The Devil's Looking-Glass

Chapter THIRTY-ONE





THE ISLAND BROODED in the deep dark. No fires or lanterns glimmered, no voices carried, no sign of human habitation showed itself anywhere. There was only the creak of the Tempest at anchor and the wind across the waves.

Uncommonly subdued, Courtenay disappeared below deck and returned with ten of his fiercest men. Will watched the rowing boat pull away as it ferried the sailors to the shore. It disappeared into the dark, and after what seemed an age, lanterns flickered to life in a circle on the beach. He joined the last boat with Strangewayes, who would not meet his eye. ‘You must put aside your feelings until we are back aboard ship,’ Will said in a low voice. ‘Our survival could depend on us looking out for each other.’

Strangewayes did not reply.

Through the gloom they could make out white-topped waves lapping on to a small beach which led up to a dense line of trees silhouetted against the night sky. The dark beneath the canopy was impenetrable. The sweet scent of cooling vegetation drifted on the night breeze.

‘Make a fire here on the strand,’ Will ordered when he stood in the circle of lamplight. ‘It will be a beacon for us as we explore the island.’ While the men collected driftwood and dry brush from the treeline, Will clambered over the rock pools at the edge of the horseshoe-shaped cove. Though he gained a different perspective of the island, still he could see no sign of life.

Once he had glanced towards the beach to ensure he had not been followed, he crouched down and removed the obsidian mirror from his leather pouch. It felt cool and comforting in his hand. How much he had gambled, bringing such a powerful object so close to the redoubt of the Unseelie Court. And yet it had proved the source of such hope.

He laid the looking glass on a seaweed-covered rock and peered into its depths. It seemed to glow of its own accord. Long moments passed, but just as he began to lose hope the mirror clouded and Jenny appeared in the glass once more. She smiled but her eyes looked unaccountably sad.

‘You knew I was here, wishing to speak to you?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘The mirror is powerful. It calls out to . . . to this place. And . . .’ she lowered her eyes, trying to hide the depth of her feelings, ‘I look out for you, Will. To see you again . . . after so long . . .’ She shook her head, grimacing. ‘No. I am being weak. You must ignore my words. Stay away, Will. There is too much at stake here. I am worth nothing.’

He shook his head with vehemence. ‘You are everything to me. And I will risk everything to bring you home.’ Her tears welled and she screwed up her eyes to stifle them. Will felt overwhelmed by a rush of memories, sensations and emotions: crunching through crisp gold and orange leaves in the woods with Jenny beside him; their eyes meeting at the Christmas feast amid the scent of cloves and hot, sweet wine, and the world seeming to hang though the dancers whirled around them; a kiss, on the day he left for Cambridge, thinking that surely there could be no worse pain than this parting. If only he had known.

‘I have many questions,’ he continued, aware that time was short, ‘but first: tell me, have they harmed you in any way?’

‘I am well,’ she replied, so quickly that he knew she was lying and his blood boiled.

‘Who took you, Jenny, and why?’

‘Why? Who can fathom the minds of these creatures?’ she replied in a strained voice. ‘Who?’ She paused, swallowed. ‘I was taken on the orders of Mandraxas, the King of these people, and the first of the High Family.’

‘Then he is the one who must feel the bite of my blade,’ Will replied, his voice cold. ‘One day I will find my way to you, and then—’

‘You can never do that,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘This fortress is impregnable. High, strong walls and many guards. And to enter this land of the Fay, you must first pass through one of the gates into the place where the two worlds overlap.’

‘How will I find them?’

She sighed. ‘Will—’

‘Tell me, Jenny,’ he pressed.

‘The Unseelie Court say you will find the gates if you ever need them, though it is much harder to leave. Twin pillars of stone, they are, in the sea around the New World. You will surely know them, for the rules of the natural world do not hold sway around them.’

While he reflected upon her words, a cry of alarm rang out. He looked round, and when he turned back the looking glass was clear. His heart sank, but only for a moment, for he knew now that Jenny was looking out for him too.

Another cry rolled across the strand. Will stood and saw Strangewayes lit up by the ruddy flames of the crew’s bonfire, beckoning him back. One of the men was pointing out to sea. Following the line of the man’s arm, Will discerned lights bobbing far out on the dark ocean beyond the reef. Another ship was sailing towards the island. When the Tempest’s gun cracked, Will could only imagine that the new arrival was Jean le Gris’s devil-haunted pirate galleon. The warning shot from Captain Courtenay would let their enemies know they had little hope of sailing through the rough waters beyond the reef in one piece.

