servant as well as your curse, was he not?’
Will nodded, stung by the pain his friend was feeling.
‘Good, good.’ The playwright wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and put on a bright grin, though his eyes still told the spy another story. ‘And here you are! Alive and well!’
‘And damned. But I have survived to see you again—’
‘And you will continue to live, free of your curse.’ Marlowe jumped to his feet and pulled out his flint, lighting each one of the four candles in turn. ‘I conjured the devil and I can free you from him.’
The spy laughed heartily. ‘Then all’s well that end’s well.’
Marlowe paused behind Will’s back, his voice growing hollow. ‘But no devil will return to hell without a prize.’
Straining to look round, the spy asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I must take your devil upon myself. ’Twas always my plan.’
Will felt a chill reach to the very heart of him. ‘It will force you to an early grave and drag your soul to hell. You cannot!’
‘I must.’ Marlowe danced back in front of the spy. He looked as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. ‘This is my gift to you. A free life, and a long one, if any spy may have such a thing. And a chance to make your own mistakes, not carry the burden of mine.’
‘No, Kit. I shall not allow it,’ Will shouted.
‘In this, you have no say.’ The playwright cast one sad, sideways glance at his friend and then walked along the nave into the shadows.
Will raged and cursed, and in the spaces between his oaths he heard Marlowe muttering some incantation, his voice rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence. The world spun around him and he thought he glimpsed angels and demons swooping out of the darkness, and heard the haunting music of a pipe player. Smells came and went – strawberries, rose petals and then the suffocating stench of brimstone. Choking and coughing, his skin prickling, he felt a burden drop from his back, and his heart sang. He was free. A shadow moved beyond the red circle.
His face drained of blood, Marlowe stumbled back up the nave weakly, but he was smiling.
‘Damn you, Kit,’ Will croaked.
They both laughed at that, despite themselves.
‘Tell me,’ the playwright asked, ‘did you see your Jenny?’
The spy nodded.
‘The devil takes the form of a heart’s desire that we consider unattainable. And in this way it inflicts the greatest pain.’ Though the shadow appeared insubstantial to the spy, Kit was smiling at it, tears stinging his eyes once more.
‘What do you see?’ Will whispered.
Marlowe looked from the shadow to Will, but his smile did not alter. ‘I see my heart’s desire,’ he replied quietly, ‘but as unattainable as ever.’ Throwing his arms wide, he waited. The shadow crossed Will’s vision, and his friend gave a deep shudder.
‘Kit, why did you do this thing?’ the spy croaked.
‘’Tis no sacrifice, my good friend. I see you well. And that is all the reward I would ever need.’ The playwright walked around his friend one final time, snuffing out each candle in turn. The darkness swept back in. It felt colder, though Will knew it was only his heart.
‘Then this is where we say goodbye. For all time?’
‘Who knows? Fate plays strange games.’ Marlowe walked to the edge of the moonbeam falling through the stained-glass window. For a moment, he was jewelled. ‘But you know I live. And I know you live. And though we may never speak again, our friendship crosses the gulf in our dreams.’
‘Do not go, Kit. Let us find another solution.’
Marlowe stepped beyond the moonbeam. Now he was grey, a ghost once more. ‘Make the most of this world, Will, for life is fleeting, and the jewels you see around you disappear in a twinkling.’
Will felt waves of emotion rushing through him until he thought he would drown. There was joy that his friend was alive, and at the powerful bond they shared. And there was a terrible ache at the suffering Marlowe had taken upon himself so that Will could be free. Will felt the depth of that sacrifice burn into his heart.
The dark swallowed Kit up.
‘’Tis unseemly to quote oneself, but there is a time and place for all things,’ the playwright said from the shadows, his voice laced with playful humour borne of relief that this dark game was over.
‘Thinkest thou heaven is such a glorious thing?
I tell thee, ’tis not half so