lights in the growing gloom. More than he had ever seen before, they reached around the palace on both sides. An army was there, waiting to sweep in once the final defence fell.
Running on, Will arrived at his assistant’s door and knocked lightly before pushing his way in. Caught in the light of the candle on the trestle, Grace stood with her back to Nathaniel, her arms folded, her chin stuck out defiantly. She glared at the spy. ‘You told Nat to look after me?’
‘I did.’
‘I will not be kept locked up like a child because you fear I will knock my elbows or my knees.’
‘It is your neck I am concerned about.’ Will tried to dampen the annoyed frustration he felt. He had little patience for his friend’s temper at this time. ‘You will do as you are told, Grace. When it comes to saving your life, I will act as I see fit and I will brook no arguments from you.’
The woman turned on him, her small hands bunching into little fists of rage. ‘How much have you kept from me these long years?’
Will felt a cold, hard stone form in his chest. Was this the moment he had long feared? For years he had wrestled with the dilemma of how to keep Grace and Nathaniel close so that he might protect them from the threat of the Unseelie Court, yet how to shield them from the knowledge of the same when the supernatural forces swirled around him like a storm? His two friends deserved to live normal lives, but he had always known that sooner or later the pressures would tear apart his carefully constructed facade. ‘This is not the time,’ he said flatly.
‘I cannot believe that mewling, laughing thing that we have locked away and fed on scraps was accepted as Grace,’ Nathaniel muttered. Will could see the same suspicion in his young assistant’s eyes that Grace took no pains to hide. They both felt betrayed. ‘’Tis the Devil’s work.’
‘There are devils and there are devils, Nat,’ the woman said. ‘In Reims, I saw and heard terrible things, but the ones who held me … they are as shadows in my mind.’
With concern, Will glanced at his assistant, whose features darkened as he tried to recall old fears mercifully locked in his mind.
‘Though I can barely recall my captors, you knew them,’ Grace continued, jabbing a finger towards Will. ‘You have been keeping secrets from both of us, thinking that they would frighten us out of our wits. And, I would wager, secrets that involve the disappearance of my sister Jenny.’ Will was stung by what he saw in her cold eyes.
‘I am a spy. It is my business to keep secrets. There are many things that I do not tell either of you. And that is how it will remain.’
‘Very well then. So you set yourself against me, after all this time.’ The woman turned her back and marched into the shadows in the corner of the chamber. ‘I am not a child any more. It is not for you to decide what is right for me. From this moment on, I will do all in my power to find out the truths that you know, and I will accept the consequences of my actions, for good or ill.’
Putting aside his worry, Will turned to his assistant. ‘Nat, I need to see your good works with Kit’s cipher. Time is short, and this entire conversation may be moot before the night is out. But you should both be careful what you wish for.’
Nodding in understanding, Nathaniel gave a placatory smile and beckoned Will to the trestle where the dog- eared play sat at the edge of the candlelight. There was a quill and a pot of ink, and a single sheaf marked with the assistant’s precise handwriting. The black ink had splashed across the table and Nathaniel plucked a rag to wipe it up before attempting to clean his stained fingers.
Pulling up a stool, the spy studied what Nathaniel had written.
‘There is one last section I have not yet deciphered,’ the young man said. ‘But I will do that forthwith.’ He leaned over his master’s shoulder and added, ‘I know not what help it will be. It makes no sense to me.’
The spy read aloud: ‘As defences fall, the Enemy makes a nest in plain sight of the Queen. Take heed. They hide in mirrors. Four candles will mark the way, at the rose and cardinal, a full fathom deep. Beware.’
The magnitude of Marlowe’s message dawned on Will, and he sat back and repeated in an awed whisper, ‘They hide in mirrors.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
‘What do you know? Do not keep it to yourself, damn you,’ the sapphire-masked Carpenter growled to Launceston as they eased through the shadows on the edges of the Great Hall. The audience’s attention was gripped by a beautiful blonde-haired young woman sleeping on a bed of red roses and blue forget-me-nots while masked children dressed as elves gambolled around her. Among the gnarled trees, a tall man in a black cape and a white beak-nosed mask watched the sleeping maiden with an air of menace. Low, tremulous notes from a pipe- player added to the scene’s unsettling feel.
‘When I have something to say, I will say it,’ the Earl replied, thoughtfully looking up at the staring eye of a pale moon constructed out of candles, mirrors and white gauze.
‘Over these past years I have learned all your deep currents. You saw something on Swyfte’s man. What was it?’
‘In good time. These thoughts must settle on me like the morning dew on the meadows. Only then will I know if there is any value to them.’
Riddled with impatience, Carpenter cursed under his breath.
The Earl looked across the sea of bizarre masks until his gaze fell upon the short, hunchbacked figure of Cecil standing alone, familiar even in disguise. His black robes were topped by the face of a grinning ape.
‘Where is Sinclair?’ the sallow-faced spy mused.
‘That slab of beef? Probably roughing up some poor soul for a handful of pennies.’
Pausing beneath an unfurled banner of silver stars against a midnight-blue background, Launceston slowly searched the audience.
Carpenter snorted derisively. ‘You are a strange little man. Those beady eyes, always watching, watching, worming your way inside heads to chew on brains.’
The Earl gently touched the forehead of his yellow mask. ‘Because all men are governed by those deep currents you claim to see in me. Some are beyond my understanding, however much I strive to know them. Young lovers. The fathers and mothers of children. The men I understand see little value in compassion. They do not comprehend love, or faith, or the softer emotions. They are hollowed out. Or mares, ridden by devils.’
Carpenter watched the Irish woman and that red-headed clot-pole Strangewayes slip out of the Great Hall, having completed one circuit. Off to search the deserted palace, he presumed. When he noticed his companion was still gazing intently around the hall, he snapped, ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Patience, thou flap-mouthed ninny. Let us consider what we have learned. The killer of spies is a man who perceives his victims as less than human, for who could commit such atrocities if the victims were seen as father, brother, son?’
Carpenter felt unsettled by his companion’s perception. He knew the mind of the butcher too well. ‘Yes, a God-fearing Catholic perhaps, who has let his beliefs drive reason from his mind. Who believes he is doing God’s work.’
‘Hence the angel’s wings.’ Through the eyeholes, Launceston’s eyes flashed. ‘A Catholic who has been forced to deny his faith. Who lives a secret life.’
‘Many do.’
The yellow-masked spy continued to look purposefully around the entranced audience.
‘Here, in the heart of government.’
Launceston nodded. ‘Amid the very persecutors of his faith. Such a person would show the world the visage he saw on those he hated.’
‘A devil’s mask.’
‘A man who pretends to be a devil, but thinks himself an angel.’
The play paused for the moment with the maiden awoken by her menacing suitor, the elves scattering in
