Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

"You do not know what deprivations I suffered at the hands of the tsar's torturers," Carpenter snapped.

"Whine and whine," Launceston continued. "You think you are the only one to suffer? To experience pain in the line of our work?"

Carpenter thrust his knife towards Launceston, but the earl only gave it the merest attention before returning his attention to the guards swarming around the palace. "Master Swyfte remained true to his work. He completed his business, as directed, and England is better for it."

"Is it?" Carpenter growled. "I have seen no sign of the object we retrieved since the day Swyfte brought it back. And I paid for it with my agonies!"

Launceston shrugged. "He was not distracted by emotions. There are bigger things here than your petty feelings. Child."

Trembling with emotion, Carpenter could barely hold the knife still, but Launceston no longer gave it, or Carpenter, even a cursory glance. Carpenter slumped back against the rocks and ran his still shaking hands through his hair, casting brief murderous glances towards Launceston.

"You trouble me, Carpenter," Launceston continued. "If you give in to your emotions so, it makes me wonder how far you will go to gain revenge to soothe your poor, hurt feelings."

"What are you saying?" Carpenter snapped.

"Perhaps you would even go so far as to ally with the Enemy to see Master Swyfte paid back in full."

Barely had Carpenter begun the lunge with his knife when Launceston's own knife was at his throat.

"Stop now!" Mayhew interjected. "If we cannot trust each other, we will forfeit our own lives when we are in the thick of it. We must protect each other's backs."

Slowly, Carpenter relented, although his emotions barely subsided.

"You have never given in to your emotions?" Mayhew said to Launceston.

"No." The earl's face became more ghastly as the shadows lengthened.

Mayhew eyed him curiously. "You speak little about your past. We have all been touched by misery, or by the hand of the Enemy. Why have you given yourself to this business?"

"Sport," Launceston replied.

"Sport?"

"Yes, I like to kill our Enemies."

They sat in silence until night had fallen.

Finally Launceston prised himself from the top of the spoil-heap and said simply, "It is time."

Across the desolate landscape they moved, hoods pulled down to hide their faces. As they neared El Escorial, Launceston motioned for them to use more caution. The guards watched the approach to the palace and continued to patrol the perimeter. Others were stationed in the vast formal gardens.

"Impregnable, they say," Launceston mused.

"I do not know who I fear for the most," Mayhew said. "Us trying to get in, or Swyfte trying to get out."

Launceston levelled his knife at the guards. "I fear for them."

CHAPTER 40

till raw from his beating earlier, Will was dragged through the palace by the guards. From a courtyard open to the moonless sky, and under one of several porticos, he eventually arrived at statues of David and Solomon flanking the entrance to the basilica, the central point of the whole complex. Philip waited for him there, and motioned for the guards to take him in.

"A fine place for torture." Will admired the huge dome overhead and the granite simplicity of the basilica's interior, which perfectly reflected Philip's character.

Still dressed in mourning black, Don Alanzo waited by one of the Doric columns with Grace beside him. She met Will's eyes once, then looked away.

"There will be no torture here," Philip said.

"No physical torture," Don Alanzo added, bowing apologetically when the king glared at him.

Philip motioned for the guards to wait outside. They were reluctant to leave their monarch alone with a potential assassin, but they checked Will's bonds one more time and whispered threats in his ear before departing.

Once the door to the basilica was closed, Malantha appeared from behind one of the columns. Will had the briefest flash of chalky skin and her implacable gaze before she unveiled her potent sexuality, at odds with the sanctified surroundings.

"I am starting to believe you are a guilty secret," Will said. As she levelled her icy, unblinking stare at him, Will had the impression she was imagining slowly opening up his body.

Shifting uncomfortably, the king quickly changed the subject. "Today saw the funeral of Don Alanzo's father. A great man, brought low by a dog."

Will glanced over at Don Alanzo, whose hateful glare never left Will's face. "You will not believe me, but I offer my condolences again, in good faith," Will said.

"My sister refused to come to the funeral," Don Alanzo said. "She blames me for our father's death. She will have nothing more to do with me, she says, and has ensured I will be refused entry to her convent. Now you have taken two people from me. You will pay for both of them." He bowed curtly to Malantha, who gave a brief, dismissive nod in return. "Our allies ... your Enemies ... are correct. Sometimes death is not enough to right a wrong. Pain must be inflicted in the heart, and the mind, and on the soul."

Will looked to Grace. "Do you see now what you stand with? Do not trust them, Grace."

Striding forwards, Don Alanzo struck Will forcefully across the face with his leather gauntlet. Blood bloomed on his lip.

"Please do not hurt him," Grace begged. "I will do anything."

"Of course you will," Malantha said.

"I have brought you here," Philip said to Grace, "under the eyes of God, so you will know there is no treachery in my words when I make this offer: help us and we will spare your friend's life."

"No!" Will shouted. "Do not believe them!"

Don Alanzo struck him again.

"You vow, before God?" Grace said.

"I so vow."

"The Unseelie Court will not allow it," Will spat. "He is so under their spell that even the threat of damnation will not deter him."

This time Don Alanzo knocked Will to the floor.

"Please," Grace sobbed, wringing her hands.

"I so vow!" Philip said firmly.

"I will do anything you ask. But please ... please ... do not hurt him anymore."

Philip nodded to Don Alanzo, who guided Grace to the door as Will struggled to his feet. By the time he had shaken off the effect of the blow, Grace had gone.

"And so the torture begins," Malantha said.

"And you save my life?" Will sneered, spitting a mouthful of blood.

"Once she has done her duty, we will allow you to live," Malantha replied, "although you will be in no state to enjoy it. We will ensure your friend gets to see how you work. Inside. In your mind, when you scream and cry and beg for us to take her life instead. And then you will know she must live on with the knowledge of what she saw, and it will never leave her." She raised her arms in a flamboyant request for applause. "My brother proposed your death, I know, but he lacks my assured touch in these matters."

"An honourable man," Will accused Philip, who made to leave. "Wait. You have an aspiration to higher wisdom," Will continued.

"What do you mean?" Philip asked suspiciously.

"The design of this building, your great monument, is based upon the Temple of Solomon, as described by Flavius Josephus."

"You are an educated man? And a spy who deals in death and deceit?"

"I am a man of contradictions, like all men," Will replied. "My point being that you would not have chosen this design, nor selected the statue outside that door, if you did not aspire to the Jewish king's great wisdom. Then rise to it. There is still time to walk away from the path you have chosen."