The Devil's Looking-Glass - By Mark Chadbourn Page 0,80
I, our strengths, our joys. Mine is the taking of a human life. Sometimes I come like a ghost. Men fall in a court in a foreign land, their blood pooling around them, and those standing beside them know not how their companion came to be dead. Sometimes I linger, drawing out long-held secrets or cries or vows, for the benefit of my people or for pleasure. Sometimes I slaughter wantonly, allowing men to sink into the fierce beauty of my face, the mere sight of me adding another subtle layer to their pain, another delicate seasoning to my rapturous feast. The High Family knows my expertise and they use it well. I am their sword, enforcing their will in the world of men.’
Carpenter wondered, then, why Lansing had not tortured him, or Launceston, to achieve his ends. He had used only words. Perhaps he had spoken truly when he expressed his desire for the peaceful return of his sister.
‘Come to it, then,’ Launceston said as if he were calling for another cup of sack. ‘I have no fear of death. We are old friends.’
Carpenter heard Lansing pass by the Earl and step up to his back. He felt cold breath upon his neck. ‘Our agreement stands,’ the Fay whispered so Launceston could not hear. ‘Find the magician first and deliver him to me and no one will suffer. You will be free to return to your life and this long war will be over.’
The spy felt the kiss of cold steel against his skin as Lansing slid his dagger under his bonds and slit the rope. ‘Choose your moment well to flee,’ the Fay added before saying loudly, ‘I will leave the thoughts of your passing to settle deep into you and thereby make the experience all the richer. Soon, now. Soon.’ He strode across the dry sand to where le Gris directed his men. They appeared to understand his meaning.
‘Robert,’ Carpenter whispered from the side of his mouth, ‘I have worked my bonds free. When I make my move, follow my lead.’
The Earl inclined his head in assent, giving nothing away.
Carpenter watched Lansing guide the pirates until their backs were turned, and then he grabbed Launceston’s arm and drew him silently into the trees. When they were deep in the dark and running as fast as they could, he heard le Gris’s cry. ‘Too late to raise the alarm,’ Carpenter said. ‘Once we have put some space between us, I will free you from your bonds, Robert, and then we shall bring this matter to a close.’
His chest swelled with exuberance. Soon he would be going home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BLACK CLOUDS LOPED across the sky, devouring the stars and the moon. Branches thrashed in the claws of the wind raking through the trees on the hillside. The torches roared and spat as the frightened men of the Tempest’s shore party forced their way through the rising gale towards the tower where Dee and Meg had taken shelter. With the storm, they could sense something darker coming too, long fingers of shadow reaching across the tropical island to snuff out their lives as easily as the lights that guided their way. When the howl of the Mooncalf rolled out near at hand, they jumped and cursed. Death lay everywhere.
‘What is that thing?’ Will asked, his shirt damp against his hot skin.
‘Dee’s watchdog,’ Meg replied. She lifted the hem of her grey skirt as she climbed the overgrown stone steps of the narrow path. Occasionally she would flash glances at her companion that ended with a puzzled smile as if she still could not believe he was there. ‘The alchemist made it . . . made it out of . . .’ She paused, looking away into the dark under the trees. ‘No matter.’
Will still hadn’t decided whether her suffering on Dee’s haunted ship and in the wreck on the reef had driven her mad. Her ship had been at best only two weeks ahead of the Tempest. How then could she believe she had been upon that island for twelve years? He had not yet broached the subject for fear the questioning would unbalance her further, but he needed answers if he were to snatch a victory from the coming conflict.
Strangewayes strode up behind them from the rear of the column. ‘How long before the sun comes up?’ he snapped. ‘I have had my fill of this night.’
‘Put aside any hopes of feeling the sun on your face,’ the Irish spy