The Secrets of Life and Death (18 page)

Air in the room started to move, tugging her clothes and lifting her short hair. She slid her fingers down the chain through the hole in the carpet to the metal ring in the floorboards, tearing at it with her fingernails. The ring was attached to a square metal plate, screwed at each corner into the floorboards. It wouldn’t budge. The sound and the draughts dropped almost as fast as they had started. The silence thickened. The tingling cold made her shiver, even as sweat started to prickle her skin.

‘
Sadieeeeee
.’

The voice called, and sounded not quite human, as if the wind itself had found a voice. It seemed to come from all directions, and the air snatched at her again, like spiteful fingers. A few books fell from the shelves, their pages fluttering. She heard a tiny, sobbed whimper, and realised it had come from her own dry throat. The next time the voice came from the chimney, and a little soot fell with the smell of tar being spread on a hot road.

‘
Sadieeeeee
.’ The wind increased and made her stagger, pulling her in a spiral towards the corners of the room.

She crouched low, holding onto the cold shackle, its metal scent released by the sweat on her hands. Rising through the terror like a wave, she started to feel a growing rage at the senseless destruction of Jack’s precious birds. Each wave of fear seemed to bring a little more anger, and she staggered upright. Papers flapped around her in the whirlwind. She wrapped the chain around the poker a few times, leaned her whole weight against it, and pulled until her feet slipped on the carpet. The ring in the floor creaked, but didn’t move. The air buffeted her, thick with the stench of soot and smoke, and books and furniture skidded around the floor. The wind ran through her hair, whipping it into her eyes, pulling at her feet. She heaved on the chain again, feeling the tiniest shudder. Dropping to her knees, she touched the plate through the hole in the carpet, and found it was still solid. But her shaking fingers found a gap in the ring, as if she had opened it up. She forced the end of the poker into the ring and pulled back, the metal biting into her hands. It eased the circle open, and straining, she forced the last link of the chain through the gap.

The wind seemed to grow instantly until it almost lifted her up, and she crouched down, clinging to the ring as her feet were pulled off the floor for a few seconds. She screamed, and again as she felt the dog smash into her. He was dragged away, it was too dark to see where, but his claws scrunched up the carpet and he yowled.

‘Ches!’ She felt around in the direction of his cry. ‘Ches, boy!’

The wind seemed to blow the words straight back at her, and bits of paper and soot flew into her face. She could hear a banging, something intermittently thumping through the racket. The door. She tried crawling across the carpet, but within a couple of feet the coldness and nausea overwhelmed her, and she retreated to pant in a heap on the floor.
Jack, please, please come back
. Another scraping on her right made her fumble a hand in its direction, as a huge thump was followed by a howl from Ches, this time from behind her.
He’s being blown around
,
he’ll be killed
.

Gathering all her strength, she bellowed ‘Ches!’

This time she could track the squeal of his claws as he was shunted around her, and was able to flail in his direction to grab something – a leg or a tail – before it was snatched away from her again. She shuffled closer to the scraping noise, hoping it was the priest-hole door. She held her breath against the rising nausea, and squinted into the flying debris whistling around the edges of the room. She caught a glimpse of light fur, lit perhaps from the starlight outside, as Ches careered around the walls, no longer howling. Reaching with both arms, she caught him as he slid past. Holding him in her arms like a crazy dancer, she staggered to her feet and launched herself into the cold towards the darker shadow of the doorway, and tripped over the step into the priest hole.

‘The thud of hooves striking the road was deafening, the heaving of the mare’s breath no less so. The road was so poorly lit, even with several lanterns held aloft on short poles, that I expected every moment to be dashed against a tree or thrown down a hillside.’

Edward Kelley
believed 27 November 1585
On the road

The pounding against the saddle, and the utter cold, seeped into me as the journey progressed. It exhausted me, and I must have fallen into insensibility by dawn. I woke with the clatter of iron shoes on cobbles as we turned into a yard in the first light.

