Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull Страница 26

"And the next day it was open again. There was a space beneath it, and tunnels leading under the churchyard and beyond. Animals ... " He paused. "Though bigger tunnels than any animal could make."

"And more talk of Nicholas Goodrick at large. "

Nathaniel explained the suggestion of a plot by Catholic sympathisers, or even foreign spies, and was rewarded with a reassuring nod and smile from Will. "And now they have taken Anne Goodrick," Nathaniel continued, "a cruel blow when she was finally free of her father. " At Will's quizzical glance, Nathaniel added quietly, "It is common knowledge that he thrust an unnatural relationship upon Anne. Many times I found her crying, but she would never talk of it."

Will's expression darkened, and he looked back to the church. "And now she is in there, with her tormentor. Tormentors. "

"Help my father," Nathaniel urged. "He is a good man, and only wished to aid Anne. "

Nathaniel received a clap on the shoulder that he found oddly reassuring, and then Will drew his sword as he loped towards the church. Fearing another long silence and an uncertain outcome, the villagers were fixed on Will as he entered the church. At first the quiet confirmed their darkest thoughts, and then suddenly lights flashed inside as though lightning crackled across the nave. As one the crowd called out. Shortly after, bloodcurdling cries that were barely human echoed from inside the church, followed by the sound of fighting from within the bell tower.

As always, Nathaniel was torn between the religious teachings of his father and his own faith in reason, between a world that could be mapped and understood, and one filled with terror. Conflicting images of the battle taking place within the church fought in his mind.

The crowd pointed and called out as Will appeared in one of the small arched windows of the bell tower, fighting furiously. A collision made the bell toll loudly, followed by another inexplicable flash of light. All around him, people were cheering their support, and Nathaniel was caught up in the passion and the belief that here was a great man, a protector, fighting a harsh battle on which all their fates depended.

Finally, Nathaniel caught sight of a shadow vacating the bell tower and passing rapidly across the moon before whisking away across the fields. He told himself it was a trick of his eyes, nothing more.

Soon after, the church door was thrown open and Will emerged with Nathaniel's father and Anne. Overcome with relief, Nathaniel ran to his father and grabbed him, before turning to pump Will's hand. "You saved them," Nathaniel said with admiration.

"I did what I could," Will replied.

It was only then that Nathaniel noticed Anne's glassy stare and the expression of abject horror that appeared to run so deep it would never be expunged. Without uttering a word, she trailed away from them towards the lych-gate, pausing briefly to stare into her father's empty grave.

Nathaniel's own father was deeply troubled in a manner that surpassed the curt dismissal of some Catholic sympathisers, even if it was on hallowed ground. He pulled Will to one side and engaged him in intense conversation for several minutes. It appeared to Nathaniel that Will was attempting to reject what was being said, but eventually he relented.

When he had finished the conversation, he took Nathaniel by the elbow and led him away. "Your father has found you a new appointment. "

"I have an appointment."

"And now you have a new one. You will accompany me to London, to the court, where you will be my assistant. "

Nathaniel didn't know what to say. He looked to his father, who wore an expression of deep relief.

"Gather your things and say your goodbyes," Will said. "We leave tonight."

"He is scared," Nathaniel said. "I can see it in his face."

"It is a dangerous world, and your father wants you safe."

"And you are supposed to keep me safe?"

At first, Will didn't respond. Nathaniel saw deep thoughts and emotions play out across Will's face that convinced him that here was a good man, as his father was good. Finally, Will said, "I can see, Nat, that you will probably be a terrible burden, with your worryingly quick mind and, I would wager, a quicker tongue. But it is too late to go back on my promise now. It seems we are stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. "

Nathaniel saw through the words. "And I would wager the burden will be all mine," he responded in kind. "But if nothing else I suspect there will be interesting times ahead. "

As Nathaniel headed to the cottage to collect his things, he glanced back and saw Will watching Anne with deep concern etched on his face. Nathaniel sensed dark currents that he didn't yet understand, but he was determined to learn all there was to know of the world; and of the world this brave, impressive figure inhabited.

