Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull
Will turned his attention to Miller, who was bound to a wooden frame beside him. Beyond, Carpenter, Mayhew, and Launceston hung from a beam by their wrists, toes just resting on the cobbles. Their faces bloomed with bruises and cuts from a harsh beating.
"Tom, are you well?" Will called.
"No bones broken. When you fell through the trapdoor, they rushed us, and beat us with their cudgels. We took several of them with us as we went down, but that only inflamed them more."
Around the market, the thieves' strong-arm men patrolled with cudgels clutched in meaty fists. Glowering eyes watched every face for sign of trouble. Sizing up the force, Will reckoned they were a formidable barrier to any way out of that enclosed space.
"What now, Will? They mean to do us in, I fear," Miller said in a low voice.
"Keep steady. An opportunity will present itself."
"I am not afraid. Better to go this way, looking a man in the eye, than facing up to those things that should not exist in any sane world."
Miller held himself defiantly, despite the bonds. Will had decided he liked him, and admired the way he fought to keep his equilibrium in the face of knowledge that filled him with dread, but the fatalistic note in his voice was a concern.
"Tom, you must trust me," Will said. "I have stared into some dark and dismal holes in my short but exhilarating life, and yet here I am."
A commotion on the far side of the fair caught their eye as a torchlight procession made its way among the stalls. Cheers rose in its wake. When the parade drew near, Will saw the torches were held by young women in fine dresses, coquettishly flirting with the men they passed. They were accompanied by five men in the masks and costumes worn at the feast. At the head of the procession was a tall, wiry man in a robe embroidered with so much silver and gold thread it gleamed like a lantern in the reflected torchlight. He wore a white mask with a long, cruel bird's beak that arced down at the end and several peacock feathers sprouting from an elaborate headdress. It was flamboyant and unthreatening, but through the eyeholes Will glimpsed an aloof, menacing persona.
"Is that him?" Miller whispered. "Laurence Pickering?"
"We forced him to step out of the shadows," Will replied. "But he still wears his mask."
As Pickering led the procession forwards, Will saw more prisoners trailing behind them, bound with ropes and covered in blood and bruises, and at the back a cloaked figure who walked accompanied by two guards, but unbound. The prisoners appeared Spanish in dress and features, and from the way the crowd assailed them with threatening gestures and the occasional missile, Will guessed that was correct.
Pickering came to a halt in front of Will and looked him up and down silently.
"Life is an illusion," Will said wryly. "Laugh now, for there will be none of it when you are gone."
"You are far from the fields you know. This is my court now." Pickering rolled the words around his mouth like pebbles. A note of at least rudimentary education shaped his tone, which was a dangerous thing for a man brought up among the rough criminal class of London where the skill of cutting purses and handling a knife or a razor were taught at the mother's apron.
"You appear to lead a grand life. I am surprised your fame has not spread further afield," Will said.
"I do not seek attention. Indeed, I detest it. I am a private man-"
"And the work you do does not thrive in the full light of the sun."
Pickering hardly blinked, which added a strange, detached manner to his demeanour as though he were examining another species. "I would not appreciate more of your kind crawling around here like beetles on a dung-heap. And that is why I cannot allow you to return to your masters to tell them what you know."
"You think very highly of yourself. I have no interest in you, whatever title you give yourself, nor in your society of rogues. All I require is the return of an item that belongs to Her Majesty's government."
"I think not. I know your kind. Your pride has been hurt." Pickering motioned to the wooden frame and the taut bonds. "You would have to return to teach one such as me a lesson."
"I have far better things to do."
Pickering flinched as though Will had slapped him. "I am king here. I rule. I command men and women to do my bidding. I have riches at my disposal. I may act upon any whim. I have my own army. Your kind would prefer I did not exist. You think I-and all these good men and womenfolk-are the dirt beneath your feet. But you cannot dismiss me. And especially now, for I hold your life in my hands." Pickering fought to hide a quaver in his voice. Will gave a knowing smile that only angered the King of Cutpurses more.
Raising one hand imperiously, he snapped his fingers. From behind the prisoners, two of Pickering's men brought out a tall figure in a black robe. The Silver Skull glowed like the moon. With great bearing and dignity, hands clasped calmly in front of him, he looked directly into Will's face.
"Fine workmanship indeed, but that is little silver for a man of your standing," Will said. "Why, I would give you the same amount in gold to buy back that entertaining mask."