I was lifted down as if I were a child. I lurched on my feet, the world seemed to heave more than the horse. The gag was pulled down, and I vomited a mouthful of foul liquid onto my captor’s mud-splashed boots. The guard brought out a dagger the length of my forearm, and in front of my horrified eyes, waved it close to my throat. As I shrank back, he brought the knife down and cut the knot holding my hands in front of me, and turned away with a bellow of laughter.

As my hands came back to life, they burned with pain, and I almost cried out. Another man gestured, and I was waved to a wall where several of the guards were relieving themselves. Dee was there, his face as white as chalk, a bruise obscuring one eye, which was purpled and swollen. He, at least, had put up a fight. I noticed he now wore crude boots.

‘Master—’

‘Who are these men? Have you heard them speak among themselves?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I can’t believe they are from the Inquisition, they seemed to kill the Swiss guards and the Poles. Are they Istvan’s Hungarians?’

I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder at the group of warriors. ‘They killed one of them on the way out.’

‘Magyars? Mercenaries? Who but the Pope would go to these lengths to take us?’

Who, indeed. An idea crossed my mind, but I dared not give it voice where it might be heard. My giant guard gestured to me to follow him to a doorway, and an old woman handed me a tankard. I drank deep, the ale made delicious by my privations, followed by a hunk of bread filled with some sort of sausage. It took away the acid in my mouth, and I realised I was ravenous. The small kindness filled me with hope, which faltered when another horse was brought forward. The man pulled the rope from a pocket, and I fell back, shaking my head. ‘I will ride. I can ride.’ I mimed holding reins.

He looked at one of his compatriots and held up the rope. Some signal passed between them, and he pointed at the horse. I was shivering with cold, but at least I was trusted to ride with them. I drew comfort from the fact that I was not chained in a carriage surrounded by the Vatican guards.

One side of the track was silvered in moonlight, the trees looked like metal bars making a prison of the road. We set out, heading south-west this time, the men riding in a close group around us. I estimated by its width that it was the highway between Poland and Hungary, but they soon veered onto a track through the forest. We were back into gallops where the road and the light was good. I don’t know how many leagues we traversed, but we only stopped for another tankard and necessary relief, and my rump was so bruised I cried out when I sat back on my next horse, more pony than steed. My captors laughed aloud. In the first daylight they were clearly Magyars, and they were less discreet, hissing in their native language. There were eleven of them, two wounded with rude bandages around limbs.

A third bloodstained man, younger than the others, rode without complaint, but even with his bandages tightened by his comrades, a sheet of blood fell down his side and his face grew whiter in the early light. As we climbed up a steep path in single file, he toppled without warning off his horse, in front of my own pony, which shied. The injured man rolled off the path into the skeletons of brambles lining the track. The man who I had thought of as the leader, dismounted and pushed him with a boot. This raised a groan from the injured man, who rolled onto his back. The captain pulled the scarf from the injured man’s face. The boy – for he was barely bearded – opened his eyes, almost black, surrounded by lashes as long and thick as a girl’s. The captain did not hesitate, drawing a long knife, the one he had threatened me with, I think. He slid the blade under the boy’s ear, slashing it across his neck. The young man died with a gurgle from the gaping throat, his eyes closing.

The big man bent his head for a moment, perhaps in prayer, then hefted the body onto his shoulder. He disappeared off the path into the bushes, followed by a stocky man, whose hair was grizzled like an old terrier. They returned a few minutes later, with everything the boy had been wearing, down to his linens. I was shaking, my eyes meeting Dee’s for a moment. As we rode off, I reflected that perhaps our captors didn’t want anyone to identify the boy, and the animals in the forest around us would soon deal with the naked corpse. The rain started falling again, and trickled down the back of my cloak and along my spine, adding to my miseries.

Felix was standing in the university car park after a long evening of tutorials when his phone rang.

‘Yes?’ He fumbled with his briefcase, trying to get the car keys out without dropping the phone.

‘Felix?’ He almost didn’t recognise the voice.

‘Jack? Is that you?’

‘Felix …’ There was a long pause and he could hear other sounds. ‘I need your help.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’m at St David’s Hospital.’ She sounded hoarse. ‘I need you to come and get me.’

He unlocked his car and threw his case in. ‘What happened?’

