The Silver Skull - Mark Chadbourn

"Then I will be guided by your wisdom, Captain. You are a veteran of these matters, after all."

"Ha, ha! We tore those Spaniards in two that day!" he roared. "Drake said we singed the beard of the king of Spain and he was right. April, it was, but still hot. We sailed our fleet straight into the harbours, here and at La Coruna, occupied both, and laid waste to thirty-seven naval and merchant vessels. Set the invasion back by a year! Then they had their ships and men here to fight, if they had found the wherewithal. Now they are all with the Armada. So, by my calculation, one good English ship will suffice for a little mischief."

"That sounds finer sport than my men landing silently under cover of darkness. We will sign our names in fire and iron."

"I like your spirit, Master Swyfte. Now, I must be off to dye me beard." He marched away, singing a shanty noisily while directing his men with points and gestures.

After the tedium of the journey, Will was ready to act. Below deck, he found Launceston, Mayhew, and Carpenter playing cards in sullen, silent boredom. They abandoned their game quickly at his nod, and gathered their weapons without a word.

Carpenter exchanged a brief glance with him, making no effort to hide his contempt. Will suspected there would be a problem with Carpenter at some point; his resentment and bitterness seethed, and were clearly growing stronger with each imagined slight Will inflicted on him. Too much was at stake for Will to allow any personal abrasiveness to compromise their mission, and he was afraid he would soon have to make a difficult choice.

On deck, the crew directed the ship towards the harbour, singing loudly of skulls piling high and the women who waited for them at home when their death-dealing ways were done. Salty spray misted the air.

The city was in an unusual position on a narrow spit of land surrounded by the sea, and had seen the ocean shape its history. Christopher Columbus had sailed from Cadiz to the New World, linking Spain forever with its source of riches, Will knew. When Cadiz later became the home of the Spanish treasure fleet, the city became a target for all of the nation's enemies. Barely a year passed without the Barbary Corsairs launching a raid that was usually repelled. And once again England was testing its defences.

His beard now a flaming red, Courtenay strode across the heaving deck as if he was on dry land, his eyes on fire too with a mad passion for what was to come. "Spain embarks on an invasion of England, and so England invades Spain-with four men!" He laughed loudly at the insanity of a mission that dwarfed his own madness.

"But what men," Will responded wryly.

Courtenay looked at each of them and nodded with approval. "I think you will provide a robust test for those Spanish dogs." He peered across the water towards the city. "We are worse than any pirate. What has the world become?" Despite the words, there was a note of pleasure in his voice. Taking a deep breath of the sea air, he closed his eyes for a moment and then roared, "Break out the colours!"

As the English flag ran up the mast, he signalled to the quarterdeck, and the trumpet blared out the call to arms, followed by the three sharp bursts Will had specified. In the harbour, Will knew what few men had remained behind to defend Cadiz would now be racing for the galleys, but Courtenay didn't give them a chance. At his command, a hail of cannon fire thundered against the city.

Shrieks echoed across the waves at the sound of gunfire, and as the alarms rang out, the townsfolk fled in terror along the snaking path above the sea to seek refuge in the castle of Matagorda, where the commandant and his men waited to close the gates.

"One English ship!" Courtenay raged at the lights in the gathering gloom.

A galley began to make its way from the harbour, but a direct strike from the Tempest's guns sank it before it got close enough to use its own lesser weapons. Courtenay ordered his trumpeter to play a mocking blast as those on board swam to shore.

Chaos erupted among the merchant ships anchored beyond the promontory of Puntales. Some were waiting for a change in wind, others en route to Northern Europe or the Indies, yet more loaded with wine from Jerez, wood, wool, and cochineal for trade across the Mediterranean. Several clearly feared the Tempest was a precursor to a wider English attack and tried to escape, narrowly avoiding collisions as they fled to shallower water where the galleon would not venture.

One of the smallest vessels was not so fortunate. Courtenay sent a small party to seize it, and once the crew had abandoned ship, set it alight. The furiously burning ship was then set adrift. The currents carried it towards the harbour, where it ignited small boats and another galley. The panic across the harbour among the merchants watching the carnage added to the tumult ringing out through the night.

