The Devil's Looking-Glass - By Mark Chadbourn Page 0,33
away before the Little Elf sees me,’ Raleigh said with a grimace. ‘That befanged spider squatting in the centre of his web is an echo of the Queen and she sees me as betrayer, though in truth it is more a matter of wounded pride. But quickly, our bargain. In return for the aid given to you by the School of Night, we require your loyalty.’
‘Treason, then?’
Raleigh shrugged. ‘Matters are never so bald. It is my intention to launch another expedition to the New World shortly. I would meet with the Unseelie Court. Perhaps common ground can be found. We may learn from their vast knowledge of the mysteries that underpin existence, and thereby enrich the lives of all men.’
‘Or the Enemy may eradicate you in the blink of an eye.’
‘Nevertheless, it is a risk worth taking. I would ask that if you return from the New World, you relate to me personally all that you learned there. Elizabeth does not need to know.’
Will nodded, but kept his eyes guarded. ‘I have served the Queen well for many years, but the time has come for hard choices. The ceaseless scheming of monarchs and men of power grows tiresome. There are other matters of greater import to me.’
‘Very well.’ Raleigh nodded, taking this as acceptance. ‘Then let us say farewell for now.’
The wherry crunched against the side of the quay and one of the guards called out for the oarsmen to take care. Will guessed the watermen had been drinking to numb the boredom of their repetitive journey. When he turned his attention back to Raleigh, the other man had melted into the mist.
Striding to the river’s edge, Will put aside his suspicions about the spymaster and hailed him. Cecil’s head jerked up and he glowered, anxiety drawing new lines on his face. But he took the hand offered him and clambered up the stone steps to the cobbles. ‘The Queen is safely ensconced in the Palace of Whitehall with two hundred good men to guard her,’ he said. ‘Though she is still recovering from her recent ordeal, she is determined to lead her people in the defence of England.’
‘I would expect no less. But for now she can only wait and worry. If all goes well, our sailing will take the heat away, for a while at least.’
Cecil glanced towards the men rolling barrels up the planks on to the Gauntlet and gave a relieved nod. ‘Wait and worry, indeed. Our sentries round London report that all is calm. No hint of threat, no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps the Faerie Queen sought to frighten us with lies.’
‘She has no reason to lie.’
Cecil clenched his teeth, peering into the mist over the water. ‘Let them strike, then. We will show them what fire burns within us.’
It was then that one of Cecil’s men in the wherry half stumbled as he edged towards the stone steps. He clutched on to the side to stop himself from pitching into the drink, but his velvet cap fell on to the water. ‘Steady-o!’ the older waterman called in irritation, spluttering through a mouthful of sack he had swigged from a skin. The burly guard growled a curse under his breath and leaned over the side to reclaim his sodden headgear from where it floated on the black water.
Will felt his chest tighten, though he did not know why; some instinct perhaps, honed in his constant fight for survival. ‘Leave it,’ he yelled. He felt Cecil’s reproving gaze upon him, but his own was fixed on the guard’s hand reaching towards his hat.
As the man’s fingers brushed the inky surface, the river boiled all around. The man gaped at the churning water that rocked the wherry, and then sudden, rapid movement erupted. Screaming, the guard pitched on to his back in the bottom of the boat. The senior oarsman dropped his skin of sack, whirling. Now Cecil gaped. ‘What in God’s name—’
The waters became as calm as they had been a moment earlier, but the guard continued to scream and thrash in the bottom of the wherry. The waterman leaned over him, his eyes widening in horror. Will bounded down the stone steps and leapt into the rocking boat, thrusting the oarsman to one side. He knelt beside the guard, whose struggles were easing as shock took hold of him.
The man had lost his right hand. He pawed feebly at the stump with his left, moaning. Teeth had ripped through flesh and