man cast reluctant glances over his shoulder until he disappeared into the dark.
Once he was sure his friend was gone, the spy set the lantern on the woodland floor just beyond the top step. ‘Let the boy go,’ he said, just loud enough to be heard over the gale.
Beyond the circle of light, he thought he glimpsed a dark figure in the trees. He could feel its menacing presence acutely. Blood began to trickle from his nose.
With slow steps, the lurker emerged into the light.
‘I know you,’ Will said. Recalling vividly the horrific events of that snow-blanketed night in Cambridge when he first met Marlowe, he felt anger at the torment this thing must have caused Kit over the years.
‘And I know you.’ Will could see an equally deep loathing in the Hunter’s eyes. In the crook of his arm, the Fay dragged Samuel, one sharp talon curled at the neck. The boy’s eyes were dazed, his lips working silently.
‘Name yourself,’ Will demanded.
‘Xanthus.’ His lizard tongue flickered over his lips. ‘Thricefold will your punishment be. For the shame you inflicted on me at our first meeting. For my brother, slain by your hand. And for Cavillex of the High Family, executed at your order. Thricefold the suffering for the misery you have caused.’
‘And your despised breed have torn from my life the woman I love and my closest friend. All your misery does not even come close to a balance for those crimes. Not if I killed another hundred of your people. A thousand.’ The spy drew his rapier and waved the point back and forth. ‘Draw nearer, and I will do to you what I did to your brother.’
As the rain began to torrent, Xanthus dug his talon a shade deeper into the boy’s neck. Samuel mewled weakly. ‘You cannot hide behind that protective line. Give yourself up. For the boy’s life. Or stay there and have his death upon your conscience for ever. Either way, you will be destroyed.’
Will watched the dazed look fade from Samuel’s eyes. As the lad glanced up at the bone-white face next to him, he was gripped with terror. Trembling, his gaze fell on Will and he cried, ‘Master. Help me.’
‘You will kill him anyway,’ the spy laughed dismissively. The warm summer rain pelted his face, soaking him to the skin.
Xanthus shook the boy like a rag doll, eliciting howls of terror that stabbed into Will’s heart. ‘Your blind arrogance reaches new heights,’ the Hunter raged. ‘
‘Stop!’ the spy called. ‘Let him go.’
Lightning flashed overhead, and the roar of the wind in the trees sounded like a great beast circling the three figures.
The pale thing shook the wailing boy again.
‘Very well. You bleed like any man,’ Will called. ‘Come turn my sword red.’ Defiant, he stepped across the invisible line.
Xanthus dangled Samuel at arm’s length, then let the lad drop to the wet turf. In a burst of white lightning, the young gypsy scrambled past the spy and threw himself down the rain-slick sandstone steps into Lud’s Church. Will watched a victorious, yellow-toothed smile creep across the Fay’s face. Dipping one hand into a pouch at his side, the Hunter tossed a handful of sparkling golden dust into the air, and as the wind swirled the glittering cloud around him, he disappeared.
The spy darted forward to where his enemy had stood, but his blade cut only thin air. Whirling, he saw only swaying trees and driving rain and the black slash of the yawning chasm.
‘Damn you,’ Will cursed under his breath.
Continuing to turn, he glimpsed a flash of Xanthus crouched near the foot of a twisted oak. A moment later his opponent was moving closer from the opposite direction, once again vanishing in the blink of an eye.
The spy continually slashed his rapier in the hope that chance would aid him so he could carve a chunk out of his enemy. The thunder rumbled. Rain poured down his face and turned the ground beneath his feet to mud.
‘Farewell,’ the quiet voice rustled just behind his ear.
Jerking round, Will was caught in the lamps of loveless eyes, warm, meaty breath washing into his face. Silver glinted, a dagger, the hilt curved into the shape of a dragon’s head, black symbols inscribed on the blade.
Instinctively, Will rolled away from Xanthus; too late. The dagger sprayed his blood into the driving rain. Throwing himself backwards, he skidded along the muddy turf, pain searing his chest. Yet, although the blade had ripped his flesh through his doublet, the wound was shallow.
As Will searched for his invisible attacker, a thought came to him. At the instant the Hunter struck, the spy had glimpsed blood trickling from the corners of his foe’s eyes. Had the glittering dust taken a toll?
He breathed deeply and allowed the storm’s fury to fade into the background. Locked in concentration, he turned slowly on the balls of his feet, each moment stretching, every detail magnified. Rain drifted down, flickering drops of white caught in the lantern light. Branches swayed, grass trembled.
And then he saw it: a splash in a puddle with no obvious cause; the kind of splash a foot would have made. His enemy was unseen, but still there, still corporeal, a fitting target for cold steel.
Will knew Xanthus would already have moved on. He had to be quicker. In a sheet of lightning, he glimpsed a shadow cast on the wet turf, and thrust his rapier into what seemed to be thin air.
A cry rang out.
The Hunter flashed into view, clutching a wound in his side. Snatching a small pouch from the folds of his cloak, Will flung a handful of the gypsy concoction of salt and herbs into the face of the writhing figure. There was a sound like lamb fat sizzling in a fire. Howls of agony spiralled up into the storm. Xanthus was on his feet in a moment, his face scarred and smoking, but he was lurching, off balance.
In his fury, the fading Hunter flung himself at the spy, stabbing wildly with the silver dagger. Each frenzied blow drove closer until the blade nicked Will’s cheek. Recoiling, he stumbled, and in a flash Xanthus was upon him, pinning his arms to the ground.
The Fay raised his dagger over his head. ‘For my brother. For Cavillex. For all the crimes committed against my people-’
Her sodden hair plastered against her brow, Meg loomed over the Hunter’s shoulder. She plunged her own dagger down. The pale creature must have sensed her, the spy guessed, for at the last it twisted aside, the blade tearing into its shoulder. With all his strength, Will thrust Xanthus off him.
Scrambling to his feet, he caught the woman’s hand. ‘Get behind the line of defence,’ he shouted over the storm. ‘You should not have come to me.’
Before she could argue, he thrust Meg back towards the chasm. Determined to seize his chance to end the Hunter’s life, Will turned to see Xanthus hunched over a small silver casket with a death’s-head carved on the front. As the box began to open of its own accord, Will was struck by a blast of icy air. In the shadows beneath the lid, he thought he glimpsed movement.
The Irish woman grabbed Will’s shoulder. ‘It is the Wish-Crux, containing the Hunter’s
Swarming shapes were emerging from the box. Hunched over the Wish-Crux, Xanthus glowered at the two spies.
Tearing herself from the sight, Meg dragged Will towards the chasm and together they tumbled over the now-invisible line of defence left by the Egyptians on to the sandstone steps. Looking back, Will saw the Hunter had retreated beyond the circle of lamplight.
‘I will never turn away, never stop.’ Xanthus’ growling voice rolled out of the dark. ‘It would have been better for you if you had died here.’
In the next flash of lightning, Will saw his enemy had gone.
Turning back to Meg, puzzled, he said, ‘You risked your life for me.’
‘You risked your life for the boy.’ Her eyes were pools of shadows, her face unreadable.
‘I am in your debt.’
‘I do not want your gratitude,’ she said with a dismissive turn of her head. ‘Do you think I would stand by and watch you die if I could help?’
