Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull
Not so empty, then, he thought.
He moved quickly along the corridor, checking the rooms on either side. All were bare. Outside the last room, the boards creaked loudly, and there was a corresponding growl from the first floor, followed by heavy paws padding onto the stairs. Lightly, Will bolted up to the next floor.
Flickering light on one wall brought him to a halt just near the turn. Peering round, he saw a figure-male, although the brown hair was longmoving away from him slowly, holding a candle aloft. Below, the sound of padding paws continued up to the second floor, accompanied by another deep, penetrating growl.
Caught between the two, Will weighed his choices. Just as he had decided to draw his sword, a door at the far end of the corridor opened and light flooded out. The figure paused and communicated in a low whisper with someone within before entering the room. The door closed behind him and the light winked out.
Instantly, Will darted to the nearest door, listening briefly before opening it slowly. The room was in darkness. He slipped inside.
Closing the door, he pressed his ear against it and waited. The padding reached the top of the flight of stairs and then moved towards him. It paused outside the door and growled again, disturbingly loud in the quiet. Will held his nerve. After a second, he heard the dog move on, and listened intently until silence returned.
Will wondered if it was the same dog that had accompanied the Hunter in Alsatia. That would mean the Hunter was probably there too, he thought coldly, and perhaps even the Silver Skull.
"Who are you?"
He started at the voice, soft and dreamy with the burr of a Scottish Lowlands accent. In the dark of the room, a man sat on a chair looking out of the window, his back to Will.
Drawing his sword in an instant, Will waited for the alarm to be raised, but the man did not move. After a second, Will cautiously approached. As the moonlight broke through the window, Will saw it was a man, not one of the Enemy. He was in his forties, grey streaks in his black hair, and grey eyes that had the faraway look of a sleepwalker.
"Who are you?" Will asked.
"John Kintour," he replied. "Advisor to my queen, Mary."
"Mary is dead."
"No ... no ... I saw her this morn. So beautiful. The sun made her hair glow like fire." His voice was as insubstantial as the moonbeam breaking through the window.
Will passed his hand in front of Kintour's face, but he did not blink. "How long have you been here?"
"A day? A week? A month? A year?" He paused thoughtfully, then said, "They gave me food and drink. The most wonderful food ... The taste ... I had never experienced anything like it."
Will realised what had happened. One of the first rules during his induction as one of Walsingham's men was that he should never eat or drink anything offered by the Enemy, for it would allow them to take complete control of you. Normally it was how they lured their prey for their sport, usually simple country folk drawn to hear the music on the hilltops or in the fields at night. Kintour was clearly not being kept a prisoner in the house for sport.
"You have had a busy time here," Will said gently.
"Yes. So many questions."
"And you answered them all?"
"As best I could. Some were beyond even me. The location of the Shield-"
"The Shield? What is that?" Thinking he heard a noise outside, Will glanced towards the door. After a moment he returned his attention to Kintour.
"The Shield protects against the foul diseases released by the Silver Skull, of course," Kintour said lazily. "It allows a man to move freely among the ranks of the infected and the dead, without any mark appearing upon him. That is what the Templar Knights said."
It was as Will had thought. Without the Shield, the Skull was a blunt instrument, laying waste to vast swathes of an enemy. With it, the attacker could loot the dead, or achieve more specific aims.
"What do the Templar Knights have to do with this?" he asked.
Kintour's head rolled from side to side and he smiled faintly. "I was keeper of the records at the palace. So much to read ... so many secrets. Among the sheaves of crumbling parchment, I found many relating to the Knights Templar. At first they made little sense. It was only when I realised they were written with an obscure cipher that the truth began to emerge. The Knights encountered the Silver Skull in the Holy Lands, and knew the terrible threat it was to all Christendom. They had to act to protect all good Christian men."
"What did they do?"
"Separated the Skull from the Key and the Shield so it could not be used. They brought the latter two back here, to Scotland, and hid them well. The Skull ... I do not know what happened to that."
"The Key and the Shield were hidden at the Palace of Holyroodhouse?" Will asked.
"Hidden well. The Knights had many strong connections with Edin burgh and the surrounding area, and they were involved in advising King David when he built Holyrood Abbey in 1126. There were rumours of secret chambers beneath the abbey, and extending under the palace west of the abbey cloister. It was one of the secret locations across Europe where the Knights stored items of vast importance."
