‘If that word chimes with you ever, then you know my people. We are lost, all of us. Wanderers who travelled from four distant cities, Gorias, Murias, Finias and Falias, four places of such wonder and enchantment they could bring any who laid eyes upon them to tears of joy. But our way was lost, and we could never find our way home, and for as long as we have known we have been yearning for those magical, fabled cities. No peace in our days, no contentment, only endless searching. Our sadness eats into our hearts and turns our thoughts grey. But one day, we believe, we will finally find our way back and then, and only then, will we find peace.’
Carpenter felt a dismal mood descend upon him. He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts float back through the years and across the miles, to his father, in his cups and laughing by the hearth, and to his mother, wearing her best mustard skirts and white apron as she trudged through the snow to church on Christmas Eve. What uncomplicated lives they led. If only he had recognized that before he had left in search of coin in the Queen’s employ. Other scenes marched through his thoughts: the fields around his home where he knew every bird’s nest, how every shadow fell in the autumn twilight; the sound of the men singing as they drank their apple-beer after a hard day bringing in the harvest. He bowed his head.
‘Your friend is safe.’ Lansing’s footsteps retreated a few paces. Carpenter wondered if the Fay was drawing his blade for the first of many cuts and realized he cared little. ‘You may see him again soon,’ the Fay continued. ‘If only there would come a time when this war no longer tore friends apart.’
The spy read what his opponent was saying. ‘I will never betray my Queen,’ he muttered.
‘Nor would I expect you to. You are an honourable man, as am I. But there are steps we foot soldiers can take which could free us all from daily suffering, steps perhaps unseen by our masters caught up in their grand visions.’
Carpenter allowed himself a moment to imagine what life would be like without that struggle. He did not hear Lansing approach again.
‘We need no grand betrayal to end this war,’ the Fay was saying. ‘Only one thing, one small thing. The sorcerer, Dee.’
The spy snorted. ‘Without Dee, England falls. You will be able to do whatever you want with us.’
‘As I said before, all we want is our Queen returned. When she is seated once again upon the Golden Throne, there will no longer be need for struggle. We are no different, you and I. We want the same things.’ Lansing repeated the sentiment in a honeyed voice, the words almost dreamlike as they wove among Carpenter’s thoughts. The spy felt himself falling under their spell.
And on Lansing spoke, the steady beat of his quiet words an enchantment that swept Carpenter’s wits away. Little of what followed did the spy recall, only the great swell of his yearning as he thought of fleeing his blood- drenched work for a simpler life.
And then he heard Lansing say, ‘Will you help end this war?’
And he replied, ‘I will.’
Though it was dark, he was sure the Fay was smiling. ‘We would join you with us, so we can whisper our secrets. Guide you. Comfort you.’
‘Why do you need me?’ he murmured. ‘You can raise the dead to do your bidding. You have your Scar-Crow Men. I am but one man, and a lowly one at that.’
‘One man who gives himself freely can achieve greater things than an army of mere flesh devoid of thought.’ Lansing’s footsteps drew closer once again. ‘Do you give yourself freely?’
‘If it will bring an end to this war and this suffering. If we can have peace once more, and lives without strife.’
The Fay lord knelt beside him and struck a flint. Carpenter screwed up his eyes as the white light blazed in the gloom. Once a candle had been lit, he saw that Lansing held a silver casket in the palm of one hand. ‘This path must be chosen,’ the Fay said. ‘We can no more enforce it than we can turn back the wind.’
Carpenter shook his head, trying to dispel his hazy stupor. An insistent voice echoed deep inside him, but it was too faint to comprehend the words.
Lansing flicked open the casket lid to reveal a silver egg lying upon folds of purple velvet. ‘It is a Caraprix,’ he said with an odd hint of fondness. ‘So simple in appearance, yet containing such great power.’
‘It lives?’ the spy asked.
Lansing’s lips twitched. ‘Yes, it lives. It will be your most trusted companion, should you let it. Oh, the things it will whisper to you, the wonders it will unfold.’
‘And it will help me achieve the ends we both want so fervently?’
‘It will.’
‘Then free my hands, and let me hide it in my pouch. I would be away from here and bring an end to this madness sooner rather than later.’
‘You do not need your hands,’ the Fay said in a calm voice which Carpenter found inexplicably troubling. Before he could probe further, Lansing delicately lifted the silver egg out of the casket and balanced it on his palm in front of the spy’s eyes. The unblemished surface gleamed in the candlelight.
‘We will become one,’ Lansing said with a cold grin.
Legs sprang out of the Caraprix’s side. Like a beetle, it scurried across the Fay’s palm and leapt on to Carpenter’s face. He cried out in shock as the sharp tips of those legs bit into his flesh and held fast. It crawled down, and though he clamped his mouth shut the spindly shanks wormed their way in between his teeth and forced his jaw apart. As it wriggled past his lips, he felt its smooth surface as warm and yielding as flesh. Sickened, he tried to yell, but only a strangled cry came out.
The Caraprix forced itself further into his mouth, towards his throat, filling up every space until he choked. Darkness closed around his gaze. As Lansing’s emotionless face filled his vision, he could only think how weak he had been, and what terrible things were now to come.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Night had fallen, and the sea bellowed its fury. Iron waves hammered the
‘God save our souls,’ Strangewayes called to the heavens. He clung on to the rigging for dear life, his shirt and breeches sodden from the surf gushing over the rail with every dip and crash.
‘Only Bloody Jack can do that now,’ Will shouted back. His fingers ached from gripping the greased rope.
The ship careered into the dark like a leaf caught in a flood. For one queasy moment, the prow pointed towards the glittering stars, then plummeted down into a sable valley. A deluge thundered over the prow. Before the brine had sluiced across the deck, the ship crested another wave. Seasoned crewmen flew from their feet. Had the island lured them in, only to dash them on the rocks, Will wondered?
His ears rang from the thunderous roar as they neared the long line of white-topped breakers crashing against the lethal rocks. It seemed there was no path through, but Courtenay stood like a sentinel on the forecastle, unmoved by the furious heaving.
‘This is madness. We will all die,’ Strangewayes cried. ‘I should be at Grace’s side-’
‘There is nothing you can do for her now. Hold fast or you will be thrown over the side,’ Will called back.
The galleon heaved as a loud grinding echoed through the hull from the rocks scraping along the side. Any moment Will expected the jagged reef to tear through the pitch-covered oak. In those violent currents, the ship would break up in no time.
He gritted his teeth as the grinding grew louder, until he feared the end had come. The
