The Devil's Looking-Glass

Chapter SEVENTEEN





WILL BOUNDED ON to the quayside, calling to the pikemen Cecil had set to guard the Gauntlet, ‘Gather your weapons and prepare for the fight of your lives!’ He knew he was probably sending them to their deaths, but their sacrifice would not be forgotten if the ship could be freed from its icy prison. He caught the officer of the guard by the arm and leaned in to whisper, ‘Tell your men not to look those bastards in the eye, nor listen to their words. They will undermine you with lies and deceit. Keep your eyes on their weapons and kill without mercy.’

The captain nodded, running towards his men, barking orders. Their cuirasses rattling as they ran, the defenders hurried down the stone steps on to the ice.

‘Should we join them in battle?’ Launceston peered towards the pale figures drawing in on the quay.

‘I need you here to help marshal the crew and these labourers. We must break the ice around the Gauntlet and carve a path out to where the river remains unfrozen.’

Unsettled whispers rustled across the quayside. The crowd grew in number as attention fell upon the Unseelie Court. Will beckoned for the other spies to gather closer. ‘We must prevent these good men from having their sleep ruined for evermore – however long that might be after this night,’ he whispered. ‘Spread the word that it is Spanish agents who approach. We need all good Englishmen to do their part in standing firm against the invaders. Keep them occupied.’

‘How do we do that?’ Carpenter asked.

‘Tell them to collect all the pitch from the shipwrights in Greenwich and carry the barrels down on to the ice. One of you find Captain Prouty and order him to prepare to sail.’

‘He will think you mad,’ Strangewayes complained.

‘Mad, I am. For only one of Bedlam’s Abraham men would dare to do what I plan.’ Will grinned. ‘But this is why the Crown selected us for our work. We are all mad, and, as you well know, the gods protect fools and lovers.’

He spun round, shouting, ‘Come, lads!’ to draw the attention of the gathered crowd. Carpenter and Strangewayes followed suit, whipping the men up with shouts and cheers and sending them off to the shipwrights’ stores marked out by piles of stone ballast along the quayside. Emerging from the inn with Launceston, Captain Prouty tossed aside a mug of ale and bounded up the plank to his ship. His orders rang out through the night as he moved across the deck. At the mainmast he paused to point up towards the yards.

Will ventured to the edge of the quay. On the river, the Queen’s men edged away from the safety of Greenwich, pikes levelled and swords drawn. Before them, the Unseelie Court advanced with long, determined strides, heads down into the wind, like wolves preparing to fall on a wounded deer.

Will forced himself not to rush to the aid of the men. Their sacrifice had bought him time. Turning back to the frantic activity along the dockside, he jumped on to the plank leading up to the galleon and demanded more haste in a voice that carried across the docks. As the labourers trundled the barrels of pitch from the stores, the spy directed them to carry their casks down the steps to the ice and there lay them in a line from the ship’s prow out into the river. Carpenter and Strangewayes marshalled another group of men to collect axes and the long-hafted hammers that the boat-builders used to drive wedges to split timber.

‘Captain Prouty insisted I inform you that he does indeed think you are mad,’ Launceston murmured as he urged the men on, drawn sword in his hand.

‘Then we are all in agreement. This is not a place for sane men. Bring the others and let us wallow in our madness.’ Will eased into the flow of men trudging down on to the ice.

Once the barrels of pitch were laid out in a line, he ordered a labourer to stand beside each cask with a hammer or an axe and, on his signal, smash it open. When his arm fell, the crashes of splintering wood drowned out the clash of steel and tormented cries echoing from the battle on the other side of the galleon. The pitch spewed out across the hoar-frost from barrel after barrel, flowing stickily into a black line pointing the way to freedom.

‘Bring me the brand,’ Will called. A workman thrust the spitting torch into his hand, and he lowered the flame to the sable stream. The fire licked at the pitch, raising bubbles that spattered and crackled. After a moment the tar caught. Acrid smoke whisked up, then an orange wall of fire racing out into the middle of the Thames. Cracks like cannon-fire boomed out into the night as the searing heat met the biting cold of the frozen river.

‘Do not wait for the ice to melt,’ Will roared as he marched along the line of workmen. ‘Take your hammers and your axes and smash it to pieces. But take care not to fall into the water.’

Red-faced from the sweltering fire, the men rubbed their hands and spat, grasping their tools and swinging them over their heads. The iron came down like thunder. Chunks of glittering ice flew. Will felt a swell of hope as he saw the jagged cracks race out. Man after man repeated their strikes until the ice shattered and the spy could glimpse lines of black water.

‘Keep at it until a channel forms,’ he yelled. Twirling an upright finger, he summoned the attention of Carpenter, Launceston and Strangewayes, then flicked his hand towards the galleon. They raced for the steps. On the quay, Will glanced back as a blazing pool of pitch slid into the water with a sizzle. A cloud of steam billowed up. When it cleared, he saw a trail of broken ice reaching out to the unfrozen channel in the middle of the river.

