A Skin of a Dragon

Book 1 of The Guild of Gatekeepers

Frances Jones
Copyright © Frances Jones 2018
All rights reserved
There are no accidents in magic
 Chapter 1

My mother believed I possessed the gift of foresight. I was born at the stroke of midnight under a full moon,
a curious time bestowing special abilities upon newborns, or so the midwife assured my parents. Yet, despite
my mother’s belief, I had no sense of the shift my life was poised to take one rainy day in mid-September
1648 as I peered into a rock pool in search of crabs.
I wrinkled my nose and dangled my line into the water. The grey sea sloshed around the rock on
which I stood, met by the rainwater that trickled down in rivulets from the cliffs above. Summer wasn’t
yet a distant memory, but the storm of the previous day had been a sharp reminder that autumn had
arrived. Peggy, my wiry-haired mongrel, watched the gulls scavenging amongst the rocks but had yet to
summon the energy to chase them. Beside me my sister, Lizzie, shivered and looked forlornly back to the
beach.
'To think the fields were ploughed but a fortnight ago,' she muttered.
I felt a tug on my line and lifted an enormous crab out of the rock pool, but Lizzie was
distracted. She glanced up at the sky as a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead.
‘Zooks! Look at the sun, Tom! Mother will be starting supper.’ She grabbed her bucket of crabs
and scrambled back across the rocks. ‘Don't forget the tobacco for Father,’ she called over her shoulder
as she crossed the beach towards the lights that were beginning to twinkle in the windows of the cottages
that made up the tiny hamlet of Osmington Mills.
I replied with a wave as I set my bucket on a ledge out of the wind and began the slippery climb
to the smugglers’ cave. It was a precarious route in wet weather, with fissures into which one could quite
easily slip and become stuck, but in an hour's time the tide would be in, cutting the cave off from the
beach entirely.
The rocks were slick beneath my feet, and the drizzling rain soaked right through to my skin as I
clambered from one to the next. This exposure to every extreme of weather that the Dorset coast
endured had weathered my complexion into a freckled ruddiness. My usual mop of sandy curls now lay
plastered against my forehead, and my eyes squinted against the rainwater that dripped from my brow.
As I set my feet on sand once more, I stooped to pick up a small wooden box nestled between
two rocks at the mouth of the cave. It was perfectly plain, cylindrical in shape, with an elaborate lock
formed of tiny brass cogs, dials and pulleys, some of which were clearly missing or broken. I looked back
to the beach. Only the smugglers ever came here. Perhaps it belonged to one of them- except that all the
smugglers in Osmington Mills were far too careful to leave anything out in the open. There were crevices
and tunnels that wound right into the heart of the cliffs where contraband was cleverly concealed from
the prying eyes of the customs men. There was no need to leave anything in plain sight. Besides, the little
drift of sand piled up against the box seemed to indicate it had been deposited there by the sea.
'I bet it's from that shipwreck yesterday,' I muttered to Peggy as I tucked it under my arm and
ducked into the cave. The entrance was just a few feet in height and submerged at high tide, but inside it
widened and rose steadily above the tide’s reach, opening out into several passageways and crevices
scooped out by the sea in ancient times. It was a perfect smugglers’ cave.
I selected one pack of tobacco from a pile of goods stuffed into a cleft in the wall and tucked it
into my belt. With the crabbing line, I lashed the box to my back. I would need both hands to scale the
rocks back to the beach.
Outside, the wind had picked up, and the drizzle was replaced with great spots of rain. Across
the beach, a flicker of firelight glowed in the mouth of another smaller cave beyond a rocky outcrop.
''Tis a fool who ventures out with a storm about to break,' I thought to myself.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and the foamy white tips of the waves collapsed against the rocks
with an intensity that had become a familiar sight over the past week. The few fishing boats that had
braved the rain were now gone, safely moored in the harbour. Everyone was braced for another mighty
storm.
 Chapter 2

After church the next morning, my father said he needed my help mending the thatch of the cottage roof
where it had been damaged by the storm. All day my curiosity about the box mounted, but it wasn't until
late in the afternoon when I managed to slip away to the oak tree in the garden where I had hidden it the
previous day.
The tree roots were huge, gnarled and strangled with ivy that climbed up the bough. It was
beneath this mass of roots and greenery where I hid all my secret things that I wanted to keep private. I
thrust my hands into the thickness of ivy leaves and drew out the box. It was exactly as I remembered
from yesterday and no less intriguing. I fumbled about between the tree roots and drew out the little
metal stick I had found some time ago. It was probably part of a lady's hat pin. I had found it on the road
and kept it, thinking it might be useful for things such as picking locks. I was glad I had now.
The remaining cogs that were still intact spun and whirred as I fiddled and poked at the lock. It
took some time and patience, but eventually a catch sprung back, and I lifted the lid in anticipation. It was
with a twinge of disappointment that I found that the box contained yet another lid without visible lock
or key hole, yet try as I might, I couldn’t open it. I turned the box over and over in my hands, but the lid
would not move.
Frustrated, I glanced over to the cottage. Through the window, I could see my mother and Lizzie
preparing supper while my father had gone to take a sniff of air down by the harbour. Tucking the box
under my arm, I slipped into the cottage and up the stairs, careful not to let Lizzie or my mother see.
Something about the box, with its intriguing series of locks and lids, had piqued my curiosity, and I meant
to take a closer look later if I had the chance.
Lizzie and I shared a bedroom at the back of the cottage, while our mother and father had the
room at the front. Lizzie had the one rickety little bed, and I slept on a threadbare rug on the floor
beneath the window. A shabby curtain acted as a partition between the two sides of the room. Even with
the money we made from smuggling we were poor, and so the cottage was rather sparse with very few
places to hide the box without it being found. I looked about the bedroom for somewhere to conceal the
it, at least until I could find a more permanent place. A bundle of old blankets, which I sometimes
wrapped around myself at night in the cold weather, appeared to be the only place it could be hidden with
some degree of certainty that it would not be disturbed. Wrapping the blankets about the box, I returned
them to the corner where they had lain over the summer months.
'What have you been doing?' asked Lizzie as I crept back down the stairs.
'Nothing,' I replied, quickly changing the subject. 'When will supper be ready?'
'Soon,' replied my mother. 'Be a dear and fetch your father.'
I ducked out of the front door, followed by Peggy. Already, I was getting too tall for the cottage,
though I was barely fifteen.
 I made my way down the path and out into the lane. To the right of the cottage stood three
others all built of stone and with the same tumbled-down and slightly lop-sided appearance. To the left,
the lane wound sharply down towards the beach and the harbour. Across the lane, a hedge, heavy with
ripe blackberries, and a few hardy oaks screened the cottages from the worst that the English Channel
could hurl at them.
I whistled as I strolled down to the harbour. Streaks of pink sky broke through the clouds in the
west. Somewhere far behind them, the sun was setting. As I rounded the corner, I saw my father leaning
upon an old gatepost and talking with another fisherman and fellow smuggler, Harry Swain.
'Hello, Tom,' said Harry as I approached. 'Not troubling your old dad overmuch, I hope?'
'No, Mr. Swain,' I replied. 'Mother says supper is ready,' I said, turning to my father.
'Okay, lad, you go on. Tell your mother I shan't be much longer,' he replied.
I hesitated a moment before starting back towards the cottage. Something in my father's voice
made me uneasy. He seemed troubled or put out by whatever he and Harry were discussing.
I stopped and turned back just before the two men were lost from view as the lane wound back
up towards the cottages. They appeared to be saying their goodbyes. I dithered for a moment, wondering
whether to wait for my father, before I thought better of it and hurried back home.
At the kitchen table, he was unusually quiet. My mother knew better than to probe. If the
customs men came knocking, it was better to know as little as possible about his illicit activities. My
mother was an honest woman, and while she accepted her husband's smuggling enterprise as a necessary
means of supporting the family, it weighed heavily upon her conscience.
'Harry Swain told me something right peculiar,' said my father suddenly.
'Really?' my mother replied, sweeping the empty plates from the kitchen table and depositing
them in the washing bowl.
'A man, he said, asking after Thomas Wild. Harry thought he was one of those Roundhead sorts-
had his hair cropped close to the head as they do -though what one of them would be doing round here,
heaven only knows. He'll not find support in these parts. We're King’s men good and proper, I said to
Harry, and to tell the truth it vexed me that one of them should be asking after me.' The displeasure in my
father’s voice was clear.
'Is Harry sure it wasn't one of the customs men?' asked my mother anxiously. 'I can’t see any
other reason why a stranger would be asking after you. You should be more careful, Wild, or you will find
yourself at the end of the hangman's rope one of these days.'
My mother shook her head wearily, but my father rolled his eyes and winked at me. His vexation
was clearly short-lived.
'What did Mr. Swain tell the man?' I asked.
'Harry told him there was no man by that name in these parts,' my father answered with a
chuckle.
 Osmington Mills was a tiny place, and its inhabitants were wary of strangers, especially those who
arrived unannounced and asked questions without giving any explanation of themselves.
'Do you think he will come back?' I asked.
‘No,’ replied my father. ‘Harry bade him be on his way, and none too kindly, he said. We don't
want those sorts poking their noses into our business and whipping up dissent.'
My father seemed convinced that the man had nothing to do with smuggling, and that reassured
me somewhat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than what he believed.
'I wish I could have seen him for myself,' I thought as I climbed the stairs to bed later that night.
Lizzie was asleep as I slipped quietly round the curtain to my side of the room. It was already
dark, and a little slither of moon was just visible through the nodding branches of the oak tree outside the
window. I glanced across to the bundle of blankets in the corner where the box was hidden. I knew I
would have to decide what I was going to do with it soon. It couldn't stay hidden in the corner forever. I
sighed.
'Reverend Crocombe would know what to do,’ I thought as I settled down to sleep, but a strange
reluctance to share the secret of the box made me think otherwise. In truth, I was beginning to wish I
hadn't found it at all, despite the fascination it held. Something warned me that trouble would come of it.
I tossed and turned until my mind was made up. I decided I would leave early the next morning,
before anyone else was awake, and return the box to the cave. Perhaps for fear of being reprimanded for
hiding it in the first place or for other reasons entirely, I wasn't sure, but I was certain that I didn't want
Lizzie or my mother and father to know anything about it.
 Chapter 3

It was cold and foggy when I woke the next morning. I opened the curtain and peeped out at the garden.
The old oak tree was soaked in dew, and the grass glistened with beads of moisture.
I threw on my clothes and slipped quietly out of the cottage with the box tucked under my jacket.
No one would wonder where I was or why I had left so early; I often did in order to comb the beach for
flotsam after a shipwreck.
At the end of the garden, I opened the gate into the lane then shut it softly behind me, careful
not to let it clang. It was just beginning to get light as I made my way down the lane with Peggy trotting
beside me. The murmur of the sea as the tide crept out and the rustling of birds in the hedgerows were
the only sounds to be heard. It was too early for anyone to be out, but a peculiar feeling that I was being
watched crept over me quite suddenly. I paused and looked about. A fox returning late to its den crossed
the lane and disappeared into the fields behind the cottages, but the rest of the world seemed still and
silent, indifferent to the man that appeared suddenly from out of the fog. He was tall and wore a great
black cloak and capotain hat. His boots reached to his knees and were caked in mud. He stopped a few
yards from me. It was difficult to see his face, but he looked at me for a few seconds before he spoke.
'Thomas Wild,' he said.
'No, sir,' I stammered. He unnerved me, but I had my wits about me enough to remember what
my father told me last night. With that, I put my head down and moved to pass the stranger.
My heart thudded as I hurried down the lane. The man didn’t move as I passed him. I wondered
if he had carried on his way, but I didn't dare look back.
'Thomas Wild,' he said again.
My heart almost leapt into my mouth. I wanted to run, but my legs stopped without me knowing
quite why. Peggy whimpered and tucked her tail between her legs.
'I am looking for Thomas Wild,' said the man. He had turned around and was facing me now. It
would have been a good time to run, but my will seemed to have abandoned my body, and I stood quite
still staring back at the stranger.
'You are Thomas Wild, are you not?' said the man, taking a step towards me.
I could do little more than point back down the lane towards the cottage. 'My father,' was all I
managed to say.
'No, I am looking for Thomas junior,' said the man. 'Are you Thomas Wild?'
I nodded then immediately regretted it. 'Why ever did I tell him that?' I thought as soon as I had
done it
'Good,' said the man. 'I believe you have something that belongs to me.'
He strode towards me and snatched the box from me, stuffing it under his left arm. With his free
hand, he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and marched me down the lane to where a coach and two
horses waited. I yelled and struggled, but he held me tight. In the harbour below, a few fishing boats
glided out to sea, but the men in them were too far away to hear me shout.
The coach door was open, and the man thrust me in. Two lengths of rope and a strip of linen lay
on the seat, with which he bound my hands and feet together and gagged me. He shut the door and
moved round to the front of the coach, seating himself on the basket. With a flick of the horses' reigns
we were moving. Outside, I could hear Peggy barking as she chased the coach.
I couldn't raise myself to see out of the window, but I knew the land well enough to tell where
we were going for several miles. The coach bumped along, the wheels snagging a stone every few yards
until the lane broadened into a road that was smoother and better maintained. Then I heard the crack of a
whip, and the horses broke into a run. I hardly dared to hope they would stop as I lay on the floor of the
coach and wondered what would become of me.
The jolts of the coach where it hit a pothole made me feel quite sick. I tried to pull myself up
onto the seat and attract the attention of a passing coach or rider, but movement was rendered virtually
impossible with neither my hands nor feet free to provide some leverage, and the knots that bound me
were hopelessly tight.
Quite soon I had lost all sense of direction. We had left the roads I knew, and Osmington Mills
was now far behind us. A few times I heard the clip of horses' hooves or the rattle of wheels from
another coach as it passed us by, but they disappeared as the coach raced on. I hoped the speed with
which we were travelling would cause one of its wheels to fall off, or that the horses might get a stone in
their shoes, but my luck had abandoned me that morning.
At last, the coach slowed, and I could hear the cries of seagulls, carriages clattering down cobbled
streets, and the babble of many voices just outside. Through the window above me, I could see the tops
of tall brick buildings.
'Probably Weymouth,' I thought to myself. I had been there once before with my father. It had a
proper port and was much larger than Osmington Mills.
After a few minutes, the coach stopped, and I heard the man get down from the basket. A
second later, the door opened, and he unbound me, re-tying my wrists only so that I was free to walk.
The gag was left in place.
'Look you, boy. Don't try to run or otherwise draw attention to yourself,' he said as he hauled me
out of the coach and threw a very large cloak over me with a hood that reached down almost to my chin.
'Keep your head down.'
The man guided me through the streets and down to the harbour, with one hand firmly gripping
my shoulder. I did as I was instructed, but my eyes darted from side to side, desperately searching for an
opportunity to give him the slip if I possibly could. The streets teemed with people moving to and from
the harbour, and the commotion he would cause trying to restrain me would draw their attention. If I
could just find the right moment, I might be able to escape.
 We walked along a busy street lined with houses and shops. Beneath the hood, I glimpsed the
feet of people passing on either side. Here and there, the rows of buildings were interrupted by alleys and
side roads opening out onto the main street, but each time we passed one a carriage would rattle past or a
lady and gentleman would stroll by arm-in-arm blocking my escape. My heart pounded. The cries of the
sea gulls and the voices of the sailors in the harbour were getting closer. My window of opportunity was
closing fast.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a narrow passageway between the buildings to my right.
One or two men sat on top of barrels of beer outside the entrance of an inn, but otherwise the way was
clear. Seizing my chance at once, I ducked out of the man’s grasp and swerved to the right. He lunged
after me, cursing under his breath, but I was too quick for him. I bolted down the passageway and
sprinted down the adjoining lane, too terrified to look back until I had cleared the next few streets.
The noise of the main street was distant now, and there was no sound of pursuit. I leaned my
back against a wall and tore the gag from my mouth. My pulse thudded in my ears as beads of sweat
trickled down my forehead. I glanced up and down the street I found myself in. It was deserted except for
a black cat sitting on a wall on the opposite side. I had no idea in which direction Osmington Mills lay,
but it seemed sensible to get as far away as possible from the place where I had made my escape. I had
evaded pursuit, but there was no telling whether the man would come after me. He would know that I
couldn't have gone far.
Just as I considered this possibility, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and held me firmly.
'I warned you not to run,' said a familiar voice.
My heart leapt into my throat. The man spun me round and dragged me back towards the
harbour by my collar. A menacing tone coloured his voice, and I dared not resist.
'Hurry! The ship is waiting for us,' he said.
 Chapter 4

I sat in the cabin with my head in my hands. My feet and wrists were bound again, and the door was
bolted from outside. The noise of the harbour grew fainter as the ship slid out to sea. There was no
window in the cabin and no lantern, and so I sat in darkness, listening to the mice scurrying about all
around me.
At last, I heard the door above deck open and heavy footsteps on the stairs. A second later the
man entered carrying a lantern, which he hung from a hook in the ceiling. He removed his hat, revealing
his face clearly for the first time. His hair was of a light brown colour and closely cropped to his head. At
the crown it was thinning ever so slightly, though there wasn't a trace of grey in it or the neatly-trimmed
beard and mustache that framed his mouth. His face and dark eyes were only faintly lined. He looked to
be about the same age as my father.
'No doubt you are wondering who I am?' he said with a wry smile.
I nodded.
'My name is Emerson Prye,' he continued. 'I apologise for the manner in which you have been
conducted here, but the order I belong to operates under a high degree of secrecy, and they are eager to
speak to you.'
'Why, sir? Who are they?' I asked.
'You will find out soon enough,' replied Emerson, moving towards the door. 'For now, suffice to
say that we are taking the quickest route to ensure you are not held for too long in unnecessary suspense.'
'Please, sir, where are we going?'
'We are bound for London,' replied Emerson. He had ducked out of the cabin before I could
question him any further.
The ship was now far from the harbour, and the sea grew choppier. I could feel it roll each time a
particularly large wave broke. Were I not used to such conditions from when I accompanied my father on
fishing trips, I would have felt quite seasick. Nonetheless, I wished I was above deck. The lantern that
Emerson had left behind swung as the ship lilted this way and that and sent shadows wagging across the
walls of the tiny cabin. It was unnerving to be below the surface when the sea was so rough. I would
rather feel the spray on my face and the wind in my hair. I felt quite helpless tied up and forgotten about
below deck.
It was difficult to keep track of the time of day in the windowless cabin, but I guessed that the
rest of the day and night had passed before I noticed that the sea grew noticeably calmer, and the ship
seemed to glide along without even a murmur of wind. Sea gulls screamed outside, and every so often the
rattle of a carriage or the indistinct shouts of people would reach into the little cabin.
'It must be a mighty big harbour,' I thought.
 At last the ship put down its anchor, and Emerson appeared at the door once again. He unbound
my ankles and helped me to my feet.
'Now listen, lad, you are in London. Don’t go trying your luck again. It will only go ill for you.
Keep close.'
I followed him up the steps and out onto the deck and looked about in awe. The ship was
anchored in a river of polluted brown water, and the sea had vanished. Rain drizzled down, and a mist
hung in the air that even the brightest sunlight seemed incapable of penetrating. The sky above was laden
with thick, grey clouds which emptied their load onto the bowed heads of the people at work on the
docks, their faces set into permanent grimaces as they battled through wind and rain and the reek of
rotting waste.
It was a miserable sight, yet in spite of its grimness I couldn't deny that it was the most bustling
place I had ever seen. Around twenty other ships were anchored before the earth ramparts and
interconnected wooden platforms that stretched out into the river. Vessels of all sizes, from great barges
to little fishing boats, glided up and down the river in a constant procession, and all around the air was
filled with the sound of people. Men rolling barrels loaded and unloaded the ships moored beside the one
we had just disembarked from, and naval officers in their dazzling uniforms strode idly about. I had never
seen such a sight in all my life. I wondered if the place was ever still or silent.
'This way,' said Emerson, tugging me towards a waiting coach.
He bundled me in, and at once we were moving. The driver needed no direction. He drove us
through the noisy, congested streets, lined with timber-framed buildings, and the winding alleyways where
children played amid the stench of human and animal waste. Quite soon, I lost all sense of which
direction we were travelling in until I caught a glimpse of the river once again away to the left.
We had left the cramped and dirty streets around the docks behind and were now moving
through quiet roads made up of mostly larger and smarter buildings. I stared out of the coach window as
they flashed by, but Emerson looked straight ahead, apparently taking no further notice of me until the
coach stopped. The driver remained seated, and Emerson leapt out, dragging me with him.
I glanced about to see that we had reached the end of a narrow, cobbled lane lined with large but
rather unassuming buildings. The end of the lane was occupied by a mansion set a little apart from the
rest of the buildings. It adjoined an archway to the left, which looked like it once supported a gate or
portcullis. The building itself was reached by a short flight of wide steps and was built of smooth, pale
stone that marked it out against the wooden structures of the other buildings in the lane. A single black
door and long, shuttered windows made up the otherwise plain facade. But for its size, it looked
altogether un-extraordinary.
Emerson strode up the steps, keeping one hand on my shoulder, and hammered on the door
with the brass knocker. A moment later the door slid open just enough to allow us through then shut
again behind us.
'This is the Gatehouse of the Guild of Gatekeepers,' said Emerson.
 I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the space behind the door. The ordinariness of
the exterior of the building belied the grandeur of its interior. It was a hall of immense size with an
intricate tiled floor and was lit by many-branched candelabras arranged between vaulted arches which
bordered the hall on either side. The shadowy spaces beyond were too dark to see into, but draughts of
cold air emanated from them and swept across the back of my neck. I shuddered a little, imagining
cloaked figures armed with sharp blades lurking in the darkness, but the thought quickly dissipated as
Emerson stepped aside, revealing the vast empty floor of the hall stretching out before an immensely
grand and imposing staircase.
It ascended to a gallery where a man with a long dark beard, flecked with grey, leaned against the
balustrade and looked down at us. He was past middle age, but powerfully built and un-stooped by age.
In spite of the darkness, I felt his eyes penetrate the gloom and settle upon me.
'Is this the boy?' he asked without taking his eyes off me.
'Yes, Keeper,' replied Emerson.
The man frowned and stared at me for a few more moments before leaving the gallery and
making his slow, steady descent of the stairs. My heart thudded in my chest; each beat seemed to match
the man's steps as he made his way towards me. In the candlelight, I saw that he wore a tippet of black
cloth over his dark robe, with a golden butterfly embroidered upon each shoulder. Around his neck, he
wore a clear crystal amulet upon a long silver chain.
The man stopped and reached for the box that Emerson held. He lifted the first lid then drew
the amulet from around his neck. The tip of the crystal touched the surface of the second, plain lid
somewhere in the centre, and a faint white light lit up the shadowy hall for a few moments before he
opened it and quickly glanced inside. His face bore no reaction to what he saw, but he shut the box
immediately and then turned to me.
'Where did you find this?' His demeanour had changed, and he bristled with anger. I could barely
keep my knees from giving way beneath me in fright.
'In a cave, sir,' I replied as best I could.
'You have tried to break into it, haven't you?' the man snapped.
'Yes, sir,' I squeaked. I hadn't the nerve to lie, though I immediately knew I had given the wrong
answer, judging by the man's reaction.
'Kill him and dispose of the body in the river,' he said to Emerson as he turned and strode back
up the stairs.
Chapter 5

I let out a muffled yell as I moved to dodge past Emerson towards the door.
'Silence!' Emerson hissed as he clapped his hand over my mouth and held me back by my collar.
'Keeper,' he called out as the man ascended the staircase.
The man stopped and turned slightly by way of acknowledgement.
 Emerson continued. 'I haven't yet chosen my successor for the order after I die. Am I correct in
asserting the choice is mine alone?'
'You are,' replied the man.
'Then I choose this boy, Thomas Wild,' Emerson replied firmly.
The man turned and fixed his keen eyes upon Emerson. In the half-light, I could see a curious
smile playing on his lips. I shuddered, but Emerson gazed back without flinching as he and the man
stared at each other for a few moments, neither giving way to the other. The air tingled with anticipation,
but at last the older man spoke.
'Very well, Emerson,' he said. 'For good or ill, the choice is yours. I hope you will not come to
regret it.' With that, he swept through the gallery and was gone.
It was a few moments before I realised Emerson was speaking to me. My legs trembled, and my
head felt light and giddy.
'You have had a lucky escape,' he said. 'That man is William Devere, the Keeper of the Guild of
Gatekeepers. There is no clemency for those whom he condemns to death, and their fate is not at all
pleasant.'
'Please, sir,' I said, recovering my voice. 'What is the Guild of Gatekeepers, and why have I been
brought here?'
Emerson smiled at me grimly. 'Follow me,' he replied.
I followed him across the hall, beneath one of the arches and along a passageway with an arched
ceiling that resembled a portico or cloister. He stopped before one of several doors and opened it onto a
dark ante chamber lit only by the bit of fire that crackled in the tiny hearth. Its light sent black shadows
dancing across the walls which were filled with row upon row of books, scrolls and codices. He crossed
the room and drew back the heavy drapes that hung across a long, shuttered window. Daylight streamed
through the slats and offered a little more respite from the darkness.
Emerson stood before one of the shelves and paused for a moment before lifting one particularly
ancient-looking volume off the shelf and opening it out upon a table in the centre of the room. He leafed
through the pages for a few moments then stopped and pointed to something. I peered over his shoulder
and saw that he pointed to an exquisitely delicate illustration of a butterfly, the very same as the one
embroidered on William Devere's tippet.
'The gatekeeper butterfly,' he said, 'from which the Guild of Gatekeepers takes its name. It is a
common sight in England and is the secret insignia of the Guild. What I am about to tell you will change
your life forever, Tom, but before I do so you have a choice to make: you may leave this room now and
meet your death in the labyrinth below this Gatehouse, or you may accept my nomination and agree to
become an initiate of the Guild of Gatekeepers and my successor after my death. You may not return to
your home or speak with your family ever again. They will be informed of your death and paid an annuity
in recompense for their loss, but if you attempt to communicate with them or discuss the Guild with an
outsider both your life and your family's will be forfeit. Which is it to be?'
 The orange glow from the dying fire gave his face a ghastly appearance and cast deep shadows
beneath his brows. I stared at the flames. Though I couldn't see them, I felt his eyes upon me as I tried to
make sense of the tangle of thoughts that whirled through my mind, but each time I tried to vocalise one,
it slipped from my grasp like smoke dissipating in the air.
'Sir, I don't understand what business this is of mine,' I said at last.
Emerson gazed at me for several moments. I wished I could see his eyes and make a guess at
what he was thinking, but only a slither of daylight crept through the shutters to mitigate the darkness
where the firelight did not extend. At last, he shut the book and smiled at me, and his face softened.
''Tis unfortunate you picked up that box,' he said. 'It is forbidden for any outside the Guild to live
that see or learn anything of our activities. The secrecy which we operate under may seem excessive, but it
is necessary. Had you not found it, I have no doubt you would have lived out an unremarkable life in
Osmington Mills, but now and then fate likes to try us with something wholly absurd or unexpected. I
believe there may be a reason why you have ended up here in the Gatehouse of the Guild of Gatekeepers,
but only time will tell. Still, you haven't yet answered my question: what is your decision?'
I thought of my mother and father, Lizzie and all my friends in Osmington Mills. Whichever
choice I took, it was beyond doubt I would never see them again. I knew my mother would take it
hardest, but she still had Lizzie and my father. It was hopeless and dangerous to consider agreeing to
Emerson's offer and then attempting to return home; I had little doubt William Devere and his sinister
associates would be as good as their word, and I shuddered to think by what means death would be
meted out to me and my family. I wondered what Emerson had meant about meeting my death in the
labyrinth, but I had no desire to find out just yet.
All the practical considerations pointed squarely to the acceptance of his offer being the most
sensible decision, but being the son of a smuggler, I had been endowed with an adventurous spirit, and as
Emerson spoke of intrigues and illicit activities, I felt an overwhelming desire to learn more and become
part of that world. His comment about my unremarkable life vexed me somewhat, and I longed to escape
the seemingly inexorable plod through an uneventful, rustic life as a fisherman and small-time smuggler.
In truth, it was this, rather than any selfless considerations, that really made up my mind.
'I will be your successor after you die, sir,' I said at last. 'But what do I do until then?'
'A sensible decision,' said Emerson. 'Tomorrow, you will pledge your word to the Guild before
the Keeper, but for now, I will instruct you in its history and purpose. There is much for you to learn.'
 Chapter 6

Emerson lifted another immense volume from among the rows of books and set it down on the table
with a thud. Specks of dust drifted up into the air, illuminated by a finger of light that cast a pale gleam
upon the table.
'Have you been to school, lad?' he asked.
‘No, sir, but Reverend Crocombe taught me my letters,' I replied.
He nodded. ‘And what do you know of history?' he asked.
'Only that God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh,' I replied, feeling
suddenly very inadequate.
'Nothing of ancient Greece or Egypt?' asked Emerson as he turned the pages gingerly.
'No, sir,' I replied.
''Tis to be expected, I suppose,' he sighed. He found the page he was looking for and beckoned
me closer. 'The library of Alexandria was the greatest centre of learning the world has ever known- have
you heard of it?'
I shook my head.
'It was established under Ptolemy Lagides while he was ruler of Egypt before the time of Christ.
Every great thinker of the time studied there; they flocked from across the ancient world to read from the
library's thousands of scrolls and codices, exchange ideas with one another, and study the movement of
celestial bodies from its astronomy towers. However, what is less well known about the library is the vast
collection of magical texts it housed. In the ancient world, magic was considered a science as well
regarded as mathematics or medicine and was widely practised, from the simple everyday sort to the most
powerful high magic, or heka as it was known to the Egyptians. High magic cannot be destroyed or
created. It was present at the beginning of time and has built and destroyed empires since then. Its power
is beyond measure.'
Emerson stopped and eyed me closely. 'You understand that magic is real?' he asked.
'I cannot say, sir,' I replied. 'To be truthful, I've never thought on it, but if you say so then I'll
own that it is.'
'How can you own that something is real on another man's testimony only?' he snapped. His eyes
blazed for a moment then his voice softened. 'If you are to become a magician then you must never
accept without questioning.'
'A magician, sir?' I gasped.
'Aye, that is what the Guild is: the custodian of the last remnants of magic left in this world. Its
members are magicians, but before I instruct you in the Guild's history, you must understand that magic
does not belong to this world. It defies logic and reason precisely because it is of another place entirely
and is not confined by the limitations of this world.
 'There are other realms beyond this one from which magic seeps. In ancient times, the bounds
through which it flowed were porous, and it abounded. But by our very nature, humans are destructive.
What was a gift from worlds far superior to ours was abused by war, avarice and revenge, and so the
magical realms sealed their boundaries, though the passage of magic into this world could not be stopped
altogether and it continues to this day to trickle through in places to be harnessed by those who know
how. Nonetheless, magic quickly became little more than a vague memory, and those beings of a magical
nature were removed from this world in what came to be known as the Banishment.
'Now, while magic was still in abundance, a great many texts and objects pertaining to it came to
be housed at the library of Alexandria in Egypt. Alas, it was destroyed by fire, leaving no trace of what
once had been. However, there was a man by the name of Amosis, the gatekeeper of the city of
Alexandria. Though he was a simple man of no great status, he could read and write- an unusual skill
among ordinary folk -and he spent every spare hour in the library reading through the manuscripts. After
its destruction, he set about recording all he had learnt for posterity.
‘Amosis spent the rest of his life carefully relating what he had learnt for the benefit of others.
After his death, he instructed his sons to have copies of his manuscripts made in order to preserve this
world's magical heritage. The manuscripts were smuggled across Europe along with one curious object
that had survived the library's destruction: a portion of a dragonskin.’
Emerson turned a few pages and stopped at the image of a dragon with its tail coiled around a
sword stuck upright in the ground. ‘Greatest and most wondrous of all the library’s treasures: a skin of a dragon,’ he
read aloud from the short passage beside it, then he shut the book and looked at me.
‘Dragons were created from the highest, most potent form of magic. Of all magical creatures,
they were the most powerful. Upon their death, a tiny portion of high magic lingers in their skin. Tiny it
is, though it is still more powerful than all the lesser magic in all the realms. The skins were highly prized
for this purpose, and they were used for spell casting, for words written upon them are imbued with
magic. That skin brought from Alexandria was the last remaining in this world. All the riches in all the
world were as withered leaves in comparison to that small slither of skin, but alas it has now been lost.'
I glanced at Emerson. The sorrow in his face was unmistakable.
'Eventually, some sixty years after Amosis' death, the dragonskin and his precious manuscripts
made their way to England. So was the Guild of Gatekeepers founded, presided over by the first Keeper.
Small wonder the Guild should find its home in England, a land with an already rich magical history,
where fairies, pixies and other wild folk haunted the deep forests or lonely crags and hillsides, a land
dotted with barrows, standing stones and sacred groves left behind by people with a deep understanding
of and profound attachment to magic. These people were our forebears, and we, the Guild, have existed
ever since the most ancient past. When the Viking invaders first landed on the shores of England, we
were there. When William of Normandy defeated Harold Godwinson, and when the Magna Carta was
signed at Runnymede, we were there. We have been waiting in the shadows from the very beginnings of
English society.'
 Emerson paused and sighed deeply. ''Tis a curious thing that the things we least understand we
fear the most. So it was with magic. After the Banishment, memories of magic quickly faded, and it came
to be considered evil out of fear. Those that preserved what was left of it were ostracised, even killed.
Europe was entering its dark age: Rome had fragmented, disease and famine were rife, and kings of petty
kingdoms made war with one another while knowledge, learning and beauty fell into decay. A climate of
fear and suspicion bred hatred of all that could not be explained, and those that still preserved magic were
blamed for the peoples' woes. They were rounded up and executed one by one for witchcraft. Europe
was tearing itself apart and sliding backwards into forgetfulness.
'The gatekeepers looked on in dismay as the magic they had so carefully preserved since Amosis'
day was gradually being lost, remembered only in the ancient manuscripts held in the Gatehouse library.
Like so much of the remnants of magic that still lingered in the world, in order to survive the Guild had
no choice but to retreat into the shadows. The secrecy under which we have operated since that time has
rendered us undetectable and therefore unanswerable.'
Emerson paused and gave me a wry smile. 'Of course, secrecy can only do so much, and it
requires wits and plain good sense to survive in these troubled times.'
I felt a little overwhelmed. None of Emerson's talk about libraries and history conveyed much to
me, but the mention of dragons had piqued my curiosity. I had always thought of them as nothing more
than the stuff of legends, even in spite of the image of St. George slaying the dragon depicted so vividly
in the stained glass of the window in the vestry of the church of St. Osmund back home.
‘Sir, if the dragonskin was so precious, how did it come to be lost?’ I asked.
‘Alas, that remains a mystery,’ replied Emerson. ‘It would take a creature of pure magic to find
the dragonskin now, if it even still exists. Before the Banishment, this world was inhabited by numerous
magical beings and creatures besides dragons, but they have long gone. Only one now remains.'
'And what is that, sir?' I asked.
'The Shadow Horse,' he replied. 'Come and see.'
I peered over the book he had opened in front of him and gazed at the image on the page. It was
a horse of the most marvellous sort, drawn by hand in coloured ink. Its coat was silver-grey, extending to
the darkest shades of night in its mane and tail. Its wide nostrils blazed with white flames that swept
around the long, graceful muzzle, and from its mane, white flames also streamed.
‘'Twas a creature both beautiful and terrible,’ said Emerson. ‘It could outrun even a falcon on the
wing for days without rest on account of the fire that burnt within it. It was known to kill young dragons,
such was its strength, yet the lightness of its tread and its ability to render itself almost invisible by night
with its changing coat earned it the name of the Shadow Horse. The pure breeds have long since vanished
from Earth; the last one lies enchanted upon White Horse Hill in the parish of Uffington. It escaped the
Banishment and was put into an enchanted slumber by the founding Guild members, only to be awoken
if the very survival of magic is in jeopardy. Thus, it appears as a figure cut into the chalk of the hill, but its
mixed-blood descendants still roam the far northern wildernesses on the shores of the Arctic Sea. They
have not the power of their ancestors yet still retain their wildness and ability to pass unseen at will. When
a new initiate makes their pledge to the Guild, it is weighed against a single hair from the mane of the last
true Shadow Horse. Those whose pledge is heavier than the hair are deemed to be untruthful and are put
to death. You will see tomorrow when you take your pledge to the Guild.'
I gulped. I hadn't yet escaped the threat of imminent death it seemed. I gazed at the exquisite
drawing before me. The image seemed to lift off the page and burn into my mind. It filled my vision as
the horse galloped across the surface, its mane of flames streaming out behind it. I shuddered and forced
myself to look away.
'Please, sir,' I asked. 'Why was I brought here? I meant to return the box to the cave.'
'You saw too much. The Guild has survived thus far solely on account of the secrecy it
maintains. I saw you upon the beach, and you saw me though you did not realise it at the time. I could
have killed you there and then, but I don't like to kill unless absolutely necessary, especially considering
you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time- or the right place at the right time as it may turn
out. Only time will tell, I suspect.' He had a strange gleam in his eye as he spoke.
'Sir, what was in the box?' I asked, emboldened by Emerson's candidness.
'Private business I am conducting on behalf of the Keeper,' he replied brusquely. He shut the
book and quickly replaced it on the shelf.
 Chapter 7

'I will show you to your accommodation. Your initiation will be at dawn tomorrow. I shall
discuss what will be required of you before then,’ said Emerson as he led me out of the library and back
into the hall. Beneath one of the arches on the opposite side, he opened a door and showed me into a
long dormitory furnished with rows of beds and a washstand below the window. Like all the rest of the
windows in the building, it too was shuttered. On top of the washstand, an empty basin and jug for water
had been left.
'You may stay here or go back into the library,' said Emerson. 'Do as you please, but I
recommend you acquaint yourself with some of the books in the library.’
I nodded. Emerson stopped in the doorway.
'I will have food sent to you; you will be hungry after our journey, I expect. Use this time wisely. I
will be back after sundown to discuss the initiation ceremony with you.'
With that, he left, shutting the door behind him. I perched on the end of one of the beds and
looked about. An oil lamp sat in an alcove, but I could find neither tinder box or matches with which to
light it. I was considering going back to the library when there came a knock on the door followed a
moment later by a girl about my age who bobbed into the room holding a candle and a tray laden with
bread, cheese and a mug of beer.
She was quite small and delicate-looking, with an angular face into which were set two round eyes
of the clearest blue, but her complexion was that of one who is rarely outdoors. Her hair was tucked into
a coif which was fastened beneath her chin, but a few flaxen wisps had escaped and framed her smiling
face.
'Hello,' she said, setting the candle in the alcove and the tray on the edge of one of the beds. 'I'm
Eliza Ellery. You must be Tom Wild.'
'Yes,' I replied. 'Are you here to be initiated too?'
Eliza laughed and sat down on the bed beside the tray, drawing her knees up under her chin. 'Oh
no,' she said. 'My father is the weaver, and I am his apprentice. He is at market buying cloth and thread
today. Here, you must be hungry.'
'What does he weave?' I asked, digging in eagerly.
'Has Emerson not explained?' asked Eliza.
'Explained what?' I asked with a mouthful of food.
'Oh well, I may as well tell you. They are scarcely likely to throw me in the labyrinth for it if they
want to keep their apprentice weaver! Guild members are each assigned a discipline. The three senior
members are assigned one of the high disciplines: alchemy and rituals, astronomy, and divination and
illusions. Emerson is the Guild's alchemist and rituals master, a man named Clement Atwood the
astronomer, and the Guild's only female full member is Bridget Blyth, the illusionist. She is a gifted artist
and can bring her creations to life with magic.
'Besides those three, there are seven junior members: one for each of the seven mechanical arts.
My father is the Vestarian, the weaver. He weaves all the Guild's textiles: cloaks that protect the wearer
better than plate mail, dowsing threads- whatever is required. He is weaving a set of sails that will make
the ship that bears them unsinkable. He is purchasing the sea silk that will be used to weave them today.'
'What do the other junior members do?' I asked, intrigued and thoroughly delighted to have
encountered someone so forthcoming with information about the shadowy group I had found myself
entangled with.
'Let me see,' said Eliza. 'There is the Metallician, or the iron magician, whose weapons are
unbreakable and horseshoes never need replacing. The Venatorian studies hunting magic- do you know
there are paintings in caves from thousands of years ago which were painted as part of magic spells to
ensure a successful hunt?'
I shook my head.
'Then there is the Agriculturian; he mostly studies plants and herbs, and he grows everything
needed for spells. I believe he's also dabbling in a bit of weather magic too.
'The last three are the Architecturian- the first Architecturian of the Guild built the labyrinth
below this Gatehouse -the Coquinarian, who cooks all of our meals, and the Mercaturian. He used to
trade for the Guild all over Europe and the East, but he died a few months ago and has never been
replaced. I don't know why. I liked him; often he would allow me to watch him at work in his study. He
was the best magician of all. He made spy lenses that could see around corners and magnify objects that
were invisible to the naked eye, and he used to make the most wonderfully accurate watches, compasses
and astrolabes for his travels. Far better than anything even the King's navigators possess! Touching on
the King, Devere was his private magician until lately on account of this awful business with the war. I
don't suppose Emerson told you that either?'
I shook my head. The more I learned, the more extraordinary the Guild of Gatekeepers seemed.
'Come,' said Eliza, jumping to her feet. 'I'll show you the weaving room.'
She led me back out into the hall and along the vaulted passageway.
'Eliza, what is the labyrinth? Both you and Emerson have spoken of it, and Emerson said I
would meet my death there if I didn't become his successor.'
Eliza paused at the door she was about to open. 'It is a maze below the Gatehouse that is said to
house an unknown terror. Members or initiates who break the Guild's code of secrecy, or anyone who
falls foul of the Guild, is sent there to their death.'
'Does anyone know what the terror is?' I asked.
'The Keeper does, but no one else knows for sure. Some say it is a monstrous beast. Come, let
me show you this!' said Eliza, evidently done with the conversation.
 She pushed open the door and stepped aside. I glanced about at the workshop I now stood in. A
weaving loom, spinning wheel and stool stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by baskets of un-
spun flax, and from hooks in the ceiling hung several great swathes of cloth. Their threads shimmered
with colours of every hue as they swayed softly in a barely perceptible draught. I gasped as Eliza held her
candle aloft and realised the different cloths were in fact all one, though where the light of the candle
shone upon it, it seemed to vanish, rendering the cloth invisible.
'It is an optics shroud,' said Eliza. 'It works by reflecting the light around it to make whatever it
covers appear almost invisible.' She placed her hand beneath it, and at once both it and the shroud
disappeared, leaving behind only a faint impression that shimmered slightly in the candlelight. I stepped
forward for a closer look, but I dared not touch the cloth.
'It works better in natural light,' she said.
'Does it work at night?' I asked.
'Only by moonlight, though the effect is not as good as by day,' replied Eliza. 'You can see even
by candlelight it does not render the thing it covers completely invisible. Likewise, by night it leaves only a
faint, ghostly impression rather than producing full invisibility.'
'Is it real?' I asked. 'I mean.... the magic- is it really just a trick?'
'No, it’s not a trick,' replied Eliza, 'but I suppose magic is the wrong word for it. All of the
mechanical disciplines of magic were practised thousands, even hundreds of years ago. It is only because
people have forgotten and therefore don't understand it now that it seems magical.'
'What is that?' I asked, suddenly distracted by the scent of a summer garden which came wafting
through the room.
'Oh, that is just something I made. I embroidered some of the threads my father had finished
with,' replied Eliza, lifting a small square sampler out of a sewing basket to show me. Upon it, she had
embroidered rows of roses, lavenders and daisies.
I lifted the cloth to my nose and sniffed.
'How does it work?' I asked, bewildered.
'Magic!' Eliza grinned. ‘Come, I'll introduce you to the other junior members. I’m afraid the
senior members will be holed up with the Keeper for hours yet.'
'What about Emerson? He said I should use this time to study in the library'
'Never mind that,' replied Eliza. 'I’ll take you back to the library afterwards. Follow me.'
 Chapter 8

Eliza led me back into the passageway and stopped before the next door along. She knocked, but
there was no answer.
'This is the Venatorian's workshop,' she said, opening the door and standing aside to let me pass.
'Should we be here while he is gone?' I asked.
'He is rarely in his workshop,' replied Eliza. 'His is not the sort of magic one can practice indoors.
He is more often away in Epping Forest hunting.'
My eyes scanned the room before me and settled upon a shelf heaving with jars filled with
pickled heads, some vaguely human in appearance, others unlike any beast I had ever heard told of. I
shrank back and almost tripped over my feet as I made for the door. Eliza laughed.
‘Don’t worry, they’re long dead. They are the heads of all the monsters every Venatorian in the
Guild’s history has caught.’
I grimaced, embarrassed to have taken fright in front of Eliza. Anxious not to let her think me a
coward, I strode towards a table where an array of books lay open beside a brass bugle. Along the wall
above, a rack was furnished with pistols, spears and bows, and an array of knives. It was an unnerving
sight in a room I wasn't certain I should be in. Nonetheless, the topmost book on the pile had caught my
attention with its richly illustrated pages. I leaned over to admire the image of a group of men upon
horseback riding alongside a pack of hounds. The foremost man held a bugle to his mouth, and in the
trees ahead, a hart stopped in its flight and turned its head to listen to the sound.
''Tis said no animal can resist the sound of that bugle,' said Eliza, joining me at the table. 'The
Venatorian enchanted it to hypnotise any beast he pursues.'
'Does he still hunt monsters?' I asked.
'No, there are few left in the world now. He mostly hunts game or treasure and even enemies of
the Guild if the Keeper orders him to. That is a more specialised sort of magic, but he is excellent at it.
He could track a mouse from London to York on a week-old trail.’
I shuddered at the uncomfortable thought of being hunted down by a magician armed with any
one of the weapons on the wall above me. 'Perhaps we shouldn't pry any further,' I said, eager to leave
the workshop as quickly as possible. Dead or not, I could feel the eyes of the heads in the jars upon me. It
was an unnerving feeling.
'Yes, you're right,' said Eliza. 'I've still the other junior members to introduce you to.'
The next room along was the workshop of the Agriculturian. Eliza knocked and was answered at
once by a voice from inside, bidding us enter.
The old man standing at the table that occupied much of the room was rather short and thin, a
little wisp of a man hunched by his work. His appearance immediately struck me as being at odds with his
vocation, for he had the look of one who is rarely outdoors, with pale, papery skin and sunken eyes which
peered over a pair of round spectacles that sat at the end of his hooked nose.
'Good afternoon, Eliza. Who is your companion?' he said, looking over the top of a lusty plant
that he was in the middle of pruning.
'This is Tom Wild. He is to be Emerson's apprentice,' replied Eliza.
'Well, well. 'Tis a brave man that will forsake his family and friends to join the Guild of
Gatekeepers. Have you a family, lad?' asked the Agriculturian.
'Yes, sir,' I replied. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how much I should reveal. Mercifully, Eliza
did not intend to merely exchange platitudes.
'Tom would very much like to see some of your magic,' she said to the Agriculturian. 'Have you
anything you could show him?'
'Aye, there is something I have been working on,' he replied, setting aside his secateurs and lifting
a sealed glass bell jar from a shelf behind him. It was stuffed with almanacs on everything from weather
watching to moon phases. Clasping the jar between his hands, he shook it vigorously then set it down on
the table before us. I looked into the glass and gasped in awe, for where it had been empty before, tiny
autumn leaves, no bigger than a speck of dust, swirled around the jar in a tempest whipped up by the
motion. Minute drops of water flecked the inside of the glass and trickled down the sides like rain on a
window pane.
'Tom, look,' said Eliza gesturing to the window.
I cried out in amazement, for outside the window a gale now howled, sending a torrent of fallen
leaves sailing through the air, and the rain that hadn't fallen since that morning now fell with renewed
vigour. The Agriculturian passed his hand over the jar, and at once the tempest inside it subsided.
Outside, the wind dropped, the rain ceased, and a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds in the late-
afternoon sky.
'Extraordinary!' exclaimed Eliza.
'We may never suffer another poor harvest again if I can get this exactly right,' said the
Agriculturian. 'It is still a touch unpredictable; when I tried to raise a light rain to water the herb garden
yesterday, I caused a three-minute heatwave on the west coast of Scotland!'
''Tis a fine achievement, nonetheless,' Eliza replied.
After we had said our goodbyes to the Agriculturian, Eliza took me to the Architecturian's studio
and the Coquinarian's kitchen before we reached the last workshop in the passageway: the Metallician's
forge. The heat from within could be felt even in the passageway, and the sound of hammering rang out
from behind the door.
'This is the Metallician’s forge,' said Eliza, stopping before the door. ‘We cannot enter while he is
at work, but I’m sure he won’t mind you having a peep.’
Eliza opened the door just a crack and stepped aside to allow me a look. Inside, a furnace blazed
in the midst of an extraordinary-looking forge. Along the walls, blades of every kind were hung amongst
chains, horseshoes and other strange objects forged of iron. Beside the furnace a man stood hammering a
blade into shape upon an anvil. He was shirtless on account of the heat, but over his breeches he wore a
long leather apron.
‘What is he making?’ I whispered.
‘He is forging a chain for the Venatorian that will only unlock on his command.’
The sound of the hammer rung in my ears and the heat from the furnace blasted my face. My
head swam through trying to absorb all the extraordinary things I had been shown. Each workshop
seemed to out-do the previous one in its variety of wonderful and bizarre feats of magic. ‘I had no idea
magic could be used in so many ways,’ I replied.
I shut the door softly and followed Eliza back down the passageway. 'Whose room is that?' I
asked as we passed the only door that I hadn't been beyond.
'Oh, that was the Mercaturian's study. It is locked now. Who knows when it will be open again,’
replied Eliza.
'Why didn't he have an apprentice?' I asked.
'I don't rightly know,' said Eliza. 'Not all Guild members have chosen theirs yet. He was often
away, and his death came very suddenly, but ’tis strange that he has never been replaced.’
Chapter 9

