Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

In the frenzy of the attack, the carriage pitched at an acute angle, hovered for a scant second, and then finally went over. Will and Nathaniel were flung across the interior as it crashed on the cobbles and skidded to a sudden, bone-jarring halt.

Dazed, Will checked on Nathaniel, who was stunned, lying in a heap. From nearby came wet echoes of the dog tearing through the remains of the horse. As he watched his friend, conflicting urges tore through Will. Could he put Nathaniel at risk of greater contact with the nightmarish world Will had protected him from for so long? What was more important: his friend's sanity and life, or the secret war?

"Nat! Nat!" Will whispered insistently, coming to a reluctant decision. "No bones broken? Good. I have work for you."

"N ... now?"

"Especially now." Will sat Nathaniel up and thrust the amulet into his hands with a pang of shattering regret and the feeling that he had damned him forever. "Take this back to the house. You will be safe there."

In the background, the rending and tearing died away.

"I am the one they want. I killed one of them. They believe I have the object they desire. You will have time to make good your escape before they realise their mistake."

"But they will kill you!"

A growl, circling the carriage.

"I made my peace with that outcome a long time ago. It is as inevitable as the snows of winter-if not now, then later." He pulled Nathaniel to his feet and helped him clamber out of the window above his head before flashing him a grin. "Know that I do not plan to go easily into the arms of the Reaper. "

The dog was near the remnants of the horse. Coming to a halt, it raised its head towards Will, baring its teeth.

"Will-" Nathaniel began hesitantly.

"You know me, Nat!" Will insisted. "I will demand my due reckoning. Now go!"

Nathaniel hesitated for only the briefest moment longer, but in that time Will saw his depth of concern, and friendship. He nodded and was gone.

Will drew his sword as the great black dog prepared to leap. The last thing he saw was Nathaniel weaving into the intense darkness of a foulsmelling close.

And then, with a snarl, the dog attacked.

CHAPTER 25

s the dark of the close swallowed Nathaniel up, from behind came a chilling howl that ended in the sounds of a beast at slaughter. Will's voice rang out, as defiant as ever, the words lost beneath the bestial roars, and then there was only a distant silence against which Nathaniel's running feet sounded like whip-cracks.

His head still spun from the knock it had taken when the carriage crashed over, but he was resolute. Will had survived so many close encounters with death, Nathaniel had long since learned there was no point wasting time worrying about what might be. Instead, Will had trusted him with a matter of great import to England, and he would not let his friend down.

Slipping the amulet into his pocket, he sped on into the unfamiliar city. It was the easiest way to lose himself, the closes and wynds ran out from the king's High Street like the tiny spikes along the spine of a fish bone, numerous, narrow, dark, filthy, and rat-infested. If he reached out both arms he could touch the walls on either side, the buildings soaring up so high that only a tiny patch of star-sprinkled sky was visible. No moonlight reached the ground. Excrement and urine sloshed under his feet, thrown from the surrounding houses, and rotting domestic refuse was piled everywhere, seething with rats.

Pausing to catch his breath, Nathaniel leaned against the wall and looked back to see if the dog was pursuing him. Instead, he saw silhouetted figures searching near the entrance to the close.

As the figures darted into the dark close, an inexplicable fear overwhelmed Nathaniel, greater than he should have felt with Spanish agents at his back. Instinctively, he recognised there was something more here, and much that Will was not telling him.

Although he ran on in the gloom, his pursuers were remarkably fleetfooted. He could hear them searching the doorways and other potential hiding places as they passed, yet still they drew nearer; he was sure he would not be able to outrun them. What, then, when he broke out of the other end of the close and into the open?

"Quick! Tell me. They are coming?"

Nathaniel jumped at the voice, and was surprised to see a grey-haired old woman crouching in a doorway, peering back along the close.

"There are enemies at my back, yes," Nathaniel hissed.

"Enemies. That is a good word for them." The old woman peered at him with black eyes, her brow knotted, but whatever she saw appeared to convince her for she threw open the door to her hovel and urged him inside.

From the room, a rectangle of light flooded out into the close like a beacon. Behind, Nathaniel heard the voices of his pursuers rise up.

"They will know where I am!" Nathaniel said.

"Inside! Now!"

