The Devil's Looking-Glass (16 page)

Raleigh eyed the other man askance. ‘You knew the Unseelie Court would be lured by the
Gauntlet
. And once that vessel was destroyed, they would have no reason to believe you had prepared a second ship. A strong plan, a winning one.’ He paused. ‘Have you made your peace with the loss of the good men who died in the attack?’

Will raised his head to watch the sailors climbing the lines like monkeys, as if he had not heard. ‘Every war has its casualties. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten,’ he said after a moment. Though Raleigh nodded, the spy could hear the unspoken codicil: the men had not been asked to give up their lives, and would not have accepted if they had. With each day, it seemed he made another accommodation with his conscience. How far was he prepared to go to bring Jenny home; how many lives was he
prepared
to sacrifice? He had no answer, though he wondered if the Unseelie Court’s bleak judgement of human nature was true. He cast an unsettled glance back along the winding Thames. ‘I fear I must take my leave. Time is of the essence. Our Enemy will not be blind to my guile for much longer and we must reach open water before they give pursuit. But I thank you for your aid. I am in your debt.’

Raleigh tugged at his beard and smiled. ‘You are indeed, Master Swyfte. Do not forget our agreement.’

Raleigh played a long game, not so far removed from the machinations of the Unseelie Court, Will realized. The information he brought back from the New World – should he ever return – would be more valuable than gold to the School of Night. The great men who made up the numbers of the secret society could translate knowledge into power with ease. But what were they plotting? Why was the New World so important to them? Raleigh would certainly never tell. With a smile and a nod, the explorer slipped into the shadowy alley beside the shipwright’s workshop where he had tethered his horse.

Turning back to the
Tempest
, Will pushed past the queue of men carrying the last of the provisions up the plank. At the poop deck rail, he searched the broad river to the west where the grey fug of London’s home fires tainted the sky. No sign yet of any pursuit, but it would come. The wolves of the Unseelie Court would sniff the wind and know their prey was loose.

‘Master Swyfte. We are ready to sail.’ The booming voice cut through the raucous singing of the labouring sailors. Captain John Courtenay was a giant of a man, seasoned by the sun and the salty wind, his brown beard and hair proudly untamed. No other could be trusted to lead the expedition into the dangerous uncharted waters that lay ahead. A veteran of the New World, he knew all that had yet been learned of that mysterious place. He knew of the trade routes where they might encounter heavily armed Spanish galleons bringing their rich hauls of silver and spices back to Europe, and of the river inlets bristling with fleets
of
small boats filled with Indians with blowpipes. He knew, too, of the plants that brought sickness and death, and of those that supplied bountiful fruit; of the taste of the wind that heralded a tropical storm. He had helped claim Nova Albion for the Crown and had been at Sir Francis Drake’s side during the sacking of Cartagena and the capture of San Augustin in Spanish Florida.

And yet there were some who believed him quite mad. Bloody Jack, they called him, the sea-dog who tore out the throats of his enemies with his teeth and dyed his beard blood-red before every battle. Will wondered if that wild nature was the result of the torture the captain had received at the hands of the Spanish, his mind as scarred as his face, which was marred by a ragged pink X that ran from temple to jaw. Yet for what lay ahead, a madman was the sanest choice of all.

‘Unfurl your sails, captain. We cannot depart soon enough.’

‘Do ye have a course for me yet?’

‘Soon. Take us out of the Channel and into the wide Atlantic, and then I will have what you need. But I must warn you – we venture close to the very home of the Unseelie Court.’

He waited for the captain to berate him for embarking on a quest that could only be suicide for every man aboard. Instead, Courtenay laughed, too loud. ‘Finally we shall take the battle to those pale bastards. Too long have we cowered, Master Swyfte. Let them come in their thousands, with their magics and their creatures and their phantoms, let them drag me down to Hell, I will take down a hundred for every man we lose and die with no fear in my eyes.’

Will saw the unsettling gleam in Bloody Jack’s eye. No other man would go so willingly to the source of the nightmares that had plagued humankind since Eden. He knew then he had made the right choice. Bloody Jack threw his arms wide and burst into song, striding back to the main deck to watch his men swarming up the rigging to the yards.

