark look cross Will's face.

"Has he spoken?" Will asked.

"He says nothing. He eats if we feed him, but there is nothing left of him." He shrugged.

"He will not recover."

Turning on the keeper, Will flung him against the wall and pressed his face against the keeper's. "Do not beat him-"

"They must be beaten, for their own good!"

"Do not beat him, or I will return and deal to you tenfold whatever you deal to him," Will snarled. He threw the keeper from the cell in a rage.

Pausing for a moment to control his churning emotions, he squatted in front of his assistant. "Nat, it is Will," he began quietly. "Your Master ... Your friend."

No reaction crossed Nat's face, and when he did not move, Will placed a hand on his arm to check he was still warm.

"I have failed you, Nat," he continued. "There are times when I fear everyone close to me will be destroyed." As he watched his friend, the weight inside Will grew until he felt it would crush him. "I will not abandon you," he whispered.

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00135.jpg-REPLACE_ME

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00124.jpg-REPLACE_ME tark slabs of exposed granite sparkled silver under the full moon hanging over the uplands, where the brackish streams trickled down through gorse and sedge, catching the light like jewels. It was a warm night, sweetly scented with the aromas of a country summer. Across the vast expanse of desolate grassland, not a light twinkled; all human life could have been extinguished.

Dusty from his long journey, Will let his rapid heartbeat subside, his breathing slow, and he listened to the singing of the breeze in the grass. Turning slowly, he surveyed the empty Dartmoor landscape. Alone in the world. From the moment jenny had walked out of his life, nothing had changed.

Long nights of agonising had followed long days visiting Nathaniel in Bedlam, turning over all he knew, letting unseen connections slowly rise from his memories, until finally he had made his decision.

Ahead of him, the standing stone towered against the starlit sky, almost twice his height.

Beardown Man, the locals called it; a reminder of when giants walked the Earth, some said, a warning from the Devil of the fate that awaited all sinners, others averred. Will thought the latter was probably closer to the truth, according to the legends that had grown up around Devil's Tor, where he stood, the ghostly sightings, the ethereal music playing on summer nights, the noises deep in the earth.

"Here I am, then," he announced. "Come to me!"

Only the sighing of the wind replied.

For long minutes he stood waiting, and then made his way to a lichencovered boulder where he sat patiently. They would come in their own time, when they had shown it was not at his bidding.

An hour passed slowly, until thin strands of pearly mist drifted across the grassland. For no reason that he could discern, the skin on his arms became gooseflesh.

When the mist had passed, figures stood like statues here and there across the tor, their faces turned towards him, all lost to shadow. None moved; none spoke.

After a moment, a figure caught his eye, striding towards him through the grass past the threatening sentries. Tall and slender, he wore grey-green robes with a strange design in gold filigree, like the symbols of an unknown language, faintly visible whenever the moon caught them. His age was indiscernible. His cheeks were hollow and dark rings lay under his pale eyes, but his long hair was a mixture of gold and silver. Trinkets and the skulls of mice and birds had been braided into it so that he made a soft clacking rhythm as he walked.

He came to a halt before Will, his emotions unreadable. "Few dare to call to us," he said in a dry voice.

"You know me?" Will asked.

The stranger paused thoughtfully, and then said with a wry smile, "I know of your kind."

"And you speak for the Unseelie Court?"

"Ah," he said, still smiling, "unholy. Yes. You may call me Deortha. I am ... an advisor."

With his right hand, he appeared to be plucking words from the aether that Will could comprehend. Finally, with a nod, he settled on, "I am the Court's equivalent to your Doctor Dee."

"You know Dee?"

"Oh, yes." Deortha gave a strange smile.

"A sorcerer, then. An alchemist. A wise man."

Deortha's pale eyes twinkled in the moonlight. "You have a request of us?"

"How do you know?"

"You would not be here otherwise."

"What you are is anathema to humankind," Will began. "You are the madness in the night. The shadow on the family hearth. In the very nature of your being, you tell us that however much we order this world to make it sane, it is not, and will never be, and we are nothing. We have no control."

Deortha nodded wryly.

"Some who come too close to you are burned to ashes, like moths approaching a lantern's flame." Will watched Deortha's face closely for any hint of manipulation, or sign of an impending attack. He knew his own life hung in the balance the moment he set foot on the tor.

"My friend is one of those. His wits are gone. He could not cope with the secrets that lie behind your eyes."

"Unlike you. You would revel in the knowledge of our secrets," Deortha challenged.

Will ignored him. "My own people cannot help him. You have at your disposal great things unknown to us ... charms ... potions ..." Will shrugged. "Can you help him?"

A faint glint shone in Deortha's eyes, quickly gone. Will knew he had bared his throat for an attack.

"And why should we aid you?" Deortha asked.

