As he clawed his way around the tower, his nose wrinkled at the smell of the warm stone against his cheek, and the wet-wood aromas of the forest, and the hint of brine on the breeze blowing in from the coast. Sweat slicked his body in the day’s heat. He balanced on the precarious footholds, clutching on to the wall until his finger joints screamed with pain. When he sensed the quality of light change as he rose above the treetops, the bird-cries rang in his ears as the shadows swooped across him.
And higher still he climbed, into a world of grey stone, blue sky and golden sunlight. He felt the suck of the dizzying drop as the wind tugged at his limbs, and the queasy twist in the pit of his stomach, but not for a moment did he look down. His legs and arms shook. The slightest misstep would send him plunging to his death. But then a soft white glow enveloped him and he realized he was nearing the summit.
A moment later he hauled himself over the edge, and rolled on to his back, filling his tight chest with clear, sweet and untainted air. He blinked, unable to see the sky any more for the moonlike luminescence. Yet it was not a harsh light; he felt as though he was swathed in down. Something about this strange light reached inside him and plucked at his grief, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed by the sense of loss and despair. He shook himself, gritted his teeth and clambered to his feet. He would not give in.
The top of the tower was flat and fixed upon it was an iron plinth topped by a blue-green copper bowl. In it, what seemed like a glass sphere the distance of fingertip to elbow in diameter floated an inch above the surface, turning slowly. It was from this that the white light washed out.
Will leaned over it, studying the gently pulsing light, but as he reached a hand across the bowl the light wavered, then dimmed. Now was the moment. Steeling himself, he gripped the glass globe between his hands. His skin tingled at its strange, almost living flesh-like warmth. One act to change the world, he thought. One act to save England. One act to break his heart.
And he wrenched the sphere away from the bowl in a fizz of golden sparks and in a single movement hurled it over the edge of the tower. The soothing, pale light swept down in the globe’s wake and he was left with a view across that verdant corner of the New World and the shadowy world beyond. A veil appeared to be hanging above the labyrinth from horizon to horizon. Through the shimmering haze, he could just discern the black bulk of Manoa, still turning against a fiery sky, but as he watched the mist slipped away, and with it all sight of the Unseelie Court’s strange, twisted world.
The door upon the Fay had been slammed shut. In their crepuscular land, cut off from the realm of man, the Unseelie Court could scheme and fight among themselves until the stars fell from the heavens. And what few of the damnable Fey still moved among mortals would be lost here.
Will heaved in a deep breath, still peering towards the blue horizon as though he could pierce that veil by will alone. And he blinked away the tears.
And somewhere the loneliest woman in all Christendom sat upon a golden throne, trapped in a world not her own and without end.
Jenny had given up everything to save this world, and beyond the few of them there, no one would ever know of her courage. Her sacrifice shamed them all. Will shielded his eyes. This would not be an end, he vowed silently. ‘I am coming back to get you, Jenny,’ he whispered. ‘Though all the hordes of Hell stand in my way, though oceans swell and conflagrations rage, I will find a way to reach you. And I will finally bring you home.’
For another moment he waited, caught in the mournful cry of the gulls, and then he began to make his way down to earth.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Sapphire ghost-lights shimmered around the masts of the galleon tossing on heavy seas towards England. On the forecastle, Dr John Dee, alchemist, scholar and spy, stretched out his arms to the lowering sky and muttered his incantations. The heavens crashed in response. Sheets of white lightning flickered along the western horizon. The long night was coming to an end.
Wind lashed his silver hair, but he stood like an oak against the rising gale and fixed his stony gaze upon the grey-green smudge of land ahead. If war was coming, he would not turn away. Come hell or high water, he would drive those devils out of England.
On the main deck, Bloody Jack Courtenay roared with laughter as the storm swirled around him, and the crew bellowed their songs of death and blood and wine and women. The Tempest heaved across the turbulent waters towards home.
Louder and louder still, Dee howled his invocation, until his throat was raw and his ears rang. But then shafts of sunlight punched through the thick bank of grey cloud to illuminate the green fields of England, and for a moment he thought he saw a multitude of shadows take to the air like a murder of crows.
Flee, he thought with a grim smile. Flee and never return.
The wind dropped. The thunder rolled away. And the galleon sailed into calm waters.
On the quayside at Greenwich, Sir Walter Raleigh waited, the silver thread in his jerkin a-shimmer in the morning sun. ‘Doctor,’ he boomed in greeting, as Dee strode down the plank on to dry land. ‘You have been sorely missed.’
‘I have not missed you, you preening popinjay,’ the alchemist barked. ‘Now let us away to London. There is still desperate work to be done. We are not out of deep water yet.’
The two men climbed into the waiting carriage, and as it trundled on to the rutted road leading west the adventurer recounted his tale. ‘Cecil is a fool,’ he muttered, ‘and a prideful one at that. Though it opened the door to disaster, he refused all aid from the School of Night and sent me away from the palace. The price has been high. Many have died during the long siege.’
‘Her Majesty?’
‘She is safe, for now. But I fear Cecil would sacrifice even her rather than give up his hold on power.’
Dee nodded. ‘He is a dangerous man, and desperate with it. He will never turn his back on his dark games of deceit and treachery, though we now face a new age, and a better one, in all hope. We must see what we can do.’
‘He will not rest until the School of Night is broken on his rack,’ Raleigh said. ‘We have a long fight upon our hands.’
‘We always have had, and always will,’ the older man replied.
The adventurer leaned in close, his face darkening. ‘We should all watch our backs. I fear Cecil will go to any lengths now. He has already vowed to see Swyfte dead, should he set foot upon English soil again.’
Dee’s face hardened. ‘Then let us make haste!’
The carriage clattered through the gates of the Palace of Whitehall in the warmth of the afternoon sun. As the alchemist clambered down, he cast one eye to the top of the Lantern Tower. All was still. The Faerie Queen would enjoy her grim cell for a while yet.
Once Raleigh had departed, Dee strode through the dusty, echoing halls, sensing the wretched atmosphere that hung over all. Guards leaned on their pikes, faces drawn. The sour reek of sweat pervaded the silent galleries. The court clustered together for safety in the halls surrounding the innermost ward, where the Queen’s own chambers lay. The black-robed Privy Councillors drifted around, whispering and ashen-faced, as they waited for yet another futile meeting to begin.
As the Queen’s sorcerer entered the hall, eyes looked up in shock and a slow murmuring begin to spread outwards, growing louder until it broke into a resounding cheer. Dee glowered at them all. Fools, he thought. You are your own worst enemies. He glimpsed Cecil watching him through the throng, as conflicted as ever. Relief and loathing struggled for supremacy in the spymaster’s features.