Will stared into the distance, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. The sun was turning gold in a cloudless blue sky and
haze
hung over the river where it flowed towards the sea. It was a good day, and likely to be warm for the season. He frowned. His spirits should have been soaring, but all he could sense were the shadows closing in on every side.

On the quarterdeck, Carpenter and Launceston stood against the rail, bickering. Will had seen the signs and he feared Carpenter’s mood was growing darker still. The Unseelie Court had a way of infecting men with a creeping despair that usually ended in death. Carpenter should have been stripped of his duties and given time to recover, yet here Will was, taking the wounded man to the very heart of the thing that was slowly destroying him. As for Launceston – who knew what moved in his dark depths? Yet did that give Will the right to lead the Earl by his nose to his potential doom? And there on the forecastle was Strangewayes, still struggling to come to terms with the haunted world in which he found himself. Will had stolen him from Grace, denying two people happiness in one fell swoop, and hurting one whom he had professed to protect.

He turned away from his men, feeling the weight of his decision. Had he damned everyone he knew and his own soul in the process? He wondered if it was the natural order for men to become as terrible as the things they fought. Yet the stakes were high, and no reward was easily bought. This was the path he had chosen and no other would lead to victory.

As the wind filled the sails and the anchor rose from the river in a cascade of glittering jewels, the
Tempest
began to pull away from the quay, gathering speed. Will leaned on the rail, watching the fields move away from him, and the oaks and elms, and all that he knew. And he wondered if he would ever see England again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE POOP DECK
heaved on the heavy swell and a good wind filled the sails. Under blue skies, the
Tempest
scudded towards the New World, bearing down hard on the darkness and the mystery. Yet Will and Captain Courtenay stood at the rail and looked out across the choppy water at their back. They watched a wall of grey cloud rolling across the white-topped waves on the eastern horizon, keeping pace with the galleon. Both men felt uneasy.

‘Master Swyfte, I fear we have a problem.’ Captain Courtenay removed the beechwood and brass tele-scope from his eye. ‘If that is a natural formation, then I am a toad-spotted skains-mate.’

Will took the tele-scope and studied the drifting fog. Even so powerful a tool as Dr Dee’s most recent invention could not pierce that dense cloud. No sign of pursuit had troubled them as the
Tempest
sailed out of the Channel, past southern Ireland and into the wide Atlantic. But when that strange cloud appeared one hour ago, Will had felt the first prickle of unease. ‘Does it appear to you to be drawing closer?’ he asked.

‘Hard to tell. The ocean plays tricks on the wits. I have seen seasoned sailors look at the green waves and believe them the
fields
of their home. They step out to walk a while and sink straight to the bottom.’ Bloody Jack took back the tele-scope and shoved it into the waist of his salt-stained breeches. ‘And islands that seem a cannon-shot away can take days to reach.’

‘Then there is little we can do but watch and wait,’ Will replied. ‘And if it is some threat unleashed by the Unseelie Court, we must be prepared to act.’

Courtenay threw his head back and laughed. ‘You have indeed led us by the nose into Hell, Master Swyfte. Should we fight the devils at our back or flee towards the devils that lie ahead? Now that is a choice!’

As the captain made his way to the main deck, angry cries rose up from the crew. A hooded figure wrapped in a plain brown woollen cloak flew out of the doorway to the lower decks and sprawled across the sandy boards. The first mate prowled out a moment later, a swarthy man with a drooping black moustache and only one eye. Brandishing his sword, he loomed over the fallen figure.

‘A stowaway, lads, stealing the food from our barrels,’ he roared. ‘Over the side with ’im!’

‘Stay your hand.’ Will bounded down the steps from the poop deck. With the cold efficiency for which they were known, two sailors had already hauled their captor half over the rail. They glanced back towards Will, unsure.

‘Do as ’e says,’ the first mate muttered. He eyed the spy from under low brows, making no attempt to hide his irritation at being overruled.

The sullen sailors dragged the writhing stowaway back from the brink and threw the cloaked figure to its knees. When the first mate yanked back the hood to reveal the stranger’s identity, a shocked murmur ran through the watching crew.

