The Silver Skull (53 page)

"Ho! You have slept the sleep of the dead! Or the just! One or the other, I cannot recall."

The booming voice filled the cabin the moment Will's eyes flickered open.

His wild hair and beard a fiery red, Captain John Courtenay strode around the cabin, passionate and intense. Will sensed he was the least thing on the captain's mind.

"I am on the Tempest?"

"For two days now."

"Two?" Will replied incredulously.

"You were plucked from the water by the Triumph aboard a merry raft you had constructed, and Frobisher delivered you here."

"Then, it is ... August second?" Will struggled to rise.

Courtenay eyed him askance and said, "It might do well to rest longer after your ordeal."

"There is no time to rest. I have much to tell, and there is much we must do. The Enemy plots-"

"As always."

Almost falling backwards, Will steadied himself before taking a step. His legs felt like lead, his head light. "The Armada?"

"There have been victories, small perhaps, but each one adds to the pile. The capture of the Rosario and all the riches it contains. We drove the Spanish fleet past Torbay, and yesterday held them off from Weymouth in a fight more vehement than ever has been seen at sea. The San Martin itself was riddled with gunfire, the royal standard in tatters, and was only saved at the last by a line of Spanish galleons."

Breathing deeply, Will staggered to the door, acutely feeling every ache and pain. "And today?"

"Today is Wednesday." Courtenay clapped his hands loudly. "Today is the defence of the Isle of Wight and the Solent."

"You are in the vanguard of the attack?"

"My orders were to stay away from engagements, unless our firepower was desperately needed. We have greater business than a few Spanish bastards. The Enemy has not yet shown their colours. But you and I know they will, and then we must be ready. But first, if you are insistent upon putting your feeble limbs to the test, come and meet old friends."

Courtenay led him out of the cabin and onto the deck, bright in the morning sun. On the blue sea all around, the English fleet were becalmed amid a flourish of coloured pennants and flags, while across the Isle of Wight and the Hampshire coast trails of black smoke drifted high, beacons summoning the militia to the defence of the nation. Watching the activity at the foremast were Launceston and Carpenter.

Trying to disguise the weariness in his face, Will left Courtenay and lurched over.

Carpenter scowled when he saw Will, looked away, and then marched over to meet him. Will was surprised when Carpenter shook his hand, although his expression showed no warmth.

"We will never be friends, but I understand you more," Carpenter said. "I am glad you survived the perils of the damned Spanish. Hiding out among our bitter enemy is the kind of bravado that will carve your name into history."

Will was puzzled by what might have led to this change in attitude, but did not question it. "I would thank Medina Sidonia personally for his hospitality some time."

They joined Launceston, who nodded in his usual aloof manner as if it had only been an hour since he saw Will last. "This weather ensures there will be little more fighting this day. We drift slowly eastwards." With a faint air of disappointment, he added, "It is quieter here. On the Revenge, there was action aplenty. And death too."

"Why did you return to the Tempest, then?" Will asked.

"Courtenay may be mad, but he is a haven of sanity after the Revenge," Carpenter growled. "Any more of Drake's bragging and I would be heading for Bedlam, and lock the door myself."

"Then the fighting begins again tomorrow." Will looked towards the eastern horizon.

"But our task is harder even than that faced by Howard's brave band. Somewhere in that sprawling fleet lies a grey-sailed ship, which purports to be the architect of all our misery. The Enemy will be working hard to repair the damage I wrought, and soon it will be brought into play. The Spanish seek to hold out until it is ready, for they know it could mean victory for them and destruction for England. We must prepare ourselves, for this business is only going to get more dangerous."

((CHAPTER 52

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SPECIAL_IMAGE-00072.jpg-REPLACE_ME

SPECIAL_IMAGE-00036.jpg-REPLACE_ME n a red glare, the last of the setting sun illuminated the forest of masts of the Spanish ships at anchor just off Calais, tightly packed into their defensive crescent formation. In the middle of that mass, there was no chance of Will identifying the grey-sailed ship, even with its distinctive outline, but he studied them with Drake's tele-scope nonetheless.

