The Silver Skull (30 page)

"And after that brief respite," she continued, "the Skull will be readied to travel with the Armada."

"And the Shield?"

"Not yet under our control, but that is a trifling matter. It is unnecessary, in the end.

England will still be devastated by disease."

"I worry about so many deaths upon my conscience." Trembling, he collapsed onto the divan and covered his face.

Sliding next to him, Malantha breathed into his ear, "God will forgive that, for the great works you do in His name." Gently, she pressed her breasts against his arm. The heat rose in Philip rapidly. "The High Family will ensure no other country stands in your way."

"You are sure?" He slipped a hand onto her thigh, his remorse already evaporated.

"My brothers have the ears of the greatest in Europe."

"You spin your web well."

"All for you, my love. All for Spain."

Another flash of chalky skin and red-rimmed eyes that held no compassion. He screwed his eyes shut and drove the image out, allowing himself to be pushed back as she climbed astride him. Within seconds he was lost in her lips and her perfume, like honeysuckle, and all his troubles and doubts and fears were washed away.

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SPECIAL_IMAGE-00083.jpg-REPLACE_ME ilthy from the road and exhausted after nearly two weeks' hard riding, Nathaniel guided his foaming, sweat-flecked horse through the dirty, crowded streets of London. It was not long after noon, the sun unseasonably hot for early April. He had found the city abuzz, as always, but for the first time there was a pervading uncertainty in the faces of the people he passed. In the time he had been away, the fear of the Spanish invasion had magnified, visiting merchants from the European ports spreading dark rumours and gossip as quickly as they distributed their wares.

At the gates of the Palace of Whitehall, Nathaniel could barely believe he had reached his destination. Since he had left Edinburgh as dawn broke all those long days and nights ago, he felt his life had hung by a thread many times. Within hours of his journey beginning, five hooded raiders had swept down from the hills to pursue him along the valley between the high summits that stretched south along Scotland's lowlands, and he was only saved by a small group of the king's men who had been sent to accompany him to the border. The fighting had been ferocious and many of James's men had died; Nathaniel had heard their death-screams echoing among the hillsides, and when he glanced back he had seen flashes of mysterious fire.

Once he had crossed the border into England, the attacks were not so overt, but he had been shadowed by riders near the moors as he passed Carlisle, and again as he made his way through the high peaks that formed the spine of the country. Someone had attempted to break into his room during a terrifying night in an inn, when every time he locked the door it would mysteriously open whenever he was distracted.

A pack of wolves appeared to track him across most of the country, and strangers waited at crossroads, threatening him as he rode by, or urging him to stop for food or drink. On the first occasion, he had brought his mount to a halt, thinking the stranger needed directions. Soon he had found himself listening to a long, involved story that quickly made him drowsy, and only when he realised the stranger was attempting to search his saddlebag did he ride on. Just as unnerving was that within a mile he couldn't recall the stranger's face.

He had always considered himself a man of reason, but as he passed Oxford the sticky weight of superstition had finally begun to lie upon him. However much he attempted to dismiss the chance occurrences, they piled around him to such a degree that he saw supernatural danger in every shadow, and felt the Devil was at his heels. To save his sanity, he knew he would have to question Will when he returned to London, however much he dreaded the answers.

Within the palace walls, activity was beginning to build towards lunch after another lazy morning of discourse, sewing, business with visitors from the shires, or walks among the perfumed gardens. Nathaniel guided his horse directly to the Black Gallery, and on weary, shaking legs sought out Walsingham who had been in conference with a man recently returned from France. Whatever he had heard in that meeting had left him in a dark mood.

Nathaniel quickly outlined the events in Edinburgh, as far as he had been told, and related Will's desperate plea for Grace to be protected.

"I do not know this woman, but I will send men to bring her here now," Walsingham said. "If she requires protection, we can offer her the best in the land." He paused. "If she is still here."

Nathaniel felt a pang of fear. He had ridden as hard as he was able, but could their enemies have beaten him to the palace and still found the opportunity to capture Grace?

