The Silver Skull

CHAPTER 17

he twisting routes among the tenements were impenetrably dark, the buildings too high to allow the moonlight to reach the ground. Only the occasional glimmer of candlelight gleamed in the black windows. Will's footsteps echoed off the walls like stones dropped on ice. From somewhere ahead of him, a similar noise resounded, and from behind came the tramp of many boots as Pickering's men fanned out through the maze of byways. Their lanterns flickered like fireflies as they searched doorways and side alleys.

At a crossroads, he realised the footsteps ahead had slowed. Keeping close to a wall, he edged forwards until whispering voices emerged from the gloom, speaking Spanish. Another voice responded, mellifluous but with an unsettling note of menace.

Tracing the low conversation along an alley to another courtyard large enough to be filled with silvery moonlight, Will found lion Alanzo and the Silver Skull with the Hunter. Beside him, his dog's red eyes sparked.

Keeping well to the shadows where he could not be seen, Will spied on the scene, but within an instant the dog's hackles rose and it released a low, threatening growl. Peering directly at Will, the Hunter gave a knowing smile.

Will expected the Hunter to set his dog loose, but instead he removed an item from the pouch at his belt and kept it hidden in his palm.

Stepping out from the shadows, Will said, "You keep dishonourable company, lion Alanzo."

Don Alanzo eyed the Hunter. "A mercenary from Flanders."

"More than that. And worse." Will strode forwards, keeping his right arm and Dee's blade hidden behind his back.

"Leave here, Will Swyfte, as quickly as you can," Don Alanzo said. "I offer this advice as a courtesy. In return for you saving my life in the bear pit, I now save yours."

Don Alanzo's words could have been glib arrogance regarding his skills as a swordsman, but Will heard a powerful note of truth in them. "I cannot leave without the Silver Skull," Will responded. "I have been entrusted with the task of returning it to the Tower."

"Him," Don Alanzo snapped. "Not it. There is a man beneath this mask, and he has been held prisoner in this Godforsaken country for twenty years. You claim to be the civilised defenders of the true way, righteously holding back the conspiracy of barbarians beyond your borders, but you commit atrocities without a second thought. You persecute good Catholics-"

"Because you persecute us. You and your allies will not be happy until England is a memory."

"Arrogance finds a good home in this country. You believe any action you take is justified, and so you are capable of anything, without even a glimmer of guilt. You are blind to the blood on your hands and the brutality that lurks behind every sneering face in your court. You have turned away from God and Rome, but your sins run deeper by far."

"The one that stands beside you is more dangerous than any Englishman, and capable of worse things by far. He smiles and calls you friend, but he plays you like a lute."

"That may well be," Don Alanzo replied. "But for now we have a common enemy, and so we walk shoulder to shoulder."

Will knew there was no point arguing with lion Alanzo, but before he could act, Miller emerged from the alley on the other side of the courtyard. Signalling to Will that he was going to attack, he was brought up sharp by the sight of the Hunter and his dog. In a single moment of hesitation, all Miller's fears played out across his face, followed by a furious internal battle as the man Walsingham had recognised put those concerns to one side. Gripping his dagger tightly, Miller attacked.

Though he didn't make a sound, he'd barely got halfway across the courtyard before the Hunter sensed his presence. Will watched a smile flicker across the Hunter's lips, but it was too late to call out. The Hunter didn't turn until Miller was almost upon him, and then he whirled fluidly and grabbed Miller's wrist before he could plunge the dagger home.

As Will raced to help, the Hunter let slip the leash and his dog bounded forwards, its deep, rumbling growl turning the pit of Will's stomach. Will held the blade before him, but the dog didn't attack; it simply marked a line between the Hunter and Will and moved back and forth along it, holding Will at bay with the snap of its huge jaws every time he tried to pass it.

The Hunter didn't attempt to hurt Miller. Still smiling, he pulled Miller towards him by the wrist with a slow, relentless ease, even though the terrified farm boy used all his strength to resist. When he was close, the Hunter leaned in and whispered in Miller's ear.

Instantly, Miller grew still, his eyes widening. The Hunter pulled back, his smile now taking a different note, and he let go of Miller's wrist, which remained aloft for a second before his arm slumped to his side.

"Tom! Pay him no heed!" Will called, unable to round the snapping dog.

Miller appeared unable to hear. His shoulders slumped, he walked in a daze away from the Hunter, Don Alanzo, and the Silver Skull to the dark shadows on the edge of the courtyard, where he slid down the wall and came to rest with his head in his hands.

"I will extract a harsh price for any harm you have caused him," Will said.

Eyes glittering, the Hunter stared back, silently mocking.

As the dog returned to its master's side, the tension broke. Thirty of Pickering's men surged into the courtyard from different alleys. Turning slowly, lion Alanzo looked directly into each face as if searching for something he couldn't find. Despite the overwhelming force, he appeared completely at ease.

Turning back to Will, he said, "This is my final warning. Move away from here and do not look back."

His words were filled with such a powerful gravity that Will walked slowly backwards until rough hands grabbed his arms and held him tight. He continued to study Don Alanzo and the Hunter, trying to anticipate what was to come; but if one thing convinced him of the extent of the potential threat, it was their complete calmness in the face of cudgels and knives.

"This Spaniard is an Abraham-man," the leader of Pickering's men said in the thieves' cant. The ragged scar that ran from his left temple to his right cheek only emphasised his expression of mocking contempt. "Or he's been too long in the boozing ken. You know I cut bene whids-he carries no sword and there are thirty of us good copesmates! Let us have him!"