Launceston gave a satisfied nod. ‘Let us hope that is enough.’

Cheers rose from the labourers as they swung their tools to break more of the ice. But then, with a resounding crack, a large section broke free and turned vertical like a platter tipping off the edge of a table. Three men standing upon it plunged into the water. Will closed his eyes, knowing what was to come, but still he jerked when the screams tore out.

The dark pool boiled. Labourers inched towards the edge of the cracked ice, reaching out axes towards the thrashing arms. But the limbs fell away at odd angles, and the churning water turned red. After a moment, the river calmed as the feeding ended. The surviving workmen gaped in horror.

Will stifled his dismay at the deaths and ran up the planks leading on to the galleon.

‘Master Swyfte, let us see if this wild plan has found its legs,’ Captain Prouty boomed from the quarterdeck. He was in his fourth decade, his face pockmarked, and his curly hair streaked with grey. At his barked orders, crewmen scaled the rigging to unfurl the sails.

On the forecastle, Will saw that a clear channel now reached out through the shattered ice, widening by the moment. Would the water freeze over before they could set sail, he wondered?

On the poop deck, Carpenter called out. He leaned over the rail, his mouth a grim slash in the flickering light of the ship’s lantern, pointing across the wastes upstream. Will followed the line of his arm. Bodies littered the frozen river, the white now stained with pools of blood. The Unseelie Court had torn through the resistance. The last few pikemen fought on bravely, thrusting with their weapons, but they seemed like statues against the mercury of their foes. The Fay whirled, their blades slicing open throats, lopping off hands or arms or opening up bellies. The last man fell like a strand of barley before a scythe. As one, the Unseelie Court turned towards the galleon and stood motionless for a moment, the bitter breeze whipping their long hair.

Will felt their cold gaze upon him. He sensed their contempt for lesser beings, and their urge for vengeance and hot blood.

The moment passed and the grey figures strode forward together, slow, relentless, as if they knew no prey could ever escape them.

‘Time has run out,’ Carpenter said flatly.

‘Not yet,’ Will growled. His rapier sang as he drew it from its sheath. ‘Let them earn their victory.’

With a deep rumble, the sails caught the wind and the Gauntlet jerked like a horse under whip. The hull protested, the wood flexing against the hard ice. A loud grinding echoed through the night as the vessel pulled free. Will wondered if the keel would survive its ordeal.

Launceston and Strangewayes darted to the rail. The younger man glanced up at the billowing sails and uttered a prayer.

‘You waste your breath calling to your God,’ Carpenter snapped. ‘We will not escape Greenwich without being tested.’

‘What hope do we have?’ Strangewayes replied in a small, wavering voice.

‘They die on the end of cold steel, like any man,’ Will said, trying to reassure him. ‘Whatever they are, they breathe, their hearts beat, their blood flows . . . and it can be spilled.’

Strangewayes nodded, hiding his fear. ‘I am keen to earn my first kill.’

Carpenter gave a sarcastic grunt and Launceston hummed, one eyebrow raised.

‘Let us put our differences aside,’ Will whispered, resting one hand on the youngest spy’s shoulder. ‘Tonight we watch out for each other.’

The Enemy had advanced to within a stone’s throw of the lurching galleon, which seemed to be moving through molasses. The cracking and rending of the ice against the hard oak of the hull resounded through the haunted night. At the last, the Fay warriors broke into a run.

Strangewayes was chilled by the sight of the shadowy faces and the silence of the speedy attack, Will could see, but still he grinned, believing the Fay were incapable of boarding the galleon from the frozen river. Will knew better.

‘Prepare to repel the Enemy,’ he called. ‘Hold them off until we reach open water and that is victory enough.’

Before Strangewayes could question the order, the first line of the Enemy reached the side of the galleon. Simultaneously, the Fay leapt. The thuds of the bodies hitting the wood echoed through the vessel. The next line of warriors followed. Peering over the side, Will and Strangewayes glimpsed the Fay clinging to the hull like grey spiders. Their heads swivelled up as one, their eyes glowing. Uttering an oath under his breath, the younger spy crossed himself.

The Fay began to climb.

‘For England!’ Will called, his voice rising above the shattering of the ice.

Along the rail, any crew members who could be spared drew their swords. Carpenter moved along their ranks, reassuring them with a clap on the back or a touch to the arm. Will could almost hear his quiet urgings: Do not look in their faces. Strike fast. Whatever you might think, they are Spanish agents in disguise.

