Raleigh tugged at his beard and smiled. ‘You are indeed, Master Swyfte. Do not forget our agreement.’
Raleigh played a long game, not so far removed from the machinations of the Unseelie Court, Will realized. The information he brought back from the New World – should he ever return – would be more valuable than gold to the School of Night. The great men who made up the numbers of the secret society could translate knowledge into power with ease. But what were they plotting? Why was the New World so important to them? Raleigh would certainly never tell. With a smile and a nod, the explorer slipped into the shadowy alley beside the shipwright’s workshop where he had tethered his horse.
Turning back to the Tempest, Will pushed past the queue of men carrying the last of the provisions up the plank. At the poop deck rail, he searched the broad river to the west where the grey fug of London’s home fires tainted the sky. No sign yet of any pursuit, but it would come. The wolves of the Unseelie Court would sniff the wind and know their prey was loose.
‘Master Swyfte. We are ready to sail.’ The booming voice cut through the raucous singing of the labouring sailors. Captain John Courtenay was a giant of a man, seasoned by the sun and the salty wind, his brown beard and hair proudly untamed. No other could be trusted to lead the expedition into the dangerous uncharted waters that lay ahead. A veteran of the New World, he knew all that had yet been learned of that mysterious place. He knew of the trade routes where they might encounter heavily armed Spanish galleons bringing their rich hauls of silver and spices back to Europe, and of the river inlets bristling with fleets of small boats filled with Indians with blowpipes. He knew, too, of the plants that brought sickness and death, and of those that supplied bountiful fruit; of the taste of the wind that heralded a tropical storm. He had helped claim Nova Albion for the Crown and had been at Sir Francis Drake’s side during the sacking of Cartagena and the capture of San Augustin in Spanish Florida.
And yet there were some who believed him quite mad. Bloody Jack, they called him, the sea-dog who tore out the throats of his enemies with his teeth and dyed his beard blood-red before every battle. Will wondered if that wild nature was the result of the torture the captain had received at the hands of the Spanish, his mind as scarred as his face, which was marred by a ragged pink X that ran from temple to jaw. Yet for what lay ahead, a madman was the sanest choice of all.
‘Unfurl your sails, captain. We cannot depart soon enough.’
‘Do ye have a course for me yet?’
‘Soon. Take us out of the Channel and into the wide Atlantic, and then I will have what you need. But I must warn you – we venture close to the very home of the Unseelie Court.’
He waited for the captain to berate him for embarking on a quest that could only be suicide for every man aboard. Instead, Courtenay laughed, too loud. ‘Finally we shall take the battle to those pale bastards. Too long have we cowered, Master Swyfte. Let them come in their thousands, with their magics and their creatures and their phantoms, let them drag me down to Hell, I will take down a hundred for every man we lose and die with no fear in my eyes.’
Will saw the unsettling gleam in Bloody Jack’s eye. No other man would go so willingly to the source of the nightmares that had plagued humankind since Eden. He knew then he had made the right choice. Bloody Jack threw his arms wide and burst into song, striding back to the main deck to watch his men swarming up the rigging to the yards.
Will stared into the distance, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. The sun was turning gold in a cloudless blue sky and haze hung over the river where it flowed towards the sea. It was a good day, and likely to be warm for the season. He frowned. His spirits should have been soaring, but all he could sense were the shadows closing in on every side.
On the quarterdeck, Carpenter and Launceston stood against the rail, bickering. Will had seen the signs and he feared Carpenter’s mood was growing darker still. The Unseelie Court had a way of infecting men with a creeping despair that usually ended in death. Carpenter should have been stripped of his duties and given time to recover, yet here Will was, taking the wounded man to the very heart of the thing that was slowly destroying him. As for Launceston – who knew what moved in his dark depths? Yet did that give Will the right to lead the Earl by his nose to his potential doom? And there on the forecastle was Strangewayes, still struggling to come to terms with the haunted world in which he found himself. Will had stolen him from Grace, denying two people happiness in one fell swoop, and hurting one whom he had professed to protect.
He turned away from his men, feeling the weight of his decision. Had he damned everyone he knew and his own soul in the process? He wondered if it was the natural order for men to become as terrible as the things they fought. Yet the stakes were high, and no reward was easily bought. This was the path he had chosen and no other would lead to victory.
As the wind filled the sails and the anchor rose from the river in a cascade of glittering jewels, the Tempest began to pull away from the quay, gathering speed. Will leaned on the rail, watching the fields move away from him, and the oaks and elms, and all that he knew. And he wondered if he would ever see England again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE POOP DECK heaved on the heavy swell and a good wind filled the sails. Under blue skies, the Tempest scudded towards the New World, bearing down hard on the darkness and the mystery. Yet Will and Captain Courtenay stood at the rail and looked out across the choppy water at their back. They watched a wall of grey cloud rolling across the white-topped waves on the eastern horizon, keeping pace with the galleon. Both men felt uneasy.
‘Master Swyfte, I fear we have a problem.’ Captain Courtenay removed the beechwood and brass tele-scope from his eye. ‘If that is a natural formation, then I am a toad-spotted skains-mate.’
Will took the tele-scope and studied the drifting fog. Even so powerful a tool as Dr Dee’s most recent invention could not pierce that dense cloud. No sign of pursuit had troubled them as the Tempest sailed out of the Channel, past southern Ireland and into the wide Atlantic. But when that strange cloud appeared one hour ago, Will had felt the first prickle of unease. ‘Does it appear to you to be drawing closer?’ he asked.
‘Hard to tell. The ocean plays tricks on the wits. I have seen seasoned sailors look at the green waves and believe them the fields of their home. They step out to walk a while and sink straight to the bottom.’ Bloody Jack took back the tele-scope and shoved it into the waist of his salt-stained breeches. ‘And islands that seem a cannon-shot away can take days to reach.’
‘Then there is little we can do but watch and wait,’ Will replied. ‘And if it is some threat unleashed by the Unseelie Court, we must be prepared to act.’
Courtenay threw his head back and laughed. ‘You have indeed led us by the nose into Hell, Master Swyfte. Should we fight the devils at our back or flee towards the devils that lie ahead? Now that is a choice!’
As the captain made his way to the main deck, angry cries rose up from the crew. A hooded figure wrapped in a plain brown woollen cloak flew out of the doorway to the lower decks and sprawled across the sandy boards. The first mate prowled out a moment later, a swarthy man with a drooping black moustache and only one eye. Brandishing his sword, he loomed over the fallen figure.
‘A stowaway, lads, stealing the food from our barrels,’ he roared. ‘Over the side with ’im!’