The Devil's Looking-Glass (25 page)

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Authors: Mark Chadbourn

BOOK: The Devil's Looking-Glass
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‘Mandraxas, brother,’ Lansing said, with a curt bow of his head. ‘All strands come together, here on the edge of the great everlasting.’

‘You have the Ortelgan Mirror?’ The voice rolled out from the glass, high and sweet.

‘In time,’ the Fay lord responded. ‘First we will snare the magician, Dee. Once we have brought him home to endure the pleasures of Fortress Crepuscule, all things must follow.’

‘And so we make our plans, brother. And so we make our plans.’

Carpenter felt his stomach knot, queasy with fear. Yet with the Caraprix nestling deep inside him, he knew there was no going back. He set his doubts aside and wondered why that face in the mirror frightened him so. It was as if his senses understood the essence of the creature and rebelled at the contact.

Once the face had faded and the looking glass had clouded once more, Lansing returned it to the silver box with the glass ball and
flipped
the lid shut. He stood, saying to le Gris, ‘Organize your men, or what is left of them, while I see to the prisoners.’ With his chin raised, the Fay wandered behind Carpenter and Launceston. ‘Your time here is done,’ he said in a quiet voice, ‘but your passing will not be painless, for what would be the point? We all have our skills, my brothers and sisters and I, our strengths, our joys. Mine is the taking of a human life. Sometimes I come like a ghost. Men fall in a court in a foreign land, their blood pooling around them, and those standing beside them know not how their companion came to be dead. Sometimes I linger, drawing out long-held secrets or cries or vows, for the benefit of my people or for pleasure. Sometimes I slaughter wantonly, allowing men to sink into the fierce beauty of my face, the mere sight of me adding another subtle layer to their pain, another delicate seasoning to my rapturous feast. The High Family knows my expertise and they use it well. I am their sword, enforcing their will in the world of men.’

Carpenter wondered, then, why Lansing had not tortured him, or Launceston, to achieve his ends. He had used only words. Perhaps he had spoken truly when he expressed his desire for the peaceful return of his sister.

‘Come to it, then,’ Launceston said as if he were calling for another cup of sack. ‘I have no fear of death. We are old friends.’

Carpenter heard Lansing pass by the Earl and step up to his back. He felt cold breath upon his neck. ‘Our agreement stands,’ the Fay whispered so Launceston could not hear. ‘Find the magician first and deliver him to me and no one will suffer. You will be free to return to your life and this long war will be over.’

The spy felt the kiss of cold steel against his skin as Lansing slid his dagger under his bonds and slit the rope. ‘Choose your moment well to flee,’ the Fay added before saying loudly, ‘I will leave the thoughts of your passing to settle deep into you and thereby make the experience all the richer. Soon, now. Soon.’ He strode across the dry sand to where le Gris directed his men. They appeared to understand his meaning.

‘Robert,’ Carpenter whispered from the side of his mouth, ‘I have worked my bonds free. When I make my move, follow my lead.’

The Earl inclined his head in assent, giving nothing away.

Carpenter watched Lansing guide the pirates until their backs were turned, and then he grabbed Launceston’s arm and drew him silently into the trees. When they were deep in the dark and running as fast as they could, he heard le Gris’s cry. ‘Too late to raise the alarm,’ Carpenter said. ‘Once we have put some space between us, I will free you from your bonds, Robert, and then we shall bring this matter to a close.’

His chest swelled with exuberance. Soon he would be going home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

BLACK CLOUDS LOPED
across the sky, devouring the stars and the moon. Branches thrashed in the claws of the wind raking through the trees on the hillside. The torches roared and spat as the frightened men of the
Tempest
’s shore party forced their way through the rising gale towards the tower where Dee and Meg had taken shelter. With the storm, they could sense something darker coming too, long fingers of shadow reaching across the tropical island to snuff out their lives as easily as the lights that guided their way. When the howl of the Mooncalf rolled out near at hand, they jumped and cursed. Death lay everywhere.

‘What is that thing?’ Will asked, his shirt damp against his hot skin.

‘Dee’s watchdog,’ Meg replied. She lifted the hem of her grey skirt as she climbed the overgrown stone steps of the narrow path. Occasionally she would flash glances at her companion that ended with a puzzled smile as if she still could not believe he was there. ‘The alchemist made it . . . made it out of . . .’ She paused, looking away into the dark under the trees. ‘No matter.’

