Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

"You are sure this is the correct course?" Launceston asked in a blithe manner that hid the doubt he obviously felt. The same emotion was clear in the faces of the seamen who flashed unsettled glances Will's way.

"I thought you would thank me for easing the boredom of a sea journey," Will replied.

The preparations he had ordered were hastily brought together and delivered to the deck, but were not yet ready for use.

"Brace yourselves!" Courtenay barked.

Gripping the rail and the rigging, the crew steadied themselves as the Tempest plunged into the serpent's path. At the last, it submerged, but the wake threw the ship's prow towards the sky, the stern almost plunging beneath the waves.

Muscles straining, Will held tight. A sailor with a pox-marked face lost his hold on the rail and flew backwards with a cry. He missed Will by an inch and slammed into the cabin door with bone-breaking force.

For a second, it felt as if the ship was going over. Silence gripped all those who clung on, eyes screwed shut as they waited for the momentum to continue. But then the ship crashed back, swamping them with water.

"This is the sturdiest ship in the fleet, but we cannot maintain this punishment," Courtenay yelled.

"Then pray we do not have to," Will replied. He eyed the seamen working on the preparation and received a curt nod in return. "Get us near to the beast. We must draw it out of the water to attack us."

"Now we are all to be sacrificed to your mad scheme?" Carpenter asked.

"All schemes are mad until they succeed, John. Think of the stories you will be able to tell once we are back in Bankside."

Carpenter's derisive snort followed him as he ran for the rail. With Courtenay's bellowed directions from the forecastle, the helmsman's maneuvers kept the serpent within view. Predicting its movements in relation to the most vulnerable ships on the fringe of the attack, they tracked the beast. Each time they tried to divert it, the encounter brought them close to sinking. Will could see the crew growing increasingly rebellious.

Finally, the wake turned towards them. "There, we have it," Will muttered. He ordered his team to ready themselves.

Expressions fixed and grim, the eyes of everyone on board turned towards the furrow in the water driving towards them. No one moved, not a word was uttered. Seconds before the serpent broke the surface, Will yelled, "Now!"

A flint was struck and the barrel of pitch and brimstone ignited. As the beast erupted from the water, his men flung the burning barrel directly into the creature's mouth. An explosion of flame showered the serpent with the sticky, blazing liquid, driving it into wild convulsions. The lashing tail slammed against the Tempest's hull, but somehow no serious damage was done. The ship tipped one way, crashed back down, continued on, the crew rooted by the fear of what would transpire next.

But as they all moved to the rail, they saw the creature's thrashing begin to slow, and eventually it grew still and hung dead in the water amid a smell like burned leather. The crew cheered, but Will quickly silenced them.

"Celebrate our victory, by all means, but this is no time to rest. We must return to the hunt for the grey-sailed ship!"

Emboldened by the serpent's death, the crew returned to their posts with gusto. The helmsman guided the Tempest back towards the fray, but they could all see that as the evening drew on, the worst was over.

The Spanish continued to fight, even though the English assault had whittled away their capabilities, their ships, and their men. Even with their guns silenced, some sailed bravely to try to aid their fellows that were in more immediate danger. All around them the water was no longer visible amid the wreckage, the bodies, and the frothing crimson blood.

Even the weather began to support the English. The northwesterly drove their ships on and pinned the Spanish back. Their defensive formation had collapsed, their ammunition mostly spent with only arquebus and musket fire being returned. Some of their ships were reduced to floating piles of timber that barely echoed their former shape. Many crewmen abandoned ship and attempted to escape in small boats.

"We have won," Carpenter said with clear relief. "Now it is just a matter of clearing up the dregs."

"We will never win until the Unseelie Court is destroyed," Will replied. Searching the dying embers of the battle for any sign of grey sails, Will's thoughts turned once more to Grace: what would the Enemy do with her now the Spanish had been defeated? Would they simply spirit her away, never to be seen again?

Like Jenny.

Launceston, whose attention rarely left the carnage like a hungry man at a feast, indicated a pattern of shifting lights visible through the pall of smoke. Will instantly recognised the colours he had seen over the grey-sailed ship. As he turned to search for the outcome, the Tempest was buffeted by a strong wind. Black clouds churned in the southwest, rushing towards them.

"What-?" Carpenter began.

"Unnatural," Will replied, turning to Courtenay, but the captain had already seen the approaching squall and ordered his men to trim the sails. The rain hit soon after, so intense they could barely see ten yards beyond the ship. As the gale battered the Tempest, the crew fought to hold steady, but in the middle of the battle there was chaos. Ships were blown into one another, ensnaring rigging and bringing down masts. The surviving Spanish vessels attempted to use the weather to flee their destruction.

For half an hour, the squall continued in full force. Courtenay's expertise kept the Tempest clear of any collisions, but he couldn't drop his concentration for a moment.