One final volley of galleon fire hit a gunpowder store on the harbour, and it went up in a burst of gold and crimson that set alight adjoining buildings. The thick, black smoke drifted across Cadiz, obscuring the twinkling lights. On board the Tempest, the crew cheered loudly, and Courtenay nodded proudly. He signalled the dropping of the anchor and then turned to Will and said, "I think that will end any resistance. They will be distracted by the fire and will try to stop it spreading across the city, or they will be cowering in their homes or the castle, afraid we are going to ransack their riches. No one will notice four drowned rats slipping into the alleys."

Forcefully, he shook their hands in turn, and wished them good fortune, before returning to his men.

"Whatever lies ahead, know this: I have been proud to serve beside you," Will said to the others. He held out his hand and three others took it, held for a second, then shook free.

"Now," he said, "let us take this war to Spain ... and the Unseelie Court." Bounding onto the rail, he dived into the ocean. The others followed without a second thought.

The water was cold after the hot day. The night cloaked the waves and they struck out towards the city, confident they would not be seen. Courtenay's plan was perfect: all eyes would be on the Tempest to see what it did next, or the townsfolk would be manning the defences or putting out the fires which now burned fiercely along the waterfront.

From the old fort and the battery on the harbour, the cannon continued to pump out an intermittent barrage, but the Tempest was out of range, and it was little trouble for Will and the others to swim out of the line of fire. They also kept far away from Puental, the small, rocky landing area outside the city walls, which was under heavy guard as the only likely place for the English to set down their landing parties.

The harbour was a hellish scene. Boats blazed, the flames dancing across the black water and clouds of inky smoke billowing into the city. Along the harbour's edge, tubs of pitch for repairs had been set alight, and the buildings near the gunpowder store were now ablaze. The white walls of the town glowed red in the firelight.

Will led the way through the choking smoke and burning refuse to the edge of the harbour wall where a rope dangled down into the water, unseen in the confusion. Hauling himself up, he crouched behind a pile of sacks waiting to be loaded onto a merchant ship. Once the others were with him, they peered over the top at the abject confusion along the entire length of the harbour.

Men ran with buckets of water as they feebly attempted to put out the conflagration at the far end of the row of buildings lining the edge of the harbour nearest to the town. Foot soldiers raced to oversee the Puental and to keep guard at the end of the harbour in case the Tempest sent landing parties. Lining the shore, watchmen peered into the dark in case more galleons were on their way. Across the length of the harbour, merchants bellowed their con tern in a babble of conflicting tongues-French, Dutch, Spanish, and a variety of dialects from the North African coast just across the straits.

"Look at it-it is madness," Mayhew said approvingly.

"We asked Captain Courtenay for cover to mask our arrival in Cadiz. I think he served us proud," Will agreed. He scanned the hectic mass of bodies. "Now, where is our man?"

In the shadows of one of the many alleys linking the town's large plazas stood a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. The glare of the fire revealed the lower half to be clean-shaven, and that he carried a walking stick with a handle carved into the shape of a swan.

"There," Will said. "Stay here. I will make the introductions in case there is a problem." Edging around the sacks, he waited for the fast flow of townsfolk to pass before darting into the alleyway.

"De Groot?" Will asked.

Eyeing Will's sodden clothes, the man nodded. "You found the rope easily?" He spoke English with a strong Dutch inflection.

"You did well."

"I ran here as soon as I heard the trumpet signal." He glanced back up the alley. "This way, I think. We must move away from the harbour. There are men of many nations here, but wet Englishmen will soon draw attention."

More gunfire from the Tempest crashed against the far end of the harbour followed by a futile return of fire from the battery. In the confusion that followed, Will summoned his men. But as they sprinted towards the alley, a cry rang out from one of the watchmen, who had by chance been looking back towards the fort.

"Quickly," de Groot urged from the depths of the alley. "I cannot be seen or my use here will be over." He ran off into the dark.

Cursing, Will saw four foot soldiers give pursuit as Carpenter, Mayhew, and Launceston darted into the alley. The route was steep and wound round so tightly it was impossible to see more than ten feet ahead or behind. As they moved away from the harbour, the sound of gunfire became muffled, replaced by the crack of their boots on the cobbles and the intermittent tolling of the fort bell signalling the alarm.