Back in the library, I pored over a stack of books that Eliza had recommended I look through before
Emerson came to find me. I could read, but I hated to. I was slow, and the words on the page seemed to
run into one another the more I forced myself to focus.
Most of the books were translations of texts held in the library of Alexandria and had been hand-
written by previous Guild members long before the printing press had been invented. The script was too
spiky, and the words too crowded to read in the dim light. At last, I gave up and looked at the woodcut
pictures instead; strange images of birds and animals, the sun, moon and planets mixed amongst the tools
of a laboratory. My eyes lingered upon each and took in the richness of their detail, of the splayed train of
a peacock and the rays of the sun beaming off the glass of a mirror and reflecting onto the bird’s feathers,
revealing all their glorious colours.
The room grew darker and the fire burned low. I looked away. It was too dark to read or look at
pictures any longer. Eliza had left to prepare the loom for weaving the sea silk when her father returned
from the market. Sitting alone in the darkness, I felt suddenly very homesick. The excitement of being
swept away to join a secret cabal of magicians was quickly ebbing away as I thought of my mother and
father and Lizzie. They would be worried about me; my father would probably be out scouring the beach
and caves, but he wouldn't find me.
The door opened suddenly, rousing me from my thoughts. Emerson set an oil lamp on the table
and handed me a shirt, jerkin and boots.
'Change into these,' he said. 'I will need your old clothes.'
 ‘Sir, what for?' I asked.
'To provide your parents with proof of your death. They will be told your clothes were found in a
bundle on the beach, and you are presumed drowned. I will speak to them personally.'
My heart sank like a leaden weight, and I hesitated before mechanically taking off my tatty jerkin
and boots and changing into the new things.
'I will ride to Osmington Mills tomorrow after your initiation at dawn,' said Emerson. 'Listen
closely; this is what will happen: all Guild members will be present, and the Keeper will invite you to
repeat an oath after him and pledge your loyalty to the Guild above all things. Your pledge will then be
weighed against a single hair from the tail of the Shadow Horse upon a set of scales. If it is of equal
weight- which I sincerely hope it will be -you will be admitted as an initiate. If not, you will be taken down
to the labyrinth, and I will not elaborate further on the sort of death that awaits you there.'
I shuddered at the reminder of what may yet await me, but I brushed it aside to ask the more
pressing question that consumed my thoughts. 'Please, sir, can.... can’t you tell my parents I have run
away?' I asked. 'I think they will take it easier, you see.'
'No,' replied Emerson. 'For their own sake, 'tis better they believe you are dead.'
I dared not argue further. My eyes felt hot with tears, but I blinked them back and bit my lip.
Emerson's words seemed to reach me as though through a fog which clouded my mind. I heard him, but
his words conveyed little meaning. The finality of my choice had only then dawned upon me, and I felt it
cut me like the swift stroke of an executioner's blade.
'After your initiation, I will begin your instruction in alchemy,' Emerson continued. 'There is a lot
for you to learn, though I hope you have given yourself a head start,' he said with a curl of his lip. I
wondered whether he knew I had not been in the library all afternoon, but he said nothing.
'I will wake you before dawn. Good night,' he said, shutting the library door behind him.
I stayed in the library for a few more minutes, alone with my thoughts as the oil lamp glowed
softly upon the open book before me. I gazed at diagrams that made little sense and read the occasional
passage which conveyed to me even less. At last, I decided it was probably late enough to go to bed and
slipped out of the library to the dormitory across the hall, taking the oil lamp with me.
I lay awake for a long while. The oil in the lamp was almost spent, and there was no more wood
to mend the fire. My thoughts turned to the horror that awaited me in the labyrinth if my pledge was not
deemed truthful. My stomach churned at the realisation that this could be my last night on earth. I
shivered and wondered how far I might get if I tried to escape. What a tale it would make when I got
home. The thought was tempting.
I got up and crossed the room to the window and tried the shutters. They were shut fast, but
above the window a small air vent, covered with a metal grille, looked out onto the cobbled lane that the
coach had driven down earlier that day. I craned my neck and peered out. The lane was deserted, and the
windows of the houses were dark. Wisps of cloud moved slowly across the thin slice of moon high above
the rooftops.
 'I wish I had never picked up the accursed box,' I muttered, shuffling back to bed.
Sleep must have found me some time later, for it felt like only a matter of minutes had passed
when I awoke to find Emerson shaking me.
'Get up,' he said, setting a candle in the alcove. 'It is time.'
My legs felt like they would give way beneath me at any moment, and my hands trembled as I
pulled on my breeches and buttoned up my shirt. Outside the dormitory, Emerson was waiting.
'Remember, it is a great honour to be initiated into the Guild of Gatekeepers,’ he said as he led
me to the foot of the staircase. ‘Fate has offered you a strong hand indeed. Do as the Keeper directs you,
and all will be well. I must now blindfold you, for none but fully initiated members may see beyond this
staircase.'
With that, he took a strip of cloth from his pocket and secured it around my eyes. With a firm
hand upon my shoulder, he led me slowly up the staircase, each step drawing me closer to my doom it
seemed. It took every scrap of my will to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we crossed the
gallery and into a room which I guessed must be quite large from the way the Keeper's voice echoed.
'Welcome, Tom Wild, to the Guild of Gatekeepers,' he said. 'Are you prepared for your
initiation?'
'Yes, sir,' I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I felt a hand on my arm- Emerson's I guessed
-and was guided to a chair, over which a great broadsword hung by a single thread.
'The sword which hangs over you is symbolic of the subtle craft and sharpness of mind of the
magician,' said the Keeper. 'It also represents the danger the Guild has faced throughout its history. We
exist on a knife edge, and our continued survival is dependent upon the integrity of each member. You
will now swear an oath to the Guild, which will be weighed for its sincerity. Repeat after me: I swear by
Almighty God....'
'I swear by Almighty God,' I repeated falteringly.
'.... in His presence and the presence of all Guild members....' the Keeper continued.
'.... in His presence and the presence of all Guild members....'
'.... that I renounce all others and will serve the Guild of Gatekeepers with the subtlety of my
mind and the strength of my sword.'
'.... that I renounce all others and will serve the Guild of Gatekeepers with the subtlety of my
mind and the strength of my sword.'
'.... until the end of my days,' finished the Keeper.
'.... until the end of my days,' I choked.
 Chapter 10

My throat was parched with nerves. Emerson stepped behind me and removed the blindfold. At once, I
saw that I was in a dark room, lit with a single candle upon a table. Beside it stood a small set of scales.
The Keeper drew a single white horse’s hair from a cloth bag and set it in one of the pans. I thought my
heart would burst out of my chest as I awaited the verdict. All eyes were fixed on the scales, but they
didn't move.
'Your pledge is truthful,' said the Keeper at last. 'I accept you as an initiate magician of the Guild
of Gatekeepers, to become a full member upon Emerson Prye's death.'
I almost fainted with relief. The terror of the labyrinth melted away at once.
'Use this time wisely,' said the Keeper. 'Your learning begins today, but it will last until the end of
your life. There is no room for horseplay. The circumstances of your admittance are unusual to say the
least, but that will not excuse you from the expectations placed upon you. The Guild requires absolute
obedience from its members and initiates.'
He gave me such a severe look that I shuddered and looked down at my feet in embarrassment.
Silence followed for a few moments, and I could feel his eyes upon me. Then he clapped his hands, and I
looked up at the sound of the shuffling of many feet. In the darkness, I hadn't noticed the other members
standing beyond the reach of the candlelight. Now they stepped forward and congratulated me on my
initiation, and the Keeper introduced each one by name and their discipline. I smiled courteously and
tried to focus on their words of congratulations and advice, but something in the way the Keeper looked
at me made me uneasy, and the voices around me seemed to blend into an incoherent babble. I looked
about for Emerson, but he had gone. He was already on his way to Osmington Mills.
'Hello, Tom. I am Bridget Blyth.' The woman who presented herself before me was beautiful by
even the most exacting standards, with ivory skin, rosebud lips and finely arched brows. Her shadowy
locks tumbled down her back and curled around her corseted waist.
'Hello, ma'am,' I stammered. ''Tis a pleasure to meet you.'
Bridget smiled enigmatically and extended one pale hand towards me. I pressed my hand into
hers to shake it and gasped, for in my palm I now held a pack of painted playing cards.
'A gift to welcome you to the Guild,' she said. 'Name any card.'
'Er, four of spades,' I replied.
'Now pick any card from the pack,' said Bridget.
I did as I was instructed and looked from the card in my hand to her face in suspicion, for the
card I had picked was indeed the four of spades.
'The suits and numbers change with the power of thought,' Bridget smiled.
'Thank you,' I mumbled, a little embarrassed.
'Would you like to see more?'
 I nodded, and she clapped her hands together then parted them slowly. From between her palms,
a shimmering golden butterfly emerged and fluttered towards me. Bridget raised her hand and the
butterfly floated upwards to the ceiling. She lowered her hand and the butterfly did likewise, almost
brushing the candle flames, and drifted past my face before it came to a stop hovering above her head.
Bridget clapped her hands once more and the butterfly vanished immediately.
'How...?' I began to ask, but before I had chance to finish my sentence, Bridget too was gone. I
spun round and scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be seen.
''Tis quite a feat you have achieved,' said a sly voice close to my ear.
I started and whirled round to see a broad, dishevelled-looking man with a thick beard and heavy
brows regarding me with his keen eyes. He wore a cocked hat, and his cloak, cape and riding boots were
badly weather-stained. He fingered the blade of a long hunting knife as he spoke. I recognised him at
once as the Venatorian, whom the Keeper had introduced me to just moments before.
'Pardon, sir, I don't quite follow your meaning,' I replied, still bewildered by Bridget's
disappearing act.
'Well, the son of a humble fisherman now an initiate of the most revered company of magicians
in Europe,' said the Venatorian with a half-mocking expression. 'Let us hope your intellect matches your
luck.' The look he gave me made it clear he was not hopeful that it did.
Anger surged in my stomach and hot tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to shout that I would give
all the privilege in the world to be back home with my family. I bit my lip and fought back the tears,
determined not to allow him to see how his words had cut me.
'I shall do my best, sir,' I replied stiffly.
With the initiation over, I was free to spend the rest of the morning studying. I sat in the library
with Eliza, but I was restless. I was used to physical work, the wind in my hair and the roar of the sea in
my ears, and so to find myself confined in a dark room, surrounded by books, with no natural light was
almost more than I could bear.
Eliza looked up from her book and sighed. 'You're going to have to learn to concentrate better.
You'll never learn a thing like that.'
'I would that I had had the chance to say goodbye,' I muttered, sitting back in my seat.
'To who?' asked Eliza, catching my words.
'My family,' I replied hesitantly. I hadn't really meant for Eliza to hear me. 'Emerson has gone to
inform them that I am dead to stop them from looking for me. Both they and I would be killed if ever
they should find me.'
Eliza set down her book and looked serious. 'It seems harsh, but it is to protect the Guild. We all
must abide by the same rules. It is absolute secrecy alone that has allowed the Guild to continue for so
long. The Keeper won't allow anything to jeopardise that.'
 'I know,' I murmured, burying my head in a book. There was no point brooding on the matter,
and complaining about it would achieve nothing. You have just got to make the best of it, son I remembered my
father telling me many times, though he was usually referring to bad weather when fishing.
'When do you think Emerson will return?' I asked.
'Maybe the day after tomorrow.' Eliza replied without looking up from her book.
After lunch, with her morning study done, Eliza went back to the weaving room to help her
father. I found myself alone once more. Emerson had left me a list of books to read while he was away,
and I reluctantly turned back to them. I had struggled with them all morning, but at last I settled into one
of the smaller volumes entitled Alchemy: an introduction.
'In its most basic form, alchemy concerns the purification and perfection of materials,' I recited under my
breath. 'In its highest form, it may be used to transform base metals into gold.' I sighed. 'I'll never remember this.'
For the rest of the afternoon, I occupied myself with my books, stopping occasionally to listen to
the sounds of people and carriages passing by outside the window. The Gatehouse was as dark and silent
as it had been on the previous day, and I wondered how the other members could stand it. The shuttered
windows and closed off rooms seemed ominous and forbidding, yet everything about the Guild that
seemed sinister and unsettling appeared not to trouble Eliza. She was like a ray of sunshine in the dark
disquiet of the Gatehouse, and a welcome companion.
Afternoon was giving way to evening outside, and the light in the little library was diminishing
fast. I blinked and looked around. It was too dark to read anymore. I gathered together my books and
returned them to their places on the shelves. As I set the last book in its place- a book of weaving magic
that Eliza had left out -it jerked from my hand and fell to the floor, open upon the first page. I stooped to
retrieve it and stared, puzzled, at the faint characters of a message at the top of the page that looked to
have been written by hand, though the script was faint and barely legible. It seemed almost to have
emerged from the paper itself and was written in a strong, graceful script.

Glove and Garter, Holborn. Help me! G.P.

 Chapter 11

I read the message back to myself a few times before shutting the book, puzzled. I didn't know what to
think of it, but perhaps Eliza would. I hesitated for a moment, considering whether to go and find her
there and then, when voices along the passageway outside stopped me.
One was definitely the Keeper's voice, but I didn't recognise the other. I crept closer to the door
and listened. It appeared the Keeper and another man were continuing a conversation that had started at
an earlier point.
‘Things are progressing well, I assure you,' said the Keeper.
‘Your assurances are beginning to sound hollow, Devere. You told me me nigh on three months
ago that you had the means to overthrow my enemies and ensure a swift victory,' said the stranger.
'Cromwell, I have given you my word,' replied the Keeper. 'It will not be much longer.'
'And I have given you mine,' replied Cromwell. 'You know well enough what will become of you
and your magic circle without my protection. Secrecy cannot sustain you forever, and think not that this
war has quelled the desire of some men to see a witch hang. Unless you want the Guild to remain in the
shadows forever then you must act fast and choose your allies carefully.'
I hardly dared breathe as their voices drew closer. Fear prickled down my spine as their footsteps
reached the door, but to my immense relief they did not stop, and their voices gradually faded down the
passageway. I exhaled heavily and sat back down at the table. As sheltered as my life in Osmington Mills
had been from the politics of the civil war, even I had heard of Oliver Cromwell, the Member of
Parliament and Lieutenant-General of the Army, 'a rogue amongst rogues,' as my father called him, but
what was he doing in the Gatehouse?
'I have to find Eliza,' I thought.
I hesitated at the door and listened, but the passageway outside was silent. I slipped out and
hurried across the hall to the weaving room. Eliza could be heard inside talking with her father. I
knocked, and a moment later her father appeared at the door.
'Hello, Tom,' he smiled, stepping aside to allow me in. 'Have you come to see my sails? They are
almost finished,'
He pulled back the temple of the loom and lifted off it a great mass of fabric. In the lamplight, it
was a rich brown colour.
'Wait one moment,' he said, moving over to the window and prizing the shutters open with some
effort. The last remnants of daylight streamed through the window and settled on the sails. I gasped as
the brown cloth now gleamed like polished gold. Eliza grinned.
'It’s sea silk,' she said. 'It turns golden in the sunlight. Is it not the most beautiful thing you have
ever seen?'
I nodded, unable to tear my eyes from the shimmering haze of gold before me.
 'No ship can sink beneath these sails,' said Mr. Ellery proudly.
'It should be a mighty fine ship that they are hoisted over, sir,' I replied.
'It will just be the Mercaturian's old ship; nothing grand,’ he replied. ‘Emerson must learn to sail
it now. Well, I must speak with the Keeper about fitting these sails tomorrow. Eliza, be sure to lock those
shutters when you are done.'
I waited until Mr. Ellery's footsteps had faded down the passageway before pulling the book
from under my jerkin.
'See this,' I said, opening it to the first page. 'I noticed it when I returned the books to their
shelves in the library.'
Eliza took the book and read the message aloud. 'This looks like the Mercaturian's writing,' she
said.
'Why would he have been asking for help? And what does G.P. mean?' I asked.
'Oh, that is easy enough: those were his initials- George Prye,' replied Eliza.
'George Prye? Was he any relation to Emerson?' I asked.
'Yes, they were brothers. Now, why would George have left a message in a book only Father or I
would look at?' Eliza mused. 'He would have known that only we were likely to find it- unless that is what
he intended! I wonder how long it has been there.'
'Who knows!' I said.
'The Glove and Garter; I think that is a tavern,' Eliza continued. 'I'm sure I have passed it in the
coach when Father has taken me to the market.'
'What does a tavern have to do with the Mercaturian?' I asked. Far from getting answers, it
seemed every question just threw up even more.
'I cannot tell,' replied Eliza, frowning. 'There is something very odd about this.'
'Aye, but there is more besides,' I said. 'While I was in the library, I overheard the Keeper talking
to someone in the passageway outside. He called him 'Cromwell'. I think it was Oliver Cromwell.'
'What ever would he be doing here?' asked Eliza.
'I was going to ask you. They were speaking of protection for the Guild from witch trials.
Cromwell seemed put out that Devere didn’t have something he was expecting. He pressed Devere on
how much longer he would have to wait. He didn't say exactly what it was, but he referred to it as the
means to overthrow my enemies and ensure a swift victory. Those were his very words.'
Eliza sat at the work table and stared at a knot in the wood. She was silent for a long while and
perfectly still, almost as though in a trance. I watched her anxiously, unsure whether to rouse her or not
until she looked up. Her face was knotted into a frown.
'Devere must have struck a deal with Cromwell, that much is plain. He must have promised in
return something that Cromwell sorely wants or can use somehow.'
'What could it be?' I asked, utterly bewildered.
 'I don't know, but we must find out. To think of Devere skulking around in secret with Oliver
Cromwell makes me uneasy, and I've a horrible feeling this relates somehow to the Mercaturian's death.
He and Devere never had an easy relationship. It was peculiar considering Emerson is so close with the
Keeper, what with him being his apprentice…’
‘Emerson was Devere’s apprentice?’ I interrupted.
‘Yes, Devere was the Guild’s alchemist under the last Keeper, and he made Emerson his
apprentice when he was not much older than you. But Emerson couldn’t bear to forsake George, his only
surviving relative, and so George was apprenticed to the old Mercaturian.’
‘Why did George and Devere not get along?’ I asked, eager to learn all I could about my
enigmatic new master.
'I don’t really know. Emerson is more like Devere in mood- stern and cold. He keeps things
close while George was much more affable, but he disliked Devere. He never said so openly, but then
Devere is not a man you would wish to cross.’
I shuddered and remembered the look he had given me at my initiation that morning.
'Eliza, where was Emerson travelling to when his ship was wrecked? And why are he and Devere
so close about the box?'
'I know nothing of any box,' Eliza replied, puzzled. 'Emerson travelled to Muscovy in the far
north of Europe with a London merchant to trade for the Guild in his brother's place. We were told the
ship was wrecked and all the goods were lost. No one has said anything of a box being recovered.'
''Tis very peculiar,' I murmured. 'That was the reason I was brought here: I found the box after it
was washed up.'
'Whatever it contains must be of great importance if it is as you say,' replied Eliza.
'Aye, but what should we do?' I asked. 'Something is afoot, that much is plain.'
'We will go to the Glove and Garter tomorrow,' said Eliza. 'I will tell Father that we need more
thread. He is fitting the sails tomorrow and will have no need of my help. I shall ask that you accompany
me to the market. I shan't sleep well tonight. Something about this makes my blood run chill.'
 Chapter 12

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I couldn't be sure I wasn't still asleep. It was as dark as it had
been with my eyes shut. I groped my way to the hearth and poked at the dying embers before dressing
myself and plunging my head into the bowl of icy water on the washstand. Eliza was already waiting for
me in the passageway as I stepped out of the door.
'Come, 'tis a long walk to Holborn,' she said.
Outside, the morning was as fine as late September can bring. There was a chill in the air, but the
sun filtered through the branches of the trees that lined the cobbled lane, still in full-leaf for the most
part. A few crisp leaves skidded across the sun-dappled ground as I drank in the fresh air like one who is
parched after a long journey. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to the lightless, airless confines of the
Gatehouse.
'Do you know the way?' I asked Eliza as we turned off the lane onto the main road that the
carriage had brought me down the day before yesterday.
'No, but I shall follow my nose- or the carriages,' replied Eliza. 'I know it is near the market; I
recall passing it when Father took me there. I believe that is where these carriages are going.'
I gazed about as we walked through the bustling streets and squares of London. The river
shimmered in the distance, screened now and then by the spire of a church, and up and down its length,
boats glided like fallen leaves in a stream. The city was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I couldn't
imagine how so many people could live in one place, and in houses so tightly packed together. I thought
of home, of the tumbled down cottage overlooking the sea, and I realised that I missed it desperately.
'What do you think we shall find when we get there?' I asked to distract myself from my
thoughts.
'I really don't know what to think,' replied Eliza. 'I doubt it is a hoax. George would never do
something like that, which makes me wonder if he was in some sort of trouble before he died.'
'How did he die?' I asked.
'Consumption. 'Twas very sudden; he died in his sleep. We didn't even know he was ill. Emerson
was away when it happened and came back at once, but he wasn't permitted to see the body because of
the risk of contamination. Look here! This is the market. We can't be far away.'
Eliza led the way through the crowd that had gathered for market day. Stalls lined the street, and
men, women and children, from the poorest to the very richest of London society, jostled with one
another to make their way through. The chilly autumn air was alive with a carnival atmosphere.
We had little choice but to go where the crowd took us, but suddenly I felt a tug on my sleeve as
I fought to avoid being swept away from Eliza.
'Follow me,' she called above the gaggle of voices all around us.
 I ducked out of the crowd as Eliza dragged me down a quiet side street where a sign swinging
above the door declared that the tavern to which it belonged was called The Glove and Garter. It was a
shabby, hovel of a building, with a lopsided doorway and windows so filthy it was impossible to see
through them. Outside stood a cart of empty barrels covered by a canvas sheet. Through the open door, I
could see a few roguish-looking men propping up the bar through a heavy fog of smoke.
'What do we do now?' I whispered.
'I don't know. I hadn't thought on that,' replied Eliza. She stared anxiously at the unsavoury-
looking interior of the inn. I looked from it to her face and back again.
'Wait here,' I said. 'I will go in and ask if anyone knows George Prye.'
'No! You can't do that!' cried Eliza, clutching my arm.
'Why not?' I asked.
'Because....well.... what if someone asks questions? He said he needed help. What if someone
knows why and sees us asking questions and is vexed?'
I shrugged Eliza's hand off my arm. 'George is dead!' I replied, a little irate. 'If he needed help, it
is too late, and unless he has painted a message on the walls for us, I doubt we are going to learn much by
simply standing here. Wait here if you will, but I am going to ask.'
With that, I strode into the smog. Eliza dithered for a moment then hurried in behind me.
Inside, the small room that made up the bar was lit only by a small fire in the hearth. It took a
few moments to adjust to the darkness, and the smoke stung my eyes.
'Can I 'elp you?' asked an old man gruffly. He was sitting on a stool in a corner, holding a
scrawny cat with a notch in its left ear. It looked almost as ancient as he did.
Eliza and I glanced at each other, then I spoke.
'We wondered whether the landlord or any of his honourable patrons knew of a man by the
name of George Prye.'
'I'm the landlord, and I ain't never 'eard of 'im, nor 'ave any o' these,' replied the old man, waving
a hand towards the bar where the other men were drinking and ignoring the young strangers who had
stumbled unexpectedly into their watering hole.
My heart sank. It seemed we had hit a brick wall. I had half expected someone to say they knew
George Prye, or to see something that might give us a clue as to why he had needed help.
'Thank you, sir,' I said as we shuffled back out of the door into the fresh air. We blinked and
squinted. The daylight seemed overly-bright after the darkness of the inn.
'What now?' asked Eliza.
I frowned. 'I suppose we should go back to the Gatehouse and think of another plan,' I replied at
last. 'There's nothing here but an inn and a few drunkards. I don't know what George could possibly have
wanted us to find here.'
Eliza sighed. 'I suppose you are right.'
 Reluctantly, we made our way back to the main street to join the throng of market-goers. The
weather had taken a sudden turn, and great spots of rain now splashed in the gutters and pounded the
canvas awnings of the stalls and shop fronts, but it seemed to have little effect on the shoppers' and
browsers' mood. They haggled just as furiously with the traders and squabbled with one another with as
much vigour as before.
'Wait!' I cried suddenly, pulling Eliza back, who was a few steps ahead. 'I want to go and look at
that sign again.'
'What sign?' asked Eliza.
'The one above the inn door,' I called over my shoulder as I made my way back to the inn.
'Wait for me,' Eliza called after me.
We jostled back through the crowd until we stood on the corner of the street where the Glove
and Garter stood. I gazed up at the sign swinging above the door. Beneath the name, a hand had been
painted, sheathed in a white glove, and with the sleeve gathered by a garter. The hand was pointing to the
left, down a narrow alleyway.
'Look at the hand,' I said. 'See how it points? Let’s see where it leads.'
Eliza followed as I crossed the street. At the corner of the alleyway we stopped. It was flanked by
the backs of two rows of houses and led only to a decrepit old house which formed a dead-end. Its roof
was falling away in places, and rags hung in the windows in place of drapes.
'Who do you suppose lives there?' asked Eliza.
'I don't know, but we should knock and ask if they know George. It may be nothing, but I would
rather be sure.'
With that, I took a step forward towards the house, but at the same moment Eliza pulled me
back and shrank into the cover of a doorway.
'Devere!' she whispered, pointing up the street.
I peered around the edge of the doorway. There indeed was Devere, his hat pulled down low on
his head, striding up the street towards us. He walked briskly as though in a great hurry. My heart thudded
as I glanced helplessly at Eliza.
'He's coming this way,' she whispered.
 Chapter 13

'What do we do?' I hissed frantically.

The gap between us and Devere was closing fast. He had only to pass the alley and he would
walk right past us. My head whirled as I thought desperately of what we might say to excuse ourselves,
but as he reached the corner of the alley, he stopped and glanced about.
'What is he doing?' Eliza whispered.
I hardly dared breathe. The next few moments felt like an eternity before Devere turned into the
alley and strode up to the house at the end. He hadn't passed us and, for the moment at least, he
remained unaware of our presence.
My trepidation was immediately replaced by curiosity as we crept forward, peering around the
edge of the corner house and down the alley. Devere stood before the front door of the old house and
banged loudly upon it with his fist. Several moments passed before an immensely old and haggard
woman, bent almost double over a walking stick, appeared at the door. Devere brushed past her, and the
door was shut once more.
'Who do you suppose that is?' I gasped, shrinking back into the cover of the doorway.
'I have never seen her before. She is certainly nothing to do with the Guild,' replied Eliza.
'I'm going to get a closer look,' I said, stepping out into the alley, but Eliza pulled me back.
'No wait! Devere may come out at any moment. Let’s find somewhere better to hide and watch
together.'
I glanced about. 'Under there,’ I said, pointing to the cart that stood outside the tavern.
Slipping under the canvas, we peered out from beneath its cover. An hour or more passed, and
the weather turned steadily worse. The incessant patter of rain upon the canvas was interrupted now and
then by the raucous shouts of the patrons of the tavern as they grew merrier, but the lively calls of
market-goers fell gradually silent as the rain fell heavier and the wind turned chill.
My legs were cramped from crouching too long between the empty barrels, and my feet were
numb. I was about to propose we leave and come back the next day when the door of the house opened
and Devere stepped out. The old woman was nowhere to be seen.
Devere tilted his hat to keep the rain out of his face and proceeded down the alley and back into
the street. I stuffed my fist into my mouth and shut my eyes as his heavy footsteps passed the cart before
disappearing into the distance. It was several minutes before either Eliza or I could summon the courage
to peep out from under the canvas once more.
'Do you think he is gone?' Eliza whispered.
I peered through a tear in the canvas. The street was deserted, and the only people to be seen
were those still braving the rain in the market at the end of the street.
 'Yes, he is gone,' I confirmed, clambering down from the cart with some difficulty on account of
the cramp in my legs. 'Devere is up to something in that house, to be sure. We have to find out what.’
'Indeed,' replied Eliza. 'Wait here. I'll pretend to have lost my handkerchief in the road and
enquire whether the old woman has come upon it.'
'You don't mean to go now?' I said.
'Of course,' replied Eliza. 'Have you a better plan?'
I shook my head.
'Wait here for me and only come if I signal for you to do so. If I go inside and am not out within
half an hour, go back to the Gatehouse and summon my father.'
With that, she straightened her dress and adjusted her coif before striding up to the house and
knocking loudly upon the door. A few moments later, it was opened by the same old woman that had
opened it to Devere.
'Are you here to see George?' she asked before Eliza had chance to speak. 'It is high time for tea.
Won't you come in? The good Queen Elizabeth is on the throne, and that wicked wretch Mary is dead.
Long live the Queen!'
Eliza glanced back at me and beckoned me over.
'Is she mad?' she whispered.
'I think so,' I murmured. 'Ma'am,' I said stepping forward and addressing the old woman. 'Is
George home?'
'Oh yes, he is upstairs. Won't you come in for tea? The good Queen Elizabeth is on the throne,
and that wicked wretch....'
'Yes, we will come in,' I interjected. 'We have come to see George.'
I stepped past the old woman, followed by Eliza. The old woman simply stood in the doorway,
muttering to herself.
Inside, the house was in total disarray. Books were stacked in the sink, and a table and chairs had
been overturned and dressed with sheets to resemble a ship. A handkerchief had been tied to the end of a
broom like a flag on the top of a mast.
'Upstairs,' said Eliza.
Leaving the old woman downstairs, we climbed the stairs and found ourselves on a landing
before a single door. I turned the handle, but it was locked.
'Hello! Is anyone in there?' called Eliza through the keyhole.
'Eliza?' came a muffled voice from within.
'George?!' cried Eliza. 'Is that you?'
 Chapter 14

'Yes, yes, 'tis me, George. Open the door!' cried the voice from behind the door.
'It's locked,' I said. 'Find me a pin. I'll have it open in a moment.'
Eliza hurried back downstairs and returned a moment later with an old brooch.
'That will do,' I said, inserting the pin into the keyhole. A moment later, the lock sprung back,
and the door was open. On the other side stood a man so like Emerson it seemed inconceivable that they
were not closely related, though I noted George was fairer, and his eyes were blue. Dark circles ringed his
eyes, and his face was pale and drawn.
'George, I can’t believe it is really you!' exclaimed Eliza. 'Devere said you were dead! What is the
meaning of this?'
'I know, my dear,' said George, embracing her. 'Devere has me imprisoned in this room. Who is
this? You found my message, it seems.'
'This is Tom,' said Eliza. 'He is Emerson’s new apprentice. He discovered your message. We saw
Devere enter and then leave and knew something was amiss. Oh, but George! There is a window just
there; if he locked you in here, why did you not climb out and escape? And how did you get the message
into the book in the library?'
'To answer your second question, 'twas by means of a hastily-cast and poorly-prepared
manifestation spell. 'Tis a wonder it worked at all,' replied George. 'The answer to your first question is
more complex. I am afraid it is not as simple as climbing out of a window to escape this prison: Devere
has put a binding spell upon me to trap me in this room- the same spell that is used to confine the terror
in the labyrinth. It is extremely powerful and beyond my abilities to breach. I am trapped here.'
'Why ever has he done that?' gasped Eliza. 'What wrong have you ever done him?'
'He knows I know the location of the dragonskin, and he wants it!' replied George.
'But I thought the dragonskin was lost,' I said.
George looked at me curiously. 'Is that what Emerson has told you?' he asked.
I nodded.
'Well, 'tis true of a fashion. It is not lost but beyond reach- for the moment. It was kept by the
Guild for centuries, the most prized of all its treasures, passed down from the custody of one Keeper to
the next. But the previous Keeper, Henry Smith, did not trust Devere and deemed it too great a risk to
entrust him with the dragonskin. It is immensely powerful in its own right, but in the hands of Devere,
skilled alchemist that he is, it would be lethal. He long ago achieved the Great Work, transforming base
metals into gold. Since then, his ambition has been to recreate a race of dragons. To give life to
something once dead would be to triumph over death itself, though he cannot achieve such a thing
without the dragonskin. It is highly dangerous and all the more so because of the use that Devere would
put the creatures to.
 ‘Such was Smith’s concern, for he knew Devere to be ambitious and suspected his intentions
even then. He confided in me before he died, asking that I put the dragonskin beyond Devere's reach,
and so I committed it to the care of the greatest magician ever to have lived, the founder of Other
England, until such time that it is deemed safe for it to be returned.'
'What is Other England?' I asked.
'It is England as it was before the Banishment, home of the greatest scholar of magic the world
has ever known and master of birds and beasts, both magic and otherwise: a man by the name of
Ambrose Ruddle. Ambrose discovered the secret of immortality and was already three hundred years old
when the Banishment came. He retreated to his castle at the very tip of England, drawing what magic he
could with him and creating another world within this one. Time does not pass in Other England; it is
shrouded in a permanent mist, and fishermen fear to sail too near to the cove it overlooks, for it is
rumoured to be frequented by sea canaries and mermaids and littered with whale bones to snare
unwelcome vessels. Local folk shun it and do not pass within the castle’s shadow. Yet there Ambrose
lives to this day, custodian of the last remnant of pure high magic in this world, and now that Devere has
learned it is not lost, he will stop at nothing to find it.'
'I would that he never found out,’ said Eliza. 'How did he come to know?'
'That was my fatal error,' replied George. 'Following Smith's death, Devere tried desperately to
learn what became of the dragonskin. For my part, I failed to destroy my correspondence with Smith, in
which he revealed his concerns and bade me put the dragonskin beyond Devere’s reach. Devere found
the letters that Smith and I had exchanged while I was trading in Rome. When he discovered my role in
its disappearance, he questioned me closely on its whereabouts. When I refused to disclose to him its
location, he imprisoned me here. He believed I must have hidden it in order to wield it later in a bid to
usurp him. 'Tis a curious thing that men who harbour treachery and greed in their own hearts tend to see
it in others through their own crooked view of the world. So began Devere's long effort to wring from
me the dragonskin's whereabouts. Oh, he has tried everything- tortured me with potions that burn your
veins until every heartbeat is agony or produce such mind-bending hallucinations the brains of those who
consume them eventually disintegrate from the torture- if they don't dash themselves against a stone wall
first just to be rid of the torment. I have endured his tortures- just about - but he will not give up until he
has the dragonskin.’
Eliza frowned. 'Tom overheard Devere talking to Oliver Cromwell at the Gatehouse yesterday.
They spoke of protection for the Guild and victory for Cromwell. Has that anything to do with Devere’s
desire for the dragonskin?' she asked.
'Well, you are quite a pair of bloodhounds, for sure,' smiled George, but then his face turned
grave. 'But you are quite right; Devere has made a deal with Cromwell. The Guild is not the only magical
group in Europe, though it is undoubtedly the oldest. Ever ambitious, Devere was determined to expand
its power and influence when he became Keeper and establish it as superior to its rivals. Eventually, he
had the ear of the King and became his private magician and advisor. The King's imprisonment was both
a disaster and a golden opportunity for him, and he is now entangled in a high-stakes game, for he has
turned upon his former patron, betting upon Cromwell and Parliament winning the war and aligning
himself with them. Though it must be said, he had little choice, for in his arrogance he had not concealed
his involvement with the King anywhere near as well as he might. Cromwell issued an ultimatum to
Devere to ally himself with the Roundhead cause or face execution for witchcraft. His position was
precarious to say the least, but in Devere's machinations, it was little more than a mis-step; he readily
renounced the King, promising to ensure a swift victory for Cromwell with the most powerful weapon he
could dream of- an army of dragons! That is the pretext at least, but it is a double duplicity. He really
means to usurp Cromwell, once he has carried out his diabolical work, and tighten his grip upon power.
Who could stop him with an army of dragons at his command? He is simply using Cromwell and his
forces to depose the King for him until his plan has come to fruition.'
'That cannot happen!' I cried. 'We must do something!'
'Peace, lad,' said George kindly. 'He has not got the dragonskin yet, nor will he while I still have
breath in my body! But before we hatch a plot to save the King and the future of all England, please find
me something to eat and drink. Mrs. Tucker is a kind jailer, but she is quite mad, as you have no doubt
seen, and she regularly forgets to feed and water me.'
'Yes, of course,' I said. 'Half a moment! I'll have a look downstairs.'
I dashed back down the stairs and rummaged through the cupboards in the little kitchen but
found nothing. Mrs. Tucker was sitting in her ship, deep in conversation with the mop. After much
searching, I found a fresh loaf tucked into the case of the grandfather clock, and half a cheese in the
hearth. There was still some beer in a small barrel, which I took as well.
'Poor Mrs. Tucker is the ideal jailer for Devere,' said George, as he washed down the bread and
cheese with the last of the beer. 'She could shout from the rooftops that she has a man imprisoned in her
upstairs room, but no one would take a blind bit of notice. 'Tis pitiful really.'
'How long have you been here?' I asked.
'I have quite lost count of the days,’ George replied, 'but it must be close on to two months. Let
me see, what is the date today?'
'The twenty-sixth of September,' I replied. 'It is Thursday.'
'Zooks! It has been longer than that. Devere brought me here at the start of June. I believe it was
the third or fourth.'
'Yes, that is when he told us you had died in your sleep,' said Eliza. 'Emerson was away; he came
back as soon as he received the message, but Devere held the funeral the very next day. None were
permitted to see your body for fear of contamination. He said you had died of tuberculosis. Goodness,
there is even a headstone in the churchyard with your name inscribed upon it and a coffin beneath it! My
father was a pall bearer. I shudder to think who or what Devere put in the coffin!'
'Indeed,' replied George. 'It seems Devere is going to extraordinary lengths to get what he
desires. We have some time, but not a lot, for he does not yet have the dragonskin, and he lacks the other
vital ingredient he requires- dragon amber, or solidified dragon fire. It is preserved in the mountains of
Muscovy. Of course, he would first have to obtain the dragon amber, and that would require a lengthy
journey by land and sea…’
A sudden horrible realisation gripped me. My stomach lurched, and my blood ran chill.
'Sir, I fear we have less time than you believe,' I cried. 'I think Devere already has the dragon
amber!'
 Chapter 15

George's face fell. He cast his hands across his face and sank into a chair beside the hearth and was silent
for a long while. Eliza looked at me with horror.
'How did he come by it?' asked George at last.
'I, I found a box washed up in a cave,’ I stammered.
‘Emerson’s ship was wrecked on the homeward journey from Muscovy,’ Eliza added.
‘Aye, and for taking the box, Emerson brought me to a London to face Devere,’ I continued.
‘Devere would have had me killed, but Emerson nominated me as his successor to spare my life. He was
mighty evasive about the box’s contents, though. When I asked him what it contained, he would say only
that it was private business he was conducting on behalf of the Keeper. I can't be sure, but I've an inkling
it could be the dragon amber you’ve spoken of after all I have heard.'
'If that is so, does Emerson know what Devere is planning?' asked Eliza.
George immediately looked troubled. 'Devere trusts Emerson more than any other member of
the Guild. He was his protégée, and Emerson greatly admires Devere,' he said. 'That makes him
vulnerable. It could be that Devere has not revealed the full extent of his plans, but Emerson is no fool. I
hope to goodness he is not complicit in Devere's plans, but your news worries me. For that reason,
Emerson must know nothing of this.
'Now, I have a plan, but you must work alone. It will be dangerous, but it is our only hope. Until
we know for certain otherwise, we should assume Devere does have the dragon amber. That is the worst
eventuality for us. Now, if Devere obtains the dragonskin and is able to carry out his plan, he will
eliminate Cromwell without a second thought, and one tyrant will simply be replaced by another more
dangerous and powerful one, and then I fear there will be no hope for the King. Maybe it is already too
late for him, but we must at least try to thwart Devere's plans while we are still able to do so.'
'How?' asked Eliza.
'By retrieving the dragonskin from Ambrose Ruddle and taking it to King Charles,' replied
George. 'The dragonskin is our great fear, but it may also be our final hope. It could just save the future
of England. Things are already looking bleak for the King; negotiations between His Majesty and
Parliament are on-going, but his position is precarious. If he is to stand any chance against Cromwell and
Devere, the dragonskin is his only hope. Go back to the Gatehouse, and do not breathe a word of what
you know to anyone. In the labyrinth I have hidden a compass which I crafted myself. It will lead you to
Other England. To protect yourselves from the terror of the labyrinth, you must sprinkle your clothes
with the preparation, the ingredients for which you will find on page 184 of a book in the library entitled
Potions for Protection. You will also find a map that I drew indicating the exact location of the compass in
the labyrinth tucked into the spine. The spell is a repellent to all birds and beasts, but curiously, not
humans. You must get this absolutely right- I have encountered the terror in the labyrinth myself when
hiding the compass, and were it not for the potion, I would not have emerged alive. I will not elaborate
further on the nature of the beast, lest fear keeps you from your purpose, but I cannot impress upon you
enough: you must prepare the spell correctly. It is a complex preparation and will take several weeks to
make ready, for many of the ingredients must be harvested under specific moon phases.'
'Several weeks?!' I broke in. 'We do not have such time to spare. What if Devere discovers where
the dragonskin is hidden before then?!'
'We must use Devere’s greed to our advantage,’ said George. ‘He could not countenance
entrusting the Dragonskin to another, and so he judges others. Let his arrogance be our cloak for now!
While he believes I have hidden it somewhere I alone can get it, so much the better. It should buy you
time enough to prepare the spell and get to Other England, but only just.'
'What if we are too late?’ I asked.
'Then I'm afraid all will be lost- for the King and the future of magic in this world. It is a slim
margin by which we have the advantage,' replied George.
'Will you come with us?' asked Eliza. 'I'm afraid Tom and I will not manage so great a task alone.
Surely there is a counter-spell to the binding one Devere has used to trap you here. Can we not cast it for
you, so you might accompany us?'
George shook his head. 'Undoubtedly, there is,' he replied, 'but Devere is a greater magician than
I am. It would take weeks, nay, months to find such a spell, prepare the ingredients and execute it. Even
then, it is doubtful it would work. We have not the skill and craft of a Keeper. The time we have is
scarcely enough for you to prepare the repellent spell, and that is challenge enough for two young
magicians. Moreover, Devere visits regularly, as you have already found. He must not know anything
about what has befallen. If he finds me gone, he will know I have been helped, and he will scrutinise all
Guild members, including you. His plan is not yet ripe, it seems, but the time draws close. We must use
every advantage we have. He is extremely perceptive, and so he must not suspect a thing. Stealth is our
best weapon, so hold your nerve until the time comes.'
Eliza looked miserable. 'I cannot bear to think of leaving you here, George!' she said.
'Chin up, lass,' said George, trying to sound cheerful. 'I'm perfectly safe and well looked after by
Mrs. Tucker.'
Eliza smiled weakly but seemed unconvinced.
'We can do this,' I said, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Fishing by day and
smuggling by night had afforded me an enormous amount of grit, and my father's Royalist sympathies
had inspired in me a fierce loyalty to the Crown.
'I do hope so,' murmured Eliza.
 Chapter 16

'Here it is!' said Eliza, jamming her finger into a rather faded page of the hand-written book George had
instructed us to find in the library. It was the repellent spell.
'We will need the alchemy laboratory to prepare it,' said Eliza, skimming through the method.
'How are we to prepare it without anyone noticing?' I asked.
'We will use the laboratory at night when no one else is around. When Emerson returns, I believe
he will begin your instruction on the equipment in there. Make sure you pay attention; this looks like a
difficult spell, and we must get it absolutely right.'
'Hemlocks?' I said, reading over Eliza's shoulder. 'Wherever will we find hemlocks in London?
And what is manganese?'
'It is a chemical element. The spell says we will need to extract it from manganese dioxide using
carbon. Manganese dioxide is used in glassmaking, so it should still be in the laboratory from when
George made his compasses.'
At that moment, the library door opened, and Emerson entered, his cloak drenched with rain and
his boots splattered with mud. He had just returned from Osmington Mills.
'Good evening,' he said, taking a seat at the table and removing his hat. 'I see you have been
making friends, young Wild.' He glanced at Eliza before continuing. 'I hope you have found time to study
the books I left you too.'
'Yes, sir,' I replied.
'Good. Well, it is done. Your family may live quite comfortably from now on with the annuity
that they will receive.'
'Please, sir, what did you tell them?' I asked.
'That I was the merchant whose ship was wrecked, and I saw you swept out to sea after you
kindly offered to help me retrieve some cargo deposited upon the rocks. I said my company would pay
the annuity as a gesture of thanks for your kind deed.'
'Did they weep?' I asked.
Emerson was silent for a moment before answering. 'Do not think on it, lad. No good will come
of it. They accept you are dead, and you must too.'
I nodded, but my stomach was in knots and my head giddy as though the pronouncement of my
doom had just been made. My family now believed me dead; undoubtedly, they would be weeping for
me, my father scouring the beach, searching vainly for a body he would not find, yet here I was: alive and
unharmed, knowing how they must weep. Guilt and hopelessness swept over me. Emerson rose to leave.
'Please, sir,' I said suddenly.
Emerson turned.
'Will you show me the alchemy laboratory? I would like to start practicing, if I may.'
 A look of surprise flashed across Emerson's face, but he answered quickly.
'I will show you tomorrow. Wait for me in here after breakfast.' With that, he left the library,
shutting the door quietly behind him.
The next morning, I peeped out of the grille in the dormitory to find the first frost of autumn
clinging to the ground and the window panes of the houses in the lane. The year was hurrying towards its
end, but dark and dangerous business sill lay ahead. I shuddered in the cold of the morning and dressed
quickly. Emerson was already waiting for me outside the library when I slipped out of the dormitory.
'Follow me,' he said, leading me across the hall and up the staircase.
I had not been beyond it since my initiation, but I now saw that the gallery at the top of the stairs
was shaped like a half moon with doors along its curve. The door in the centre was richly carved of
rosewood and surrounded by plaster stucco work. I guessed it was the room I had been initiated in. The
surrounding doors were smaller and plainer with the rooms behind them made up of the Keeper's
apartments, an astronomy room, Bridget Blyth’s studio, and the alchemy laboratory.
Emerson stopped before the second door and unlocked it. He crossed to the window and
opened the shutters, which at once illuminated the most peculiar space I had ever seen. The stuffed
carcasses of strange and monstrous-looking animals with scaled hides and sharp teeth were suspended
from the ceiling, and running along the width of the room was an immense oak table, laden with all sorts
of bizarre instruments. In the centre, a small iron cauldron sat atop a tripod. Shelves on either side of the
chimney breast heaved with beakers and jars of liquids, powders and the pickled remains of birds and
animals. At one end of the table, an enormous copper furnace smouldered and steamed.
'This is the alchemy laboratory,' said Emerson. 'We shall start with the basics of alchemy, which
you should already be familiar with from your reading.'
He gave me a sideways glance which expressed his doubt that I had read what I was supposed to.
'Tell me, what are the four classical elements?'
'Earth, air, fire and water,' I replied, amazed at my own recollection.
'Good. Now, open that book,' he said, gesturing to a heavy tome at the end of the table.
I opened it onto the first page and looked at Emerson, puzzled, for amongst the richly detailed
illustrations of laboratory equipment and strange symbols, a text constructed of unfamiliar characters was
written in black ink.
'I cannot read the letters,' I said.
'That is because it is a code- my own code. You will come to learn that alchemists are a jealous
breed and guard their work closely,' replied Emerson with a wry smile. 'Nonetheless, the images will
suffice for today's instruction. Now, the three essentials of alchemy are salt, mercury and sulfur. Salt is a
product of earth and water, mercury of water and air, and sulfur of air and fire. Take that cup of salt water
and pour it into the beaker with the rounded bottom. Fix the tube to it and place the end into the empty
cup as the image shows. Now light a candle beneath the beaker and wait for a few minutes.'
 I did as I was instructed. After a minute, curls of steam started to rise from the water inside the
beaker as it began to bubble. Soon it was boiling. Emerson turned over a sand timer and waited as the
empty chamber began to fill. I watched with fascination as the water inside the beaker steamed furiously
and the bubbling gradually stopped.
'Look inside the beaker,' said Emerson as the steam inside it cleared. 'What do you see?'
'There is a white residue, sir,' I replied. 'What is it?'
'Salt,' replied Emerson. 'Now look inside the empty cup you put the end of the tube into.'
''Tis full of water!' I cried.
'Yes,' said Emerson. 'We have separated the salt and water through evaporation and distillation.
These are basic principles which encompass all alchemical processes. There are many more, and you will
come to know each one.'
 Chapter 17

I did not emerge from the laboratory until well past dark that evening. I was a keen student, and Emerson
worked me hard. As I took my evening meal with Eliza, I could barely hold my eyes open long enough to
finish eating.
'What did Emerson show you?' asked Eliza. She was eager to hear all about the laboratory.
'Lots,' I replied. 'He showed me the basic alchemical processes- how to separate and reduce
substances, and he showed me how all of the equipment works.'
'Excellent,' said Eliza, handing me a slip of paper. 'I retrieved the map of the labyrinth from the
back of the book, and this is a list of ingredients we need for the potion. I tore the page out of the book
yesterday and copied them out. Can you check whether those I have marked are in the laboratory
tomorrow? If not, we will have to try and obtain them somehow. The rest we can harvest ourselves. I
slipped into the Agriculturian's workshop and copied down the moon phases for the next month. The
spell is very specific about when the plant ingredients are to be harvested. I suggest you get what you can
from the laboratory, and I will find the plants.’
I nodded, a little overwhelmed with exhaustion and Eliza's ceaseless chatter.
'Don't be troubled,' said Eliza, mistaking my quietness for worry. 'I have read through the spell.
'Tis quite simple once the correct preparation has been undertaken. The Coquinarian has a cat we can test
it on before we use it in the labyrinth.'
'I'm sorry, Eliza,' I said, yawning. 'I'm so weary, I fear I will fall asleep sitting up. Let me find
what I can in the laboratory tomorrow.'
'Very well,’ said Eliza. 'The spell must be cast under a full moon, but the next one is in five days
hence, and I will not have harvested all of the ingredients by then. We will have to prepare it under the
next one, which is the night of the 31st of October: All Hallows' Eve. The Keeper holds his annual
autumn ball at the Apothecaries' Hall in Blackfriars on that evening for all of his well-connected friends
outside the Guild. It is the only time members mix with people from outside the Guild. We will not be
invited- apprentices never are -so we will have the laboratory to ourselves all night. It is quite a stroke of
luck. All that remains is to get hold of the key.'
'I will see to that,' I replied.
For the next month, I spent every waking moment studying in the library or experimenting in the
laboratory. Emerson tutored me diligently, and I suspected he was privately impressed with my
commitment, if not my aptitude. Secretly, I noted which substances the laboratory stocked and subtly
questioned Emerson on the creation of the more complex ingredients.
Time marched on, and I hardly had time to feel sad or homesick, being so occupied with
alchemy, but when I glanced out of the laboratory window one morning and saw that the trees outside
were half bare, I thought suddenly of my home and family. Sloe and rose haws would be out in the
hedgerows, and Lizzie would be carving the turnip lantern ready for All Hallows' Eve. I wished more
than anything that I could be there with her, scooping out the fleshy centre on the kitchen table, with our
mother scolding us about the mess.
That night, with sleep far from my eyes, I listened as the branches of the tree outside my window
scraped across the glass pane. In my head, I checked off all the ingredients Eliza had asked me to find.
'Tom,' whispered a voice behind me as a hand shook my shoulder gently. I almost leapt out of
the bed in fright. Eliza stood over me, carrying an uncovered lantern.
'Eliza!' I hissed with annoyance. 'What are you doing? 'Tis almost midnight!'
'I know,' she whispered, 'but I must harvest the hemlocks at the stroke of midnight. There is a
stream where they grow behind the church. Will you come with me? I am afraid to go alone.'
I groaned and pulled on my boots and tunic.
'I'm quite sure it makes little difference at all when they are harvested,' I muttered as we slipped
out of the dormitory and across the hall.
The front door was bolted from inside at night, but there was no keyhole with which to lock it.
Eliza lifted the bolt and eased the door open silently. Outside, frost already clung to the bare tree
branches and sealed the windows shut. Clouds moved swiftly across the star-pricked sky and obscured
the moon, almost at its full, for a few moments.
We hurried down the lane and along a few more quiet roads to where the little church of St.
Mary stood. Behind the church yard, a narrow stream wound its way through the thickness of trees and
bushes which grew there. The fields behind were an outlier of rural peace and beauty, having escaped
development by the ever-expanding city either by chance or deliberate choice. Either way, the lack of
human interference had created a haven for wildlife where rhododendrons and hazel jostled for space
amongst strangling ivy and bindweed.
'Here it is,' said Eliza, kneeling down at the stream bank. 'Hold up that lantern.'
She gently lifted a clump of hemlock out of the ground from the base of the stem and scraped
back the damp earth, exposing the pale, fleshy root. Careful to preserve the plant in its entirety, she
wrapped the roots in a damp linen cloth and carefully stowed it in a leather pouch.
'That should be enough,' she said. 'Come, let’s get back before anyone notices we are missing.'
A chilly wind swept around us as we hurried back to the Gatehouse with our precious cargo. The
next day was All Hallows' Eve and the night we must prepare the repellent.
As we reached the steps of the Gatehouse, a loud yowl startled us. Eliza started, and I covered
the lantern over as a large black cat strolled up the steps and sat on the doorstep, having just seen off a
contender for his territory.
Eliza exhaled softly. 'It’s just the Coquinarian's cat. Come, let's get back inside.'
We had left the door unbolted, and it opened soundlessly as we slipped back into the darkness of
the hall.
'May I enquire where you have been at this hour?' came a voice from the shadows.
 Chapter 18