"Why do you fear this ship so?" Drake asked. "It is only more Spanish rabble, yes?"

"No. These allies of Spain have Dee's wit and cunning, and the information I have gathered suggests they hold a great weapon."

"Great enough to threaten us?" Drake said with gently mocking disbelief. "Time and again our tactics have shown the Spanish up to be the children they are. We drove them away from the English coastline and their last chance for a bridgehead or a haven, where they could replenish their diminishing supplies of food, water, and munitions. Pursued them across the Channel, where they were at the mercy of the open seas, and now they wait for Parma's aid. If they had a great weapon, surely they would have used it by now."

Will was not convinced. The Unseelie Court was expert at misdirection and subtle manipulation, and when they seemed least of a threat was when they were at their most dangerous. With the plans Howard, Drake, and the other commanders of the English fleet had concocted for that night, he expected the sleeping beast to be woken.

"And if we do see that ship, it will be blown out of the water by good English cannon."

Drake sniffed as he reclaimed the prized tele-scope that had been such an aid in marshalling his strategy over the last week.

Will showed no reaction, but his dilemma consumed him. Drake's suggestion was the correct one, but how could he stand by and watch Grace die, even if it meant victory? Ever since she had been taken, he had swung between the old Will, who had existed in study and good humour before the Unseelie Court had entered his life, who would put the survival of his friends above any abstract notion of loyalty to country; and the man he had become, corrupted by a world where there appeared to be no right or wrong, only survival in the face of unspeakable threats, and where terrible things had to be done for good ends.

It was Sunday, August 7. The Revenge was at anchor at the head of a fleet that appeared to be sleeping. At the rear, the Tempest was ready to be called into battle if the Unseelie Court showed its hand, but Will, Carpenter, and Launceston needed to be in the forefront for what they expected to be a decisive night.

The English fleet was upwind of the Armada, with the floodtide in their favour. It was a strong position, but a little further along the coast in Dunkirk, Parma had gathered his invasion force, ready to join the Armada in barges sent from ports along the Flemish coast. No one on the English side knew the level of preparedness of Parma's army, nor their numbers, but it was clear they had been in regular contact with Medina Sidonia. Everything might have been different if Will had not killed Hawksworth, but that matter had passed and they had to deal with the situation before them.

All was not yet lost. Dunkirk was blockaded by Justin of Nassau and his ragged but fierce Dutch Sea Beggars, but that would crumble if Medina Sidonia sent ships to drive the Dutch away. If the Spanish broke through the English fleet with Parma's army, England was only a few miles away. There were so many vagaries, and everything was crucial; and the Unseelie Court had yet to show its hand.

Drake turned his face to the last of the sun, and for the first time Will saw none of the braggart and only the devout man who was prepared to sacrifice everything for his God and his country. "I must lead the men in prayer," he said, "and impose upon them what is at stake for their families and their country if we fail this night."

After Drake had departed, Will joined Carpenter and Launceston. They were both introspective as they prepared themselves for the night ahead, although Will noticed a strange fire in Launceston's eyes. Without conversation they toured the ship, watching the stern-faced men working silently and pensively at their stations, stacking the shot and the powder on the gun deck, preparing the water to dampen any fires on board, eyeing the rigging and the sails on the main deck ready for the order to sail. In the infirmary, the ship's surgeon had his tools already laid out.

And then it was only a matter of waiting for the tide to turn.

From the rail, Carpenter studied the eight ships that had been selected. "I do not know which is the worst death," he mused. "Frozen in the forests of Muscovy, or burned alive in an inferno. But there is one common factor in both." He eyed Will.

"You say I am some pariah, leading you to mishap?" Will replied wryly.

"I say nothing. But if you see a connection, perhaps there is some truth in it."

"Fire or ice, heaven or hell, we are always caught between two sides, John. The only debate that concerns me is wine or beer, and we can decide that in the Bull when we are safely back in London."

"Fair comment." Carpenter shook Will and Launceston's hands in turn. "For England, for the queen."

