The Devil's Looking-Glass (20 page)

The Fay lord stared at Will and yelled some threat, but the fury of the gale tore his words away. Lightning flashed white overhead, making stark the fear in Grace’s wide, dark eyes. Her mouth was a wide O, a cry of anguish perhaps, or a plea for Will to aid her.

Thrown around by the pitching deck, Will could only watch as Lansing pressed his mouth to the woman’s ear and began to whisper. Desperation rushed through him. Grace’s eyes widened for a moment, the terror in them plain to see. Her head fell slowly back on to Lansing’s shoulder, her lids flickered, and she collapsed
limply
into his arms. Gripping the rope, the Fay placed one foot on the rail of the
Tempest
as he prepared to swing himself and his captive across to the other ship. Devastated, Will knew he could not reach Lansing, or Grace, in time.

Yet as the dead pirates responded to some silent signal and turned back towards their vessel, Will sensed movement at the edge of his vision. Carpenter was perched on the poop deck. With a snarl, he leapt. He slammed into the Fay, wrenching Grace free of Lansing’s grasp. The two men careered over the side.

Will staggered his way to the rail and peered down into the roiling sea. Surely no man could survive in that cauldron? For a moment, he saw only slate-grey water, which rose up higher and higher still until it towered above him before crashing down with a sound like a thousand hammers. A moment later he spotted a figure in the water, but only for an instant before it disappeared beneath the surface.

Behind him, he heard Courtenay bark orders to the helmsman to try to move the galleon away. The storm was already starting to ebb, and if the captain caught the last of the strong winds he could put space between them and the Enemy.

Launceston appeared at his elbow, his ghastly face made starker by the gloom. ‘We must save him,’ he cried with an edge of emotion that Will had never heard in the aristocrat’s voice before. ‘Tell Courtenay to hold fast.’

Swyfte blinked rain out of his eyes as he looked into the other man’s face. ‘Robert, I would not leave a friend to die in such circumstances. But if we tarry here, we all die, and so too the hopes of England.’ He felt sickened to hear the words come out of his mouth.

Launceston nodded in acceptance, and without another word stepped on to the rail and dived into the boiling sea. Will’s cry rang out, but the man disappeared and however desperately Will searched the waves he saw no further sign of his friend. The spy cursed to himself: what had possessed Launceston to throw himself after Carpenter?

The rain eased and a glimmer of silver light broke through the thick clouds on the horizon. With a boom of filling sails, the
Tempest
pulled away from the crippled Enemy galleon.

Desolate, Will tore his gaze away from the angry sea and knelt down beside Grace. He took her in his arms. She was still breathing, but that was but a small mercy. He had seen the corruption of the Unseelie Court worm its way into even the strongest mind and consume it from within until only a shell was left.

‘Grace,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘speak to me.’

There was no response; she might have been sleeping, though he would not wish her dreams upon another living soul. Will bowed his head. So much had been lost, yet the worst still lay ahead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE STORM HAD
blown itself out by sunset. Under heavy clouds, the
Tempest
sailed through a night as deep and dark as any the crew had ever experienced. With no stars to guide them, Courtenay stowed away his compass and charts and concentrated on putting distance between them and the pirate ship. On deck, the subdued singing of the seamen raised no spirits. They mourned the eight of their companions lost in the attack, as Will mourned Carpenter and Launceston. Sails hung ripped and yards broken. Two sailors hauled planks of wood, fresh rigging and sailcloth from the store below, while a gang of five cut and shaped to start the repairs. Even the sound of the mallets had a funereal beat. ‘We lick our wounds and we move on,’ Courtenay growled in passing, the closest he would come to words of commiseration.

By dawn, the skies had cleared to a perfect blue and the sea was calm. With his astrolabe, Bloody Jack shielded his eyes against the merciless sun and began to calculate the latitudes in order to discover how far they had been blown off course into dangerous, uncharted waters. His mood darkened by the hour.

Grace had not yet regained consciousness. Her breathing shallow, her eyes motionless beneath the lids, she lay on her berth in a sleep akin to death. Will sat over her through the long night, watching for any sign that she might recover, afraid what would be left of her wits if she did. Time and again he cursed himself for his failings, haunted by his vow to protect her at all costs.