My heart almost leapt into my throat as I uncovered the lantern to see the speaker. Before us stood the
Keeper, dressed as though it was daytime, his hands clasped in front of him. I froze, too shocked to
speak.
'Well?' he said, bending his glare upon me and Eliza alternately.
'Please sir, I heard the Coquinarian's cat yowling outside and was afraid for him. I feared he was
hurt, so I awoke Tom to help me find him and see him safe,' said Eliza. There wasn't a quiver of
hesitation in her voice.
'And where is the cat now?' asked the Keeper, evidently doubtful of the truth of her story.
'Why, here, sir,' said Eliza, opening the door again just a crack and beckoning in the cat. It slunk
through and settled itself at the bottom of the staircase. For a moment the Keeper looked uncertain, his
triumphant exposure of a lie unexpectedly thwarted.
'I will be speaking to your father in the morning, Miss Ellery,’ he said acidly, recovering his
composure. ‘You, young Wild, I will be keeping a close eye upon. Get back to your rooms now.’
His eyes blazed and regarded me with the same look of severity he had given me at my initiation.
A cold sweat broke across my neck as we shuffled past with our heads bowed. I hadn't had such a fright
since I was forced to hide in a tree with a sack-full of smuggled tobacco while the custom's man grazed
his horse at the roadside below for a full half hour.
'Thank goodness you had your wits about you,' I said the next morning as Eliza and I sat in the
library studying together.
'It was fortunate the cat was there,' Eliza replied.
'Do you think Devere believed you?' I asked.
Eliza shook her head. ‘I fear not. He is no fool. He suspects something. Let us hope he thinks it
is merely a foolish teenage tryst.'
'Yes, let's,' I replied.
The day slid slowly by as we waited anxiously for evening to come, then we watched through the
grille in the dormitory as the Keeper and the Guild members boarded the waiting coaches and slid away
into the rainy night.
'Let's go. We haven't any time to waste,' said Eliza as the lantern from the last carriage
disappeared from view.
The Gatehouse was empty but for the two of us, and our footsteps echoed in the silence as we
hurried up to the laboratory with our precious ingredients and two cloaks Eliza had taken from the
weaving room.
'Hold the lantern steady,' I said as I knelt before the door with one of Mr. Ellery's pins.
'Are you certain you won't break the lock? None can know we have been in there,' said Eliza.
 'No one will know,' I confirmed as the lock slid back with a click.
We set to work at once lighting the furnace and weighing out quantities of our ingredients. Water
boiled in the cauldron above the tripod and bubbled through tubes and beakers.
'Has the moon risen yet?' I asked as I measured a dram of manganese dioxide.
Eliza peeped behind the drapes that hung over the window.
'Yes,' she said. 'Let's begin.'
Once we had waited for the manganese and oxygen to separate, we set to work preparing the
hemlocks, cloves, mallow blossom and thorn apple and crushed them all together with pestle and mortar.
'We must boil up the ash bark,' said Eliza, consulting the torn-out page from the book.
At last, all the ingredients were prepared. I set a clean cauldron on the table, and the ingredients
were combined. The resulting mixture was a dark grey powder with a silvery sheen.
'Now we have only to sprinkle it onto our cloaks,' I said as I returned the jars we had used to
their correct places on the shelves and washed out the equipment. Soon, the laboratory looked just as it
had before.
'Do you think that is enough?' asked Eliza, holding up her cloak.
I shrugged. 'Let’s try it on the cat.'
We cast our cloaks about us and grabbed the lantern and the map of the labyrinth. Taking the
steps down to the hall two at a time, we dashed across to the Coquinarian's workshop where the cat had
been shut in for the night. As I opened the door just a crack, I peeped through and saw that it lay curled
up beside the stove. It opened one eye as it heard us approach then jumped up and stiffened. We
stopped, but it darted past us and out into the hall with a loud meow.
'It works!' cried Eliza. 'Now to the labyrinth!'
We hurried back out into the hall and followed the passageway past the staircase to the back of
the hall. In the centre of the floor, a trapdoor had been marked out with a border of red and yellow tiles.
'This is it,' said Eliza.
'I'll go first,' I said grimly. I drew a breath, pulled back the bolt and opened the trapdoor. A rush
of cold air hit us, followed by a damp, musty smell. I held the lantern aloft and saw a steep flight of
wooden stairs descending for an unknown depth into the darkness. I gripped the lantern firmly and
ducked into the darkness, followed by Eliza.
There was no handrail to steady ourselves with, just the uneven stone of the walls on either side
of the stairs that enclosed them. Gradually, the light from the hall above disappeared, and the stairs came
to an end.
'We must be at least forty feet below the ground,' I exclaimed.
The walls had widened, and the ground beneath our feet felt sandy, the air much drier than above
ground. Three tunnels opened out before us.
'It’s the middle one,' I said, consulting the map.
 Without hesitating, I ploughed on into the darkness of the long winding tunnel. Despite the
depth below ground, the air in the labyrinth moved freely. It seemed that air shafts had been somehow
constructed within it, for now and then a breeze would brush past my face as we passed other hidden
openings. The tunnel itself was not claustrophobic at all as I had feared; it was large enough for three men
to walk abreast and more than six feet high.
We walked for twenty minutes or more, only stopping to consult the map, as the tunnel wound
its way towards the centre of the labyrinth. It seemed to be taking us as directly as possible to a chamber
in the centre where George had marked the place where he had hidden compass.
As we drew nearer, the air felt markedly warmer. Eliza stopped suddenly and trembled as blood-
curdling snarls and growls echoed down the tunnel. They seemed to be coming from the direction of the
chamber.
'It can't hurt us, remember,' I whispered, taking her hand.
We crept forward as the snarls and growls continued intermittently, gradually getting louder. I
hardly dared breathe each time we rounded another corner, half expecting to see the terror of the
labyrinth lurking right there, ready to pounce upon us.
'What was that?' hissed Eliza suddenly as she stumbled on something in her path.
I stopped and turned around. The lantern light fell upon the skeleton of a person, lying as though
they had been cut down whilst running. Eliza gasped and shrank back, edging past it with her back to the
wall.
'Keep moving,' I whispered in a trembling voice. 'We must keep moving.'
The air was growing hotter, and the sounds became louder and more frequent. I stopped as the
tunnel came to an abrupt end and opened out onto a huge subterranean hall filled with flaming torches
and a roaring fire pit in the centre. Blackened chains and pulleys hung from the ceiling from which
miserable captives would be suspended and slowly killed in centuries past.
'A dungeon!' I whispered, stepping into the light.
As if in answer, the growling and snarling resumed, and from out of the shadows at the opposite
end of the chamber stepped a thing so terrible to behold, I thought my legs would give way beneath me.
 Chapter 19

It took the form of a monstrous black wolf with a horned head like that of a bull, far larger than an
ordinary beast, and it was filled with a great terror as no real animal could be. Its eyes glowed yellow and
its foaming mouth revealed a row of teeth like the jagged peaks of mountains. It locked its eyes onto me
and Eliza as it stalked out of the shadows, snarling with malice.
'It's coming towards us!’ cried Eliza as it began to close the gap between us. ‘Why is the repellent
not working?’
Still the beast drew nearer, seemingly unaffected by the repellent sprinkled onto our cloaks.
'Run!' Eliza screamed, tugging me back by the cloak as the beast drew itself up, ready to pounce.
'No!' I cried. 'It will out-run us! Stay back!'
The beast growled and moved closer. The hairs on its back stood erect, and its foul breath almost
choked me. I retched and steadied myself against the wall. A desperate plan had taken shape in my mind,
and there was no time to think it through. I forced myself to disguise my fear, though every instinct in my
body urged me to run, and took one confident step forward. The beast halted.
Glancing up at the chains suspended from the ceiling, I noted that one hung lax in a loop, the
end trailing on the floor to my right. My pulse thudded in my ears, and the length of the hall seemed to
shrink to just a few steps. With a vicious snarl, the beast leapt, clearing almost the entire expanse of floor
between it and the fire pit. I swept to the right and wheeled back round to face it in an instant. The fire
pit still stood between us, but the beast could easily jump it. It took one more determined step forward,
savouring the last few moments before the kill it felt sure to make. It was waiting, expecting a feeble
attack which it would thwart easily before killing me with relish.
My heart pounded as I took a determined step forward to goad it into action. It sprung, eager to
down its prey. At the same moment, I leapt back and pulled upon the chain with all my strength as the
beast's neck was caught in the loop. A choked howl filled the hall as it thrashed wildly about, throttled by
the chain as the flames roared up from the fire pit to devour its body. I tugged harder to extinguish the
last reserve of breath from its body and speed it to death, then the beast fell silent, its body dangling
limply from the chain.
I gasped and wiped the sweat from my brow as I gazed upon the burning corpse and then at the
walls around me, filled with instruments of torment too gruesome to imagine. Eliza ran over from where
she cowered near the mouth of the tunnel and threw her arms around me.
'I thought you were going to die!' she gasped.
'So did I,' I replied breathlessly.
The burning corpse was blackened and charred, and the putrid smell of death filled the chamber.
'Let’s find the compass and get away from here,' I said, stooping to retrieve the lantern. 'Does the
map show where it is hidden?'
 'Yes, it should be in the north-west wall,' replied Eliza, looking about. 'If my bearings aren't
altogether muddled, then that should be this wall here.'
I followed her to the far wall, its surface pock-marked with crevices where the stones had come
away. At once, we set to work turning over the loose stones and inspecting the cavities behind them. My
heart thudded, and more than once I glanced over my shoulder at the roaring fire in the pit. An
unreasonable fear that the beast might re-emerge from it and pounce upon us made me anxious to leave
the chamber.
'I have it!' Eliza cried as she pulled a small pouch out of a crack in the stonework and held it aloft
triumphantly. She opened it and drew out a small brass compass that fitted neatly in the palm of her
hand. Upon the back was engraved a gatekeeper butterfly on the starboard side of a ship. 'That is the
Mercaturian's symbol!' she cried.
'Good, let’s leave this wretched place at once,' I replied.
'Here, you had better keep hold of it,' said Eliza, pressing the pouch into my hand as she led the
way back through the tunnel.
As the air grew cooler and damper once again, we relaxed and breathed easier. The tunnel was
coming to an end, and soon we would see the staircase before us. At last, we rounded the final corner,
and the lantern light fell upon the steps below the trapdoor. We climbed without looking back until the
light of the hall appeared as a speck above us, gradually growing bigger the closer we got.
'What do you suppose made the spell go awry?' I asked.
'I don't know,' replied Eliza. 'It seemed to work on the Coquinarian's cat- but maybe we simply
startled him. George was very clear that the potion needed to be prepared exactly. Perhaps it was the
mallow blossom; I dried it as best I could, but it looked a little wilted.'
The trapdoor was only a few steps above us now, and the soft candlelight of the hall gleamed
through the opening.
'Whew,' I whistled as I shut the door and drew the bolt across. 'Thank goodness that is over.'
'It may be over, but now the real work begins,' replied Eliza. 'I have hidden a pack of supplies in
my room, but we will need fresh water for the skins. We can stop at the pump in the main street on our
way to the docks.'
'The docks?' I asked.
'Yes, we will take the Guild’s ship,’ replied Eliza. ‘The Venatorian will be sent to find us as soon
as Devere realises we are gone. We will be harder to reach at sea. Come, we haven't any time to waste. We
may not get another opportunity. Fetch some blankets from the dormitory. I have already prepared extra
warm clothes. There is no telling how long we will be at sea.'
I dashed off to the dormitory without further question and stripped two of the beds of their
blankets. I returned to the hall a moment later to find Eliza rolling a pile of clothes, a flintlock pistol and
the Venatorian’s bugle into a linen sheet that she knotted at the top to securely hold the contents.
'What are they for?' I asked.
 'I don’t know, but they could come in useful,' replied Eliza. ‘If nothing else, the pistol will be
useful to barter with in exchange for food if it comes to it.'
I felt relieved. I hadn't planned on fighting, and I had never even held a gun before, let alone
fired one.
'Have you got the blankets? Yes, well I think that is everything. Don't light the lantern until we
have put a good distance between us and the Gatehouse. Let's go.' said Eliza.
 Chapter 20

We turned out of the lane and quickly vanished into the dark streets of London. The rain had ceased, but
the wind was cold for the time of year. Here and there, turnip lanterns sat in doorways, lighting our path,
or the occasional lamp from a coach would illuminate the puddled and uneven ground for a moment as it
passed us by. The mournful ringing of church bells for souls trapped in purgatory echoed along the
streets, as those unfortunate enough to still be out after dark hurried back to their homes, anxious to shut
the door between themselves and the night.
We stopped at the water pump and filled our water skins then continued our way.
'This way,' said Eliza, as the river appeared before us, shimmering in the light of the lanterns that
hung upon the decks of the ships and boats docked there. Mist rose from the water and hung like a veil
across the landing platforms that reached out from the bank.
'Do you know which is the Guild's ship?' I asked, as we clambered onto the platform. 'Does it
have a name?'
'No,' replied Eliza, 'it has a gatekeeper butterfly painted upon the port and starboard sides,
though. Hold the lantern aloft; Father's sails will reveal which ship is the Guild's.'
I held the lantern up as we walked the lines of vessels that bobbed gently in the black water.
'There it is,' I said as the lantern cast its light upon the sails of a ship much like a Viking long
ship, light and swift to launch, but with a wheel and a cabin below deck like a modern sailing ship. Upon
the starboard side of the ship, the symbol of the gatekeeper butterfly had been carved.
At once, I set to work loosening the ropes from the rusted moorings, and with a few strokes of
the oars, we had maneuvered through the docks and were out into the midstream, vanishing into the mist.
'Where does the compass point?' asked Eliza.
I drew it out of my pocket. 'Exactly where the river is taking us. I imagine we are heading out
into the North Sea.'
We drew our cloaks around ourselves tighter and huddled together at the helm as the Palace of
Westminster, and then the Tower of London, slid silently by. Before long, the sprawling forms of the
London skyline were replaced by trees and rolling fields. The black shapes of farmsteads and timber
cottages could just be seen on the river banks, a shade darker than the darkness around us.
'Tom,' said Eliza, as we gazed out at the blackness ahead of us.
'Yes?' I replied.
Eliza paused for a moment and seemed suddenly embarrassed. ''Twas a brave thing you did in
the labyrinth,' she said in a low voice. 'You saved both of our lives, and I will not forget that.'
‘It was nothing,' I mumbled as I turned away, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks despite the chilly
October air.
'What do you suppose will happen when Devere finds us gone?' I asked after a long pause.
 'I don't know,' replied Eliza. She sounded troubled. 'He has no way of knowing where we are
going for now, but I fear for George. He said himself that Devere is perceptive. He will know why we
have left, I am quite sure, and it will not take him long to discover that we found George. I dare not think
what he will do to him then.'
'George is more use to Devere alive than dead until he finds out where the dragonskin is,' I
replied.
Eliza nodded. 'That is true,' she said, 'but I am also afraid for my father.'
'Your father? Why?' I asked.
'Devere,' replied Eliza. 'I am afraid about what he will do to my father when he realises what we
have done. You have seen yourself he is not a merciful man.'
She stared out into the darkness as though she might penetrate it with her eyes and see right
through to the end of our journey, wherever it might lead us.
'We can go back,' I said, though even as I spoke the words, I knew we could not. 'There is still
time before they get back and realise we are gone.'
Eliza shook her head and straightened herself. Her jaw was set firm, and her eyes shone in the
lantern light.
'No, we cannot go back,' she said firmly.
Chapter 21

In the east, the sky was growing pale. The night was almost through, and the dark hour before dawn was
passing. The city limits were far behind us, and the river wound its way past the Kent towns of
Northfleet, Gravesend and East Tilbury where it broadened before emptying into the Thames Estuary.
I drew the compass from my pocket. Its needle pointed east, past the towns of Margate and
Ramsgate, and then south, directing us towards Dover and Folkestone. Besides studying the alchemical
texts that Emerson had directed me to, I had used my time in the Guild library to look over the maps
kept there, and I was now quite familiar with the general shape of England and Wales. I knew we were
heading for the English Channel. I adjusted the wheel a little, keeping the ship mid-stream as we left the
estuary behind and sailed out into the open sea.
'Is this the great ocean George has told me tales of?' asked Eliza, her eyes wide with wonder.
'No,' I replied. 'This is the North Sea. The Dutch Republic and Spanish Netherlands are across
the water. You may see them if the weather stays clear.'
'You handle the ship well considering you say you have never sailed anything larger than a fishing
boat before,' commented Eliza.
'We have barely left the river behind,' I said. 'Wait until we have been on the open sea for a while.
Even if the weather is kind to us, the sea will be rougher. I only hope your father's sails are as good as
they look.'
'They are,' replied Eliza firmly.
 Dawn passed, and a grey, sunless day emerged. The compass guided us around the Kent coastline
and into the English Channel. The sea was calm, but I was careful to keep land in sight, fearful of what
the heavy clouds that gathered ominously in the west had in store.
'I am quite exhausted,' yawned Eliza. 'I think it must be this sea air.'
'It is,' I called over my shoulder. 'I've missed it.'
'That may be, but you can't sleep at the wheel,' said Eliza. 'Can we drop anchor and rest for a bit.'
'Not here,' I replied. 'We shall have to find somewhere sheltered- a bay or inlet. I don't like the
look of those clouds out west.'
Eliza followed my gaze to where the swollen clouds gathered on the western horizon.
'Is it a storm?' she asked.
'It looks like it,' I said, 'but if it breaks land before it reaches us, we may be spared. We need to
get past these cliffs.'
For the next few hours we watched the sky threaten rain while the ship carried us further west,
hugging the Kent coastline.
'Look ahead,' I called.
Eliza was dosing off, curled up under a blanket on the deck behind me. She got up and looked to
where I pointed. There before us lay an inlet at the end of a long stretch of beach.
'That will be a good place to drop anchor and rest a while,' I said. 'Let us see what the weather is
like before we decide whether to go any further today once we have rested.'
Navigating the ship into the inlet, we dropped the anchor and docked beside a rocky outcrop
sheltered from the wind by a narrow headland which jutted out beyond the beach.
'Will it be safe here?' asked Eliza.
'As long as that storm holds off,' I replied curling up under a blanket. I didn't wait for Eliza to
raise any further objection. I was asleep even as my head touched the deck.
I woke some hours later to find the blanket wet through and my cloak underneath damp and
cold. A fine, drenching rain was all that the clouds appeared to be carrying. Eliza stirred beside me and
peered out from beneath her blanket.
'What time is it?' she asked.
'I should say it is about four or five o'clock,' I replied, studying the sky above.
'Can we go any further today?' she asked.
I thought for a moment and looked about. The beach was deserted. It seemed as good a place as
any to shelter for the night, and I didn't like the thought of sailing on the open sea in the dark, no matter
how close we kept to the coast.
'No,’ I replied at last. ‘’Twill be safer to wait here until morning. I am not familiar with this
stretch of coast, and we may not reach another suitable place to drop anchor before nightfall.'
Eliza didn't argue. 'We should find some wood and make a fire,' she said, scrambling to her feet.
'We shall perish in these wet things if we don't get warm soon.'
 Taking our precious bag of supplies, we lowered the life raft into the water and paddled to the
shore. The wet sand sank beneath our boots as we crossed the beach, and sea gulls swooped down to
pick out food washed up by the surf. Behind the sand dunes, thick tangles of stalky grass, gorse and
stunted trees provided plenty of fuel for a fire. We collected as much as we could carry and set about
building a fire in a hollow between the dunes.
Somewhere behind the thickness of clouds that hung low in the sky, the sun was setting. A finger
of sunlight broke through the clouds on the horizon and flashed off the waves before sinking into the
sea. Evening drew in, and the shadows deepened all around us as we ate our meal.
'Can we sleep here beside the fire tonight?' asked Eliza through the shivers that convulsed
through her body. 'I'm chilled to the bone.'
I squinted out to where the black form of the ship lilted gently on the waves. 'Yes, just for
tonight,' I replied. 'I don't think the current is strong enough to sweep her out to sea. Let us drag the raft
a little further up the beach though, and we ought to try and hide it.'
'Why?' asked Eliza.
'Thieves,' I replied.
 Chapter 22

We tossed our bag of provisions onto the raft and dragged it up the beach, over one of the gentler sand
dunes, and hid it as best we could amongst the shrubs and grass.
The tide was creeping in, and the darkness was almost complete. For a long while we sat in
silence, staring into the flames and listening to the hiss and crackle of the fire and the lap of the waves as
they collapsed on the shore. Every now and then, I tossed more kindling onto the fire and listened to it
snap as the flames devoured the fresh fuel.
'You must regret ever finding that box on the beach,' said Eliza suddenly.
I looked up, roused from my thoughts as I absent-mindedly wondered how long the food we had
brought would last us.
'Not entirely,' I replied. 'I'll own that I wish it hadn't been under such circumstances, but I am
glad I have met you. Your friendship is recompense, I suppose.'
Eliza smiled shyly. 'Do you really consider me a friend?' she asked.
'Of course,' I replied.
Eliza made no reply and was thoughtful for a while. 'I have never had a friend before,' she said at
last.
'Why not?' I asked, though the answer seemed obvious.
'The Guild,' Eliza replied. 'I was taught by my father, so I never went to school. In church, we
always sit apart from non-Guild members. All the other members took apprentices when I was only an
infant, so I never had much to do with them.'
'How did your father become a member?' I asked.
'My parents married when they were sixteen. They were extremely poor, but my father managed
to secure a job in a tailor's shop in Blackfriars. It wasn't much, but it was something. One day, a
gentleman came in to purchase a new shirt and breeches. My father noted that he wore a golden signet
ring engraved with a butterfly on his right forefinger. The man insisted on waiting while his purchases
were altered by the tailor and questioned my father concerning himself.
'My father told him that he had a young wife and a baby daughter who was sick because the
room they lived in had no glass at the window, and he was too poor to buy any, and so there was nothing
for it but to hang a rag up at the window to mitigate the bitter winter draughts and huddle around the fire
when he could afford to buy firewood. The gentleman listened closely without saying a word then left
with his purchases.
'As my father closed the shop that evening and made his way back to the boarding house where
he and my mother were living, the same gentleman stepped out from a doorway and approached my him.
He told my father that he was a weaver for a secret group and offered him the opportunity to become his
apprentice and lift his wife and baby daughter out of poverty on the condition he forsake his old life,
family, friends and acquaintances. Having no surviving family to consider but my mother and me, my
father gladly accepted the offer and moved us into the Gatehouse that night. It seemed to him that all his
problems were finally resolved, but the winter of 1634 was a bitter one, and my mother was already weak
from nursing me. She died a few weeks later when I was two months old.
'My father was distraught at the loss of his young wife. He wove her burial shroud, and she was
buried in the churchyard of St. Mary's. He was left to bring me up alone while also working as the
Vestarian's apprentice. For the next eight years he worked tirelessly, learning all he could about magic. He
practised his craft in the weaving room by day and studied in the library and taught me my letters by
night. He was determined to become the best apprentice ever to demonstrate his gratitude to the
Vestarian for the mercy he showed him on that winter evening eight years before. But in November of
that year, the Vestarian died.
'My father then became a fully initiated member and the new Vestarian. I remember peeping
through the door of the initiation chamber during the rites and deciding there and then that I wanted to
be the next Vestarian after him. I petitioned my father about it the next day, but he refused. The old
Vestarian had shown him mercy and allowed him to bring me and my mother to the Gatehouse to reside
with him, but ordinarily apprentices must be unattached and forsake all friends and family. My father had
been careful to prevent me from learning too much about the Guild, so I would be free to leave and
marry when I grew up. He intended to send me into the service of a wealthy family when I reached the
age of ten, but I didn't want that. I wanted to become his apprentice and the first female Vestarian.
Bridget Blyth had not long become the Guild's illusionist, and she petitioned my father on my behalf. At
last he relented, and I was initiated when I was nine years old- the youngest apprentice ever.'
'Does it not bother you- having your life dictated by the Guild?' I asked.
'No,' replied Eliza. 'Is that not the way of it for most people except the very rich? Wasn't your life
mapped out for you before you found the box and were brought to London? You would have become a
fisherman, taken a wife and had children just as your father did and probably back through all the
generations of your family. We do not have the luxury of choice. Our lives are dictated by our
circumstances whether we are aware of it or not.'
'I suppose so,' I replied thoughtfully. I hadn't really considered my life in that way before, and it
was somewhat depressing to think of.
'Well,' said Eliza wrapping herself in her blankets and rolling onto her side with her back to the
fire. 'To be sure, I never thought I would find myself a friend. I for one am glad you found the box.
Goodnight, Tom.'
'Goodnight, Eliza.'
 Chapter 23

It was still dark when I woke to the sound of voices further up the beach. I opened my eyes and rolled
onto my front, shuffling up to the top of the sand dune to peer through the gorse. The moon had risen
and glowed down upon the sea, silhouetting the ship against the sky. Ribbons of cloud drifted slowly past,
giving it a strange and eerie appearance.
The fire had died, and the smouldering remains offered little warmth. I shivered and strained to
hear what the voices said. Suddenly, a lantern was uncovered, and four men could be seen standing no
more than a hundred yards away. They were smugglers, I had little doubt, and they were looking out at
the ship anchored only five hundred yards from the beach.
'Do you think it has been abandoned?' asked one of the men.
'No,' replied another. 'Its mast and sails are intact, see? Who would abandon a perfectly good
ship so close to the shore? It is a mighty fine vessel, though. Full of booty, no doubt. Its crew won't be far
away. I'll warrant they are hiding in the sand dunes.'
'I say we find 'em, rob and kill 'em, then come back in the morning and tow it to shore and claim
it under salvage,' said a third man.
There followed some muttering as the men fanned out to search the sand dunes. In the lantern
light, the long blade of a knife gleamed in the hand of one of the men.
I scrambled back down the dune as fast as I dared and shook Eliza awake. She groaned and
rubbed her eyes.
'It's not morning yet,' she moaned.
'Shhh! There are robbers on the beach,' I whispered. 'If they find us, they will kill us to claim the
ship. We need to get out of here fast.'
'The life raft!' whispered Eliza, fully awake in a moment. 'All our supplies are in it!'
Crawling along on our fronts, we made our way to where we had left the raft a little further up
the dunes. I hardly dared breathe as the orange glow of the lantern swept past us and almost cast its light
upon us more than once.
'I don't like this,' said the fourth man who had so far remained silent. ''Tis all a bit uncanny, and
on All Souls’ Eve as well. What if it is a ghost ship? I have heard tales of such, and any who try to board
them are cursed till the end of their days.'
'You are a fool, Mullins,' said the first man. 'That ain't no ghost ship! 'Tis as real as you or me.
Shut up your whining and get searching.'
Mullins said nothing, evidently cowed by the other man who appeared to be the ring leader. He
wandered up to the sand dune where Eliza and I hid just a stone's throw from the raft.
'Why didn't we take Mr. Ellery's optics shroud with us?' I chastised myself. 'It would be useful
right now.'
 Mullins took a few furtive steps towards us and peered into the darkness. Eliza and I pressed
ourselves closer to the side of the dune, but Mullins' unease wasn't so easily assuaged by the other man's
reproach. He glanced about but would go no further.
'Nothing up here,' he called to the others as he walked back down to the beach.
I touched Eliza's hand and gestured for her to stay as I crawled to the life raft. The men's voices
were getting closer.
'Get back up there, Mullins, there ain't no way you've looked properly.'
Mullins appeared over the top of the sand dune, carrying his lantern. The life raft was mere feet
away, and he was getting closer. With trembling hands, I groped about for a stone or large shell. My
fingers closed over the smooth, cold mass of a flat pebble, and in one move I tossed it into the dunes
away to the left. It landed with a soft thud in the sand.
At once, Mullins turned his lantern in the direction of the sound and peered a little harder into
the darkness. In the silence, my heartbeat sounded like a drum in my ears. I hardly dared breathe as he
turned then stopped and looked back to the dune where I hid. Perhaps he caught the sound of my
breathing or the barely perceptible flap of my cloak in the breeze, but he hesitated for a moment before
re-affirming that there definitely was no one there.
As he walked away, I peeped out from the edge of the dune and saw Eliza still huddled against
the next sand dune. Above her, another of the men was approaching. In a few seconds, he would see her.
I beckoned her, but she couldn't see me in the darkness. The man was getting closer. I felt for another
pebble and tossed it away into the dunes where Mullins had gone to explore. It landed with a loud rustle
in the midst of a tangle of thorny shrubs. The man stopped and immediately started back the way he had
come to investigate the noise.
'Here!' I whispered to Eliza when the man was out of earshot.
We crawled the final few yards to the life raft and climbed inside. There was nowhere else to hide
but within the general cover of the shrubs we had hidden it in. Across the beach, the men could still be
heard talking to one another, and their lanterns bobbed this way and that as they searched the sand dunes.
'Someone has been here for sure,' called one of the men to his companions. 'They've left a fire.'
The three other men went over to him to examine the remains of the fire.
'Whoever it was is long gone by now, I'll warrant,' said the first man. 'And if they weren't, they'll
have left hearing all the noise you three have made. Let's just come back in the morning.'
There was some muttering from the others, but it seemed they had reached a decision. Eliza and
I watched as they made their way back down the beach before vanishing into the darkness. We waited
until their voices fell silent, hardly daring to hope that the danger had passed, before climbing out of the
raft.
'My nerves are in shreds,' whispered Eliza.
'They won't be far away,' I said. 'They'll be watching the ship till morning to make sure no one
else gets to it before they do. We must leave now. Help me drag the raft back out.'
 Beneath the cover of our cloaks, which offered some camouflage with the general darkness, we
hauled the raft over the dunes, down the beach and back into the water. I took up the paddle as Eliza
glanced behind. Away beyond the beach, the flicker of a lantern could just be seen.
 Chapter 24

Dawn was still a few hours off as we took to the open sea once more. Still the compass pointed west
further and further along the south coast of England.
'We shall hit Dorset waters soon if we continue on this course,' I thought, but I said nothing to
Eliza as we sailed through the remainder of the night.
Away in the east, the sky was pink and saffron. The last stars blanched in the pale light of dawn
as the sun rose above the rim of the world.
'I have never seen a sun rise,' said Eliza, gazing out across the sea and shielding her eyes against
the light.
'I have seen some beautiful ones,' I murmured. I thought of home and the people there who
would be missing me.
'You are lucky,' said Eliza. 'London is so dirty and, well, wooden. I imagined all places were like
it. I had no idea there was so much greenery in the country. See how it stretches out as far as we can see!'
'Yes, 'tis very different in the country,' I replied. 'I felt the same when I first came to London.' I
was remembering the moment I stepped off the ship onto the docks and saw the mist on the river, the
dirty brown water, and the bustle of people all around me.
As we spoke, I noticed a black speck in the sky gradually coming closer.
'What's that?' I said as I squinted into the rising sun.
'I think it's a thrush,' replied Eliza.
'What would a thrush be doing out at sea? They are land birds,' I said.
'Wait and see; it looks like it's coming towards us,' replied Eliza.
Sure enough, the bird was heading straight for the ship. In a few moments it swept down from
the sky and landed on the wheel before me.
'It has something in its beak!' I exclaimed.
'What is it?' asked Eliza.
''Tis a note from George!' I cried as I unfolded the slip of paper and skimmed through the words
written upon it.
'What does it say?' asked Eliza. She craned her neck to see over my shoulder and read the words
written in George's distinctive hand.

1st November 1648

Dear Eliza and Tom,

 It is my pleasure to introduce you to my new companion, Bill, who has already proved himself an
excellent courier, having acquired pen and paper for me to write to you. However, the news I must share
is not good, I fear. Unsurprisingly, your absence has not gone unnoticed, and needless to say, it did not
take much thought on Devere’s part to conclude the reason for your disappearance. He is furious. He
visited today and was barely able to conceal his rage. I fear he will not hesitate to put forth all his power
and resource into finding you and hindering your purpose, for he will have Parliamentarian forces at his
command with just a word to Cromwell. Yet I fear that is not the worst of it; Devere has awakened from
its long slumber upon White Horse Hill the Shadow Horse, the last living creature of pure magic in this
world, and the very same from which the hair that an initiate’s pledge is weighed against. It is a bold
move, for it was decreed by the founding Guild members that the Shadow Horse should only be awoken
if the very existence of magic is in peril, and to do so is a dangerous and complex ritual. Yet it is proof of
Devere’s determination to get what he desires, for once set upon the trail of magic, the Shadow Horse
will go to the ends of the earth to find it.
Naturally, this news alters the situation dramatically and makes my position and yours even more
precarious than before. For my own part, Devere no longer needs me to disclose the location of the
dragonskin. I cannot speculate what he intends to do with me now, but he is not an impulsive man. I
suspect he will not dispose of me quite yet, certainly not until he has the dragonskin in his keeping, but I
cannot be sure. Thus, I will do all I can to aid you for as long as I am able, and I will continue to write to
you with any news I can glean, though you will appreciate that this will be limited. Bill will carry my
messages and will find you wherever you are. He has also carried messages to some of my friends and
trusted associates outside the Guild whom I have called upon to assist you as they are able.
Your journey is now more urgent than ever, and speed is our only hope against such powerful
pursuers. Therefore, I urge you to hasten with all speed to Other England and do not tarry there. I have
learned the King is now in the custody of Colonel Robert Hammond in Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of
Wight, so I urge you to make your way there with the dragonskin without delay. It would seem that
Cromwell has been emboldened by Devere's assurances, and I fear he may act against His Majesty soon. I
will write to you again if I learn more and am able. Until then, I wish you good speed.'

At the bottom, the note was signed with George's elaborate signature.
'What are we to do?' cried Eliza. 'Poor George! What if Devere kills him?'
'We can only hope he doesn't,' I said, 'but see, George is resourceful; look how he has got this
message to us. Don't give up hope yet. We have had a good head start, and it seems we will need it with
the Shadow Horse and Cromwell’s men at our heels. The best we can do for George is to get the
dragonskin and deliver it up to His Majesty as quickly as possible.’
Eliza nodded, but I could see the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.
'Can we reach Other England before the Shadow Horse?' she whispered as though she was
asking a question she dared not.
 'I don't know,' I replied. 'I don't know how much further we have to travel. If you mean can we
sail any faster, that depends on the wind. It is in our favour at the moment, but that may not last. We
should cover as much water as we can while it lasts because we could be drifting for days if the wind
drops.'
Eliza nodded and sat beside me at the helm, staring out at the endless expanse of water ahead of
us. Her face was etched with worry, but Bill seemed perfectly content perched upon the wheel and
showed little sign he intended to leave. For a long while he remained where he was, grooming his feathers
or gazing out to sea, then suddenly he took flight and was gone.
'I wish I had brought pen and ink and paper to send a message back to George,' murmured Eliza.
For the next few days, the wind and current carried us swiftly along, but the clear weather had
soon turned to drizzle and mist. The sails were full, and the coastline passed us by in an endless
procession of beaches and rock faces dotted here and there with sheltered coves and smugglers’ caves
cleverly hidden from the view of the cliffs above. The landscape of the coast was beginning to look more
familiar to me, and I guessed the rocky cliffs and golden beaches of Dorset weren't far away.
'I wonder how George and Emerson coped with their voyages across the world. We have been at
sea barely three days, and I am already quite sick of it,' complained Eliza. 'I wish we knew how much
further we have to go before we reach Other England. I cannot sit and do nothing while George is in
grave danger.'
'There is nothing you can do but be patient,' I replied. 'We have made good progress.'
Indeed, we had left Kent and East Sussex far behind and were crossing from West Sussex into
Hampshire waters. We had barely had to trim the sails, so fortunate had we been with the wind speed and
direction.
'What's that?' asked Eliza as a small island not far from the mainland appeared through the mist.
'That is the Isle of Wight,' I replied, squinting out into the mist.
'That is where George said the King is being held,' said Eliza. 'How will we get to him if he is in
the custody of a Parliamentarian?'
'I don't know,' I replied. 'I had been wondering the same, but we haven't yet reached Other
England. Let us worry about that for now and hope we reach it before the Shadow Horse does.'
For the rest of the day, the wind maintained our speed, and the mist lifted somewhat. Eliza
distracted herself watching the seals that we had begun to encounter bobbing up and down in the waves
or lounging on rocks, while I steered the ship around the curves and sharp headlands of the Hampshire
and east Dorset coast. I said nothing to Eliza, but the familiarity of the land and sea had provoked in me
an irrepressible urge to see my family and let them know I was still alive.
'We can't be far from Osmington Mills,' I thought to myself as we passed a long, straight stretch
of beach.
'What are you doing?' asked Eliza as I turned the wheel sharply and guided the ship towards land.
'I am going to see my family. I have to let them know I am alive!' I replied.
 Chapter 25

'No, Tom, you can't!' cried Eliza, seizing the wheel from me. 'Devere will kill you! You know that!'
'Devere will kill us anyway when he finds out what we have done! I didn't get a chance to say
goodbye to them. I must see them!' I cried. My voice was shrill with emotion, and my eyes stung as I
fought back the tears that pooled in them.
'’Tis not just you he will kill, Tom. He will kill them too, and do not think he won't, for I have
known it happen! Please, Tom, see sense!’
I stood for a long moment, torn between my longing to see my family once more, if only for a
moment, and good sense. My limbs felt heavy, and my heart pounded. I knew in my heart that Eliza
spoke the truth. She looked at me imploringly, her wide eyes filled with pity.
At last, I let go of the wheel, and my arms hung limply at my sides. Eliza stepped up to the wheel
and corrected the maneuver. Not a mile from where we now sailed, my old home looked out to sea,
screened from sight by a hedge and a few grizzled oak trees. I choked back a sob and disappeared below
deck.
In the cabin, I sat with my head in my hands, ignoring all the peculiar objects that George had
collected on his travels. There was a bird cage with a stuffed dodo inside, and a strangely carved mask
with an elongated head and a terrifying red mouth filled with jagged teeth. I swept them off the desk that
was pressed against the wall of the cabin and stared down at the wood rings on its surface for a long
while.
I only looked up at the sound of soft tapping on the cabin door. I couldn't be sure how long I
had been sitting there.
'May I come in?' asked Eliza from outside.
I sighed and stood up. 'We shouldn't leave the wheel unattended,' I said, brushing past her as I
stepped out of the cabin.
'I am sorry about your family,' said Eliza hesitantly as she joined me at the wheel.
I nodded but made no reply and glanced over at the dark smudge of the hedgerow beyond the
cliffs. Tucked away behind it was my home. It was too far away now to see clearly. I wondered how many
times I had looked out at that same view from my father's fishing boat and thought nothing of it. It
seemed strange that something so inconsequential then now stirred such emotion within me.
'We are in for a storm,' I muttered, looking up at the sky.
Sure enough, the wind had picked up and the sails billowed to the full. Thick brown clouds
gathered overhead. I was all-too familiar with what they foreboded.
'A bad one?' asked Eliza.
'I don't know,' I replied, 'but the compass is directing us south-west now. Perhaps we can escape
the worst of it. We will find out if these sails work or not, otherwise. Help me hoist the trysail.'
 Almost as soon as we had lowered the mainsail, a rumble of thunder boomed overhead, and the
wind squalled around us, whipping the sea into a soup of foam-crested waves. A moment later the rain
started, pummeling the deck and drenching us to the bone. The ship rolled on its starboard side but
remained upright.
'Get the rope,' I yelled above the gale. 'Tie it round your waist.'
'What for?' Eliza shouted back.
'So you don't get swept overboard! Do it!'
I fastened a length of rope around my waist and lashed it to the wheel. The ship heeled almost
horizontal as an enormous wave broke against it, but still it remained just about upright.
'Hold the wheel steady!' I shouted, but at that moment, another wave crashed over the deck,
sweeping the compass from my hands. The ship rolled forward, sending it spinning across the deck.
'The compass!' I cried as the ship was lifted almost vertical by another wave that surged beneath
us, the compass hurtling towards the bow and the raging sea below. 'Hold my rope!' I called to Eliza as I
dived to clear the length of the deck that stood between me and the compass.
The ship hit the trough of the wave and rose again at the stern. The compass slid back down the
deck towards me.
My hands were numb and trembled with cold, but with my last reserve of energy, I snatched up
the compass as it came hurtling towards me. Crawling along the deck to the hatch, I tossed it into the
cabin and slammed the hatch shut.
'Tom, we shall be wrecked!' cried Eliza from the wheel as she fought to steady it. The trysail
flapped wildly where it had been abandoned, and the ship was heeling dangerously without the
marvellous sails to keep her afloat.
'Hang on there!' I yelled as I scrambled towards the mast. I pulled with all my strength on the
halyard line as bit by bit, the trysail was raised. Behind me, Eliza was slumped before the wheel, barely
able to stand long enough to get a grasp of it.
 Chapter 26

'We have to steer her out of this storm or we shall be blown off course,' I called to Eliza above the howls
of the wind and rain. The wheel spun wildly as the ship lurched over on its starboard side. 'Help me hold
the wheel down,' I yelled.
The wind almost knocked us sideways. It took all our strength to steady the wheel and guide the
ship south, out of the eye of the storm. Waves lashed the deck and tossed us about like a leaf in a stream,
showering us with spray.
'Is it turning?' yelled Eliza.
'I think so,' I replied, but my words were blown back into my mouth by the gale. The ship rose
beneath a sudden swell and turned as it was driven into the trough. The wind was behind us now, driving
us south out of the storm
'This will be Devere's doing,' cried Eliza.
'Don't let go! Keep her steady!' I yelled.
I threw my full weight behind the wheel to keep it from rolling back with the surge as a final
swell sent us spinning out of the path of the storm. The sea instantly felt calmer, and the rain eased a
little. Overhead, the sky was clearing, and the first stars of evening appeared.
Eliza groaned and peeled off her cloak. 'I'm as wet as a fish!' she cried. She looked back at the
tempest we had just escaped and gasped as the waves at once subsided, where seconds ago they had
tossed the ship about as though it were a toy boat. The wind lagged a little then was still but for a slight
breeze ruffling the surface of the sea.
'That was no ordinary storm. See how calm the sea is now! Devere knows what we have done.
He knows we have taken the ship, I am sure of it. He will have directed the Agriculturian to cast a
weather spell against us. Oh, my stomach! 'Tis in pieces. I think I am going to be sick!'
'I thought you had found your sea legs by now,' I said. 'Go and get dry in the cabin. I can manage
alone from here.'
Eliza stomped below deck to dry off while I settled in front of the wheel. I said nothing to Eliza,
but secretly I shared her suspicions. I glanced up at the sky, now perfectly clear and with not a trace of
the storm that had just passed. I thought of the Agriculturian and his weather spells. An uncomfortable
feeling in the pit of my stomach warned me that Devere was not going to allow us to get to Other
England without a fight.
The coast was behind us now and drifting further into the distance as the ship maintained a
straight course south-west. I looked down at the compass face and wondered whether it would give some
indication when we were close to our destination, but the needle simply pointed south-west as before.
'If we carry on much further, we shall end up in the open ocean,' I thought.
 For the next few hours we took turns manning the wheel while the other rested. The compass
needle drifted accordingly if the ship veered slightly, but we held a generally straight course, and by
morning we were several more miles from the English coast.
'I think I can see a fog ahead,' said Eliza as I came to join her at the wheel. It had been her duty
for the past two hours, and she stood upon the prow squinting into the distance and shielding her eyes
from the muted sunlight.
'I see it,' I said, following her gaze. 'Where is the compass directing us?'
'South-west- directly towards it,' replied Eliza. 'How far away do you think it is?'
'I don't know,' I replied. 'It is difficult to judge distance at sea. Let’s keep watching it and see
what the compass does.'
Morning wore on, and the pale sun climbed higher in the sky, burning off any lingering sea mist,
but the patch of fog remained as it was, getting gradually closer.
'What are you doing?' asked Eliza as I pulled on the halyard and adjusted the sails. I had lowered
them to slow the ship and prevent it from drifting too far off course while she was at the wheel. I was still
unsure of her sailing abilities.
'Speeding us up,' I replied. 'That mist is unnatural. Look at the sky; 'tis a perfectly clear day. Any
mist should have dissipated by now.'
The wind filled the sails, and the ship glided across the waves. The mist loomed closer until it was
just before us, so close that I could reach out and feel the moisture on my hands. I watched as it
enveloped the ship, and then it seemed we had passed into another world.
Alongside the ship, a flash of white appeared suddenly beneath the waves before the head of the
strangest sea creature I had ever encountered emerged from below the surface. It was white, with the
smooth hide of a dolphin, and its mouth was curved into a gentle smile. It regarded us for a few seconds
and let out a high-pitched whistle before disappearing back beneath the waves.
As we sailed further into the cove, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull ceased, and a
pervasive silence filled the air. The mist wreathed itself around the ship, but just ahead it lifted a little
revealing a beach bounded upon either side by the rocky arms of the cliffs. High above, an imposing
castle emerged as though carved from the living rock.
'That is it,' whispered Eliza. The silence seemed such an inmate part of the place we had reached
that talking seemed almost too human an activity to be carried out; a violation of something profound
and wholly detached from human understanding.
‘I daren’t get any closer,’ I whispered. ‘See those whale bones reaching above the surface? I’ll
warrant there are more hidden beneath. We shall have to take the raft.’
Together we lowered the anchor and descended the ladder to the raft below. It took all my
strength to paddle the short distance to the beach, for though the sea was unnaturally still, an invisible
force seemed to resist our approach. I could well understand the reluctance of fishermen and sailors to
venture into the cove.
 'I’ll not be sorry to leave this place,' said Eliza as we disembarked from the raft and dragged it
beyond the tide’s reach. ‘‘Tis uncanny to be sure.’
It felt strange to at last feel the earth beneath my feet after so long at sea. For several moments
we could do little else but stare and drink in the silence that lay across the cove. 'Come,' I said at last. 'We
ought not linger. Those steps lead to the cliff-top.'
We crossed the beach and began the climb up the jagged stairway that zig-zagged across the cliff
face. At times, we were forced to crawl on our hands and knees where the cliff reared almost vertical
above the beach below. All the while, the silence pressed closer around us. The air felt somehow thick
and alive, and an overwhelming sense that we were being watched had me looking over my shoulder and
glancing up to the cliff top above, yet there wasn't a soul to be seen beside an ancient-looking, bald-
headed raven that circled the cliff top.
At last the stairway ended. A few stunted trees clung to the cliff edge, the only living thing of any
consequence on that otherwise desolate tip of the land. High above, the castle loomed atop its rocky
promontory and cast its shadow upon us. The enclosing wall was carved with the faces of gargoyles and
other fantastic creatures that looked out over the forlorn landscape. I shuddered at the sight of them,
certain that the cold stone eyes followed us as we walked in search of an entrance.
‘I don’t like the look of those carvings,’ said Eliza. ‘They seem as though they might come to life
at any moment.’
‘Aye, but look there,’ I replied, gesturing to a pair of richly-carved gates in the westernmost part
of the wall, embossed with images of strange chimeric creatures and secret symbols. Before them, two
pure white peacocks stood unmoving, gazing out across the sea.
'Are they real?' asked Eliza. 'I have never seen a creature so still.'
'I don't know,' I replied, stepping towards them.
Immediately, the peacocks displayed their enormous trains of white feathers, which spanned the
entire width of the gates, barring the entrance. I dared not get any closer.
'George said nothing of guards,’ I said, backing away. 'What are we to do? I don’t like the look of
those spurs.’
'I wonder if there is another entrance,' replied Eliza. 'Come, let’s see if there is another way in.'
Giving the gates a wide berth, we followed the castle walls all the way around and back, but it
was no use; there was no other door or gate to be seen, and the walls were too high and smooth to even
attempt to climb.
'There must be another way in,' I groaned. 'We have to get inside.'
Eliza sat on the ground and held her head in her hands. I sank down beside her and stared across
at the two peacocks as though the weight of my gaze would spirit them away. The bald-headed raven had
alighted on top of the gates and watched us closely. I fancied the glint in his eye was one of mockery at
out plight.
 Afternoon was wearing on, and the sun slid further down the sky. We sat for a long while,
exhausted and dispirited. We had come this far, and now it seemed we had reached a dead end when the
dragonskin was just within our reach.
‘Ambrose! Ambrose Ruddle!’ I called out in a sudden burst of frustration. The raven croaked and
took flight, disappearing behind the walls. For several moments we listened for any sign that my call had
been heeded, but the silence only pressed closer. The peacocks stood like carved stone, unconcerned by
my outburst.
'I suppose it’s too much to hope they ever sleep,’ I muttered.
'Of course!' cried Eliza. 'The Venatorian’s bugle! No animal can resist its sound it is said.’
'Will it work? Those peacocks are clearly enchanted,’ I replied, eyeing them doubtfully.
‘Maybe, but it’s worth a try.’
We scrambled to our feet and hurried back to the palace steps.
‘Please be careful, Tom. Those spurs look vicious,’ said Eliza.
I held the bugle to my lips and drew a breath. A low, clear note rang out as I emptied my lungs. I
set my foot on the first step. The peacocks remained motionless. I stepped onto the next step, but they
didn't move. Without taking my eyes off the birds, I moved up to the third and final step. At once the
peacocks lunged, pecking and tearing at me. I shielded my face with one arm as I slipped and tumbled
back down the steps. The peacocks immediately returned to their post, closed their trains and assumed
their motionless attitude.
'Curse and confound it!' I cried, inspecting a nasty gash along my forearm. 'Have you any more
ideas?'
'None,' replied Eliza miserably.
 Chapter 27