"I killed several of your own. I helped bring about the death of Cavillex, one of your leaders. Help my friend regain his wits, and I will give myself to you for whatever punishment you see fit."

"Are you sure you are prepared to lay yourself open to our attentions? Our punishments are fierce."

"Nevertheless, that is my offer."

"Even though you will never see your kind again? Even though you will plead for a death that will never come?"

"I am ready."

Deortha was intrigued. "If you are ready, then those punishments have no value."

"Tell me about Dartmoor," Will said.

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00067.jpg-REPLACE_ME

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00031.jpg-REPLACE_ME ive carriages trundled along the rutted, muddy ways in the last light of the sun. The gale had finally blown itself out. From the window of the second carriage, Walsingham watched the shadows pool over the bleak Dartmoor uplands, the sense of apprehension mounting with each second of the day that passed away.

"You are still convinced this is the correct course?" he asked.

On the opposite seat, Dee kneaded his hands together, an anxious tic that had begun to irritate Walsingham as the journey from Plymouth drew on. "I am not convinced of anything in this world," he replied. "We fumble around, making what progress we can in the pitch dark of our existence, and hope for the best. "

"Hope for the best," Walsingham repeated, with a crack of anger born of his uneasiness.

"How do we know they will not try to trap us?"

"We do not."

"And we take the queen into this danger, regardless?"

"Elizabeth made the decision herself. There is too much at stake for England to let an opportunity like this slip by. She has courage. You cannot deny her that merely because she is a woman. " Dee cast a critical eye over Walsingham.

"She could be dead by the time the sun rises. As could we all."

"I hope ... I hope I have done enough to convince them of our intentions," Dee said, now tugging at the hem of his cloak.

"I hope so too, Doctor. " Walsingham had always considered himself a good captain steering a steady course through the turbulent seas of his life, but at that moment he could barely contain his fears.

Promising more rain, the lowering clouds brought the dark in too soon. The carriages came to a halt four miles east of Yelverton on the western edge of the moor, and the guards busied themselves lighting lanterns to guide the way.

Wrapped against the autumn chill, Elizabeth held her head defiantly erect as she climbed down from the carriage, though Walsingham could see the fear in her eyes.

"Is all ready?" she asked him.

Resisting the urge to express his own doubts, he nodded and bowed.

"Then let us be done with this business. I dream of a warm fire." She strode out across the moor with the guards hurrying to keep up.

After ten minutes of steady walking, they came to the cairns and menhirs standing proudly against the darkening sky. Elizabeth cast a contemptuous look at the ancient monuments and said to Walsingham, "This is the place?"

"It is. It was chosen carefully. The preparations have been made."

"And now?"

"We wait. "

Darkness came down hard. Around the standing stones, the lanterns flickered in the harsh wind, offering little comfort. Finally, the moon broke through the clouds and they were there.

Walsingham almost cried out in shock, but the queen, to her credit, showed no sign of surprise. She rose to greet the arrivals. Forty of them stood on the edge of the circular indentation next to the standing stones, more than he had anticipated. His apprehension increased. Most of them had the look of armed guards, like the tight knot that surrounded Elizabeth, but two males carried themselves like aristocrats, heads held at a haughty angle, their clothes refined, though with a hint of decay. And at the front was the Faerie Queen. Her beauty was so potent it took his breath away. Brown hair tumbled in ringlets around her shoulders, and her flawless skin appeared to shine with a faint golden light. Her hazel eyes flashed with sexual magnetism. She wore a clinging gown of a green that appeared to reflect the night-dark grass all around. But beneath her appearance, something unsettling waited. Watching her, feeling the power she radiated, Walsingham dreaded what lay ahead.

"I am Elizabeth." She strode forwards confidently to address her counterpart.

"I know you are." The Faerie Queen smiled seductively, her voice mellifluous.

"We meet here as equals," Elizabeth said firmly.

The Faerie Queen gave a slight bow, but did not show any sign of agreement.

"You have preyed on my people for a great many years," Elizabeth continued.

"As you have preyed upon the animals of the field." The Faerie Queen caught herself, and smiled slyly. "We have been like shepherds, guiding you over the rough ground of your existence. At times you may have encountered ... difficulties. At times we were not as cautious in our dealings as we should have been. You yourself know this. Your encounters among your own kind have proved... turbulent."

"England will no longer tolerate..." It was Elizabeth's turn to catch herself. "The time for predators and victims is past," she continued, choosing her words carefully.

"I come to you as one queen to another," the Faerie Queen said. "Our intermediaries have agreed on the terms of our meeting. Members of the High Family are here to observe. " She indicated the two aristocratic males who both gave thin-lipped smiles in response. "There is an opportunity for a new relationship between our two nations. Peace, even. "

"Would you have responded so positively if our strength had not increased? Our defences? Our ability to challenge you for the first time?" Elizabeth asked.