Will still hadn’t decided whether her suffering on Dee’s haunted
ship
and in the wreck on the reef had driven her mad. Her ship had been at best only two weeks ahead of the
Tempest
. How then could she believe she had been upon that island for twelve years? He had not yet broached the subject for fear the questioning would unbalance her further, but he needed answers if he were to snatch a victory from the coming conflict.

Strangewayes strode up behind them from the rear of the column. ‘How long before the sun comes up?’ he snapped. ‘I have had my fill of this night.’

‘Put aside any hopes of feeling the sun on your face,’ the Irish spy responded. ‘That will not occur until Dee decrees it.’

‘The doctor holds the sun at bay?’ Will said with incredulity. He had seen the alchemist at play with charts of the stars and potions and incantations, but never had the old man displayed the kind of power that could shake the heavens.

‘Dee has gone quite mad,’ she said, ‘and in his madness he has found a way to tap into forces that should never be conjured by mortals. This island too is a special place, where strange and troubling things occur, and whatever qualities it possesses only seem to serve to add to the old man’s magics.’

‘But holding back the sun,’ Strangewayes gasped. ‘Why, that is the remit of God alone.’

‘Then god he is.’ Meg looked up as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. ‘When he senses threat, he brings the night to confound his enemies, or calls storms to dash ships upon the rocks. And,’ she added, ‘the Mooncalf hunts better at night.’

Will heard the unseen creature snuffling and snorting in the undergrowth, breaking branches as it kept pace with them. It terrified the men with every step. But whatever it was, it seemed to obey the woman’s every word, so they were safe for now. ‘Men are not as easy to control as the Unseelie Court believe,’ he said. ‘They think they can run us like rats, but Dee has confounded them.’

‘How so?’ Strangewayes asked. ‘In posing as the angels he believed he contacted, he was lured away from the path of light,
and
eventually, when they were ready, they sent him spinning off into the dark. He took with him our last hope to repair our defences against them. And in their hands—’

‘But he is not in their hands. In Liverpool, the Enemy thought they could spirit him away as easily as they steal babes from their cribs. But they have been forced to chase him across half a world, right to their very doorstep. ’Twould seem to me that Dee had long since prepared his own defences, anticipating that the Fay would one day attempt to take him. And when they did try to exert their control, he unleashed his moon-side, which still holds sway.’ Will wiped the raindrops from his eyes, enjoying the cooling touch on his skin. ‘In his madness, he is unpredictable and uncontrollable, and, he would hope, beyond their reach.’

‘Then why come so close to their home?’ the other man asked. ‘Surely he would flee
away
from them.’

‘Dee is cunning. If he is here, there is a reason for it.’

The path wound round the hillside as it rose towards the tower. Emerging from the thickest part of the woods, they saw lightning crackling along the horizon and bands of heavier rain marching across the treetops towards them. In one white flash, Will found Meg staring at him and asked what troubled her.

‘You still look as young as that last day I saw you, so long ago, in Liverpool,’ she replied. ‘How can this be?’

‘And you have not altered one whit.’ He watched her face, ready to change the subject if she became distressed.

‘No,’ she said with a shake of her head, rubbing her fingers over her smooth cheeks.

‘’Tis true. Can you not see it?’

‘Dee allows me sight of no mirrors ’pon this island. The windows of the Unseelie Court, he calls them.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘You say the years have not taken their toll ’pon me?’

‘There have been no years, Meg,’ Will said gently. ‘For us, only ten weeks have passed since Liverpool.’

The Irish woman bowed her head, struggling to comprehend what she had heard. ‘This cannot be. My memory is filled with
so
many things happening here . . . so much struggle and misery, such loneliness that at times I thought I could not bear it. Coping with the old man’s caresses while my stomach turned, and listening to his ramblings about magic and philosophy and history. And yet . . . He told me once that in the home of the Fay, time did not march as you and I know it. It hovered or folded back upon itself. Oft-times the sands did not run at all. That is why, he said, the Fay never aged, and why their schemes run over years, and centuries, even. Perhaps this island has similar qualities.’

‘Perhaps so. If not the home of the Fay, mayhap it sits upon the borderlands in the shadow of that place.’ Will felt his heart go out to her as he saw her troubles laid bare in her face. ‘The other members of your crew?’

