Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

A faint smile flickered across Walsingham's lips, quickly stifled, acknowledging that Will had clearly predicted his intentions.

"You want us to travel into the heart of our enemy's land?" Mayhew said incredulously. "The Skull will be the most closely guarded object in the whole of Spain, as closely guarded as Philip himself. How can we be expected to survive such an assault?"

"We aren't," Will responded, "but if we can destroy the Silver Skull in the process, our work will be done."

Though he blanched a little, Mayhew nodded; he understood their responsibilities.

"You have only returned from Edinburgh this morn," Walsingham said. "The report I received from your assistant suggested the injuries inflicted on you by the Enemy were extreme."

"Nat is prone to exaggeration," Will replied. "I am in good health, and fit to lead the mission into Spain."

Walsingham studied Will for a moment, not wholly convinced. He had every right to be doubtful; Will's wounds were still knitting, but the sea journey would give him plenty of time for recovery, Will anticipated. Walsingham clearly agreed, for he nodded and said, "Then these fine men will accompany you. Arrangements have already been made-your ship leaves today. But first you must visit Dee in Whitehall, for he has some new surprises for you. May God go with you."

Walsingham gave a curt bow and strode out of the room to the carriage waiting to take him back to the Palace of Whitehall. Will admired the spymaster's cold focus upon his business; he had essentially sent them all to their deaths, and dismissed them with nothing more than a nod.

"Well, then," Will said. "There is time for drink and a visit to the doxie of your choice. Make the most of this time, men, for there will be few comforts in the days ahead."

As his eyes briefly met Carpenter's baleful gaze as he walked from the room, he wondered how much he could trust the man. Carpenter's grudge had festered for a year, and he was not someone who easily let go of his desire for revenge. The Enemy was expert at driving a wedge into men's hearts through the flaws in their character. Had Carpenter betrayed Grace to them? Would he betray them all further? Will decided he needed to keep a close eye on his rival.

As he strode through the sunlit rooms of the palace, his thoughts turned back to Grace. In Edinburgh, Cavillex had stated clearly his intention to torture and kill Will in front of Grace. He knew Will would travel to Spain in search of the Skull, and so logic dictated Grace would also be held there ready for Will's capture. The Enemy would be waiting for him; Grace too would be waiting. Nat would say he was ready for a trip to Bedlam to so knowingly walk into the Unseelie Court's machinations, but Will hoped that knowledge would be enough to protect him.

He caught up with Walsingham briefly as he paused in deep contemplation, looking out of an open window across the peaceful grass running down to the slow-moving river. Whatever was on Walsingham's mind, it caused a troubled cast to his expression. He started when Will appeared at his side, and was inexplicably angry at being disturbed. Will knew from experience he had only a moment to ask his question.

"In Edinburgh, I was questioned at length by the Enemy. I gave nothing away-

"As I would expect."

"-but my interrogator was under the mistaken belief that I was kept informed of all that happens in England. He asked me what I knew of Dartmoor."

"What did he mean?"

Will watched Walsingham's face for any sign that he knew more about the subject than he was saying, but his face remained a clean slate, with only a faint knot of puzzlement in his brow.

"All I know of Dartmoor is that it is a bleak, inhospitable place."

"I will discuss this matter with Doctor Dee. He may bring some sense to it, though I doubt it. Dartmoor?" He shook his head slowly, and then continued on his way. Despite Walsingham's seeming ignorance, Will knew from Cavillex's tone and manner that Dartmoor was important to the Enemy. He resolved to make further enquiries.

Nathaniel and Christopher Marlowe waited lazily in the sun by the carriage, where Will had left them on his arrival, once he had received news of Grace's disappearance. Nathaniel appeared close to tears.

"Is it true?" he asked.

Will nodded. "Grace is gone."

"How could the Spaniards have stolen her from within the palace?" he cried.

"They have their ways," Will replied flatly, "and nowhere is truly safe." Marlowe caught his eye, understanding the truth.

"It seems the Enemy wishes to cause you pain, for the suffering you have inflicted upon them," Marlowe said. "I have not heard of the struggle being made so personal before."

"It shows that what I do is working, then, Kit." Will held open the carriage door for them to climb inside.

"That does not help poor Grace." Nathaniel wrung his hands.

"Then it is a good job I have a plan to rescue her. Do you think I would leave her to the torments of the Enemy? I would go to the very gates of hell to bring her back."

"I understand your affection for Grace," Marlowe began hesitantly, "but would this plan be a wise one?"

"I have decided to sail rapidly away from the shores of wisdom into the vast, heaving oceans of foolhardiness. Do not worry about me, Kit. Save your condolences for the Enemy." Will kept the mood light, but he could not prevent an edge creeping into his voice, and he saw they both recognised it. "Bankside," he called to the driver as he climbed in behind the others.

"How can you even think of dallying with doxies and drunkenness when Grace is gone?" Nathaniel asked, his voice breaking. He gave Will a brief, fractured look of betrayal.

What could Will tell him? That it was the only way he could numb the pain he felt, and the fears of what might be happening to Grace at that very moment? Nathaniel deserved better.

"There is always time for drink and women, Nat," he replied. Nathaniel wouldn't look at him for the rest of the journey.

Will was aware Marlowe was filled with questions about the Enemy, but could not raise any of them while Nathaniel was there. But what concerned Will the most was the odd cast to Nathaniel's face. He had seen it many times before, the ghost of doubt, the spectre of fear, the dawning recognition that the world was not the way it appeared. Soon he would be faced with a dilemma: to break his vow and send Nathaniel away, into the dangers that his father always feared, or to risk a fate that mirrored Miller's, once the infection of the Unseelie Court finally struck him hard.

Will knew he was responsible for the change that had come over Nathaniel, but even now he could not leave him alone. "I must go away for a while on Lord Walsingham's business," he said, trying to make light of what lay ahead. "While I am gone, there is still much to do here." As the carriage came to a halt at Bankside, he paused and searched Nathaniel's face, unsure if he should continue. Finally, he said, "I have work for you both."

CHAPTER 32

he sun was low on the horizon and a scarlet path flowed across the white-plumed waves. As the dark began to press in, the lights of Cadiz blazed along the harbour, outside the taverns and in the squares, in the convent windows and the castle.

With sails billowing, the Tempest ploughed across the swell towards the town. A legend among seafaring men, some considered the vessel a harbinger of doom.

Captain John Courtenay stood on the forecastle, unfeasibly tall and powerfully built, tanned from the sun and the salt, his brown hair and beard wild in denial of the urbane, sophisticated style of the day. His untamed appearance was magnified by two ragged scars that marked his face in an X from temple to jaw, the result of torture at the hands of the Spanish in the New World. Beside him, Will watched the nearing lights.