Strangewayes would barely look at him, and when their eyes did meet, Will saw only simmering hatred. He felt angry at the young spy’s attitude, but held his tongue. As the stifling heat rose in the dusty cabin, he realized he was only making matters worse by being there; it was now Strangewayes’ responsibility to care for Grace. Will left him there, cooling her brow with a damp kerchief and muttering constant prayers.

Will asked the captain if he could be left alone on the poop deck for a few moments. Once he had assured himself he couldn’t be overseen by the other men, he squatted down at the far side of the castle and pulled the obsidian mirror from his pouch, laying it on the deck. As he hunched over the glass, he whispered the words Meg had taught him and waited.

Long moments passed. It was the agreed time, and Meg had not yet disappointed him. He uttered the incantation once more, and again. Yet the mirror remained clear, and he began to fear that the Unseelie Court had claimed another life. Wearily, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

When he looked again, the black mirror had clouded over. Yet the face that was gradually appearing in the misty glass was not Meg’s. He felt his heart begin to beat faster, though he scarcely dared hope. Yet the familiar curve of the lips emerged, and the bright, clever eyes, and the tumble of brown hair, just as they had that night in the rooming house in Liverpool.

‘Jenny,’ he murmured, uncontrolled joy rushing through him. She still wore the blue dress she had on when she vanished from his life all those years ago.

Her eyes widened and he knew she could see him too. But then he saw the worry in her face. With apprehension she glanced
nervously
over her shoulder in the darkness, and then leaned closer to the glass.

‘Will. It is you.’

He recoiled at the shock of hearing her voice after so long. There was so much he wanted to say to her; he had played this moment through a thousand times or more in all the years of longing. How could he ever begin to express the emotion that had been stirred in that seeming eternity of time apart? ‘Jenny,’ he began, struggling to find the words, but she silenced him with an insistent shake of her head.

‘Will, there is very little time,’ she whispered. ‘When I saw you before, I barely dared believe you still lived . . . that you remembered me—’

‘I would never forget you.’ He could barely stop his voice from breaking. Her features softened, and he saw the affection in her smile. ‘Not a day has passed when I have not searched for you in some way.’

‘And you must abandon the quest,’ she sighed. ‘That is the very reason why I have reached out to you. You must put me out of your thoughts, and out of your heart.’

‘Never.’

‘You must.’ He saw the tears begin to run down her cheeks. ‘Will, please . . . do this for me, if you love me still—’

‘I do!’

‘Then forget me,’ she implored. ‘There is no time for explanations. You must trust me on this matter. To find me could cost you your own life, and I will never allow that to happen . . .’ She half turned as if she had heard someone approaching, and then added in a hasty tone, ‘I must go.’

‘Wait,’ he called out, too loud, but the looking glass had already misted over, and a moment later it showed only blue sky. Will slumped back against the rail and closed his eyes, turning her words over in his head, listening once again to the music of her voice. He felt afraid to stop in case he could no longer remember how she sounded. And yet Jenny lived, there could be no doubt
about
that now. His heart leapt, and it was all he could do not to shout to the heavens. Her warnings meant nothing to him. How could he accept her plea for him to stay away? Nothing would deter him from bringing her home.

He inhaled a draught of salty air and took a moment at the rail, looking out over the blue waters. Though his spirits now soared, he yet felt doubt. What of Meg? Did she still live? And without her to guide them, what chance did they have of reaching their destination?

He was in reflective mood as he descended on to the main deck, and barely noticed Courtenay beckoning him to enter his cabin. Strangewayes knelt beside the still-prone Grace, so intent on his prayers he seemed unaware that the two men had entered. Will followed Bloody Jack to his trestle where his dog-eared charts were scattered, the astrolabe weighting them down. Keeping an eye on Strangewayes, the captain whispered, ‘Do you have a new course for me?’

‘Not yet. Soon,’ Will replied. ‘You have identified our position?’

Courtenay jabbed a finger on the chart. ‘Right where we shouldn’t be, Master Swyfte. We’ve already had our fill of the horse latitudes, where the wind comes and goes like a woman’s affections, and you can drift becalmed for days under a sweltering sun. Aye, that’s bad enough, but that damnable storm has dumped us back in it, and worse. Here . . .’ he drew a filthy nail along the chart, ‘is a sea within the sea. Cursed, it is. Good ships disappear without a sign. Pirates, some say.’ He shrugged, not believing. ‘Other vessels are found deserted, with treasure still in their holds and food and water in their barrels. Every captain knows to steer well clear—’

‘You did this.’ The low growl of Strangewayes’ voice rustled across the cabin. Will turned to see the red-headed spy confronting him, rapier drawn, his face flushed with an anger that must, Will surmised, be born of despair. ‘If you had taken even a moment to prepare her for the horrors of the Unseelie Court, she
might
have survived the encounter. But no, the great Will Swyfte had better things to do with his time.’

