Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

Soon after, Will was put to work in the hold securing siege guns and other weapons for the land war, which would be put to good use against vulnerable English towns along the south coast once the Spanish broke through the sea defences.

The Spanish officers worked the crew hard, but the sense of anticipation was high. The waiting and the boredom had started to prove self-destructive, and everyone was eager to put to sea, however much danger lay ahead. As they worked, Barrett and Stanbury bantered with a gallows humour, only falling silent whenever Hawksworth passed by. He appeared to do no work himself, and spent most of his time attempting to inveigle himself with the Spanish officers who showed little interest, and some irritation, in him.

As dusk fell, Will finally found his cramped sleeping space in the gloomy, noisy below-deck compartment. The crew slept on the bare boards with only one coarse dogswain blanket for comfort and a folded jerkin for a pillow. It was impossible to move without jostling another crew member, and the air was heavy with the vinegar-sour reek of sweat, and urine, and the everpresent stink of vomit from those who had consumed too much drink. After they'd eaten, the men turned to raucous sing-alongs or played cards, or told tales of their time at sea.

Much later, when he was sure his absence would not be noticed, Will crept on deck and examined the lights flickering across the floating city, mirroring the stars above.

Briefly, he considered swimming among the ships to try to find Grace and the Silver Skull and steal them away before they put to sea, but the chances of his discovery were high and of his locating The Ship of Women in such a mass were low.

Medina Sidonia's flagship, the San Martin, was moored close by, and throughout the day Will had surreptitiously watched the comings and goings on board for any sign of lion Alanzo, without any luck. But as he stood at the rail studying the ship, his attention was caught by familiar, unsettling movement-grey shapes flitting across the deck, insubstantial in the dark.

He watched the Enemy for long moments, trying to make sense of what they were doing on board, wondering how much the Spanish knew of the threat in their midst; for he knew the Unseelie Court would easily turn on their current allies once England was destroyed. Suddenly he became aware that one of the indistinct figures had come to a halt and was standing at the rail.

Looking at him?

Will ducked down and moved quickly away from his vantage point. Had he been seen? Worse, had he been recognized?

Returning to the seething mass of sleepers below deck, he tried to lose himself among the crew. The night was hot and uncomfortable in the crowded, confined quarters. Will slept with his knife in his hand, but the only disturbances came from sailors stumbling over him in the dark, and the resultant curses and kicks.

The next day passed with a sense of mounting anticipation as the fleet readied itself for war, and on May 11, Medina Sidonia took advantage of a light easterly wind and the Armada set sail downstream. But the long string of ships had barely passed the mouth of the Tagus when the wind turned and blew directly at them, and they were forced to drop anchor and wait. Storms raged up and down the coastline, and as Will watched the churning black clouds, he couldn't help but wonder if Dee had something to do with it. Rumours of his conjuring abilities had circulated the court for decades. Will had no idea how many of them were true, or if he was just a very clever and skillful man who was, like all in Walsingham's employ, good at portraying whatever face best served his purpose. Still, as lightning flickered and the crew grew irritated at the delay so early in their campaign, he wondered.

The wait dragged from hours into days and then weeks, the tension slowly escalating. Will took the opportunity to watch the constant stream of boats back and forth from Medina Sidonia's San Martin. He knew what they carried: intelligence reports from Philip's network of spies detailing the readiness-or lack of it-of the English forces. And the wind continued to blow, lashing the fleet with occasional bouts of stinging rain, and rolling the sea up into choppy waves of white-topped grey.

On May 27, Will finally caught sight of Don Alanzo aboard the San Martin, cloak wrapped tightly around him against the elements, deep in conversation with Medina Sidonia himself. Will kept his head down, working hard. But when he took the opportunity to glance back at the ship, he realized Hawksworth was watching him. He tried to pass off his attention as idle curiosity, pointing out the fluttering pennants and new gilding to a clearly disinterested Stanbury. When he glanced back, Hawksworth was gone, but he knew he would have to take more care.

That night, in the face of a fierce gale, Will and several others were sent up on deck to supplement the seasoned crew. As the deck bucked and heaved under his feet, he fought to stay upright, dragged to his knees time and again by sluicing water from the crashing waves. After an hour, the skin of his face burned from the lash of the rain and the spray and the bite of the wind. The officer barked orders in Spanish. Will had to feign ignorance, forcing him to attempt to give directions by pointing. After a while, he found it easier to leave Will alone and struggling to do what he could under the personal guidance of Hakebourne.

The other ships loomed like black castles in the dark on all sides, lamps glowing in their windows, as they fought their own battles with the gale. As Will gripped the rail in the face of one severe swell, he caught sight of a ship he had not seen before. It moved with a speed that belied the conditions, strange grey sails billowing; and as it sailed closer, Will was surprised to see there was no activity on deck to take the pressure from the straining rigging. It had an unsettling spectral quality, at times fading into the spray, at others seeming insubstantial even when the wind dropped. Flashes of greenish light came and went in the windows and on the forecastle, like the glows that burned over the marshes luring travellers to their doom. Will searched for some identifying banner or name, but there was none.

"What is that vessel?" he called to Hakebourne above the howl of the gale.

Hakebourne kept his eyes down as he tied a knot, easily bracing against the roll of the deck. "I see nothing," he shouted back.

"There!" Will indicated. "Astern!"

Hakebourne still did not look up. "Nothing," he replied, half turning his back on Will.

An atmosphere of dread followed the ship, and after a moment's study Will accepted that it could only be a galleon belonging to the Unseelie Court. Skimming the waves eerily, it appeared to be unaffected by the gale as it worked its way among the struggling Spanish vessels.

And then, as he watched, there was activity on deck, as though a veil had been drawn back to reveal the mystery behind it. These figures walked upright effortlessly, or stood easily in the rigging and on the mast, but it was the one who stood on the forecastle, arms raised to the heavens, that drew Will's attention.

Flashes of lightning burst among the clouds overhead, not lightning, but colours-red and green and purple. The rest of his crew continued to ignore them, but Will noticed their heads were all bowed, and where he could see faces they were strained. Their expressions only relaxed as the ship moved away into the deep dark, and not long after that the gale quickly dropped.

"It appears we are blessed, as the Spanish tell us," Will said to Hakebourne.

He only grunted in reply in a manner which suggested he thought they were more likely cursed.

And on May 28 the inclement weather finally cleared enough for the Armada to begin to make its way out of the Tagus and into open waters in its entirety. Each ship that passed Castle St. Julian was marked by the celebratory thunder of cannon fire, but it took until well past dawn of the next day for the whole fleet to leave the mouth of the river behind.