"And the reason you travelled to Edinburgh?" Walsingham pressed.

From his pack, Nathaniel withdrew the folded cloth and revealed the amulet. "The enemy fought hard to retrieve this, and pursued me all the way from Scotland. It must be vital to their plans."

Walsingham's eyes gleamed, but he would not touch the amulet. He called loudly for Dee, who hurried in a few moments later as Walsingham paced the room.

"You must tell no one that the doctor is here in England," Walsingham cautioned Nathaniel. He left Nathaniel in no doubt that the punishment for disobedience would be severe.

But then he and Dee huddled over the amulet with barely restrained triumph.

"Is this the object we sought?" Walsingham asked.

"See here? The filigree? This symbol here? It is the language of angels," Dee said. "This is a true object of power."

"Then you will study it? Unlock its secrets?"

Dee nodded excitedly. "The Enemy will be eager to reclaim this. It must be kept in a place of formidable protection. The Tower?"

"No. Its defences have already been breached," Walsingham said. "We keep it close.

Here, at the palace." He fixed an eye on Dee. "The Lantern Tower."

Dee agreed this was the best option and hurried out with the amulet, but Nathaniel was left puzzled. He had heard much talk of the Lantern Tower, a unique, solitary tower constructed by Elizabeth at the heart of the palace complex, yet no one appeared to know its use, and few were ever seen entering it.

Eager to return to his business, Walsingham dismissed Nathaniel to the suite of rooms on the third floor of the western wing overlooking the tiltyard built by Henry for his jousting competitions.

As he stood at the window looking out over the smoky city, Nathaniel felt the tension of his long ride dissipate and a grey mood creep in its place. Though the view was drenched in sunlight, he could see only shadows. The world had changed, or he had, and where there had been joy there was now only incipient threat, and a sense of everything he knew careering off-kilter. Fear rumbled on the edge of his consciousness for no obvious reason.

The door closed quietly, and he started, but when he turned it was only Grace. With relief, he rushed to her and held her in his arms.

"Why, Nat," she said, surprised. "What is wrong?" She placed her hands on his cheeks to study his face, and became concerned by what she saw there. "What troubles you? Is it Will?"

"No, he is well. He recovers from a few injuries, but no worse than he has endured before."

She was relieved by his news, but her concern for him did not diminish. "There is a shadow over you. It is not good to keep such things locked away. Talk to me."

Shaking his head, he forced a smile. "Another time. For now, I am happy to see you well."

"And why would I not be?" She stepped away from him, before casting a suspicious glance back at him. "What business occupies Will?" she asked, as if making polite conversation.

"You must ask him that yourself, when he is back in London." He maintained a bright tone, not wanting her to realise she was in danger. But then the door opened and John Carpenter marched in. He nodded to Nat and waited.

"What is this?" Grace asked suspiciously.

"This is John Carpenter, an associate of Will's. You saw him in Alsatia?"

"Yes, I remember. Why is he here?"

"Lord Walsingham has sent him. He is to keep you from harm."

"Harm? I live and work in the Palace of Whitehall. Harm cannot reach me here. And who would ever seek to harm me?"

Nathaniel's laugh eased her concerns. "Why, no one, Grace! But Will-"

"Will! He would keep me locked away in a tower if he could," she said with bitterness.

"Indulge him," Nathaniel said quietly. "You would not wish him consumed with worry."

Knowing she had little choice, she glanced back at Carpenter and said acidly, "I never tire of witty conversation with one of Lord Walsingham's men."

"Do not tease him," Nathaniel whispered. "His humour is not good."

Quietly seething, Grace shook her head wearily and marched towards the door.

Once she had gone, Nathaniel felt relieved that she was in safe hands, but in the silence of the room, his uneasy mood descended once more. He returned to the window to study the booming city, the source of one of the greatest powers in the world, yet in the face of what he now feared existed beyond the walls, he wondered how secure it truly was.