As the clouds cleared, they saw the remaining Spanish ships sailing north away from the battle, struggling to resume their crescent formation. The hearts of the crew fell with the knowledge that the core of the Armada lived on, but everyone knew they were out of ammunition and sailing into dangerous waters. The English fleet began pursuit to finish the work they had started.

The smoke of battle had now cleared, and in the light of the setting sun, the topmen caught sight of their prey. Their hail drew Will's attention to grey sails heading west.

"They have abandoned the Armada?" Carpenter said. "What, they flee now?"

As Will weighed the tactics of the Unseelie Court, he mentally plotted their course until a chilling realisation dawned upon him. "They sail for England," he said, voicing his thoughts to himself. "With the Silver Skull aboard."

"They had given up the fight?" Carpenter suggested.

"No. No!" Will became animated. "Consider: the English fleet is now being drawn away from our waters. The militia line the coast awaiting Parma's invasion force. The queen will be protected, but aside from those soldiers, London's defences are now wide open. We have been distracted from their true objective."

"The Armada ... the entire might of Spain's empire ... was merely a distraction?" Carpenter said incredulously.

"They have sacrificed the Spanish on the rocks of their own vanity. The empire ... all the lives lost mean nothing to the Unseelie. The conflict simply served to draw our might, and our attention, away from where it was most needed."

"London?" Carpenter looked to the ship disappearing towards the horizon.

"The seat of our nation. The core of our defences against them. The queen."

"All a manipulation." Carpenter's quiet voice was filled with disbelief at the extent of the deceit, but gradually the magnitude of the repercussions filled his face. In silence, the three of them stood at the rail as the Tempest gave pursuit, but the grey-sailed ship was faster, and soon it had disappeared from view.

CHAPTER 54

n the hour before dawn, a sepulchral silence lay across the Palace of Whitehall. Up past midnight with Walsingham, Burghley, and her other advisors discussing the fleet's fortunes against the Armada and the strategy for the coming days, the queen had finally retired to her chambers. In a display of confidence at the success of her forces, she had already made plans to spend the next day hunting in Epping Forest, while waiting for news of the battle off Gravelines, but it was clear to everyone who saw her that she remained uneasy.

Nathaniel and Marlowe had spent the early evening drinking in the Traveller's Rest in the shadow of the walls surrounding the palace complex. For most of the night, Marlowe had tried to cajole the owner to stage a play he had been writing, to no avail. Nathaniel had paid little notice, his attention drawn to the anxiety that blanketed the other drinkers. The mood was subdued, the conversation barely rising above a murmur. No entertainment had been planned for the inn-yard, and trade was sparse, though Nathaniel had heard there was brisker trade in the church across the street. The gossip raced back and forth: the Spanish had been defeated; the English fleet had been destroyed, and the Spanish were at that very moment landing along the south coast; death and destruction drew nearer.

The same air of apprehension hung over the entire palace, from the kitchen staff to the queen's maids, from the gardeners to Walsingham himself. Marlowe had questioned the spymaster on more than one occasion as the evening drew on, but Nathaniel was not allowed to be privy to the conversations; whatever the response, it did not raise Marlowe's mood. A dismal air surrounded him as if he had received a portent of his own death; Nathaniel wondered if it was just the way of writers.

"We are like children, wrapped in a mother's skirts," Nathaniel complained as they wandered through the formal gardens filled with the perfume of night-scented stock. Moonlight glimmered off the diamond-pane windows of the long north range where the gallery looked over the courtyard before the queen's residence. From beyond the jumble of buildings to the west came the dank, florid smell of the summer river, the cries of the watermen long since ended.

"Do not yearn for conflict and danger, Nat. These moments of peace are few and far between," Marlowe replied.

"But men are putting their lives at risk in the defence of England even as we speak. In defence of our lives, Kit, yours and mine, and we do nothing but wander through the gardens at night out of boredom. Does that not irk you to the very heart of your being?"

"We keep watch. We are ready if needed-"

Shaking his head forcefully, Nathaniel tried to allow his anger to erase his fears for his master, and also for Grace. He felt powerless, and the more he learned about the world Will inhabited, the less he understood. There were more dark shadows than he had ever anticipated, and though he feared he knew what lurked within them, he was not sure he wanted to know the truth. Already he had trouble sleeping, his nights haunted by grey figures flitting through the dark, and things that should not exist under the eyes of God.

Gentle pipe music, lilting and entrancing, drifted over the peaceful palace grounds. Nathaniel paused and cocked his head, a smile leaping to his mouth unbidden. "Do you hear that? Such beautiful music. Who would play at this hour?"

Marlowe shrugged. "I hear nothing." He trudged along the path beside the low box hedge.

"At least you have some purpose here. A spy. What can I offer, apart from keeping you company?"

"I am not a swordsman like Will," Marlowe said. "My strength lies in getting in my cups with cutthroats and gambling with rogues. Petty thievery and low deception." The note of bitterness in his voice was potent. "Choose a writer to live in a world of lies! Walsingham knows men well."