‘Who took you, Jenny, and why?’
‘Why? Who can fathom the minds of these creatures?’ she replied in a strained voice. ‘Who?’ She paused, swallowed. ‘I was taken on the orders of Mandraxas, the King of these people, and the first of the High Family.’
‘Then he is the one who must feel the bite of my blade,’ Will replied, his voice cold. ‘One day I will find my way to you, and then-’
‘You can never do that,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘This fortress is impregnable. High, strong walls and many guards. And to enter this land of the Fay, you must first pass through one of the gates into the place where the two worlds overlap.’
‘How will I find them?’
She sighed. ‘Will-’
‘Tell me, Jenny,’ he pressed.
‘The Unseelie Court say you will find the gates if you ever need them, though it is much harder to leave. Twin pillars of stone, they are, in the sea around the New World. You will surely know them, for the rules of the natural world do not hold sway around them.’
While he reflected upon her words, a cry of alarm rang out. He looked round, and when he turned back the looking glass was clear. His heart sank, but only for a moment, for he knew now that Jenny was looking out for him too.
Another cry rolled across the strand. Will stood and saw Strangewayes lit up by the ruddy flames of the crew’s bonfire, beckoning him back. One of the men was pointing out to sea. Following the line of the man’s arm, Will discerned lights bobbing far out on the dark ocean beyond the reef. Another ship was sailing towards the island. When the Tempest’s gun cracked, Will could only imagine that the new arrival was Jean le Gris’s devil-haunted pirate galleon. The warning shot from Captain Courtenay would let their enemies know they had little hope of sailing through the rough waters beyond the reef in one piece.
At the bonfire, the men had made burning brands with pitch-soaked sailcloth wrapped around fallen branches to light their way through the thick woods. ‘We must use well what little time we have,’ Will told them. ‘Search for any paths leading away from the beach. But stay in sight of each other’s torches.’
‘And if we find nothing?’ Strangewayes muttered.
‘Pray that we do, Tobias.’
As they moved into the trees, the dancing torchlight glowed like fireflies through the branches. A symphony of subtle sounds surrounded them: the whisper of leaves, the groan of dry wood underfoot, and the distant call of some night bird. Soon the dark swallowed the beach and the bonfire. No one spoke.
Will imagined Dee and Meg and the other survivors clawing their way out of the surf and staggering up the beach and into the woods. It gave him hope where he knew there should not be any.
The ground sloped steadily upwards towards the centre of the island. In the sultry heat, sweat dripped from brows and soaked shirts. The men’s breath rasped with the exertion.
‘If the Unseelie Court find another cove to put into, how long before we encounter them, I wonder?’ Strangewayes thought aloud. Will noticed he kept one hand on the hilt of the dagger tucked into the waist of his breeches.
Ahead, one of the men whistled, and the torches swept through the trees in the direction of the call. The two spies found the other men gathered in a clearing looking up. On the side of the hill at the heart of the island, a tower stood silhouetted against the starry sky.
‘Curious,’ Will said, stroking his chin-hair. ‘Now who would call this dark place home?’
On the far side of the clearing, one of the men waved his torch. Cracked flagstones marked a path leading up through the trees, so worn and overgrown they suggested great age. Strangewayes flashed a questioning look.
‘If I had survived a shipwreck, a stone tower would have seemed a perfect shelter,’ Will replied. Holding his torch high, he stepped on to the path, happier now he had a destination in mind. Yet only a moment later, a blood-curdling howl echoed across the island. Uneasy, the men huddled together, eyes wide and darting around.
‘What was that?’ Strangewayes hissed. ‘Man? Or beast?’
Will drew his dagger. ‘Cold steel cuts either one.’ He continued along the path, more cautiously this time.
The path wound round the contours of the hill. Even with the torches Will found it impossible to see any distance ahead. When he paused to get his bearings beside a craggy-barked tree, the baying rolled out again, so close this time that several men cried out in shock. The sound stirred ancient fears in his head. Yet another yowl came a moment later, behind them this time.
‘Circling us,’ Will said.
‘Hunting.’ Strangewayes whirled, brandishing his dagger in front of him.
Behind them, along the path, the baying changed into a low growl, the sound of some beast preparing to attack. ‘Stand your ground,’ Will called, but the fearful seamen ran as one towards higher ground. Realizing they had no choice but to follow, the two spies raced after them.
The frightened men burst out of the trees into another clearing at the foot of a rocky outcrop. The torchlight glittered across the surface of a black pool fed by a spring trickling from the glistening cliff face. ‘Make a stand,’ Will shouted, putting away his dagger. ‘There will be no better place.’
Blades bristled out as the men formed a circle, their drawn faces stark in the flames. Will snatched out his rapier and turned to look back down the shadowy path.
A snapping and snarling rang out, but then a familiar woman’s voice called out, ‘Leave them, Mooncalf. They are not your prey.’ Silence fell across the woods. When Will’s pounding heart had slowed, he raised his torch and searched the dark beyond the pool. In the wavering light, a grey shape appeared, coalescing into Red Meg. She was barefoot, her dress smudged and worn. A grin sprang to the spy’s lips and he ran over to her.
‘It does me good to see you well, Meg,’ he said with relief. ‘I had feared the worst.’
Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to recall his face. ‘Will Swyfte?’ she enquired with a faint, baffled smile.
Had she taken a knock to the head in the shipwreck, he wondered? But then her eyes sparkled and her smile broadened and she almost hugged him in her joy. ‘Will Swyfte! After so long, I never dared hope I would see your cocky face again.’
‘Ten weeks since Liverpool is long indeed, Mistress Meg, but it could have been eternity-’
‘Ten weeks?’ She shook her head, puzzled once more. ‘Since the storm washed us up on this island, twelve years have passed.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The stifling dark enveloped Carpenter. Coarse sackcloth scratched his face as he stumbled along blindly at the bidding of his captors. His breath rasped against the covering that had been thrust over his head aboard the galleon, but sounds came to him clearly: the whispering voices of the Unseelie Court speaking in their strange, bird-like language, the splash of the oars in the rowing boat, the crash of waves and the crunch of sand underfoot as he lurched up the strand. Blood dripped from his stinging wrists where the rope chafed him, but the pain only focused his mind. With an effort, he drove out the sickening sensation of the thing forcing its way down his throat and thought simply that he still lived.
When he came to a swaying halt, rough hands yanked the sack off his head. He stood on a small beach edged by steep cliffs facing a wall of dark, spiky-leaved trees. Torches hissed and spat in the hands of the dead pirates, their grey-green skin peeling away to reveal the bone beneath. The stink of rot floated on the breeze. Beyond the circle of light, he could just discern the spectral faces of the Fay in the gloom, their fierce, unblinking stares locked upon him.
Reeking of unfamiliar spices, Jean le Gris, the pirate captain, peered into the spy’s face with his one good eye. Scar tissue marred much of his skin above his wild black beard, but Carpenter saw that this man wore his wounds with pride. With a gap-toothed grin, the pirate tossed the sack away and said in heavily accented English, ‘Savour your few last breaths, dog. Your time in this world is done.’ He swept a hand across his throat and laughed.