Will recalled the stories of the Knights Templar he had heard told at court, and how the religious military order had brought back many secrets and riches from the Crusades. Dee had even suggested that the disbanding of the Order and the killing of many of the Knights was down to the machinations of the Enemy. The Enemy's greatest victory, Dee had called it.
"Mary charged me with finding the location of the Key and the Shield," Kintour continued. "I searched through the old papers and spent long days and nights breaking the ciphers the Knights used. I found the Key." His brow furrowed.
"Yes, the Key was found," Will responded. "But you could not locate the Shield?"
"Only that it was hidden somewhere beneath the abbey. But where ... and how ..." He shook his head sadly. "And so you still search?"
"Yes, we still search," Will said reassuringly. His mind raced as he tried to guess the Enemy's plan, which was clearly more subtle than he had anticipated. If the Silver Skull was simply a doomsday weapon, they would ensure it was triggered to wipe out the population, with no thought for the man who wore the Mask. But if the Enemy needed the Shield to protect themselves, it suggested they wished to move through the areas where the disease ran out of hand. Why would they want to do that?
"How close have you got to locating the Shield?" he asked.
Kintour bowed his head in shame. "I have the reference to the entrance, and the guide to the defences, but I cannot understand it." He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Will with trembling hands. Will inspected it briefly before slipping it into his own pocket. "I know you requested an answer by this evening, and I am sorry ... I am sorry ..." He began to sob softly. "Please do not hurt me any more. Let me dream."
Will studied the wretched figure and wondered how long he had been a prisoner of the Enemy, without truly knowing where he was or what he did for them. "Why have they ... we ... not descended on the abbey and torn it apart to find the Shield?" Will enquired.
"Why ... part of it is protected? You cannot walk there?" Kintour replied, baffled.
"So mortal agents are needed to search," Will mused. "You will not have to remain here for much longer. Firstly, I must find where they have hidden the Silver Skull here, but then I will return you to your life. Do you understand?"
Kintour nodded slowly until his chin drooped onto his chest and he fell into a deep stupor. Will crept back to the door and slipped out as soon as he had confirmed the corridor was clear.
The house pulsed with a strange atmosphere that reminded Will of a churchyard after a funeral, a hint of regret, a resonant note of grief, yet somehow the joy of a new day like the sun breaking through the branches of the yews. Behind it all, though, was an underlying tone of threat, rumbling so deep it was felt not heard.
He paused outside the door through which the Enemy had ventured, but there was no sound within. He hesitated, thought better of it, and moved on to the next floor; he could always return to that room if the rest of his search turned up nothing.
There was a different atmosphere in the next corridor, as though he had walked from one season into another. The air was rich with the perfume of a summer garden: he smelled lavender, rose, honeysuckle. The first door was locked, as was the second.
In the third room, it took a second for his eyes to adjust to the deep dark until he realised thick velvet drapes hung over the window. Pulling them back, he allowed the moonlight to illuminate the chamber. His initial shock at seeing glassy eyes upon him turned gradually to anger when he saw the pile of human heads in one corner, rising almost halfway up the wall. He guessed there were at least fifty, the features and bone structure heavy with the weight of poverty. Some of the heads were so badly decomposed only traces of flesh remained on the bone; others looked so fresh they may well have been placed there that night. The Enemy's sport, he knew, plucked from the dark, overcrowded wynds where the lowest stratum of society was all but ignored by the city authorities.
There, in one stark image, was the entire reason for his life's work, and why Walsingham and Dee, for all their flaws, were right. Damping down his anger, he moved swiftly back into the corridor and continued to search the house floor by floor.
More doors were locked, more rooms empty, although many held a tantalising sensation that they had only just been vacated, a wisp of scent in the air or a fading echo.
Finally, in a room at the end of the corridor, he found lion Alanzo, asleep, his sword by his side, on a four-poster bed with the curtains partly drawn. In a chair next to the bed, head on his chest in slumber, was the Silver Skull. The two of them together in the same room, in that position, was an odd sight, and Will couldn't tell if they were under the spell of the Enemy. But he knew that an arm around the throat of the Silver Skull for just a few moments with the pressure at the right point, and he would be able to transport him out of the room unconscious without waking his guard. The question then would be how to escape the house with both the Skull and Kintour.