Torn, Nathaniel hesitated until the woman grabbed him with a strength that belied her age and dragged him inside. The door slammed shut behind them. Hastily, the woman poured a fragrant line of salt and chopped herbs along the doorstep, and then ducked down to floor level, urging Nathaniel to do the same. He saw a row of charms hanging above the door and along the length of the wall, animal bones, twisted pieces of metal, feathers, and painted jewellery.

"They will sense you are somewhere nearby, but they will not know where," the woman whispered. "And even if they come to the door they will not be able to enter."

"Have you lost your senses?" Nathaniel hissed. "They saw the light! They will be inside in an instant!"

The woman waved him silent as running footsteps slowed outside. Nathaniel's breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed movement along the gap beneath the door. He estimated there were three or four people outside, moving slowly along the close, pausing every now and then to listen. One hesitated outside the door, slow breaths clear in the silence. With widening eyes, Nathaniel focused on the door handle, waiting for it to turn. Silently, he mouthed a prayer.

After a moment when he thought his heart would burst, his pursuer moved on, and the running feet continued along the close until they faded from hearing. Bowing his head in relief, Nathaniel inhaled a gulp of air.

When he had recovered, he snapped at the woman, "We were fortunate. You could have doomed me. Believing in your magic!" He indicated the charms with contempt.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him with equal contempt. "I saved your life. You are a fool if you think otherwise. They prey on our people continually. Do you think we have not found ways to keep them at bay?"

Nathaniel snorted, although the woman's words caused unsettling ripples deep in his mind that he refused to contemplate. As he turned to examine the room, Nathaniel saw they were not alone. Twelve other adults crouched along the far wall, their faces pale and fearful. There was a baby, and children of all ages, too, all dressed in poor clothes, their hollow cheeks detailing their daily struggle for survival. But they, and their house, were clean, and the woman had offered Nathaniel the hand of friendship, even at risk to herself.

"I apologise for my poor manners," Nathaniel said to her with a bow. "You gave me refuge, and it is a truth, I think, that you saved my life. I am very grateful."

"Apology accepted." The woman hauled her old bones to a chair near the range.

"I will arrange for my master to send you a reward-"

She shook her head forcefully. A cold eye warned him not to continue.

"Then I will be on my way," he said.

"Are you in your cups?" One of the men bounded forwards and grabbed Nathaniel's arm forcefully. "They are still out there."

"I can slip back the way I came-"

"They can see a rabbit in a field ten miles distant. They can hear the breaking of an ear of corn from the same. They can smell the sweat of your fear on the wind."

Nathaniel tried to laugh off the man's concern, but there was no humour in his drawn face.

"You do not know what hunted you?" the man asked warily.

"Spanish agents."

He laughed contemptuously and spat on the floor. "They are-"

"Hush!" the old woman shouted. "We do not talk of them! Once they notice you, your time is done."

Hesitating, Nathaniel pieced together the woman's words. "You say they are-?"

"Hush," the woman said quietly, turning her attention to the pot bubbling on the range so she did not have to meet Nathaniel's eye.

"You are welcome to stay for a bowl and some bread." The man's voice had the unsettling sympathy of an adult talking to a child who had not grasped that a relative had died.

"Yes ... thank you," Nathaniel replied, feeling a weight growing on his shoulders. "But I must reach a house in Cowgate."

"At dawn," the man said. "It will not be safe then, but it will be easier. For now, take your rest on our bed in the back room. We will call you when the food is ready."

His thoughts racing, Nathaniel allowed himself to be guided into the dark rear room. As he sat on the bed, listening to the dim, restrained talk through the door, his thoughts returned to the time in his life when everything changed. He was nineteen, and had been offered work as an apprentice in the nearest town, to start three weeks hence. His lodgings had been found, and his plans made, and then he had woken suddenly in the night to find his father missing.

CHAPTER 26

he harvest moon framed the silhouette of the church steeple and caught the wayward flit of bats from their roost in the bell tower. Across the churchyard, shadows cast by leaning tombstones and yews gently swaying in the breeze lay stark against the well-tended grass caught in the brilliant white moonlight. One yawning grave held the attention of the crowd of fearful villagers gathered around the lych-gate. None of them spoke, and it was as if they could not draw their eyes away from the black hole and piles of earth scattered all around.