He beckoned the others with a hand missing two fingers and advanced on Don Alanzo and the Silver Skull. Will still expected the Hunter to unleash his dog, but instead the Hunter opened the palm of his hand to reveal a blue jewel as big as a coin which shimmered with the reflected light of the moon.

"See, lads! They offer us their riches to buy their lives. We shall have that ... and their lives!" The scarred man gave a mocking laugh.

As the scarred man stepped forwards, the Hunter calmly fitted the jewel into an almost-invisible indentation on the Silver Skull's forehead. A loud click brought the scarred man to a suspicious halt. The Hunter whispered in the Silver Skull's ear. He wrung his hands in anguish, and tried to turn away, but the Hunter caught his arm in a tight grip. Don Alanzo whispered in the Skull's other ear in a manner that appeared to be calming. After a moment, the Silver Skull began to shake, and Will was convinced that beneath the mask he was trying to control deep sobs. Then, with a desperate resignation, he raised one hand to his temple and half bowed his head as though in deep thought.

The actions were strange enough to bring the band of thugs to a puzzled halt.

As Will studied the Silver Skull, a barely perceptible change came over the mask, perhaps a slight change in the quality of the moonlight it reflected, or a barely audible noise as though it were a tuning fork vibrating.

The scarred man flinched, his hand involuntarily going to his throat. He coughed once and spluttered. When it passed, his mocking smile returned. But only for a moment. Within seconds he was reeling, tearing at his face and arms and fighting for breath, eyes wide with panic.

The rest of Pickering's men were rooted in horror. The hands holding Will fell away, and he stepped quickly back through their ranks into the shadows at the edge of the alley.

The scarred man's skin blackened as if burned by an invisible fire. It spread quickly across his face, then down his arms, and his skin cracked like a muddy track beneath the hot sun. Blisters erupted everywhere, covering every part of him within seconds, forcing his eyes shut and deforming his lips. One by one the blisters burst to release foul yellow pus. As blood streamed from the corners of his eyes, his nose, his ears, his flesh began to liquefy, and he fell to his knees in a growing puddle, clawing at the areas where sticky bone was now visible.

Watching his death throes, Pickering's men crossed themselves or whispered prayers, but the spectacle kept them fixed.

Finally, the scarred man pitched forwards onto the cobbles and lay still. Will had observed something similar, in a village not far from Darmstadt when the plague had struck. But there the death had been slow, over days, not a matter of seconds. Yet he could see now what the Silver Skull was: an engine of disease, powered by the will of the one who wore it. All it required to operate was the key: the jewel the Hunter had fitted to it.

His impression was proved correct when first one, then ten, then all of Pickering's men began to experience the initial symptoms. In no time at all, the disease had leapt among them, driving them to their knees in an agonising death.

With horror, Will realised why the Enemy was so determined to gain the Skull: if thirty men could be brought down so quickly, where was the end of it? A street? A city? An entire country? Perhaps even the greatest army could be wiped away in the blink of an eye. With the Skull under their control, all Dee's defences amounted to nothing, and England was left naked and on the brink of becoming a charnel pit.

A tingling began in the tips of his fingers and his throat began to close. The Silver Skull looked directly at him. Before the disease rushed through Will, Don Alanzo caught the Skull's arm and guided him away with a gentle tug. The Hunter and his dog were nowhere to be seen. Don Alanzo gave Will a slight bow, the scales now balanced, and moved quickly away across the courtyard into the dark beyond, with the Skull beside him.

Will attempted to give pursuit, but his head was swimming and his legs were like jelly, even at the merest touch of the Skull's power. By the time he had recovered, Don Alanzo and the Skull had disappeared into the maze of Alsatia, and within moments, the whinny of a horse was followed by the crack of a whip and the rattle of carriage wheels.

Miller stumbled over, unscathed, a deep-seated horror burned into his eyes. "Will, I failed you," he croaked.

"You did what you could, as do we all. Come." As they headed back, Will added, "Whatever he said to you, ignore it. They lie. That is what they do."

Miller did not respond.

At the scene of the Thieves' Fair, Will was surprised to find that Marlowe and a group of the queen's men had rounded up the collection of rogues in one corner of the courtyard, where they were being held at sword point. Several bodies of those who had resisted lay on the cobbles as a lesson to the others.

Grace ran over and grasped Will's hand tightly. "You are safe," she said with relief. "I prayed for your return."

"You should not be here Grace," he scolded. "But I am glad to see you well." He motioned to Nathaniel to take Grace to one side.

"She only wished for knowledge of her sister," Nathaniel said quietly. "Do not treat her harshly."

The weight of what he had witnessed lay heavily on Will. With the weapon in the Enemy's hands, time was rapidly running out. He sought out Marlowe and said, "Kit, I thank you for coming to my aid. Now, bring me Pickering, the King of Cutpurses. I have some hard questions for him."

Marlowe motioned to Pickering's costume topped by the bird mask lying in a heap on the cobbles. "Mistress Seldon tells me this was his disguise."

"Then once again he hides among his people." Will eyed the sullen mass of rogues.

"If you do not know his looks, then you will never find him among that rabble, Will."

Will considered his options, and then said, "Bring the men to me one at a time."

As the pageant of glowering men trailed past, Will studied the size, the gait, and most importantly the eyes: Pickering's unwavering stare was unforgettable. Many he dismissed immediately, too squat, too large, too grey. A few he spent a moment considering. But there was one who at first appeared wrong, until Will realised he was feigning a limp and walking with his left shoulder stooped. He kept his gaze down, until Will forced him to look up. The unblinking black eyes were coldly familiar.

"The King of Cutpurses," Will said wryly. "Your nobility is about to be tested."

Pickering responded only with a defiant stare.

Will turned to Marlowe. "Take him to the Tower."