CHAPTER 27

cross a desolate moor where the standing stones raised high by ancient people stood against a lambent moon in a starry sky, Will ran. The muffled sound of fiddles and pipes drifted across the gorse and sedge behind him, and a sickly-sweet smell of honeysuckle tainted the warm breeze. Under his feet, vibrations ran through the soft ground accompanied by a dim clanging, like a blacksmith's hammers, never slowing, beating out the shape of his past and his future in dark caverns far below. Then, behind him somewhere, a hunting dog howled, familiar and blood-chilling, and within moments the howl was moving towards him at great speed, and he knew he would never escape his fate ...

He woke in a cold sweat, tied to a chair in a shaft of moonlight breaking through a window. His hidden blade was useless to him, bound as tightly as he was. Beyond the dirty glass, he could see tall stone houses, the windows dark. The dusty boards under his feet were bare, the plaster on the wall crumbling. He could smell damp, and a hint of human decay, but also that familiar underlying scent of honeysuckle. He was in the Fairy House.

The last thing he recalled was standing on the upended side of the carriage, sword in hand, as the black dog attacked. He felt its hot breath, saw its teeth stained with the blood of the driver and horse it had slaughtered ... and then nothing.

As his senses returned, he realised he was not alone. Presences waited, unmoving, in the dark at his back; he couldn't estimate the exact number, but instinctively he felt there were at least three.

"You have me, then," he said.

After a moment of hesitation, the measured tread of boots revealed lion Alanzo, dressed as though for court, in a ruff, a linen shirt, a crimson and gold beaded doublet, padded breeches, and stockings, topped off by a velvet hat at a carefully positioned angle. He rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and studied Will.

"You cut a fine figure, Don Alanzo," Will observed. "If I did not know better, I would think you dressed for royalty."

"I return to Cadiz tomorrow," he replied in his heavy accent. "And then to glory, to the beginning of the end of England. With my prizes in hand."

"Not all your prizes."

"No, one evades me."

"And it will continue to do so."

"I think not." Don Alanzo examined his polished nails with theatrical nonchalance. "Already our agents close upon it. It is only a matter of time before your assistant is located and the Shield returned to us. Edinburgh is not a large city, and the people have no love of an Englishman."

Will stifled a pang of regret that he had placed Nathaniel in danger, and hoped that it was some previously unseen Spanish agents pursuing him and not the Unseelie Court. As he had always feared, his vow to Nathaniel's father continued to haunt him. "Nathaniel has a surprising degree of animal cunning. You may well be disappointed," Will said blithely.

Don Alanzo's lips curved with a faint, mocking smile. "You have not disappointed us yet."

There was much unsaid in the smile. "What are you saying, Don Alanzo?" Gently, Will tested the strength of the bonds around his wrists. As he had expected, they held fast; Don Alanzo would not make any mistakes.

"You recovered the artefact for us, where we and our allies had failed."

Will quickly assimilated Don Alanzo's implication. "You let me escape with Kintour and the cipher."

"Of course. Your reputation is well known. If there is one man in this world who could break a cipher, and overcome the traps of those Templar Knights, it is the great Will Swyfte." His mocking smile grew wider and stated, quite plainly, that Will was not at all great. "Reidheid, who plays both sides in this game, fed you the information we required about the existence of this house, and then it was only a matter of waiting for your arrival."

"A good plan," Will said. "One that I would have been proud to put into effect myself. Except ... one of your allies lies dead ..."

Don Alanzo's features remained unreadable.

"And you do not have the prize you sought," Will continued.

"As I said, only a matter of time."

"Which is what all failures say." Will was pleased to see Don Alanzo flinch. "Your allies are a poor choice, Don Alanzo, and do you no credit. Do you think they would not slit your throat, and every throat in Spain, once you have served their purpose?"

Don Alanzo's eyes flickered towards the unseen presences behind Will. "Do you think we are not aware of that? Shared interests cross boundaries of suspicion."

"Men are judged by the friends they keep."

Don Alanzo laughed. "And we should only ally ourselves with people we like? How naive! Why, Master Swyfte, if that were the case, I think you would struggle to find allies even within your own court."

"We are not talking about the French here, Don Alanzo. Or Venice, or Florence, or the Hapsburgs, or even that weak and feeble Russian, Feodor. The Unseelie Court is a half-starved wolf waiting in your parlour."

"And you think Spain is not? England is a corruption upon the world. Your arrogance spins out of control, standing against God and Rome, overthrowing laws and truces and order whenever it serves your purpose. You are despised by all freethinking men, and soon you will see black sails on the horizon. The dark ship that reeks of rot approaches your land, and it is already too late to turn it back."