‘A woman!’ the first mate exclaimed.

‘Grace?’ Will uttered, stunned.

The young woman looked up at her former protector with defiance. ‘I could have remained hidden for days longer, if
not
weeks, if that rat had not startled me. What a foolish girl I am.’

The spy reeled. ‘Are you mad?’ He couldn’t help but think of the dangers she now faced.

At the outcry, Strangewayes, Launceston and Carpenter stumbled from below deck where they had been drinking sack and playing cards in the captain’s quarters. The young spy gaped when he saw his love.

‘Say nothing,’ Grace snapped, eyes blazing, ‘or I will be forced to show you the edge of my tongue.’

Launceston shook his head, bored. ‘I thought this would be a matter of interest that might relieve the tedium of this long journey. Who would choose a life on the waves? Only jolt-headed malt-worms, that’s who.’ He eyed the crew with contempt, either oblivious or uncaring of the murderous glances they shot back, and sauntered below deck once again.

‘This woman of yours will not be satisfied until she has ended all our lives,’ Carpenter blazed. ‘I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on the reckless sow.’

‘Still your tongue,’ Will ordered. Grace feigned an air of haughty indifference and looked away.

‘From this day on, we will have to risk our own necks to keep her safe. As usual,’ Carpenter continued.

‘I said, be silent.’ Will’s voice crackled with anger.

Strangewayes’ face had drained of blood. He held out a hand to help the woman he loved to her feet and she took it as if she were accepting an invitation to dance. ‘Why did you do this, Grace?’ he murmured.

‘I am no weak little thing,’ she said with defiance. ‘If this matter concerns my sister, I would be a part of it.’

‘Your sister?’ Carpenter said, baffled. ‘Have you taken a knock to the head?’

Will’s heart sank. Was that what she had taken from their parting words? His conscience was already on its knees, and here was another burden for it.

Strangewayes stepped closer to her and hissed in her ear, ‘You are aboard a ship full of lustful seamen who will not feel a woman’s soft embrace for many months.’ He looked around the silent crew. ‘But that is the least of your worries. Do you have any notion of the terrible situation you have placed yourself in?’ His voice cracked with despair, and he looked at Will. ‘We must turn back.’

‘No,’ Grace exclaimed, her eyes widening. ‘You cannot abandon this voyage because of my . . .’ Will watched her choose her words carefully, ‘foolishness. Too much is at stake. Too much invested in this expedition. You would not be able to raise the funds for another voyage for months, if at all.’

‘She is right,’ Carpenter whispered in Will’s ear, bracing himself against the movement of the deck beneath his feet. ‘If we turn back, we lose everything. You have no right to make that decision to save this woman, however much she means to you.’

‘Please,’ Strangewayes begged, arms outstretched. The word was almost lost beneath the creak of the rigging and the boom of the wind in the sails. ‘Grace
has
been foolish but she should not pay for that error with her life.’

Will hid his dismay and beckoned to Grace. Carpenter was correct; he had no choice. Holding her chin high, she followed him back on to the poop deck where the crew could not overhear their conversation. ‘What have you done, Grace?’

‘I can cope with any hardship. I have in me the heart of a lion, like our Queen.’ She turned away from his damning gaze and looked out over the heaving blue-grey swell.

‘You have led a sheltered life—’

She spun round, her cheeks colouring. ‘Sheltered? My life was destroyed when my sister was torn from the heart of my family, as was yours. If I can survive that misery, I can survive anything.’

Will saw her pain, still raw after all those years, and changed his approach. ‘I know there is steel in you. But even with all that you have endured, you have barely scraped the surface of the dangers that exist in the world. You must trust me on that.’

Seeing that he had only her well-being at heart, she softened. ‘I
know
you wish to protect me, as you have always done, but I have had my fill of being pushed aside like a girl and told only what is good for me. I believed Jenny dead, but your unwavering faith has given me hope and that, somehow, is more painful by far.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Over the years, I have grown to understand the secrets hidden in your words, and between your words and behind them.’ She laughed, brushing the teardrops aside. ‘Perhaps I would make a good spy.’