The Devil's Looking-Glass - By Mark Chadbourn Page 0,134

too.

‘Deortha. Once the deed is done, I would not wish to tarry here. Which way?’ Will called, his eyes not leaving the Fay King.

‘On the far side of the chamber there is a door,’ the sorcerer replied, triumph creeping into his voice.

Will’s hand shook. The tip of his rapier nicked the King’s flesh. For a moment, simmering rage hardened his face and then he sucked in a deep breath and calmed himself. Jenny turned away, sickened by what she feared was to come.

‘You can keep your worthless life,’ Will growled, putting up his sword. Mandraxas twitched. Incomprehension crossed his pale, refined features. From the corner of his eye, the spy glimpsed cold rage beginning to glow in Deortha’s face. ‘I am not you,’ he continued. A deep calm settled over him, and his sombre words were tinged with sadness. ‘Nor am I the man that others think me. Not England’s greatest spy, nor the rake driven solely by selfish urges. The truth is harder to define, even for me. More than anything under Heaven, I want my revenge for what you did. But that would sacrifice all men and women to the righteous fury of the Unseelie Court, and even as cold-hearted a knave as I could not plumb those depths. And yet . . .’ He waved his index finger in the air. ‘And yet . . . I saw an opportunity here for a clever man . . . or a reckless gambler, one or t’other.’

‘And you were always both,’ he heard Meg whisper.

Still clutching at the wound in his thigh, Mandraxas looked bemused. Will turned to Jenny, his voice growing more intense. ‘A slim chance to achieve the two ends to which I have dedicated my life – to save you and to deal the Unseelie Court a crushing blow that might set them back years, if not for ever.’ He took a deep, juddering breath and smiled at his love. Returning his attention to the Fay, he raised the tip of his sword and held it against the King’s chest. ‘If you are allowed to live and return to your people, the Unseelie Court will be riven by strife as factions battle for supremacy. Those who support you, and those, like Deortha, who wish to see the return of their true Queen. For how long?’ He shrugged. ‘For those such as you for whom time is meaningless, it may well be an eternity. Divided, you would have little time for your war against men.’

‘You are mistaken,’ Will heard Launceston’s hushed voice. ‘You are indeed England’s greatest spy.’

Her eyes sparkling, Meg beamed. ‘You might well have ended this war we all thought would last for ever.’

Will held up a bloodstained hand, hardly daring to believed it himself. He looked round. Jenny and Grace were both smiling in disbelief, tears of relief glistening in their eyes. Jenny mouthed, ‘Thank you.’ He refused to consider why she was thanking him. There would be time for that conversation later.

Fury finally ignited in Deortha’s face. ‘Lies and deceit. I should have expected no better from a man.’

‘True,’ Will replied with a shrug. ‘We are worse than beasts in the field.’

‘Have you no honour?’

Placing a finger on his chin, Will feigned a moment of reflection. ‘Honour? What is honour? Does it buy me good sack in the Mermaid? I have saved my love and ended a war. I leave honour for better men than I. I am happy to remain a bastard.’

Deortha’s snarl echoed across the chamber until it was drowned by Mandraxas’s laughter. He stood, pushing away the tip of Will’s rapier with a slender finger. ‘So you refuse to kill. And yet on that hot night soon after I took from you the thing you valued most, I saw you slay an innocent man.’

Will felt the eyes of all there fall upon him. His breath caught in his chest as years of self-loathing bubbled up. Finally he nodded. ‘’Tis true, though I have never spoken of it to anyone.’ He glanced at Grace, noting the lines of worry in her face, and sighed. Bowing his head, he confessed, ‘When Jenny disappeared that afternoon, I barely held on to my wits. I searched every byway around Arden and in the depths of night came across a man struggling with Jenny beside a hedgerow. Blinded by fury, I leapt from my horse and beat him to death with my fists.’ His head flooded with the sensations of bones breaking under his knuckles