Hurrying from the cottage, Nathaniel had found his father, the churchwarden, standing among the villagers with the air of someone wrestling with a harsh choice.

"Father," Nathaniel said, still half asleep. "What is this? The grave has been disturbed again?"

"Go back to bed, Nathaniel. This is not for you." His father was distracted, but his face looked grey under the moon's lantern, and much older, as if his features were attempting to catch up with his hair, which had turned white overnight after the death of Nathaniel's mother.

"Can this not wait till morning? I will help you fill in the grave-"

His father rounded on him, gripping his arm. "Anne Goodrick is missing. We fear she is within the church, taken there by ... by . . . " The words died in his throat and he looked away quickly in the hope that Nathaniel would not see the horror in his features.

"Then this is not the work of grave robbers," Nathaniel said. "There is more to this. A plot." He considered for a moment, and then said, "Catholic sympathisers. They do this to disturb our faith. Is that it?"

After a moment, his father replied, "Yes, Nathaniel. You are correct. But now young Anne's life is at risk. "

"Then we must storm the church to save her! All of us together can overcome any opponents, however well armed they might be-"

"No!" Nathaniel was shocked by the fury he saw in his father's face, who was always a gentle man. "You do not venture into the churchyard, do you hear me?" His father turned to the other villagers and said loudly, "Whatever might transpire, do not let my son follow me in there."

The villagers nodded, but in their shame at their inactivity they would not look his father in the eye.

"What? You cannot mean to go alone? If there is danger, it would be wise to enter the church together, and well armed."

"No arms will help us," his father muttered. In a surprising show of emotion, he hugged Nathaniel to him and whispered, "You must take care of yourself, Nat. This is a dark and dangerous world. " The moment he had spoken, he darted under the lychgate and into the churchyard.

Nathaniel made to go after him, but the strong hands of the blacksmith and his son gripped him tightly, and however much he fought he could not shake them off. They continued to restrain him after his father had slipped into the church, but gradually their grip eased, as they watched in anticipation. No sound came from within. The mood of the vigil gradually became darker as the minutes stretched on, and in the intense silence Nathaniel's anxiety spiralled and turned to fear when he realised his father was not coming back out; he was a prisoner, or worse.

Before his panic sent him into a frenzy, the crowd was disturbed by hoofbeats drawing near at a gentle pace.

Confusion at who could be riding into the village at that time of night took the sting out of Nathaniel's thoughts. A man not a great deal older than he rode up, dressed all in black, with black hair and black eyes and well-trimmed chin hair. Despite his appearance, there was no dourness to him. Nathaniel recognised a confidence, amplified by a touch of playfulness that in itself was dark, and a deep, reassuring strength.

"My name is Will Swyfte," the stranger said, "sent here from London to aid you with your difficulty. "

"How did you hear of our problems?" the blacksmith asked suspiciously.

"Word of such matters travels quickly. The queen has good men everywhere who watch and listen for any threat to the nation. "

As he dismounted, Nathaniel pressed forwards and said urgently, "My father has ventured into the church, and not come out. I fear ... I fear ... "

Will rested a hand on his shoulder and said, "We all do. Tell me what has transpired here. "

"Three days ago, Nicholas Goodrick was buried." Nathaniel indicated the open grave. "He was ... not a good man," he added hesitantly. "We thought some of his enemies had caused this desecration, but there was talk that Nicholas had been seen abroad, as if he were still alive."

"Your manner suggests you do not believe these stories. "

Nathaniel shrugged. "Of course not. Dead is dead. We are not all superstitious fools. This is a time of knowledge and understanding" He cast an eye over his neighbours and saw the gulf between him and them.

"You have a strong will. I like that. What is your name?"

"Nathaniel Colt. "

Will nodded. Nathaniel could see he was an educated man, storing away any information that might be of use to him. "And the corpse was gone?"

"We searched for it, but ... These things happen, sometimes. Nicholas was-"

"Not a good man, yes. So you filled in the grave?"

"And the next day it was open again. There was a space beneath it, and tunnels leading under the churchyard and beyond. Animals ... " He paused. "Though bigger tunnels than any animal could make."