The Silver Skull - Mark Chadbourn

She leaned forwards until her luminous face was only inches from his, and he could smell the perfume of her skin, and her hair, and a muskier scent beneath it. "You are mine now," she whispered. Reaching down, she ran the tips of her fingers along his thigh.

"Your brother," he said, pointedly ignoring her teasing, "is Cavillex?"

She nodded slowly. "My name is Malantha."

He looked around for the guards, but they were alone.

Malantha appeared to sense what he was thinking, for she said, "I do not need protection."

"If I were free-"

"Not even then. Cavillex presents a fearsome face to the world, but I am worse. Much worse."

"I imagine Philip finds your wiles invigorating," he said.

"Personal weaknesses exist in all humans. You can hide them away, pretend they do not exist or that God and prayer have expunged them, but they remain."

"Until you work them loose."

Her gaze held him fast.

"I have many weaknesses," he continued. "I must be easy game for one such as you."

"You pretend to many weaknesses," she replied, "but only one truly matters."

"You see the weaknesses that clearly?"

"All people can see weaknesses if they open their eyes. But most of the time, you choose to ignore them, or you pretend, or you lie to yourself. But they are there. What is writ clearly in the heart is clear in the face."

"You see them as weaknesses. But they can also be strengths, driving us on to achieve great things, to strive, to overcome pain and hardship."

"Believe that if you wish," she replied.

"Is your brother coming to oversee my torture again?" he asked.

"My brothers are engaged in important affairs that demand their attention. Not Just in Edinburgh, but in France, and Venice, Moscow, and the New World. We have been playing this game for a long time, by the way you measure it, and we move with the slow turn of the seasons, a slight push here, barely noticed, another shove there, unseen, guiding, steering, drawing strands across your entire world until everything is in place. And then you will see the true design of the plan we have wrought.

"Cavillex trusts me to ensure you pay the price for what you did. We have only contempt for England and we will destroy it piece by piece without emotion. But you have gained our attention. You slew one of us." In the blaze of her eyes, he saw clearly the monster that lurked beneath the flirtatious surface. "This is now a personal matter. Quid pro quo. And," she added, "by the end, you will wish it was my brother here."

"True. His own brand of torture already failed."

"Torture is not a fair word for what I do. There is something of creation about it, a skill that makes the heavens sing, a drawing together of subtle themes, of resonances, a slow build of contrasting emotions, desires, and agonies, until they fall into a glorious harmony, and then you will be crushed by the artfulness of it." Her voice lost its honeyed tone and became gravelly. "Your mind and soul will be destroyed long before your body falls apart."

"And Philip sanctions that?"

"Philip will do whatever I tell him to. His only concern is that the Armada succeeds and England falls. Failure could wreak untold damage on the Spanish empire and his own reputation. And if I tell him a dangerous English spy is a threat to his Enterprise of England-however ridiculous that might seem-he will do whatever he deems necessary."

"With a little push and shove from yourself, perhaps, when he is entranced by the comfort of your thighs."

"Men are men. It is their nature, and easily manipulated by any woman who knows."

"But Philip knows nothing of your true plans. How you will use the Silver Skull to achieve your sly aims."

"You know nothing of our true plans. You think you know, but you have been wrong at every turn. We are too subtle ... too sly ... that is why we win. We are the wind that moves the oceans when all your power could not achieve more than a few ripples."

"My ripples ended the life of the last Silver Skull. You will now be looking for another candidate, I assume?" She leaned close until he was lost in the dark, echoing depths of her eyes. His thoughts squirmed at the contact.

"A small victory, if such it was. Now we will find one we can truly control." She made a dismissive gesture. "But that was always our plan."

"And so you will destroy all of England's peoples."

"In part. But if that were all, 'twould be a sorry response to your crimes."

"Our only crime is to defend ourselves. In your arrogance, you may think that is crime enough." He tried to uncover hints of what she was scheming in her face, but it was a mask; she was too clever to reveal anything she did not want him to know. "Then what else do you plan?" he pressed.

"A message, delivered with accuracy, that shows we will never be opposed again."

"Something beyond the death of all Englishmen and Englishwomen?"