The room was furnished with more warmth than the other chambers in the Fairy House, but there was an underlying stench of decomposition that drew Will's attention to one single rotting head on the mantelpiece.
Even here, Will thought. A reminder to the occupants of their mortality.
Searching for any creaking board, he edged across the room to within a foot of the Skull without any change in their breathing. But as he reached out a crooked arm to slide it around the Skull's neck, the head on the mantelpiece tore open its mouth and began to shriek.
The bloodcurdling alarm rang through the still house.
Shocked awake, the Silver Skull leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair. Grabbing his sword, lion Alanzo rolled off the bed and thrust himself between Will and the Skull.
"Intruder!" he yelled, unnecessarily, almost drowned out by the head's deafening shriek.
Deep in the house, doors slammed.
Will saw it was futile to attempt to escape with the Skull. "I will return to finish this at a later date," he said, backing towards the door. "Until then, enjoy your stay in Edinburgh."
Activity rumbled throughout the house, punctuated by the loud barks of the sentry dog. The sensible option would have been to enter one of the empty rooms and clamber back into the chimney, but Will couldn't bring himself to leave Kintour. The archivist had already suffered greatly at the hands of the Enemy, and Will felt instinctively that he would become superfluous to their needs very soon.
Racing for the stairs, he drew his knife. He took the steps three at a time, crashing onto the landing below where a shadow on the wall had already warned him of an impending assailant. Dropping and rolling, he brought the knife up sharply vertical into the groin of the waiting figure. The inhuman cry of pain made Will's head ring.
Without looking back, he ran for the next flight of stairs. Four more of the Enemy pounded up the steps to meet him.
On the top step, he threw himself forwards, crashing hard into the first attacker, who was propelled into the ones behind. They careered down the stairs with Will rolling across the top of them to land on his feet on the next landing. As he fought his way through to the corridor where Kintour's room lay, he found the Hunter waiting just before the door. Eyeing Will contemptuously, he put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. From below, his dog answered with a hunting howl.
Everything Will saw in the Hunter's face-arrogance, a dismissive regard for a lesser species, cruelty-made him desire revenge for Miller's death with a fierce determination, but he knew it would mean his own death; behind him, the other combatants had picked themselves up from the tangle at the foot of the stairs and were already advancing.
Will ran. The Hunter's eyes narrowed as he casually prepared to repel the attack. Instead of meeting him head-on, at the last Will leapt to the left-hand wall, propelled himself off it to the right-hand wall, and launched himself past the wrong-footed Hunter. In passing, Will's knife tore open the Hunter's cheek. The cry of anger-tinged agony brought a surge of black pleasure in Will.
"Something to remember me by," Will said.
He kicked out at the Hunter as he moved by him, knocking him off balance, and then he was in the room and sliding the bolt across the door.
"Come, we must leave this place," Will said, shaking Kintour from his stupor. Bodies were briefly thrown at the door before the bolt began to slide back of its own accord.
Staggering, Kintour allowed himself to be moved towards the fireplace. He was like a puppet, with no will of his own.
"We climb," Will urged. "You first. I will follow to hold off any pursuit."
Kintour was leaden, his fingers feebly feeling for handholds. Will put his shoulder to the man's behind and launched him up the chimney, climbing quickly behind him while bracing himself against the sooty stones with his legs. Black showers rained down all around.
In the room, the door crashed open and the heavy beat of boots crossed the boards. A wild barking followed in the wake.
"Where are we?" Kintour's dazed voice floated down to Will.
"On the road to freedom. Now: climb faster!" He gave Kintour a rough shove as the sound of canine scrabbling echoed from the fireplace below.
In the dark, Kintour began to panic. Will patiently explained what was occurring as they inched along the flue.
"What if we become trapped here?" The edge of fear in Kintour's dreamy voice was eerie.
"I came down. Ergo we can climb out," Will shouted up.
The snuffling and snarling began to rise up the chimney. Somehow the dog was climbing after them.
"No dog at all, then," Will muttered to himself before calling, "Climb faster, now."
![Карочка — [email protected] - В день, когда магия замрет](/uploads/posts/books/no-image.jpg)