The Devil

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The stifling dark enveloped Carpenter. Coarse sackcloth scratched his face as he stumbled along blindly at the bidding of his captors. His breath rasped against the covering that had been thrust over his head aboard the galleon, but sounds came to him clearly: the whispering voices of the Unseelie Court speaking in their strange, bird-like language, the splash of the oars in the rowing boat, the crash of waves and the crunch of sand underfoot as he lurched up the strand. Blood dripped from his stinging wrists where the rope chafed him, but the pain only focused his mind. With an effort, he drove out the sickening sensation of the thing forcing its way down his throat and thought simply that he still lived.

When he came to a swaying halt, rough hands yanked the sack off his head. He stood on a small beach edged by steep cliffs facing a wall of dark, spiky-leaved trees. Torches hissed and spat in the hands of the dead pirates, their grey-green skin peeling away to reveal the bone beneath. The stink of rot floated on the breeze. Beyond the circle of light, he could just discern the spectral faces of the Fay in the gloom, their fierce, unblinking stares locked upon him.

Reeking of unfamiliar spices, Jean le Gris, the pirate captain, peered into the spy’s face with his one good eye. Scar tissue marred much of his skin above his wild black beard, but Carpenter saw that this man wore his wounds with pride. With a gap-toothed grin, the pirate tossed the sack away and said in heavily accented English, ‘Savour your few last breaths, dog. Your time in this world is done.’ He swept a hand across his throat and laughed.

Carpenter shrugged, refusing to give the other man any satisfaction. ‘How can you throw your lot in with these foul creatures?’ he said with contempt.

Le Gris’s grin faded. Leaning in closer, he hissed, ‘Do you think I had a choice? If I had resisted, I would have become like them.’ He nodded towards his dead crew.

‘So you sacrificed your men to save your neck. There is no honour among pirates, it seems.’

Le Gris snarled and Carpenter felt the prick of a knife-point at his neck. A bubble of blood rose up. ‘They came like wolves in the night as we sailed down the Channel. Ten men were dead before we even knew they had boarded us. A cur like you cannot judge me.’

The Unseelie Court never lost their ruthlessness, the spy understood. They needed a galleon that could survive an Atlantic crossing and took the first one they found that would not be missed. ‘You survived that encounter because they needed your skills,’ he said, ‘but soon you will have outlived your usefulness. What then, Frenchman?’

Le Gris’s blade moved back, ready to cut Carpenter’s throat, but the Englishman saw the other man’s eyes flicker towards something further down the beach and the foul-smelling pirate stepped back. Propelled by unseen hands, another hooded prisoner lurched beside the spy. Le Gris snatched off the sack to reveal Launceston, his deathly pallor aglow in the torchlight.

‘You live,’ Carpenter said, surprised by his rush of relief at his companion’s survival.

‘Little good it does us,’ the Earl breathed.

The Fay lord Lansing sauntered past the men, carrying a small, gleaming chest a hand larger than the one that had held the Caraprix. He nodded for the pirate to follow him. Glowering at the two spies, le Gris took the chest and followed the Fay like a servant. Carpenter imagined the Frenchman’s searing resentment at the humiliation, and smiled to himself.

‘Did they harm you?’ he asked Launceston.

‘They were poor company,’ the Earl replied with a shrug, ‘but I have endured worse. When I was a child, my father sealed me in a hole in the cellar with three rats for company, to teach me a lesson, he said.’ He looked round the beach, his voice unnervingly quiet. ‘I learned how to kill rats.’

A little way away, the silver box had been set on the sand. Lansing kneeled down and flicked open the lid, drawing out a glass ball like the ones Carpenter had seen in Dee’s chambers. He held it gently in the palm of his right hand.

‘Four times Lansing came to me. His words were sugared, but each one hid a demand for betrayal. What could he offer me? I have all I need now. Satisfying work, companionship.’ Launceston paused. ‘We all have a place in this world and I have finally found mine. I would not let him take that away from me.’

Carpenter hid his guilt, pretending to be engrossed by the Fay, who was dismissing le Gris with a lazy flick of his hand. Muttering under his breath, Lansing gestured as if drawing a silk kerchief off the glass ball. A flood of colour rushed out.

The two spies recoiled as one. ‘More magics,’ Carpenter spat.