The phone clicked and went dead. He looked at the screen. Jack, thirty-four seconds, and his heart was already hammering in his chest. He started the car and drove over a speed bump in the exit too fast, clunking his exhaust.

Felix turned into a side street, heading towards the hospital. It was already dark, the town centre lit by hundreds of headlights and tail lights, splashes of white and red illuminating shoppers filling up the town. Signs on lampposts and shop windows announced late-night Christmas shopping. He was forced to concentrate as he was boxed in by queues of traffic. In the end, it was twenty minutes before he got to the hospital.

At almost nine o’clock, main reception was closed. That left casualty. He looked around the waiting room, with beige plastic chairs and a handful of huddled drunks, and turned to the casualty receptionist. Before he could open his mouth, he heard Jack’s voice.

‘Felix.’

One of the heaps of clothing turned out to be a muddy and dishevelled Jack, a scrape down one side of her face bruised purple, and one eye shot with scarlet.

‘Jack!’ He reached out his hands for hers, and she clutched his arm as if she was going to fall. ‘What happened? Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Let’s go. Please.’ Her voice was hoarse.

A male nurse in blue scrubs walked up to them. ‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay? Just to warm you up.’

Jack’s fingers were shaking, and Felix covered them in his. ‘You’re freezing.’

‘I’ll be fine when I get home.’ Her words came out slowly.

The nurse looked at Felix. ‘She’s hypothermic, and she may be in shock. We can’t make her stay. At least make sure she goes to bed and stays there. Bring her back at once if she feels worse.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Jack waved the man off.

He ignored her, and handed Felix a sheet of paper.

‘You need to stay with her, and bring her back if she shows any of the signs on the sheet. Seriously, she should be in hospital. This is against all medical advice.’

‘I signed the papers, it’s OK.’ Jack cast herself off from Felix’s arm, and stood, swaying. ‘I need to go home.’ She started towards the doors, which swished open.

‘Oh, wait.’ The receptionist fumbled under her desk. ‘The ambulance dropped this off for you.’ She held out a leather bag, muddy and wet, and Jack took it. ‘They couldn’t find your purse, though.’

Felix looked at the shaking Jack, now searching through the bag. ‘What happened?’

‘I passed out. It’s fine; some shoppers helped me. I had my phone in my pocket so I called you … can we just go?’

She walked through the doors, and Felix could do little but smile thanks at the staff and follow her. The cold air outside knocked her into a wobble, and she grabbed Felix’s arm.

‘I need you to take me back to my car.’ She sounded distant, her voice rough. ‘I have to get home.’

‘You can’t drive like this. Let me take you.’ He gripped her elbow, steering her towards the car park.

She stumbled along beside him as he took more of her weight, holding her around her waist. ‘I can’t … I can’t let you into the house.’

‘You can’t stay on your own.’

‘I won’t be. I don’t live alone, I’ll be fine.’

The words rolled over him, stinging more than he would have expected. Boyfriend, husband?

‘Why didn’t you call … them instead?’ He stopped at his car, and she put both hands out, leaning on it. He heard her groan, as if in pain.

‘I’ll call Maggie – my foster mother. She’ll come over.’

He opened the car door, and helped her into the passenger seat. The light made her look smaller in the bulky coat. ‘My bag,’ she said, ‘in the bottom, there should be a small bottle.’ Her hands burrowed into the layers of her coat.

He took the bag, shut the door and walked around to get in the driver’s side. The bottle, brown and unmarked, was in a pocket right at the bottom. He held it up to the light but it was opaque, like ink. ‘This?’

He held it out to her, and she fumbled with the top, until he took it from her and loosened it. The smell of the liquid inside made him recoil, a putrescent sweetness. He winced when she lifted it to her lips and drank deep.

‘What is that?’ He stepped back from the stink of it.

She capped the bottle, then sat still for a moment, breathing deeply, eyes shut. ‘That’s better.’ She sighed, a warm mist that smelled of compost reaching him. ‘It’s a herbal medicine.’

‘The treatment seems worse than the disease.’

‘You get used to it.’ Jack rolled her head to face him, and opened her eyes. ‘Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who to call, I couldn’t reach Maggie.’