"You think me a fool too," Pickering noted. "The value of the thing lies beyond the silver."
Will looked deeply into the shadowy eyeholes of Pickering's mask. "And what did your cousin Bulle the hangman tell you of this thing?"
"I know that it is more than a mask. That some think it has a great power hidden within it. And I know interest in it reaches far beyond our shores."
Will's attention fell on the Spanish prisoners who glowered among the armed guards. "That is an interesting way to negotiate a sale with Spain."
"Do you take me for a traitor?" Pickering snapped. "Again, you show your contempt for me. I am as good a man as you, a true Englishman."
"Then I admit I am confused."
"It was my intention to arrange an exchange with the Spanish, and then to steal their gold. However, they proved their untrustworthiness and attempted to trick me first. Like you, they did not give me the respect I deserved, and so paid the price." He turned to examine the Spanish spies. "Or will do before the hour is out."
Since he had awakened, Will had been testing the bonds, but they were fastened with the thieves' reek-wort knot, considered to be unbreakable. "English gold would be much more rewarding," he said.
"And that will be my next port of call. Once you are dead, and there is no one to trace this business to me."
"You will not escape so easily. You have woken the beast now." Will's hard smile only emphasised the weight of his words.
"Do you fear death?" Pickering asked sharply.
"There are worse things than death. I have seen them."
"Will?" The female voice drifted out from the back of the prisoners, quizzical and slightly dazed. Will recognised it immediately.
"Grace?" He instantly regretted showing any sign of recognition, for Pickering immediately snapped those black, unblinking eyes towards him, and Will got the impression that beneath the mask he was smirking.
Pickering motioned for the guards to allow Grace to come forwards. Throwing back her hood, her eyes glistened with tears. "I am sorry, Will. I persuaded Kit to tell me where you had gone. The Spanish knew you and I were friends and they followed me here." She appeared dazed.
"Did they hurt you?" Will asked.
"No ... no ... They thought they could offer me in exchange if you acquired the item for which they were searching, but then we were all taken."
"Let her go," Will said quietly.
Pickering didn't answer, but Will could see he had no intention of freeing Grace. No one who had witnessed the role Pickering played could be allowed to leave Alsatia.
"Free her now," Will continued, "or, God help me, you will pay a price far in excess of anything you plan to do to us."
"You are in no position to make demands." Basking in the adulation of the cheering mass of criminals, Pickering stood for a moment with his arms raised to the sky. "Is it time for our entertainment?" he called across the fair. The crowd bayed its response. "Is it time for good sport?" Howls now, feverish eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "Let us celebrate our good fortune. We are the masters here. We can do anything."
Hammering their cudgels on the cobbles as they pressed in on every side, the mob appeared on the brink of rushing forwards to tear the prisoners limb from limb. The crowd parted as Pickering walked towards them in a parody of stateliness. At a snap of his fingers, four guards lifted the wooden frame from its mountings, and Will and the others were paraded through the fair behind the Spanish prisoners. Missiles rained down from all sides and the noise of bloodlust became deafening. Fearful, Grace eased herself close to Will's side, her hands pressed together in prayer.
On the far side of the fair, Pickering led the procession up the steps of a circular wooden arena about twenty feet across. The crowd eased around the perimeter, resting against a fence. "It is time for you to shake hands with Hob!" Pickering announced with a theatrical flourish.
In the pit below was a large brown bear, blind in one eye, patches of fur missing and covered in scars. From its roars and wild flailing it appeared half mad at the pain that had been inflicted upon it. In the centre of the small arena was a post used to tether the beast with a chain, but the bear had been set to roam free.
Pickering took his seat in a high-backed chair behind a long wooden table. A plate of hot pork and a flagon of ale were quickly laid before him by eager hands, and then the crowd began to chant. "Hob! Hob!"
Will watched the bear crash around the pit, swatting at the taunting spectators just out of reach of its claws. "I have danced with some ferocious partners, but that is the worst, no doubt," he mused.
Pickering pointed to one of the Spanish prisoners. A guard cut the man loose and before the prisoner could protest he was thrown into the pit. With a terrifying savagery, the bear tore him apart in a matter of seconds. Inflamed by the blood, the crowd cheered loudly.
