men, despite all appearances.’
‘You saw the onlookers,’ Carpenter muttered. ‘The beadle will not be informed. They will burn the bodies and pretend this atrocity never happened, though it haunt their sleep for evermore. Now, come.’ Sheathing his rapier, he prowled out of the rat-run and along the street. He felt the eyes of the silent seamen and doxies upon his back, all of them at once despising him yet relieved too.
‘I see no movement now,’ Strangewayes said, looking around the rooftops.
Carpenter grimaced. ‘Our Enemy wished to divert prying eyes from their true intentions. We have already fallen behind.’
CHAPTER FOUR
A glittering constellation danced across the worm-holed ceiling beams. The silver-bearded old man squatted on a stool by the empty hearth, watching the shifting stars with a childlike wonder etched into his wrinkled face. It looked as if he were seeing through the upper storeys of the rooming house and out into the vast unknown. Dr John Dee, alchemist, inventor, sorcerer and astrologer to the court of Queen Elizabeth of England, wore a cloak stitched from the pelts of woodland animals, every head still attached so that he appeared to be swarming with wildlife. Beneath it, skulls of birds and mice hung from silver chains looped across the chest of his purple gown. Every time he shifted, their rattle broke the stillness of the room. His slender fingers cupped a circular mirror made of polished obsidian. As he turned it back and forth, the glass caught the flames of the candles and threw pinpricks of light across the damp plaster of the bedchamber.
From the small, square window overlooking the dark rooftops of Liverpool, Meg O’Shee studied her companion’s entranced expression. Soon the herb-inflicted stupor would begin to wear off. She would need to administer another dose of the potent concoction that had kept Dee supine since she had spirited him away from Nonsuch Palace more than a week ago. She felt uneasy about stealing a man’s wits for so long — she had seen others never regain them — but Dee with a clear head was too dangerous a prospect for her to consider.
The Irish spy was dressed in a bodice and skirt of black and gold, the more easily to disappear into the shadows of the filthy town’s dark alleys. She hated it there, but she had suffered worse places. As she combed her auburn hair, Meg dreamed of her home, a short journey across the turbulent waters. Too long had it been since she had walked in the fields of her youth, but prices aplenty had been demanded of her since she had set out to steal England’s greatest treasure. And once Dee had built his magical defences and Ireland was free of the predations of the Unseelie Court, there would be such a celebration! No more death and misery, no more crops blighted and cattle stricken for mere sport. No more children stolen from their cribs and replaced by mewling straw things. Peace, for the first time in generations.
And then all her sacrifices would be worthwhile. She repeated those words in her head, but still they did not catch fire. Her thoughts spun back to Will Swyfte, and the merry jig they had danced together while calamity unfolded on every side. Annoyed with herself, she tossed the comb aside. Why was she so loath to leave their wild courtship behind? Her life would be so much easier — and certainly much safer — if she put him out of her mind.
Lightning flashed on the horizon. The church bells clanged in the rising gale. First fog, now an approaching storm? Meg peered out of the window and murmured a prayer that the inclement weather would clear before the dawn’s sailing. The end of this lethal business could not come soon enough.
She noticed that the flickering lights around her had come to a halt, and she turned back to her prisoner. Dee now sat immobile, peering deep into the looking glass. His wondering expression had grown taut. Meg felt a flutter of apprehension. Moving to the corner of the room, she opened the sack in which she kept her herbs and balm, her mortar and pestle, her lock-picks and the knotted cord she had once used to throttle the life from a man twice her size. She could have the concoction ground into paste in a matter of moments, ready to apply to the inside of Dee’s cheek. One stray thought troubled her: what if Dee had been feigning his bewitchment and the effects of the potion had long since started to wear off? The alchemist was cunning, but could even he control the ebb and flow of the fading enchantment?
The sorcerer began to murmur as if speaking to his reflection, the unintelligible susurration rustling out into the corners of the chamber.
Meg tensed. Once, in a dirty tavern in some forgotten village in the Midlands, she had used her charms to encourage him to teach her simple magics, and he had shown her how to use a glass to commune with another, miles distant. She closed her fingers round the dagger hidden in the folds of her skirt. If the alchemist was using this mirror to call for help, she would take off a finger or an ear or a nose if she had to.
After a moment, Meg decided Dee was no threat. She delved into her sack and withdrew a bunch of wilting herbs and the mortar. When she looked up again, her breath caught in her throat. Dee had stood silently and was peering at the wall as if he could see through it. The looking glass lay upon the bed.
‘Stay calm, my love,’ she whispered in honeyed tones, ‘and I will stroke your brow and soothe away all your worries.’ Usually the alchemist fell under the spell of her voice and returned to his dazed state, but this time he dropped to his knees and brushed aside the rushes on the floor with a feverish intensity. Meg watched him at work, wondering what strange thoughts were running through his head. He seemed oblivious of her presence. In all the time she had administered her concoction, never had she seen this reaction before.
Dipping into a hidden pocket in his cloak of furs, Dee withdrew a piece of chalk and began to draw a circle on the boards. His feverish fingers flew across the familiar design, inscribing inexplicable symbols at points along the arc.
Meg stroked his long hair. ‘You are troubled, my love,’ she pressed, her tone a little more insistent than she had intended. ‘Put aside these things and return to the bed. Enjoy the pleasures of my thighs one final time before sleep.’
Dee ignored her, the first time he had refused her charms. She felt worried by the alchemist’s actions now. He seemed possessed, his eyes glinting with an inner fire.
Finally he stopped his inscribing, squatting in the centre of the chalk circle. Her hand felt for her dagger once more. If she had to, she could wound him enough to incapacitate him until she had him aboard the ship bound for her homeland.
Before she could move, Dee’s head jerked up and his eyes swivelled towards her. His lips unfurled from his yellowing teeth and he uttered one word, one sound that made no sense to her, but it made the heavens ring.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thunder rumbled away to the west. Will paused at the end of the urine-reeking alley and glanced along the deserted high street. If the Unseelie Court were abroad there near the centre of Liverpool, they were keeping away from candles and lamps. He darted through the deep shadow under the overhanging eaves until he saw the grim faces of Launceston, Carpenter and Strangewayes. They waited for him at the assigned spot, in the lee of the silent stone bulk of the town hall.
‘Good news, lads,’ he said, forcing a cheery tone. ‘Or not. Our Irish vixen has made her lair in one Moll Higgins’s rooming house. Now the moment we dreaded must be addressed. Can we bear the lash of Dr Dee’s sour tongue all the way back to London, or should we leave him to his fate? Make your case now, and be quick about it.’
‘We have friends in Liverpool,’ Launceston said in his familiar monotone. ‘The kind of friends who would turn our bones to straw and mount us on sticks to scare the crows till Judgement Day.’
Will nodded. ‘I encountered those pale fiends too. They also search for Dee. The risks here are doubled, men. We must fly like arrows if we are to prevent this from becoming a disaster.’ He looked round the solemn faces. Not one of them, not even the raw Tobias Strangewayes, gave a hint that a mere four spies was a poor force against the supernatural might of the Unseelie Court. Will felt proud of them. ‘Come, then, good lads. There will be wine and doxies aplenty once this work is done.’
