The Devil

the seamen caught in the wildly swinging lanterns. The violent shaking faded, the seas grew calmer, and a cheer rang out from all on deck.

When the Tempest reached placid water, Courtenay gave the order to drop anchor. As he strode the deck, the men showed him their respect with broad grins or bowed heads. Bloody Jack only laughed louder, clapping his hands together in triumphant glee. ‘We have stared death in the face, and once again the bony bastard has backed down,’ he bellowed as he passed.

The night was cool and smelled sweetly of fresh vegetation. Now the danger had passed, Will wondered where his plans would take him next. He found his thoughts swinging wildly between hope that one day he might see Jenny again and dread that Grace had been lost because of his own failings.

Strangewayes cast one eye towards the island. ‘Is this the place mentioned in the captain’s journal ’pon the abandoned Spanish galleon?’

‘We will find out in good time, Tobias, but there have been tales of many a devil-haunted island in these parts. Perhaps the influence of the Unseelie Court grows stronger with each step closer to their home.’

‘Then let us pray we draw no nearer.’ He glanced up, past the men hooting and chattering as they scrambled up the rigging, and then strode towards the captain’s cabin to see how Grace fared.

Once the sails had been furled and calm had descended on the galleon, Will sought out Courtenay on the poop deck, where the captain was swigging from a cup of wine by the light of the moon. Aware of the dangers that might lie ahead, they agreed no landfall would be made until sunrise. Eager as he was to discover Dee and Meg’s fate, Will took the opportunity to snatch a few hours’ rest in a corner of the main deck while the men played cards and drank in the berth.

Sleep came quickly. Through the dark he sailed, deep into dreams.

Once again, he walked with Jenny through the garden of the cottage she shared with her father and mother and Grace in Warwickshire. In the sun, honey bees buzzed lazily past the marigolds on their way to the hives at the end of the garden. Purple-topped lavender swayed past their legs. His gaze flickered towards the dark band of woods ahead, like a storm cloud on the horizon, and he felt uneasy as he sensed that something watched him from their depths. Though he could not see it, for some reason he couldn’t fathom he believed it to be a raven. Those black glass eyes lay upon him, heavy with judgement, he was sure. And then he realized that Jenny was speaking to him, her voice insistent, and when he turned he saw worry in her features. She was telling him not to go on, to turn back, forget everything, live life, for the west was where the dead went. Turn back. Turn back.

The world skewed and shadows rushed out from those dark woods to swallow him. When his head had finished spinning, he somehow knew it was the night of Jenny’s disappearance. He had spent hours searching the lanes and fields around her home, desperation, then fear, then grief, burning a hole in his chest. No sign of her anywhere; no sign of her ever again in Arden. And he was washing his hands by the well, washing furiously to rid himself of the stain, but he knew that it would never go, that it lay deeper than flesh. He was changed for ever. No longer William Swyfte the poet, with a fine career ahead of him after he departed the debating halls of Cambridge University. No longer innocent. And then he turned, as he had, and Grace was there, little Grace, pleading for news of her missing sister. He tried to hide his hands so she would not see. He tried-

Rough hands were shaking him awake.

His eyes snapped open and he peered into Strangewayes’ face as the spy loomed over him in an excited state, his fists gripping Will’s shirt. ‘Come,’ he urged with passion. ‘Come.’ Shaking the last of the dark dream from his head, Will staggered after the other man. His heart beat faster when he saw Tobias dash into the captain’s cabin. Inside, Grace was sitting up in her berth, her head in her hands, her lank hair falling across her face. When she looked round as the two men entered she appeared baffled and Will feared the worst, her wits burned away by the searing touch of the Unseelie Court. His breath caught in his throat. Yet after a moment she forced a weak smile and said, ‘You both look so troubled! What is wrong?’

Relief flooded Will. ‘You gave us a scare, Grace,’ he said, beaming. ‘You have been a bundle of trouble as long as I have known you.’

She rolled her eyes and sniffed. ‘Men call a woman trouble when she does not dance to their tune. I am proud to be so described.’

The two men laughed, their moods lightening for the first time in days. Will knelt beside Grace and tested her memory and her wits with several questions. She answered every one clearly, her puzzlement moving to annoyance until finally she told him she had had enough of being mothered. Promising he would explain everything to her soon, he insisted she rest and build up her strength, for there were more tribulations ahead.

Outside the cabin door, he closed his eyes and put his head back, letting his relief show. ‘Never would I have hoped for such an outcome,’ he breathed.

‘It seems Grace is stronger than you think,’ Strangewayes said, his voice hard. ‘You see the little girl you first knew. But she has grown into a woman as courageous as any man.’

‘In that, you are correct. I have misjudged her. When she has regained her strength, I will reveal all she needs to know about the Unseelie Court and their foul ways.’

‘Do not expect forgiveness,’ Strangewayes said. ‘This time we were fortunate, but Grace should never have been placed in that danger.’ He stalked away before Will could respond.

The night drew on, and on. Will climbed up to the forecastle and watched the shore, feeling unease begin to replace his jubilation. When footsteps drew near, he turned. Men slept on the decks under the lit lamps. Courtenay strode past them, his brow furrowed, and the spy knew he was not alone in his worries. ‘The sun should have been up long ago,’ Bloody Jack said, eyeing the full moon and the milky sweep of stars as he neared, ‘yet this night stays and stays. How much longer are we to be tormented by strangeness?’

‘It is a strange world, captain, and an island where night outstays its welcome is not the worst thing in it.’

Courtenay shrugged. Vertiginous seas and blood-crazed pirates were as nothing to him, but Will could see that the unnatural dark troubled him deeply. ‘Well, we can’t sit here waiting till Doomsday,’ the captain muttered. ‘I’ll assemble the shore party. But you must watch yourself out there, Master Swyfte.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The island brooded in the deep dark. No fires or lanterns glimmered, no voices carried, no sign of human habitation showed itself anywhere. There was only the creak of the Tempest at anchor and the wind across the waves.

Uncommonly subdued, Courtenay disappeared below deck and returned with ten of his fiercest men. Will watched the rowing boat pull away as it ferried the sailors to the shore. It disappeared into the dark, and after what seemed an age, lanterns flickered to life in a circle on the beach. He joined the last boat with Strangewayes, who would not meet his eye. ‘You must put aside your feelings until we are back aboard ship,’ Will said in a low voice. ‘Our survival could depend on us looking out for each other.’

Strangewayes did not reply.

Through the gloom they could make out white-topped waves lapping on to a small beach which led up to a dense line of trees silhouetted against the night sky. The dark beneath the canopy was impenetrable. The sweet scent of cooling vegetation drifted on the night breeze.

‘Make a fire here on the strand,’ Will ordered when he stood in the circle of lamplight. ‘It will be a beacon for us as we explore the island.’ While the men collected driftwood and dry brush from the treeline, Will clambered over the rock pools at the edge of the horseshoe-shaped cove. Though he gained a different perspective of the island, still he could see no sign of life.

Once he had glanced towards the beach to ensure he had not been followed, he crouched down and removed the obsidian mirror from his leather pouch. It felt cool and comforting in his hand. How much he had gambled, bringing such a powerful object so close to the redoubt of the Unseelie Court. And yet it had proved the source of such hope.

He laid the looking glass on a seaweed-covered rock and peered into its depths. It seemed to glow of its own