I sank to the ground and wiped the blood from my arm. Shadows crept out of the gorse thickets and
gathered all around us. I stared dejectedly for a long while at the still, silent peacocks and the gates behind
them- all that stood between us and the dragonskin. In the west, the setting sun began to filter through
the ragged clouds on the horizon. I looked back to the gates, tracing the intricate carvings upon them
with my eyes. Between the stationary figures of the peacocks, the carvings seemed to gleam in the failing
light. In the centre of the gates, a peacock with its train open stood below a pair of balance scales with the
sun and crescent moon resting in the pans.
As I stared at the carvings, the book I had studied in the library the day I met Eliza leapt into my
mind. I saw the illustration I had lingered on then as clearly as if the book lay open before me: a peacock
encased in a glass vessel crowned with a golden crown. The sight of the two peacock guards had
undoubtedly dislodged it from the half-forgotten regions of my memory, but the image’s meaning now
had me leaping to my feet.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Eliza as I began to frantically polish the blade of my pocket knife to
a high shine with the corner of my cloak.
‘It’s a test!’ I cried. ‘The carvings on the door- it’s a test to be sure only magicians pass the door!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Eliza, bewildered.
‘No time to explain,’ I replied. ‘Watch the sun. Has it touched the horizon yet?’
‘’Tis almost there. Dusk is not far off,’ replied Eliza.
‘Take my knife,’ I said, handing her the blade. ‘Hold it up to the sun, and when I give the word,
direct the reflection of the peacocks’ feathers into their eyes.’
‘What?’ cried Eliza. ‘How can that help?’
‘Moonrise and sunset are the times when day and night are in perfect balance,’ I replied excitedly.
‘When the light of the setting sun hits their feathers, I’ve an idea their colours will show. The separation
of colours is part of the alchemical process. It produces a breathtaking display that, if reflected into the
peacocks’ eyes, will dazzle them and allow me chance to sneak past. Keep your eyes down, mind! We will
be overwhelmed by the sight just as easily as the peacocks. Look! The sun is setting!’
I watched anxiously as the orange ball of the sun slid round the sky and sliced through a tear in
the clouds.
‘Now!’ I cried as the shaft of light beamed upon the overlapping trains of the peacocks, setting
them ablaze with an array of colours unlike any I had ever seen before. It took every shred of my will to
keep my eyes to the ground and not succumb to admiring the spectacle.
Eliza held up the blade. The reflection of the colours in the peacocks’ tails flashed off its surface
and bounced back towards them as I crept forward. Once again, they remained motionless as I set my
foot upon the first step. My heart pounded with anticipation as I moved, step by step, closer to the gates.
 ‘Hurry, Tom,’ Eliza called. ‘The sun will be gone in a few more moments.’
I drew a breath and steeled myself for whatever might lie ahead. Ducking through the gap
beneath the peacocks’ intertwined trains, I heaved open the gates then slammed them shut behind me.
 Chapter 28

For a few moments I could do little more than stare at what awaited me behind the gates. The empty,
featureless land on the other side of the wall was gone, replaced with an immense oak wood enclosed by a
courtyard and cleverly concealed from beyond the wall, but by what magical means I couldn’t tell.
An eerie twilight lingered beneath the eaves as the trees took on the semblance of a woodland
palace, with a high green ceiling held up by the endless columns of boughs that marched all the way up to
the castle beyond. There, the towers and buttresses rose even above the height of the trees, the very tops
of the battlements obscured by mist and cloud.
I glanced up where a patch of sky peeped through the canopy of the trees. It was the same sky I
had always known, of that I felt sure, but it seemed that in passing through the door I had stepped into
another time or place altogether. Everywhere felt very much more alive. The colours of everything, from
the leaves on the trees to the earth beneath my feet, were the colours I knew but richer, as though I had
previously viewed them through a dulling filter.
As I moved through the trees, the merry sound of pipes playing a jig could be heard some way
off. Without even realising, I found myself moving towards the music along a winding path. As the sound
grew louder, the trees thinned and stopped altogether before a grassy hillock upon which a crowd danced
and sung. At first glance, the dancers appeared to be children on account of their small stature, but their
limbs were sinewy and covered in tough, hide-like skin, and from their foreheads swelled two lumps like
the stumps of horns. Around the edge of the hillock, badgers and deer, foxes and hares gathered to
watch.
As I stepped from the cover of the trees onto the hillock, the music stopped instantly, and the
dancers and spectators disappeared, leaving behind nothing but the gathering dusk.
‘Who is it that makes so bold as to disturb my entertainment?’ came a voice from somewhere
away to my right. It was a pleasant voice, rich and jovial.
‘Pardon me,’ I replied, looking round to identify the speaker. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. I am
looking for Ambrose Ruddle.’
‘I am he,’ said the voice.
‘Will you step forth so that I might see you?’ I replied, squinting through the gloom to locate the
speaker.
‘You are standing right beside me,’ the voice replied. It seemed to be coming from above the
level of my head. I looked up, but there was nothing to be seen but a wren perched on a branch regarding
me with its bright black eyes.
‘I fear I cannot see you, sir,’ I said.
‘You are looking at me,’ the wren replied.
 I almost tripped over a tree root in astonishment as the bird alighted from the branch and swept
towards me, but even as its feet touched the ground it vanished. In its place stood the most peculiar-
looking man I had ever encountered. His face was exceptionally wrinkled, like a berry left out in the sun,
and a deep russet-coloured beard covered almost its entirety. Upon his head he wore a tall felt hat with a
motif of a sun embroidered upon its front. His dress only accentuated the eccentricity of his appearance;
he wore a long dark blue coat with frogging across the chest and wide burgundy pantaloons that seemed
to belong to another era entirely, but I noted his feet were bare and covered in greyish green scales like
those of a snake.
‘Ambrose Ruddle,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me up onto the hillock. ‘I rarely go about
in human form now. Immortal I may be, but the body still wearies with age, and several of my
experiments in my younger days have had permanent unintended effects.’ He glanced down at his feet as
he spoke. ‘I assume the very fact that you stand before me means you are a friend and a magician, for no
others would succeed in passing my guards. You are most welcome, but please tell me your purpose here.’
‘I am an apprentice magician, sir,’ I replied. ‘My name is Tom Wild. I’ve been sent by George
Prye of the Guild of Gatekeepers.’
‘George! Why, it seems only yesterday that I saw him upon this very hill, but it must be many
long years in the world outside these walls. When you are immortal, time seems to pass so slowly. Come,
the meat is at the board and the night is yet young. Will you join me? I would be obliged to hear what
cause George has to send another in his stead. It is most unlike him.’
‘I will, sir, but my companion, Eliza, is waiting for me outside,’ I replied.
‘Well now, that will never do. We cannot leave a young lady waiting on the doorstep.’ He clapped
his hands, and a moment later Eliza stood beside me, a look of bewilderment upon her face as she looked
from me to Ambrose.
‘Now, what news of England?’ he asked as he led us through the wood towards the castle. ‘I
belong to a merrier world of knights and mummers, but I fear the England I knew has long since
vanished.’
As we walked, I spoke of the war and the King’s troubles, and Eliza described London and the
sprawling city it had become. Ambrose listened intently, savouring every detail we could tell.
Evening had come, and the warm glow of candle flames began to appear one by one in scooped-
out hollows of the trees, lighting our path. At last we reached the castle, and Ambrose stopped before an
immense pair of doors. Immediately, they swung open without sign or gesture, revealing a vast hall
decked with flags and banners of every colour imaginable. Along the centre of the hall, a banquet table
laid with candles and the most exquisite foods awaited us, and a dozen black ravens, the bald-headed one
among them, perched upon the backs of the chairs, their heads turned towards Ambrose as though
awaiting instructions.
 In the corner of the hall, a sleeping dragon lay with its barbed tail coiled around the legs of a large
furnace from which pipes and bellows emerged on all sides. Smoke curled from its nostrils as it breathed,
propelling a wheel fashioned like the sails of a windmill.
‘Come in and be seated,’ said Ambrose, taking his position at the head of the table. ‘Set aside
your cares, for now is the time for feasting and merry-making. My ravens will serve you as well as any
human.’
‘Sir, what of the dragon?’ I asked, hesitating in the doorway. ‘Is it safe?’
‘That is Lilith,’ said Ambrose. ‘She will not harm you. She is not a dragon but a wyvern: a smaller,
less powerful cousin of the dragon and an indispensable part of the heating system, as you can see,’ he
added with a chuckle.
He dipped his hands in an ewer of water upon the table and held them above the wisps of smoke
drifting from the sleeping wyvern’s nostrils. As they floated past his hands, the drops of water were
transformed into dozens of tiny gems as clear as glass.
‘How the…?’ gasped Eliza
‘For you, young lady,’ said Ambrose with a bow as he presented them to her.
 Chapter 29

It was an odd experience indeed to feel the flap of the ravens’ wings as they flew up and down the table,
carrying platters and dishes in their beaks with just a word or gesture of command from Ambrose. As we
feasted on spiced meats and candied fruits, he laughed and jested with the vigour of one in the first flush
of youth. In between mouthfuls of food and raspberry lemonade, he spoke of the many magical things he
had seen in his long life, of the giant sleeping beneath the castle until the day magic returns to this world,
and of the wild folk I had watched dancing upon the hillock. If magicians and their subtleties were ever a
worthy subject for study, Ambrose would most certainly have been an anomaly, his jocularity seemingly at
odds with the discipline required for the study of magic, yet possessed of wisdom beyond the measure of
even William Devere.
‘There is magic to be found yet in the world,’ he declared. ‘True, a vast quantity disappeared with
the Banishment, but magic is like a flower in winter: it will retreat into the cold earth and the wild places
just waiting for something to awaken it, like the spring thaw. It is latent in animals that may still be found
in this world. Perhaps you spotted the smiling sea canaries in the cove yonder? They sing with the
mermaids and can calm a stormy sea with the sound of their voice. There is plenty of magic to be found
yet if you know where to look. But come now, I have spoken enough. Tell me what is afoot with George.’
‘’Tis grim news, I fear.’ I said. ‘He is being held prisoner by the Keeper of the Guild, William
Devere.’
‘And how did that come to be?’ asked Ambrose.
I proceeded with the tale of how Eliza and I had found George and learned of the dragonskin,
and of his instructions to deliver it up to the King. Ambrose listened without saying a word until the tale
was told.
‘Well, that is an eye-opener and no mistake,’ he said. ‘I have often wondered when that old
dragonskin would start causing trouble. It were better that George destroyed it than keep it hidden. I
warned him so when he first brought it here. I am over nine hundred years old, and I have lamented the
magic that was lost from this world, but high magic is an immensely powerful force, greater than most
people can comprehend. ‘Tis not a thing that should be passed around lightly.’ He paused and looked at
me and Eliza closely. ‘Nevertheless, George knows his own business best. I have not seen the outside of
these walls in nigh-on six hundred years. Maybe the world is ready for high magic once again.’
He rose from his seat and made his way to an elaborately carved chest that spanned almost the
entire width of the wall. From inside he lifted a parcel of white linen and set it upon the table before us.
‘Behold, the dragonskin,’ he said.
I felt a fluttering sensation in the pit of my stomach as he unfolded the linen to reveal the
precious treasure we had come so far to find. It was smaller than I expected, just a slither of skin no
bigger than the palm of my hand, and it had a translucent quality much like parchment. In truth, it looked
quite ordinary until Ambrose held it up to the candlelight, and then I saw the intricate pattern of the
scales shimmering in many hues of gold and bronze. My breath caught in my throat, and I gasped.
‘It is beautiful,’ I thought aloud.
‘That it is,’ replied Ambrose. ‘Keep it safe. Its size belies its power.’
He rested the dragonskin upon the palm of his hand and held it out for me or Eliza to take. We
looked at one another, both seemingly reluctant to become its guardian.
‘I daren't touch a thing so precious,’ said Eliza.
‘Very well. I will take it,’ I said, lifting it from Ambrose’s outstretched palm and wrapping it back
in its linen cover. As I tucked it into the breast pocket of my jerkin, I laughed suddenly and quite
unexpectedly as though a long-suppressed surge of emotion had suddenly been released.
‘What is it?’ asked Eliza.
‘I was just thinking how absurd it is that I was swept up into the world of magic quite by
accident, yet here I am holding the most precious and powerful object in the world in the breast pocket
of my jerkin while the head of the greatest order of magicians in Europe hunts for it.’
Ambrose shook his head sagely. ‘Nay, ‘twas no accident that you became embroiled with the
Guild of Gatekeepers and the dragonskin. There are no accidents where magic is concerned. There is
some purpose to your involvement with both, though what that purpose is may not be apparent yet.’
‘Perhaps, but still I’m mighty afraid,’ I replied. ‘I’m no magician, whatever Emerson’s hopes for
me may have been. Eliza was born into the Guild, but I am the son of a poor fisherman and smuggler.
I’m quite out of my depth, that much is plain.’
Ambrose smiled. ‘You see things as one with crooked eyes,’ he said. ‘William Devere is a master
manipulator, but you are the chink in his armour. True, you are not schooled in magic, but it is for that
reason that you are not under his sway and saw through his deceits.’
‘Ambrose is right, Tom. We’d never have found George if it wasn't for you,’ said Eliza.
‘Aye, and mark this!’ said Ambrose. ‘Magic may be learned, but you possess that most elusive
thing that cannot be taught, a thing that Devere cannot corrupt and magic cannot create: an honest heart.
By my reckoning, that counts for more than all the knowledge of the Alexandrian library.’
I blushed and looked down at my feet, a little overawed by Ambrose’s fervent belief in me. ‘I just
hope for the King’s and George’s sakes that your faith in me isn't misplaced,’ I replied.
Chapter 30

The moon was up, and the candles in the trees still burned as Ambrose led us back through the wood.
The night air was pleasantly refreshing after the warmth of the castle. In the distance, the sound of pipes
could be heard once again.
‘I am sorry indeed that you cannot stay longer. It has been many a long year since I have had a
visit from the world without,’ said Ambrose when we reached the castle gates. ‘Nonetheless, this is where
I must bid you farewell. Pay no mind to the mermaids if they call to you. I will send a fair wind to fill your
sails.’
With that, the gates swung open, and he was gone. As we made our way back to the stairway
leading down to the cove, I noted the dark shape of a bird silhouetted against the sky following us along
the perimeter of the walls. As we reached the cliffs it turned back to the castle and disappeared quietly
into the night.
In the cove below, the ship’s sails shimmered faintly in the moonlight, and the murmur of the
waves filled the air. We reached the end of the stairway and dragged the raft down to the shore. I glanced
over to the rocks that bounded the cove on either side. Somewhere amongst them, I thought I caught a
faint sound like the snort of an animal.
‘What was that?’ whispered Eliza.
‘I don’t know, but I heard it too,’ I replied.
The ship loomed before us, the rope ladder still hanging where we had left it. The little raft
bobbed gently upon the waves as we launched it into the black water and took up the paddles. Across the
cove, the splash of something in the water echoed along the cliffs as an invisible mass of speed and power
tore towards us, knocking me sideways into the sea. A sound like the whinnying of a horse rent the air.
‘The Shadow Horse!’ cried Eliza, scrambling back to the shore. ‘Get the dragonskin out of sight!’
I staggered to my feet only to be knocked down once more as the horse reared up at me, its
powerful hoofs pounding me with blows as I reached for the raft.
'Tom, run!' Eliza yelled from somewhere behind me as something came whistling through the air.
The horse whinnied and let out a pained cry as a large flat pebble hit its flank then landed in the water
with a splash. It halted its attack for a moment- just long enough for me to launch myself at the raft as the
tide carried it out of the cove.
‘Eliza, hurry!’ I cried.
She stood knee-deep in the sea, the Shadow Horse between us as it strode through the water
towards me as easily as if it walked in a meadow.
‘I can't swim,’ Eliza yelled.
I looked frantically back to the ship. It was tantalisingly close, but the Shadow Horse would easily
take me down before I reached it. It snorted and shook the salt water from its mane, closing the gap
between us with every second that passed. It was visible now, flames of white blazing from its flaring
nostrils.
‘I’ll come back for you,’ I yelled back to Eliza as I took up the paddle and dug it into the water,
propelling myself towards the ship. Immediately, the horse broke into a gallop, ploughing through the
waves after me. I could feel the spray on the back of my neck as it drew nearer with every stride. The ship
was closer now, and the rope ladder swayed gently in the breeze. I leapt from the raft and launched
myself onto it, but even as I did so a rumbling noise sounded beneath the water, and the ship trembled. I
whirled round to see the sea transformed into a seething whirlpool from which a monstrous squid
emerged, its writhing limbs groping towards the horse. On the shore, Eliza was stranded.
The monster drew its hulking body up out of the water and hurled itself at the horse as it
whinnied furiously, dismayed at the arrival of an unexpected foe. The squid thrashed, sending the whale
bones that littered the cove flying in all directions. I looked on in dismay as an enormous rib bone close
to the shore was thrust forward, piercing the fore sail.
‘Eliza! Climb up the whale bone!’ I yelled.
‘I can't,’ Eliza cried back from the beach.
‘You have to. Hurry!’
The horse reared up, dropping its mighty hooves onto the squid’s great beak and gnashing at its
tentacles. Eliza hesitated.
‘Do it!’ I yelled.
She drew a breath and clung to the whale rib, pulling herself slowly along its length as the two
beasts fought. The horse leapt through the waves, blows from its hooves raining down upon the squid,
but the sea monster was larger and far more powerful. With one swipe of its mighty tentacles, it delivered
the final blow, sending the horse tumbling into the sea as it sank back into the whirlpool and disappeared.
‘Hurry! We have to leave now,’ I said, as Eliza lowered herself down from the whale rib onto the
deck.
‘What about the sails?’ she cried.
‘Never mind that now. We have to leave.’
The horse staggered to its feet and leapt through the air, just missing the deck of the ship by a
whisker as the wind caught what was left of the sails, driving us out of the cove. Defeated, at least for the
moment, it turned back to the beach and took flight, disappearing into the shadows of the cliffs. Above
us, the torn strip of the fore sail flapped in the wind.
 Chapter 31

‘Can we still sail?’ asked Eliza, gazing anxiously up at the torn fore sail as the cove slid slowly into
the distance.
‘We can only hope for fair weather to see us through to the Isle of Wight,’ I replied. ‘I fear the
sail as it is won’t carry us through another storm.’
We now had only an ordinary compass and maps to rely on to guide us to the Isle of Wight, but
George's maps were clear and detailed, having drawn them himself.
Dawn came, but the sun was invisible in the grey sky. I kept a close eye on the clouds, fearful of
what they might be carrying, but for the moment at least the only change in the sky seemed to be a dark
speck that had appeared and was growing gradually larger. I watched as it drew nearer, and a few
moments later Bill alighted upon the wheel beside me.
'Look, Bill has another note,' I called to Eliza. He eyed us keenly as I read its contents aloud.

3rd November 1648

Dear Eliza and Tom,

I fear that I must inform you that Devere has imprisoned your father, Eliza, and is holding him
captive in the room below me in Mrs. Tucker's house. He is not hurt but is naturally worried about you. I
have been communicating with him through the chimney, and he has asked me to inform you that he is
well and asks you not to turn aside from your journey. I would reiterate that point: doing so will not only
guarantee that Devere acquires that which he seeks but is likely to place your father in greater danger.
While events remain uncertain and the dragonskin is out of his grasp, he is keeping me and your father
alive as bargaining chips.
Following your father's imprisonment and your disappearance, the Guild appears to be in uproar.
I strongly suspect Devere has not disclosed the real reason for your disappearance; doing so would risk
exposing his plans for the dragonskin and reveal that he has known for some time that it was not truly
lost. It is safer for him that the Guild knows nothing of the dragonskin.
As far as I can tell, trumped up charges of treason against the Guild have been levelled against
you both. As such, the Venatorian will undoubtedly be sent forth with instructions to track and kill you
on sight. Suffice to say that he is the greatest hunter the Guild has known and can track a week-old scent
in the wilderness without the use of his hounds. While you are at sea, you are out of harm’s way, but as
soon as you reach land he will be on your trail. I am doing all I can to summon those I can trust to assist
you and keep you safe, but for the meantime keep to the water!
 Elsewhere, negotiations with the King are still on-going, but the agitators in Parliament are
growing restless. Make of that what you will; I cannot guess what their next move will be. I will write
again as events unfold.
God speed. George.

'Father!' cried Eliza. 'I have to go back!'

'Eliza, you read George's words! If you turn back, it will only go worse for your father,' I said.
'Not if we give Devere what he desires. We can bargain with him: the dragonskin for Father's
life.'
'No, Eliza,' I said. 'I will not let you do that. Do you really think Devere will let us or your father
go free once he has the dragonskin? It’s too late. We cannot turn aside. Listen to sense; you talked sense
into me when I wanted to dock in Osmington Mills.'
'Your family weren't in danger,' replied Eliza miserably.
'We are all in danger. We knew the risk we faced before we set out,’
Eliza sobbed. 'Don't fret,' I said, offering her my handkerchief.
Eliza took it and dabbed her eyes, but I knew her fears could not so easily be assuaged. I glanced
up at the sails, wondering anxiously how much faster we might travel. To my horror, thick black clouds
were gathering and now lingered ominously overhead.
 Chapter 32

'Is it just rain or another storm?' asked Eliza, following my gaze.

'I hope just rain,' I replied, but even as I spoke I felt the wind pick up. 'Here, keep the wheel
steady while I trim the sails.'
Bill hopped from the wheel to the deck to take shelter. Drops of rain began to fall from the
leaden sky, and I felt the sea churn beneath the ship.
'Are we far from land?' asked Eliza anxiously.
'Yes,' I replied, returning to the wheel to steady the ship. 'We have no choice but to ride this out.'
Overhead, darkness was gathering beneath the clouds. The wind whipped the sea up into great
swells of foam-capped waves that tossed the ship about and broke against the hull.
'Tom!' I heard Eliza scream as I worked desperately against the buffeting wind to trim the sails. I
glanced behind me to see the cause of her dismay and froze.
From out of the depths, a monster emerged and towered above the mast. Its being was like that
of a serpent, with scales the colour of the murky depths of the sea and whiskers that billowed around its
cavernous mouth. It raised itself up like a column out of the water and lashed the side of the ship with its
tail.
I scrambled to the cabin to reach for the Venatorian’s bugle as another surge swept over the side
of the ship, taking the serpent with it. At once, the monster collapsed and drifted down like a feather
floating to the ground.
'What the...?' I cried, dashing to prow to see what had become of it.
There, tossed about upon the surface of the water, lay the serpent, nothing more than a paper
cutting, the ink that coloured it bleeding away into the sea.
''Tis one of Bridget's illusions, to be sure!' cried Eliza.
'Aye, but this storm is no illusion,' I cried as another surge sent the ship heeling on its starboard
side. 'We shall be blown off course!'
Another furious swell raised the ship up then deposited it again in the trough. The damaged sails
flapped limply overhead in the gale.
'Can we not steer out of it as before?' Eliza shouted above the gale.
'The wind is too strong,' I replied, lashing myself to the wheel and tossing Eliza a rope to do the
same. 'Does the magic still work if the sails are damaged?'
'I don't know,' replied Eliza. 'It is woven into the fabric. I suppose if the fabric is torn....'
At that moment, a deep rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, followed a second later by a
crack. A flash of light blinded us momentarily, then the crackle of fire vied with the noise of the wind.
'The mast!' I cried, leaping towards it. Flames engulfed the crow's nest and were spreading to the
sails.
 'Fill that bucket with water!' I yelled.
A moment later, I had scaled the mast and was dousing the flames while Eliza drew more water.
The ship rolled almost horizontal over the raging waves.
'Another one,' I shouted as I looked in dismay upon the smouldering sails, burnt almost top to
bottom, and the blackened mast. It had escaped the worst of the fire, but the sails were now beyond
salvage. I drenched them with the final bucketful of water, extinguishing the last of the flames. On the
deck below, Eliza looked on anxiously as I inched my way back down the mast, my body pressed to it by
the force of the wind.
'What will we do?' she cried above the roar of the wind and sea.
'We will be lucky if we even stay afloat in this storm,' I yelled back as one immense wave crashed
over the side. 'The sails are destroyed!'
'Devere will be behind this,' shouted Eliza. 'It is another of the Agriculturian's spells, I'm sure!'
'Well, it is working,' I cried.
It was all we could do to keep the ship upright as the sea surged beneath us and the wind tore
mercilessly at the tattered sails, driving us further and further off course.
'We shall be drowned!' cried Eliza.
'Into the cabin!' I yelled before the words had even left her mouth, for behind her a monstrous
wave like a towering cliff reared up, poised to pour its destruction onto the mangled vessel. I fought my
way up the deck to the relative safety of the cabin, dragging Eliza with me just as the wave crashed onto
the deck, but there was no escape. The torrent lifted me like a piece of debris carried by a stream,
sweeping me along wherever it went. I felt Eliza's grip loosen and her hand slip from mine as the waves
pinned us down, and it seemed we would be drowned together, ship, sails and all, as the raging sea
engulfed us.
 Chapter 33

By morning, the storm had blown itself out, and a clear blue sky emerged, striped with ribbons of cloud.
The ship rested upon a sandbank not far from land where the sea had deposited it. High above, the
remains of the sails drifted mournfully in the breeze.
'We have run aground,' I declared as the first light of day confirmed my fears. 'We shall have to
take the life raft and paddle to shore.'
'Where are we?' shivered Eliza. Her face was pale and drawn, and her clothes soaked through.
'Far from where we need to be,' I replied. 'I suppose we should be thankful we weren't drowned.'
I climbed down into the raft, holding it steady for Eliza to follow with what she could salvage of
our precious supplies. Bill, forgotten up until that point, crept out from below the wheel and took flight.
The shore was a good distance to paddle to, and we were both eager to feel dry land beneath our
feet after the previous night's adventures. I squinted into the distance as the land drew closer, but there
was no telling where we had been had washed up, or if we were even still in English waters.
'There is a pebble beach just ahead,' I said. 'We should aim for that.'
The little raft jolted as the tide washed us up amongst the pebbles. Eliza coughed and spluttered
as we dragged it up the beach, away from the creeping tide. Shivers convulsed through her, and she sank
to the ground, too weak to stand.
'Stay there,' I said. 'I'll find something to make a bit of fire.'
I gathered together what dry kindling I could find among the trees that bordered the beach a little
way off, and a few minutes later we were huddled around a fire eating a frugal breakfast with our wet
cloaks spread out to dry. Eliza gazed out mournfully at the stranded ship in the distance. 'Father will be
devastated about the sails,' she murmured. 'He put all his magic into them.'
'They served their purpose even after they were destroyed,' I said, 'The ship didn't sink, and we
are still alive, and the dragonskin is safe.'
'Aye, that is true,' Eliza replied, ‘but we have yet to get to the Isle of Wight without a ship. What
of the Shadow Horse? It will track the dragonskin and ride to us like a gale.’
‘We can only press onward as best we can,’ I replied grimly. ‘Come, let us head towards the road
and see what is about. I’d like to know where we have landed.’
I stomped out the fire, and we gathered together our packs of dwindling supplies and damp
clothes. A well-used track led us from the beach through the trees and up towards a road where a few
cottages clustered nearby. There was nothing to be seen that might indicate where we were.
'We shall have to follow the road and see where it leads us,' I said.
'Is that wise?' asked Eliza. 'I have heard highwaymen stake out the roads for travellers in isolated
parts like this.'
'We should be safe in daylight,' I replied. 'Come, we need to find out where we are.'
 We joined the road and followed it as it wound its way along the coast, past patchwork fields and
the occasional farmhouse or wooded copse where trees grew in thick clusters, their wizened branches
shivering in the breeze. Eliza wrapped her cloak about her tighter as the wind swept in from the sea and
blasted the few withered leaves that still clung to their bare branches. All around, the land looked empty
and mournful.
After more than an hour, we had gone barely four miles and had reached a fork in the road.
Before us, a wooden post with arrows pointing in each direction leaned beside a stone marker upon
which was carved Plymouth 80 miles, Exeter 110 miles, London 300 miles. An arrow pointing left was marked
Helston, and to the right Coverack.
'Plymouth, Exeter and London,' I read aloud. 'If Plymouth is closest, then we must be
somewhere in Devon or Cornwall. Cornwall, I suspect, as Plymouth is still eighty miles away.'
'Is that very far from the Isle of Wight?' asked Eliza.
'Yes,' I said, taking out the map she had retrieved from the ship and spreading it upon the stone
marker. 'The Isle of Wight is here, and Cornwall is here.'
'That is almost half the width of the country!' exclaimed Eliza. 'How are we ever going to get
there on foot?!'
'I have a plan,' I replied, 'but we need to find a larger town or village. Now see, the right-hand
way must take us east because the sea is on our right, but I suspect it follows the curve of the coast and
will take us for miles along unnecessary detours. If we take the left-hand route towards Helston, we will
be heading slightly north and are more likely to come upon the larger roads and the towns they pass
through.'
For the rest of the day, we made slow progress, hungry and exhausted as we were. We passed
through the town of Helston, where a handful of ships loaded with tin were moored on the river which
flowed past the town to the west. Men returning from their work in the tin mines passed us on the road
but said nothing more than 'good day'.
By dusk, the lights in the hamlet of Trenear twinkled below us where the road meandered down
from the little hill we had climbed. A copse of trees stood a short distance from the road and sheltered us
from the wind. The shades of evening were deepening beneath them.
'We should stop here for tonight,' I said. 'I doubt we shall find anywhere better before dark.'
Eliza agreed wearily and followed me into the trees. There was plenty of dry wood with which to
make a fire, and before long we were asleep, wrapped in our cloaks with our feet to the fire.
An icy morning welcomed me when I awoke. The grass was rigid with frost, and wisps of mist
drifted through the trees and hung over the fields all around. The muted light of dawn was just peeping
above the horizon as we gathered our belongings and made our way back towards the road. I consulted
the map as we walked.
'We should try to reach Truro before sun-down,' I said. 'It cannot be more than about fifteen
miles from the look of this map.'
 'Why do we need to go there?' asked Eliza
'I am going to try and purchase a pony,' I said. 'We may be able to trade the flintlock for one. I
don't know how much longer we will be able to travel by road with the Venatorian tracking us, but if we
have a horse or pony, we could go a good step further before we have to abandon the roads altogether.'
Morning was receding to afternoon when Eliza stopped and looked up at the sunless sky.
'It must be past noon,' she said, 'and we have been walking all morning. Can we rest a while? My
feet are burning.'
'Very well, just a little while,' I said. I was anxious to get to Truro, and our pace had been slower
than I would have liked.
Eliza threw herself down onto a bed of bracken beside the road while I wandered a little further
away to forage for late-autumn berries in the brambles and hedgerows that bordered the road. There were
plenty, and I filled my pockets with as much as they could carry before heading back to find Eliza.
Tired as I was, I glanced about at the land slowing down ready for winter and marvelled at its
beauty. Drops of moisture twinkled in the silvery threads of a spider's web that spanned the posts of an
old farm gate, and the russet and gold leaf cover shimmered in the clear water of the tinkling stream that
skirted the woods away to the left.
A little way ahead, two pheasants pecked at a bed of fallen leaves. Slowly, I drew the pistol from
my pack and crept a little closer, but as my finger moved to the trigger, they took flight, startled by a
scream that turned my blood cold.
 Chapter 34

'Eliza! I cried.
Dropping the berries I had collected, I raced back to the road and ducked behind the hedge only
just in time to see Eliza being lifted onto the back of a large horse by a man dressed in riding gear and
armed with a long rifle. Four others were mounted beside him. They too were armed with rifles slung
across their backs, and their riding boots and cloaks were muddied as though they had ridden far and
through rough terrain.
Instinctively, I returned my finger to the trigger of the pistol and positioned it through a gap in
the hedge, then I paused. The man had jumped onto the horse behind Eliza and had his arms around her
to prevent her from leaping from the saddle. I couldn't be sure, but it looked as though her hands were
tied. It was too close; I had never fired a gun before, and I dared not risk hurting Eliza. I watched
helplessly as the men spurred their horses and set them to a gallop before disappearing behind a bend in
the road.
Leaping through the hedge, I sprinted after them. I wasn't sure why, for it was clear I had little
hope of catching up on foot, or of rescuing Eliza from five armed men, but I could not countenance the
idea of giving up without even attempting.
Breathless, I stopped for a moment and gazed out at the land before me to where the road
wound its way around the foot of a low hill. I could shave a mile or so off the distance I had to catch up
by cutting across it. The slope of the hill was gentle, and the grasses and sedge around it grew low and
looked not impossible to cut through. Quitting the road, I plunged into the tangle of brambles that
bordered it and ran as fast as the tussocky and uneven ground beneath my feet would allow.
My heart thudded, and my chest burned as I gasped in the gelid November air. I tried not to
imagine the five riders galloping onwards day and night as the road rushed past them, leaving me far
behind. They would be a good few miles ahead very soon if they continued at the speed they had set off
at, but if I could only catch them, perhaps I could persuade them to accept a trade- Eliza for what little I
had to offer them. Reason and common sense objected, but I swiftly suppressed them. I simply couldn't
leave her at the mercy of a band of highwaymen, but then a yet more terrifying thought forced its way
into my mind: what if they weren't highwaymen? What if they were sent by Devere, and they fully
intended to take the dragonskin- and me and Eliza as well?
'George warned us Devere would have command of Cromwell’s men! Why ever did I let Eliza
rest at the roadside?' I chastised myself.
The sky had threatened rain all day and now it came howling down, soaking through my clothes
to my skin and turning the ground beneath my feet to great soupy puddles of mud. I staggered onwards
with my head bowed against the wind and driving rain, then stopped abruptly as the bang of a gunshot
rent the air. I froze. I looked up to see a man with a rifle pointed towards me standing just a short
distance away on the slope of the hill. From around the further slope, a band of half a dozen other men
armed with guns, scythes and pitchforks appeared.
''Ere lads, I found me our sheep rustler!' the man called to his comrades.
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender and called out above the howl of the wind. 'Please,
sir, I'm no sheep rustler. I'm looking for my friend....'
'Gah! Save it for the magistrate,' the man replied gruffly as he strode forward and grabbed me by
my collar, dragging me back towards the road where a cart waited. With every gun and blade aimed at me,
I could do little more than cooperate as my captors jostled me into the cart then piled in after me.
'Please, you're mistaken! I’m just a traveller passing through....' I protested as the cart rolled away.
'Ye'll have yer say in the court house,' retorted the first man. His slit eyes blazed, and a vicious
smile curled upon his lips as he pressed the barrel of his gun against my chest to silence me.
I looked back at the hill sliding further and further into the distance as the cart rattled along.
What little hope I had of finding Eliza was all but gone. Tears of frustration and despair welled in my
eyes, and I drew my sleeve across my face as they mingled with the rain dripping down my face.
The cart slowed as it approached a village made up of barely a dozen cottages and a tiny church.
Before the last cottage in the village, the cart stopped, and rough hands hauled me out and dragged me
down into the cellar.
'Please!' I cried, as I was thrown down upon the dank floor. 'I'm no sheep rustler!’. The men
made no reply but clapped a heavy shackle chained to the wall onto my wrist then slammed the door shut
upon me. A heavy wooden bolt was pulled across on the outside, and their footsteps retreated.
 Chapter 35

I sat in darkness, with nothing more than a slither of light showing through the crack in the door by
which to see. Outside, the rain drummed down and trickled along a dug-out channel that ran past the
cottage while a few hardy matrons passed to and fro, their faces moulded into permanent grimaces, as
they went about their business. My thoughts turned to Eliza, and I sank into despair. It seemed
impossible to believe I would ever find her now, and dark thoughts of what fate she may have met filled
my mind.
Hours passed as I waited anxiously for someone to come to me, but the rain seemed to have
confined my captors to their homes. Afternoon was advancing to evening, and one by one lights began to
appear in the windows of the cottages opposite.
As the darkness outside deepened, I thought suddenly of my tinderbox. Mercifully, my captors
hadn’t bothered to search me, satisfying themselves with confiscating my pack, and so the pistol and my
knife and tinder box remained undisturbed, concealed by the bulk of my cloak.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and found to my relief the tinder box had escaped much of
the drenching I had endured earlier. Striking a flame, I lit a strip of charcloth and held it aloft to examine
the interior of the cellar. A few broken and rusted hooks and tool blades lay scattered upon the floor,
along with a quantity of damp straw. By all appearances, the cellar was rarely used.
In the corner of the floor, something white glimmered as the light from the flame glanced over it.
I moved closer as far as the chain would allow then shrank back again in horror as I realised I looked
upon a pile of bones. On top, a human skull had been placed, tendrils of long, grey hair still clinging to
the crown. My stomach lurched with horror as the skull turned slowly towards me while the bones rose
from the floor and reassembled themselves into the hideous form of a grinning skeleton. Muscles and
sinews bound themselves to it until a thing resembling a flayed corpse, terrifying to behold, stood before
me. The eyeless face looked this way and that as though searching for something it could not see.
'I smell magic,' it said. The sound was like the scraping of tree branches against the glass of a
window pane. 'I feel it like a throbbing heartbeat, I smell it upon the air. Who is it that stands before me
and what power do you hold?’
The sound of the voice sent a thrill of fear through me with every word it spoke, and my throat
tightened. ‘I’m a prisoner here,’ I stammered.
‘Aah, the mistress of this house has gathered up your bones to conjure your restless spirit as she
did to me,’ said the skeleton. ‘Were you a witch in life, as was I?’
‘I... I’m not dead,’ I whispered.
‘Not dead? Then you are no prisoner. I yearn to sink back into the grave, but I am bound to this
place. Leave while you still have breath in your body.’
‘I can’t,’ I replied, terrified and bewildered. ‘The door is locked, and I am chained.’
 The corpse laughed a hideous cackle. ‘The dead care nothing for locks and chains. I will offer
you a pact: answer my riddle, and I will free you, but mind! If you cannot answer, I will pass into your
body to free myself of this prison.’
My palms sweated, and my throat tightened with horror. I dared not decline, and in a far corner
of my mind where hope hadn’t quite deserted me, I saw an opportunity for escape, however faint it might
be. I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak. ‘How do I know you will honour your side of the pact if
I answer correctly?’ I asked.
The corpse cackled. ‘By the Sphinx of Thebes, you have my word. May my spirit be confined to
the deepest pits of Hell if I am not true to my word.’
‘Very well,’ I replied. ‘Speak your riddle.’
‘Eternal yet the end of all things. Passes unseen but is known by all. Unites the pauper, prince
and priest.’
‘Death,’ I replied without hesitating.
 Chapter 36

Long afterwards, I marvelled at my sudden epiphany, though at that moment I felt nothing but sheer
relief as the corpse shrieked in dismay and the cellar door blasted open with a gust that howled outside
and shook the cottage to its very foundations. The shackle about my wrist sprung open and the bones
clattered to the ground. Outside, night had fallen. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.
My heart thudded, and a cold sweat broke across the back of my neck as I crept out into the
night. My legs trembled, and I half expected to hear gun shots and the tramp of feet chasing after me, but
there wasn’t a sound above the breeze rustling in the trees. With the last cottage behind me, I broke into a
run. The sight of Eliza carried off on horseback and the sound of her screams filled my mind, urging me
onwards mile after mile. As the moon slid round the sky, I kept running and staggered instead when I
could run no longer. More than once I stumbled upon loose stones and pot holes and fell to the ground,
but each time I pulled myself up. I could not rest even if I wanted to. The image of Eliza filled my vision
as though burned into my eyelids each time I shut my eyes.
Morning came and brought with it a fresh onslaught of rain that poured down in drenching
sheets onto the bare hills and empty fields. My head throbbed but I stumbled on, though my legs could
scarcely carry me, and my breath came only in shallow gasps. At last, with my legs buckling beneath me, I
could go no further. I dragged myself into a dense clump of grass at the roadside and lay upon my back,
my eyes to the ashen sky. With my last reserve of energy, I pulled my cloak over me before I sank into
oblivion.
When I woke, morning was spent, and behind the clinging fog that had descended, afternoon
was wearing on. I jumped to my feet to find my cloak and clothes were soaked through. The road was
deserted, but I was torn between keeping to it or taking to the surrounding countryside. I could be no
more than five miles from the village, and my escape must have been discovered by now. I feared pursuit,
but the surrounding land was wooded and near-impossible to cross with speed. I had already lost precious
hours, and it seemed likely I would hear anything approaching from ahead or behind long before it saw
me while the fog held. I decided I would risk the road.
I walked for a few miles without hearing any sound of pursuit or meeting another traveller,
though I proceeded warily and paused often to listen for the clip of hooves or the rattle of cart wheels. By
late afternoon, the fog had all but vanished and the rain had returned.
As I approached a bend in the road, I stopped abruptly and darted into the trees at the roadside.
A short distance ahead, a man and boy upon horseback appeared to be waiting for someone or
something. They looked further up the road in the direction they had come and spoke together in low
voices, too quiet for me to hear what they said.
I hesitated. Instinctively, my thoughts turned to my captors and then to Eliza's assailants. I
couldn't see the man’s and boy's faces clearly, but they didn't look familiar. It was possible they were
nothing more than travellers. At the sound of an approaching cart, they straightened in their saddles and
leaned forward to see past the trees that obscured their view. A moment later, a brightly painted wagon,
led by a horse and driven by a man in a wide-brimmed hat, rounded a bend in the road. They were
gypsies. The man and boy called out to the driver, and then more wagons appeared, some accompanied
by men on horseback leading ponies beside them.
I listened as the wagons halted and the man and boy greeted their kindred. The new arrivals
spoke urgently in their own language and seemed anxious to move on. I wondered at that and thought at
once of Eliza. Perhaps they knew something of her. Clinging to that thought, I stepped back onto the
road and into the gypsies' view. At once, they stopped talking and eyed me suspiciously.
'Pardon me, sirs,' I said, stopping a little distance from them. 'Have you passed a band of five
men on horseback since yesterday noon? They had a girl with them- slight and fair-haired.'
'My family passed them on the road yesterday evening,' replied the boy, gesturing to the new
arrivals. 'They had a girl of that description with them. Do you know who they are?'
I hesitated a moment, unsure how much to reveal. 'No,' I replied, 'but the girl is my companion.
They kidnapped her from the roadside. I must find them.'
'You cannot hope to catch them on foot,' said the boy, 'and you have little hope of rescuing your
friend anyway. They are the Penberthys; the most fearsome family of bandits in Cornwall. They kidnap
girls to keep as slaves or take as their wives. They will not free her even if you catch up with them.'
'But I may be able to trade with them,' I said, my hopes rising upon learning that the men had
nothing to do with Devere. 'Would you accept this pistol in exchange for that pony?' I held up the
flintlock, with the barrel pointing towards me, and gestured to one of the ponies that had no rider.
The boy immediately declined without consulting with his elders. 'We will not sell our horses to
non-gypsies,' he replied.
As he spoke, an old woman wrapped in a cloak, who had been watching me closely during the
entire exchange, reached down to the boy from her seat beside one of the drivers. Her bright eyes
twinkled as she spoke to him in their own language, and she nodded towards me. I shifted
uncomfortably, wondering what was being said.
‘My great grandmother says there is magic about,’ said the boy at last when the old woman had
finished speaking. ‘She says we must help you. Keep your gun. I know where the Penberthy hide-out is.
I'll warrant that is where they are going. I will take you there if you wish. 'Tis not far, and my family will
not be travelling further today.'
I accepted his offer gratefully and climbed into the saddle behind him. The old woman said
nothing more, but I felt her eyes upon me. As we set off at a gallop, I glanced behind to see if she was
still watching me. Her expression was difficult to read; I couldn't be sure whether it was one of pity or
fear, but something in her eyes made me shudder, like standing before my own grave. I shivered and
looked away.
'I am Tom,' I said to the boy, distracting myself with conversation.
 'Call me Smith,' said the boy.
'Don't you have a Christian name?' I asked.
The boy laughed. 'Yes, but we do not speak our names to strangers.'
'Why?' I asked.
'You could work a spell against me if you knew it,' the boy replied.
I made no reply. Little did he know just what it was I carried in the pocket of my jerkin.
The rain lashed down around us and sloshed around the horse's legs. I bowed my head against
the wind and clung tight to the saddle, watching the rainwater flow in a torrent down the gully at the
roadside. The land flashed by as we rode, though I paid it little attention and hoped only for the rain to
stop.
Raising my head against the ceaseless assault of the wind, I looked about and realised that the
road was now climbing. Dusk had passed, and evening was drawing in. The boy halted and pointed ahead
and away to the left. 'Those ruins are their hideout,' he said.
I followed his gaze and saw the remains of what once may have been a hill fort but was now little
more than three tumbled walls.
'Beware,' said the boy. 'There will be many more of them, if not the entire clan. This is as far as I
can take you. I hope you find your friend. Good luck.'
I climbed down from the horse and thanked him many times then watched as he vanished into
the shadows of the road. The darkness pressed closer, and I shivered as the night air chilled my already
drenched skin. In the failing light, shadowy figures could be seen moving about on the hill against the
darkening sky. Tongues of flame leapt up as a fire was lit, and peels of raucous laughter echoed around
the hills.
I pulled my hood low over my face and wrapped my cloak around myself tightly as I began the
steep ascent. To a passerby I would have appeared as little more than a spectral patch of grey moving
slowly up the hill.
 Chapter 37

The ruined fort was barely a quarter of a mile from the road across grassland dotted with oaks and hazel
thickets. Slowly, I crept towards the firelight. The rain had all but stopped, and the wind had eased.
Overhead, a pale slice of moon glowed through strands of cloud, lighting a path towards the hill.
As I drew closer, I could make out individual figures clustered around the fire and distinguish
some of the voices. There appeared to be around ten people all told, both men and women. The horses
stood within the walls cropping the grass, but they had been left untethered.
As I reached the brow of the hill, I edged nearer to the walls where the stone had fallen away,
leaving gaps to peep through. The five men on horseback and two others I had not seen before lounged
around the fire or in one of the corners where a bit of roof had managed to cling on, and where hay and
blankets were laid as a rude attempt at a bed. They sang and passed a bottle of rum amongst themselves,
wiping their mouths on their sleeves when they had finished.
The similarity in their appearance left little doubt that they were all from the same family, for
whether by chance or design, they had acquired the most frightening appearance which was only
enhanced by their unusually great height. Their eyes were as black as coal, and the hair on both their
heads and faces was thick, wiry and unkempt, with evidently little attempt at grooming having been made.
The overall impression was one of a group of wild men, made all the more terrifying by the arsenal of
weapons they kept about them. The rifles they carried earlier were laid aside, but in their belts, each man
carried a long knife. My simple pistol would be no match.
My heart was in my mouth as I crept a little further round the wall to get a better view of the
camp, with no cover but the general darkness around me. In the firelight, I could see Eliza bound hand
and foot in another corner. Her face was pale and tear-stained, but her expression was one of grim
defiance. She sat quietly, aloof to the howls of laughter and uncouth conversation of her captors. Beside
her, two women were seated. They were almost as terrifying as the men, broad, grizzled and toothless and
swigging rum from the bottle with as much vigour as their male relatives.
'She's some fine-looking lass,' remarked the older of the two women. 'Let's hope she cooks as
good as she looks.'
'She's naught but skin and bones,' said the younger woman acidly.
'Well she ain't your worry, Bess, so thee ought keep such opinions quietly,' retorted one of the
younger men.
'Zackley,' chimed in the older woman. 'Don't thee worry, Abel Penberthy, she'll make 'ee a fine
wife.'
I reeled in horror as I realised they were talking about Eliza.
'Ay, as fine a wife as any runt could make,' retorted the younger woman sarcastically.
 In the blink of an eye, Abel's knife left his hand and came whistling through the air, striking the
wall just inches from the younger woman's ear. Her face flushed and then turned white with rage.
Grasping the rum bottle in her fist, she strode over to Abel and smashed it over his head as the entire
clan erupted into a furious brawl. The din was enough to wake the dead, and for a moment Eliza was left
alone, unwatched and, for the moment, forgotten about.
'Eliza,' I whispered as loud as I dared.
Eliza turned her head slightly, just enough to acknowledge my voice.
'I'm by the gap in the wall. Come now.’
With her hands and feet bound, Eliza shuffled as best she could towards the gap, keeping her
eyes on the brawl that could subside at any point. She had just reached the point where the stonework fell
away and was about to slip behind the wall when Abel glimpsed her and cried out.
'She's escapin'!' he yelled, dodging the fists and knives being brandished all around him.
Eliza froze, for a moment too shocked to act as Abel came crashing through the fray towards
her, a knife ready in his hand. He was just a few yards from her, his free hand ready to grab her and drag
her back within the confines of the wall. Panicked, I grabbed a stone from the pile of debris below the
wall and launched it at Abel's head. He let out a pained yell as it hit him squarely on the forehead.
Roused by Abel's cries, Eliza recovered her wits and darted behind the wall. Abel cursed and
rubbed the bloodied gash on his forehead.
'The devil be about!' he cried. 'That there rock came from nowhere and hit me square on the
head! Old Scratch is walking this land to be sure!'
His feuding family paused, momentarily stunned by his shouts, and for a moment too shocked to
wonder what had become of Eliza. With trembling hands, I cut the ropes that bound her with my pocket
knife.
'How did you find me?' she whispered.
'No time to explain. Run to that thicket of trees and wait for me,' I whispered back.
Before Eliza had chance to stop me, I crept towards the horses that had wandered further down
the hill to escape the commotion.
 Chapter 38

Seeing an opportunity to distract the Penberthys long enough to make our escape, I mounted the nearest
horse and grabbed a handful of stones. Crouching in the saddle, I sheltered beside part of the wall
furthest from the thicket and launched another stone through a gap where the brickwork had fallen away,
this time hitting Bess on the back of the head. She let out a cry, and at once the clan grabbed their rifles
and bounded towards the invisible assailant, but Abel's voice stopped them in their tracks.
'Now see what ye've done with yer bickering! Ye've lost me my maid!' he cried, noticing for the
first time that Eliza was gone.
Before his relatives had chance to say any more, I moved round the wall and launched the
remaining stones, one after the other, striking each of them in the chest and head. The quarrelling erupted
more furiously than before as I galloped back towards the thicket where Eliza waited.
'Jump on,' I hissed as a volley of bullets fell to the ground just yards away.
There was a shuffling sound from the darkness, and a second later Eliza was in the saddle behind
me. I spurred the horse forward, and then we were off as the cursing and screaming grew gradually
fainter.
'What was all the commotion for? I couldn't see, and I dared not move from the trees,' said Eliza
when we were a safe distance from the hideout.
'A parting shot from me,' I replied, 'but I am afraid those brutes may still pursue us. They have
horses and know this land better than we do. We ought to put a good distance between us before we stop
to rest.'
The orange glow of the fire could still be seen on the hilltop, silhouetting the figures moving
about before it. I set the horse to a gallop, and soon the ruined castle was little more than a speck in the
distance that swiftly melted into the shadows of the night.
'I was so afraid they were Devere's men,' said Eliza.
'And I,' I replied. 'We were lucky this time, and we have got ourselves a horse for our trouble, but
next time we may not be so fortunate.'
The land flashed by as we rode mile after mile, following the road while maintaining a safe
distance from it. Now and then, the moon could be glimpsed between clouds driven by the wind blowing
in from the north. Our going was slower as the land became rougher and more difficult to cross, but by
dawn we had covered several more miles, and the town of Truro lay twinkling in the river valley below.
The loss of both our packs of food was a blow, and the few berries we could forage from the
roadside were little remedy. As we ate, I filled Eliza in on all that had befallen since she was snatched by
the Penberthys and how I had come to find her. She frowned as I finished telling her of my encounter
with the witch’s corpse in the cellar.
 ‘It seems the dragonskin is attracting magic, good or otherwise,’ she said. ‘We should be vigilant
and not linger in one place too long. Who knows what has become of the Shadow Horse, but I don’t
believe we have seen the last of it. And I don’t doubt there are plenty of other things lurking around that
Devere can exploit for his own purposes.’
‘That may be,’ I yawned, ‘but I cannot go any further until I have rested.’ With that, I settled into
an angle of the tree we sat beneath and shut my eyes.
Morning was giving way to afternoon, and the late-autumn sun winked through the branches
above when I awoke. I was stiff from riding and still tired, having slept lightly for fear of pursuit. A
rustling in the tree had woken me, and I glanced about, fearing another encounter with the Penberthys or
worse, but there, resting on a low branch, was Bill. In his beak he held another note.
'Eliza,' I said, shaking her gently and showing her the note.
'Does George say anything about my father?' asked Eliza, jumping to her feet.
'Let’s see,' I replied.