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SPECIAL_IMAGE-00010.jpg-REPLACE_ME espite her furious protests, John Carpenter bundled the cloaked and hooded Grace into the back of a servants' wagon beneath a heap of filthy sacks that had been used for transporting grain and still swarmed with beetles.

Carpenter was not a gentle man, and treated Grace as he would any person who was not important to him, woman or not. Clearly, whatever mission had been imposed upon him, he felt it beneath his dignity. He told Grace to remain silent for the duration of their journey or he would stop the wagon and dump her out on the highway where she would have to fend for herself against whatever brigands and cutthroats waited.

His tone angered her; she had more value than he showed her, and from anyone else she would not have accepted such treatment, but there was an increasing urgency to the proceedings that had started to concern her. She remembered the strange expression on Nat's face, that sense that all was not well with the world, shocking in a man who always radiated a sunny optimism behind his sardonic exterior. What happened? she wondered. What could turn a personality on its axis to that degree? Something extreme, something terrible? And as she had told Nat, Will was always overprotective, but this was beyond even his usual concerns. Will feared for her life, and he knew things that no one else did. She felt strangely queasy at the thought, and the wagon bouncing wildly along the rutted road didn't help her disposition.

Was it something to do with all the spiralling rumours of a Spanish invasion that had blazed through the country since Mary's execution? There had been talk of a landing in Wales that had sent panic sweeping through the capital before it had proven false, and in August gone, word had circulated of two hundred Spanish ships in the Channel, driving the occupants of the coastal towns inland in fear, and bringing the rich to London for safety. Elizabeth had even been forced to issue a proclamation demanding they return to their homes in the country. But what if all those rumours were about to become true, and an invasion was imminent?

Obliquely, she realised she should have been more scared than she was, but ever since jenny's disappearance-no, murder! she reminded herself-she had lived with the constant belief that tragedy was only a heartbeat away; ironically, that had made her take more risks in her life.

Reckless! she thought bitterly.

Her mind drifted back to that night when everything changed and her potential became a shadow of what it had been. She recalled the fragrance of the night-scented stock, and the moon on the wheat fields, the soft breeze that made them stir as if some animal moved along the rows.

There was a full moon so bright that the sky could not be called black. Silver, she thought. The world glowed silver.

She was still a child, though by then she considered herself a lady, already well versed in the ways of the world. If only she'd known. The hounds still howled in the fields as the search for jenny continued, and her mother and father were both still out.

She had found Will desperately rinsing his hands and face at the well. He looked like he had been crying, though she had dismissed it at the time as a trick of the moonlight. For some reason, he kept his hands from her view until he had finished his ablutions. He was barely a man himself, not long at Cambridge, but at that moment his face looked much older. It was funny she remembered that; she hadn't thought of it before. She had never seen that expression before, or that openly registered emotion since; after jenny, she always had to decipher his true feelings.

When his hands were clean, he had stepped forwards and hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. "This is a hard world," he had said to her with quiet passion, "but you will not walk through it alone. I will be here to keep you safe. I vow it."

Over the months and years that followed, she had turned those words over so many times, and felt her own emotions solidify around them. Of all the reasons why she loved him, that was the first and the most potent. In that hard, hard world, he would keep her safe. He cared for her in a way that the other boys and men she had met had never cared, could never care. They would love her, or promise her the world, but they would never vow to keep her safe.

She did love him, even though she would never give voice to her feelings; even though he could never keep her safe. The wanting was enough.

And so she had been quick to uproot herself from her family and the quiet Warwickshire way of life, and Will had arranged for her to work at the court, where he could keep an eye upon her, and guide her progress. And her father and mother too had been more than happy to see her under Will's care.

Shortly after her arrival at the Palace of Whitehall, when she was still learning the twisting rules of that place, both written and unspoken, Will had taken her to one side and repeated his vow that he would discover the truth of jenny's disappearance. His work, which she later found out was as one of Walsingham's men, would, he was convinced, provide him with clues and insight. He was passionate in his belief, but however much she questioned the how and why of this, he would give her no answer.