Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

"One of yours?" Will nodded to the players running through their lines.

"A shine on the speeches here and there. Nothing more." A dismissive shrug. "I am filled with passion for a greater work. The one we spoke of? A man who makes a deal with the Devil for rewards which only prove fleeting."

A chill ran through Will, but it quickly dissipated in the summer warmth. "I am sure it will be well received, Kit."

Shielding his eyes, Marlowe studied the players approvingly. "I feel better times lie ahead, Will. With the Spanish so roundly defeated. The Enemy pushed back once more. We can get on with our own lives, and there is much I wish to do with mine. Great plays to write. I see years of productive activity lying ahead." Embarrassed, he looked to Will and laughed. "You will think me an impostor."

"I am glad your spirits are high. You deserve some pleasure." Will watched Marlowe's young friend squeezing into a dress before he made his entrance on stage; a role upon a role upon a role. "I will speak with Walsingham," he added, "and smooth this disagreement that lies between you."

"No one has any control over Walsingham."

"I do." Will ignored Marlowe's probing gaze; he was still considering how to use the information he had gained from Dartmoor, and how far he could go with it before he became a liability.

They were interrupted by a carriage thundering into the inn-yard. Onlookers scattered as it came to a halt near the stage, much to the annoyance of the players. Nathaniel climbed out and then offered a hand to Grace.

Marlowe flashed Will a glance.

"He is well," Will said, but offered nothing more.

Two players involved in a furious argument dragged Marlowe away to give them better lines, and he left Will with a wink. Will was pleased to see him at peace; he hoped it would last.

His troubled emotions surfaced thick and fast as he watched Nathaniel and Grace approach, fear of what lay ahead for both of them and doubts about whether he could continue to fulfil his vows and keep them safe. Briefly, he wondered if he was like the Unseelie Court, a too-hot flame that burned all those who came close. But for now they were safe, and after the threat that had hovered over them, that was a victory he could cherish.

"The end of a long night, or the beginning of a long day?" Nathaniel eyed Will and then the open door to the inn.

"Neither, Nat. I am enjoying the sun and the peace of a day away from my duties."

Nathaniel made a disbelieving face. "The Spanish defeated, the country in the mood for celebration, and you are not already three drinks ahead? Something is amiss."

"There is time enough for that. I have been contemplating hiring a new assistant. The old one has a sharp tongue and I feel he mocks me when my back is turned."

"To your front only," Nathaniel said indignantly. "I am not a spy-I am open in my ways."

"And we are all thankful for that, Nat," Grace said warmly. "No news of Jenny?" she asked Will hopefully. She paused, her brow wrinkling as she struggled with the gap in her memory. "Have I asked you this recently?"

He smiled. "No, not recently. Do not worry, Grace. The physician says the blow to your head has left you in good health, if a few memories short. You will soon make new ones. And the answer to your question is, not yet. But I continue my endeavours."

"It warms me that your love for my sister was so strong it still burns brightly even after she has gone. But sooner or later you must let someone else into your life, Will. You deserve warmth, and comfort, and your love returned by a good woman."

I deserve Jenny, he thought.

His smile and a nod were enough for her. Pleased, she took her leave and went to tease Marlowe who was caught in a huddle of bickering players.

"You will break her heart, Will," Nathaniel cautioned.

"What do I do, Nat? I must protect her from harm. I cannot keep her at arm's length to do that. She mistakes my care for love and will not hear any different."

"She may be right, though. She loves you-"

Will's cautionary glare stopped him in his tracks.

"Yes, yes, I know. There is only room for one woman in your heart." Nathaniel shook his head in frustration. "Do not complain to me in your bitter, lonely old age. You work a cold business in sour times. You need some warmth to stop your heart becoming as hardened as the world you inhabit."

"You are like an old wife, Nat." Will feared his friend spoke true, but in his hand he clutched at hope. He unfurled his fingers to reveal the glint of gold.

"What is that?" Nathaniel asked.

"Something I found on Dartmoor."

"A locket?"

Jenny's locket. Within it was a fresh rose petal, a mark of a love that had not died in all the years apart.

Although the High Family would be invigorated by their loss and there would be no respite in the long battle, he now had a hope that he scarcely dared believe.

On stage, the players put away their true selves. Intricate layers of trickery and emotion unfolded in the subtle spin of their words. The crowd laughed at the conceits, applauded the deceits. At the side of the stage, Marlowe nodded in approval at how the players danced to the strings he pulled.

Will clapped a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "Our Lord Walsingham muttered something about more work, in France. In Krakow. And in fair Venice. And on the Spanish Main. No rest for the swords of Albion, ever. But for now the sun is shining, and time runs away from us. There is wine to be drunk, and women to be romanced. Whatever lies ahead, the here and now is good, Nat, and we must make the most of it. Let us celebrate our great victory and drink to a world made right."

BOUT THE AUTHOR

two-time winner of the prestigious British Fantasy Award, Mark Chadbourn has published his epic, imaginative novels in many countries around the world. He grew up in the mining community of the English Midlands, and was the first person in his family to go to university. After studying Economic History at Leeds, he became a successful journalist, writing for several of the UK's renowned national newspapers as well as contributing to magazines and TV.

When his first short story won Fear magazine's Best New Author award, he was snapped up by an agent and subsequently published his first novel, Underground, a supernatural thriller set in the coalfields of his youth. Quitting journalism to become a full-time author, he has written stories which have transcended genre boundaries, but is perhaps best known in the fantasy field.

Mark has also forged a parallel career as a screenwriter with many hours of produced work for British television. He is a senior writer for BBC Drama and is also developing new shows for the UK and US.

An expert on British folklore and mythology, he has held several varied and colourful jobs, including independent record company boss, band manager, production line worker, engineer's "mate," and media consultant.

Having traveled extensively around the world, he has now settled in a rambling house in the middle of a forest not far from where he was born.

For information about the author and his work:

www.markchadbourn.net

www.jackofravens.com

www.myspace.com/markchadbourn