As they ran, Will made a chopping motion with his hand, and the others melted quickly into doorways on either side. Will ducked behind a water barrel and waited until the foot soldiers neared. As the first passed him, he lunged up with his knife and thrust it straight into the soldier's throat. A gout of blood gushed onto the cobbles.

The other soldiers cried out in alarm as the first pitched forwards, gurgling and clutching at his throat. Will instantly engaged the second with his sword, while Mayhew and Carpenter took on the third soldier and Launceston slit the throat of the final one with a silent, fluid movement. The soldiers were poorly trained and overweight. Will ran his opponent through in an instant. By the time he had cleaned his blade, all the soldiers were dead.

De Groot emerged from the dark further up the alley and beckoned them on. Within five minutes they were in de Groot's rented house on the Plaza de San Francisco overlooking the San Francisco Church and Convent, the white walls glowing in the light of lanterns strung along the eaves of the red-tiled roof, and in the branches of the sprawling orchard beside it.

De Groot, a merchant who plied his trade between Flanders and Spain, was a dour man who had been recruited by Walsingham three years before. His heavy-lidded eyes and hollow cheeks gave him a cadaverous air, but he was friendly enough. He provided Will and the others with clean clothes that would allow them to blend in, and then brought them hot food and drink.

"There is jubilation across all Spain at the moment," he told them. "Word has spread far and wide of the size of the Armada and the martial power it wields. The common man believes England already defeated."

"They may be correct," Mayhew muttered before Carpenter fixed him with a contemptuous glare.

"Our job here is to make sure the Spanish are thwarted," Will said. "We can do nothing about the Armada, but we may still upset their wider plans."

"And what are those wider plans?" de Groot asked, as he rapidly refilled Mayhew's goblet. He caught Will's eye and nodded. "Questions for another time."

After Reidheid's betrayal in Edinburgh, Will was not about to trust any other spy quickly. Shifting allegiances were, it seemed, as common to the fraternity as an early death.

"We seek information on a ship that would have dropped anchor within the last few days," Will said. "Among its passengers would be a Spanish nobleman, lion Alanzo de las Posadas."

"Yes, yes, I know the ship." De Groot nodded enthusiastically. "There was talk of it in the taverns along the harbour. It dropped anchor in the morning, but a boat containing several passengers was not sent ashore until the dark had fallen. One of them was indeed lion Alanzo. He spent a while trying to procure several carriages to take him to Seville."

"Then that is our destination," Will said.

"One other thing that may or may not be of importance," de Groot continued. "He was insistent that before he left he should call at both the San Francisco Convent and at the cathedral."

Carpenter snorted. "Saying his prayers to clear the stain upon his soul."

"The cathedral perhaps, but at a convent?" At the window, Will peered through the jumble of buildings falling down the slope towards the harbour, where he could make out the Tempest in the light of the burning debris in the water. Now they were safely ashore, Captain Courtenay had ended his barrage and was sailing back out to open water. He tried not to think of Grace and what she might be enduring, but the unbidden thoughts fell across him like a shadow.

"We do not let small things pass us by, for greater things may lie behind them," he said. "But even if there is nothing more to it, a man's religion in this world may well be a weakness we can exploit to our own use."

CHAPTER 33

ill crept along the top of the whitewashed wall like a cat, stalking the woman who hummed a lilting melody as she took her constitutional in the orchard. Dappled by the sunlight through the leaves, her head was bowed in reflection, her white cloak caught by the cooling breeze. A glance back to the convent revealed they were alone.

Dropping silently to the grass, Will darted through the trees, keeping enough cover between him and the nun in case she looked back. It was a bright, glassy morning, shortly after dawn, already warm, and likely to get a great deal hotter.

De Groot had worked wonders in the hours of darkness. The spy admitted openly that he worked for gold and nothing more, not love of England, nor hatred of Spain. Walsingham paid him an annual stipend to pass on all the information he gained along the trade routes, and every year he threatened to go over to the Spanish, only to be bought back to the cause. It was a game that all sides understood. Will promised him a significant one-off payment, and in the early hours he had sent the local girl who cleaned his house to the convent under the pretence of arranging a donation from de Groot. After the nuns had finished their morning prayers just before first light, the girl spent an hour casually chatting until she had gathered the information Will required.