Jack’s brow furrowed.
“It’s your choice really. You can come with me and join the Revisionists — as we suggested before. Your father is right — just like VIGIL we must also seek to train the next generation. The irony of this great power we have — this power to change history — is that we are still mortal. I will not be here for ever. We need to recruit and train new followers to continue our work. They will ensure that the course of history continues to be maintained for the benefit of the human race. Who better than yourselves to start this process? With you on our side, your father, with his great intellectual gifts, will rejoin us and nothing will stop us then. VIGIL will be destroyed and we will change the world and then keep it changed — for good. This is the opportunity before you.” His eyes glinted. “To spell it out — I am offering you one final chance.”
“And if we don’t join you?”
Pendelshape quietly reached into his holster and pulled out the gun they had seen him wield in the cellar. He pointed it across the table at them. “If you choose not to — I’m afraid you leave me with no option. I do not have the same
He cocked the gun.
“I need your decision, gentlemen.”
Appointment at the Palace
Pendelshape held the gun steadily, less than a metre from Jack’s face. Jack’s heart raced. He had already witnessed the casual attitude that Pendelshape could take to a human life. His whole demeanour would change, bringing a cold, dead look to his eyes. Pendelshape had that look now. Jack had no doubt that he would carry out his threat. The irony was, of course, that Pendelshape was giving the boys exactly the opportunity that Inchquin had hoped for when VIGIL had sent them back. Their mission was to gain Pendelshape’s confidence and infiltrate the Revisionists. On the spur of the moment at VIGIL HQ it had seemed like a good idea; but now, faced with the reality, it was frightening and confusing. Without contact with Tony and Gordon, they had no support, no back-up and no way of communicating with VIGIL. But with Pendelshape’s pistol hanging menacingly in the air in front of them, it looked like they had no option.
Through the small kitchen window Jack heard a strange noise. It was a sort of muffled jangling. Suddenly, an object appeared outside the window. The object arced slowly from the left side of the window across to the right. As it moved it bobbed up and down. Through the fog of the steamed-up window it was difficult to make out what it actually was. But it was colourful. In fact, it had yellow and red stripes. As far as Jack could discern, for some inexplicable reason, a large jester’s hat was flying backwards and forwards outside with no visible means of support. Pendelshape was understandably distracted by the strange apparition. He rubbed the misted window to get a better look.
“What on earth…?”
Suddenly, the small wooden door on the opposite side of the kitchen flew open. Harry Fanshawe stood in the doorway brandishing a full-length musket — he looked almost as scared as Jack and Angus had been feeling. For a moment the musket wobbled uneasily in his hands. Pendelshape swivelled away from the window and jumped to his feet, levelling his gun at Fanshawe. Fanshawe panicked, shut his eyes and pulled the trigger of the mighty blunderbuss. The flintlock slammed down into the breach and there was an odd delay before the powder inside ignited. When it did, it was as if the whole house had been detonated. The musket recoiled so hard it lifted Fanshawe off his feet and threw him nearly two metres back through the kitchen door. Pendelshape screamed as the crude lead shot embedded itself in his thigh. He immediately fell to the ground, clutching his leg with one hand. Somehow he had the presence of mind to retain his grip on the gun and he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew into the ceiling and a shower of plaster rained into the room.
Before Pendelshape could fire again, Angus heaved the wooden kitchen table on its side and, using it as a shield, he and Jack retreated from the kitchen. Pendelshape squirmed on the floor, but with the boys protected by the screen of wood, he was unable to get a clear aim. He roared in frustration and fired off a volley of shots. The table in Angus’s hands jarred violently as each bullet hit; the wood splintered but the bullets did not get through. They reached the door and Angus dropped the table, leaving it as a horizontal barrier across the threshold. They pulled Fanshawe back to his feet and sprinted out of the cottage into the yard, leaving Pendelshape inside, trapped but still armed.
Outside, Trinculo and Monk had the horses ready. Trinculo put away his jester’s hat which, with a large stick poked inside, had been the source of Pendelshape’s distraction. Jack rode up behind Angus.
“Let’s go!” Fanshawe shouted and they galloped off.
But Angus waited. “Are we just going to leave him there?”
“What choice do we have? He’s well equipped — he’s not going to die.”
“That’s what I mean, Jack. We could end it all right here.”
“He’s armed — in case you didn’t notice.”
“We could burn the cottage down or something.”
Jack punched Angus in the back. “You’re not serious? He might be mad and he might be okay with going around killing people randomly, but we’re not — remember?”
“Yeah, right, sorry. So what then? Try and take him prisoner or something? Remember our mission.”
Their conversation was cut short. The front door of the cottage flew open and Pendelshape staggered towards them, zombie-like, brandishing his pistol and firing wildly from a fresh magazine.
“Okay — screw the mission.” Angus jabbed his heels into the horse and they shot off down the farm track after Fanshawe and Trinculo.
It took them two hours to travel back into London. They eventually located a small pub in one of the many roads off Eastcheap. As usual, the city was mobbed, and even assuming Pendelshape recovered from the wound that Fanshawe had inflicted, he would never find them there.
“So why did you come back, Harry?” Jack asked as they huddled around a small table at the back of the inn. Fanshawe had ordered bread, cheese and a round of ale. They talked between mouthfuls.
“It’s simple, Jack — you saved my life and I could tell that man was trouble. I decided to follow you.”
“To the farm?”
“Yes. Late last night I returned to find help and Trinculo and Monk agreed to come with me this morning. We got the musket from the Rose. It is used on stage sometimes. We brought it just in case. But then everything happened so quickly.” There was a pause as Fanshawe looked at Jack with a serious expression. “What’s going on, Jack? Who are all these people — the Spaniards, those men in Cambridge? And, and… what did you do to those men in the torture cellar?”
Fanshawe, Trinculo and Monk stared at him. There was silence as Jack searched for inspiration. “We are not sure either, Harry, but we seem to have got ourselves caught up in something that we shouldn’t have. I think it all started when we met Marlowe. The letter from Marlowe describes a Spanish plot against England. Marlowe is a double agent — he works for the Spanish but also for Walsingham. He betrayed us to save his own skin. They tracked us down to London to stop us giving the letter to Walsingham and uncovering the plot.”
Fanshawe looked confused. “But what about — Pendelwright — what did you call him?”
“Pendelshape.” Jack had to lie. “We learned that Pendelshape is one of the plotters too. He is a fanatical Catholic. He removed us from the house because it was too dangerous there and was trying to get more information out of us — but we don’t understand why he let you go.”
“And then…” Fanshawe’s eyes opened in wonder. “Your magic orb — how did it make them disappear?”
Jack’s imagination was working overtime. “It’s a weapon, Harry. Italian — they’re always coming up with strange stuff. We got to know a couple of older students from Genoa… when we were at Cambridge… they, er, sold one to us. You know what it’s like these days, you need to be able to defend yourself.” It was a terrible lie — but it was the best Jack could come up with. Anyway, the truth was far harder to believe.