6th November 1648

Dear Eliza and Tom,

Bill informed me of your unfortunate adventure in the storm and your decision to continue your
journey on foot. I'm afraid to say that I suspect you were not simply the victims of poor weather but of
something more sinister.
My spies tell me that Devere is terrified that the dragonskin is slipping from his grasp, and with
mounting pressure from Cromwell he is exerting all his resources into finding it. Of course, he does not
yet know for certain that you have it, and the longer that remains so, the better for us, but mind! the
Venatorian is on your trail. He already knows that you abandoned the ship and is racing to Cornwall like a
gale as I write. His hawks may already be watching the roads, so beware.
Thus far, I fear I have been of little assistance to you, though I have been busy gathering what
information I can from my new avian friends. Bill brought his sister, Frigg, to me last week, and it must
be said that she makes a marvellous spy. She has kept me fully updated of events around the Gatehouse,
and she has also carried several messages back and forth for me, which has enabled me to call upon the
help of my friend, Prince Rupert of the Rhine. He is the King's nephew, a talented magician, and a valiant
supporter of the Crown, but having been banished from England by Parliament two years ago, he has
only lately returned in secret. I have arranged for him to meet you in Truro. If you have already passed
the town, then I urge you to turn back, as I fear you will not get far beyond Cornwall without his help. If
you have not yet reached Truro, then I advise you to hasten there as soon as possible and avoid taking the
roads, which will undoubtedly be watched. It is not safe to arrange a meeting place and communicate this
to you in writing but suffice to say that Rupert will find you.
 Others of my acquaintances are aware of your plight, and it may be that you find yourselves in
need of their aid. Therefore, I urge you to be wary of strangers, but keep in mind that help may arrive un-
looked for and when it is least expected.
Touching on your father, Eliza, I am pleased to inform you that he is well and in good spirits,
and he asks you not to fret about him.
I will write again with news as I receive it. Keep safe and remember to avoid the roads.
George.

The look of relief on Eliza’s face was visible as she read the note. ‘Thank goodness!’ she
exclaimed. ‘I was terrified for Father.’
‘Aye, and ‘tis a relief we are close to Truro, but George’s news about the Venatorian worries me.’
I replied. ‘We have been too careless. The Penberthys are the least of our worries, it seems. We have
ridden in the open and in daylight, but we could have been much more careful. I am afraid to think of
who or what may have been watching us. Come, we should get to Truro while the light lasts.'
We gathered together our belongings and set off at once. I glanced anxiously up at the sky and to
either side, expecting at any moment to see the Venatorian's hawks circling overhead. Only the horse, a
handsome, chestnut-coloured beast I had named Ralph, seemed in good spirits. He was evidently relieved
to be free of the Penberthys and jogged along happily with his new companions as the land became
gradually tamer and well-ordered.
'I hope this Rupert has food and water to spare,' I said. 'We have used up everything we had, and
there is no time to hunt or forage for more.'
'I would be content simply to sleep in a real bed for the night,' replied Eliza glumly. 'I have quite
forgotten what it actually feels like.'
'Well, I am afraid we still have a long road ahead of us to the Isle of Wight,' I replied, 'and it shall
only get harder I fear, even with the help of George's friends.'
 Chapter 39

Afternoon was spent, and dusk was gathering as we made our way through the narrow streets of Truro. I
led Ralph by his reins, and we kept our heads down, fearful of drawing attention to ourselves, but our
tattered and weather-stained cloaks already had us marked as travellers and strangers to the town.
As we walked, I noticed a man a little further ahead turn and look back at us before disappearing
beneath an archway between two houses.
'Tom! Eliza!' came a whispered voice from the shadows as we passed it a moment later.
I stopped and peered into the darkness that was closing around us. There were no lanterns or
candles in the windows to light our way.
'Who's there?' I said.
'Prince Rupert,' replied the voice. 'Follow me.'
A hand appeared from the darkness, beckoning us to follow, and a second later a lantern was
uncovered, illuminating a small courtyard where two horses were stabled beneath a lean-to. Immediately,
Rupert took the reins and led Ralph to a manger of fresh hay beside the other horses. Eliza and I
followed him through a doorway to the side of the courtyard and up a steep flight of stairs to a single
door which opened onto a dimly-lit room.
It was plainly furnished with a few chairs arranged around a table and a rickety-looking bed in the
corner. The hearth was empty, and a draught whistled through cracks in the walls which almost
extinguished the candles above the mantelpiece.
'Do you have it?' Rupert asked, shutting and locking the door behind us. His eyes glowed in the
lamp-light with an avaricious look, and there was something in the gruffness of his speech and the
wildness of his appearance that made me uneasy. He did not look like a prince at all, even one who had
been on the run.
‘Have what?’ I asked.
‘The precious burden, the prize that the old wizard has promised Cromwell,’ Rupert replied.
'Yes, we have it,' I replied slowly.
Rupert took a firm step towards me. 'Show me,' he said.
'I think it is best left hidden for now,' I replied, taking a step back towards the hearth.
'I would like to see it,' insisted Rupert.
'Why?' I asked. My voice was firm, but inside I was alarmed and wondering desperately how we
might extricate ourselves from the situation. My eyes flicked to the window, but it was too small to climb
through, and with a three storey drop, it was a hopeless plan.
'I have told you to show me,' replied Rupert angrily, no longer attempting to conceal his
frustration. His hand moved to a knife tucked into his belt. I grabbed one of the iron candlesticks from
the mantelpiece and hurled it at him, striking him in the forehead before he had chance to draw his
weapon. He cursed and held his hands to his bleeding head. At the same moment, there was a mighty
crash, and the door burst open. An immensely tall man with a musket slung across his shoulder stepped
into the room. In one hand, he held a handkerchief. Grabbing Rupert from behind, his arm around his
throat, the man pressed the handkerchief to Rupert's face, covering his mouth and nose.
Rupert's arms flailed about wildly, and his eyes were wide with panic, but the man held him firm.
For a few seconds, he struggled vainly, then his body went limp as the man lowered him to the floor.
'Quickly,' said the man, standing aside to allow me and Eliza to pass. 'I don't know how many
more of his sort may be prowling about.'
'Is he dead?' cried Eliza.
'No, just unconscious,' replied the man, 'Did you arrive on foot or by horse?'
'Horse,' I replied. 'He is in the courtyard outside.'
The man led us back down the stairs and into the courtyard where Ralph was munching great
mouthfuls of hay and acquainting himself with his new companions. Another horse waited nearby, white
and grey and far larger and more powerfully built than Ralph. It shook its mane proudly, aloof to the
other horses, as the man leapt into the saddle and turned it towards the road.
'Follow me,' he said.
'Wait,' called Eliza. 'Who are you, and what makes you think we will simply follow you without
question? You saved us from a perilous situation back there, and we are grateful, but that does not make
us friends!
To Eliza's surprise, the man climbed down from his horse and bowed to her reverentially.
'You must be Eliza,' he said. 'George warned me you can be quite a character.'
A roguish smile curled on his lips. He was handsome, with glossy dark locks that curled about his
shoulders and a ready smile. Eliza blushed but forced her voice to remain firm.
'Who are you, and how do you know George?' she said.
'It would be far safer if we were to get the introductions out of the way when we have put a bit
of distance between ourselves and Truro, but your consternation is perhaps understandable, so I will
indulge you. I am Rupert, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, a friend of George Prye. He wrote to me three days
ago requesting my help and asked that I assist two of his friends who were travelling without guidance
and with an important burden that must be delivered to the King.'
'How do we know you are Prince Rupert of the Rhine, being as you are the second man
purporting to be him that we have met tonight?' I broke in.
'Ahh, was that fellow claiming to be me?' asked the man. 'It seems someone has intercepted
George's communications, but you ought to have known he could not have been me. My handsome
looks are legendary, are they not?' he added with a grin. 'Well, perhaps this will convince you both that I
am who I say.'
 He took a folded note from the breast pocket of his doublet and handed it to Eliza. She opened
it at once and examined its contents before showing it to me. It was written in George's hand, and it bore
his signature at the end.

5th November 1638

Dear Rupert,

News has reached me that you are back in England. As I am sure you are aware, your uncle the
King is a prisoner of Colonel Robert Hammond in Carisbrooke Castle. His fate, and indeed that of the
monarchy itself, is on a knife edge.
Two of my young friends, Eliza and Tom, both apprentices of the Guild of Gatekeepers, are
travelling alone and unaided with an extremely important burden that could well alter events dramatically.
There is not time, nor would it be prudent, to describe the nature of their prize any further, but it is
imperative that it reaches the King. Their ship was wrecked off the coast of Cornwall, and they are
travelling without guidance and with foes closing in all around.
It transpires the Guild's Keeper, William Devere, is in league with Cromwell. I am his prisoner
and therefore unable to offer Tom and Eliza much assistance. If you are able to, I beseech you to travel
to Truro as swiftly as possible and meet them there. It would be unwise to arrange a meeting place in case
our messages are intercepted, so you will have to look out for them. Tom is a tall, strapping lad, fair hair,
brown eyes and a pleasant disposition. Eliza is Richard Ellery's daughter and apprentice. She is very like
him in appearance, but a small, slight girl. She is quite a character and may take some convincing of your
motivations, so mind that!
If you are able to assist, please send word immediately.
Your friend, George

'How did George get this note to you?' I asked as I finished reading the note. My suspicions had
been raised once again at the suggestion of George's communications being intercepted.
'A thrush delivered it,' replied Rupert. 'I wasn't aware George went in for familiars, but needs
must, I suppose. Now, if you are both quite finished scrutinising me, we really must leave.'
Eliza looked at me, still uncertain.
'What do you think?' she asked.
'I believe he is who he says he is,' I replied at length, 'and if George trusts him then we ought to
too.'
'Excellent,' said Rupert, 'Now that is settled, if you will kindly saddle up we shall be on our way.'
 Chapter 40

We passed quietly through the streets of Truro: Rupert on his magnificent war horse, Pluto, and Eliza and
I riding together upon Ralph. A biting wind had swept in from the sea, and the townspeople had closed
their doors and shuttered their windows against the night. There wasn't a soul about as we slipped out of
the town and climbed over a steep bank at the roadside before melting away into the shadows of the
surrounding countryside.
'I am afraid we still have many miles to cover before we can rest,' said Rupert. 'I have no doubt
whoever that fellow was back there was not working alone and will pursue us.'
'Who do you think he was?' I asked.
'I cannot say for certain,' replied Rupert, 'as I know no more about this most intriguing situation
than what George put in his letter. I was hoping you might enlighten me.'
I took up the tale while Eliza dosed off in the saddle behind me, jolting awake every now and
then when she bumped her head upon my shoulder. Rupert listened intently and said nothing while I
spoke.
''Tis quite a mess you have got yourselves tangled up in,' he remarked when I had finished. 'I
have known George for many years, and though I don't claim to know the inner workings of the Guild,
he has revealed to me perhaps more than he should have about its doings. He has spoken many times of
his fears concerning Devere. The Guild of Gatekeepers is just one of a number of magical secret societies
in Europe, each jealous of the others' status and fearful of the influence they hold. That, perhaps, goes
some way towards explaining this audacious power-grab Devere has planned once he has the dragonskin
in his possession. Knowing what little I do of him, I fear he will stop at nothing to consolidate the power
of the Guild- and his own position within it. Yet, while he continues to throw sand in Cromwell's eyes
with regard to his true intentions, he is likely to have command of Parliamentarian forces, in addition to
the Shadow Horse tracking the dragonskin. That greatly increases our danger. I would wager that our
friend in Truro was a Roundhead thug, and there will be more of his sort about.'
'Please, sir,' I said. 'You seem to know a great deal about the Guild, or at least more than non-
members or initiates are permitted to know. George told us in his last note that you are a magician. Is that
true?'
'I have dabbled here and there,' replied Rupert, 'but you are right; I do know something of the
Guild in that I know of it, which is more than is permitted for non-members. Nevertheless, there are
other magicians and magical organisations all across Europe, though none as long-established as the
Guild of Gatekeepers. 'Twas from them that I learned magic.
'I first met George in my boyhood while I was living in The Hague. He travelled regularly and
would visit from time to time. He would delight my brothers, sisters and me with magic tricks, and we
looked forward to his visits, though they were irregular and always unexpected. I began to suspect he was
more than just a merchant with a gift for sleight of hand after becoming acquainted with some of the
Bohemian magicians who were exiled from Prague following my father's defeat at the Battle of White
Mountain. From them, I learned the basic principles of magic which I would later discuss with George
long into the night after I first arrived in England. At a time, I was to become his successor- hence the
basic knowledge of the Guild that I possess -but the Civil War put an end to that, and it must be said I
have not practised much magic for some years; not since my dog, Boye, died. He was my familiar- an
entity conjured to serve a magician or witch that adopts the guise of an animal. He was marvellous! He
saved me from a few close shaves by catching flying bullets in his mouth! He would certainly be a good
companion to have with us now, but I am afraid we are going to have to rely on our wits far more than
magic to get the dragonskin to the King.'
‘Have you a plan?' I asked.
'Only for the interim,' replied Rupert, lowering his voice to a whisper. 'For tonight, we will stop
and rest at the first suitable place we reach. I am not sure that you and Eliza can ride very much further
tonight. In the morning, we will continue to the home of my friend on the edge of Bodmin Moor. We
will be safe there, and it would be wise for us to lie low for a time to throw off any pursuit from the
Shadow Horse or others.'
'How far is it?' I asked.
'Around twenty-five miles, though I do not intend to take the road, and I know many shortcuts
which will lessen our journey considerably. We should arrive there by sun-down tomorrow.'
We rode for another half an hour or so as the moon rose and glowed through a line of poplars
upon a low ridge away to the east. Ralph was stumbling with weariness and soon lagged behind Pluto.
Rupert looked back at us then halted before a sheltered hollow in which grew a thicket of hazels.
'We will stop here for tonight,' he said. 'Your horse cannot ride any further without rest. I am
sorry it is not more comfortable, but at least we will be out of the wind.'
Eliza and I dismounted and threw ourselves down in the shelter of the thicket, too exhausted to
worry about the gnawing hunger in our stomachs, while Rupert tethered the horses to a nearby tree to
graze before settling down to keep watch.
 Chapter 41

It was still dark when Rupert woke us. The moon had disappeared, and a freezing fog hung in the air and
wreathed itself around the hollow. We ate a meagre breakfast from Rupert's supplies and set off just as
the sky in the east was beginning to turn pale.
'How long will we be staying with your friend?' Eliza asked as we rode.
'Hush,' said Rupert. 'Though we may not see them, I have no doubt that enemies and spies are
near at hand. Please be more guarded in your speech.'
We rode in silence for a long while after that and looked about warily as daylight broadened.
Though the fog lingered through the morning, I felt exposed and feared unfriendly eyes peering out of
the hedges or woods that we passed by. Every now and then, the road would flash into view away to our
right, but it was deserted. I glanced up at the leaden sky uneasily. I had felt ill at ease since we started out,
and my fear had only grown throughout the day.
'What do you think has become of the Shadow Horse?' I said to Eliza, not daring to raise my
voice above a whisper.
'I don't know,' she replied. 'Our escape must have thrown it off for a time, but it can easily track
us now we are on land.'
'Look overhead!' said Rupert suddenly.
We halted and looked up to where he pointed. Sure enough, a hawk hovered high above,
scouring the ground below with its sharp eyes.
'Get down!' he hissed, climbing down from Pluto at once and pulling me and Eliza to the floor
with him as the hawk began to circle us. Eliza and I pressed ourselves against the ground beneath the
horses while Rupert crept forward and rested his musket on a grassy mound that rose a little way ahead.
There was a loud bang, and a trickle of smoke wafted back to where we lay and stung my eyes and throat.
When it had cleared, the hawk was gone, but a dark speck could just be seen sweeping down to a thick
cluster of trees in the distance before disappearing.
'Did you hit it?' I asked.
'I don't think so, but it is gone- for now, at least,' replied Rupert.
'Do you think it was one of the Venatorian's hawks?' asked Eliza.
'Who knows,' said Rupert. 'It may have been nothing more than a hawk hunting for food, but
unless we know for certain otherwise, we must assume the worst. I am vexed that I did not hit it. Come,
we should hasten on right away. 'Tis not safe for us to stay in the open for long.'
We mounted once again and set off at a gallop, maintaining our pace as the land allowed. A sharp
breeze swept down from the rocky knolls high above and seemed to penetrate to my very bones. The
weather had taken a turn for the worse, and rain now pattered down all around.
 Rupert allowed us one brief rest as close to midday as I could tell beneath the heavy sky. We
sheltered beneath a pile of tumbled stones and made a cheerless meal of his remaining supplies, but he
would not permit us to light a fire, even if we could get anything to kindle in the ceaseless wind and rain.
'The sooner we leave, the sooner we will reach our destination,' said Rupert as he set us on our
way once more. 'So grit your teeth and think of the roaring fires and warm beds that await you.'
Eliza and I groaned but said nothing, too tired and cold to think of anything more that our wet
clothes and numb hands and feet.
So we passed the rest of the day quite miserably. I barely glanced at the land around us as we
rode and kept my chin pressed to my chest to keep out the driving rain. By mid-afternoon, the heavy rain
had subsided only to be replaced by sheets of fine drizzle that rolled in from the coast. The gloom all
round us deepened as the clouds overhead swallowed up what little light remained, thrusting us into the
darkness of a premature night.
'How much further is your friend's home?' asked Eliza hopefully.
'Still several more miles,' replied Rupert.
'You said we would be there by sundown, and we have ridden all day,' complained Eliza.
'The sun hasn't yet set, though from the darkness you would be forgiven for guessing otherwise,'
said Rupert. 'Another hour, and we should be close. Chin up Eliza! The house of one of England's finest
magicians awaits you.'
Eliza made no reply. She was too proud to acknowledge to Rupert her curiosity at his final
remark, but secretly she wondered about the mysterious character whose home we were heading for.
Growing up in the shelter of the Gatehouse, she had had little contact with the world outside and was
somewhat disconcerted to learn that magic was not only known of but studied by so many others outside
the Guild.
 Chapter 42

We rode on for another hour. Had there been light by which to see, we would have noticed the land we
now passed through had altered dramatically: the tree cover had largely disappeared, and here and there a
rocky tor or lonely standing stone, pointing like a finger towards the sky, could be seen atop the bare hills
and ledges that leaned over us as we rode.
We had reached the edge of Bodmin Moor; a rugged, bleak stretch of land where few people
travelled after dark. Rupert seemed to know where he was going without hesitation and led us along a
winding track up towards a shoulder of a hill upon which a castellated manor house stood, flanked by tall
holly trees upon either side. As we approached, the gates were opened by unseen hands then clanged
loudly behind us as they shut again.
Behind the gates, a small courtyard opened onto the three wings of the house, the largest of
which stood before us. Through its windows, lights twinkled, and the smell of cooking wafted through
the air.
'This is the house of Edward Treadway, and this is Treadway Castle. We shall leave the horses
here; Edward's groom will attend to them,’ said Rupert as he dismounted.
'Is he expecting us?' I asked as Rupert led us across the courtyard to the doors leading to the
main wing of the house.
'No, but he will not be surprised by our visit,' replied Rupert, 'and so that is as good as an
invitation.'
The words had scarcely left his lips before a frightful baying broke out, and four muscular,
fearsome-looking dogs bounded out of the darkness and sprinted towards us, their mouths curled back
into vicious snarls. Eliza let out a little scream and shrank back behind me as I glanced about for
something with which to fight them off. Rupert alone seemed unconcerned. Taking one confident step
towards the snarling beasts, he held out his hands palm outwards. The dog closest to him at once settled
upon his front, his head resting upon his enormous paws. The three dogs behind him did likewise and
remained motionless as we hurried past them to the house,
'What did you do?' I asked in amazement, not daring to take my eyes off the beasts for fear that
whatever power Rupert had over them may suddenly cease.
'I have an affinity with dogs,' replied Rupert. 'My own hound, Boye, was famous among canines.'
With that, he hammered upon the enormous wooden doors with his fist. Eliza and I waited
nervously, unsure what to expect but somewhat relieved when a plump, middle-aged woman with a kindly
face and rosy cheeks opened the door and peeped out into the night. The comforting light of many
candles streamed out onto the steps.
'Mrs. Treadway!' exclaimed Rupert. 'You haven't aged a day!'
 'Rupert,' she cried, thrusting the door open and ushering him in. 'What brings you to my door on
a night such as this? We thought you were banished from England?'
'I was,' replied Rupert, 'but I have returned in secret. George Prye required my assistance, and I
in turn require your husband's- if he is willing.'
'You know Edward,' said Mrs. Treadway. 'Anything for you and George. Gracious me, who are
these two poor souls? They are soaked to the bone! In you come, my dears. Take off your cloaks- that's
right. We shall have you dry in no time.'
She chivvied us through a small entrance hallway, with oak-panelled walls and a grand and
imposing staircase leading to the upper floors, into what was once the great hall but now served as the
Treadways' dining room.
On the far side, a fire blazed in a hearth that spanned almost the entire wall, and candles filled the
numerous alcoves and sconces arranged about the room. Above the hearth, the Treadway coat of arms- a
robin in the centre of a shield fashioned of holly branches -was emblazoned upon a red banner. On either
side, two enormous stags’ heads looked down upon the banqueting table that occupied most of the room.
At the head of the table sat a man with closely cropped white hair and a well-tended beard on his
chain that had been groomed to a point. Above his lips, his whiskers had been carefully arranged into an
upturned mustache. At his throat, he wore a collar of white lace, and tucked into his belt, I noted a wand
of yew wood.
'Edward, see who has just arrived,' said Mrs. Treadway, hurrying in behind us.
'Rupert!' said Edward, rising from his seat to greet his friend. 'We were told you had been
banished after the siege at Oxford, though I did not believe that would be the last England would hear of
you. What brings you to my door? I fear it is not something pleasant, given the manner of your arrival.'
'I am afraid not,' replied Rupert, embracing Edward then seating himself beside him. 'These are
my companions, Tom Wild and Eliza Ellery.'
'Hello, and welcome to Treadway Castle,' said Edward. 'Friends of Prince Rupert are always
welcome here.'
'That is well,' said Rupert, 'for they are also friends of George Prye.'
'George!' exclaimed Edward. 'I have not seen him for many a year. How goes he?' he asked,
turning to me and Eliza. Mrs. Treadway had taken our cloaks and was busy settling us in chairs beside the
fire.
'He is in considerable danger at present,' said Rupert. 'It concerns the Guild of Gatekeepers, the
King, and that damned Cromwell.'
Edward sighed. 'Cromwell,' he muttered. 'Go on. It is plain there is quite a tale behind all this.
We had better hear it at once.'
Now sufficiently warmed and drying off beside the fire, Eliza and I filled Edward in on our
adventures up until meeting Rupert in Truro, after which Rupert took up the tale.
 'I had already returned to England in secret after spending only a short time in exile, and I rode
to Truro like a gale to meet Tom and Eliza. I am afraid it seems that George's communications may have
been intercepted; poor Tom and Eliza had an extremely close shave with a Roundhead brute purporting
to be me. It also seems that Devere has command of at least some of Cromwell's men, not to mention
the Shadow Horse. As things are, we have little hope of delivering the dragonskin to the King on the Isle
of Wight. We need your help, Edward, if only for somewhere to stay in order to throw the pursuit off for
a time. You have always been a good friend to me, and I realise the danger our presence places you in, but
I would not ask unless we were desperate. Can you help us?'
Edward looked grave. He stood up and poked the fire with the tongs.
'I am not afraid of Cromwell or his men,' he said, 'and you are of course more than welcome in
this house, whatever the danger, but you must realise that William Devere is a far greater magician than I
am. I am afraid he will not simply turn aside from his pursuit. The dragonskin is legendary among
magicians. It is not a thing that one who desires it desperately can lightly pass over.'
'You are a greater magician than I,' replied Rupert. 'You underestimate yourself. If anyone can aid
us, it is you.'
Edward smiled. 'And I will. Tomorrow, we will consider the best course of action, but for now,
what sort of host would I be if I did not feed hungry travellers who come knocking at my door? Be
seated. The meat will be served shortly.'
We took our seats around the table while the Treadways' servants laid out the evening meal. We
ate hungrily and spoke little, and Edward and his wife did not trouble us with talk. When we were done,
Mrs. Treadway led us back out into the little hall and up the stairs to where rooms had been prepared for
us.
'There is more wood in the basket if the fire burns low,' she said, showing me and Rupert into
our room. 'Eliza, you are further down the hall. Now is time for rest. Do not let your cares trouble you.
The morning may yet bring clarity and hope. Good night.'
My head had barely touched the pillow before I was asleep. Outside, the wind whined through
the crags and rattled the window panes. In the distance, the howls of a pack of hunting dogs echoed
across the moor. The pack leader, a large, muscular beast stood before the gates of Treadway Castle, his
ears flattened to his head and mouth curled back into a snarl. The pack crowded behind him. Their
master had set them on our trail, and they could smell our horses beyond the gate and hear their quiet
chomping in the stable. The Treadways' dogs howled and bayed at the unfamiliar pack that clamoured at
the gates. At that moment, there came a blinding flash of white light from the window of the tower above
my window.
'Begone,' cried Edward as a shard of burning white metal flew from his hand and landed at the
feet of the pack leader. It blazed for a second before exploding silently with a vapour that sent the pack
into a fit of madness. The wolves foamed at the mouth and ran wildly about, crashing blindly into one
another as they scattered about the dark moor. The leader howled in rage, vainly calling the pack back to
him, but they paid him no heed. With his pack dispersed, there was little he could do but slink off into the
night with his tail between his legs.
 Chapter 43

It was still dark when I woke. Rupert's bed was empty. I lay still for a few minutes, savouring the warmth
of the bed, before getting up. I crossed to the window and peeped out behind the drapes. There was
nothing to see in the darkness but a handful of stars in the black arc of sky.
'I wonder where Rupert is,' I thought to myself as I closed the drapes and returned to my bed.
As if in answer to my thought, the door of the room opened softly, and Rupert crept in carrying
an oil lamp and a bundle of papers under his arm.
'Hello, Tom,' he said, setting the lamp down upon the wash stand in the corner of the room. 'I
hope I didn’t wake you; I'm afraid I couldn’t sleep, so I thought to pay a visit to Edward's library.'
'What have you there?' I asked.
'Maps,' Rupert replied. 'We must plan our onward journey carefully. The roads will undoubtedly
be watched, so we will have to find our way across country. I am not familiar with the land between here
and the Isle of Wight, so I must consider our route carefully.'
My heart sunk. 'I thought you said we were to lie low here for a time?' I said.
'We are, but we must be prepared. In the morning, Edward will advise us of our next move. He is
a magnificent magician, but a humble one, as you saw earlier. He certainly equals Devere in his magical
abilities, but as I have said before, I fear it will be wits not magic that will see us through to the Isle of
Wight.'
I stifled a yawn and nodded. Drowsiness crept over me once again as Rupert spoke.
'Come,' said Rupert. ''Tis not yet morning. Sleep now while you can. We have a long day ahead of
us.'
I climbed back into my bed without further persuasion and watched the flicker of the oil lamp on
the wall for a few minutes before drifting back to sleep with the sound of rustling papers in my ear.
I awoke again to find Rupert calling my name and gently shaking me. The room was light, and
the drapes had been pulled back. It was morning, and the fog had returned.
'Edward wishes to see us in the library at once. Get dressed swiftly.'
I threw on my clothes and followed Rupert down the stairs, through the great hall and into a dark
room of book-lined walls. A fire blazed in the hearth but did little to mitigate the gloom outside the
window.
Edward and Eliza were already waiting for us, and on a long table in the centre of the room sat a
human skull.
'Good morning,' said Edward as we entered the room. 'I am afraid that danger may have found
you sooner than you expected: last night after you had retired to bed, I saw off a pack of hunting dogs
that I suspect may have been following your trail. Now, it may be that they simply smelt the horses
through the gates, but we must not be complacent. I dispersed them and put the fear of Treadway Castle
into them, but we must be vigilant.’
Eliza and I looked at one another. Her face revealed the same feeling of dread that had my
stomach in knots. Edward looked at us closely before continuing.
'I have been considering your plight throughout the night, and the one person I note you have
not spoken of is Emerson. He is George's brother and a senior Guild member. What of him? What role
has he in all of this?'
'I'm afraid it seems that Emerson is under the sway of Devere. It was he who obtained the
dragon amber for him,' said Rupert.
'That is worrying news,' said Edward. 'Well, we can only hope he has simply been hoodwinked by
Devere, and the rot at the heart of the Guild of Gatekeepers has not spread beyond its Keeper. If not, I
fear for the future, even if we do get the dragonskin to the King. Magicians are dangerous people, but
there is nothing more dangerous than a power-hungry magician. However, we cannot worry ourselves
with speculations of what may come to pass. I said I would help you, and I will. I will assist you in getting
the dragonskin to the King as far as I am able, but I also feel you could benefit from the wisdom of the
spirit of my great, great, great, great grandfather, Nicholas Treadway. He built this castle and was a master
of mirror scrying. He left instructions that his skull be kept in the castle after his death, so his spirit might
be summoned. My grandfather succeeded in summoning him, but I have never done so; it is a physically
and mentally exhausting experience and not one that should be undertaken lightly. If I am able to
summon Nicholas’ spirit, we may learn something from him or we may not, I cannot be certain. Do you
wish me to proceed?'
Eliza and I looked at Rupert questioningly.
'Go on, my friend,' said Rupert.
'Very well,' replied Edward. 'Place the dragonskin on the table. Eliza, be a dear and close the
drapes.'
I drew the dragonskin from my pocket and lay it on the table before me. The room had been
plunged into darkness at the closing of the drapes, and the crackle of the fire was the only sound to be
heard. The smooth whiteness of the skull seemed to glow in the half light.
Edward's lips moved soundlessly as he stared into the dark depths of the eye sockets and chanted
secret incantations in a language I did not understand. I watched with fascination but felt repulsed with
myself for doing so, like a voyeur watching someone at prayer. I wondered if Edward could still sense our
presence as he conversed with the spirits and experienced the world as they did. I wondered how it must
feel to see things that others would never know.
 Chapter 44

After a few minutes, Edward stopped chanting, and a dark shadow, darker than the darkness around us,
filled the room, dimming the light from the fire.
‘Is that you, Nicholas Treadway?’ said Edward in a commanding voice.
‘Yes,’ came a thin, whispery voice from inside the skull. To my horror, it began to turn slowly of
its own accord until it faced me. 'Tom Wild. Go back,’ the voice continued.
I started at the uttering of my name. My throat was dry and tight, and my thoughts muddled.
'Why?' I said at last, finding my voice.
'Go back,' the voice repeated.
'Where? Where must I go back to?' I asked, my voice shrill.
'Beware Emerson,' it whispered.
'What do you mean? What of Emerson?' I cried. There was a hissing sound which sent shudders
down my spine, but the spirit made no rely.
'Tell us how to get the dragonskin to the King,' said Edward.
'The King will not receive it,' said the voice.
'Why?' demanded Edward. 'Tell us what you know!'
The shadow seemed to deepen as the skull let out a mournful groan like the cry of some evil and
lonely creature. I pressed my hands to my ears to stop the sound. Edward strode over to the drapes and
flung them aside. The darkness lifted, and the sound receded to nothing.
'What was that?' whispered Eliza after a few moments of tense silence.
'That was Nicholas Treadway’s spirit speaking through his skull,' replied Edward, returning the
skull to a wooden box. His face looked drawn and haggard.
'What did he mean by 'the King will not receive it'? And what was all that talk about Tom?' asked
Eliza.
'I do not know,' said Edward. His voice was troubled. 'I had hoped he might speak plainly with
us, but the communion was short, and now I fear we will not be able to summon him again. Even those
few minutes have exhausted me. We may try again if I am strong enough on another day, but I fear that
we will get no plainer answer than that. The spirits of the dead only reveal what it pleases them to. They
do not experience the world or think as the living do, and so their revelations often seem ambiguous. We
may simply have to rely on our own good sense.'
I looked out the window and said nothing. I was troubled by what I had heard and wondered
why it was only me that Nicholas Treadway’s spirit had spoken of. Nonetheless, I listened intently as
Edward and Rupert discussed what should be done next and how the dragonskin would be smuggled into
Carisbrooke Castle to the King once we reached it.
 'We should be prepared to fight if it comes to it,' said Rupert. 'It would be naive to think we will
get far without meeting some sort of resistance. George's note to me was most likely intercepted, so there
can be little doubt that Devere now knows the intended destination for the dragonskin, even if he did not
guess before.'
'I can provide you with the vesana flagrant, or maddening blazes as they are more commonly
known. I have prepared and stored many for protection over the years,' said Edward. 'I used one last
night to disperse the hunting dogs.'
'What are maddening blazes?' I asked.
'They are shards of metal that burn with a blinding white light when activated and release a
vapour which disorients the victim and induces symptoms of delirium. The effects are only temporary
and have varying effects on different species and even among people, but they are generally found in any
magical protection toolkit,' said Edward.
'That may assist us in getting to the Isle of Wight unmolested, but how do we get the dragonskin
to the King once we are there?' asked Rupert.
'I have been considering this carefully, and it seems to me you have two options: to get it to His
Majesty by stealth or by force. I would discount force at once. If it were possible, the King would have
been freed long before now, so it is safe to assume that it is not. More pertinent in my mind, though, is
that force will inevitably draw attention to your purpose. Getting the dragonskin to His Majesty is only
the beginning. The magic of such things does not work overnight, nor does it always work in the way that
is expected. Its power will certainly guide His Majesty in his further actions, and it is hoped that the rest
of his reign will be wiser because of it, but it will not eradicate his enemies. That is a wholly different
matter and one that is perhaps not for us to concern ourselves with at this time.
'So that only leaves us stealth. His Majesty will be closely guarded, as will the castle. You will not
simply be able to walk up to the gates and ask to see the King. It is likely that disguise will be required,
and so I have located an old transmogrification spell.'
From a pile of books, Edward lifted a battered and torn folio. The page he turned to was printed
in Latin and illustrated with a woodcut image of a man in the process of shapeshifting into a wolf. The
impression was both extraordinary and terrifying.
'What is a transmogrification spell?' I asked.
'It is a spell that allows a person to transform from their physical shape into that of another being
while still retaining their own consciousness. It is a very ancient practise,' said Edward.
'What would we be transforming into, and how would we change back?' asked Eliza.
'I have considered various animal hosts, which are certainly the easiest to create a
transmogrification spell for, but I am not convinced that any will be suitable, not least because of the
difficulty you would face getting into Carisbrooke Castle, and so I have settled on what I feel is the safest
option. I will create a spell that will transform one of you into the likeness of Oliver Cromwell. It is much
harder to prepare such a spell that will transform a person into the exact likeness of another, but it is the
only sensible option.'
'Which of us will be the one to transform?' I asked.
'That is a decision you must reach together,' said Edward. 'It is extremely risky, as the spell only
performs a physical transformation. It is for whichever one of you transforms to behave as Cromwell.
One wrong move could be disastrous. Additionally, transmogrification spells can be extremely unstable.
Reversion to your original form can happen unexpectedly and at any time unless the magician preparing
the draught is extremely experienced in such spells, which I am not.'
'It sounds terrifying,' said Eliza.
'It is the only way, I fear,' said Edward,
'Then it must be done,' declared Rupert. 'How long will it take to prepare the spell? And what is
required for it?'
'It will take at least a fortnight to prepare the ingredients exactly and produce the draught under
the correct moon phase. You will be safe here for that time. Rupert, I need you to hunt a crow and bring
back a vial of its blood before I can do any more.'
'I will go at once,' said Rupert. He rose and slung his musket across his back.
'And now I must retire to my laboratory to study this spell more carefully,' said Edward turning
to me and Eliza. 'You two are most welcome to stay in here, or you may wish to sit in more comfort in
the drawing room. There is a checkers set in there if you wish to use it. If you lack anything, call for Mrs.
Treadway or the servants.'
 Chapter 45

For a while, Eliza and I sat in the library and talked after Rupert and Edward had gone, but a draught that
crept in through a crack in the wall chilled us and almost extinguished the fire more than once.
'Come, let's sit in the drawing room,' said Eliza at last.
The drawing room was the next room along and was comfortably furnished with upholstered
chairs and woven rugs upon the floor. On a side table, we found the checkers set already laid out.
'You are quiet,' commented Eliza ten minutes into our first game. 'What troubles you?'
'It is what the skull said,' I replied. 'I don't really know what to make of it; I should just like to
know what it meant when it told me to go back.'
'Like as not, it was referring to the danger that you are in and was warning you to turn back
before it is too late, though that is hardly possible now.' said Eliza.
'But we are all in danger,' I replied, 'so why did it speak only to me and not you or Rupert? It said
go back, not turn back. It was telling me to go back somewhere, but why? And what did it mean about
Emerson?'
'It said to beware; I think it was confirming what we have feared about his involvement with
Devere. I cannot see what else could have been meant. 'Tis a blow; I had hoped that we were mistaken
about him, but it appears not.'
I made my move and said nothing. I wasn't convinced, and a nagging voice in the back of my
mind wouldn't allow me to dismiss my doubts so easily. Alarmingly, my first thought upon hearing the
skull’s words had been Osmington Mills, and now I couldn't help but wonder if there was a warning I had
missed. I thought of my mother and father and Lizzie far away. 'I wish I was back in Osmington Mills,' I
thought to myself.
Eliza and I played on until the fire burned low and the light outside began to fade. One of the
Treadway servants came and mended the fire, and then Eliza busied herself reading from a pile of books
she had picked from the library. I tried to force myself to read too, but I was restless and ill at ease.
'I think I shall take a sniff of air outside,' I said at last.
Eliza looked up from her book. 'Very well, but don't go far. You wouldn't want to miss supper!'
'I shan't leave the grounds,' I replied.
I had meant to slip out through the front doors into the darkness outside, but I hesitated a
moment as I reached the bottom of the staircase. Edward's study was probably somewhere up there. In
truth, I wanted to speak with him alone if I might.
The tramp of the servants' feet on the frosty ground outside passed by the front door. I dithered
for a moment, then without a backward glance, I crept up the stairs and disappeared into the shadows of
the passageway.
 It was dark but for a thin rind of light showing around the edge of the door at the far end. I took
a few steps closer and hesitated. Perhaps for fear of disturbing Edward in the midst of his work or for
fear of the answers he may give me if I did speak with him, I couldn't be sure, but I had lost my nerve. I
turned back towards the staircase just as the door opened and Edward looked out. The light of a fire
spilled out into the shadowy passageway, and his expression was friendly.
'Hello, Tom. I thought I heard footsteps. Are you looking for Mrs. Treadway? Does the fire need
mending?' he said.
'No, sir,' I replied. 'The fire is good, and we lack nothing. I, er.... I was looking for you, if you
please. I would have a word with you, if you can spare me a moment.'
Edward smiled. 'Come in,' he said, stepping aside to allow me into his study.
It reminded me at once of the alchemy laboratory in the Gatehouse with its array of peculiar
instruments. Upon a large table in the centre of the room, papers and maps were strewn amongst beakers
and vials of liquids and powders and all manner of objects for measuring the heavens and the angles of
the stars. Atop a pile of heavy leather-bound books and grimoires, Nicholas Treadway’s own scrying
mirror lay, unbroken in over two hundred years, and on the wall above the hearth, a larger mirror with a
heavy wooden frame hung. Yet by far the most striking feature of the room was the immense glass
skylight in the dome of the ceiling. An enormous telescope directed my gaze upwards toward the sky
where a few stars glowed faintly through the wisps of cloud that drifted before them.
'Please sit,' said Edward, sweeping away some papers to make a space for me at the table. 'You
must pardon the mess. I have been a little engrossed in studying this transmogrification spell.'
'The last spell Eliza and I prepared was a disaster,' I replied.
'Aye, 'tis a dangerous business, spell-casting.' Edward sat forward in his chair and looked at me
closely. 'What troubles you, lad? You have the look of one who has just received bad news.'
'It is what your ancestor’s spirit said to me,' I replied, encouraged by Edward's frankness. 'It felt
like a warning, and to tell the truth, I'm mighty afraid for my family.'
'Few who listen to tidings from the dead find comfort in what they hear,' replied Edward grimly.
'Do you know what he meant?' I asked.
'No,' Edward replied. 'And I like not to venture to interpret the meaning of such a message. You
must understand, Tom, magic does not belong to this world. It is the preserve of the other realms, but
the divide between our world and theirs is porous. It spills out into our world and may be harnessed by
those who know how, but knowing is only one step towards understanding, and I'm afraid few, if any,
fully understand the machinations of this world; fewer still could claim to truly understand that of the
spirits of the dead.'
'Do you think my family is in danger?' I asked.
Edward sighed. 'Possibly.... but I cannot infer that from Nicholas’ words alone. My own good
sense warns me that Devere may exact revenge upon those you care for, but it also warns me that turning
aside and abandoning your purpose will not keep either you or your family from harm. Only once the
dragonskin is out of Devere's grasp forever will you be safe, though that is small comfort, no doubt. As
for the whispered warnings that come from beyond, I say to you this: do not heed them if you look only
to base your actions upon them.'
'But sir, you looked to the dead for answers when you summoned your ancestor. Surely you must
set some store by his words?'
'That is true,' replied Edward, 'and certainly the dead may offer guidance when the way is unclear,
but I warned you all that we may not learn anything from them. Nothing in this world is guaranteed, and
no one, living or dead, can truly predict all outcomes.'
'I wish I could be sure,' I said quietly. 'Whatever danger or misfortune may await me I can bear if
I know my family is safe.'
'Certainty is a luxury few enjoy, especially in these troubled times.' replied Edward.
I nodded and stared at the reflection of the room in the mirror. It was a few moments before I
realised that my own reflection was missing. I stood up and walked to the glass, puzzled and amazed.
'How...?' I stopped short as I noticed the smile playing upon Edward's lips.
'Ah, you have found my hiding place!' he beamed. 'I must say, it didn't take you anywhere near as
long as I expected. You are most perceptive, young man.'
 Chapter 46

I brought my face closer to the glass. It looked like that of an ordinary mirror with a few whiskered
patches and the odd smudge here and there. Edward stood beside me and held out his hand. I watched in
amazement as it slowly disappeared into the mirror right up to his elbow.
'How is it possible?' I asked.
The wall which the mirror hung upon was lumpy and uneven. I pressed my cheek against it and
felt the cold stone upon my skin. I could see the back of the mirror through a slither of space where it
didn't quite lie flush against the wall. There was no secret cavity behind.
'It's not a trick!' I declared.
'Indeed,' replied Edward. 'My hand is inside the mirror. Here, see for yourself.'
I stepped forward and moved my hand hesitantly towards the mirror. Its surface was dull like the
reflection of the sky in still water on a cloudy day, but the likeness of the table and the jumble of
oddments upon it, the hearth and everything else in the room was reflected in it. I inched my fingers
forward, afraid to touch the mirror, until I felt the cold, hard surface of the glass at my fingertips, then a
moment later nothing at all. I gasped as my own hand disappeared into the mirror, moving freely beyond
the confines of the solid surface.
''Tis remarkable, sir,' I said as I withdrew my hand and examined it, half expecting to see some
mark of the magic it had just been exposed to, but there was none. 'Is it one of your creations?'
'Aye, it is quite a wonder,' replied Edward, 'but I'm afraid I cannot accept credit for it. It is far
older than I am. It has been in my family for as long as I can tell.'
'Your forebears were magicians too?' I asked.
'Yes, for at least six generations,' replied Edward.
'I had no idea there were entire families of magicians. Rupert said there are rival groups to the
Guild of Gatekeepers across Europe. It seems most everyone I meet now is involved in magic one way or
another.'
Edward smiled. 'Magicians and sorcerers have always been around, but 'tis simply that we prefer
not to advertise ourselves as such to non-magical folk. Even if it were not for the oath of silence that the
Guild holds you to, you would do well to keep quietly about the business you are involved in.'
'I don't expect I shall be involved in it much longer once we have got the dragonskin to the
King- if we ever do,' I replied, looking down at the array of books, papers and oddments that littered the
table. ''Tis a shame; I should have liked to become a great magician and do some good with magic. I have
heard too much of the harm that it can do and little of the good.'
'You may yet get your chance,' said Edward. He paused for a moment then crossed the room to a
large chest of drawers that stood in a corner. From the top drawer, he pulled out a small brass telescope.
'Take this,' he said. 'The future may not always be easy to predict as you have seen, but the past is fixed,
and the wise will look to it and learn from it. This at least will help you in doing so.'
''Tis a telescope, sir,' I replied, more than a little bemused.
'Aye, it is,' said Edward, 'but the lens is quite different to that of an ordinary telescope. It looks
not to magnify distant objects but rather to see into the past. One may gaze into its lens and see the
events of any time and place at any point in the past that he has in mind. It is quite an extraordinary
experience.'
'Thank you, sir,' I replied, a little over-awed by Edward's generosity.
I rested the telescope on my palms and felt its weight in my hands. I imagined all the events in
history I might look to see: the burning of the library at Alexandria that Emerson had told me of, the
defeat of King Harold at the battle of Hastings that I had learnt of, even Jesus and his disciples sharing
the last supper, but perhaps mundanely my first instinct was to see my mother and father and Lizzie, even
just a moment from years before.
Downstairs, a door slammed, and the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard coming up the
stair case. A moment later, Rupert appeared at the door, breathless and pale.
'Roundheads!' he cried. 'A whole company of them! They're making their way here. I believe they
mean to search the castle!'
'Into the mirror,' said Edward. His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable tone of
urgency to it. 'Where is Eliza?'
'I left her downstairs in the drawing room,' I replied.
At that moment, the thud of horse hooves sounded outside then stopped before the castle gates.
Voices could be heard: the leader of the Roundhead company remonstrating with Edward's groom.
'Go!' said Edward, ushering us towards the mirror, 'I will find Eliza.'
Rupert pushed a chair up to the hearth and climbed upon it before he stepped into the mirror
without hesitation and disappeared. I glanced behind me as I moved to follow him, anxious not to leave
Eliza behind in danger.
'Tom, hurry,' came Rupert's muffled voice from inside the glass, followed by his hand pulling me
into the mirror.
A moment later, I was inside a room that was a perplexing mirror image of Edwards's study. I
looked about, unnerved by the way in which furniture and objects that had been on one side in the study
were now arranged upon the other. It was the same room, but not, and a jumbled pile of books and
objects that Edward liked to keep hidden cluttered the table.
I looked about as my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, in spite of the fire in the hearth.
Something about the place made me uneasy. The door stood ajar at the exact angle as the study, but the
passageway beyond it was ominously dark. Through the mirror, I could see back into the real study as
through a heavy curtain, its features vague and obscure.
'You knew about the mirror?' I asked Rupert.
 'Yes, 'tis where Edward hides his tools when the witch hunters come knocking, as they do now
and then. Witchcraft is still a hanging crime, you know. But hush! Someone is coming!'
Through the opaqueness of the glass, I could just see Edward and Eliza slipping through the
door. Edward's voice could be heard speaking urgently as they drew closer, and a moment later, Eliza
emerged through the mirror.
'Well I never!' she exclaimed, looking about at the room before her. 'I've never seen anything like
it!'
'Indeed, but look you! I hear footsteps on the stair!' said Rupert.
 Chapter 47

We crept forward to the edge of the glass and peered out at Edward. He had moved away from the
mirror and now sat perfectly still at the table, reading as the footsteps grew louder. Only the slight
trembling of the papers in his hands betrayed his anxiety.
'Can we be seen in here?' whispered Eliza.
I shook my head and held my breath as the footsteps stopped outside the door. Mrs. Treadway
entered carrying a lantern, followed by a dozen men armed with blunderbusses. Their attire marked them
immediately as Roundheads, for their hair was closely cropped to the head, and each wore a short
breastplate over his tunic. Poor Mrs. Treadway's face was white with fear as she ushered them into the
study, but a flash of relief passed across it as her eyes scanned the room and saw that we were gone. She
hurried to Edward and took his hand. 'Husband, these men have come to search the castle,' she said. 'I
could not deter them.'
Edward pushed back his chair and stood to address the Roundheads in a firm but even voice.
'Sirs! What possible reason have you to search my home at such an hour?'
'I've a warrant for the arrest of fugitives wanted by the Long Parliament that are believed to be
harboured here,' replied the foremost man who appeared to be the leader. 'Step aside, old man! Hindering
our purpose will only go worse for you.'
'Why, sir, you mistake me,' said Edward 'You are welcome to search as you will, but I fear it will
be in vain; none have passed this way this last three month. 'Tis a lonely spot my forebears chose to build
this castle. Wanderers through these parts are few and far between.'
'Be that as it may, I must still carry out my duty,' replied the Roundhead, his fervour somewhat
assuaged by Edward's reasonable attitude.
'As you will,' replied Edward. 'May I escort you?'
'No, wait here,' replied the Roundhead, then he turned to the man beside him. 'Cobham, take the
men and search the castle. Be sure to look out for priest holes.'
Cobham and the others at once retreated to search while Edward and Mrs. Treadway waited in
silence as the Roundhead leader poked around the study.
''Tis a peculiar array of tools you keep in here, to be sure,' he said, looking curiously at Edward's
telescope.
'Merely instruments for observing the movements of the heavens,' Edward replied.
'For what purpose?' asked the Roundhead, eyeing Edward suspiciously.
'Personal interest, nothing more,' said Edward.
'Seems to me there is plenty for a man to concern himself with in these dark times without
looking to the stars,' said the Roundhead.
'I try not to concern myself with other men's conflicts,' replied Edward.
 The Roundhead scoffed. 'You may shut yourself in, but you cannot shut the world out forever,
old man,' he replied.
He turned away from the telescope and proceeded to make a round of the room, tapping on the
walls now and then in search of secret cavities where fugitives may be hidden. He spoke to Edward as he
went along, but I didn't catch his words, for a sudden cold draught swept along my neck, and an
inexplicable wave of fear crept upon me at that moment. Slowly, I turned my face to the door behind us
which now stood wide open.
'Rupert!' I hissed, clutching his arm, but he and Eliza were already staring in horror at the mist
that was advancing towards us from the open door. It curled itself around the table legs and chairs as it
filled the room, enveloping it in its suffocating darkness and contaminating the air with fear and dread.
'Tom Wild. Come with me. I will show you the secrets of the grave,' came a disembodied voice
from somewhere within the mist as it shaped itself into the form of two hands with long, wizened fingers
that groped towards me.
I shrank back against the mirror and looked frantically back to the study beyond. The Roundhead
was still in the room, and Edward stood with his back to us. There was no escape.
'Tom Wild,' the voice croaked again as the hands reached towards me.
'The mirror on the table!' Rupert hissed. 'Hold it up! Let it move into the mirror!'
Immobilised by fear, it took every shred of my will to tear my eyes from the advancing mist and
pick up the mirror. I shrank back behind Rupert and held the mirror before me while the hands groped
ever closer.
'It's not working! It's getting closer!' cried Eliza.
The mist swirled around my feet, and the hands now reached out and gripped my ankles. A
freezing pain seared through my legs at their touch, and my knees buckled beneath me. I sank to the floor
and felt the hands grip me tighter as they dragged me towards the door. I had no idea what lay behind it,
but an overwhelming fear of crossing the threshold to whatever lay beyond seized me suddenly, and I
thrashed my arms about, desperately trying to grab hold of something to keep myself from sliding
towards the terrifying unknown. It was no use; the hands held me tighter and dragged me with even
greater force. A sudden surge of pain ripped through me, and I swooned, too weak to resist any further.
'Tom!' Eliza screamed from somewhere behind me.
Rupert's hand grabbed mine as I was dragged closer towards the door, but the hands that pulled
me were too strong, and I slipped from his grasp. I felt myself sliding away, overcome with fear and dread
as the mist swept over me.
 Chapter 48