And then the first head appeared above the rail, the skin near as white as the frozen river below, the face blessed with high cheekbones and a straight nose yet made like a rose rotting on the stem by the cruelty glittering in the dark eyes. Before the nearest seaman could even raise his sword, the Fay warrior lashed out with his left hand. Talons ripped through the seaman’s pale throat. Blood sparkled like rubies in lamplight.

As the gore-spattered Fay warrior leapt on to the rail, the other men rushed forward, levelling swords and swinging cudgels. Sheer weight of numbers dislodged the boarder. But then the silent Fay attack erupted in force all along the rail.

A grey figure swung in front of Will. The spy parried one strike and pivoted to ram his shoulder against his opponent. For a moment, they hung together against the rail, enveloped in the loamy odour of dark tunnels far underground. Their eyes met. Will saw no compassion there, only contempt for some rough beast that was almost beneath its notice. And then the Fay fell backwards and down towards the ice.

The cries of wounded men echoed across the deck, the iron tang of blood caught on the cold breeze. When a man fell, Will darted into the space, thrusting with his rapier as each new bone-white face heaved into view. He glimpsed Launceston, a curious expression on his face as he studied the deep wound his blade had made across the neck of his opponent: a lick of his lips, a flicker of a smile. Carpenter swung his sword like a butcher carving a cow with strong, hard blows, his lips curled back from his teeth. And Strangewayes darted fast and low, each thrust made with grim determination. Yet the wave of Fay warriors seemed as if it would never end.

Lost to the delirious whirl of swords and bodies and the cries and screams and oaths, Will barely realized the galleon was gathering speed until it lurched free of the ice with such force that it almost threw him from his feet. ‘Almost there, Master Swyfte,’ Captain Prouty bellowed from the quarterdeck. ‘Hold them off a moment longer and we will be away.’

Will caught Carpenter’s eyes and they nodded. Renewing their efforts, they yelled encouragement to the men. The Enemy’s attack appeared to falter, then die away, and the spy dared to hope. But the resonant cracking of wood signalled a new approach. Throwing himself to the rail, Will peered down the hull to where the remaining warriors clung like spiders. Another crack echoed as a Fay tore off a gun port and flung the shattered oak behind him. Twisting like a snake, he slithered through the black square into the vessel.

‘To the gun deck!’ Will cried, beckoning his fellow spies as he raced past the bewildered crew and ducked down through the door in the forecastle. He understood the cunning of the Unseelie Court. In the dark, cramped gun deck, filled with cannon, there would be little space for swordplay. The Enemy’s speed and strength would give them an even greater advantage.

He slowed as he stepped into the pitch-black of the lower deck. The steely taint of powder hung in the air. Holding his rapier in front of him, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark. At the far end, the lighter night intruded in three shafts where the gun ports had been wrenched off. All was still. Will waved his blade from side to side, searching for the attack he knew would come.

‘They would lure us into their midst so they can slit our throats, unseen,’ Launceston breathed at his shoulder. ‘Let them come to us.’

Though the Earl’s words made sense, Will felt a tingle of apprehension. His worry was answered a moment later by a flaring light. A flint had been struck. A candle flame flickered into life in the open door of a lantern. White faces appeared from the gloom like pale fish rising from the sightless depths. Will saw a triumphant smirk spread across the lips of the Fay warrior who held the lantern and he knew what was to come.

‘Back,’ he yelled, keeping his rapier levelled as he urged the other three up the steps. ‘We are too late.’

The powder barrel lay on its side, its granular, black contents flowing across the boards. Two of the Fay warriors darted past the cannon and wriggled out the way they had entered. The third stood against the open gun door, his gleaming eyes locked on Will. With a flick of his wrist, he released the lantern. The guttering flame arced.

Will pounded back up the steps after the others. The blast ripped through the heart of the vessel, flinging all four spies through the forecastle door and across the main deck. His head ringing, Will felt the ship lurch to one side beneath him. Grey smoke billowed out of the open door. The roar of the raging fire below deck drowned out the terrified cries of the crew.

Will hauled himself on to shaky legs. Flames were already licking up the side of the stricken vessel, curls of sparks whisking towards the sails. He reached out a hand to drag Carpenter to his feet. Launceston and Strangewayes staggered behind.

Another blast tore open the main deck. An orange sheet of flame rushed up through the fissure, catching stays and canvas and lines as it swept along the vessel. A sailor was caught in the inferno and, screaming in agony, hurled himself overboard in a bid to quench the flames. Will choked, holding up an arm to protect his face from the searing heat pressing in on every side. They had perhaps only a moment before the powder store blew, taking the galleon and every man aboard to kingdom come. Yet the fire beat him back at every turn.

‘Is this how it ends, then,’ Strangewayes gasped, his face ruddy in the light of the flames, ‘for us, for England?’

Will spun round, searching for a path through the conflagration. Then, as the mainmast cracked with a sound like cannon-shot, the blazing sailcloth plunged down towards them.