The Devil

at him with those unblinking eyes. It gnashed its needle-teeth once and then swam away.

On the river they could have been in Muscovy in winter. Putting his head down into the chill wind, Will headed towards the silhouetted masts. The crunch of his footsteps echoed across the still waste. The other men followed, their breath clouding. After a few moments, the golden lights of the quayside inn glittered through the stark trees and Will could make out the shape of the Gauntlet leaning askew under the force of the ice that had formed around it.

Before he could take another step, Strangewayes called out, ‘The fog returns.’

Will turned to see a low wall of mist reaching from bank to bank at their backs. But this fog was a pearly white and seemed to glow with an inner luminescence. It rolled towards them as if a tailor were unfurling a bolt of cloth. Faint stars twinkled in its midst.

‘Make for the quay as fast as your legs will carry you,’ he urged.

The spies raced towards the inn’s lights, slipping and sliding with each step so that Will feared they would fall and break their necks. When he could smell the acrid stink of the pitch on the Gauntlet’s hull, he paused and looked back. Tall, grey figures were emerging from the mist, cloaks billowing behind them. They stalked towards Greenwich, grasping swords, spears and axes.

Will felt a chill sweep through him even deeper than the one brought by the frozen river. A droplet of blood fell from his nose and froze before it hit the ice. The Unseelie Court were in opposition to nature, and every sense rebelled whenever they were near. Their clothes had a timeless feel, bucklers and leather belts, breeches and boots, all of them silvery grey as if they considered colour too much of a celebration of life for things that flirted with death. Long hair lashed in the wind. Their faces were the colour of frost, shadows pooling around their eyes. Scanning the steadily advancing group, he counted around thirty, small in number yet devastating in force.

‘We have a fight on our hands.’ The wind plucked his words away. ‘And if we fall this night, England is lost.’

He turned and raced up the icy stone steps that led up to the quay where a crowd of puzzled onlookers had gathered to see the frozen Thames. At his back, the winter storm swept in.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Will bounded on to the quayside, calling to the pikemen Cecil had set to guard the Gauntlet, ‘Gather your weapons and prepare for the fight of your lives!’ He knew he was probably sending them to their deaths, but their sacrifice would not be forgotten if the ship could be freed from its icy prison. He caught the officer of the guard by the arm and leaned in to whisper, ‘Tell your men not to look those bastards in the eye, nor listen to their words. They will undermine you with lies and deceit. Keep your eyes on their weapons and kill without mercy.’

The captain nodded, running towards his men, barking orders. Their cuirasses rattling as they ran, the defenders hurried down the stone steps on to the ice.

‘Should we join them in battle?’ Launceston peered towards the pale figures drawing in on the quay.

‘I need you here to help marshal the crew and these labourers. We must break the ice around the Gauntlet and carve a path out to where the river remains unfrozen.’

Unsettled whispers rustled across the quayside. The crowd grew in number as attention fell upon the Unseelie Court. Will beckoned for the other spies to gather closer. ‘We must prevent these good men from having their sleep ruined for evermore — however long that might be after this night,’ he whispered. ‘Spread the word that it is Spanish agents who approach. We need all good Englishmen to do their part in standing firm against the invaders. Keep them occupied.’

‘How do we do that?’ Carpenter asked.

‘Tell them to collect all the pitch from the shipwrights in Greenwich and carry the barrels down on to the ice. One of you find Captain Prouty and order him to prepare to sail.’

‘He will think you mad,’ Strangewayes complained.

‘Mad, I am. For only one of Bedlam’s Abraham men would dare to do what I plan.’ Will grinned. ‘But this is why the Crown selected us for our work. We are all mad, and, as you well know, the gods protect fools and lovers.’

He spun round, shouting, ‘Come, lads!’ to draw the attention of the gathered crowd. Carpenter and Strangewayes followed suit, whipping the men up with shouts and cheers and sending them off to the shipwrights’ stores marked out by piles of stone ballast along the quayside. Emerging from the inn with Launceston, Captain Prouty tossed aside a mug of ale and bounded up the plank to his ship. His orders rang out through the night as he moved across the deck. At the mainmast he paused to point up towards the yards.

Will ventured to the edge of the quay. On the river, the Queen’s men edged away from the safety of Greenwich, pikes levelled and swords drawn. Before them, the Unseelie Court advanced with long, determined strides, heads down into the wind, like wolves preparing to fall on a wounded deer.

Will forced himself not to rush to the aid of the men. Their sacrifice had bought him time. Turning back to the frantic activity along the dockside, he jumped on to the plank leading up to the galleon and demanded more haste in a voice that carried across the docks. As the labourers trundled the barrels of pitch from the stores, the spy directed them to carry their casks down the steps to the ice and there lay them in a line from the ship’s prow out into the river. Carpenter and Strangewayes marshalled another group of men to collect axes and the long-hafted hammers that the boat-builders used to drive wedges to split timber.

‘Captain Prouty insisted I inform you that he does indeed think you are mad,’ Launceston murmured as he urged the men on, drawn sword in his hand.

‘Then we are all in agreement. This is not a place for sane men. Bring the others and let us wallow in our madness.’ Will eased into the flow of men trudging down on to the ice.

Once the barrels of pitch were laid out in a line, he ordered a labourer to stand beside each cask with a hammer or an axe and, on his signal, smash it open. When his arm fell, the crashes of splintering wood drowned out the clash of steel and tormented cries echoing from the battle on the other side of the galleon. The pitch spewed out across the hoar-frost from barrel after barrel, flowing stickily into a black line pointing the way to freedom.

‘Bring me the brand,’ Will called. A workman thrust the spitting torch into his hand, and he lowered the flame to the sable stream. The fire licked at the pitch, raising bubbles that spattered and crackled. After a moment the tar caught. Acrid smoke whisked up, then an orange wall of fire racing out into the middle of the Thames. Cracks like cannon-fire boomed out into the night as the searing heat met the biting cold of the frozen river.

‘Do not wait for the ice to melt,’ Will roared as he marched along the line of workmen. ‘Take your hammers and your axes and smash it to pieces. But take care not to fall into the water.’

Red-faced from the sweltering fire, the men rubbed their hands and spat, grasping their tools and swinging them over their heads. The iron came down like thunder. Chunks of glittering ice flew. Will felt a swell of hope as he saw the jagged cracks race out. Man after man repeated their strikes until the ice shattered and the spy could glimpse lines of black water.

‘Keep at it until a channel forms,’ he yelled. Twirling an upright finger, he summoned the attention of Carpenter, Launceston and Strangewayes, then flicked his hand towards the galleon. They raced for the steps. On the quay, Will glanced back as a blazing pool of pitch slid into the water with a sizzle. A cloud of steam billowed up. When it cleared, he saw a trail of broken ice reaching out to the unfrozen channel in the middle of the river.

Launceston gave a satisfied nod. ‘Let us hope that is enough.’

Cheers rose from the labourers as they swung their tools to break more of the ice. But then, with a resounding crack, a large section broke free and turned vertical like a platter tipping off the edge of a table. Three men standing upon it plunged into the water. Will closed his eyes, knowing what was to come, but still he jerked when the screams tore out.

The dark pool boiled. Labourers inched towards the edge of the cracked ice, reaching out axes towards the thrashing arms. But the limbs fell away at odd angles, and the churning water turned red. After a moment, the river calmed as the feeding ended. The surviving workmen gaped in horror.

Will stifled his dismay at the deaths and ran up the planks leading on to the galleon.

‘Master Swyfte, let us see if this wild plan has found its legs,’ Captain Prouty boomed from the quarterdeck.