Robert Harris - Will Shakespeare and the Pirate’s Fire

He pressed on, leaving damp footprints and a trail of droplets from his sodden clothes. Passages branched off this way and that, some ending in blank walls, others splitting into more forks or opening on to narrow stairways, some of wood, some of stone. Remembering that a couple of the upstairs windows had been lit, Will worked his way upwards.

As he mounted a final steep stairway, he heard a strange noise coming from above. It was a whirring sound, like the fluttering of a bird’s wings but much more rapid. At the top of the stairs he emerged into a branching corridor. To the left the walls disappeared into darkness, but the right-hand passage led to a door with yellow light spilling out from under it. This was the source of the unnerving noise.

Along with the whirring he could now hear a regular metallic grinding, like a pair of knives being scraped together. He swallowed hard and started cautiously down the passage. The wall to his left was covered by faded hangings, to his right the rain rattled on some shuttered windows.

Suddenly he heard a stealthy footfall at his back. A poacher’s instincts made Will duck as a heavy iron pan whooshed over his head and smashed a chunk of plaster out of the wall. With a loud clang, the pan clattered to the floor.

Will spun round to confront his attacker. He barely had time to glimpse a pair of malignant black eyes glaring at him out of a round, sallow face when he was seized by the arms and lifted off his feet. Rough, powerful hands slammed him against the wall with a force that made his teeth quiver.

“You’re a sneaky thief,” rasped the stranger, “but not sneaky enough to outfox Caleb Cook!”

Will tried to protest his innocence, but Caleb Cook slammed him into the wall again and bashed the breath out of him. His heart hammered and a red mist spread over his eyes. If he didn’t fight back, this man was going to kill him. He twisted his arms free and locked his fingers around his attacker’s neck.

“You don’t beat Caleb like that,” croaked his sallow-faced opponent, shaking Will’s fingers loose with a guttural cry of triumph.

He caught Will under the shoulders and hoisted him off the floor, swinging him about like a doll. Then he gave a mighty heave and flung the boy across the passage. Will hurtled backwards into a window. The shutters banged open and he toppled out into the dark and empty air.

When Will dared to open his eyes he was horrified to find himself clinging to a shutter, dangling four floors above the rain-drenched garden. He kicked frantically, trying to swing the shutter towards the window and safety, but the violent wind was against him. His arms stretched like tent ropes and his wet fingers ached from the strain of holding on.

Caleb’s face loomed at the window like a baleful yellow moon. “There’s the price of burglary,” he said. He cast a glance down at the ground below. “I doubt you’ll have a bone left unbroken after this fall.”

One of Will’s hands slipped. Choking back his panic, he tried to think. “I’m not a burglar,” he pleaded. “I’m here with Master Henry Beeston.”

“And what’s he to me?” Caleb growled.

“He leads Lord Strange’s Men,” gasped Will. “He’s come to see Dr Dee. For the love of God, they know each other!” He kicked at the air again, but that only moved him further away.

Caleb drew back from the window.

“Wait!” shouted Will. His shoulders were burning and his sinews were drawn tight. “We’ve brought something precious for Dr Dee!” The pain was becoming unbearable and Will braced himself to plunge to his doom. “I-can’t-hold-on-much-longer.”

A hand reached out and grasped the shutter. With a wordless grunt of disgust Caleb hauled it towards the window. Will threw his legs over the ledge and swung himself inside. He dropped to the floor and slumped there, puffing like a fish out of water. Caleb stared down at him, an angler deciding whether his catch was worth keeping.

“If you’ve come to bring trouble,” he said in his cracked, unpleasant voice, “I’ll not be blamed for it.”

Wiping the raindrops from his face with a shaky hand, Will looked up at his attacker. Caleb looked to be only a few years older than Will, but he seemed prematurely aged by sheer meanness of spirit. The cast of his features was sour and unwelcoming, and his shoulders were hunched as though he were expecting to be struck from behind.

“No trouble,” Will assured him. “Master Beeston has brought Dr Dee some books.”

“Books,” said Caleb with a sniff. “If less was spent on books, we could buy more oil for the lamps, more fuel for the fire.”

He started down the passage, walking in a peculiar stooped gait. “The doctor is this way,” he growled over his shoulder, with a curt nod towards the lighted doorway.

Will picked himself up and followed his sullen guide. As he approached the door the whirring noise grew louder and more sinister and he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked.

Caleb shrugged his twisted shoulders. “It’s the doctor,” he said flatly, as if that were explanation enough. Stepping aside, he caught Will by the arm and launched him forward as he flung the door open. Will stumbled into the room and almost screamed as a monstrous flying shape swooped down on him from above.

It was a gigantic beetle, as big as a horse. Its pincer-like jaws snapped like a pair of clashing swords and its wings fluttered furiously as it bore down on him. Will jumped back, bumping into Caleb who was blocking the doorway. A rush of air ruffled Will’s hair as the monster whirled past, the light of a nearby lantern flashing off the silver-blue sheen of its body.

“Don’t just stand there!” boomed a voice. “Lend me a hand!”

Snapped out of his shock, Will saw that there were ropes attached to the huge insect, guiding it in a circular path around the room. He ducked as it swept by again, its jaws chomping, its six legs flailing.

Caleb shoved past and scuttled over to where one of the ropes was attached to a winch. He seized the handle and with a strenuous effort started to crank it.

“You too, boy!” came the commanding voice.

On the far side of the spinning monstrosity, Will could see someone waving him towards another rope that was secured to a hook. As he walked towards it, the voice shouted, “Untie it and pull it taut!”

There was a snap of authority in the words that prompted Will to obey. Loosing the rope, he grasped it tightly in both hands and was almost yanked off his feet as the beetle careered past him.

“Hold firm and pull !” came the order.

Will planted his feet firmly and heaved back on the rope. It fed through an overhead apparatus of cogs, shafts and wheels before attaching itself to the body of gigantic insect. Will’s fear lent him strength, for he was sure that if he let go, the beetle would pounce on him and use those awful pincers to rip the flesh from his bones.

He hauled with all his might until the rope was taut, wondering how anyone could have captured this monster. Then the truth dawned on him. As the beetle slowed down he could see it was no living creature, but a clever construct of wood, plaster and paint, as false as the props used by Lord Strange’s Men.

He saw Caleb cranking the handle with single-minded determination, reining the huge insect in, while the doctor pulled and pushed at a sequence of coloured levers. As the anchor ropes tightened, the monster stopped dead at a central point above their heads. Its jaws gave a final click, the wings twitched to a standstill and at last it dangled lifelessly in the air.

The master of the house came out from behind his levers and circled the floor under the beetle. He stroked his wavy silver beard as he scrutinised the machinery that held the creature in place. His face was flushed with exhilaration as if the whole exercise had been a huge bit of fun, oblivious to the horrid ordeal Will had experienced.