Caught between the two, Will weighed his choices. Just as he had decided to draw his sword, a door at the far end of the corridor opened and light flooded out. The figure paused and communicated in a low whisper with someone within before entering the room. The door closed behind him and the light winked out.
Instantly, Will darted to the nearest door, listening briefly before opening it slowly. The room was in darkness. He slipped inside.
Closing the door, he pressed his ear against it and waited. The padding reached the top of the flight of stairs and then moved towards him. It paused outside the door and growled again, disturbingly loud in the quiet. Will held his nerve. After a second, he heard the dog move on, and listened intently until silence returned.
Will wondered if it was the same dog that had accompanied the Hunter in Alsatia. That would mean the Hunter was probably there too, he thought coldly, and perhaps even the Silver Skull.
'Who are you?'
He started at the voice, soft and dreamy with the burr of a Scottish Lowlands accent. In the dark of the room, a man sat on a chair looking out of the window, his back to Will.
Drawing his sword in an instant, Will waited for the alarm to be raised, but the man did not move. After a second, Will cautiously approached. As the moonlight broke through the window, Will saw it was a man, not one of the Enemy. He was in his forties, grey streaks in his black hair, and grey eyes that had the faraway look of a sleepwalker.
'Who are you?' Will asked.
'John Kintour,' he replied. 'Advisor to my queen, Mary.'
'Mary is dead.'
'No ... no ... I saw her this morn. So beautiful. The sun made her hair glow like fire.' His voice was as insubstantial as the moonbeam breaking through the window.
Will passed his hand in front of Kintour's face, but he did not blink. 'How long have you been here?'
'A day? A week? A month? A year?' He paused thoughtfully, then said, 'They gave me food and drink. The most wonderful food ... The taste ... I had never experienced anything like it.'
Will realised what had happened. One of the first rules during his induction as one of Walsingham's men was that he should never eat or drink anything offered by the Enemy, for it would allow them to take complete control of you. Normally it was how they lured their prey for their sport, usually simple country folk drawn to hear the music on the hilltops or in the fields at night. Kintour was clearly not being kept a prisoner in the house for sport.
'You have had a busy time here,' Will said gently.
'Yes. So many questions.'
'And you answered them all?'
'As best I could. Some were beyond even me. The location of the Shield-'
'The Shield? What is that?' Thinking he heard a noise outside, Will glanced towards the door. After a moment he returned his attention to Kintour.
'The Shield protects against the foul diseases released by the Silver Skull, of course,' Kintour said lazily. 'It allows a man to move freely among the ranks of the infected and the dead, without any mark appearing upon him. That is what the Templar Knights said.'
It was as Will had thought. Without the Shield, the Skull was a blunt instrument, laying waste to vast swathes of an enemy. With it, the attacker could loot the dead, or achieve more specific aims.
'What do the Templar Knights have to do with this?' he asked.
Kintour's head rolled from side to side and he smiled faintly. 'I was keeper of the records at the palace. So much to read ... so many secrets. Among the sheaves of crumbling parchment, I found many relating to the Knights Templar. At first they made little sense. It was only when I realised they were written with an obscure cipher that the truth began to emerge. The Knights encountered the Silver Skull in the Holy Lands, and knew the terrible threat it was to all Christendom. They had to act to protect all good Christian men.'
'What did they do?'
'Separated the Skull from the Key and the Shield so it could not be used. They brought the latter two back here, to Scotland, and hid them well. The Skull ... I do not know what happened to that.'
'The Key and the Shield were hidden at the Palace of Holyroodhouse?' Will asked.
'Hidden well. The Knights had many strong connections with Edin burgh and the surrounding area, and they were involved in advising King David when he built Holyrood Abbey in 1126. There were rumours of secret chambers beneath the abbey, and extending under the palace west of the abbey cloister. It was one of the secret locations across Europe where the Knights stored items of vast importance.'
Will recalled the stories of the Knights Templar he had heard told at court, and how the religious military order had brought back many secrets and riches from the Crusades. Dee had even suggested that the disbanding of the Order and the killing of many of the Knights was down to the machinations of the Enemy. The Enemy's greatest victory, Dee had called it.
'Mary charged me with finding the location of the Key and the Shield,' Kintour continued. 'I searched through the old papers and spent long days and nights breaking the ciphers the Knights used. I found the Key.' His brow furrowed.
'Yes, the Key was found,' Will responded. 'But you could not locate the Shield?'
'Only that it was hidden somewhere beneath the abbey. But where ... and how ...' He shook his head sadly. 'And so you still search?'
'Yes, we still search,' Will said reassuringly. His mind raced as he tried to guess the Enemy's plan, which was clearly more subtle than he had anticipated. If the Silver Skull was simply a doomsday weapon, they would ensure it was triggered to wipe out the population, with no thought for the man who wore the Mask. But if the Enemy needed the Shield to protect themselves, it suggested they wished to move through the areas where the disease ran out of hand. Why would they want to do that?
'How close have you got to locating the Shield?' he asked.
Kintour bowed his head in shame. 'I have the reference to the entrance, and the guide to the defences, but I cannot understand it.' He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Will with trembling hands. Will inspected it briefly before slipping it into his own pocket. 'I know you requested an answer by this evening, and I am sorry ... I am sorry ...' He began to sob softly. 'Please do not hurt me any more. Let me dream.'
Will studied the wretched figure and wondered how long he had been a prisoner of the Enemy, without truly knowing where he was or what he did for them. 'Why have they ... we ... not descended on the abbey and torn it apart to find the Shield?' Will enquired.
'Why ... part of it is protected? You cannot walk there?' Kintour replied, baffled.
'So mortal agents are needed to search,' Will mused. 'You will not have to remain here for much longer. Firstly, I must find where they have hidden the Silver Skull here, but then I will return you to your life. Do you understand?'
Kintour nodded slowly until his chin drooped onto his chest and he fell into a deep stupor. Will crept back to the door and slipped out as soon as he had confirmed the corridor was clear.
The house pulsed with a strange atmosphere that reminded Will of a churchyard after a funeral, a hint of regret, a resonant note of grief, yet somehow the joy of a new day like the sun breaking through the branches of the yews. Behind it all, though, was an underlying tone of threat, rumbling so deep it was felt not heard.
He paused outside the door through which the Enemy had ventured, but there was no sound within. He hesitated, thought better of it, and moved on to the next floor; he could always return to that room if the rest of his search turned up nothing.
There was a different atmosphere in the next corridor, as though he had walked from one season into another. The air was rich with the perfume of a summer garden: he smelled lavender, rose, honeysuckle. The first door was locked, as was the second.
In the third room, it took a second for his eyes to adjust to the deep dark until he realised thick velvet drapes hung over the window. Pulling them back, he allowed the moonlight to illuminate the chamber. His initial shock at seeing glassy eyes upon him turned gradually to anger when he saw the pile of human heads in one corner, rising almost halfway up the wall. He guessed there were at least fifty, the features and bone structure heavy with the weight of poverty. Some of the heads were so badly decomposed only traces of flesh remained on the bone; others looked so fresh they may well have been placed there that night. The Enemy's sport, he knew, plucked from the dark, overcrowded wynds where the lowest stratum of society was all but ignored by the city authorities.