"That is a cudgel-blow. Our true message will be delivered with precision to amplify the pain and to underline that for every slight against us we will respond a hundredfold ... a thousandfold." Her eyes narrowed hatefully. Will was left in no doubt as to the intensity of the threat.

"And how soon do you plan to ship the Silver Skull to my home?" he enquired blithely.

"Soon."

"And where-?"

"Enough questions!" Her bony fingers scraped up his neck to his cheeks. "It is time to prepare the way for your torment. You recall what my brother told you lay ahead?"

Will did not respond.

The doors at his back opened and someone walked slowly towards him. He strained to see, but the new arrival remained out of his frame of vision.

Malantha drank in every expression, every flicker of emotion, and when she was satisfied, she summoned the person to stand in front of Will.

It was Grace. She was unharmed, though pale.

Will struggled to disguise his relief. Over the days, terrible thoughts had forced their way into his mind of the suffering she was enduring at the hands of the Unseelie Court. It was more than he could have hoped to see her in such good health.

"You are well?" he said. His face revealed nothing that would give Malantha joy.

Grace responded with a pale smile. "Yes. It is good to see you."

"They will pay for what they have done to you," he said emotionlessly, adding so quietly that Malantha could not hear, "We will have you away from here in no time."

Grace's brow furrowed. "But ... I do not want to leave."

Her words were like a slap across his face. "What do you mean?"

"This is our great chance. These people ... your Enemies ... they know what happened to jenny. I see now why you do what you do. You knew they had knowledge of her disappearance."

"No-"

"You know. Do not lie to me. And they have promised me they will tell all about jenny, and then I ... we ... will know the truth, and we can finally find peace."

"You cannot trust them. She is lying," Will said forcefully. "She knows nothing. Jenny ... Jenny is dead." He couldn't bring himself to believe it even as the words left his mouth.

"Is she?" Malantha said. "Would you not like to know the truth once and for all, like your friend here?"

"Not in this manner. Your manipulation will not work."

Standing behind Grace, a touch of the true Malantha showed in her features; she did not believe him.

Grace kneaded her hands uneasily. "I cannot bear not knowing any more. I will do anything they ask of me to discover the truth. Anything. And the only way to stop me is to kill me."

CHAPTER 38

here was no escape. Will hung out of his cell window at the top of the tower, but the walls were sheer. Even if he found a rope of sufficient length, the tower was in clear view of the army of guards swarming around the palace far below. Don Alanzo had been correct: El Escorial was the most secure building in all of the Spanish empire, a true fortress, the perfect prison.

From his window, he had a vista that at any other time would have been reserved for visiting dignitaries or European royals, across the desolate waste surrounding El Escorial towards the lush green near Madrid. His cell was filled with the finest furniture and works of art from across the empire. The irony was not lost on him.

Grace's appearance had deeply disturbed him, but his concerns were interrupted by the key in the lock. The door swung open to reveal several guards-he was never left alone with any less than five-the captain stepping in to bark, "Kneel, English dog, in the presence of the king."

"I kneel only before those who are worthy of my respect," Will stated. The guards threw him to the floor, pikes pressed against the back of his neck so that he could not raise his head.

From his reduced perspective, he watched a pair of black velvet slippers walk slowly into the chamber and stand before him, and only then was he allowed to look up. Dressed all in black with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Philip was an ascetic figure, but Will saw in his eyes a gentleness not normally evident in monarchs.

"An English spy." He looked Will up and down with disdain. "And not just any spy. They tell me you are England's greatest spy, William Swyfte. Is that correct?"

"We are all burdened by our reputations," Will replied, "but mine provides me with a parade of entertainment while yours, I am sure, does not."

Philip ignored the gibe. "Tell me, what is the point of a spy when everyone knows his name?"

"You are not the first to ask that question."

"Does not your whole business involve secrets, duplicity, deceit, and shadows?"

"And you think I am not involved in such things?"

Philip nodded condescendingly. "I understand. What you see is not always what is. You are not England's greatest spy, for if you were you would not be here."

"I would rather be perceived as victorious than great."

"You shall be neither. Your execution is forthcoming-"

"After my torture."