Darkness engulfed me, but a faint flash of light penetrated it for just a moment. I opened my eyes and
saw Edward standing before the door, his wand in his hand, commanding the creature to begone, but his
voice was muffled and distant. Then silence.
I lay still, paralysed and trapped somewhere between sleep and waking. In the darkness, I
couldn't be sure if I was seeing what was truly before me or dreaming, but slowly an image began to
emerge out of the blackness. It was a room; the single downstairs room of the cottage I had grown up in.
I saw it as one who was standing inside and walking about, but my mother and father and Lizzie were
nowhere to be seen. As I moved towards the door to search outside for them, I saw blood smeared upon
it. I wanted to cry out, but my voice was paralysed as the image changed suddenly, and I saw my own
face, pale and deathly, as I lay in darkness. At first glance, I appeared to be sleeping, but the stillness and
paleness of my body seemed beyond that of sleep, and I realised with horror that I was dead. I was
looking upon my own corpse.
My mind reeled as a procession of ghostly figures and animated corpses in various stages of
decay passed before me one after the other. The scent of damp soil filled the air, and the oozing, slimy
things that haunt the deep earth crawled over me, gnawing at my flesh. I felt hot tears escape from my
closed eyes, and my heart pounding, and I realised that I wasn't dead. I gasped and felt clear air fill my
lungs. My eyes sprung open, and I sat bolt upright.
I was surprised to find myself in the drawing room, lying on a couch drawn up beside the fire.
Edward, Rupert and Eliza watched over me anxiously, but their expressions gave way at once to relief
when they saw that I woke.
'Tom!' cried Eliza. 'Thank heavens! I was so afraid for you.'
'What happened to me?' I asked. 'I thought I was dead. I saw my own corpse, and then things too
horrible to speak of. I felt worms and other foul things gnawing at my flesh.'
''Twas just your mind playing tricks when that creature attacked you in the mirror,' said Eliza, but
I caught the anxious look Rupert exchanged with Edward.
'Aye, think no more on it,' he said with little conviction.
'Come, Tom needs rest,' said Edward. 'Eliza, please fetch more blankets. He must be kept warm.'
'Yes, sir,' replied Eliza, dashing off at once.
'Wait,' I said as Edward and Rupert moved to leave. 'What of the Roundheads? Are they gone?
How did I get out of the mirror?'
'Yes, do not fear,' said Edward. 'They searched the entire castle, outbuildings and all, but found
nothing. I do not expect they will return. I sensed something was amiss in the mirror and climbed in after
you, but the shadow had already overcome you before I could stop its attack. I dispersed it with the light
from my wand, but there was little we could do but carry you out and wait for you to regain
consciousness. You gave us quite a fright.'
I shuddered at the reminder of the shadowy creature and pulled the blankets that covered me
closer.
'Rest now,' said Edward.
I shut my eyes, too weary to argue or question any further. As I drifted towards sleep, I heard
Edward and Rupert speaking in low voices away from me.
'What creature was that, Edward?' said Rupert. 'And what did it want with Tom? Speak plainly
with me.'
Edward sighed as though the answer he was to give was one he did not wish to. ''Twas a Shade, a
creature from another realm,' he replied, 'I fear it is a bad omen. They are harbingers of death and doom
when they appear un-summoned. I like not what the boy says he saw. I fear it may have been a
premonition. Speak nothing of this to him or Eliza.'
 Chapter 49

When I woke, I found I had slept through the night and into the late morning. The curtains remained
closed, but daylight showed beneath their folds. I sat up and looked about, but I was alone. I shivered as
the memory of Edward's words to Rupert came back to me. Even in the bright light of day, the fear and
dread of the Shade was not easily dispelled. I couldn't shake the feeling that both it and the spirit of
Nicholas Treadway had revealed to me not the danger my family faced, as I had first thought, but my
own impending death. There seemed little else that could be implied by the sight of my own corpse.
My thoughts were interrupted as Eliza put her head around the door. 'Good, you're awake,' she
said. 'How do you feel?'
'Fine,' I replied. 'I cannot lie a-bed any longer. Where are Rupert and Edward?'
'In Edward's study preparing the spell. The Roundheads following our trail hither has spooked
Edward, and he is anxious to complete it as soon as possible. You are to rest by his orders, but I'll not tell
if you wish to sit up and play a game of checkers.'
'Very well. Let's play.'
I said nothing to Eliza of what I had overheard the night before, but my disquiet could not easily
be assuaged. That my own death had been revealed to me seemed certain. Now more than ever, I wished
I had never picked up the box on the beach on that rainy day back in September.
For the next two weeks we saw little of Edward while he was holed up in his laboratory
preparing the transmogrification spell. We passed the time playing checkers together or reading from his
extensive library. In the evenings, Rupert would entertain us with tales of his adventures fighting
alongside the King in the Civil War, or against the Spanish in the Netherlands, or the Holy Roman
Emperor in Germany.
Outside, the year was drawing to its close. Autumn was receding to winter, and ice clung to the
window pane when I looked out of my window one morning in late November. A smudge of snow
covered the ground, the first of the year, and delicate flakes drifted down from the sky and settled upon
the glass.
'How much longer will the spell take?' I asked Rupert as we sat at breakfast. 'It is December in
five days' time, and the weather will only worsen.'
'I will speak with Edward,' replied Rupert. 'I too am anxious about any further delay.'
That evening at supper, Edward joined us for the first time since we arrived at Treadway Castle.
'I fear I have not been as good a host to you as I might,' he said, 'but my time has been
consumed with preparing this spell quickly, and I have been working in my laboratory late into the night.
It is now almost complete. In the morning, I will meet with you in the library to discuss your onward
journey.'
 Eliza and I ate in gloomy silence. Now that it came to it, I had no desire to leave the safety of
Treadway Castle to go riding across the country with winter drawing in and danger both in front and
behind. Thus far, I had managed to put Edward's words to Rupert out of mind, but with the prospect of
leaving imminent, a dull sense of dread stalked upon me.
After supper, I went straight to my room, anxious to savour my last night in a bed before the
week or more of sleeping out in the open that was to follow. I was careful not to think too much beyond
that point; reaching the Isle of Wight and giving the dragonskin to the King was the responsibility that
Eliza and I had, perhaps recklessly, taken upon ourselves, and it had been our sole objective since the day
we met George in Mrs. Tucker's house. What may come after that, I dared not think.
I turned over to face the window and forced myself to think of something else. Outside, the
waxing moon was rising, its silvery light glowing through the heavy drapes. With the sound of the wind
on the moor in my ears, I sank into an uneasy sleep.
A dark, gloomy day had already emerged when I woke the next morning. I had slept later than
usual after a restless night. The feeling of dread had only grown stronger throughout the night, invading
my dreams and depriving me of rest.
I yawned and climbed out of bed. In the courtyard below, I could hear Rupert and Edward
talking. I dressed quickly and went to find Eliza in the library.
'Good morning,' said Eliza. 'Edward is showing Rupert the route we are to take tonight to avoid
the roads.'
'How long do they think it will take us to get to the Isle of Wight?' I asked.
'Rupert said ten days,' replied Eliza. 'Edward is going to speak with us in the library when they
return.'
'I will be glad to leave,' I said gloomily.
'I thought you were dreading the journey?' said Eliza.
'Yes, but I know what must be done, so now I just want to get on with it,' I replied.
'Are you afraid?' asked Eliza quietly.
'Yes, I suppose I am,' I replied, 'but not of being caught by Cromwell's men or the Venatorian.
I'm afraid of what will happen afterwards- if we get the dragonskin to the King.'
'Why?' asked Eliza
I hesitated, afraid to speak of the real fear that haunted me. 'What will we do and where will we
go?' I said at last. 'To tell the truth, I am more afraid of what is to come if we succeed than the danger we
face in doing it.'
'I hadn't really thought on it,' said Eliza. 'I have only thought of seeing Father and George safe, as
though by getting the dragonskin to the King that will happen directly. I suppose when I found out that
Father was imprisoned, I realised that I couldn't turn aside. I simply had to keep going and see to it that
the dragonskin reaches the hands of the King. That is all I have thought of, but I suppose we are both in
the same position, so let that be some comfort.'
 Eliza inclined her head towards me and rested it on my shoulder. I smiled weakly and lay my
hand in hers.
'I want you to make me a promise,' she whispered.
'About what?' I asked.
'Promise me no matter what happens to us, we will always be friends.'
'Of course,' I replied. 'Always.'
 Chapter 50

It was noon before Edward and Rupert returned. They had taken two of Edward's horses to spare Ralph
and Pluto the exertion before they must leave that evening.
The horses sweated and steamed in the frosty air as they stood in the courtyard. Edward and
Rupert dismounted and made their way to the library where Eliza and I were waiting.
'Well, anyone unfamiliar with this land will be hard put to follow us along the route we are to
take,' Rupert declared. 'Edward has kindly offered to lend us one of his horses so you two may ride
separately and spare poor Ralph the burden of two riders.'
'I also have supplies for you,' said Edward, heaving three large packs onto the table. 'There is
food and ale to last a fortnight. You will find plenty of streams on the moor for water. Mrs. Treadway has
kindly furnished each of you with a fur-lined cloak, and there are extra blankets and firewood as well,
though I advise you to be cautious and only light a fire if absolutely necessary. Now, allow me to show
you what I have prepared.'
He reached into the inner pocket of his doublet and pulled out a small wooden box from which
he drew six small metal shards which he set upon the table before us. 'Beware how you handle these; they
are the vesana flagrant which I spoke of. If you are attacked or cornered, they will be extremely useful to
you, but they must be thrown from a distance, or you too will experience the vapour's ill effects. Mind
that! I advise you to set a watch when you are at rest, so you are not taken unaware.'
'How long do the effects last for?' I asked.
'Half an hour at most before the confusion and nausea begin to noticeably subside. That should
afford you plenty of time to flee.'
Next, Edward opened a leather pouch that hung around his neck and pulled out a small vial of
clear liquid.
'This is the transmogrification draught,' he said. 'Has it been decided which of you will
transform?'
Eliza, Rupert and I were silent for a few moments.
'I will do it,' I replied at last.
'I think that is best,' replied Edward. 'Rupert would be recognised instantly in the event of the
spell wearing off unexpectedly, but you at least may pass for one of the castle's household. Now, upon
consumption, you will be transformed into the physical likeness of Oliver Cromwell. As you know, the
spell can be extremely unstable, and reversion of its effects can occur at any time, but generally they
should last an hour. That is not very much time, so I advise you to be sure of what you are doing before
you consume it. Be certain that you will be able to see the King alone. Once the hour has elapsed, the
spell will wear off by itself and your ordinary appearance will return.'
'Will it hurt- the transformation? I asked.
 'No,' replied Edward. 'I have never transformed myself, but I hear it is a painless experience. The
draught has a bitter smell but is not unpleasant. Mind you drink it all, though.'
Edward leaned across the table and handed me the tiny glass vial. It contained little more than a
few drops of liquid, as clear as water. I marvelled that such a tiny quantity could have such dramatic
effects.
'We shall leave as soon as it is dark. I fear our presence here has put you in enough danger
already,' said Rupert.
Edward laughed grimly. 'I am not yet so old that I could not see off any unwelcome visitors- be
they magician or Roundhead -that come looking for you here,' he replied.
 Chapter 51

Rupert, Eliza and I looked anxiously out at the moor for any indication that the castle was being watched,
but we saw no sign of any creature all day. As dusk fell, the setting sun made a brief appearance, breaking
through the low clouds in streaks of red, before dipping below the horizon. We collected our packs and
said our goodbyes to Edward and Mrs. Treadway at the gates.
'Goodbye and good luck,' said Edward. 'Remember to avoid the roads as far as possible. I hope
one day we may all meet again in merrier times.'
'Indeed,' said Rupert. 'I owe you a great debt, my friend, and I won't forget it.'
Eliza and I thanked Edward many times then mounted our horses ready to depart. Beside Ralph
and Pluto, we now had a sturdy palfrey, Ruby, for Eliza. I turned and looked back at the castle just as the
light was gradually swallowed up by the darkness. Nothing but the wild moor now stood between us and
the night, and it was getting colder. We sat rigidly in our saddles and swathed our cloaks about us, but
nothing seemed to mitigate the icy blasts that swept across the moor.
'At least if we're riding, we're moving,' I whispered to Eliza. 'It has to be better than keeping still
and getting cold.'
'That may be, but I shall still be glad to sit beside a warm fire when this is over,' Eliza whispered
back. 'I miss Treadway Castle already.'
We rode for much of the night, only resting as the moon set and our path became impossible to
follow without a light. Then we settled in a sheltered hollow, and Rupert set himself as the first watch
while Eliza and I slept. So we passed the next two days in this way, always maintaining a watch whenever
we rested.
We saw no signs of other life as we went on our way, either wanderers on the road below or
creatures of the moor. All life seemed to have departed with the coming winter. Even those animals that
ordinarily braved the cold seemed to have abandoned their usual resolve.
Dawn passed and a grey, sunless day emerged on the third day since leaving Treadway Castle.
Flurries of snow fell intermittently, breaking up the monotony of our trek though the changeless
landscape. Rupert told us tales and sung songs as we rode to keep our spirits up, and when the pale sun
peeped out from beneath the clouds, the journey seemed almost enjoyable. I even began to wonder if we
had eluded pursuit altogether.
'We are making good progress,' commented Rupert as the land became tamer and the trees we
had missed on the moor returned. 'We have left Bodmin Moor behind and are crossing into Devonshire,
it would appear.'
Eliza's face visibly brightened at the news. 'How many more counties lie between here and the
Isle of Wight?' she asked.
 'Three,' replied Rupert. 'We will continue east through Devonshire, into Dorset and finally
Hampshire. The Isle of Wight lies to the south of the county of Hampshire.'
'And how many more days will we be travelling for?' asked Eliza, dispirited by the news that
there was still a considerable stretch of land to cross.
'A week or so if we make good speed,' replied Rupert. 'We will have to rejoin the road at some
point, and then we must ride hard. It will be too dangerous to linger. Come, let's go a little further before
finding somewhere to make a camp for the night.'
We rode on in silence for a few more miles through a narrow strip of woodland. The path
winked through the boughs some way off, but we kept our distance from it despite having not seen
another soul in the past three days.
‘This seems as good a place as any,' said Rupert, stopping before an enormous gnarled oak tree
with a hollowed-out bole.
We tethered the horses to another tree nearby and spread our blankets on the ground. In spite of
the recent snow, the tree cover and leaf fall had sheltered the ground there from the worst effects of the
weather.
'We shall be lucky if we get much sleep and even luckier if we wake up in these temperatures,'
grumbled Eliza.
'Here,' said Rupert, taking off the cloak that Edward had given him and handing it to Eliza. 'I still
have my old cloak; it will be enough for me. Get some sleep while I take the first watch. Tom, I shall
wake you in a few hours.'
I nodded and rolled myself in my blanket with my feet to the fire. The last thing I saw before
dropping off to sleep was the hunched figure of Rupert sitting with his musket ready in his hands.
When I awoke, it felt like I had only been asleep for a few minutes. In fact, the moon, now at is
full, had climbed higher in the sky and peeped through the empty branches above. Rupert had woken me
to take my watch.
'Nothing to report,' said Rupert, handing me the musket, 'but keep that close by just in case.'
I wrapped my cloak and blankets around myself tighter and settled into an angle of the tree roots
with the musket resting across my knees. Now and then I would catch the distant call of an owl far away,
or the rustle of fallen leaves where a fox or badger, not yet bedded down for winter, wandered through
the woods in search of food.
My head snapped up suddenly, and I shivered as I realised I had nodded off for a few moments.
There wasn't a sound to be heard in the wood, and the silence was pervasive. The darkness seemed to
press closer; too close, I thought. A feeling of dread, such as I had not felt since the night before we left
Treadway Castle, crept over me. I clutched the musket and positioned my finger on the trigger. In the
blackness, it was difficult to see, but I felt sure I had caught something moving just a little way ahead.
 I reached for the pack of dry firewood and tossed a few pieces into the fire, which had burned
quite low and offered little light. At once, the flames leapt up, and in the shadows of the trees all around, I
could just make out the vague figures of a pack of large, grey hunting dogs.
I gasped and seized a faggot of wood from the fire and held it aloft. Sure enough, there were a
dozen hounds at least, and they had the tree surrounded.
'Rupert, Eliza!' I hissed, nudging them.
'What? What is it?' said Rupert, awake within a moment.
'They have us surrounded,' I whispered as Rupert's eyes settled upon the dogs just yards from the
camp.
 Chapter 52

Rupert took up his musket and trained it upon one particularly large hound that stood a little forward
from the rest, then fired. A howl went up among the pack, and for a few seconds I could see nothing
amid the smoke. As it cleared, we watched with horror as the hound took a bold step forward and
snarled. At such close range, the bullet had most certainly hit it, but it apparently had little effect.
'These are bewitched hounds, or I am a Frenchman,' said Rupert setting aside his musket. Before
him, the pack leader bristled with anger. 'Get the vesana flagrant.'
'We can't! They're too close! The vapour will overcome us like Edward warned,' I hissed.
'Do it, Tom,' cried Eliza. 'They are the Venatorian's hounds; we cannot fight our way past them.
He won't be far behind. Do it now!'
Before the words had even left her mouth, the pack leader lunged forward and grabbed Rupert
by the leg. Eliza screamed, and I grabbed the pack of vesana flagrant, tossing one towards the hound. A
blazing flash of white light lit up the trees for a moment, and the hounds yelped and ran about, gripped
by madness as the vapour engulfed them. I crawled towards the horses with the corner of my cloak
pressed to my mouth. The vapour stung my eyes and left my pulse racing. There was nothing to be seen
but a thick disorienting white fog all around. The horses whinnied, but the tethers still held them fast.
Pulling myself up with the stirrups, I dragged myself into Ruby's saddle and grasped Ralph and Pluto's
reins tight.
'Eliza! Rupert!' I called breathlessly.
'Tom! Rupert! I heard Eliza shout from some way off. All around, the baying and yelping of the
hounds filled the air. 'Tom!' she cried, her voice getting closer.
The horses pulled at the reins and reared up, but I held them fast.
'Steady! Steady!' I whispered into Ruby's ear, directing her towards where Eliza's voice could still
be heard calling out for me.
'Eliza, is that you?' I gasped at a dark figure stumbling blindly through the fog.
'Yes! cried Eliza. 'Where's Rupert? I cannot see a thing.'
'Jump on,' I gasped, handing her Ralph's reins. 'We need to get out of this fog.'
Holding my breath, I guided the horses towards where the fog reached its limit. In the distance,
the frantic barks of the hunting pack could still be heard followed by a loud bang.
At the sound of the gunshot, Pluto reared up and bolted to find his master.
'Pluto! Wait!' cried Eliza as the reins slipped from her hands.
'That was Rupert's musket!' I cried. 'He's in trouble!'
'This way,' said Eliza. 'We can't go back through that fog.'
Skirting the edge of the fog, we made our way through the trees towards the sound of Rupert's
musket. I stopped suddenly at the sound of hoofs galloping close by and the baying of the hounds
following behind.
 'The Venatorian!' I hissed. 'Quick, over there!'
Guiding the horses into the hollow of a large holly bush, there was little we could do but wait and
hope the Venatorian and his hounds passed by without noticing us. In the darkness, it was impossible to
be sure, but the horse appeared to carry two riders as it flashed past. The second rider's hands looked to
have been bound behind his back. The hounds sniffed the ground as they followed the horse, but not one
turned to follow our scent to where we were hiding. The rider urged his horse onwards as it galloped
furiously into the night before disappearing into the darkness.
'That was the Venatorian, to be sure. And he has Rupert. What do we do?' whispered Eliza
despairingly when the last of the hounds had passed us by and we breathed easily again.
'We must get out of this wood and ride fast; we cannot help him alone,' I replied.
'We cannot just leave him!' cried Eliza.
'We have to get the dragonskin to the King!' I said. 'What help can we offer Rupert but to keep
him company in the custody of Devere when the Venatorian gets us all to London? Come, we have to
carry on.'
Eliza dithered a little, unwilling to abandon Rupert altogether, as I led the horses through the
trees, keeping as far from the path as possible without becoming hopelessly lost. The vapour had all but
dissipated and the quiet of the night had returned. I listened as we picked our way through the wood,
straining to hear the slightest sound of pursuit, but there was nothing to be heard but the wind sighing
through the bare branches above. It seemed too much to hope that the Venatorian had gone, satisfied
with the capture of Rupert alone.
 Chapter 53

As we reached the edge of the wood, we stopped. A gently sloping valley opened before us.
'Should we stay or carry on?' asked Eliza miserably. 'Either way, I cannot see we have any hope
of reaching the Isle of Wight without Rupert to guide us.'
I squinted into the darkness ahead. In spite of my fondness for Rupert, I wasn't so easily cowed
at the thought of continuing without him. I knew what it was we must do, with or without hope.
'We shall stay until dawn,' I replied at last. 'I doubt the Venatorian will come back now, and we
have no map or compass to guide us in the dark. There would be little point in carrying on blindly
through the rest of the night only to find ourselves miles out of our way. Dawn cannot be more than a
few hours off. We'll get a better look at the lay of the land then. At least here we have cover.'
We dismounted and tethered the horses to one of the trees nearby and then made ourselves as
comfortable as we could among the leaf piles. Sleep was far from our eyes, and so we spoke in whispers
and watched the sky until dawn.
'Poor Rupert,' said Eliza. 'And poor Pluto. I hope he has the sense to find his way back to
Treadway Castle.'
'I imagine Pluto has had a lucky escape,' I replied.
'But not Rupert,' said Eliza. 'I shudder to think what Devere will do with him once the
Venatorian hands him over. Or what if he is handed over to Cromwell? He has already been banished
once; I don't think they will be merciful again.'
'Don't despair yet,' I replied. 'Many miles still lie between here and London. Rupert is resourceful;
I don't think he will succumb without a fight, somehow. Though I do find it odd that the Venatorian left
with Rupert only, and the hounds didn't track us to the holly bush. The Venatorian must have known we
would be close by, so why didn't he take the time to find us too?'
'Maybe he didn't want to risk his hounds bolting if we unleashed another fog,' said Eliza. 'It does
seem strange, though, and that makes me uneasy.'
Morning came, pale and frosty, and revealed the land that stretched out before us. It seemed to
float above a sea of fog as we looked down into the valley below. Had it not been for my heavy heart and
the urgency with which we now rode, I might have taken the time to admire its beauty. The Tamar river
murmured softly in the valley as it wound its way to the sea, and the tree-topped hills beyond twinkled
with snow.
We stopped briefly around midday but ate only enough to stave off our hunger; Pluto had carried
off with him the pack carrying a good portion of the food and the vesana flagrants when he bolted after his
master. Both were a sore loss, but I blessed my luck that I had stowed the dragonskin and the gunpowder
for the flintlock in my own pack and had kept one vesana flagrant to hand in the pocket of my breeches.
'What is it?' said Eliza as I slowed Ralph to a trot not long after we had set out again.
 'I was just thinking of George, and I realised we haven't heard from him since before we reached
Treadway Castle,' I replied.
'What is the date today?' asked Eliza. 'I have quite lost count.'
'It is December the first,' I replied. 'His last message was on the sixth of November just before
we reached Truro. I do hope he has not come to harm. What with the Venatorian riding away without
trying to capture us, and George's silence, I fear that something is afoot within the Guild.'
Eliza looked anxious. 'What about Father?' she said. 'If George is in trouble and cannot write,
what does that mean for him?'
'I don't know,' I replied, looking out east as though the weight of my gaze could pierce the
distance and reveal George's mind to me. ‘Perhaps he discovered his note to Rupert was intercepted so
dare not write again, but it would certainly be a comfort to hear from him.'
We rode on in heavy silence. The snow had fallen deep but had long since frozen to a thick crust
through which there was no quick path, and the bitter air kept it from thawing. Nonetheless, the sky was
clear, and pale sunlight dappled the valley that now lay behind us. Ahead, the familiar dark green of
moorland was getting gradually closer.
'That must be Dartmoor,' I said. 'We should pass it as quickly as possible and preferably in
daylight. I have heard rumours that it is haunted and perilous for unwary travellers.'
We pressed on and rode far into the night, but by the time we stopped to rest around midnight,
several miles of moor still stretched out before us. Eliza was swaying in her saddle, dizzy with weariness.
'I cannot ride any further tonight, Tom,' she said, yawning. 'Ghouls or no ghouls, I must rest a
while.'
'You're right,' I said reluctantly. 'We may as well stop here. We haven't passed any suitable
camping spots this last hour. I doubt we are likely to happen upon one soon.'
We climbed down from the horses and rolled ourselves in our blankets after securing the reins to
one of the low-growing shrubs that dotted the moor here and there. In spite of the dark stories I had
heard of Dartmoor, we set no watch and fell straight to sleep, too tired to concern ourselves with pixies
or ghostly wanderers.
 Chapter 54

Five days passed without event as we pressed onwards to the Isle of Wight. Winter was deepening all
around, but we dared not linger in one place for too long, fearful of both pursuit and what lay ahead.
In the evening of December 7th, we rested beneath the eaves of the New Forest and took our
meal. We were tired, aching from riding and facing the prospect of spending a night in the open, having
failed to find a barn or abandoned cottage in which to rest. The fire I had built offered little comfort.
As we watched the last rosy light of day melt into night huddled in our cloaks and blankets, the
once-familiar flap of a thrush's wings sounded beside me.
'Bill!' cried Eliza as I lifted the note from his beak. 'What does George have to say?'
I opened the much-folded note and read its contents before handing it to Eliza.

6th December 1648

Dear Eliza, Tom and Rupert

I am sorry I have not written sooner, but the news I have been gathering since I last wrote to you
has been confused and, at times, contradictory. I have waited until I have been able to uncover the truth
before I committed pen to paper, as much has happened in the last month.
On the 20th of November, I learned that the New Model Army's General Council had convened
at St. Albans' Abbey to proclaim the sovereignty of the people of England and to call for the King to be
put on trial. As you might imagine, hope deserted me upon hearing the news, but I was somewhat
relieved to later learn from my spies that His Majesty had negotiated a treaty with the Parliamentary
Commissioners, and the greater part of the House of Commons yesterday voted to accept it.
However, even as I write, Colonel Thomas Pride is in the process of expelling those Members of
Parliament in favour of the treaty from the House which will most likely result in the treaty's annulment. I
cannot say how this will end, but the King's position is now more dangerous than ever.
To confound the issue further it seems that the King has been moved from Carisbrooke Castle
to somewhere on the mainland, though where is anybody's guess. My spies and associates are trying to
locate him urgently, though my feeling is that he must eventually be brought to London. Therefore, I urge
you to make your way here without delay.
Rupert- given your notoriety and uncommonly tall stature, you are likely to be spotted as soon as
you reach the city. It may be wise for you to enter in disguise and alone. I ask that you arrange safe
passage and lodgings for the three of you with your contacts in London, preferably somewhere you can
lie low until I can advise you further on what is to be done.
 To all of you- please don't lose hope. The news is troubling, but there is still time for our
fortunes and the King's to turn around. I will write again soon. Until then, keep safe.
George

'Well what are we to do now?' cried Eliza. 'Rupert is gone, and we have even less hope of getting
the dragonskin to the King!'
I sat and stared at the note, re-reading George's words again and again.
'We can only do as George says and make our way to London. There is nothing else for it,' I said
at last.
'And what do we do when we get there? We don't know any of Rupert's contacts. Where will we
hide? I daren't risk going to see George again,' said Eliza.
'Keep Bill here. I'm going to find a feather,' I said suddenly.
'Whatever for?' said Eliza.
'To send a message back to George,' I called over my shoulder as I plunged into the trees with
my eyes to the ground.
I returned a few minutes later carrying a thin twig which I had whittled down to a point with my
pocket knife. 'It's not a feather, but it will do,' I said.
'What are you going to use for ink?' asked Eliza.
'These,' I replied, opening my palm to reveal a handful of holly berries which I crushed with my
foot into a dead leaf. Dipping the sharpened end of the twig into their juice, I then wrote on the back of
George's note in large, bold letters: Rupert taken by Venatorian. Help us! T & E.
'Bill, we need you to take this back to George,' I said, re-folding the note and holding it up to the
thrush. Bill took it in his beak and flew off at once.
'Well, there's nothing more we can do,' I said as we watched the thrush disappear above the
treetops. 'Let's sleep here for tonight and see what the morning brings.'
Before dawn, we had gathered together our dwindling supplies and were on our way. The
seemingly endless tracts of woodland made our progress slow, and more than once we were forced to
dismount and guide the horses through the tangle of branches and boughs.
'We shall have to venture onto the road soon,' I said.
'At least we have one more of the vesana flagrants if the need arises,' Eliza replied.
'Let's hope it doesn't,' I replied. 'I still can't fathom whether we had a lucky escape from the
Venatorian or whether we were intentionally allowed to go free, but we've not been followed or seen even
one of Cromwell's men since then. It unnerves me, and it makes me wonder whether they are waiting for
us to get to London to unleash something terrible.'
'Yes, it has been bothering me too,' said Eliza. 'I wish we knew where Rupert is and if he is safe.
I'm dreadfully anxious about him. He would know what to do.'
 'Let us see what George replies,' I said. 'He says he has associates to call upon. Maybe he can
send them to track Rupert. In the mean time we must manage as best we can and press on to London.'
 Chapter 55

Another cold, dreary day had already emerged as we left the cover of the New Forest and took to the
road leading north-east to Winchester. We rode fast and stopped only briefly, anxious to reach the city
limits and relative safety before nightfall.
'We've not much food left,' said Eliza as we set about making our camp for the night inside an
empty barn a little distance from the road.
'How much?' I asked.
'Two days' worth maybe,' she replied. 'Three or four at a stretch, and we still don't know where
we are to go when we reach London, or if we will have to fend for ourselves.'
'I hope George replies soon,' I muttered. 'We shall have to ride like the wind to get to London in
two days. We passed a marker only a few miles back. It was seventy miles thence to London, and Ralph
and Ruby can't ride any harder than they have been already.'
Tired and despondent as I was, sleep was far from my eyes, and so I took the first watch.
Overhead, the clouds blotted out the moon and threatened further snow. I gazed across at the warm glow
of candle and firelight in the houses of Winchester, a mile away at the most. I thought of the roaring fires
and generous tables of Treadway Castle and poked miserably at the dying fire as it hissed and spluttered
as the snow began to fall. Ralph and Ruby snorted unhappily and scratched at the ground with their
hooves.
For the rest of the night, we took turns to watch through the intermittent snow and sharp wind
that seemed to reach us no matter where we put ourselves. By morning, we were tired, aching, and numb
with cold as we took to the road once more. Nonetheless, we rode at a good pace until Winchester was
many miles behind us and the pale sun had dipped below the horizon. Even in the darkness, we rode on
as the moonlight reflected off the whiteness of the snow and lit the way as well as daylight. Exhausted as
we were, riding at least staved off the cold we must otherwise endure at rest.
In this way, we covered almost forty miles in just two days. By dusk on the second day since
receiving George's note we rested in the valley of the river Wey. The meandering form of the river
twinkled in the distance, touched by the last light of day. Ralph and Ruby grazed on the grassy banks at
the roadside as Eliza and I stretched out our weary limbs. We had rejoined the road only a few miles back
in order to cross the river bridge some miles ahead, for heavy rain in recent days had rendered any
attempt to ford it on horseback too dangerous to risk and the surrounding land too saturated to ride
across.
As we took our meal, the tramp of marching feet sounded from around a bend in the road
behind us.
'Out of sight!' I cried, springing to my feet and leaping into Ralph's saddle.
 We guided the horses over the bank and into a thicket of trees that bordered the road a short
distance away. The approaching force was only seconds away, and there was little hope of evading them
on the open road.
'Don't dismount,' I whispered to Eliza as the tramp of many feet drew nearer. 'We may be forced
to flee, and we cannot afford to lose Ralph and Ruby.'
We watched and listened as the marching grew louder. A moment later a platoon of soldiers
appeared from around the bend in the road. They were dressed in the garb of the New Model Army and
marched in lines of four. I peeped out from behind one particularly thick trunk and realised with horror
that my pack, which held the dragonskin, was still lying at the side of the road. Eliza had noticed and now
looked imploringly at me, but it was too late. The soldiers were just yards away. It was impossible to
sneak back and retrieve the pack without being seen.
'Halt!' cried one of the soldiers in the first line. The others stopped at once and waited as he
moved towards the bank and reached down for my pack.
'You're a fool,' I reproached myself. With trembling hands, I reached into the pocket of my
breeches where I had kept our last vesana flagrant. My heart thudded, and my palms sweated as I closed my
hand around the smooth metal, but as I drew it from my pocket Eliza gripped my arm and pointed to the
sky. The dark shape of a hunting hawk circling overhead could just be seen against the evening sky. I
couldn't be certain whether or not it was the Venatorian's hawk, but I dared not risk using the vesana
flagrant and alerting him to our location if it was.
On the other side of the trees, another soldier had joined the first at the roadside. They appeared
to be debating what to do with my pack.
'Touch it and 'twill be the last thing ye'll do,' said the first soldier. He was younger than the other,
but from his demeanour I guessed that he was in command. His finger hovered over the lock of his
musket and he took one menacing step towards the older man. 'My orders are that the boy and girl are to
be taken alive and all of their belongings turned over unmolested.'
'And how do ye know it belongs to them? Do ye see any sign of them? Do ye even know what it
is they be carrying that is of such great value to Cromwell?' retorted the soldier holding my pack.
'No, but anything that is found is to be handed over without question. Ye know that as well as I,
Applethwaite,' replied the younger man.
'Gar, this be naught more than a wild goose chase!' replied Applethwaite. 'To think two youths
could have anything of import to the cause. There be bigger things afoot that we are being shut out of, ye
mark my words!'
'That's as may be, but my orders are clear, and I'll not hang for insubordination.'
The air tingled with anticipation for a few tense moments as the two soldiers glared at one
another over my tattered pack.
'Take it,' said Applethwaite at last as he tossed it at the younger man's feet before returning to his
position, muttering and cursing to himself.
 The young soldier stooped to retrieve the pack and slung it over his shoulder. I glanced across at
Eliza; the look of horror upon her face matched my own feelings precisely.
 Chapter 56

Darkness was gathering rapidly, and the soldiers were restless, eager to reach a suitable place to make
camp before nightfall. The young soldier returned to his platoon and set them marching at once, onwards
towards the river.
'What do we do?' whispered Eliza when they were a good distance ahead. 'They have the
dragonskin, and you heard that soldier's words! They are looking for us! What hope have we now?!'
My head whirled, but I battled to keep my wits about me. 'We have to retrieve my pack,' I replied
resolutely, 'and we have to do it tonight. We cannot hope to follow them far without being discovered.'
'How will we do that?' cried Eliza. 'There are easily fifty soldiers, and they are already on the
look-out for us!'
'We wait until they have made camp and then we will use the vesana flagrant. Come, they cannot
march very much further tonight. We shall lead Ralph and Ruby; 'twill make our going quicker and
quieter. Let's hope the ground is drier further ahead. Don't lose sight of the road!'
We dismounted and followed the curve of the road, keeping a stone's throw from it at all times.
Mercifully, the banks on either side continued along the road’s length, screening us as we followed the
lines of marching soldiers. We kept a good distance back from the last line, wary of the snap of a twig or
the snort of the horses betraying our presence, but to my relief the soldiers in the vanguard showed little
sign of watchfulness.
At last, after marching little more than two miles from the place where they had found my pack,
the platoon halted and made camp at the roadside in the shadow of the hills. Night had sprung suddenly
into the sky, and the moon had not yet risen, leaving them no light with which to see their way.
Eliza and I tethered Ralph and Ruby to a dead tree a little distance away from the camp and crept
up the bank, lying flat on our fronts. There was little cover beyond the darkness and the hills rearing up
behind us, but the height of the bank at least afforded a good view. A few soldiers huddled together in a
group and tried to get a fire started. Others were wrapped in their blankets, sitting together to take their
supper. The young commander wandered about, speaking with his men and holding my pack close. My
heart sank. It was likely too much to hope he would leave it alone for even a short time.
I nudged Eliza and gestured for her to follow me as I shuffled back down the bank. 'We can’t
wait here,' I whispered. 'I'll warrant that a guard will be set and perhaps a scout of two sent to check the
surrounding land. We shall have to wait until at least most of the platoon is asleep and then mount a
stealth attack.'
'But we should keep eyes on the soldier with your pack until then,' replied Eliza. 'There is no
sense in rushing blindly into recovering it if we do not know where it is.'
'You're right. You go back to Ralph and Ruby. I will keep watch. There seems little point in
risking both of us being caught.'
 Eliza nodded and slipped back to the where we had left the horses. I set my back to the side of
the bank and pressed my ear to it, straining to listen for approaching footsteps, but none came. Slowly, I
shuffled back up the bank on my front and lay still. There was no sign of the platoon commander. I
scanned the scene anxiously, but in the darkness there was no telling which of the dark figures was him.
For an hour or more, I waited as the voices in the camp continued before gradually stopping one
by one as the men settled down to sleep. One or two hunched figures sat around the dying fire on the
edge of the camp keeping watch, but otherwise it was silent. I glanced over to where Eliza waited with the
horses and signaled to her that I was ready to move. My heart pounded as I crept over the top of the
bank and down the other side. I could hear the watch-men talking in low voices and the snores of the
sleeping men just yards away. Trembling, I took a few steps closer, looking anxiously about for the
platoon commander.
The waning moon was just beginning to rise over the valley. Now past its full, it still offered
enough light to betray an intruder sneaking around a roadside camp. I had to be quick. Skirting the edge
of the camp, I moved round to the opposite end to get another view and benefit from the bit of light that
still lingered from the remains of a camp fire that had been left to burn. The watch-men now had their
backs to me, and I could see the platoon commander lying asleep just a few rows of men away. One of
his hands was placed like a pillow under his head while the other held my pack close. I stood watching
him for a few moments, afraid to move and fearful of rousing the entire camp. I had come this far, and
there was no going back. Without further hesitation, I tore a strip of cloth from my cloak and tied it
about my face, covering my mouth and nose, before tossing the vesana flagrant into the middle of the
camp. It blazed for a moment before exploding and engulfing the soldiers in its vapour.
'Gar, what devilry is this?' cried one of the watch-men, leaping to his feet. Curses and cries of
dismay filled the air as the soldiers scrambled to reach their weapons and crashed blindly into one another
as they fled, disoriented and afraid.
My eyes streamed with tears as the vapour crept towards me, but I blinked them back and
plunged into the fog of chaos towards the platoon commander. At the same moment a black shape
flashed past me, sweeping down from above. The commander, woken by the commotion, let out a cry of
pain as a hunting hawk soared out of the vapour, carrying my pack in its talons.
All around me, soldiers ran wildly about, seized by the temporary madness of the vesana flagrants.
My eyes stung, and I wheezed and retched as the vapour seeped through the cloth bound about my
mouth and nose. The fog had completely obscured what little light the camp fires offered, but I could just
make out the shape of the hawk against the muted moonlight, overcome by the noxious fumes and
struggling to fly.
'The Venatorian!' I breathed to myself. Had he been following us all along? And if so, where was
Rupert?
As I scrambled after the hawk, dodging the disoriented soldiers that came crashing towards me, a
familiar cry filled the night sky. From out of the darkness, the Shadow Horse appeared galloping towards
the camp, its mane ablaze with white flame. It leapt at the hawk, and catching it in its mouth, shook it
with all its strength. The hawk let out a furious call and clawed and jabbed with its bill, but the horse held
firm, flinging the bird about like a rag doll until it released the pack from its grip. At once, the horse
dropped the hawk and snatched my pack in its mouth, but the hawk wasn't finished. It clawed and pecked
and beat its wings as I drew the pistol from its holster and fired. Immediately, a volley of shots followed
from around the camp. Several seconds seemed to pass before the hawk dropped lifeless to the ground,
and from out of the smoke the Shadow Horse galloped away towards the hills. In its mouth, it carried my
pack.
 Chapter 57

Through the chaos, the sound of a bugle rang out clear and loud. The horse wheeled round then
halted, turning its head towards the sound. Upon the hillside, Eliza stood with the Venatorian’s bugle to
her lips, the very one she had taken when we left London in the autumn.
Behind me, the noise in the camp was distant, momentarily forgotten as I watched Eliza move
slowly towards the horse. The breeze moved softly through its mane, the moonlight shimmering upon it,
but though the world moved around it, some enchantment seemed to have reached over the beast.
It stood motionless, its proud head bowed, the wildness in its eyes somehow muted; no longer
the fierce pursuer we must flee, nor yet the timid, uneasy companion of humans that domestic horses
have become. It didn’t resist Eliza’s approach, nor recoil as she reached her hand towards it and took my
pack from its mouth. It stood as though frozen in time upon the dark hillside. Slowly, she caressed its
muzzle and whispered softly in its ears.
‘Sleep now. Return to your slumber. Your time has not yet come.’
As she spoke, she reached for the dragonskin and, uncovering it, passed it gently across the
horse’s eyes. At once, the horse sank to its knees and rolled onto its side. Even as I looked on, it seemed
to vanish into the hillside, leaving nothing behind but a faint white outline in the earth where it had lain.
Only a short distance away, the vapour was beginning to clear, and the confused cries of the
soldiers drew nearer as they searched for their scattered comrades. Eliza and I stood lost in our thoughts
as we stared at the sleeping horse, now little more than a figure that appeared as though cut into the
hillside.
'We have to leave,' I said, glancing towards the road as the shouts of the soldiers grew closer. 'We
haven't much time before the vapour's effects wear off.'
We clambered into the saddles and at once set the horses to a gallop, giving the road a wide berth
as the soldiers began to re-organise themselves. They would undoubtedly go in search of their mysterious
assailant, and I had no desire to await a confrontation with them.
‘I fear the Shadow Horse was just one pursuer of many that we have to thwart,’ said Eliza as the
land flashed swiftly by. ‘The hawk you shot was the Venatorian’s, to be sure, and that means he is close
by.’
Barely a quarter of a mile ahead, the bridge crossing the River Wey lay before us. The dark, swift-
moving water shimmered where the light of the late moon glinted off its surface, and now and then the
rustle of something scurrying about on the banks could be heard above the gentle swish of the water.
'We should cross the river before the soldiers have chance to re-group,’ I said, but no sooner had
I spoken the words than a bullet whistled over my head.
I reined Ralph and wheeled round to see the Venatorian upon his mighty horse atop a low hill
around which the road skirted. His musket was ready in his hand and he charged his horse towards us at
full gallop.
 'Over the bridge! Quick!' I cried. The bridge was tantalisingly close, but the road and the
surrounding land on the other side were wide and open, and impossible to hide from a pursuer within.
There was nowhere to run and no option but to fight.
'We can't out-ride the Venatorian! cried Eliza.
'Take this and ride hard,' I replied, tossing her my pack. 'I'll catch up with you if I can. Go!'
I struck Ruby on the rump and set her to a gallop before Eliza had chance to argue then reached
for the flintlock and fired at the Venatorian. He rode on undeterred as the bullet fell to the ground spent.
I ducked as he fired back in reply.
The road to the rickety wooden bridge streaked out before me. Spurring Ralph forward, I
followed Eliza with the pounding of the Venatorian's steed's hooves hammering close behind me.
Another bullet grazed my neck, but I brushed the blood away and tried not to think of the pain as I
flicked the reins, urging Ralph faster.
The bridge was only a few strides away now. I glanced behind to see the Venatorian had slowed
to reload his musket. I might yet make it. Just as Ralph's hooves touched the bridge, I drew the pouch of
the flintlock's gunpowder from my pocket and tipped out its contents.
The Venatorian was only yards behind me now and getting closer. As I reached the far side of
the bridge, I halted and turned back to face him. He paused and urged his horse slowly onto the bridge
with the confidence of a predator which has cornered its prey. Beneath us, the river, swollen by rain over
recent days, flowed swift and deep. I pointed the flintlock at him and summoned what courage I could
muster.
'One step closer and 'twill be the last thing you do!' I cried.
The Venatorian laughed. 'To think I would live to be threatened by the illiterate son of a
fisherman!'
He flicked the reins, and his horse took a step closer.
'I warn you, I will do it!' I cried. The flintlock trembled in my hands as I spoke.
'You haven't the mettle, boy!' he sneered. 'Give yourself up. 'Tis over now. You've nowhere left
to run.' His finger rested upon the trigger of his musket, the tip whitening with the pressure bearing down
upon it.
'Never!' I cried as I pulled back the flintlock's trigger, adjusting my aim at the last moment
towards the floor of the bridge.
The spark from the flint ignited the gunpowder instantly. Flames engulfed the little bridge as
fragments of wood flew through the air with a deafening boom. The horse staggered backwards and
reared up as the bridge disappeared beneath its feet, but the Venatorian was a skilled horseman. He held
fast and steadied his steed, but the force of the explosion was greater than he imagined, and the saturated
ground of the river bank was treacherous and loose. As his horse backed away from the edge, a great
clump of earth dislodged from beneath its feet, sending it rearing up and its rider crashing into the torrent
below.
 Chapter 58

'Tom!' cried Eliza from some way off.

I stared down in bewilderment at the dark, swift-moving water. There was no sign of the
Venatorian. His horse stood on the opposite bank, snorting and scraping at the ground with its hooves,
but there wasn't a sound above the ordinary night-time noises of a river, and not a ripple left to indicate
where its master had entered the water.
'Tom!' Eliza called again.
Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away from the river and followed the sound of Eliza's voice to a dell a
short distance from the road. There she waited with Ruby.
'What happened? Where is the Venatorian? Did you see Rupert?' she asked anxiously.
'No, there was no sign of Rupert. We ought to keep moving; those soldiers won't be far, and
there is no telling what has become of the Venatorian. There is some devilry afoot, to be sure. He
disappeared as soon as he entered the water. I fear we have not seen the last of him.'
'Then we had better prey we reach London before he finds us,' replied Eliza. 'He is a fearsome
enemy. It will only be a matter of time before he tracks us. I'm dreadfully afraid for Rupert.'
'And I,' I said. 'I fear he may have been handed over to others in order for the Venatorian to
return to track us.'
Eliza's face sank, and the moonlight illuminated the look of horror upon it. 'Do you think he is
still alive?' she whispered, hardly daring to vocalise the new fear which now gripped her.
'He is more use to Devere alive than dead until we are caught,' I replied. 'That is some comfort.'
Eliza nodded, but her unease was evident.
'Come, let's lead the horses for a bit,' I said. 'The ground here is too marshy for riding, and we
ought not tarry in one place too long.'
'Wait! Your neck,' gasped Eliza, noticing the scratch that the Venatorian's bullet had dealt me as I
led the way.
''Tis just a scratch,' I replied, brushing my fingers against the wound, but I winced as I did so, and
my neck throbbed at my touch.
'Scratch or not, it needs tending to before we move on,' replied Eliza. 'I daren't light a fire to boil
water, but let me dress it at least until it can be cleaned as it should be.'
Reluctantly I agreed, sensing that objecting would only delay us further. At last, with my wound
bound and midnight passing, we set off once more, walking in file as we led the horses. We walked in
silence for two more hours while the moonlight provided us with light enough to see. There was no sign
of pursuit, yet we dared not risk the road, keeping instead to the country of the Wey valley.
 The moon had disappeared, and the land and sky were black and featureless in the lonely hours
before dawn. Too weary to walk any further, we stopped at an abandoned shepherd's cot to rest for the
remainder of the night, taking turns to keep watch.
Just before dawn we were off again, passing like shadows through the grey, lifeless world around
us. All day we rode, glancing furtively over our shoulders and to the sky above. It seemed too much to
hope that the Venatorian would cease his pursuit. I had no doubt that he wasn’t drowned in the river but
rather had retreated to prepare for another assault once he had us somewhere we could not flee.
'That is the last of our food,' said Eliza as we ate our mid-day meal.
'We shall have to forage what we can from now,' I replied, ‘or else we must tighten our belts and
ride hard to London.'
'I hope George replies soon,' replied Eliza. 'I have not felt so alone and fearful since we left
London.'
By sundown, we stood upon the banks of the river Thames and looked across to the town of
Richmond. Beyond, the dark tangle of streets and alleyways that made up the outer slums of London
could just be seen.
'We should wait till morning to cross into London,' I said. 'We'll look less conspicuous travelling
by day.'
Eliza agreed, and we headed for the cover of a cluster of trees to make our camp for the night.
Mercifully, the snow had held off and the wind was milder.
As we climbed the bank at the roadside, the sun made a brief appearance before setting white in
the pallid sky. A little way ahead, the clip of horse hoofs sounded from around a bend in the road. Before
we had chance to disappear into the shadow of the trees, a figure on a chestnut-coloured horse rode into
view. He wore a large cocked hat that was pulled down over his face and a black cape and riding boots.
My thoughts turned instantly to the Venatorian.
'Stop!' the rider commanded as he approached us and drew a pistol from his cape. The voice
sounded too soft to be a man's. 'Stand and deliver.'
Eliza and I froze, for a moment too shocked to think of fleeing. The rider halted before us with
the pistol trained upon my head. In the gathering gloom it was difficult to see their face, but I felt sure
that the rider was, in fact, a woman.
'We have nothing of any value,' I said, finally finding my voice. 'Here, this is all.'
I handed the rider our two packs which contained the very last crumbs of our food and the
empty water skins. She snatched them from my hand and glanced inside before handing them back.
'The gun,' she barked, gesturing to the flintlock that hung at my side.
I handed it over without question, hoping that it might satisfy the rogue and we could carry on
our way, but she showed no sign of letting us pass.
'Now empty your pockets,' she demanded.
 My heart sank. I had stowed the dragonskin in the pocket of my jerkin after our adventures with
the platoon of soldiers, and there it was presently hidden. Eliza turned out her pockets obediently, but I
hesitated.
'And you,' said the rider, looking at me.
Reluctantly, I turned out the pockets of my breeches. The rider nodded, satisfied that they were
empty. I held my breath, hoping that in the failing light she wouldn't notice the bulge in my jerkin.
'And your jerkin,' she barked.
I hesitated and stared down the barrel of the pistol. In a split second, I wondered whether the
rider would really shoot if I refused and whether she would be satisfied with my explanation that the
dragonskin was of no great importance if I obliged.
'Now!' she demanded.
I felt my pulse quicken. There was nothing else for it. This time Rupert wouldn't be there to save
us at the last moment. Slowly, I drew the dragonskin from my pocket and handed it to the rider, wrapped
in the rags of my old cloak. The rider unfolded them carefully with one hand. In her other hand, she still
held the pistol to my head.
'Ah, the dragonskin,' she said softly, holding it up to the light to examine it. A silvery light
seemed to glow through its surface, though the moon had not yet risen and everything else around us was
shrouded in darkness.