‘Those who survived the wreck died over time. The Mooncalf has a taste for human flesh, and in those early days, soon after he was created, Dee struggled to control him. He kept one mirror in those first months on the island and taunted his enemies through it. One Fay of fierce beauty, a witch by any other name, attempted to seduce him with her charms. Her name was Malantha, one of the High Family, and she and Dee battled wits for long weeks while the Mooncalf stalked the island, killing men. Dee’s weakness was always the pleasures of the flesh, and the Unseelie Court see every man’s weakness clearly. Malantha spun a web around him with her seduction, and only when the old man appeared on the brink of revealing the location of this place did he break free of her spell and shatter the mirror.’

‘This island was hidden to the Unseelie Court? That is why Dee settled here?’ Will brooded for a moment. As he thought he played the Fay, had they in turn played him, pretending to try to stop him reaching Dee while in truth following him to the prize? He silently cursed himself for his overconfidence. Where the Unseelie Court were concerned, nothing could be taken for granted; he should have learned that long ago.

Thunder cracked overhead and rain sheeted down, forcing the sailors to move under the canopy of leaves to prevent the torches
from
being extinguished. Meg seemed oblivious of the downpour. ‘After these twelve long years, I am weary,’ she admitted. ‘I yearn to be free of this business, to walk once more across Ireland’s green meadows and hear the songs of my people.’

‘Twelve years on an island with only Dr Dee for company might have seemed like an eternity, Mistress Meg, but the world still waits for you, just as it always was. Nothing has been lost.’ Will understood well her doubts and sorrows – they were too much alike, the two of them. ‘That is a second chance few people get.’

For a moment longer, she kept her head down. But when she looked back at him with a seductive grin and the fire alight in her eyes once more, he saw the Meg he knew. ‘Then let us waste no more time on miserable thoughts. The sooner we can overpower the mad magician, the sooner we can return home. And then we can dance and make merry and . . . perhaps . . .’

He smiled at the promise in her eyes. Before he could reply, calls and the sound of running feet echoed from the path ahead. As the sailors drew their knives and rapiers, two men careered out of the gloom and the wall of rain. Will recoiled, fearing he was seeing ghosts. Hair plastered to their heads and clothes sodden, Carpenter and Launceston skidded to a halt. Will stared for a moment, stunned.

‘At last,’ Carpenter said, breathless. ‘I could not bear to run another mile.’

‘John!’ Will exclaimed, grasping the other man’s shoulders. He beamed, barely believing his own eyes. ‘Robert! You survived.’

‘The Unseelie Court took us aboard their ship,’ the Earl replied, his whispery voice almost lost beneath the pounding of the rain. ‘But we escaped them.’

Will laughed, relief flooding him. His conscience had been stained by many things, but here was one that would no longer haunt him. ‘Fortune indeed smiles on us. Grace has recovered, and Meg here and the two of you have wriggled out of death’s grasp. Only a day ago, I never would have believed it possible.’

‘Pfft. We have survived worse,’ Launceston sniffed, wiping the rain from his face.

‘Let us save our tales for another time,’ Carpenter insisted, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Lansing marches towards the tower to seize Dee, with the pirate le Gris and his dead crew alongside him. We have little time – they know a short cut.’

Will felt on fire. His spirits had been low, but now it seemed as if no obstacle was too great. ‘Come, then, lads. Now we are reunited, let nothing stand in our way. For England!’

Even as the other men gave full voice to his cheer, another oath seared through his mind:
For Jenny
.
Soon now
, he thought. Soon he would have answers, and then revenge.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

FROM OUT OF
the driving rain, the dark finger of the tower appeared. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, turning the world white. The column of sodden men raced up the final steps of the crumbling path into a forecourt of broken flagstones where yellowing grass pushed through the cracks. A low wall ran round the edge, overlooking a deep drop down the rocky hillside to the woods below. One by one the torches fizzled and went out in the deluge until they had to splash through pools to cross the final few feet to the foot of the soaring structure. Will looked up, but the summit was lost to the dark. No lights gleamed from the slit windows. Worn by the elements, the tower looked ancient, as old and rough as the stones standing in circles on England’s moors. Above his head, he could just glimpse carvings running round the periphery, their original shapes lost to the slow erosion of the years so that it appeared strange creatures were being birthed from the rock itself.

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