to disaster, he refused all aid from the School of Night and sent me away from the palace. The price has been high. Many have died during the long siege.’
‘Her Majesty?’
‘She is safe, for now. But I fear Cecil would sacrifice even her rather than give up his hold on power.’
Dee nodded. ‘He is a dangerous man, and desperate with it. He will never turn his back on his dark games of deceit and treachery, though we now face a new age, and a better one, in all hope. We must see what we can do.’
‘He will not rest until the School of Night is broken on his rack,’ Raleigh said. ‘We have a long fight upon our hands.’
‘We always have had, and always will,’ the older man replied.
The adventurer leaned in close, his face darkening. ‘We should all watch our backs. I fear Cecil will go to any lengths now. He has already vowed to see Swyfte dead, should he set foot upon English soil again.’
Dee’s face hardened. ‘Then let us make haste!’
The carriage clattered through the gates of the Palace of Whitehall in the warmth of the afternoon sun. As the alchemist clambered down, he cast one eye to the top of the Lantern Tower. All was still. The Faerie Queen would enjoy her grim cell for a while yet.
Once Raleigh had departed, Dee strode through the dusty, echoing halls, sensing the wretched atmosphere that hung over all. Guards leaned on their pikes, faces drawn. The sour reek of sweat pervaded the silent galleries. The court clustered together for safety in the halls surrounding the innermost ward, where the Queen’s own chambers lay. The black-robed Privy Councillors drifted around, whispering and ashen-faced, as they waited for yet another futile meeting to begin.
As the Queen’s sorcerer entered the hall, eyes looked up in shock and a slow murmuring begin to spread outwards, growing louder until it broke into a resounding cheer. Dee glowered at them all.
Dee had a long night of incantations and spell-casting ahead of him in order to shore up England’s beleaguered defences, but first he had more pressing business. He pushed through the pathetically grateful courtiers and strode towards a young man who had arrived to investigate the tumult. Dee saw in an instant the worry etched into the face of Swyfte’s faithful assistant, Nathaniel Colt. Sensing news, the crowd fell silent in order to hear what the old man had to say. Kind words rarely came to the alchemist’s lips, but he felt bound to summon them.
‘Your master yet lives, and if the gods are willing he will be home soon.’ Dee’s spindly hand clutched the young man’s shoulder. ‘Pray for his safe return. The perils facing him are great indeed, but Albion has never had a sword like Will Swyfte, and perhaps never will again.’ This was a message that would reach far beyond the fellow’s ears, he knew.
Nathaniel smiled with relief, stuttering his thanks. Dee glanced around and saw Cecil glowering. He bared his teeth at the spymaster, then bellowed to the crowd, ‘Clear the way. I have important news for the Queen alone.’
CHAPTER SIXTY
London was aglow in the late autumn sun. The elms and cherry trees shimmered with golds, oranges and browns along the garden walks of the Palace of Whitehall. The air was smoky from new fires stoked against the growing chill, while the gardeners pruned the dead heads off the roses and cut back the woodbine ahead of the festivities to come. Will paused at the end of the avenue and raised his eyes to the lightning-blasted spire of St Paul’s to the east. It was where the beacon used to be lit whenever the realm came under threat from the Unseelie Court. He allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Near six months had passed since he had made his vow on the Tower of the Moon, yet he found he could recall it in his mind as if it were yesterday. A new door had opened that day, on to a new world, a new future.
He wore his best black and silver doublet and had bought a new velvet cap for the celebrations. Nathaniel too had dressed in the closest he had to finery, a plain green doublet and brown cloak, though Will felt the young man’s angry expression rather spoiled the effect.
‘They are a foul collection of disloyal, untrustworthy, clay-brained jolt-heads,’ the young assistant muttered, kicking his way through the carpet of dry leaves.
‘Why, Nat, is that any way to speak of Her Majesty’s most senior advisers?’ Will replied with a wry smile.
‘You have risked life and limb in constant service to our Queen and country, and now they treat you with such ignominy? Dismissed? No recognition for all you have achieved, no pomp, no ceremony? Sent back to Warwickshire?’
‘It is not the ends of the earth, Nat. And my pension will ensure I want for nothing while I slip into a life of serenity.’
‘I know you,’ Nathaniel grumbled. ‘The boredom will be the end of you. You will be drunk or mad within days.’ He eyed Will. ‘
‘Ah, Nat, where would I be without your constant flattery?’ In truth the decision to dispense with his services had not surprised him when he and the others had arrived back in England on the galleon despatched under Dee’s direction. He had served his purpose. The realm was intent on looking to the future and he was only a reminder of unpleasant times.
Cutting through the walkways between the palace’s grand halls, the two men arrived at the tilt-yard as a fiddle player in doublet and galligaskin breeches of crimson satin tuned his instrument. Servants scurried here and there with platters of meat, bread and cheese. Others suspended flags of red and yellow above the white tent that the Queen would occupy. None of them knew the true reason for the celebration, Will realized, thinking it was little more than another diversion like the coming Accession Day Tilt in November. But the Queen herself, and all her Privy Councillors, would be united in their private festivities and the belief that the dark days were finally over.
Through the throng, Will glimpsed Grace walking with the other ladies-in-waiting towards the monarch’s chambers. She was a picture of prettiness. Her hair was tied with a bow of eggshell blue that matched her skirts, and Will was pleased to see her laughing. For a moment their eyes locked. The bond between them was stronger than it ever had been, forged by determination and hope; not loss, never loss. In private, they plotted and dreamed of ways of crossing a gulf greater than any ocean, of breaking down the walls of Hell, then returning home in joy and triumph. She never spoke of Strangewayes, and Will suspected she never would.
Once she had moved on, Will and Nathaniel strolled to where Carpenter and Launceston were bickering in the shade of an oak tree while they swigged on flasks of sack. Wrapped in a scarlet hooded cloak, Red Meg pretended to ignore them, though they had all found some common ground in the hot days they had shared waiting to be rescued from the New World.
Carpenter looked up as Will and Nathaniel arrived. ‘Tell this beslubbering beetle-headed flap-dragon I no longer need to be watched like a troublesome child now that the Unseelie Court are in no position to stir the foul thing that still resides within me.’
Launceston raised a single eyebrow, eyeing those who milled around them. ‘I watch you because you are an accident waiting to happen, with or without your foul passenger,’ he breathed.
Carpenter jabbed a finger at the other man. ‘You are just trying to pay me back for all the days I had to prevent you from slaughtering for sport.’
‘Are you the pot or the kettle, I forget?’
‘Let them be married soon and be done with it,’ Meg sighed.
Will bowed. ‘Mistress O’Shee. You have found better lodgings than the Tower, I hear.’
‘Your master feels I may have some knowledge which could aid him with his difficulties in my homeland.’ Shrugging, she gave a sardonic smile. ‘Why, I may be able to spin this out for many a month before he discovers that, although I am many things, I am no traitor. And then I may seek you out in Warwickshire, Master Swyfte, for