At the bonfire, the men had made burning brands with pitch-soaked sailcloth wrapped around fallen branches to light their way through the thick woods. ‘We must use well what little time we have,’ Will told them. ‘Search for any paths leading away from the beach. But stay in sight of each other’s torches.’

‘And if we find nothing?’ Strangewayes muttered.

‘Pray that we do, Tobias.’

As they moved into the trees, the dancing torchlight glowed like fireflies through the branches. A symphony of subtle sounds surrounded them: the whisper of leaves, the groan of dry wood underfoot, and the distant call of some night bird. Soon the dark swallowed the beach and the bonfire. No one spoke.

Will imagined Dee and Meg and the other survivors clawing their way out of the surf and staggering up the beach and into the woods. It gave him hope where he knew there should not be any.

The ground sloped steadily upwards towards the centre of the island. In the sultry heat, sweat dripped from brows and soaked shirts. The men’s breath rasped with the exertion.

‘If the Unseelie Court find another cove to put into, how long before we encounter them, I wonder?’ Strangewayes thought aloud. Will noticed he kept one hand on the hilt of the dagger tucked into the waist of his breeches.

Ahead, one of the men whistled, and the torches swept through the trees in the direction of the call. The two spies found the other men gathered in a clearing looking up. On the side of the hill at the heart of the island, a tower stood silhouetted against the starry sky.

‘Curious,’ Will said, stroking his chin-hair. ‘Now who would call this dark place home?’

On the far side of the clearing, one of the men waved his torch. Cracked flagstones marked a path leading up through the trees, so worn and overgrown they suggested great age. Strangewayes flashed a questioning look.

‘If I had survived a shipwreck, a stone tower would have seemed a perfect shelter,’ Will replied. Holding his torch high, he stepped on to the path, happier now he had a destination in mind. Yet only a moment later, a blood-curdling howl echoed across the island. Uneasy, the men huddled together, eyes wide and darting around.

‘What was that?’ Strangewayes hissed. ‘Man? Or beast?’

Will drew his dagger. ‘Cold steel cuts either one.’ He continued along the path, more cautiously this time.

The path wound round the contours of the hill. Even with the torches Will found it impossible to see any distance ahead. When he paused to get his bearings beside a craggy-barked tree, the baying rolled out again, so close this time that several men cried out in shock. The sound stirred ancient fears in his head. Yet another yowl came a moment later, behind them this time.

‘Circling us,’ Will said.

‘Hunting.’ Strangewayes whirled, brandishing his dagger in front of him.

Behind them, along the path, the baying changed into a low growl, the sound of some beast preparing to attack. ‘Stand your ground,’ Will called, but the fearful seamen ran as one towards higher ground. Realizing they had no choice but to follow, the two spies raced after them.

The frightened men burst out of the trees into another clearing at the foot of a rocky outcrop. The torchlight glittered across the surface of a black pool fed by a spring trickling from the glistening cliff face. ‘Make a stand,’ Will shouted, putting away his dagger. ‘There will be no better place.’

Blades bristled out as the men formed a circle, their drawn faces stark in the flames. Will snatched out his rapier and turned to look back down the shadowy path.

A snapping and snarling rang out, but then a familiar woman’s voice called out, ‘Leave them, Mooncalf. They are not your prey.’ Silence fell across the woods. When Will’s pounding heart had slowed, he raised his torch and searched the dark beyond the pool. In the wavering light, a grey shape appeared, coalescing into Red Meg. She was barefoot, her dress smudged and worn. A grin sprang to the spy’s lips and he ran over to her.

‘It does me good to see you well, Meg,’ he said with relief. ‘I had feared the worst.’

Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to recall his face. ‘Will Swyfte?’ she enquired with a faint, baffled smile.

Had she taken a knock to the head in the shipwreck, he wondered? But then her eyes sparkled and her smile broadened and she almost hugged him in her joy. ‘Will Swyfte! After so long, I never dared hope I would see your cocky face again.’

‘Ten weeks since Liverpool is long indeed, Mistress Meg, but it could have been eternity—’

‘Ten weeks?’ She shook her head, puzzled once more. ‘Since the storm washed us up on this island, twelve years have passed.’