Chapter 59

'Here, you had better keep it hidden,' she said, reaching down from her horse and returning the
dragonskin to me.
I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. I stood rooted to the spot, my hands hanging limply
at my sides for a few moments before I realised Eliza was looking at me with an imploring expression on
her face. Taking the dragonskin back from the rider, I returned it to my pocket.
'I had to be sure I had found the right people,' the rider continued. 'George knows some cunning
folk, and whoever it is that he has got himself mixed up with, I wouldn't put it beyond them to try to
deceive me.'
Returning the pistol to its holster, she turned her horse back the way she had come.
'Hurry up,' she said sharply, looking back at us over her shoulder. 'We haven't got all night! This
road is a notorious haunt for highway robbers, so unless you hope to meet one much less sympathetic
than me, I suggest you get back on your horses and follow me.'
'Pardon me,' said Eliza, 'but who are you?'
'And pardon me,' said the rider, 'but I have already told you that we haven't got all night!'
In a moment, she whipped the pistol out of its holster and fired at the ground just before Eliza's
feet. Eliza let out a yelp and leapt out of the way. Ralph and Ruby whinnied and moved to bolt, but the
rider had grabbed their reins and held them steady before they had chance to run. She flashed Eliza a
severe look and flung the reins to us.
'Now, unless you wish to feel the bullet of a highwayman's pistol between your eyes, I advise you
to get back on your horses and follow me. There will be time for talk when we get to where we are going.'
We did as we were instructed without another word and rode side by side behind the rider,
following the road as it wound its way through Richmond and on towards the black forms of the city.
Neither of us dared to ask where we were going or how much further it would be, though the suspense
turned out to be short lived.
On the outskirts of Richmond, the rider stopped at a churchyard and dismounted. She thrust
open the gates, gesturing for us to ride through. The gates clanged shut behind her, and she ordered us to
dismount.
'Follow me,' she said, leading us through the tombs and tumbled headstones to a corner of the
churchyard that had been overtaken by a mass of strangling ivy. She parted it like a curtain, revealing a
metal grille set into what appeared to be the side of a long-forgotten tomb.
'I hope you're not afraid of being underground,' said the rider, pushing the grille aside. The cavity
behind was large enough for two men to walk abreast without stooping. Without waiting for a reply, she
grasped her horse's reins and led it into the darkness beyond.
It took us several minutes to coax Ralph and Ruby into following the rider's horse. The soft thud
of her footfalls and the clip of her horse's hoofs sounded faint and distant before Ralph and Ruby had
crossed the threshold and took to the stairs beyond. These were cut from stone, evenly spaced and wide
enough for a horse to climb with ease. I counted over fifty steps before they came to an end. There, the
rider stood before us holding a torch, the light of which fell upon her face. I was startled to see that she
appeared to be barely out of girlhood; no older than eighteen years, I thought.
The place we had arrived at appeared to be some sort of catacomb, with arched tunnels plunging
into darkness to the left, right and straight ahead. The chamber in which we stood was empty except for a
shallow alcove in one wall into which was set a simple brass cross.
'This way,' said the girl, leading us down the tunnel to the right.
The roof was markedly lower and the walls closer than in the chamber. I felt a sense of rising
panic surge in the pit of my stomach with each step I took. Now and then a drop of moisture, suspended
from the ceiling, would fall and trickle down my face or the back or my neck, or my hand would brush
against a clump of moss growing from the walls. Behind me, I heard Eliza gasp with disgust as her feet
splashed in a puddle of some unknown slime.
Just when I felt I couldn't stand it any longer, a draught of cool air swept past my face and the
tunnel came to an abrupt end. Ahead of us, the light of many torches illuminated a large, vaulted chamber
with three more arches leading to yet more tunnels. Its high ceiling and richly decorated walls were hung
with curtains of silk, but the rows of stone sarcophagi, overlooked by statues of saints and angels betrayed
the fact that it was, nonetheless, a tomb. In spite of this, some attempt had been made to create a home-
like feel: exquisitely woven rugs from the Orient created a lavish carpet upon which was laid a pile of soft
pillows for sitting or sleeping, and strewn across the floor and piled up in corners were jewels, coins, ivory
ornaments, and every item of luxury one could possibly imagine.
In the centre of the chamber, a broken stone sarcophagus substituted a table. Across it a swathe
of intricately embroidered cloth had been nonchalantly draped in place of a table cloth, and upon it a
selection of exotic-looking pots and table wares had been laid out. In the far corner two upturned stone
caskets had been filled with hay and water to create makeshift mangers for the horse. Beside them a large
grey dog with a shaggy coat was curled up asleep.
Eliza and I looked about in amazement at this den of luxury.
'Is this where you live?' asked Eliza in awe.
'Yes, this is my home,' replied the girl, taking off her hat and shaking out the ropes of flame-red
hair that she had confined beneath it. 'Be seated. There is hay and water for the horses over there in
Colonel’s manger. Don't worry about rats- my dog, Bandit, keeps them at bay.'
She then busied herself unsaddling Colonel and appeared to take no further notice of me and
Eliza until she was done.
'Who are you?' asked Eliza, plucking up the courage to ask the question that had previously
earned her a near miss with a bullet.
'I am an associate of George Prye,' replied the girl. 'My name is Tabatha.'
'I am Eliza, and this is Tom,' said Eliza.
'I know who you are,' replied Tabatha sharply. 'I know all about you. I have been gathering news
for George. He asked me to find you and keep you safe until we learn more of the King's position.'
'Are you one of George's spies?' I asked.
'No, I don't spy for anyone. I simply sell on the information I obtain from the people I accost on
the roads.'
'You're a thief?' I asked.
'A petty thief by day and a highway woman by night,' Tabatha clarified. 'I have all I need here.
These tunnels lead right into the heart of London and the cellars of its most wealthy citizens, so I am
never short of food. Time was when I would rob for money and goods, but as you can see I quickly
acquired everything I could possibly want or need. It is much more lucrative- and interesting - stealing
information and selling it on to those that want it. Of course, if I am approached to target a particular
person, I will make special efforts to locate and rob them. I aim to please.’
'Why hasn't George spoken of you before?' I asked.
'Because I intercepted his last note to Prince Rupert and you were almost killed by Cromwell's
thugs,' replied Tabatha bluntly. 'He is careful what he commits to paper now.'
'It was you?' gasped Eliza. 'So who are you working for?'
 Chapter 60

'I told you: I do not work for anyone,' Tabatha snapped. 'I pass on the information I steal to the highest
bidder. On that occasion it happened to be William Devere, but when George wrote to me and offered to
pay three times what Devere was paying if I gathered information for him alone it made sense to accept
the offer.'
'Well, how do we know that you're not still selling to Devere on the side?' demanded Eliza, no
longer cowed by the older girl's brusqueness.
'You don't,' Tabatha growled, 'but I have since learned that Devere is in league with that fiend,
Cromwell, and as I have particular reason to detest the man I am prepared to forego the profit to be
made by double dealing on this occasion.'
'I wouldn't have had you marked as a Royalist,' said Eliza, somewhat satisfied by Tabatha's
explanation but not yet willing to let the matter slide.
'I'm not,' replied Tabatha. The haughtiness in her voice had diminished somewhat. 'But my father
was among those slaughtered by Cromwell at the Battle of Gainsborough. I am damned if I don't do all I
can to scupper his plans.'
'How did you find us?' I asked, deciding a change of subject may be best to diffuse the tension
between the two girls.
'With difficulty,' replied Tabatha. 'Bandit is better than the King's own hounds at following a
scent, but he couldn't catch even a sniff of you. It was most peculiar. I was all prepared to send word to
George that you must be lost in the wild somewhere when his thrush came to me and told me you were
on the road outside Richmond.'
'I cannot understand why our scent couldn't be picked up,' I said.
'This is why,' said Tabatha, reaching down for the hem of my cloak and ripping open the seam.
She held it up for me and Eliza to examine. Woven into the fabric were tiny segments of crushed garlic
cloves and a fine russet-coloured powder of some unknown substance.
'It's a very common magical deterrent,' Tabatha continued. 'The garlic is prepared with crushed
gems to scupper the scent and send the dogs' sense of smell awry. Of course, they can still track your
horses but not you. I'm surprised you couldn't smell the garlic yourselves!'
'We had no idea,' said Eliza, 'but that must be why the Venatorian only took Rupert when his
hounds ambushed us. The dogs only picked up Rupert's scent, so the Venatorian must have thought he
was alone. Oh, but it's my fault! Rupert gave me his cloak to wear because I was cold!'
'Prince Rupert has been captured?' asked Tabatha.
'Yes,' I replied. 'Three days into our journey from Treadway Castle. We were ambushed by the
Venatorian's hounds. Eliza and I escaped and continued on to Carisbrooke Castle in order to get the
dragonskin to the King, but George's last note told us to head for London. He said that the King had
been moved but no one yet knows where.'
'Yes, that is true, and I'm afraid we are still none the wiser,' said Tabatha. 'I have been staking out
the roads day and night to discover where he has been moved to, but no one knows. I know when
someone is lying to me, and believe me, no one lies to me when I really want the truth.' Her green eyes
blazed in the torchlight, and I could well imagine that she could be quite terrifying when vexed.
'So what are we to do?' asked Eliza. 'We cannot just wait here until someone decides to reveal
where the King is being held.'
'That is exactly what we shall do,' replied Tabatha. 'London is swarming with Roundheads. You
would not last a day before you were caught and handed over. George has asked that you lie low here
until I am able to ascertain the King's exact whereabouts.'
'But this is a crypt!' cried Eliza.
'It was a crypt,' Tabatha corrected her. 'It is now my home, and it is the perfect hide out. Unless
you would prefer to take your chances dodging Cromwell's men and Devere's spies alone. Do you want
my help or not?
'Yes, thank you! 'Tis greatly appreciated,' I said before Eliza could answer. Her face made it quite
plain that she didn't agree.
'Good. Make yourselves comfortable while I see to supper. I shan't be long,' said Tabatha. With
that, she called Bandit to heel and disappeared down the central tunnel.
 Chapter 61

'What are we to do now?' groaned Eliza. 'I don't trust her one bit, and how will Bill get messages to us
underground?'
'George will think of something,' I replied. 'It appears we have little choice. She said that London
is crawling with enemies.'
'Yes, she said,' huffed Eliza. 'Why should we believe her? We already know that she intercepted
George's note to Rupert and sold it to Devere!'
'I don't think she would have told us that if she was still in league with Devere,' I replied.
'You only say so because you like her!' retorted Eliza.
'I do not!' I cried, but I could feel the colour rising in my cheeks. 'I just think we haven't much
choice but to trust her. I wish Rupert was here.'
Eliza slumped to the floor and sat in obstinate silence with her knees drawn up to her chest. I
went over to the horses and busied myself unsaddling Ralph and Ruby. It was pointless trying to reason
with Eliza when she was in such a mood.
We said nothing more to each other for another hour. The horses’ soft chomping was the only
sound to be heard, interrupted now and then by the sound of rats scurrying in the tunnels beyond. I
settled myself in a corner and occupied myself with looking through some of the intriguing items that
Tabatha had acquired. For the most part, they were jewels and items of gold and silverware, but scattered
amongst them were other curious objects: statuettes cast in bronze or carved in ivory, richly decorated
capes, gloves and hats, and even a ceramic ewer with a handle fashioned into the likeness of a dragon.
Amongst this trove of glittering and precious treasures, the ordinariness of a plain wooden box
stood out in stark contrast. It had no lock or catch, so I lifted the lid without a second thought. Inside, a
leather-bound manuscript had been wrapped in cloth to preserve it as though it were a great treasure. I
lifted it from the box and set it on my knee to leaf through it. The first few pages contained only
illustrations of plants, birds and animals and strange symbols, but as I turned over page after page, text
written in a coded script was interspersed between them. I frowned and thought of where I had seen such
a book before.
'Eliza, look here.'
Eliza half-turned towards me, for a moment unsure whether or not to set aside her sulk for the
sake of curiosity.
'That is one of Emerson's books,' I said. 'I recognise his code.'
'Is there anything else in the box?' asked Eliza, getting up and peering over my shoulder.
'Aye, this,' I replied holding up an oval pendant. Upon it, a miniature portrait of Emerson had
been painted in exquisite detail.
'Why would Tabatha have a portrait of Emerson?'
 'My belongings are private and none of your concern!'
I swung round to see Tabatha standing in the entrance of the tunnel. She held a basket covered
in a cloth which trembled in her grip. In a few strides she had cleared the floor and snatched the
manuscript and pendant from me.
'I... I’m sorry. I didn't know....' I stammered.
'You had no right,' she cried, her voice cracked with emotion.
Throwing down the basket, she called Bandit to heel and fled down the tunnel towards the
entrance to the crypt. Eliza and I looked at one another perplexed.
'Do you think she will return?' said Eliza at last.
'I cannot say,' I replied. 'She seemed mighty upset. I feel wretched. I wish I hadn't opened the
box.'
'You weren't to know,' replied Eliza. 'Besides, 'tis better we learn of her true allegiances now than
when it is too late.'
'Do you really think she is in league with Devere?' I asked
'She has some connection to Emerson, that much is plain,' Eliza replied.
'Maybe they are no more than stolen goods,' I said.
'No, why would she be so dismayed if they were nothing more than booty?' said Eliza. 'We ought
to leave at once. Like as not she is on her way to find Devere now.'
'She left Colonel. I don't believe she has gone to find Devere,' I replied. For my part, I did not
share Eliza's misgivings. 'She must return eventually. Let us wait and speak with her then.'
'She could be on her way to summon Devere and every Roundhead in London!' cried Eliza.
I shook my head. 'I think if her intention was to betray us, she would have done so immediately.
There is nothing to be gained in keeping us here. You go if you wish, but I will stay. There is more to this
than it seems, I'm sure.'
Eliza sighed and flung herself on the floor beside me. 'I won't go without you,' she said quietly.
'You didn't abandon me. We shall wait, but I only hope your intuition has not gone awry.'
 Chapter 62

Hours passed while we waited for Tabatha to return. Hunger had quickly overcome Eliza's unease, and
we helped ourselves to the contents of the basket that Tabatha had left behind- bread, salted meat, ripe
cheese and a bottle of Burgundy wine, no less. In the world above, night was waning, but in the crypt the
candles burned low and darkness gathered. Now and then we would catch the unnerving sound of distant
moans and wails echoing down the tunnels. ''Tis probably the draught,' I thought to myself, but the sound
sent shudders down my spine nonetheless, and I longed to block the tunnels somehow. At last, exhausted
as we were, we could stay awake no longer. We spread our cloaks upon the floor and were asleep within
moments.
At first, I slept dreamlessly, unconscious of the sense of dread that crept out of the tunnels and
invaded my sleep, but gradually my mind returned from the wanderings of the deepest sleep. I realised
that my body slept, unconscious and paralysed, and yet my mind was awake. I saw the three tunnels as
though I stood before them, and I knew that I dreamed. The darkness they receded into seemed almost
alive: a malignant entity drawing all things towards it to be consumed. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. I
glanced behind me and saw that Eliza slept. I looked back to the tunnels and realised with horror that
something was moving in the darkness of the central tunnel. The light within the chamber was too dim to
illuminate so far, yet my instincts warned me that whatever was approaching had no love for things that
belong to the world above. My body tingled, desperate to run, but my muscles were frozen, unable to
even raise my hand to the pocket knife tucked into my belt. I could do nothing more than wait for the
darkness to give up its horror.
Minutes passed until a vision of hell emerged from out of the blackness. Its shape was that of a
man, naked and clothed only in its own vile hide, but it ambled forward on all fours, and from its back
featherless wings, like those of a bat, were unfolded. It hissed as it moved towards me, and a fresh wave
of terror seemed to emanate from it. I couldn't run, I couldn't even shut my eyes. I stood helpless, my
mind trying desperately to rouse itself from this dream which seemed too real to be nothing more. As I
strove with my own mind, Tabatha's voice rang out from across the chamber.
'Begone!' she commanded as a flash of light illuminated the chamber for a moment
At the sound of her voice, I woke with a jolt and saw her standing before the tunnels, her back to
us, as a black shadow filled the chamber. In her right hand she held a wand of polished wood which she
raised above her head, drawing a circle in the air before pointing it towards the tunnels. Another blaze of
light flashed for a moment and the shadow seemed to draw back, wreathing itself around her. Once more
Tabatha waved her wand, and a final flare sent the shadow retreating down the tunnels where it melted
into the darkness.
For a few moments she stood perfectly still with her back to us, the candles sending her shadow
flickering over the chamber walls. Bandit sat at her feet and snarled at the mouth of the tunnels.
 'What was that?' I murmured when I finally summoned the courage to speak.
'It has no name. It belongs to the underworld,' replied Tabatha without turning around. 'The
dragonskin has drawn it hither. Magic attracts magic, be it good or evil.'
'We should leave,' I replied, standing up.
'The danger is greater still above ground,' replied Tabatha. 'Cromwell's men are on the roads, and
Devere's spies are out in force. You would not get beyond a mile of the churchyard before you were
caught.'
Eliza and I looked at one another uncomfortably. Tabatha turned and proceeded to clear the
piles of precious objects to make space, gathering pillows, rugs and soft woollen blankets to make up
more permanent beds for us. The air seemed to tingle, none of us willing to be the one to speak of that
which each of us was thinking.
'How do you know Emerson?' I asked at last when I could stand the tension no longer.
Tabatha paused but did not look up. 'I met George through Emerson. After my father died, I
took up with a travelling magician and became his assistant. Of course, he wasn't a real magician. He was
a trickster and a petty thief, but he taught me my trade. We eked out our living moving between villages
and towns and performing at fairs and markets, but when we fell upon hard times, my mentor was not
averse to plain robbery. He accosted a rider upon the London Road one night. That rider was Emerson.
Needless to say, my mentor did not come away unscathed. 'Twas the first sight I had of real magic, and in
that moment, I chose to leave my old life behind and ride to London with Emerson. I was but a girl then,
but I'd a sense that my life was to change forever.
'Emerson placed me in the care of a wealthy family, but the enchantment of real magic had me
enthralled. I was ill at ease living a life of bland domesticity, so when I discovered the network of tunnels
that runs beneath London from the cellar of the house, I abandoned my surrogate family to strike out on
my own. I travelled across London, asking of Emerson wherever I went until I found him.'
Tabatha sighed, and her steely facade seemed to waver for a moment. 'He bade me go and return
in my sixteenth year if the desire to learn of magic had not faded by then. That was just one year away, so
I lived in the tunnels, stealing what I needed from the cellars of wealthy homes and taking what I wanted
from travellers upon the roads at night. Always, I hoped to meet Emerson there once again, but I never
did.
'On the day I turned sixteen, I returned to Emerson and bade him make good on his promise to
me. For several months he schooled me in magic- trifling things only, not the full extent of what he was
capable of. I pressed him to tell me more about the shadowy group he belonged to, but he would say
nothing. On reflection, I do believe there were times when he considered making me his apprentice, but
no matter how hard I pressed him, something always seemed to hold him back. Eventually, he would
meet with me no longer, and I never saw him again.' As she spoke her voice trembled with emotion, and
she bit her lip to compose herself.
 'I knew he had a brother who travelled often,' Tabatha continued, 'for Emerson had spoken of
him, and so I staked out the roads day and night until I found him. George was sympathetic to my plight
and far more forthcoming than Emerson. I learned from him that Emerson was a member of the Guild
of Gatekeepers and that he had considered making me his apprentice, but he feared my pledge would not
be lighter than the Shadow Horse’s hair it was to be weighed against, on account of my independence and
waywardness.' She paused and gave a wry smile. 'He said that Emerson couldn't have countenanced
seeing me sent to my death. After that, I resigned myself to living in the shadows forever, never to learn
the great secrets of magic or see my rescuer again. I saw George now and then, and he gave me this wand
to protect myself from the things that lurk in these tunnels, but I have not seen or spoken of Emerson
since then.'
I looked closely at Tabatha. She seemed intent upon polishing an invisible speck from a silver
plate that she had taken up and rubbed vigorously at it with the edge of her cloak. Her jaw was set hard
with suppressed emotion, and she refused to meet my gaze. I felt wretched for having dredged up
memories she clearly wished to remain hidden.
'I am sorry,' I said quietly.
'Let us speak no more of it,' replied Tabatha. She stood up and held out the wand to me. 'I am
going to try and learn what I can of the King's whereabouts. I shall be back before nightfall. Do not
venture up above ground. Keep this close and be vigilant; there are darker and even more terrifying things
in these tunnels than that which you have just seen. Colonel, you will have to leave your new friends for a
while,' she added as she slung the saddle onto the horse's back. She fitted a long knife in a sheath into her
belt, took her hat and cloak and then disappeared back down the tunnel with Bandit at her heels.
Eliza looked at me and frowned. 'What do you think of that?'
'She seemed saddened when she spoke of Emerson,' I replied. 'I think she cared for him.'
'I think she is withholding something,' replied Eliza. 'I still do not trust her.'
I sighed but made no reply. I had no appetite for further argument. We spoke no more of it for
the rest of the day and alternated between reading from the few books that Tabatha had acquired and
playing cards with a pack I found amongst her horde to while away the hours.
Nightfall must have come and gone in the world above, but still Tabatha did not return. I yawned
and blinked back sleep, afraid to fall asleep even with Tabatha's wand to protect us from the terror that
lurked in the tunnels. I resisted long after Eliza had succumbed, but at last, with the strange noises of the
subterranean world echoing along the tunnels and chambers, I too dropped off to sleep.
 Chapter 63

'Breakfast,' declared Tabatha, tossing a fresh loaf of bread and a slab of butter wrapped in linen onto the
sarcophagus and peeling off her cloak.
I rolled over and opened my eyes. Eliza was already awake and looking half-heartedly through the
piles of glittering objects that lay about the floor of the chamber.
'Did you steal anything last night?' she asked.
'No,' replied Tabatha as she set about unsaddling Colonel. 'Well, nothing of any use. I spy upon
my targets before moving in to be sure they really do know something worth selling on, but no one seems
to know where the King is being kept. I overheard two Roundheads on the road discussing it. One said
he had heard rumours that the King is being held in London, the other said he had heard otherwise.'
'What are we to do then?' I asked.
'We can only wait,' replied Tabatha. 'It will get out soon enough where the King really is.'
'I hope so,' said Eliza. 'I'm getting dreadfully anxious for my father and George. It's not just for
the King's sake that I am counting on getting the dragonskin to him.'
We sat in depressed silence for a while and listened to Ralph, Ruby and Colonel chomping on
their hay while Bandit gnawed the remains of an old bone he had found. At last, Eliza broke the silence.
'Surely someone must know where the King is being held? I find it difficult to believe that you
were able to gather so much information for George previously, but now that it comes to finding out
where the King is you say you can't.'
'Eliza!' I hissed with a reproachful look.
Tabatha's face flushed red then turned white, and she bit her lip to suppress her anger. 'Someone,
perhaps several someones, know where the King is, but unless I know who they are I cannot get that
information. My guess is that this secrecy is deliberate to prevent you from finding the King, perhaps long
enough for Devere to find you. He may, after all, have Rupert in his custody by now, and it won't be long
before he has extracted from him all the information he desires, but if you truly believe that I am
deceiving you, which you have made quite plain, you are free to try your luck in London alone. I bet you
would be in Devere's hands by sundown.'
'Rupert would never betray us,' retorted Eliza.
'Well, from what I have seen, it seems to me that your judgement of character is questionable to
say the least,' snorted Tabatha.
'Please!' I cried before Eliza could answer back. 'We may be stuck down here for a good while
before we find out anything about the King's whereabouts; can't we try to get along? It's going to be a
long, miserable wait if not. Tabatha, I think your guess is probably right. I for one believe you, and I think
Eliza does too, though she might be reluctant to admit it.' Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but I shot
her a menacing glare. 'Eliza, if Tabatha intended to hand us over to Devere or anyone else she would
have done so by now. She is risking her life helping us, and you should be grateful for that. I am worried
about George and your father too, but you shouldn't take out your frustration on Tabatha. I think you
should apologise.'
Tabatha smiled just a little smugly and looked at Eliza expectantly.
'I'm sorry,' muttered Eliza. 'I am grateful for your help.'
'Apology accepted,' replied Tabatha with a satisfied smile.
 Chapter 64

The girls said nothing more to one other for the rest of the day and avoided each other as much as
possible in the days that followed. Boredom and the lack of light bothered me most while we passed the
days in Tabatha's chamber. Eliza and I would go back up the tunnel to take a sniff of air in the
churchyard late at night, but Tabatha warned us against doing so in daylight, fearful of who might see us
and discover her secret home.
Gradually, the days turned into weeks, and Christmas was upon us. We spent a miserable day
listening to the carol singers in the church and wishing we could be sharing in the joy with them. I
thought of all my past Christmases in Osmington Mills. Each Christmas Eve, my father and I would go
into the woods to find a Yule log to be burned in the fireplace, and depending on the going rate for the
commodities that we smuggled, we sometimes had been able to afford to buy a poached pheasant for
dinner.
Every night, Tabatha was out gleaning what information she could, but each morning she
returned with nothing more to tell. She roamed the highways leading into and out of London and spied
upon those of Cromwell's men she encountered, even accosting one or two, but she did not hear even a
whisper of where the King was being held. Then, on the morning of New Year's Eve, she returned to the
crypt carrying a bag of coins. She tossed them onto the pile of other valuables she had acquired during
her short career and joined me and Eliza at the table where we were playing cards to while away the
hours.
'You are late back,' I commented. 'It must be past mid-morning. We were starting to get anxious.'
'Yes, I am later than usual. I needed to investigate a rumour I have heard that the King is being
held in secret at St. James' Palace.'
'Who told you that?' asked Eliza.
'No one in particular. I have kept my ear to the ground these past few nights and spied upon a
few Roundheads in the inns and taverns they frequent in London. ‘Twas just something I heard, but it is
worth investigating. One particularly senior member of Cromwell's circle was said to be travelling into
London tonight, and I thought he might be able to tell me more with a little encouragement. He had a
large entourage with him though, and it was too risky to try to accost him. I managed to cut the purse of
one of his companions though.'
'Do you think the rumour is true?' I asked.
'I don’t know,' said Tabatha, 'but 'tis the only lead we have so far. I am going to go to St. James'
Palace tonight to find out more.'
'I'll come with you,' I replied. 'If the King is there it may be our only chance to get the dragonskin
to him.'
 'Very well,' replied Tabatha, 'but be prepared to fight. If it's true, then the King will be closely
guarded.'
'What about me?' asked Eliza.
'One of us should to stay behind to notify George in the event we don't return,' said Tabatha. 'If
the King is there, the palace and surrounding area will be swarming with Cromwell's men, I'll warrant. It
will not be an easy task getting past them. We should prepare for the worst.'
So it was decided that Tabatha and I would go together, she disguised as a lady and me as her
page. Eliza paced the chamber anxiously as evening drew in.
'Please be careful,' she said to me. 'Remember this is only a reconnaissance. If you can't get to the
King, then come away. We still have Edward's transmogrification potion and can go again another night.'
'We will be careful,' I reassured her, 'but if we haven't returned by dawn, you should try and get a
message to George somehow to let him know we have failed. Then you must get as far away as possible
before Devere comes for you. It will be best for you make your way back to Treadway Castle.'
'Don't say that,' said Eliza with a shudder. 'I cannot bear to think of that possibility.'
Tabatha was busy dressing herself as a wealthy lady, which she passed as with ease. She wore an
emerald green silk gown and a velvet cape and gloves that she had found in the luggage she once stole
from a stagecoach. Her wrists and neck she adorned with some of the jewels in her vast collection.
'I think I am ready,' she announced as she admired herself in a gilt mirror propped against the
wall.
'You look beautiful,' Eliza acknowledged grudgingly.
'Thank you,' replied Tabatha. 'It would be better if we had a livery for Tom to pass him off as a
page more convincingly, but it can't be helped. We shall just have to make do and be careful.'
'We should be going,' I said. 'It must be past dark.'
Eliza walked with us to the entrance to the crypt to bid us a final farewell. Outside, the stars
blazed high above in the clear night sky, and our breath steamed and hung in the still air as Tabatha and I
trudged through the churchyard to the road beyond. When we reached the gates, Tabatha mounted
Colonel and I rode behind upon Ruby. I glanced back to the corner of the churchyard where the tunnel
emerged from the thick tangle of ivy, but the darkness obscured the entrance; Eliza could not be seen. I
reached inside my cloak and touched the flintlock where it hung from my belt. It was reassuring to feel its
bulk at my side.
'We will have to cross the river at London Bridge and then turn back west,' said Tabatha.
The clip of Colonel's hooves was the only sound to be heard as we rode. As we drew closer to
London, we spoke in whispers and only when absolutely necessary, fearful of who might be listening,
though we passed barely a handful of other travellers on the road until we reached the slums on the
outskirts of the city. The boisterous shouts of revellers in the taverns or lurking in the narrow streets filled
the night air, and the stench of filth and excrement made me feel sick.
 We hurried through the unpleasant sprawl of the slums with our heads bowed and our hands
ready on the holster of our guns, but we passed through unmolested. At last, the shadowy form of
London Bridge, and the buildings that lined it on either side, could be seen silhouetted against the night
sky. The sound of water churning through the enormous water wheels beneath its arches grew gradually
louder as we approached.
'Dismount and lead the horses by the reins,' said Tabatha as we reached the south end of the
bridge. 'And put this baggage on Ruby's back. You should look like my page, not my companion.'
I did as she instructed and led Colonel and Ruby onto the bridge. High above us, the shops and
houses reared up, and people in the upper windows shouted across to their neighbours in the buildings
on the opposite side of the bridge. At points, the buildings on both sides drew so close together that they
formed a tunnel under which we passed along with the few coaches and pedestrians out on the bridge
that night. As we reached its end, the imposing structure of St Paul's Cathedral reared up behind the dark
mass of London's skyline.
'St. James' Palace is south west of the cathedral,' whispered Tabatha. 'If we follow the river this
way we should come upon it.'
'How will we know if the King is inside?' I asked.
'I don't know,' replied Tabatha. 'We shall just have to see when we get there.'
Chapter 65

I covered my head with my hood and looked down as I walked. My heart thudded as I glanced at every
person that passed us by and wondered if they were Devere's spies.
'Stop acting so suspiciously!' hissed Tabatha. 'You're drawing attention to us. Just keep your head
up and your eyes directly ahead.'
In fact, the night was growing increasingly cold, and those people still out paid us no attention,
anxious to put a door between themselves and the night.
'Stop here,' said Tabatha suddenly. We had quit the river bank and now stood before a high wall
with tree branches sweeping over from the garden that it enclosed.
Tabatha stood in the saddle and reached up to one of the branches. 'Follow me,' she whispered.
'What about Colonel and Ruby?' I hissed.
'They will be fine. There is nobody about. Hurry up,' said Tabatha as she disappeared over the
wall.
I hesitated and glanced back the way we had come. It was true that there wasn’t a soul to be seen,
and everywhere was strangely quiet. The swirl of the river was loud in the absence of the usual hustle and
bustle of the city. I loosened the flintlock in its holster and climbed onto Ruby's back to follow Tabatha
over the wall.
'This is the garden of St. James' Palace,' said Tabatha from somewhere close by.
 'Where are you?' I whispered. A thick clump of trees and shrubs grew around the walls, and
Tabatha had melted into their shadows.
'Here,' she replied. The pale skin of her hand shimmered in the moonlight as she reached out to
touch my arm. 'Come on.'
With my heart pounding, I followed Tabatha through the garden towards the dark rear of the
palace. All but the lower windows were in darkness.
'Look there,' whispered Tabatha, pointing through the bushes to the open door of the kitchen,
through which firelight spilled out into the night. In the doorway stood an elderly woman beating the dust
from a rug with a paddle.
'She's bound to know if the King is here. Pretend you are new to the household and see what you
can find out,' said Tabatha as she thrust me towards the door before I had chance to object.
'Who's that?' asked the woman, looking up from her work and squinting into the darkness.
I hesitated a moment. 'It's Tom, ma'am,' I replied, too bewildered to think of anything else to say.
'Are you the new hall boy?' asked the woman. 'Come closer so I can see you; my eyes aren't what
they used to be.'
I took a few furtive steps forward and glanced anxiously at the door, expecting at any moment to
see one of Cromwell's men walk past, and then the game would be up.
'Yes, I'm the new hall boy,' I replied.
'Has old Harry given you your instructions yet?' asked the woman.
'No, ma'am,' I replied.
'Well, you can start by helping with these rugs. Here, you have a stronger arm than I,' said the
woman handing me the paddle.
'Are these for the King's suites?' I asked, recovering my wits and seeing an opportunity, however
clumsy, to glean the information I was looking for.
'Eh? The King?' asked the woman, puzzled.
'Er, I... I heard he was being held here under arrest,' I mumbled.
'Well, if he was I for one would know of it,' replied the woman haughtily. 'Nothing passes in this
palace without my knowing. Old Harry likes to think he runs the place, but I know more of what passes
under this roof than anyone. I've been in this household nigh-on forty years, and no one knows the old
place better than me, so I'm afraid you have been misinformed, young man.'
'Oh yes, it seems I must have been,' I mumbled. I had touched a nerve, but the old woman's
outrage had spared me her suspicion or probing questions. Now I just had to get away and back to where
Tabatha was hiding amongst the trees.
'No, not like that,' the old woman chastised me. Despite her poor eyesight, she had an exacting
eye for others' work. 'Harder, boy! There be a year's worth of dust in these rugs!'
'Sorry, ma'am,' I coughed as a cloud of dust rose into the air.
 'Well, I'm going inside to rest my poor feet for a bit. When I come out again, I expect to see not
a speck of dust on these rugs,' said the old woman.
'Yes, ma'am,' I croaked.
With that, she trotted back into the kitchen and left me alone with the rugs and paddle.
'Tabatha,' I whispered when she had gone.
'Here,' whispered Tabatha from a bush nearby.
I dropped the rug and paddle and rushed to where she was hiding. 'Did you hear that?'
'Yes,' replied Tabatha, 'but what's to say she's right? If the King is being held in secret the maid is
hardly likely to know of it.'
'What do we do then?' I replied. 'I can't just wander in and start poking round, even if she does
think I'm the hall boy.'
'Of course you can!' said Tabatha. 'Look, you've still time. That old dear won't be out for another
half an hour at least. There are only a few places where the King could be held. He won't be near the
front of the palace, where he could be seen from outside, or on the ground floor, where he could easily
escape. Go and search the upper wings at the sides and back.'
There was no point arguing with Tabatha and no time either. I sprinted back across the garden
and peeped round the door of the kitchen. Sure enough, the old woman was asleep with her feet resting
on a stool beside the fire. I slipped past without a sound and navigated my way through the kitchens,
stores and servants' quarters.
'Hello, lad,' came a voice suddenly from behind.
My heart almost stopped at the sound. I turned around to see one of the guards taking his supper
while seated on a barrel of ale in the pantry.
'You must be the new hall boy,' he said, rising to shake my hand.
'Yes, sir,' I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
'Mrs. Thomas hasn't been giving you too much trouble, I hope?'
'No, sir,' I replied. 'I'm just trying to find my way around.'
'Oh, well in that case allow me to give you the grand tour!' said the guard, standing up and wiping
his mouth on his sleeve. 'I'm Samuel.'
'Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Tom,' I replied. I wasn't sure whether to bless or curse my luck.
''Tis quite easy to find your way about the place once you are familiar with it,' said Samuel as he
led me into a vast hall then up a winding staircase and along so many corridors that I quickly became
quite lost. 'Most of the wings are empty much of the time, but who knows how things will go for His
Majesty! Perhaps these rooms will be filled with the voices of grand folk once more.'
'Is he really being held here- the King?' I asked.
'No, and I should know if he was,' said Samuel. 'You can see for yourself: all these apartments are
empty,' he opened one door after another onto lavishly ornamented bedchambers and drawing rooms,
but there wasn't a sign of anyone having stayed in them recently.
 'You'll not find much to do, but I'm sure Mrs. Thomas will keep you busy. If you ever need a
quiet five minutes to yourself, you come and find me; I know of a few hiding places which I use to keep
out of her way!' said Samuel with a wink. 'Well now, I ought to be getting back to my duty or the other
guard will be wondering what has become of me. Can you find your way back from here? If you take the
servants' staircase at the end of this corridor, you'll find it brings you out by the kitchen.'
'Yes, sir, and thank you,' I replied.
'My pleasure,' replied Samuel. 'Well, until next time.' He doffed his helmet and departed back
down the main staircase.
I followed the corridor to its end where the servants' staircase led down to the ground floor as
Samuel had described. I took the stairs two at a time as I wondered frantically whether Mrs. Thomas had
slept through my little excursion, but to my relief her soft snores could be heard coming from the kitchen
as I reached the bottom of the staircase. I slipped quietly past and out into the garden where Tabatha was
waiting.
Chapter 66

'Well?' Tabatha asked.

'No time to explain now,' I replied. 'Suffice to say the King isn't there. Let's go.'
We scrambled up into the lower branches of the trees that lined the garden walls and clambered
over the wall. To my immense relief, Colonel and Ruby were still waiting patiently where we had left
them.
'Back the way we came?' I asked breathlessly as I jumped down from the wall.
'Yes,' replied Tabatha. 'Keep looking ahead and try not to look suspicious!'
We set off with Tabatha riding Colonel while I led Ruby as before. It was close to midnight, and
the roads were quieter than they had been earlier in the evening. A freezing mist hung over the river and
crept up the banks, swirling around Ruby and Colonel’s feet as it reached up to the road. The rhythmic
patter of their hooves was the only sound to be heard until the swirl of the river against the piers of the
bridge reached our ears and grew gradually louder.
'We ought to have brought a lantern; I can't see a thing,' I said as we passed under the tunnels
formed by the buildings above. The night sky was completely obscured, and the candles and fires that had
showed through the windows and lit our path earlier were now extinguished.
'Hush!' whispered Tabatha, rising in her stirrups and squinting into the darkness ahead. 'There are
two men with horses waiting at the other end of the bridge. I think it's a checkpoint.'
'What do we do?' I hissed. 'We need to turn back!'
'No, it's too late; it'll look suspicious. Say nothing and leave me to speak. Remember you're my
servant. Keep your hood up and only speak if they speak to you first.'
 My feet felt like lead weights as I walked the last few yards to the end of the bridge. The men had
already heard the horses approaching and now stood in the middle of the road with their guns ready in
their hands, blocking our path.
'Halt!' called one of the men as we drew closer.
Tabatha tugged on Colonel's reins, and we stopped before the end of the bridge.
'Your names,' demanded the man coming closer and eying Tabatha suspiciously.
'My name is Catherine Berkley, and this is my servant, Joseph Fisher,' replied Tabatha.
'And what are you doing on the roads at this hour of the night?' said the man.
'My business is no concern of yours,' replied Tabatha with feigned outrage.
''Tis my business because Parliament has made it my business,' growled the man. 'There are too
many Royalists about, so kindly tell me what brings you out on a night such as this, and if I am satisfied
with your explanation then you shall be on your way without further hindrance.'
Tabatha sighed with mock exasperation. 'Very well,' she said shaking her head. 'I have been to
visit my sister in Belgravia. She is expecting her first child. I have not seen her since she married her
husband in August, and time seemed to run away with us as it is wont to do when women are reunited
after a long while apart.'
I kept my eyes down and tried not to attract the guards' attention. They had so far taken no
notice of me, but my heart thumped so loudly I marvelled that they did not hear it.
The man nodded and seemed convinced by Tabatha's story. 'On you go,' he said, stepping aside
for us to pass, 'but in future, beware travelling unaccompanied after dark. There are unsavoury sorts
about on the roads.'
'Thank you, sir, and I most certainly will,' replied Tabatha sweetly. 'Good night.'
The ten steps or so until we were off the bridge were the longest of my life. I half expected at any
moment to feel rough hands on my shoulders yanking me back and bundling me into a waiting carriage to
be taken back to the Gatehouse. When we were a safe distance from the bridge, Tabatha stopped.
'Phew,' she whispered. 'That was unnerving to be sure. You may ride Ruby now; I shall take us
home by a different route. I wouldn't like to meet another of that pair further down the road, and I'll
wager there will be more of them on the outskirts of the city.'
'What if there are check points all the way back to Richmond?' I cried. I was sweating in spite of
the cold.
'They will only be manning the main roads, I'll warrant, but I know other routes to avoid them.
Follow me.'
We rode through the slums and poorer districts of the city without meeting any more
checkpoints, but as we passed beyond the city limits and prepared to join the main road out of London,
Tabatha turned aside and guided us away from the road and into the darkness of the surrounding land.
From there, we walked and led the horses by their reins, for the ground was marshy and treacherous, but
Tabatha guided us with confidence, keeping as much as possible to the fields that had been drained for
farming. By the small hours of the morning we had reached Richmond and left the city far behind.
I was exhausted and could barely put one foot in front of the other as we slipped into the
churchyard, silent and unnoticed. As we made our way down the tunnel, hurried footsteps rushing to
meet us echoed along the walls.
'Thank goodness you're back!' cried Eliza. 'I haven't slept a wink. Was the King there? Did you
see him?'
'No', I replied wearily, 'His Majesty is most definitely not being held at St. James' Palace. We are
no closer to finding him.'
 Chapter 67

Eliza and I set about making the table ready for breakfast, absorbed in our own thoughts, while Tabatha
groomed Colonel and whispered softly to him. He at least seemed oblivious to the despondent mood of
the humans around him.
'What do we do now?' asked Eliza at last.
'We watch, and we wait,' replied Tabatha. 'They cannot keep the King hidden forever, wherever
he is.'
'I don't think I can stand much more waiting,' groaned Eliza. 'We haven't heard from George for
weeks, I'm afraid for my father, and I daren't even think what tortures poor Rupert has been subjected
to.' She shuddered and drew her hand across her eyes.
I felt wretched. I wished I could say something to reassure Eliza, but the situation was bleak, and
nothing I could say would alter the fact.
'Tabatha is right,' I said at last. 'The King can't be hidden away forever. 'Tis a new year tomorrow;
let's see what it brings.'
1649 arrived bleak and cold. In the early hours of New Years' Day Eliza and I crept up to the
churchyard. A dusting of snow had settled upon the headstones and frozen ground, but everywhere was
silent and still; even the earliest risers were not yet awake to welcome the new year.
'He is out there somewhere,' said Eliza looking east towards London. 'If only we knew where.'
She shivered and huddled closer to me.
'We will find him,' I murmured. Almost without thinking my hand brushed the bundle of rags in
my pocket, and I felt the dragonskin beneath them. It seemed so inconsequential, wrapped in rags and
tucked away in the pocket of a boy while the most powerful magician in the country sought desperately
for it, and while I, by some strange quirk of fate, found myself wondering how I would ever be able to set
it in the hands of the King.
'It's freezing! Let's get inside before we catch our death,' I said.
For almost a month we heard nothing more of the King. Tabatha went out every night scouring
the roads and taverns for news, but not a whisper of his location passed anyone's lips, though his fate was
much debated. Eliza and I grew restless and anxiously counted the days since we had last heard from
George.
'It has been forty-four days,' said Eliza.
'I doubt Bill and Frigg can find a way to reach us down here, if they can even find us,' I replied,
trying to remain optimistic.
Eliza shook her head. 'George would find a way to get a message to us if he could. Besides, we
go up to the churchyard every night. Bill and Frigg would have found us by now. Something is wrong, I'm
sure of it.'
 Even as she spoke, the sound of Tabatha and Colonel returning from their recon echoed down
the tunnel.
'Tom, Eliza! I have news of the King! ' said Tabatha. ''Tis not good, I'm afraid; he is being tried
for treason.'
'When?' I cried. 'Where is he being held?'
Tabatha looked grave. 'The Gatehouse,' she replied. 'I was met on the road back by a mutual
friend of mine and George's, a merchant by the name of Peter Garrett with whom I have done business
previously. He told me that he has it on good authority- from a guard at Westminster Palace no less -that
the King is standing trial there but is being held in secret in the Gatehouse because Cromwell fears the
Palace or the Tower of London may be stormed by Royalist sympathisers.'
'It makes sense to keep him somewhere secret, I suppose,' I said. 'But who knows what spells
Devere may be working against the King! We must go at once!'
'No, we should wait and make a plan,' said Tabatha. 'You have only one chance. If you rush in
blindly you'll surely be caught and get us all killed. You are going to meet the enemy on his own turf. You
must be prepared.'
'We still have the transmogrification potion,' said Eliza. 'We can use that.'
'And what if Cromwell is already at the Gatehouse when you arrive?' said Tabatha. 'Do you not
think Devere may be a little suspicious to be confronted by two Cromwells? We must find out exactly
when the King will be there and when Cromwell will not and make our move then.'
'Well, that is easy enough,' said Eliza. 'We should just go at night.'
'But would Cromwell arrive unannounced at the Gatehouse in the middle of the night? I think
not,' persisted Tabatha. 'We must think up a pretext. You need to be convincing. This isn't simply about
getting the dragonskin to the King; you need to get back out alive as well.'
 Chapter 68

The following evening, Tabatha did not go out. She stayed behind, and we talked long into the night
about how we might get the dragonskin to the King.
'I don't think we can wait any later than tomorrow,' I said. 'The risk of what Cromwell and
Parliament may do to him outweighs any risk to us.'
'Very well,' said Tabatha. 'We will travel by night when it is safer, and we will all travel together.
At least then if we fail, we all fail together.'
The next night was cloudy and moonless. Tabatha would not risk a lantern to guide us on our
way, and so we picked our way across the rural hinterlands around London in the darkness.
The horses snorted and scrambled across the uneven ground so noisily that I marvelled that we
did not meet any resistance, yet we did not see either man or beast until we had passed safely into the city.
As we reached its outer limits Tabatha decided it was safer that we proceed separately.
'I know a safe house where we can stay until morning. Head for the Gatehouse but turn left
down the little street opposite the clock tower. There is an inn there, and the landlord is a friend of mine.
When you get there give him my name. He will not ask any questions. I will go forward alone and scout
out the Gatehouse, then I will find you at the inn when I'm done. Do you know your way from here?'
'I do,' said Eliza.
'Good. Remember to keep away from the main roads where there may be checkpoints. Wait for
me at the inn, and do not proceed until I come back to give the all clear.'
With that, Tabatha set Colonel to a trot and disappeared into the darkness ahead. Eliza and I
followed behind a little slower, neither of us particularly regretting our leisurely pace. Now that it had
come to it, the danger seemed very real and immediate. We rode in silence, each absorbed with our own
thoughts and curious about what the other was thinking.
'What will you do when this is over- if we make it out alive?' said Eliza at last. 'You told me you
were afraid of what would happen when we spoke about it on our last day at Treadway Castle.'
'I did, didn't I?' I said. My thoughts at once turned to the words Edward had spoken to Rupert
while I recovered from my ordeal in the mirror. 'Getting out alive seems more than enough of a
challenge. I can't really think beyond that. What about you?'
'It depends on what becomes of the Guild,' replied Eliza. 'Devere will still be the Keeper, and
while he is, all members are bound by his command. I'm afraid the danger doesn't go away once the
dragonskin is with the King.'
'You're right,' I said, 'but we should not be thinking of it. Tonight, all that matters is getting the
dragonskin safely to His Majesty.'
 Ralph and Ruby trotted along the narrow, cobbled streets and shadowy alleyways and carried us
by the quiet, forgotten backstreets into the very heart of London. Despite the night chill, I welcomed the
cold air on my face; the ride and the tension had left me feeling sweaty and light-headed.
'There's the clock tower,' said Eliza at last.
I had hardly noticed where we were going since Tabatha left us, but sure enough we now stood
before the clock tower, looking down the quiet street opposite to the black, lightless form of a tumbled-
down and forgotten-looking building.
'This must be it,' said Eliza.
We dismounted and led the horses down the street to the inn. It was cloaked in darkness except
for a single oil lamp burning in the parlour window where an old man sat dosing. Eliza tapped the
window softly and he woke up with a start.
'Who's there?' he called, squinting through the window.
'We are friends of Tabatha's,' called Eliza softly through a crack in the glass.
'Oh yes, come in, come in!' he called back as he stood up and disappeared behind the parlour
door. A moment later he stood at the front door with a lamp in his hand.
'I'll see to your horses. There are stables round the back. I have a room at the back for you as
well. It's quiet and out of the way.'
The old man led us up a dark staircase, along a corridor and to a room at the back of the inn. It
was plain, but a small fire was already burning in the hearth.
'Shout if you have need of anything,' said the man as he closed the door softly behind him and
left us alone without another word.
'What do we do now?' asked Eliza when his footsteps had faded back down the staircase.
'I guess we just wait for Tabatha,' I replied, 'though it’s anybody's guess how long she will be.'
'Well, you sleep if you think you will be able to,' said Eliza, settling in a chair beside the fire. 'I
know I won't.'
I moved over to the bed and cast myself upon it. Despite my anxiety, I couldn't bear the thought
of pacing the floor and watching from the window for Tabatha to return. I shut my eyes and waited for
sleep to find me.
 Chapter 69

