Will couldn’t answer without offending her. Courage of that kind was the last thing he had expected from someone so duplicitous, and he felt troubled that his ability to appraise her coolly was now in question. Was all that she said about helping him honest? Did she truly hold the affections at which she hinted? He bowed. ‘I thank you, nonetheless.’
As they approached the foot of the steps, the lantern light revealed the gypsies waiting silently. In their faces, Will saw awe, and hope. He felt humbled.
When Samuel ran up and hugged his legs tightly, Will handed the lantern to Meg and lifted the lad on to his shoulders. ‘I thank you,’ Silvanus said, stepping forward. ‘My wife thanks you. And all of my people are grateful to you. You owed us nothing, yet still you risked your life to save my son.’
‘Any man would have done the same.’
‘You know as well as I that is not true. My son now lives because of you and you alone. None of us here will forget that. In our travels across this world, we will always speak kindly of William Swyfte, and your name will pass rapidly among my kind. In future, when you need aid, the Moon-Men will answer the call.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
‘I should warn you,’ Will whispered to Meg at the door of the Warden’s chamber at Christ’s College, ‘Dr Dee is quite mad.’
The caravan had reached Manchester in the hot, muggy early evening of 15 July. As they crested the hills ringing the town, the brassy sun punched shafts of light through the grey cloud cover to illuminate brown-tiled roofs, workshops spouting plumes of white smoke, and the grey stone bulk of the churches and great halls amid the jumble of tiny streets. The St Swithin’s Day celebrations were still under way, and Will and Meg had left the gypsies juggling and dancing as their women moved among the crowds, begging for food. A gap-toothed man had directed the couple to what he called ‘t’owd church’, the college buildings to the north, quiet now that Evensong was done.
The spy hammered on the door with the hilt of his dagger. From within came the sound of loud, unholy curses, and the door was thrown open with such force Meg stepped back in shock, her hand at her mouth.
Though approaching seventy, the alchemist crackled with the vitality of a man half his age. Will saw Meg was entranced by the magical symbols etched on his pale arms, disappearing into the depths of his ruby-coloured gown, and the small animal bones hanging from silver chains strung across his chest so that he rattled whenever he moved.
Dee’s fierce grey eyes immediately peeled back the layers of the new arrivals. ‘Swyfte!’ he barked, scowling. ‘My misery is complete. The one saving grace of my banishment to this dismal place was that I would never have to see your impertinent, conceited face, you grinning jackanapes.’
The spy gave a deep bow. ‘Dr Dee. My life has been darker without you in it. May I introduce my companion, Mistress O’Shee?’
The Irish woman gave a seductive smile. ‘I am honoured to be in the presence of such an exalted personage,’ she breathed. ‘You may call me Meg.’
Without a hint of embarrassment, the alchemist’s eyes slid slowly over her frame and then a serpent tongue flicked out between his lips. Thrusting Will out of the way, Dee offered a hand to the red-headed woman and led her into his chamber. ‘Your beauty brightens this dark, northern town,’ he said with a lustful laugh.
Despite the summer heat, a fire blazed in the hearth. Dry rushes were scattered on the stone flags and there was an acidic reek of sweat in the air. The room was cluttered. A high-backed chair stood near the fire, alongside a pair of stools, a bench and a stained, chipped table, but almost every available space was taken up with stacks of books, charts and rolls of parchment. A faded tapestry marked with magical symbols hung on one wall. Circles of polished glass lay on the table, glinting in the candlelight.
‘I apologize for the heat in my rooms,’ the alchemist said as he guided Meg towards the bench. ‘I find it impossible to get warm these days.’
As Dee hung over Meg, whispering comments at which she giggled in an uncharacteristic but practised manner, Will’s attention was drawn to a circular mirror made of highly polished obsidian.
‘What is this?’ he asked, reaching for the object.
The magician leapt across the room to slap Will’s hand away. ‘Leave that!’ Dee yelled, his eyes blazing.
The spy took a step back, concerned at the passion he saw in the elderly man’s face.
The alchemist appeared to recognize he had overreacted and adopted a nonchalant manner. Waving a hand towards the mirror, he said, ‘It comes from the New World, part of a haul of Spanish loot. An ancient magical item, it is said to have been treasured by the age-old race which inhabits that region, and was considered sacred to their god Tezcatlipoca, who protected rulers, warriors and sorcerers. Does that answer your question?’ he added with a snap.
‘And you use its undoubtedly great magical powers for communing with angels?’ the spy asked, feigning innocence.
With a snort, Dee turned back to Red Meg. ‘I fear I am a poor host,’ he said, pressing his hands together. ‘We should have sustenance. Wine, perhaps, and beef. These aged legs of mine are feeble, however, and can barely carry me across my chamber. Could you help an old man? Pray hurry to the chaplains and ask them to order the servants to deliver food and drink to my study.’
With a polite smile, the Irish woman rose from the bench. ‘Of course,’ she replied, and left.
‘Old man?’ Will snorted. ‘You could strangle a blacksmith and still have the strength to torture a lawyer or two.’
Dee jabbed a finger angrily. ‘Do not speak to me about games of deceit,
Picking up a book, Will flicked through the creamy pages with a wry smile. ‘I thought you had been enchanted by her smile and dazzled by her generous form.’
‘I am no fool, Master Swyfte. You know that.’ With irritation, the alchemist took the book and replaced it on the stack.
‘I would not trust her entirely, though I have found no reason to doubt her.’ The spy’s tone darkened and he beckoned for the older man to take his chair near the fire. ‘But that is neither here nor there. We have grave matters to address.’
Easing himself into the high-backed chair, the alchemist listened intently as Will related all he knew: of the Scar-Crow Men, and the plot to murder spies by the devil-masked man, of Marlowe’s death, and his play with its hidden code, of Kit’s secret spying work, and of Griffin Devereux. ‘I would understand how all these questions connect, but more, I would know who killed my friend, Kit Marlowe, and for what reason. Then I will seek revenge.’
The candles in the room appeared to dim, as if even talk of the Unseelie Court had drawn a cold darkness to them. Dee stared into the depths of the fire for a long moment. Will had never seen him so grim. ‘You require my help?’ he asked in a quiet voice.
‘I need you, Dr Dee. England and the Queen need you before the last of our defences fall. Yes, we are few. Yes, the forces ranged against us are overwhelming. But we are fearless, and bloody-minded, and a resistance group this small can be fleet of foot. It may already be too late, but if there is one chance we can strike back, we must take it.’
‘The defences could fall at any time.’ The alchemist’s voice was almost lost beneath the crackle of the fire. ‘The Enemy already has its puppets in place. Once they are secure, they will come for us first, you know, and our suffering will be worse than a thousand hells. You are mad to fight this. Run. Hide.’
One foot upon a stool, Will reached out his hands, imploring. ‘There is hope, doctor. The Enemy has expended great effort in hiding whatever Kit Marlowe discovered. Why would they send a Hunter at my heels unless they feared I might discover one chink in their plot that could bring it all crashing down?’
Dee nodded thoughtfully, but was still unconvinced.
The spy saw his opportunity. ‘I have travelled the length of England in the most perilous circumstances for