Don Alanzo summoned one of those who stood behind Will. The Silver Skull stepped into the shaft of moonlight, his mask glowing with white fire, and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Will.

"Who are you?" Will asked.

"His identity is not important," Don Alanzo said. "There are many people prepared to sacrifice all they have to ensure England is destroyed. It is the sacrifice itself that matters."

"Play the hero in your game. We all do the same," Will said. "In the end, there are only winners and losers."

"Sadly, your role is already defined. If you think the lack of the Shield will slow our plans, you are sorely mistaken. This grand weapon has many uses. While it remains in our hands, you will always be in danger."

"Then my best endeavours will go to returning it to the Tower."

"I think not." Don Alanzo caught the Silver Skull's arm and guided him towards the door. "I take no pleasure in the suffering you are about to endure," he continued. "This is war, and the stakes are high, but still ... You will reveal the whereabouts of the Shield, and then it all ends."

Don Alanzo and the Silver Skull stepped out of the room, and for a while there was no response to Will's mocking questions. At his back, he felt the weight of the remaining people in the room, studying his strengths, mental state, resilience, turning over his flaws and weaknesses, like hunters circling their prey. He knew exactly what was to come.

Finally, Cavillex stepped before him. The superiority Will had witnessed at the palace had been replaced by a cold indifference, though Will thought he sensed an intense rage burning just beneath the surface.

"I have a question: how many of your kind have fallen by a mortal hand?" Will asked blithely.

Cavillex ignored Will's taunting. He was handed a small silver tray, but held it just above Will's line of vision.

"It was surprising. I found it just like killing a man," Will continued. "Or a dog."

"It is a while since you have eaten," Cavillax began. "Would you like a bite, to fill your belly?" From the tray he plucked a fragrant, golden biscuit and wafted it under Will's nose. The scent of honey, butter, and spices filled his senses, and despite himself, Will's hunger magnified unnaturally. "Or a drink of water?" Cavillex poured a goblet of crystal water from a silver jug. Suddenly, Will's throat was as dry as a summer street.

Overwhelmed by the urge to consume the biscuit and water, his head spun, but he forced himself to resist. He knew the consequences of accepting food and drink from the Enemy; he would not forget Kintour.

"Thank you," he said, "but my appetite has fled."

Cavillex leaned in and said quietly, "That would have been the easy road."

"I would give you the gift of a challenge," Will replied. "For life is nothing, if it is not tested."

"No challenge," Cavillex stated.

Behind him, Will could hear the sound of metal upon metal, the clink of objects being arranged upon another tray, the clack and whirr of items being tested. In his head, he began to picture their shape and purpose, and forced himself to stop.

"You will never defeat us," Will said.

"Us?" Cavillex said. "Ah. The brotherhood of man. You think yourself my equal. Of course. Yet in the New World, you treat your own kind like slaves, and slaughter them as if they have no value. As you did the Moors. As you have done, even your own countrymen, over the steady march of the centuries. We stood in our glades, and by our lakes, and on the hilltops, and watched, slack-jawed and silent, as you tore through your fellow creatures. When the Norman, William, invaded your nation, one hundred thousand fell before his will in the north. Thirty thousand dead of starvation in Ireland under your own queen's campaign. How many more have been sacrificed to your pathetic arguments about religion? You are animals falling on each other in the field. You do not deserve to exist."

Will could not deny the sting of truth in Cavillex's words. "That is not the sum of us," he replied.

"What makes a man, then?" Cavillex enquired. "Let us investigate."

Hands grabbed Will's shoulders roughly and flipped his chair backwards. Just at the point when he expected his head to slam against the boards, it came to a gradual rest. A member of the Unseelie Court supported the chair on either side, but he could not see the details of their faces.

Cavillex loomed over him with the water jug. "This gift is given freely, and without obligation," he stated.

He poured the water slowly from the spout, down Will's chest, allowing it to flood across his face and into his breathing passages. It was barely more than a trickle, but Will was forced to inhale it, and instantly he was overcome by a sudden sensation of drowning. His limbs thrashing involuntarily, he tried to draw himself up, but Cavillex's two helpers held him tightly in place. Choking, his attempts to breathe were crushed by an overwhelming feeling of water filling his lungs and of slow suffocation. Darkness closed around his vision and stars flashed across his mind.