Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

In the entrance to the passageway, Marlowe beckoned furiously. Nathaniel tried to guide Grace towards him, but she resisted.

"No, Nat. I have work to do. For my friends." Her voice had the singsong lilt of some melody only she could hear. "I led them to the guards so they could come in ..." Her brow furrowed again, as though at an unpleasant memory, but nothing dark would stay with her. "And now I must show them through the maze of the palace. They need me, Nat. I cannot deny my friends."

"That is not a good idea, Grace," he began, but he could see she was not listening to him. Gradually, she pulled away and drifted across the courtyard, his presence already forgotten.

Nathaniel ran back to Marlowe and said, "She has helped her captors to enter the palace."

"We must alert the guards, then. To the gatehouse."

As they made to move, Marlowe suddenly grabbed Nathaniel and dragged him back into the passageway. Pressed against the wall, they saw grey shadows shimmer from the archway that led to the gate, following in Grace's wake towards the range of buildings on the other side of the courtyard.

Blinking to clear his eyes, Nathaniel wasn't sure if he was seeing moonshadows, so insubstantial did they appear. His attention was diverted by a cloaked and hooded figure walking slowly, head and shoulders bowed as if consumed with despair. More shadows followed, slightly more substantial this time; Nathaniel felt his eyes were clearing, although he could not explain the strange effect.

Once the courtyard was empty again, Marlowe motioned for them to leave the passageway. They ran along the wall around the edge of the courtyard, hesitating every now and then in case more of the intruders appeared. As they edged through the archway to the gatehouse that lay next to the river entrance, they were overwhelmed by a smell of rot.

The gates hung wide revealing the path that led to the warehouses along the river and the wharf. Two guards lay on the cobbles in the entrance, the moon illuminating skin that was blackened and suppurating. Nathaniel retched at the vile stink that rolled off the bodies and chewed on the back of his hand to control his gag reflex. As he edged closer, he saw large boils had risen up around the guards' necks and a thick white foam covered their lips.

"Plague!" he gasped, throwing himself back against the wall of the arch. "But ... but the guards were well earlier. And plague does not strike one dead so quickly!"

Marlowe led him away several paces and whispered, "Steady yourself, Nat. This plague is not natural. It comes from a weapon the Enemy has under their control-"

"The Spanish have a weapon that can bring disease?" Nathaniel gushed anxiously.

When Marlowe didn't reply, Nathaniel knew his worst fears were confirmed: there was another enemy, beyond the Spanish, and he knew instinctively what it was. Marlowe struggled to find words to continue the conversation and so Nathaniel interjected, "What kind of weapon does this thing, Kit? I have not heard the like of this anywhere."

"I told you-no questions. We can talk of these things later. Right now we must raise the alarm." Nathaniel followed him into the gatehouse, but they'd barely gone three steps over the threshold when the foul smell told them all they needed to know. "Damn them!" Marlowe snapped.

"They are slaying every man they encounter. Is there no protection from this weapon?"

"Dee searches for some defence, but as yet has found none. If used gently, without the protection of the Shield, I am told it has a range-like an arquebus. Stay beyond that range and you will be unharmed."

Nathaniel nodded his approval. "Good. That we can do." He hesitated as a thought struck him, and then said, "The queen! If these guards are dead, the others may be taken by surprise. We must protect her!"

"We are also charged with protecting what is held in the Lantern Tower. That will be the Enemy's first port of call."

They ran from the gatehouse back across the courtyard and into the range of buildings that led to the banqueting rooms. Through the windows, they could see the maze of buildings that surrounded the queen's residence, the Black Gallery and the Tryst Rooms on the far side, and in the foreground the row of stone houses next to the Lantern Tower. Nothing moved in the immediate vicinity.

But as they continued down the corridor, they heard the sound of a guard's challenge ahead. Slowing, they came to a corner and peered around cautiously. At the far end of the great hall, a guard levelled his sword at the hooded intruder, demanding to know his business.

The figure did not respond. For a moment he hesitated, until the guard prodded him with the sword, and then he held out his hand. Dropping the sword, the guard cried out, his hand leaping to his throat. Horrified, Nathaniel watched boils burst from the man's neck, his skin blackening and mouth foaming white, his eyes rolling until he fell to the ground, convulsing a little before he died. The whole process took barely a minute.

"So quick," Nathaniel whispered.

Once the guard had fallen, Nathaniel became aware of figures across the hall, as if they had just stepped out from behind some unseen curtain. If they were the shadows he had glimpsed earlier, they now had substance, though he could see none of their faces. Still indistinct, they appeared to swathe themselves in shadows that were thrown by no obvious light source.

Grace was among them, still entranced. Two of them guided her towards the door on the far side of the hall, the others loping behind. Not a sound echoed; it was as though the hall was filled with ghosts.

Peering through a window, Nathaniel saw the intruders fanning out across the palace complex. "They are everywhere. We cannot confront them all. What do we do?"

"Stealth, Nat," Marlowe whispered. "There is nothing to gain by revealing ourselves yet. An opportunity will present itself." Marlowe did not sound convinced, and Nathaniel could see on his face his anxiety as he searched desperately for an answer. Motioning for Nathaniel to follow, Marlowe dashed across the great hall to the door.

"It is down to you and me now, Nat," he said grimly. "The two of us, to save England and the queen."

CHAPTER 55

I he desperate rhythm of pounding hooves matched the pulse of the ,blood in Will's head. Under the light of the moon, he drove his horse along the sun-baked lanes, over the marshland where lights burned ominously, and past the peaceful fields where the corn waved in the night breeze, with Carpenter and Launceston alongside.

Over the long hours that the Tempest pursued the grey-sailed ship, the three of them had remained in constant council. There was no doubt in their minds that the Unseelie Court would head directly for the Palace of Whitehall, to secure the Shield so they could unleash whatever plan they had nurtured since the Silver Skull had been taken from the Tower.

As they entered the Thames estuary, Will ordered Courtenay to put them ashore before they reached Tilbury. The grey-sailed ship would take the most direct route, slowing to navigate the upper reaches of the river to London Bridge before the Enemy moved to smaller boats to reach the palace. They had a chance to make up some time on the faster ship.

Parched by the dust, they finally reached the city walls during the hour before dawn. Admitted by the night watch, they thundered through the deserted streets to the west where the palace sprawled hard against the river. As they neared, Will's attention was caught by the inexplicable and troubling faint green halo around the Lantern Tower.