Philip winced and looked away as if he had glimpsed something distasteful. "And your country's days are numbered," he continued regardless. "The Armada is to sail soon."

"Your Armada has floundered before."

"Not this time," Philip said sharply. In that instant, Will could see the strain the king was under: victory would cement Spain's reputation and empire for all time; defeat would deal a blow from which he might not recover. Realising he had revealed too much, Philip sniffed and said, "I wished to see what kind of man England thought was the best it could offer in opposition to my plans. I am not impressed. If you are the best, this business is already concluded."

Philip spun on his heel and marched to the door, coming to a slow halt when Will said, "You pray to God, but a devil whispers in your ear."

Uneasily, the king turned and fixed a warning eye on Will.

"Do her kisses ease your conscience?" Will pressed. "Do her honeyed words cause blindness to the choices you make?"

"Beat him," Philip said to the guards. "Severely."

"You fail to understand," Will continued. "You think you have taken me prisoner. But I am exactly where I wish to be."

A shadow crossed Philip's face when he saw Will's expression and he hurried from the room.

CHAPTER 39

n the lee of a heap of ancient mine-workings on the edge of the spoiled land around El Escorial, Launceston, Carpenter, and Mayhew waited. Every now and then they scrambled over the blackened rocks to peer at the stone fortress through the yellowing grass and weeds. The sky was aflame with the end of the day, scarlet and gold and orange.

"Do you think Will still lives?" Mayhew had a feverish air that had only grown worse as they made their way to the plateau from the Madrid road. His knuckles were red and raw from where he had worried at them.

Balancing his throwing knife on the tip of his finger, Carpenter did all he could to show he really didn't care what the answer was. "Perhaps," he said.

"Then why should we risk our own lives on a maybe?" Mayhew added desperately.

"Because it is what we do." Launceston studied the guards at the gates, and those patrolling around the walls. More came and went on the road winding around the small village that was now dwarfed by the sprawling complex. There was no visible way through the defences.

Mayhew rested his head on his knees with a resigned sigh. They were all exhausted after tracking the carriage that had brought Will from Seville to El Escorial. But his plan had worked so far. As they had agreed on the journey from Cadiz, sooner or later Will would allow the Enemy to take him so they would deliver him to Grace for his punishment, and they were to follow at a distance. Hidden by the storm, Launceston had kept watch on al-Rahman's shop, and had followed Will and his pursuers to the cathedral. He and the others were waiting when Will was brought out unconscious.

"He took a great risk. They could have killed him the moment they captured him," Mayhew said.

"Will knows the Enemy well," Launceston replied without taking his gaze off the palace. "Simple death does not provide enough revenge for them. Pain in the heart and mind is their preferred response to an act against them, and they had already told him he would be brought to his friend, Grace, to watch her suffer at his own slow torture and death. They would not walk away from such an exquisite response."

"Exquisite?" Mayhew repeated, unsettled.

"Swyfte is a gambler. Risks filled his plan, as they always have, and it is others who pay the price," Carpenter said bitterly. "We could have lost the Silver Skull if it had gone west to a port. While gaining his friend, we may have lost the battle and the war."

"He knew what he was doing," Launceston said distractedly. "The girl would have been held at the centre of the Enemy's plans. And where else would the Skull have gone before it was used?"

"They could already have tortured him," Mayhew continued. "Cut bits off him. He might be useless to us. He may not even be able to walk."

"Then we leave him and finish the important business-the girl and the Skull," Carpenter said.

"Do you hate him so much?" Mayhew asked.

"He left me for dead." The edge in Carpenter's voice revealed his raw emotions, even after so much time had passed. "The tsar's soldiers found me, and their allies ..." He spat. "... and they called off the beast that was tearing me apart. If Swyfte had waited, he could have rescued me and I would not have had to suffer all those months of ... of. .." He swallowed, waved the remainder of the sentence away with the back of his hand.

"You are a child," Launceston said baldly.

Carpenter was so taken aback by the insult, he could only gape.

"Or a dog," Launceston continued, not caring what Carpenter's response might be. "You whine and whine. `Poor me, I have been so mistreated.' But you live, do you not? You survive. You are stronger."