When I awoke, the room was light, and Tabatha had returned.
'Good afternoon,' she said.
'Afternoon? What time is it?' I cried, leaping up from the bed.
'Past midday,' replied Eliza. 'We thought it better to let you sleep so that you will be alert for
what is to come. Tabatha hasn't been back much longer than an hour.'
'I've staked out the Gatehouse since last night but haven't seen anyone enter or leave,' she said. 'I
think it is safe for us to assume that Cromwell is not there. Are you all set? Shall we be going?'
I took a deep breath. 'Yes, let's,' I replied.
We took our leave of the landlord and collected the horses from the stable behind the inn. It was
agreed that Tabatha would ride ahead, as she had done last night, to make one last sweep of the area
around the Gatehouse.
'There is an alleyway between the houses neighbouring the Gatehouse,' she said. 'Wait for me
there, and I will come and find you.'
Eliza and I made our way across the street and down the lane opposite the Gatehouse, keeping
our hoods drawn over our bowed heads. In the alleyway, we waited, and sure enough after only a few
minutes Tabatha appeared again.
'All’s clear,' she whispered, and then she turned to me. 'Eliza and I will wait here for you and
keep watch. Do you have the potion?'
I nodded and pulled the tiny vial out of my pocket. My heart thudded, and my hands felt clammy
as I lifted it to my lips with trembling hands and swallowed the contents in one gulp. I winced; it had a
sharp, unpleasant taste.
'Do you feel anything?' asked Eliza.
'Not really,' I replied, 'but Edward said it wouldn't be painful. Do you see any change?'
'No,' replied Eliza despondently. 'Wait, oh yes! Your nose! It's getting longer!'
I pressed my face to the window beside which we stood and watched as my mop of curly golden
hair grew out and turned darker and straighter right before my eyes. At the crown, it now appeared to
thin out, and the skin of my brow grew lined and saggy. Within a few moments the transformation was
complete, clothes, weapons and all.
'Tom, is it still you?' gasped Eliza.
'Of course it is!' I replied, but even my voice sounded different; deeper and without my West
Country lilt.
'Quite amazing!' exclaimed Tabatha. 'Go, you haven't much time.'
I stepped out from the shadows of the alleyway and into the lane. The Gatehouse stood just
across the square. My pulse thudded in my temples and my heart raced as the few steps remaining before
I reached the door diminished to nothing. I knew Tabatha and Eliza would be watching from the
alleyway, but I didn't dare turn to them for one last look of reassurance.
Grasping the knocker, I hammered on the door and waited. I felt my heart beat several times
before it swung open silently, and I stepped inside. Beyond the threshold, the hall lay in darkness.
'Devere,' I called out.
At once, the candles all around the hall leapt into flame, and standing before me at the foot of
the staircase I saw Devere.
'Hello, Tom,' he said.
 Chapter 70

My head whirled, and my legs almost gave way beneath me at the mention of my name. I swallowed hard,
my throat was dry with nerves.
'Devere, 'tis me, Cromwell,' I said.
'Oh, really?' Devere scoffed. He took a few firm steps towards me and stopped. His face was just
inches away, and a mocking smile played on his lips. I froze, immovable under his stare.
'Did you really think you could fool me?' he mocked. He raised his hands to my face and uttered
snatches of words that I did not understand. I cried out as a sharp pain cut through me and the disguise
dissolved in an instant. Now I stood before Devere just the frightened boy I had been on that day three
months prior when I had first been brought to the face the Keeper of the Guild of Gatekeepers. My mind
reeled to think how I had walked so foolishly into a trap. Had Tabatha known? I had no doubt that she
had, and she stood to make a handsome profit from Devere once he had the dragonskin in his keeping.
'I must thank you,' said Devere. 'You saved me a deal of time and bother getting the dragonskin
myself. George has been most stubborn in his refusal to reveal its location, even in spite of my best
efforts.’
Anger surged in the pit of my stomach. I recognised my defeat and hopelessness and was reckless
in the face of it. I only hoped Eliza would get away before Devere had chance to capture her and exact
his revenge.
'Henry Smith knew not to trust you with the dragonskin. He saw you for what you are: grasping,
devious and power-hungry. If you want the dragonskin, you will have to fight for it!' I cried, drawing the
blade that hung at my side.
Devere's face turned white and his eyes flashed, momentarily torn between rage at my defiance
and scorn at my feeble attempt to resist his power, but before he had chance to recover his composure
there was a bang like the sound of a gun being fired, and the door to the Gatehouse came crashing down.
In rode Rupert upon Pluto. Devere staggered back, cursing as the mighty horse reared up at him.
'Jump on!' cried Rupert, dragging me up into the saddle before him as he tossed something
towards Devere. A blinding white light flashed for a moment, and thick fog filled the hall as Pluto
galloped back through the broken door and down the steps into the lane. Behind us, Devere's furious
cries could be heard through the rising fog.
'How did you escape the Venatorian?' I gasped.
'No time to explain now,' replied Rupert. 'We have to get to the King. Where is Eliza?'
Before I had chance to answer Tabatha and Eliza came running to meet us.
'What ever happened?!' cried Eliza.
'You tricked us! You knew the King wasn't at the Gatehouse!' I shouted to Tabatha. I was
shaking with anger and close to tears.
 'I did not!' she cried, 'Peter Garrett told me the King was held here! I would never have betrayed
you to Devere!'
'We haven't time to argue,' said Rupert. 'The King is to be executed in less than half an hour.
Eliza, jump on.'
 Chapter 71

'How ever did you escape from the Venatorian? And how do you know the King is to be executed? We
have heard nothing of his fate since learning he was to be put on trial,' said Eliza as Rupert navigated the
bustling streets. It seemed that all of London now knew of the King's execution and were making their
way to the Palace of Whitehall where it was to take place.
'No time to explain now,' replied Rupert as Pluto charged through the streets towards the river.
We had reached Westminster Bridge where a crowd of people were trying to make their way
across to the Palace of Whitehall to witness the King's execution. My heart sank.
'Half an hour must almost have elapsed,' I said anxiously as we reached a standstill behind the
great press of people. I craned my neck to see over the crowd as it moved slowly towards the Palace.
Pluto snorted impatiently, but the sheer size of the crowd prevented him from moving any faster than a
plod.
'Meet me at the scaffold,' I said suddenly as I jumped from the saddle and disappeared into the
crowd without a backward glance.
All around, people were jostling to reach the Palace in time to catch a glimpse of the King as he
was led out onto the scaffold. A carnival atmosphere seemed to have taken hold, and the people about
me jeered and shouted, but I took no notice, dodging the strollers and sight-seers as I raced across the
bridge and along the walkways to the Palace. The crowd that gathered there had fallen silent. The King
could be heard speaking, calmly addressing the assembled people. His face was pale, but he showed no
sign of fear or objection to the cold, though he wore only a shirt.
'I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown; where no disturbance can be, no disturbance
in the world,' said the King.
'Your majesty!' I cried, pushing through the throng towards the scaffold.
'Hush,' hissed a fearsome-looking fishwife. She shoved me back and set herself squarely in front
of me, blocking my path.
I craned my neck to see past her, searching desperately for another passage through the crowd.
Over the tops of the people's heads, I could see the scaffold and the executioner, masked and dressed in
black and holding his great axe. The King was kneeling before the block now. His lips moved noiselessly
as he uttered his last prayers. I thrust forward. The scaffold was no more than fifty yards away. If I could
just get through the crowd to the scaffold, I may just reach the King. There was a thud, and a murmur
rippled through the crowd as the executioner held up the dismembered head, then followed the cries and
weeping.
For a few moments it seemed to me that the world had stopped moving. All around, the noise of
the crowd seemed somehow muted and remote as though it passed through water. A cloud drifted across
the sun, chasing away the gleam of watery sunlight that pooled upon the scaffold where the King's head
had lain. I looked up to the sky. Grey clouds gathered overhead as though in sympathy with my despair.
I turned away. I was too late, and I had no desire to stay and watch as people climbed onto the
scaffold and dipped their handkerchiefs in the King's blood. I had failed, and the now the King was dead.
'Tom! Over here!'
I looked up and glanced over to where the voice was coming from. A little distance away, where
the crowd was sparser, stood Pluto. Beside him, Rupert and Eliza waited, their hoods drawn down over
their heads to disguise their faces.
'I was too late. I couldn't reach him,' I said as I staggered towards them. My voice sounded
distant and forlorn as though someone else was speaking through my mouth. Even as I spoke the words,
I could barely comprehend what I had just witnessed. Tears streamed down Eliza's face, and Rupert
looked pale and haggard.
 Chapter 72

The crowd was beginning to disperse as the last of the trophy-seekers carried away their handkerchiefs
and linen dipped in the King's blood. His head and body had been removed, and the scaffold stood
empty except for the block, wet and dark with blood.
'What do we do now?' sniffed Eliza. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she
trembled with emotion.
I gazed across at the bloodied scaffold where the King had taken his last breath. A surge of
defiance erupted within me, from where I could not say, and my resolve hardened. 'I shall take the
dragonskin to his son, Prince Charles,' I said.
Eliza shook her head. 'What good will it do now? Parliament has already murdered the King.'
'I don't know, but we’ve got to try,' I insisted. 'He has to know that we tried. I will go alone if I
have to.'
'Indeed,' said Rupert. 'Do we give up and accept defeat? I for one will not do so. If you are
willing, I will guide you to The Hague where Prince Charles is in exile.'
'How will we get there, though?' said Eliza. 'The ship was wrecked.'
'Leave it to me,' said a familiar voice behind us.
I turned to see Tabatha sitting upon Colonel, with Ralph and Ruby standing obediently on either
side. In her hand, she held a bulging purse of half-crown coins.
'Why should we trust you again?' I cried. 'You deceived us, and now the King is dead because of
you!'
'I did not deceive you,' replied Tabatha, 'and now you have no choice but to trust me if you mean
to reach The Hague. I can buy you a place on a ship and bribe the captain and crew to keep silent. Devere
is furious and has sent out all the men at his disposal to find you. London is still swarming with
Parliamentarian guards. It seems to me you have no alternative but to trust me.'
'What should we do?' Eliza asked Rupert.
'I think she is right- there is little choice,' he replied.
'Well that's settled then. Follow me,' said Tabatha.
In the commotion that followed the King's execution, no one took any notice of four riders
galloping through the streets towards the docks. There the mighty naval ships, with their guns and
cannon, and the smaller, swifter merchant ships strained against their moorings. Tabatha dismounted and
led us along the wooden platform towards a merchant vessel moored at the end of the dock. Upon the
deck stood a man whom I felt certain must be the captain. He was studying a map which he had spread
out across the wheel.
'Wait here,' said Tabatha as she climbed up onto the deck.
 Eliza, Rupert and I watched as she spoke urgently with the captain and held out the purse of half
crowns. He opened the purse and looked inside, then nodded and gestured for us to board the ship.
'Take these,' Tabatha whispered to me, pressing two more pouches of coins into my hands as she
led us to the cabin. 'One is for the captain when you reach The Hague. I promised him more money to
take a detour from his intended destination and to ensure he doesn't betray you; he knows you are
stowaways. The other is to buy your way back when you return. Good luck.'
A wave of shame swept over me, and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. 'I owe you an apology,' I
said. 'I shouldn't have doubted you. I am sorry.'
Tabatha smiled. 'I forgive you,' she said. 'When you steal for a living 'tis hard to expect folk to
trust you.'
'Will you be safe in London?' asked Eliza.
'Yes, no need to worry about me,' said Tabatha. 'I will get a message to George if I am able. Now
I must go. The ship is leaving soon.'
'Thank you for keeping them safe while I could not,' said Rupert as Tabatha climbed the steps up
to the deck. She turned and smiled weakly then disappeared back through the trap door.
'Well, we are off again,' said Rupert as the moorings were loosened and the ship slid out into
mid-stream. 'Thank goodness for Tabatha. She is a most extraordinary girl.'
'The dragonskin would have fallen into Devere's hands long ago were it not for her,' I replied.
'But you haven't yet told us of your own adventures. How did you come to escape the Venatorian? And
how did you know the King was to be executed when we did not?'
'To answer your first question, the Venatorian made the mistake of getting his dogs to guard me
while he rested on the road back to London,' said Rupert, 'but as you know, I have a way with dogs, and I
befriended them. They understand human speech quite well, and I told them of my old hound, Boye,
whom I have already told you of. After that, they allowed me to escape, even with the threat of the
Venatorian beating them for dereliction of duty.
'As for finding out about the King's fate, I spent days trying to track you after I escaped, but I
could find no trace of you. Fearing you may have been captured, I made my way to London in disguise. I
didn't dare contact George for fear of my communications being intercepted, but it was quite clear to me
that news of the King's whereabouts was being deliberately concealed, since no one could tell me where
he was. When I heard a rumour that he was to stand trial, I made my way to Westminster to learn more.
That is when I saw Devere talking with two guards. He claimed that the King was to be transferred from
Westminster to the Gatehouse, for fear a Royalist force may be mustered to attempt a rescue.
'I knew it was a lie, and one no doubt intended to start a rumour that he hoped would reach you
and lure you and the dragonskin to him, but I was afraid that you might come to hear it and thus become
ensnared, so I made my way to the Gatehouse. I kept watch on it day and night, but I saw no sign of you
until today when I saw Cromwell entering the Gatehouse. But when I spotted Eliza in the alleyway, I
knew it must be you, Tom, and I knew you must have been deceived.'
 'Well, that is quite a story,' I said. 'We came so close. I dread George learning of the King's death;
he will be devastated.'
'We'll send word as soon as we reach The Hague,' said Rupert. 'He must know that all is not lost-
yet.'
 Chapter 73

For three days, the ship battled across the unforgiving expanse of the North Sea through howling winds
and driving rain. As evening drew in on the third day and the white sun disappeared below the horizon, I
saw the hazy skyline of The Hague wreathed in cloud in the distance. Bells tolled, and the babble of a
noisy port city grew louder as the ship drew into the port. We took our leave of the captain, and I handed
him the second purse of coins that Tabatha had promised him for seeing us safely across the sea.
'How will we find out where the Prince is staying?' I asked. We stood upon a busy street not far
from the port and watched an endless procession of carriages and people pass by.
'We will undoubtedly find him at the Binnenhof,' replied Rupert. 'Come, I will lead you there.'
As we walked, I noted that the streets were wider and much more appropriate for the flow of
traffic than the narrow, cobbled streets of London. The buildings too were much different to those of the
mostly wooden city of London, being built of brick and stone. The effect was generally grander and more
genteel.
As we left the port behind and made our way towards the centre of the city, the imposing form
of a complex of brick-built mansions before a large pond drew nearer. Fragments of ice floated on the
still, glassy surface of the pond, and swans clustered upon a tiny tree-covered island in its centre.
'Behold the Binnenhof,' said Rupert as he led us all the way around the pond's edge to the
opposite side where he stopped at a gate. A guard stood before it and demanded to know our names and
business before admitting us.
'I am Prince Rupert of the Rhine, cousin of Charles, Prince of Wales,' Rupert said in Dutch.
'These are my companions, Tom Wild and Eliza Ellery.'
The guard looked Rupert up and down, evidently suspicious of his weather-stained attire and
unkempt appearance.
'Here, my coat of arms is displayed upon my ring,' said Rupert, pulling the token out of a pouch
concealed beneath his shirt.
The guard held the ring up to the light of a lantern overhead and examined it closely. He said
something to Rupert in Dutch and bowed before opening the gate to allow us to pass.
'What did he say?' asked Eliza.
'He told me where the Prince is staying and said to wait here for a guard who will take us there.
The Binnenhof is a huge, sprawling complex as you can see; we will need a guide to take us to the Prince.'
For a few minutes, we waited as night closed in over the Binnenhof. The buildings around us,
with their turreted roofs and elegant facades, were lit one by one with lanterns and candles so that the
courtyard was soon almost as light as it would be by day. After a time, footsteps approached from the
opposite end of the courtyard. Upon seeing that it was another guard who approached, the man on the
gate called out to him. They spoke together in low voices and glanced now and then towards us.
 'The guard has asked him to take us to the Prince,' whispered Rupert.
For a few more moments, we waited patiently for the guards to finish their conversation, then
the second man gestured for us to follow him. He led us across the courtyard, in the direction that he had
come from, and into the largest and grandest-looking of the buildings.
Inside, I caught a glimpse of a hall decked with flags emblazoned with intricately woven coats of
arms which hung from the ceiling, but the guard walked briskly past the open doors and led us up several
flights of stairs to a long, dark corridor. He stopped before a door and knocked softly upon it. Almost at
once, the door opened, and a young man stood in the doorway. He spoke to the guard in Dutch as he
glanced over us. His expression turned to one of great joy when he saw Rupert and recognised his face,
but then he closed the door.
'Who was that? Are we permitted to see the Prince?' I whispered.
'Yes,' replied Rupert, 'that was one of the Prince's advisors. The Prince does not answer to
visitors himself. His advisor has gone to notify him that we are outside his apartments. He will decide
whether or not to see us.'
'What if he chooses not to?' asked Eliza anxiously.
'I don't think we need worry about that,' replied Rupert.
At that moment, the door opened once again, and the advisor stepped aside to allow us to enter.
 Chapter 74

The room behind the door was one of unbridled luxury. A roaring fire and many candles illuminated it
with a cheerful light; tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, and the furniture was upholstered with
the finest silks and fabrics. It was most certainly a room fit for a prince.
Seated upon a couch beside the window, I saw a young man with dark hair and a ready smile. His
immensely long legs were stretched out before him, and when he stood he looked down even upon
Rupert.
'Rupert,' he cried, stepping forward to greet his cousin. 'It has been too long.'
'It has indeed, your majesty,' replied Rupert, embracing the young Prince. 'Please accept my
sincerest condolences for your loss. Your father showed courage and dignity right up until the very
moment of his death, and may that be of some comfort to you.'
'You were there?' asked the Prince in amazement.
'Yes, your majesty,' replied Rupert. 'It is indeed my reason for coming here. Please allow me to
introduce my companions, Tom Wild and Eliza Ellery.'
I bowed, and Eliza dipped a shy curtsy. The Prince gazed at us with curiosity, no doubt
wondering what brought two ordinary English youths to the Binnenhof in the company of his father's
greatest cavalry officer.
'A pleasure to meet you both,' said the Prince, politely trying to conceal his incredulity.
''Tis a long tale, I'm afraid,' said Rupert.
'No matter,' said the Prince. 'Please be seated. Are you hungry? You look in need of some
refreshment.'
'You are right,' said Rupert. 'We have only lately arrived in The Hague from London.'
'Johann!' called the Prince.
The young man who had conducted us into the Prince's apartments appeared at the door leading
into an adjoining room.
'Yes, your majesty?' he said in heavily-accented English.
'Bring my guests food and wine so that they may take refreshment as they talk with me.'
Johann bowed. 'Yes, your majesty,' he replied.
A few minutes later, he returned with three other servants carrying trays laden with food to rival
even Ambrose Ruddle’s table. Eliza and I hardly ate a thing, so enamoured were we of the beauty of the
food and our surroundings, but Rupert spoke and ate freely, and the Prince listened intently to everything
he had to say.
Rupert recounted the history of the dragonskin and our journey to find Other England. Referring
to me and Eliza now and then to confirm certain points, he told of how our ship was wrecked and how
we began the arduous trek across the south-western counties before reaching London. When he was
done, he looked to me and gestured for me to present the dragonskin to the Prince.
'Here, Your Majesty,' I stammered, bowing before Prince Charles and presenting the dragonskin
to him with trembling hands.
The Prince received it carefully and gazed upon it as it lay in his palms. A flicker of sadness
showed in his face for a moment and then was gone.
'This was intended for my father?' he asked.
'Yes, Your Majesty. I'm sorry I didn't reach him in time.'
Prince Charles shook his head. ''Twas already too late for him,' he said sadly. 'I loved my father
dearly, but his rule was reckless and unjust. I don't see that his son will ever be welcomed as King.
England has already set its feet upon a crooked path, and it seems to me that there will be no turning
back.'
As he spoke, he held out the dragonskin to give back to me, but a surge of unexpected emotion
suddenly gripped me, and I spoke with passion.
'No, your majesty, I cannot accept the dragonskin. You are England's only hope. I am just a
simple boy from a poor family of fishermen, yet somehow, I found myself mixed up in things that I never
would have believed to be true. I have learned a lot of both the good and evil of magic, and it seems to
me that it has a dual nature, for it harms as well as it heals. Yet it also seems to me that the harm has now
been done, and it is left to you to heal England's woes. Take the dragonskin, and maybe one day you will
be the wisest King ever to rule, perhaps surpassing even King Solomon.'
I stopped and blushed from ear to ear. 'Pardon my speaking out of turn, Your Majesty,' I
mumbled as I set the dragonskin on the table before the Prince and bowed before returning to my seat.
Prince Charles looked closely at me. 'Perhaps you have not been untouched by the dragonskin's
powers,' he said.
At that moment, there came a sharp tap on the window, and two ravens alighted on the ledge. In
its beak, the larger bird carried a piece of folded parchment.
‘Those are Ambrose’s ravens,’ I whispered to Eliza.
‘I do believe the bird carries a message,’ said Rupert rising from his seat to open the window.
At once, the ravens hopped in and bowed before the prince. The larger raven dropped the piece
of parchment at his feet before joining its mate a respectful distance from the prince.
‘From Ambrose Ruddle of Other England, Greetings, Your Majesty,’ Prince Charles read aloud. ‘May I
extend my sincerest condolences upon the loss of your father, His Majesty the King. However, from the blood of the father,
hope springs. I foresee that the shadow of despair that has fallen across England will not extend beyond eleven years.
Therefore, let you keep the dragonskin as the most precious of your Kingdom’s treasures when you return to claim your
throne. England shall have need of its power, so I send to you two of my ravens, Bede and Branwen, to offer up their humble
service, and while they and their seed guard the dragonskin, the Crown shall never fail, nor England’s enemies triumph. I
hope that your reign will be a merry one indeed.’
 Outside, the snow upon the ground was whisked up by a sudden gust. It swirled in the air, rising
up into the sky where it formed itself into the likeness of a crown. In that moment, I understood.
'I do believe it was meant to come to him after all,' Eliza whispered as the Prince gazed in
wonder at the sight outside his window.
'Something quite extraordinary appears to be at work,' he declared. 'I know not what it is, but I
give you my word that when the time is right I will return to England as her King. And the dragonskin,
the greatest of all the treasures of England, will be guarded in the White Tower by Bede and Branwen and
their seed for posterity.’ He glanced over at the ravens sitting upon the window ledge, their heads inclined
towards him as though listening intently. ‘Aye, and mark this, I shall ensure my reign is a just and merry
one.'
 Chapter 75

'I don't know what came over you,' said Eliza as we followed one of the servants up to the rooms that
had been prepared for us for the night. Rupert had stayed behind to talk with the Prince. 'You really
impressed the Prince.'
'I don't know what came over me either,' I replied, flushing at the reminder. 'I'm just glad that the
dragonskin is where it belongs.'
The servant conducted us into our respective rooms, and we bade each other good night. For a
long while, I lay gazing out of the window through a gap in the curtains. The moon looked just the same
as it did in England, and I wondered at that. I had always imagined it looked different in other countries.
I knew I should feel relief that the dragonskin was with the Prince and that he would one day be
King, but I didn't. My thoughts turned to the Guild, to Devere and Emerson and my own fate once I
returned to England. Besides that, Edward's words to Rupert concerning the Shade's appearance to me in
the mirror still haunted me. I couldn't shake the feeling that a dark and dangerous time still lay ahead for
me.
I rolled over and tried hard not to think of such things. The bed I lay in was the most luxurious I
had ever slept in, dressed with the finest bed linen and real feather pillows. It was hard not to be lulled
towards sleep when lying in such comfort.
For two days, we stayed in the Binnenhof as guests of the Prince. Rupert was quite at home
amongst its splendour, and Eliza and I were disheartened to learn that he would not be returning with us
to London. Indeed, he was quite shocked that we hoped to leave imminently when we were finally able to
speak alone altogether without one of the Prince's distinguished friends or relatives collaring us for an
introduction.
'Surely you don't intend to return to London?' gasped Rupert. 'It would be suicide! Why don't
you stay here at The Hague with me? Cromwell rules England now, and the Prince will not be able to
return for a long while yet. Until then, you will still be in danger from Devere and Cromwell. The Prince
has much to learn and prepare for before he is able to return as King, but you both are high in his favour.
You'll lack nothing here.'
'That is most kind of him,' I said, 'but I for one am not used to such splendour. I feel quite out of
place, and I need to get back to Dorset and at least see that my family are safe, even if I can't stay with
them.'
'Me too,' said Eliza. 'I'm dreadfully worried about my father and George. It won't be long before
Devere finds out that the dragonskin is with the Prince, and then there will be nothing to stop him
harming them.'
 'Very well,' replied Rupert, 'but you will always be welcomed back here- you and your families. I
will speak to the Prince's brother in law, Prince William, about arrangements for you to return to London
as soon as possible. I shall be sad to see you go though. I am extremely fond of you both.'
'And we are of you,' said Eliza, taking Rupert's hand and squeezing it.
The next day, Eliza and I boarded a specially commissioned ship bound for London. Rupert and
Prince Charles had escorted us to the port and stood before us as we made ready to board the ship.
'I will owe you my throne if ever I return to claim it,' said the Prince, 'but it is for your faith and
belief in both me and my father that I am most grateful. If I am ever crowned, you can be sure I will be
the best King I can be.'
I bowed, and Eliza curtsied to the Prince, then we turned to Rupert.
'We couldn't have done it without you,' said Eliza.
'I merely helped along the way,' said Rupert. 'It has been a privilege to accompany you. George
has two very wise and loyal friends in you, and I shall tell him so when I see him again. It grieves me to
see you go now that the time has come for us to part.'
Eliza and I embraced Rupert for the last time and bowed once more to the Prince before
boarding the ship.
'Farewell, Your Majesty, and farewell Rupert!' I called from the deck as the ship's anchor was
raised and the vessel glided out into open sea.
We watched Rupert and the Prince grow gradually smaller until they were little more than two
specks on the edge of the dark line that the dock had diminished to as the ship retreated over the sea.
Overhead, the sky was blank, but clouds rolled low and threatened snow. We sheltered below deck, eager
to be out of the wind, and peeped through the cabin window.
'I think we're in for a storm,' I said.
'I hope not,' said Eliza. 'I've had quite enough of storms at sea to last me a lifetime, and we don't
have my father's sails this time.'
We watched as fat clumps of snow fell from the sky and clung to the windowpane, but to my
relief the sea remained calm and the wind gave us little trouble. We played cards for the rest of the day to
while away the hours until the oil in the lantern overhead burned low. Then we slept fitfully in our
cramped cabins as the ship rolled over the waves.
 Chapter 76

By dawn on the second day since leaving The Hague, the eastern coastline of England was in sight; a
darker grey smudge on the edge of the grey sea. A few hours later, we had entered the mouth of the
Thames. I thought of our journey by sea months before along that very tract of river. The familiar towns
and landmarks were now hidden under a coverlet of snow while the river wound its way through the
sleeping landscape. Now and then, we would catch a glimpse of a lone fox prowling the snowy fields for
food, or a horse and cart leaving great ridges in the snow behind it as it ploughed through the lanes, the
driver swathed in a thick cloak to keep out the icy blasts of the wind. The land all around appeared
somehow muted, as though viewed through a glass, and seemed to mourn in sympathy with us for the
passing of the King.
It was late in the afternoon by the time the docks appeared through the frozen river haze, the
masts of an assortment of vessels rearing up into the dull sky.
'Well, we're back,' said Eliza, as the ship moved slowly through the brown water towards the
docks. It dropped its anchor, and we disembarked onto the wooden platforms, now covered in frozen
sludge where the recently-fallen snow had been trampled by the constant foot traffic. 'What now?'
All around us, the sailors, merchants and dock workers went about their business with their
heads bowed against the wind and intermittent snow flurries. I looked about and thought of the first time
I had set eyes upon the place on a very different afternoon back in September.
'We should find George,' I said. 'He should know what has befallen.'
We had avoided making anything more than vague plans for our return. In truth, neither of us
really knew or wanted to consider what lay ahead as we trudged through the frozen docks in silence. Now
that we had reached London and Tabatha and Rupert were gone, the danger that had dogged us since we
first left in October seemed more immediate. The dragonskin was with Prince Charles, but Devere was
still Keeper, and Cromwell now ruled England.
'Tom! Eliza!' whispered a familiar voice.
I spun round to see Tabatha wrapped in a thick blue cloak, the hood drawn up over her head,
almost obscuring her face.
'Tabatha!' I cried.
'Shh! You are wanted! 'Tis not safe for you to be here. Follow me, and put up your hoods.'
We followed Tabatha without question, suddenly acutely aware of the danger we still faced.
'How did you find us?' I asked as we walked briskly, trying not to appear in too great a hurry.
'I have been watching the docks day and night for the past three days,' Tabatha replied. 'All of
London is abuzz following the King's execution. Devere has sent out spies in all directions to find you
and bring you to the Gatehouse.'
 I shuddered and chided myself for not considering more carefully the inevitable danger that
awaited us on our return. We had defied Devere and robbed him of the one great treasure he sought. Of
course he would not give up pursuing us.
Beyond the ceaseless activity of the docks, London was peculiarly quiet, all but the hardiest or
most desperate of its residents remaining indoors out of the cold. The street we walked down was
deserted except for a coach parked a little way ahead.
'I feel very afraid and alone,' said Eliza in a small voice.
'I know what you mean,' I replied. 'I would that I knew what will become of us.'
'Perhaps I could enlighten you,' said a voice that made my blood run cold upon hearing it.
'The Venatorian!' I gasped. Beside me, I sensed Tabatha and Eliza stiffen with fear as he and the
Metallician leapt from the coach and grabbed us each by the arm. They had bound and gagged us before
we had chance to scream or fight back, then flung us roughly onto the floor of the coach.
I glanced up as far as I could towards the window as the coach rattled through the empty streets.
I could tell from the speed with which the buildings flashed past that it wouldn't be long before we
reached the Gatehouse. There was little hope of escape now and even less once we reached our
destination.
The coach slowed as it rounded the corner of the lane where the Gatehouse stood and then
stopped. The Venatorian climbed down from the basket and opened the door, dragging us to our feet. He
was grim and silent as he marched us up the steps to the door of the Gatehouse. It opened soundlessly
then closed again behind us with an ominous bang.
 Chapter 77

As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the hall, I saw Devere standing before us surrounded by the rest of
the Guild. Emerson stood at his right hand. The flicker of the candles cast a sinister glow upon each of
them and sent jagged shadows dancing across the walls.
'We meet again, young Wild,' said Devere, a satisfied smirk playing upon his lips as he looked
from me to Eliza. 'I feared evil would come of Emerson nominating you as his successor, but Eliza, I
expected more of you. Your disobedience has sorely grieved your father.'
'Don't pretend to care for my father!' cried Eliza. 'He knows just what you are about, Devere, and
locking him away won't change that fact!' Her voice was choked with emotion, and tears of anger pooled
in her eyes.
A look of rage flashed over Devere's face for a moment before he composed himself, then he
laughed. 'Your father has been expelled from the Guild for assisting fugitives, failing to disclose that the
lost dragonskin had been discovered, and for obstructing the Guild in dispensing justice. It is perhaps
understandable for a father to want to protect his daughter, but it has done him no good. He has been
found guilty of insubordination to the Keeper of the Guild, just as you two have in your absence, and
sentenced to death. You both are to face the same fate.'
Devere stepped forward, and the candlelight gleamed upon the blade of a naked sword that hung
at his side. Rough hands grabbed me and Eliza from behind and held us firmly. Tabatha, who stood in
the shadows of the arched cloister, watched closely by the Venatorian, now broke free from him and
cried out.
'Emerson! It's me, Tabatha! Don't you remember me?'
Emerson, who had until that point remained silent and impassive, looked up, vexation etched
across his face.
'Tabatha?' he gasped.
'Yes, 'tis me. I have never lied to you, Emerson. Believe me, I beg you! Devere is deceiving you!
George is still alive!'
As she spoke, there came a great noise of flapping wings and shattering glass. Bill and Frigg
swooped in through the window. In his beak, Bill held a note which he dropped at my feet.
'Read it, Emerson,' I cried. 'It's from George! Read it, and you'll see Devere is lying to you!'
'Silence,' bellowed Devere, but Emerson stepped forward and snatched up the note before
Devere could stop him. His hands trembled, and he was silent for several moments as he read the note
through.

4th February 1649

 Dear Eliza and Tom,

Tabatha has sent word to me of all that has passed since I last wrote to you. It was with great
sadness that I learned the King was executed before you reached him with the dragonskin, yet the choice
you made to deliver it to his son and heir was a wise and immensely brave one. Whatever the outcome for
us, the dragonskin may now be used for the good of England and her people.
I do not know where or under what circumstances this note will reach you. Much still remains
uncertain, and once Devere realises that the dragonskin has passed out of his reach, he will have little
reason to keep me alive. Therefore, I am writing to you to urge you not to return to England. If you have
already done so, then it would be wise to return to The Hague as soon as you are able. There you will be
safe under Prince Charles' and Rupert’s protection. Eliza- your father insists that you obey him in this
matter. He will find you and join you if he is able to. Tom- I will do my best to arrange for your family to
flee also, lest they become a target for Devere's revenge.
My friends, I fear the time has come for me to say goodbye. We may be facing a parting from
which there will be no reunion, and so I wish to take this opportunity to thank you for your courage and
determination. You are both quite extraordinary young people, and your deeds are worthy of song,
though such is the way of the world that few people may ever come to hear of them.
I hope one day we may meet again, but I leave you now with a heavy heart, for I fear it may
never be so. Be safe and take comfort in your courage and each other.

Your friend, George.

 Chapter 78

'This is my brother's signature for sure,' Emerson said to Devere. His voice was even, but his dark eyes
blazed and the hand which clutched the note trembled with suppressed emotion. 'What say you to that?'
Panic flashed across Devere’s face momentarily before he recovered his composure. 'George is
alive, but he has long been plotting the Guild's downfall,' he said solemnly.
A murmur erupted among the Guild, but none dared to speak.
'He was always jealous of my position and the favour I showed you,' Devere continued. 'He
desires the dragonskin for himself. I had no choice but to confine him for the safety of the Guild.'
‘Liar! You knew the dragonskin was not lost, and you meant to steal it for yourself. You awoke
the Shadow Horse to track it for you. You have deceived the Guild!’ I cried.
Bridget Blyth cried out, and several Guild members spoke at once.
'Silence! Can this be true? Is the dragonskin really found?' demanded Emerson as he turned to
me and Eliza.
'Yes,’ I replied. ‘George hid it at the bidding of the last Keeper for fear of what Devere might do
with it. When Devere discovered what George had done, he imprisoned him.’
Emerson's fist tightened around the note, and he stepped towards Devere, his hand moving
towards the hilt of his sword.
'You deceived me,' he said. His voice trembled with stifled rage.
'They are lying to you, Emerson,’ said Devere smoothly. ‘You would believe these two
scapegraces over the Keeper of the Guild?'
‘You told me my brother was dead!’ Emerson cried.
‘I had no choice,’ replied Devere.
'Liar,' cried Emerson, closing the gap between them and thrusting the note into Devere’s face.
'Every word you speak is a lie. You told me my brother was dead! I killed the boy's own family on your
orders, believing he had betrayed the Guild. Now you tell me my own brother is the traitor! You hide
behind your spells and magical texts, yet without them you are nothing but a scheming, grasping worm of
a man.'
His face was wild with rage, and a fell mood seemed to have possessed him so that none dared to
restrain him.
'Emerson!' Tabatha cried, rushing towards him. She was too late. With a single thrust of his
sword, he ran the blade into Devere's heart.
For a moment, Devere remained still and upright. His eyes drifted towards me and settled upon
my face as he sank to his knees.
‘Know this: ‘twas George who condemned you to this fate,’ he said between laboured breaths.
‘Why? What do you mean?’ I cried.
 He laughed and slowly moved his hand to the crystal that hung from his neck. Tearing it from its
chain, he flung it towards me.
Emerson’s sword flashed as he swept it across Devere’s throat in one swift stroke, relieving the
body of its head. It fell to the ground with a thud as the crystal shattered beside it. A flash of light blazed,
and for a moment a wall of white light surrounded me. Then I felt my body flung backwards by the force.
In those moments, the memory of the Shade's premonition flitted through my mind. I saw the
bloodied door of my family's cottage, the empty room, and my own corpse-like face, now branded along
its left side with a shadow; Devere's shadow.
My eyes snapped open, and I found my vision blurred, the scene before me shaky and undefined.
I blinked and focused my eyes upon the body of Devere; the floor around him was slippery and red with
blood, and Emerson stood before him panting, his sword limp in his hand. He spoke, but his voice
sounded faint and distant. My head swam, and I struggled to comprehend his words.
'I shan't ask for your forgiveness, Tom,' he said without looking at me. 'The destruction I have
wrought is too great. I took the lives of your family in error. I allowed myself to be blinded by lies.'
A dull power hung over me, and I reeled, unable to move or stand, the very breath sucked from
my body. 'You killed them! You're a murderer!' I heard the words as though listening to someone else
speak and then realised they came from my own mouth.
Emerson's face was pale and haggard as he strode past me and down the steps. None dared to
stay or follow him. I stared after him as I staggered to my feet, and I realised that I wept even as I
screamed after him. Grief so overwhelming I felt it in every bone and muscle of my body swept over me,
and in that moment, I wished for my heart to stop so that I might not bear the pain any longer. I sank to
the floor as my legs gave way beneath me, and there I remained, a relic of grief and mourning,
unconscious to what was happening around me and oblivious to Eliza as she knelt beside me and cradled
me in her arms.
 Chapter 79

'The scar may fade in time,' said George.

I lay upon my bed in the dormitory. The weakness in my limbs was passing, but the pain in my
head still lingered, even after four days. In the passageway outside, George spoke with Eliza and her
father.
'He has been branded with Devere's shadow,' George continued. 'It is an ancient practise, a
means of marking slaves and prisoners as the magician's own. It is too soon to tell what effect it may yet
have.'
'What do mean?' asked Mr. Ellery. 'Might it have harmed Tom?'
'No,' replied George slowly, 'not physically, but it must be remembered that branding is a type of
curse. Such things are unpredictable and may have unforeseen consequences. Often, victims are haunted
by the assailing magician for the rest of their lives. He or she can deprive them of peace, even in sleep,
stalking their every move and directing further malign spells or entities to attack them. The effect often
continues even after the magician's death, eventually driving their victims to madness.'
'How will we know what effect it has had on Tom?' Eliza asked anxiously.
'Only time will reveal that, I fear,' replied Edward. ‘'Twas hastily done, and Devere is now dead.
That will surely have weakened the effect, but we must watch Tom closely. He may not feel the effects
immediately.'
The door to the dormitory opened, and Eliza crept in. I yawned and sat up, pretending to have
just woken. I didn't want her to know I had overheard the conversation. There was something more
pressing I needed to do first.
'Did I wake you?' Eliza asked, concern spreading across her face.
'No,' I replied. 'How long have I been asleep?'
'A few hours. George said we were to let you rest.'
''Tis good to have him back,' I said. 'When is he to be inducted as Keeper?'
'Very soon, I believe,' replied Eliza. 'He was chosen by unanimous vote.'
I lay back on the pillow and shut my eyes. 'Where is Tabatha?' I asked after a few moments.
Eliza hesitated then answered carefully. 'She has returned to the catacombs. She bade me wish
you a speedy recovery. I think she cared deeply for Emerson, and he for her. I don't think she could
reconcile that with what has befallen.'
I nodded. 'And what of Emerson?' I asked quietly, opening my eyes to study Eliza's expression.
'No tidings,' she replied, shaking her head.
I sighed but said nothing more for a few long moments. 'I mean to go back to Osmington Mills,'
I said at last. 'Not forever, just to say goodbye. If George permits it.'
'You know he will, but I fear you are not yet well enough to travel,' said Eliza.
 'In a few days then. I'm anxious to go soon.'
Eliza nodded. 'I shall speak with George. Rest now. I will be back after supper.’
My head throbbed, yet try as I might, I couldn't settle long enough for sleep to find me. The
memory of the last time I had been conscious was returning bit by bit, and Devere’s last words haunted
my thoughts. It was a relief to finally hear a tap on the door.
‘Come in,’ I called.
A second later, George appeared, shutting the door behind him. The physical effects of his
confinement seemed only temporary; the dark circles beneath his eyes were gone, and the pallor had left
his cheeks, but his face was grave.
‘Hello, Tom,’ he said. ‘’Tis good to see you awake. How do you feel?’
‘Much better,’ I replied, not quite truthfully.
‘That is well,’ he said. ‘It would be callous to say you had a lucky escape, but few who have
been…. well, suffice to say you are recovering remarkably well.’
‘I think so, for my mind is racing with questions,’ I replied. ‘What of Cromwell? What will
become of the Guild now that he and Parliament rule England?’
‘I don’t think we need worry about Cromwell,’ George replied. ‘He has greater concerns now,
and Devere’s death will likely prove mighty convenient for him. Devere has proved a useless ally, and I
very much doubt Cromwell would want a living reminder of his dalliance in magic to overthrow the King
now that he has achieved his aim without it. It would be embarrassing to say the very least, if not outright
dangerous for him. I will ensure he hears of Devere’s death, and then let him believe his secret has died
with Devere! As long as that remains so, we will be safe. But you need not concern yourself with that. For
as long as I am Keeper, I will ensure no harm comes to you. Though, there is another matter I must
speak with you about, if I may.’
I nodded, and he drew up a chair and set it beside my bed, watching me closely for a few long
moments.
‘What do you remember before Devere’s attack?’ he asked at last.
I hesitated. ‘I…I remember he said that it was you who had condemned me to this fate. I didn't
understand his meaning,’ I replied.
George’s face was unreadable as he stared at his hands clasped in his lap. I knew he was about to
say something, something I should know, but I wished I was far away and never had to hear the words he
was about to speak. The shock and all-consuming pain that had dulled somewhat in the days I had been
unconscious now chafed with the same intensity as before, and I wished in that moment for my heart to
be ripped out of my chest so that it might never suffer the same again. I sank into the pillow, my body
tensed for the onslaught that was to follow.
‘Forgive me, Tom. I fear Devere spoke the truth,’ said George, looking up at me. His face was
haggard, and his eyes were moist. ‘I inadvertently sealed your fate and that of your family.’
‘How?’ I whispered.
 He hesitated as though unsure how to begin.
‘Tell me,’ I begged.
‘Your father assisted me in smuggling the dragonskin to Other England,’ he began slowly. ‘I had
set out on the pretext of a trading voyage, but just two days into my journey my ship struck rocks off the
Dorset coast, and I was forced to abandon her. I dared not continue by road, for in those days the
Venatorian hunted across the entire south of England, and my journey was of the utmost secrecy. So it
was I had little choice but to find someone willing to take me by sea as far as Falmouth in Cornwall, from
where I continued by foot along secret paths. Being in smugglers' country, it didn't take long to find a
man willing to assist me. His price was one silver piece to pay the local cunning man for a remedy for his
ailing wife, who was with child. Pitying his plight, I bade him take me to her before we set out. When I
came to her, she was just hours from death; too weak even to sit upright. I passed the dragonskin over
her belly, and immediately a little colour returned to her cheeks.
‘Upon my return to London, I sent the best midwife I could find to deliver the woman's baby. ‘It
was a lusty child, the midwife told me, born at the stroke of midnight under a full moon. Tom, that baby
was you.’
My mind raced as I tried to comprehend George’s words, my thoughts scattered like leaves in the
wind. I wanted to speak, but my throat was tight, and my muscles would not heed my will.
‘I don't understand,’ I managed to whisper at last.
‘I believe a trace of the dragonskin’s power passed to you inside your mother’s womb,’ said
George. ‘It seems it acted as a magnet, drawing you into the world of magic. It was no accident that you
picked up the box in the cave, nor that it was you alone whom the Shade you saw in Edward’s mirror was
drawn to. There is magic about you, Tom, and your life has been dictated by it, even down to the
moment of your birth.’
I shut my eyes and tried to still my racing mind. My life had been ruled by magic without my
knowledge, and now, as though by the natural order of things, it had killed my family and branded me
with Devere’s shadow. Anger, bewilderment and grief vied for mastery of me, but at last I opened my
eyes and found that George was still sitting in his chair watching me with pity in his eyes.
‘When did you discover this?’ I whispered.
‘Devere came to me for the last time while you were in the catacombs. Emerson had returned
from…’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘From what he was sent to do. Your mother had
recognised him, mistaking him for me. That set Devere’s mind wandering, brooding on how your mother
could possibly have known me. He already knew the dragonskin had been hidden in Other England by
that point and, with a mind as keen as a hawk’s eyes, he quickly deduced by what means I had got the
dragonskin to Other England. Alas, he knew more of the dragonskin’s power than I did, and he knew as
well as any magician that there are no accidents in magic. He came to me and laid bare before me his
discoveries and the consequences of what I had done. It was then that I realised my terrible mistake. I
dared not write to you, fearing that doing so would betray your sanctuary. Forgive me, Tom; I knew not
how grave the consequences of my actions all those years ago would be.’
Hot tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back and swallowed hard. ‘It was not you who
killed my family,’ I replied with an effort. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’
George nodded. ‘I would that I could change what has occurred, but alas some things are beyond
even the power of magicians.’
 Chapter 80

No certain tidings of Emerson had reached the Gatehouse when Eliza and I set out for Dorset on a
snowy day in mid-February. She and George had watched me closely through my convalescence for any
sign of disturbance following Devere's attack, though they tried to conceal it from me. It vexed and
alarmed me, the more so because each time I shut my eyes, I saw his face, wild with rage as he flung the
crystal towards me, and in my dreams, I saw the faces of my family one by one replaced with that of
Emerson.
It was a raw day, the bitterest of the winter, as our horses plodded along the road to Osmington
Mills. We hadn't met a soul on the road or off it all day, but now it was late afternoon, and we were
nearing our journey's end.
'That's it,' I said, pointing further up the lane.
The little church where my mother and father had married, and where Lizzie and I had been
baptised, stood a little further on from the cottage. The church itself faced west to protect its front from
the merciless batterings that the English Channel subjected it to, and the churchyard, with its jumble of
headstones, was set to the side, out of the way and mostly neglected except for when a funeral took place.
Eliza and I left the horses in the lane and paused to pluck a handful of snowdrops from the
grassy verge beside the gate. We crossed to a sheltered spot beneath the outspread branches of a chestnut
tree which reached over the ancient wall that enclosed the churchyard. There, three simple wooden
crosses had been erected. The names of Thomas Wild, Anne Wild and Elizabeth Wild were cut into the
cross beams. The earth before them was dark and grassless where the graves had been recently dug. At
the foot of each cross, a wilted posy of primroses and yarrow still lay where they had been set weeks
before. At the end of the row stood a fourth cross, but the earth before it remained undisturbed. Across
the front, it read Thomas Wild Jnr. Beside it lay a wiry-haired dog, it's chin resting upon its front paws.
'Peggy!' I cried, sinking to my knees and burying my face in her coat as hot tears welled in my
eyes. There I sat for a long while, listening to the soft thud of her heartbeat as Eliza looked on with pity
in her eyes.
'They died believing I was dead,' I said at last, raising my face from the warm comfort of Peggy's
fur. My fist clenched the stems of the snowdrops, and my voice cracked with emotion. 'I should have
come back to save them. Nicholas Treadway warned me.'
'How so?' asked Eliza.
'He told me to go back. He told me to beware Emerson. He was speaking of my family! I knew it
in my heart, but when the Shade attacked me in the mirror I saw my own corpse and thought I was to die.
But I wasn't dead, just unconscious. It was warning me of Devere's attack, not my death! I should have
trusted my instincts. I should have turned aside and protected my family.'
 'You couldn't possibly have known what was meant,' said Eliza. 'Such warnings only become
clear after the events have come to pass.'
A sudden gust whipped up a pile of dead leaves where they lay beneath the chestnut’s branches
and sent them sailing around the little crosses. Eliza shivered, but I remained kneeling upon the frozen
ground unmoved.
'I trusted Emerson,' I whispered. My voice was hoarse and fraught with hurt and anger. ‘He
saved my life in making me his apprentice. I never wanted to believe he was part of Devere’s plan.’
'I don't believe he was- not intentionally,' replied Eliza. 'He trusted Devere unquestioningly and
couldn't see that his trust was mis-placed.'
I said nothing and turned away as my hand moved to my face and brushed across my eyes. I
stared silently at the graves for several minutes as Eliza stood and looked on helplessly.
'Will you give me a moment alone?' I said.
She nodded. 'I'll wait with the horses.'
I watched her disappear out of view then reached into my pocket and pulled out the telescope
that Edward had given me months before. It had lain hidden in my pocket, unused and half-forgotten
until now. Now I thought of the last time I had seen my mother and father and Lizzie and how easily I
could recall their faces and voices. I imagined their grief upon learning I was dead and the terror they
must have felt in their final moments. I hoped their end had been swift, but a nagging uncertainty gripped
me. With trembling hands, I lifted the telescope to my right eye and thought of their last moments. My
body tensed, and my pulse quickened as a vision of their bodies flashed through my mind, as vivid and
real as a memory. My mother lay slumped in a pool of blood at the foot of the stairs, a gaping bullet
wound in her back where she had been shot as she fled. Lizzie lay beside her, cradled in her arms. My
father's body lay on the kitchen floor, riddled with wounds, his hands still clutching the knife he had tried
vainly to fight off the mysterious assailant with.
I felt my grief surge within me, and I tore the telescope away from my eyes. In my mind, the
voice of the Prince echoed suddenly as he read Ambrose’s words; from the blood of the father, hope springs.
Had Ambrose meant for me to hear those words? I couldn’t be sure, but they resonated now with fresh
meaning as I thought of my own father.
I stuffed the telescope back into my pocket and stood up. Behind me, the sun was beginning to
set. Dusk was gathering, and the forms of the trees and headstones in the once-familiar churchyard now
appeared shadowy and obscure. The wind had picked up, and the heads of the snowdrops nodded gently
in the breeze. I looked once more upon the four crosses. The pale inner layers of the newly-planed wood
seemed to glow in the failing light.
'Farewell,' I murmured before turning away and crossing the churchyard with Peggy at my heels.
I did not look back. In the lane beyond, Eliza waited with the horses. Their breath steamed and hung in
the bitter air, and Ruby’s head was inclined towards Ralph’s; two weary travellers huddled together at the
day’s end.
 Eliza looked up as I approached. Her eyes were misty with tears. 'You don't have to go back to
London,' she said heavily. 'George has granted you a dispensation. You're released from the Guild. You
are free to go back to your old life- if that is what you want.'
I shook my head. 'It is long gone. Magic has ruled my life from the moment I was born. My
family were killed because of it. I cannot escape it, but I can learn to master it. I will return to the Guild.’
Eliza smiled, and the tears flowed freely from her eyes. She flung her arms around me and held
me for several moments. ‘I’m glad,’ she said at last. ‘It would be a lonely place without you now.’
I looked back up the lane the way we had come not half an hour before and nodded. 'I told
Edward I had seen enough of the wicked things that magic can do, and I should like to do some good
with it. I never thought I would get the chance to, but perhaps this is it.’
Eliza smiled. 'Perhaps, dear Tom. I surely hope it is.'
 Thank you for reading A Skin of a Dragon. If you have enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a
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