Regally, Pickering waved for a second Spanish prisoner to be tossed to his death. He went silently and defiantly, with a proud bow to the Spaniard who was clearly his leader.
Sobbing, the third prisoner pleaded in babbling Spanish. It amused Pickering for a while until he became frustrated by his inability to understand and gestured for the prisoner to be sacrificed. With a scream, the Spanish agent plunged into the whirl of snapping jaws and raking claws.
Grimly, Will watched the spectacle. The bear moved awkwardly, the result of an injury to its left back leg. The blind eye also hampered its movements.
"My time is being wasted! Commit me now before I die of boredom!" he called.
Falling silent, the crowd looked to Pickering. Under their scrutiny, he flinched, fearful of losing face. "I accept your offer," he responded quickly. "But the bear appears to be winning this bout. Shall we make more competition?" The crowd cheered its response.
As Will was released, Pickering ordered the final Spanish prisoner to be set free too. Rubbing his wrists, the prisoner approached Will and said, "Don Alanzo de las Posadas." He bowed.
"Will Swyfte."
Pausing, Don Alanzo fixed Will with a quizzical eye. "England's greatest spy?"
"If my assistant, Nathaniel, were here, he would have a quick reply. But I have been called worse names."
Don Alanzo bowed again. "And I am the world's greatest swordsman."
"And a spy too. We have much in common. Though I would be forced to challenge your title, in another place, at another time."
"For now, we are associates in battle." Don Alanzo turned to the bear pit. "Though I would have preferred more equal competition."
"We could give the bear a sword?" As he stepped towards the edge of the pit, Will whispered to Don Alanzo. "Stay on his left side."
Before Pickering's men could throw them in, Will and Don Alanzo jumped into the gore-splattered pit. In the enclosed space, the bear's roars were magnified, and the baying of the crowd faded into the background. The bear lunged with a massive swinging paw. Will ducked beneath it, the claws tearing chunks from the wooden planks covering the walls. Taking Will's advice, Don Alanzo danced into the bear's blind zone.
"Do you have a plan?" he called.
"Yes. Not to die."
"I expected something more detailed from someone with such an impressive reputation."
"Your patience will be amply rewarded." Will had a brief but shockingly evocative flash back more than a year to a snowy landscape and another bear threatening to end his life, but the image was lost as he fought to stay ahead of the claws.
The bear was fast, but its age and injuries had taken a toll on its stamina. Even so, Will's concealed sword was too small to cause any real harm to the beast, and he was afraid the weapon would only serve to enrage it further. Will and Don Alanzo continued to dart left, forcing the beast to flail around in a continual circle. Every time it attempted an attack, they put the central tethering post between them and the bear. Its frustration only made it waste more energy, and once again it began to lash out towards the crowd, who were hanging over the restraining fence, bellowing their frustration. Will caught sight of Pickering's beaked mask as he leaned forwards, his posture rigid. Will flashed a grin and bowed, which provoked Pickering to berate his guards angrily. They moved closer to the edge of the pit, but there was nothing they could do.
As they continued their baiting, Don Alanzo lost his footing in the grue and skidded into the bear's path. Driven into a frenzy by frustration, the bear roared and dropped its head low, throwing all its weight into a ferocious attack. Don Alanzo sprawled before it, unable to move.
Reacting instinctively, Will swung himself around the central pole and kicked both feet into the side of the bear's head. As it lumbered and half skidded in surprise, Will dragged Don Alanzo out of its path.
"Best not toy with him," Will said.
Barely had he scrambled halfway across the pit when the bear returned furiously, its jaws torn wide. Will flung himself to one side. The teeth snapped air a mere inch beyond his heel. Angered by Will's blow, the bear had found a new reserve of speed and strength, and it was all Will and Don Alanzo could do to keep away from its jaws and claws.
Each lunge came closer, and at the last Will ran, placed one foot on the wall of the pit, and propelled himself onto the bear's back, clutching an arm around its throat. The bear's roar was deafening as it attempted to swat him off. Writhing on its back, he ducked this way and that as the claws came within a hairbreadth of his face. But with each twist, he exerted more pressure on the bear's throat until its swats became feebler and it began to stumble. Finally, it fell to all fours and Will rolled off its back.
Don Alanzo levelled an unsettled stare at him. "You are insane."
"We only know we live when our heart beats faster," Will gasped. "Now, I think we are done here. Shall we be away?"
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