The shifting colours coalesced into a plane on which formed a relief chart of the crescent-shaped island, with a stone tower standing on the hill at the centre. Carpenter gaped as he saw thick woods and paths running through them, valleys, pools and streams and grassy clearings. Lansing crooked a finger at the pirate and then pointed to the tower. ‘The magician hides away here. Find him and bring him back, and kill anyone who stands in your way.’

Le Gris nodded, his one eye wide with amazement.

‘Here,’ the Fay continued, moving his finger to a faint red glow following a path to the tower, ‘are the English spies.’ He traced a line along a deep valley. ‘If you follow this route, you will shave hours off your journey and, perhaps, reach the tower before our foes.’

‘And this?’ The pirate pointed to a single red spot keeping pace with Will and the others.

Carpenter saw Lansing’s brow furrow. The Fay shook his head and turned back to the silver chest, removing a gilt-edged mirror. Holding it up, he whispered a few words and the glass clouded over. Gripped now, Carpenter’s eyes narrowed as a hawk-like face appeared from the mist: one golden eye, one purple, wide and unblinking under arched brows, a long pointed nose ending at bow-shaped lips that added a feminine touch to the strong features.

‘Mandraxas, brother,’ Lansing said, with a curt bow of his head. ‘All strands come together, here on the edge of the great everlasting.’

‘You have the Ortelgan Mirror?’ The voice rolled out from the glass, high and sweet.

‘In time,’ the Fay lord responded. ‘First we will snare the magician, Dee. Once we have brought him home to endure the pleasures of Fortress Crepuscule, all things must follow.’

‘And so we make our plans, brother. And so we make our plans.’

Carpenter felt his stomach knot, queasy with fear. Yet with the Caraprix nestling deep inside him, he knew there was no going back. He set his doubts aside and wondered why that face in the mirror frightened him so. It was as if his senses understood the essence of the creature and rebelled at the contact.

Once the face had faded and the looking glass had clouded once more, Lansing returned it to the silver box with the glass ball and flipped the lid shut. He stood, saying to le Gris, ‘Organize your men, or what is left of them, while I see to the prisoners.’ With his chin raised, the Fay wandered behind Carpenter and Launceston. ‘Your time here is done,’ he said in a quiet voice, ‘but your passing will not be painless, for what would be the point? We all have our skills, my brothers and sisters and I, our strengths, our joys. Mine is the taking of a human life. Sometimes I come like a ghost. Men fall in a court in a foreign land, their blood pooling around them, and those standing beside them know not how their companion came to be dead. Sometimes I linger, drawing out long-held secrets or cries or vows, for the benefit of my people or for pleasure. Sometimes I slaughter wantonly, allowing men to sink into the fierce beauty of my face, the mere sight of me adding another subtle layer to their pain, another delicate seasoning to my rapturous feast. The High Family knows my expertise and they use it well. I am their sword, enforcing their will in the world of men.’

Carpenter wondered, then, why Lansing had not tortured him, or Launceston, to achieve his ends. He had used only words. Perhaps he had spoken truly when he expressed his desire for the peaceful return of his sister.

‘Come to it, then,’ Launceston said as if he were calling for another cup of sack. ‘I have no fear of death. We are old friends.’

Carpenter heard Lansing pass by the Earl and step up to his back. He felt cold breath upon his neck. ‘Our agreement stands,’ the Fay whispered so Launceston could not hear. ‘Find the magician first and deliver him to me and no one will suffer. You will be free to return to your life and this long war will be over.’

The spy felt the kiss of cold steel against his skin as Lansing slid his dagger under his bonds and slit the rope. ‘Choose your moment well to flee,’ the Fay added before saying loudly, ‘I will leave the thoughts of your passing to settle deep into you and thereby make the experience all the richer. Soon, now. Soon.’ He strode across the dry sand to where le Gris directed his men. They appeared to understand his meaning.

‘Robert,’ Carpenter whispered from the side of his mouth, ‘I have worked my bonds free. When I make my move, follow my lead.’

The Earl inclined his head in assent, giving nothing away.

Carpenter watched Lansing guide the pirates until their backs were turned, and then he grabbed Launceston’s arm and drew him silently into the trees. When they were deep in the dark and running as fast as they could, he heard le Gris’s cry. ‘Too late to raise the alarm,’ Carpenter said. ‘Once we have put some space between us, I will free you from your bonds, Robert, and then we shall bring this matter to a close.’

His chest swelled with exuberance. Soon he would be going home.