‘Put your sword away, boy,’ Courtenay growled. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’

‘England is littered with dead and wounded men who have made your acquaintance, oft-times decent-hearted, God-fearing people you have used and discarded once they have served your purpose, so I have heard,’ Strangewayes continued, not taking his gaze off Will. ‘You care for no one but yourself. And yet you are tolerated because, in your cunning way, you offer a service to the Queen and her government. But you must be held to account sooner or later – if not by God, then by me.’

‘’Tis true that I am not a good man, but I am an effective one,’ Will replied in a calm voice. He could see the hurt burning in the other man’s face. ‘And you are mistaken on one count. There are people dear to me, and I would defend them even at the cost of my own life. I would never see Grace harmed—’

‘Lies.’ Strangewayes thrust with his rapier, missing Will by a hair’s breadth as the older man stepped aside at the last moment. Will could see there was no reasoning with him. His passion burned too strong for that. Snarling, Tobias thrust again, and this time Will’s sword was at the ready and he parried. The clash of steel rang through the cabin.

Red-faced and puffing, Courtenay looked fit to burst at the display of disrespect upon his ship. ‘Shed one drop of his blood and I’ll have ye keel-hauled,’ he roared.

Strangewayes thrust again. Will deflected the tip of the sword with a flick of his wrist. Though he had some skill with the rapier, the red-headed spy was too raw, too consumed with emotion in a way that no true swordsman would ever be, Will saw. His bravado and arrogance had always seemed a shield to protect his insecurities, traits Will had presumed he would eventually grow out of, given time and experience. Now he wondered if they would be the death of the other man before he had a chance to learn.

Driven by anger, Strangewayes prodded with his rapier as if he were poking a smith’s forge. Will parried, once, twice, and at the moment when he could have easily disarmed the other man, he let his rapier fall. Courtenay gasped. Strangewayes’ blade thrust true towards Will’s heart. At the last, the younger spy caught himself, the tip of his rapier piercing linen. A rose bloomed on Will’s shirt. Tobias’s hand shook as he tried to drive the blade on, but in the end he could not bring himself to kill. ‘Damn you, Swyfte,’ he muttered, blinking away tears of frustration.

‘I am already damned. Would I be here watching friends suffer and die were that not so?’ Will bit down, forcing himself to ignore the pain from the sword digging into his flesh. ‘There are few friends in this business, but we are all brothers. The bonds run deep. We would give our lives for each other, as John gave his life for the woman you love. No one would ever have called him a good man, but he was an honourable one, yes, even to the end. And honour has more value than gold, for it buys a man a clear conscience and a light heart.’

‘And you think you are honourable?’ Strangewayes spat.

‘We all try to do our best in hard times. And sometimes we fail. That is the nature of men, is it not? And our failures are greater than others’ because we play for high stakes, and we feel them more acutely. Know only that I would die for Grace, as would you.’

Strangewayes hesitated, torn between his impotent rage and his sense of honour. In the lull, Courtenay cursed, snatched up the cudgel he kept by his trestle and clouted the younger spy round the head. Strangewayes pitched to the floor in a daze, his sword clattering across the boards. ‘Let that knock some bloody sense in ye,’ the captain thundered.

‘Leave him. He is heartsick and worried for the woman he loves,’ Will said, aware of the irony in his words.

‘This is my ship, not a Bankside stew,’ Courtenay snapped. ‘My rules, Master Swyfte.’ He paused, eyeing the fallen spy. ‘Yet I will show a little kindness on this occasion, as he’s a friend of yours.
But
if he raises his blade in anger to one of us again, it’s over the side with him.’ He grabbed the scruff of Strangewayes’ undershirt in his meaty hand and dragged him across the cabin, flinging him out of the door with a boot up his arse. Will felt concerned that the humiliation might only make Strangewayes angrier, but he had more pressing matters to concern him.