He left quickly, but Will thought he saw a surprising glimmer of the Carpenter he had known before their experiences in Muscovy. Will envied the peace Carpenter appeared to have found.

They were each transported to one of the three central ships in the formation of eight where they watched the tide turn and waited for midnight. By the time the moon glimmered silver on the water, the ships were pulling at their anchors in the strengthening tide. The creak of timbers drowned out any noise the few crew members made as they completed their final preparations.

When midnight came, Will glanced to his left to Carpenter and to his right to Launceston and gave the nod. Across the eight vessels came the dull thud of the crew chopping the cables that held them fast, and within seconds the ships were caught in the tide and moving downwind towards the Armada in complete silence.

Relieved that the waiting was over, Will moved quickly around the deck where clutches of men waited with flints. Their apprehensive eyes flickered towards him. Acknowledging their bravery, he nodded to each in turn and then checked on the helmsman, who had set the course for the heart of the Armada and was busy lashing the helm in place. In the holds, more men waited, cupping their hands around smouldering match. Here the smell was almost too much to bear-pitch, brimstone, gunpowder, and tar-and the men coughed and covered their faces with scarves.

"On my mark," Will said loudly, counting the steady beat in his head, as he knew Carpenter and Launceston would be too. The ship built speed, the waves crashing loudly against the hull. Eyes white in the gloom, the men all turned their faces towards him as he raised his hand.

"Now! "

Along the hold, match plunged into pitch and flints were struck. Sparks glowed like stars, flames flickered, caught, surged into life, and after a moment smoke quickly began to fill the dark space. Will waited until the last man had dashed to the steps and then followed onto the deck where tiny pockets of fire were already whipping up in the night wind.

Their faces lit orange, the men waited anxiously against the rail.

"Well done! Heroes all!" Will called. "Your work here is over!"

Relieved, some of the men leapt directly into the sea as the flames surged at their backs, while others swung on ropes to the escape skiffs towed alongside.

Will turned to see an amazing sight: castles of fire growing larger on either side as each of the eight ships sprang alight, all at full sail. Red and gold danced across the black water, and the ruddy halo surrounding every ship made it impossible to see what was happening away in the dark. Deafened by the roar of the fire rushing along the boat from stern to prow and licking up the rigging towards the sailcloth, Will barely heard the cries of alarm from the Spanish lookouts.

Heat roasted his back and neck, but still he was determined to wait until the last, scanning the waters ahead.

As expected, pinnaces moved out from the Armada at speed towards the flanks. Hurling grapnels, the Spanish sailors struggled to overcome the flames. Will knew they would be gripped with fear that the ships were packed with gunpowder and stone like the "Hellburners" used at Antwerp three years earlier, but the English did not have the resources to duplicate that feat.

As they fought to steer the two outer ships towards the beach, Will saw Carpenter and Launceston both dive into the water, satisfied that the main body of the fire ships would reach the Spanish fleet. But just as he was about to follow, another pinnace sailed rapidly towards the fire ship alongside his own and held station between the two English ships. On board, the Spanish sailors parted to make way for a man cloaked and hooded as protection against the fire.

Clutching a bag against his chest, he swung onto the grapnel rope now strung between the two vessels and began to make his way towards the burning ship.

Intrigued by the sailor's clear insanity and puzzled by what he could possibly be intending, Will steadied himself with one foot on the rail and watched. The sailor crossed the gulf between the two ships rapidly, but as he landed on the burning deck, his hood fell away and Will saw it was lion Alanzo.

On the brink of throwing himself into the water, Will paused, realising that here was unforeseen danger. Don Alanzo would not risk his life without reason. From his bag, he pulled an object Will instantly recognised it: the shimmering globe from the cabin of the grey-sailed ship, though at that moment it remained dull and lifeless.

Will didn't wait to see what lion Alanzo was attempting as he hunched over the globe amid the raging fires. Plucking a grapnel that one of his men had used to lower himself into a skiff, Will hurled it across the water where it caught in the Spanish pinnace's sail. Without a second thought, he swung across the gulf.