The Devil's Looking-Glass - By Mark Chadbourn Page 0,34
bone, Will saw. He had heard tell of a pike in a pool in Kent that could consume a man, and of sharks, the wolves of the sea, one of which John Hawkins had brought back to a horrified reception in London after his second expedition. Yet such a monstrous creature in the peaceful Thames? Never had he heard of such a thing.
As he inspected the wound, he realized there was no flow of blood and the surrounding skin had taken on a greyish cast. Puzzled, he brushed the forearm with his fingertips only to recoil in shock. The flesh was frozen solid. He recalled Carpenter and Launceston’s account of the soldier turned to ice at the water’s edge only a few nights earlier and felt a sick realization dawn inside him.
‘What is wrong with the fool?’ Cecil barked, a faint tremor lacing his words.
Will peered over the side of the wherry, his skin prickling. The still water was black and impenetrable.
Turning to the oarsman, he said, ‘See this poor soul is cared for. I fear he will not survive this torment.’ With renewed purpose, he leapt back up the stone steps and raced past Cecil, who waved his arms in confusion. Catching hold of one of the labourers, he snapped, ‘Find Captain Prouty. Tell him the plans have changed. The Gauntlet must be made ready to sail as soon as possible. If we are short of provisions, so be it. We will have to survive with empty bellies until we reach our destination. But dawn is too late. Do you understand?’
The labourer shook off his slow-witted expression, nodded earnestly, and ran towards the inn, his shoes cracking on the cobbles. Will turned as Cecil hurried up to him, breathless and angry that he had been ignored. ‘I must take the Charm Boat back to the other bank,’ Will said before the spymaster could speak. ‘I have urgent business to conclude before we sail.’
‘Speak to me, Swyfte,’ Cecil roared, shaking his fists in the air. ‘What is happening?’
Will looked towards the mist-shrouded water but thought only of the silent night-world beneath its surface. ‘We thought ourselves untouched. We believed we had time on our side. But the war is already under way and our advantage long since gone.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND, nat? lives are depending on you.’ Will tried to keep the crack of disquiet out of his voice. His young assistant blinked, bleary-eyed from being woken, and turned away from Will to find his shoes at the end of the bed.
‘Riding hard, I will be at Tilbury in no time,’ he said. He glanced back at his master, stung by what he perceived to be an understated criticism. ‘I have never let you down before.’
‘I could not have wished for a better assistant. The need for urgency is more to do with the severity of unfolding events than any reflection on your abilities.’ Will softened, thinking back to how inexperienced his assistant had been when his father had entrusted him to the spy’s employ. Angry at being torn from his village life and thrust into a dangerous world where he was never allowed to ask any questions, Nathaniel had grown into the job, and learned a maturity beyond his years, though his tongue remained as sharp as ever. Will trusted him more than any other man, and took his vow to protect him with the utmost seriousness. Never had he revealed any hint of the Unseelie Court or the threat they represented. For Nathaniel, the world was still a sunny place where things happened as they ought, and in that way he was kept from a life of madness in Bedlam.
Nat perched on the edge of the bed, still eyeing his master askance. ‘It troubles me when your tongue is not sharp. Am I still lost in dreams? Or are you awash with sack and still seduced by the honeyed words of some doxy at Liz Longshanks’s?’
‘I can find some words to lash you with, if that gives you comfort, Nat.’ Will strode to the window and peered out over the palace, no longer sleeping. Candlelight gleamed in window after window, with new flames flickering to life by the moment. The fog hung heavy over the secret courtyards and maze of shadowed paths among the grand buildings, muffling the shouts of the sentries on the walls and the tread of marching pikemen preparing for a threat that none of them truly comprehended.