Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

Will threw himself to one side, upending a table piled high with bones and crystals. They clattered across the floor noisily and brought more artefacts crashing down. Flinging himself upon Will, al-Rahman stabbed viciously and it was all Will could do to hold him off. He tried to reach his own knife, but al-Rahman wielded his blade back and forth in a blur of slashes, drawing closer to Will's throat with each arc.

Glass exploded at the back of al-Rahman's head with a loud crash and he pitched forwards across Will, unconscious. Launceston had entered silently during the fight and now stood over them holding a broken bottle.

"Quickly," the ghost-faced earl urged. "A carriage approaches. It is Don Alanzo."

"Go," Will gasped, throwing al-Rahman off him. "Take the others."

"You?"

Looking around quickly, Will replied, "I will find somewhere to hide so I can observe events. I will meet you later at the arranged place. And if I do not join you, you know what to do next."

Will and Launceston exchanged a brief look of understanding before the earl fled the room, followed by Carpenter and Mayhew, still retching. Will stumbled to the back of the shop where a purple drape covered a door to a flight of stone steps. Behind him, al-Rahman stirred. Will staggered up the steps to a large room that covered the entire floor of the house, with brick pillars supporting the ceiling where the walls had been removed. Occult symbols were painted on the floor inside a ritual circle, and all across the walls, which were the dark blue of the night sky. In one corner stood a seven-foothigh, three-faced hinged mirror with a gilt-covered iron frame.

Silently, Will slipped back down the steps and listened at the drapes. Peeking through the gap, he saw Don Alanzo burst in, accompanied by a man in a thick cloak and cowl that plunged his entire face into darkness. The Silver Skull, Will suspected.

Don Alanzo helped al-Rahman to his feet. "I saw men running from this place."

"Englishmen. They were looking for you." Shaking his head, al-Rahman recovered quickly. "I told them nothing."

"They are gone now. I will alert my men to begin a search, but the other matter is more pressing. Have you all you need?"

"I have both items. But I warn you: the red dust is in short supply. It is fresh off the ship today, from the high land near my home. If we fail, there will be no other opportunity."

"Then we do not fail!" Don Alanzo said vehemently. "Make sure you succeed, or as God is my witness ..." Don Alanzo caught himself. Will was puzzled to see his edgy mood; even in the danger of the bear pit, he had retained his composure. "What time?" Don Alanzo pressed.

"This business can only be conducted under cover of the night."

"Thank God, there will finally be an end to it." The note of desperation in lion Alanzo's voice was palpable. He turned to the Silver Skull and said in a more measured tone, "Do you hear-an end to it?"

The dark cave of the cowl was turned to lion Alanzo, but the Silver Skull's posture gave no sign that he had heard, or even cared. Will thought of him, a prisoner inside his mask, and then a prisoner in the Tower, and now a prisoner of the Spanish, for all those years, and wondered if the Skull could bring himself to care about anything anymore.

They were interrupted by one of lion Alanzo's men: word had arrived from Cadiz that an English spy was en route to see al-Rahman. Don Alanzo sent an order to mount a guard at both ends of Susona Street until his business was done, and that a messenger should be sent to the Real Alcazar so that a citywide search could be mounted for the English spies.

Once he had departed, al-Rahman intoned, "The preparations will take some time and you must both be involved."

"In the room upstairs?" Don Alanzo asked.

"The space has been prepared," al-Rahman replied.

Will quickly mounted the stairs and squeezed behind the mirror in the dark room with its unsettling atmosphere. It was too late to wonder if it was the wrong decision; there was no way out for him.

On the dusty floor, he made himself comfortable as he listened to the sound of al-Rahman and lion Alanzo beginning their preparations. The sound of scraping across the floor as objects were dragged into position. Flints being struck, and candles lit. The smell of tallow smoke and sickly-sweet incense. A brazier ignited, bitterly sulphurous, and the loud exhalation of bellows.

Don Alanzo and al-Rahman barely spoke, and when they did it was only to proffer or request instructions; it was clear no love was lost between them, their relationship based on need and gold.

Enclosed in his constricting hiding space, cut off from the world, the background noise became a hypnotic susurration, lulling him into a state where his thoughts roamed free. Time passed without him knowing it, interrupted only by the presence of new aromas, subtly different sounds, the murmur of voices rising and falling. From his restricted vantage point, he watched the shadows grow along the walls and the gloom fold around him.

From the open window, the sounds of the working city slowly died away, the shouts of workers, the dense conversations passing beneath, the bang and rattle from the shipyards, the back and forth prattle of merchant and buyer. For a brief while it grew still. Then came the music drifting from different windows, fiddles and voice and harpsichord, rhythmic songs from Africa and the Orient colliding with the passionate whirl of Spain, and the noise swelling from the inns, voices raised in celebration of another hard day passed, in song and in love. It was hot and muggy, the cooling breeze long gone. It felt like a storm was coming.

In the room, the mood had grown tense. Don Alanzo and al-Rahman's exchanges were clipped. Objects clattered on the floor with barely restrained vehemence.

Just as Will's thoughts once again turned to Grace, a low chant broke out from the centre of the room. Although he didn't recognise the language, there was something in the cadence or the rhythm of the words that made him uneasy.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.

Al-Rahman's voice grew louder. He held on to certain syllables in unnatural ways, punctuating each volley of noise with a click at the back of his throat. Will felt the pressure of ancient days begin to build in the room. He was sick of it all-the Unseelie Court, the dark arts al-Rahman practised, the world they represented. The comfort and stability of his childhood seemed like a light on the horizon.

What are they planning? he wondered. Thank God, there will finally be an end to it, lion Alanzo had said. An end to what?

The chant reached a crescendo. In its odd intonation, Will had the feeling it was a petition; or, perhaps, a summoning. Confident he would not be seen in the dark, he pushed his head close to the space between the mirror and the wall, but all he could see were the shadows of three people swaying in the candlelight.

One of the shadows ducked down to plunge a hand into an object on the floor, and emerged with a writhing object. The cries of a cat echoed around the room. A shadow-knife darted, and was greeted by a gush of liquid before the cries stopped abruptly. Once the cat had been drained, al-Rahman tossed it away. It hit the wall and came to rest on the floor, glassy eyes staring directly at Will.

"Can this work?" Don Alanzo whispered.

Al-Rahman did not reply at first, and then said, "You must be prepared for what is to come, both of you. These matters are not easy for the untutored."

"I am ready." Don Alanzo attempted to deliver the words forcefully, but a waver revealed his true feelings.

The shadow-al-Rahman picked up a small pot and balanced it on the palm of his hand.

"The red dust?" Don Alanzo asked.

"So rare," al-Rahman replied. "You have paid a great deal for it."